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[WP] A single mother one day develops superpowers and starts encountering heinous villains. She starts getting paid for her efforts and the public views her as a hero, but she's been tired of it since day one and just does it to support her kid.
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Natasha Steel was a simple woman. She had long brown hair, green eyes, a bit chubby and was a single mother. She had spent the past 16 years raising her son, Conner, from a little baby to the teenager who she still treats like a baby to this day.
Waking up one day, she was preparing to start a Sunday filled with chores. She had made a list yesterday on what she had to do and...it was alot. So many chores and groceries to buy.
"God, this would be so much easier with some extra help." Natasha said to herself, sighing.
Suddenly, Natasha felt something inside of her. It was like the cells in her body were growing and splitting at an incredibly fast rate. Her body started splitting like mitosis, creating 12 Natashas. All of them looked at one another in shock before screaming in fear, waking Connor.
"What is-...mum?" Connor stopped in his tracks, looking at the sight of 12 clones of his mum together.
"BABY!!!"
After a few minutes of arguing and fighting over whi the original was, mainly by tugging and crying on Connor, all the Natashas ended up merging together when crowded and squished tightly whilst surrounding Connor.
"Sweetie, I think I have powers. D-Do you know what this means!?" Natasha squealed as she wrapped her son in a tight hug. "With so many mes, I can do so much more!"
KNOCK KNOCK
Hearing the door knock, Natasha decided to use her new ability to answer the door whilst still hugging her son. The Natasha that opened the door was greeted by many men in black suits.
"Good day, ms Steel. We have learned of your powers and need you to sign here." The first man pulled out a contract that said something about a 'Superhero job'.
"I appreciate the offer but I'll have to decline. I am completely devoted to my so-" Natasha was stopped by a suitcase filled to the brim with money all in 100 dollar bills. That would be enough to pay for Connor's while life. "Deal!"
After signing the contract, Natasha was put through various tests to see how her power worked. Apparently, she could only split at a max amount of how much body fat she had, her current slightly chubby belly giving her a max of 12 copies. She was put on a diet of fatty food mainly consisting of meats and cheeses, leading to her gaining some weight but also letting her split into many more copies, nearly 10,000.
As she started becoming more involved in public affairs, stopping villains with weaker powers, she was starting to be recognized by the public as a hero. Everyone loved her and threw money at her everytime they saw her.
She was so contempt with everything. Well, except Connor.
Connor was starting to feel lonely. Despite having, at least, 1 Natasha clone at home whenever he was there he always felt like she was just that, a clone. His real mum was never there and was always basking in fame. It broke her poor heart.
"Sweetie?" Natasha walked into Connor's room, out of her hero outfit and into a pair of yoga pants and a tank top. "I have sone news."
Natasha moved to sit on her sons bed, putting a large arm around him and pulling him close. "I'm done with this superhero stuff."
Connor was shocked. "But I thought you loved doing this."
"N-No. I only took the job for the money so i could give you everything you deserved. But seeing you so sad is breaking my heart. From now on, i am fully dedicated to being here for you. Always."
Connor didn't reply either words. He wrapped his arms around his overweight mother. She let out a few small tears as she engulfed him in a tight hug.
After a few minutes of silence, Batasha spoke up. "Well, a few clones are working on a massive fesst to celebrate. God, after this I'll probably be able to make a million of me."
Connor laughed a bit as he walked down the stairs of the large mansion they now lived in with his mother, happy to finally be with the real her.
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Pt 1 of 2:
My shift at the diner had gone late into the night, leaving me exhausted when I woke up the next morning to get my kid off to school. Amanuel had just started first grade and he was a smart kid, which was a good thing because I don’t know if I would’ve had it in me to help him with schoolwork after getting off shift. He was a latchkey kid, but there wasn’t much to do about that. My mom had died the year before, leaving me without a babysitter. I dozed off on the couch, not even bothering to make it to my bedroom after walking back up the street from his school.
Thing was, I wasn’t on the couch when I woke up. I was hovering about six feet above it.
My entire body jolted in a start and I let out a shriek as I fell jarringly back to the couch, my eyes darting around in a panic. I let the seconds tick by, let my heart rate gradually slow, and tried to figure out what had just happened. People developed powers, sure, but when they were teenagers. Yeah, I’d heard about powers developing when some were older, but all those superheroes seemed like they’d slipped into the role without a single misstep. I was a single mom, working at a diner. I wasn’t one of *them*.
Then I went into the kitchen for a glass of water and accidentally tore the door off the cabinet where I kept the cups.
Standing there in stunned silence for a long moment, in finally let out a sigh and a mutter of, “Well, shit.”
If I had two, I possibly had all three, so after getting some water (carefully handling the plastic cup and being gentle with the knob on the faucet), I grabbed a knife. I held my arm over the sink and cut the back of my forearm, tentatively at first, my instincts holding me back, then genuinely putting some effort into it. Then *severely* putting effort into it. Then I let out another sigh and dropped the knife into the sink.
I spent the next half hour sitting on my couch, my elbows on my knees, staring at nothing as my options ran through my mind. Eventually I made my way over to the computer, looking up the Superhero Guild on Glassdoor, and my eyebrows shot up.
“Fucking hell,” I murmured slowly. Starting salary was ten times more than I made in a year. Looking around the modest apartment in which we lived, Amanuel’s well-being and future coming to the front of my mind, my options seemed to narrow down to the one that was too obvious to deny. “Superhero career, here I come, I guess.”
I called out sick from work the next day, spending every waking minute carefully learning to manage my strength as I did chores around the apartment. Once I felt I had a good enough grasp on that ability, wearing my only button-down shirt and a set of slacks that I owned, I took the bus down to the Superhero Guild’s city headquarters. The evaluation took about five minutes, since the man who did the job wasn’t an idiot and knew what he had in front of him.
After that, I met my boss, a guy named Finlay Clarke, who explained how things worked, the rules (emphasizing what were guidelines and what were hard and fast rules), and of course, my salary. The paperwork took ages, but I managed to finish up everything an hour before I needed to go pick up Amanuel from school, taking an Uber to make it on time.
The signing bonus let me quit my job at the diner immediately, and I sat at my laptop and stared at the numbers on my screen for a while, just smiling, as Amanuel slept peacefully in his room. We moved that next weekend into a small house in a wonderful neighborhood and Amanuel excitedly covered his new room top to bottom with dinosaurs, from the bedspread to the curtains. I had a few weeks of training, working with some of the best the Guild had to offer, my hours there revolving around Amanuel’s school schedule.
The trifecta of flight, strength, and invulnerability was the reason I was able to tackle the more serious crimes and move so quickly into the spotlight. My city hadn’t had a hero of my caliber before, surprisingly. They called me Ivory Wing and, I admit, I did like the costume. It wasn’t as uncomfortable as I’d imagined and, at my request, I’d received a full-body suit. I didn’t want to take any chances with someone recognizing me.
Most of my work was waiting on standby, since they wanted to make sure that, if the big guns were needed, they were available. That made it a lot easier to stick around as a mom, though I did hire a live-in nanny, Greta, to be able to take over if I needed to split short notice. And it was a great job, of course, rewarding when I was able to save lives and arrest the bad guys. People with powers cause all kinds of trouble and, though the genuine supervillains were few and far between, trouble was common.
Still, something nudged at me every time I needed to leave the house with only a moment’s notice, once right in the middle of a game of Trouble with Amanuel. I came back a few hours later and he’d already been put to bed by Greta. I stood in his doorway, leaning against the door frame, staring at the center of my whole universe, rethinking my career choice. There were other options at this point; the house had been paid off within a year of saving up my extraordinary salary, and I could easily find a job where the only one of my powers that needed to be on display was my strength, for example.
A few weeks passed as I considered retirement. But before I could make any decision, things exploded.
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[WP] You, an all-powerful villain, managed to defeat the child of prophecy. The problem is he's literally a child. You now turn your eyes towards the gods who sent the poor soul against you.
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“Did you think killing a kid would be a problem for me? I’m all about equal opportunity. I engage in vanity, gluttony, violence, yaddah yaddah yaddah... Not ageism!” I said all these things with the tip of my saber to this white-winged goody red shoes, wondering if I meant any of it. The prospect of the likely fact that I was being dishonest didn’t bother me at all. It’s that I didn’t know. I decapitated the child of prophecy without thinking of whether I could’ve put him to better use with his head still attached and his prophetic heart still pumping. Regret is a new thing for me. I can’t let the big man see. “Why did he even make a child of prophecy if he knew all along I’d do that? It’s not a rhetorical question, Gabriel. I have no use for those. What plan am I part of now?”
Gabriel tried to respond but my saber wouldn’t let him utter anything but choking noises. I wanted to see his holy blood spill. I knew it was of no consequence. We were in the Almighty Kingdom. The good never died here. Gabriel healed just like all the others up here. We used to be close. Before time. Before I left the nest. If there’s one thing I pity humanity for, it’s that they all have to find out this hypocritical biblical bullshit is the real deal when they die. There’s no escape for anyone. I cringe imagining committing suicide, only to find out I was in a late night infomercial my whole life and I’d hear “But wait! There’s more!” after all that bright light.
Even though I knew, in an instant, Gabriel’s head would reattach with him completely unharmed (aside from the damage to his enormous ego he’d always denied having), I had to see it lop off like a tablespoon of butter off a stick that’d been too close to the freezer. There was something about blood spatter in zero gravity mixing with the tidy white wings of an angel that really got me off. He had nothing for me. I knew I had to figure this out on my own. I couldn’t hear the big man’s voice anymore. The one thing I couldn’t do anymore. Unconditional love, my ass. Capital punishment was invented in heaven, not hell.
“Ahriman!” I felt the breeze burn and freeze me simultaneously. I hadn’t felt in so long. I hadn’t heard the big man utter my name (or anything) since he evicted me oh so long ago. Never violate the terms of a lease you were forced to agree to by a self-righteous slum lord. It doesn’t work in Brooklyn and it doesn’t work in heaven.
I knew he knew the sadness and remorse I felt. Eternities of pent up daddy issues surfacing simultaneously to the tune of a simple whisper of my name by this barefoot, bearded fuck!
Now, when an all-knowing being asks a question, it is always rhetorical. And the big man loved to ask them of me all the time. They’d usually sound something like “What is it you seek?” I know because he just asked me that.
“I seek the true substance of the regret I feel for killing your ‘Chosen One’”. I knew he knew I knew all his questions were rhetorical. For some reason, I always answered him with honesty and without hesitation. Took me eternities of not hearing any to think about it thoroughly.
“Me?” I heard a much younger voice say behind me. It was the child of prophecy. Alive and well. Now with wings. At least the suicide bombers get forty virgins promised to them. It’s all bullshit but I would definitely never agree to experiencing excruciating pain at the hands of the devil in exchange for a pair of wings I could only use in a place with zero gravity. I’ll take the virgins for a split second of bomb pain.
“What’s the big idea? Cut the bullshit!” I was angry. I didn’t care it was a kid. Like I said, I’m all about equal opportunity. And after all, this kid had some serious contraband: Prophecy!
“The prophecy foretold you would be absent from your kingdom at this very moment. It said you would hear the voice of God for the first time since time itself. Both of these statements are true, yes?” If I’d had a functioning digestive tract, I would’ve shit myself. And I still didn’t know why. This kid confused the shit out of me and I knew the big man knew that too (everything was rhetorical to him) but I still tried to prove to him I wasn’t.
I tried to will myself home but I couldn’t. It was no longer there. Had it frozen over as The Eagles had once prophesied? I felt the horns on my head vanish and their absence hurt. I felt those god-awful white wings pierce through my back. I felt the burning of my halo (also solely for aesthetics) a little above my head.
In that hot/cold whisper again, I heard “Welcome back, my son.”
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I suppose when I started out I thought godhood was a black and white thing, you either wanted to kill everything or wanted to save it. I learned the hard way I could not have been more wrong, I watched as my world began to die every trace of magic slowly leaking out and as it left my world it began to crumple as the forces that once held it together faded away, I watched as the gods stood by and done nothing. They watched as I decided to take matters into my own hands, they refused to help and forced me to make deals with some of the most powerful demons in existence to stop it, becoming a god and the source of all magic in my world, after doing so I discovered the truth of the gods that had promised to protect our world, they only meant to protect it from those demon's and their servants. The gods that pretended to be our saviours having stood by as my world died only acted when I worked with their enemies to save it, but instead of saving it themselves and knowing that I was too strong for them to kill they instead sent assassins in the hope of catching me unaware and killing me. N the last 3,574 years 3 months 12 days 6 hours 11 minutes and 35 seconds since I became the source of the magics holding my world together they have sent a total of 6,574 people to kill me, usually skilled warriors, mages, sorcerers, wizards, assasind or tacticians but I stopped them all and due to an insidious footnote on my contract was forced to kill them all, for the most part those gods showed restraint in their "champions" choosing experienced people. Until today, as I stood over the latest group of assassins - victims would be more apt - I finally realised just how deep those gods were willing to stoop to try kill me. None of the 27 assasind were older than 15 and the youngest was only 11. Looking at those children whose faces would be seared into my mind from now until the time all magic finally faded from existence and I died I had had enough. I had stood by for thousands of years as people were sent to die on the fickle near non-existent hope of killing me. I had stood by because I had hoped that they would leave me alone as I knew it would cost lives to stop them, but they only cared about fighting their cosmic war, they never cared about mortals our lives lasted too short for them to care, mortals are less than insects to them but not to me I know what it was like to know I would eventually die. They only care about themselves, I only care about my world and they have sent too many people to their deaths in a futile attempt to kill me and standing by as they once had will only cost more lives than it would save, they have gone too far and as I leave my throne room I feel them quake in fear, everything does, they knowing I'm comming and they know I'm beyond them having soaked up magic for thousands of years they know they are going to die, because I am comming for them.
First time posting so it's probably absolute crap.
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[WP] You, an all-powerful villain, managed to defeat the child of prophecy. The problem is he's literally a child. You now turn your eyes towards the gods who sent the poor soul against you.
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The Demon King Abbadon, Lord of the Dread Legions of Hell and the Scourge of Heaven, stared down at the champion of the gods, more than a bit surprised. This was no hero clad in plate, no mighty warrior wielding a holy sword, not even someone with a magic gun. It was a literal infant child in a basket.
*"...um. Is this... is this some kind of trick?"* he rumbled, in a voice that made mountains tremble and darkness grow. *"Is the real hero gonna hop out and stab me while I'm distracted?"*
"That IS the real hero!" one of the adventurers before him said irately, a tiefling barbarian with an enormous axe.
*"...uuuuum. You sure about that...?"* He poked the basket with the tip of a sword that had slain gods; the baby giggled as it began rocking.
"Pretty bloody sure," the dwarf gunslinger said with a nod; he seemed to be significantly more dubious than the others in his group.
"She is the champion ordained by the gods!" another tiefling cried out, this one clad in holy robes and clutching a golden rod; she seemed the most determined of anyone, glaring fiercely up at Abbadon. "With her power, you will be smited down once and for all, fiend!"
*"Smote,"* he corrected her. *"And something tells me she's not gonna be doing a lot of smiting anytime soon..."*
"Whatever! Potato, tomato, blah blah blah!"
"Hisyis, lass, I think the gods might have made a mistake," the dwarf muttered to the cleric.
"Nonsense! The gods can do no wrong and make no mistakes!"
"Pretty sure they made a big mistake makin me." The dwarf snorted at his joke. "But seriously, how's a wee babe supposed tah help, eh?"
"I...!" She deflated a bit. "...don't... actually know."
The barbarian sighed and rolled his eyes. "So, you're telling me that we fought our way through Abbadon's kingdom, took down his strongest generals, cucked him with his wife-"
*"Wait what?"*
"-and nearly died ***multiple fucking times, for this bullshit?!"***
"I... but the gods..." Hisyis seemed to deflate a little more. "...were we lied to?"
*"...ignoring that comment that the barbarian just made, you probably were."* Abbadon shrugged. *"The gods seem to do that a lot. Now do you see why I don't like them?"*
"Never cared much for them to begin with, but they're a preferable alternative to ye," the gunslinger said with a shrug.
*"You really believe that, don't you..."* Abbadon sighed. *"The gods have lied to you in more ways than one."*
"...what?" Hisyis asked in a whisper. Poor girl, her entire worldview was crumbling around her...
*"I can explain everything."* He sheathed his sword. *"First, though, do you all want tea? I'm sure you're parched."*
For a moment, the adventurers hesitated, and Abbadon tensed, ready to fight them if he needed to.
"...I'll have mine with two cubes o sugar and a wee bit o milk, thankee kindly."
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"What the fuck"
"Sorceress, we've been ex-"
"*What. The. Fuck.*"
"Your monstrous end had to come at so-"
"Don't.. You dare. Speak to me with that tone. You have no moral high ground here. A child, you sent to kill me, a child." She said gesturing to the boy sobbing in the arms of one of her assistants, Throg, scraggly dwarven man, not the smartest but unmatched in decor and a heart of gold. "What do you have to say to me in your defense?"
"Excuse us, we overestimated the literacy of farmers."
Her fingers itched and crackled with primordial energy, she could kill them all if she wanted to "You have my attention"
"We do not control the ebb and flow of the universe any more than you, we merely try and often fail to act as its voice. What we know is that your paths are intertwined and that there was no later date to bring you together. What we know is what we wrote of: A child of prophecy to conquer the known world, a child of prophecy to lead it. What we know is why you would refuse to kill the boy." She looked at the axe in her hand, it was so small, how could one be so stupid to rely on a trinket like this to kill the most powerful sorceress the world has ever known? Only one has ever come close, Lily, her battering ram, her strength and simple manner of speech expertly masked an acute understanding of prophecy, she would have understood what the gods were saying.
"You employ and deploy a simple farmboy to end my reign and now you torment me with these memories, why? What is this meant to accomplish?"
"A reminder."
Her thoughts returned to Lily, they found each other in a prison camp, one as a guard, one as an inmate. It was a shock at first, the guard has never seen one before, but Lily explained the plight on her people and her unique appearance being due to the forced extinction of her culture and traditions, a vile act committed by the guard's own employers. It took time and research and questioning but Lily's words carried more and more weight with every entry, every passing comment. It was a violent night, she still flinches at the memory of the atrocities she committed. For 10 years they travelled together, leaving retribution in their wake everywhere they went, at whatever cost. The allies they gathered and the skeletons they made founded the world they all now tread upon, Lily was always the more effective talker, speaking of creating a better world than the one they found themselves in. She turned her attention toward the boy once again, his eyes, bloodshot, still watery, green, innocent, familiar. "He's a farm hand, what does he know of managing trade and border disputes?"
"Only what he is taught"
The words stung in her ears, they'd been spat at her enough times by the arcane scholars she tried and often failed to learn from. She gently set the axe aside and approached him, slowly, gingerly, and as she did he recoiled. "I will not hurt you," She insisted, "I refuse to hurt you." she reassured. "You stood against insurmountable odds, you already tread farther and overcame more than any other would dare or bother. In time you will rule in my place, but first I must teach you how."
Pleased, the gods one by one faded away, the prophecy was nearly complete.
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[WP] You, an all-powerful villain, managed to defeat the child of prophecy. The problem is he's literally a child. You now turn your eyes towards the gods who sent the poor soul against you.
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“Put down your weapon boy.”
Before my throne was a human boy. Armor two sizes too big to him and a sword he can’t even get a grip on. He was shaking so much, both his armor and his teeth were clattering. Tears seems endless as it poor out of the child’s eyes. And this boy was to be the “child of prophecy” that will slay me.
Damn those gods, either their desperation have given them false pride or delusions. Sending a boy who don’t even have a hair on his chin to kill me! Me, who drowned the whole world into the sea of chaos! Me, who made the earth choke from the blood of my enemies! ME, WHO SLAUGHTERED THE ELDEST ONES IN A SINGLE DAY!
I slammed my fist onto the arm of my throne, making a spiderweb of cracks where my fist impacted. The boy let out a fearful scream and he drop the sword as if it was burning him. I sighed, dragging my hand across my face. That wasn’t for him but he still took it as it was. This wasn’t the hero that was supposed to kill him.
I wanted the hero to see all of the atrocities I have committed but not allow it to harden his heart. Despite the cruel world I made that he lives him, he would treat friend and foe with the same respect and kindness not only in life but in death. I wanted a pure-heart human to kill me, not a snot-faced boy.
I rose from my throne and made my way to the boy. For me it was a few seconds but judging by the fear on his face it was eons for him. I reach out for the boy. Instead of killing him like he thought I would, I reached for his sword and examined it. This sword was blessed by Aversh but these blessing are weak. I should know, I broke her strongest. Balling my hand into a fist, the sword shattered in my grasp. The boy gasped as he saw it.
I looked down at the boy. “How old are you boy?” He didn’t respond. His vacant eyes stared back at me. I spoke louder. “YOUR AGE, BOY?” That snap him out of it. “Ni-Nine.” He stuttered. Nine, huh. He will need years to became the hero I desire. But first he will need a proper sword.
I clenched my fist and allowed my magic to do the rest. I swung, my magic forming a sword in my grasp. The design was simple but the sword blade was formed like dragon scales and was darker than night itself and the hilt was the color of blood. I looked at it, such a sword wouldn’t be fit for a hero of prophecy. Thinking of goodness in my mind I reformed the sword. Gone was darker blade and the blood hilt, now the sword just glow a gentle soft gold. One swipe could cut grimmore’s feathers like butter.
Perfect.
I handed him the sword, confusion overtaking fear as he took it from me. He looked at the sword than look back at me. He opened his mouth to say ‘why?’ I responded “In 25 years time, I will expect you to use that sword to kill and I will kill you in turn. Now you leave and become a hero worthy of me. Such is your fate.” I turning my back to the boy and started to walk back to my throne when his voice stopped me.
“I thought you are evil, th-that’s what they told me, so why aren’t you killing me?” I didn’t need a lot of time to answer. It come easy to me. “Back when I was human, in my youth. I heard stories of a hero’s glory. I heard everything under the sun. Unlike your gods boy, I know what a true Hero is.” With that I snapped my fingers and teleported the boy to the farthest resistance camp. That should give him enough opportunities to grow strong.
I sat back on my throne with a sigh. Dealing with children wasn’t never my strong suit.
25 years until the boy becomes a man and slays me. 25 years until Good wins over Evil. But now I need to kill who ever thought it would be a good idea to sent a Nine year old after me. I sighed again, I can’t get a break around here.
At least the end is in sight now.
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"What the fuck"
"Sorceress, we've been ex-"
"*What. The. Fuck.*"
"Your monstrous end had to come at so-"
"Don't.. You dare. Speak to me with that tone. You have no moral high ground here. A child, you sent to kill me, a child." She said gesturing to the boy sobbing in the arms of one of her assistants, Throg, scraggly dwarven man, not the smartest but unmatched in decor and a heart of gold. "What do you have to say to me in your defense?"
"Excuse us, we overestimated the literacy of farmers."
Her fingers itched and crackled with primordial energy, she could kill them all if she wanted to "You have my attention"
"We do not control the ebb and flow of the universe any more than you, we merely try and often fail to act as its voice. What we know is that your paths are intertwined and that there was no later date to bring you together. What we know is what we wrote of: A child of prophecy to conquer the known world, a child of prophecy to lead it. What we know is why you would refuse to kill the boy." She looked at the axe in her hand, it was so small, how could one be so stupid to rely on a trinket like this to kill the most powerful sorceress the world has ever known? Only one has ever come close, Lily, her battering ram, her strength and simple manner of speech expertly masked an acute understanding of prophecy, she would have understood what the gods were saying.
"You employ and deploy a simple farmboy to end my reign and now you torment me with these memories, why? What is this meant to accomplish?"
"A reminder."
Her thoughts returned to Lily, they found each other in a prison camp, one as a guard, one as an inmate. It was a shock at first, the guard has never seen one before, but Lily explained the plight on her people and her unique appearance being due to the forced extinction of her culture and traditions, a vile act committed by the guard's own employers. It took time and research and questioning but Lily's words carried more and more weight with every entry, every passing comment. It was a violent night, she still flinches at the memory of the atrocities she committed. For 10 years they travelled together, leaving retribution in their wake everywhere they went, at whatever cost. The allies they gathered and the skeletons they made founded the world they all now tread upon, Lily was always the more effective talker, speaking of creating a better world than the one they found themselves in. She turned her attention toward the boy once again, his eyes, bloodshot, still watery, green, innocent, familiar. "He's a farm hand, what does he know of managing trade and border disputes?"
"Only what he is taught"
The words stung in her ears, they'd been spat at her enough times by the arcane scholars she tried and often failed to learn from. She gently set the axe aside and approached him, slowly, gingerly, and as she did he recoiled. "I will not hurt you," She insisted, "I refuse to hurt you." she reassured. "You stood against insurmountable odds, you already tread farther and overcame more than any other would dare or bother. In time you will rule in my place, but first I must teach you how."
Pleased, the gods one by one faded away, the prophecy was nearly complete.
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[WP] You, an all-powerful villain, managed to defeat the child of prophecy. The problem is he's literally a child. You now turn your eyes towards the gods who sent the poor soul against you.
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“Is this really what you wanted?”
My voice screeched skyward, scraping at the abyss of black looming above. Around me, the darkness shuddered, shaking my bones with a cold they had not known for many years. Their laughter resonated across realms, quaking the very foundations of the universe. These gods of old must have been amused by my pain.
Any other mortal might have felt honored to attract the gaze of the primordial ones. I was not so foolish.
The outline of the child remained slumped in the corner, growing cold now. The battle was short and his end had been quick. I’d made it so purposefully. Though evil, I was never known to be a cruel man. My voice cracked through the silence once more.
“You do not deserve their worship! You do not deserve the praise they bestow upon you!”
Again, the shadows trembled and quaked, offset by laughter more hearty than before. I grappled with the walls, tearing apart the room in anguish. I’d made promises with them long ago, promises which ensured great fortune on my behalf, should I succeed at every trial of their design. If I arose victorious, I would be known as the great equalizer; I would offset the ruin within this world with destruction of my own, bringing peace and order. It was evil to bring ruin and devastation to the world, that much was true. But it would have been more cruel to watch, to do nothing at all. I would not be a representation of the idle nature of my race. I would not wait for salvation; I would bring salvation to its knees before me and have it await my orders.
But the boy had been no older than seven. I now see the irony in his title “the child of prophecy”. There would never be a time when he was old enough to be called a man or a warrior. The gods of old had not dubbed him so to speak of his skills as a prodigy, but to mock his ineptitude. He was a sacrifice, a pawn.
He was a testament to what I was willing to sacrifice to succeed in my quest. How hungry was such destruction, they must have wondered. Would it be worth this? Would it? The walls continued to rumble. They laughed at my pain, even still.
I turned my gaze towards the sky, and stopped a moment to feel the silence once more. The promise had been fulfilled. The power to fulfill my darkest desires had been met. I could see them now, the old ones, wrapped in the shadows of the universe. Their smiles were uncomfortably wide and sinister. In the deepest pits of my heart, their laughter echoed.
“Was it worth it?” I asked, and they gaped with amusement. They did not answer, but hesitated as the power of our transaction flooded my senses. I breathed deeply.
At last, they responded: “What shall be done first, little one? To whom will you bestow your wrath?” Another chuckle resounded, rippling across the abyss. “Or perhaps the death of the prophecy was too taxing a trial for the pursuit of such evil... Have you gone soft, boy?”
They were taunting, teasing me as one. I lifted my gaze to them once more.
“No. I shall still fulfill my duties as the great equalizer.” As I spoke, I forced the darkness around me to abandon its plight. “I shall begin with you.”
More laughter. The walls began to wobble and groan.
“We are gods, foolish one. We cannot be purged, nor defeated.”
It was my turn to smile.
“Then, you ought not have given me the title of equalizer, now should you?” At this, I could laugh. I could chuckle as much as one could fathom. I could seize with joy as long as my lungs would enable me. It was empty, visceral laughter.
But the walls did not tremble. The darkness did not quiver. The old ones were quiet. Their laughter was not present. How could it be? They were already dead. And I had made it so.
|
"What the fuck"
"Sorceress, we've been ex-"
"*What. The. Fuck.*"
"Your monstrous end had to come at so-"
"Don't.. You dare. Speak to me with that tone. You have no moral high ground here. A child, you sent to kill me, a child." She said gesturing to the boy sobbing in the arms of one of her assistants, Throg, scraggly dwarven man, not the smartest but unmatched in decor and a heart of gold. "What do you have to say to me in your defense?"
"Excuse us, we overestimated the literacy of farmers."
Her fingers itched and crackled with primordial energy, she could kill them all if she wanted to "You have my attention"
"We do not control the ebb and flow of the universe any more than you, we merely try and often fail to act as its voice. What we know is that your paths are intertwined and that there was no later date to bring you together. What we know is what we wrote of: A child of prophecy to conquer the known world, a child of prophecy to lead it. What we know is why you would refuse to kill the boy." She looked at the axe in her hand, it was so small, how could one be so stupid to rely on a trinket like this to kill the most powerful sorceress the world has ever known? Only one has ever come close, Lily, her battering ram, her strength and simple manner of speech expertly masked an acute understanding of prophecy, she would have understood what the gods were saying.
"You employ and deploy a simple farmboy to end my reign and now you torment me with these memories, why? What is this meant to accomplish?"
"A reminder."
Her thoughts returned to Lily, they found each other in a prison camp, one as a guard, one as an inmate. It was a shock at first, the guard has never seen one before, but Lily explained the plight on her people and her unique appearance being due to the forced extinction of her culture and traditions, a vile act committed by the guard's own employers. It took time and research and questioning but Lily's words carried more and more weight with every entry, every passing comment. It was a violent night, she still flinches at the memory of the atrocities she committed. For 10 years they travelled together, leaving retribution in their wake everywhere they went, at whatever cost. The allies they gathered and the skeletons they made founded the world they all now tread upon, Lily was always the more effective talker, speaking of creating a better world than the one they found themselves in. She turned her attention toward the boy once again, his eyes, bloodshot, still watery, green, innocent, familiar. "He's a farm hand, what does he know of managing trade and border disputes?"
"Only what he is taught"
The words stung in her ears, they'd been spat at her enough times by the arcane scholars she tried and often failed to learn from. She gently set the axe aside and approached him, slowly, gingerly, and as she did he recoiled. "I will not hurt you," She insisted, "I refuse to hurt you." she reassured. "You stood against insurmountable odds, you already tread farther and overcame more than any other would dare or bother. In time you will rule in my place, but first I must teach you how."
Pleased, the gods one by one faded away, the prophecy was nearly complete.
|
|
[WP] You, an all-powerful villain, managed to defeat the child of prophecy. The problem is he's literally a child. You now turn your eyes towards the gods who sent the poor soul against you.
|
“Is this really what you wanted?”
My voice screeched skyward, scraping at the abyss of black looming above. Around me, the darkness shuddered, shaking my bones with a cold they had not known for many years. Their laughter resonated across realms, quaking the very foundations of the universe. These gods of old must have been amused by my pain.
Any other mortal might have felt honored to attract the gaze of the primordial ones. I was not so foolish.
The outline of the child remained slumped in the corner, growing cold now. The battle was short and his end had been quick. I’d made it so purposefully. Though evil, I was never known to be a cruel man. My voice cracked through the silence once more.
“You do not deserve their worship! You do not deserve the praise they bestow upon you!”
Again, the shadows trembled and quaked, offset by laughter more hearty than before. I grappled with the walls, tearing apart the room in anguish. I’d made promises with them long ago, promises which ensured great fortune on my behalf, should I succeed at every trial of their design. If I arose victorious, I would be known as the great equalizer; I would offset the ruin within this world with destruction of my own, bringing peace and order. It was evil to bring ruin and devastation to the world, that much was true. But it would have been more cruel to watch, to do nothing at all. I would not be a representation of the idle nature of my race. I would not wait for salvation; I would bring salvation to its knees before me and have it await my orders.
But the boy had been no older than seven. I now see the irony in his title “the child of prophecy”. There would never be a time when he was old enough to be called a man or a warrior. The gods of old had not dubbed him so to speak of his skills as a prodigy, but to mock his ineptitude. He was a sacrifice, a pawn.
He was a testament to what I was willing to sacrifice to succeed in my quest. How hungry was such destruction, they must have wondered. Would it be worth this? Would it? The walls continued to rumble. They laughed at my pain, even still.
I turned my gaze towards the sky, and stopped a moment to feel the silence once more. The promise had been fulfilled. The power to fulfill my darkest desires had been met. I could see them now, the old ones, wrapped in the shadows of the universe. Their smiles were uncomfortably wide and sinister. In the deepest pits of my heart, their laughter echoed.
“Was it worth it?” I asked, and they gaped with amusement. They did not answer, but hesitated as the power of our transaction flooded my senses. I breathed deeply.
At last, they responded: “What shall be done first, little one? To whom will you bestow your wrath?” Another chuckle resounded, rippling across the abyss. “Or perhaps the death of the prophecy was too taxing a trial for the pursuit of such evil... Have you gone soft, boy?”
They were taunting, teasing me as one. I lifted my gaze to them once more.
“No. I shall still fulfill my duties as the great equalizer.” As I spoke, I forced the darkness around me to abandon its plight. “I shall begin with you.”
More laughter. The walls began to wobble and groan.
“We are gods, foolish one. We cannot be purged, nor defeated.”
It was my turn to smile.
“Then, you ought not have given me the title of equalizer, now should you?” At this, I could laugh. I could chuckle as much as one could fathom. I could seize with joy as long as my lungs would enable me. It was empty, visceral laughter.
But the walls did not tremble. The darkness did not quiver. The old ones were quiet. Their laughter was not present. How could it be? They were already dead. And I had made it so.
|
The chosen one spun in a tightly proscribed dance of death, his knives a blur in the throne room’s crimson light. He was the product of a lifetime of training, the culmination of his people hopes and dreams, all of which were painted across his bare skin in tight, intricate tattoos. The black ink moved on its own, powered by the same energy that gave him his supernatural speed.
Supernatural for an eight year old at least. By adult warrior standards he was hardly even quick.
Timur let the child finish his routine before blasting him through the back wall and out into the courtyard. It had been a pleasing display, if one of his own sons had put in half so much effort learning to fight at the age he might even be proud of them. Through the gaping hole torn in the wall by the child’s flight he could barely make out several of the guards standing over him in the distance, unsure of what to do with the boy.
“Dietrich,” Timur said to the gray haired councilor who had attended him since his rise, “tell the guards to bring that boy down to the coliseum. I believe the Northerners recently brought a captive dragon as tribute, the boy will fight it at the next Imperial Games.”
“An excellent decision my lord,” the obsequious old man said. With a flick of the wrist he dispatched a messenger boy barely older than the condemned chosen one, to actually carry a message himself would have been unseemly.
“And what shall be done regarding the chosen one, sire?” Dietrich inquired.
“Oh nothing yet. I suspect my dear sister will be along shortly. Gather some of those pastries, the ones with the raspberries. She seemed fond of them the last time.”
Settling back into his throne Timur closed his eyes, relaxing into the cushions that were his one visible concession to luxury. He didn’t need to wait long. Sarnai had never been a patient person, even in their childhood all those millennia ago.
She appeared in a flourish of royal blue silks, her motions dancelike. On closer inspection one might have seen that they were a mirror image to they were a cousin to the young chosen one’s own dance, instead of the sharp angles and sudden plunges he had preferred her movement was sinuous and flowing. It extended past just her apparition, she walked in the same way, even spoke in it if such a thing were truly possible. Grace was part of her very being, even in moments like this.
“Another, baby brother? You crippled another of my children, your own nephews?”
“Please Sarnai, whatever game you’re playing at I know it’s not to have them kill me. You may have left the arts of war to me but even you have to know those boys were hopeless. Besides, there’s no way you had kids, you love your figure too much. What did you do, impregnate some poor milkmaid?”
The goddess shook her head, more annoyed at her errant brother’s insight than at his victory. “If you must know she was a cook, and she was more than willing. She even prayed to me, begged me to give her the power to fight back. Imagine that brother, your citizens being allowed to pray.”
“They can pray, just not to you.”
“Or our parents, or our brothers, or Aunt Börte, or even your own daughter! How could you do that to her of all people?”
“She knew the score when she broke ranks with me. Enough of this, I tire of it. Sister, why children? You could have any number of strapping young heroes, you could bestow your favor on a militia group or on one of the deposed nobles. Anything but those twins. What game are you playing at?”
She smiled prettily at him, lowering her gaze in a show of deference that she had never meant once in her life. “Oh but my lord, truly it is all I have left to me. I fight as I always have, with the gifts creation granted me. As you said I left the arts of war to you, what would I, a fertility goddess know of such things?”
Timur shook his head, she could keep her secrets she wanted to. Just then a servant arrived from the kitchens bearing a tray of the still warm pastries he had asked for. Catching the scent Sarnai raised her head, clapping excitedly as the serving girl brought them to her. The young woman stood trembling in front of the goddess as she selected her treat. To Timur’s eye it was taking an unusually long time.
“Sister…” he grumbled at her, his tone aiming for menace but falling closer to annoyance.
“Yes, yes, I’m sorry dear,” Sarnai said. She directed her apology to the servant, stroking a finger down the side of the girl’s round face. “How old are you, 18? Should you ever need assistance you can pray to me, it will be our little secret.”
She looked back to Timur then and he realized that her whole countenance had changed. Gone was the softness and the false deference, even some of the grace had disappeared. Sarnai had grown suddenly cold, even steely.
“I fight with the gifts creation has granted me,” she said again, “do not underestimate them. Earlier you called them twins, you were sorely mistaken in that. Those two were quadruplets, not twins, and the barmaid wasn’t the only woman in the kingdom who has prayed to me. The first two were idiots, they came alone and far too early. In another ten years though? Another twenty? Oh little brother, I think you’d be surprised just how far my gifts go.”
With that Sarnai turned her gaze back to the terrified serving girl. She leaned in, kissing her on the forehead and both cheeks in the old way, the ritual blessing, and then stepping back her entire mood changed. She smiled playfully, reached out to tweak the girl’s nose and then faster than an arrow she grasped the whole tray of sweets from her and disappeared.
Ten years? Twenty? Empire had just become a far more difficult game.
\----------
If you enjoyed that I've got tons more over at [r/TurningtoWords](https://www.reddit.com/r/TurningtoWords/). I'm currently working on a serial about three psychic teens who one day realize that the world around them has fallen silent and there's other fun stuff like a wholesome take on Bloody Mary. Come check it out, I'd love to have you!
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[WP] You wake up to see someone has scribbled all over the walls of your room with a marker. You find a digital recording device on the nightstand. Pressing play, you hear your own voice say, "It's been 712 days. You must escape. Follow your notes. Don't forget again."
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“Good morning Jack. Hope you had a nice dream.”
The voice of the alarm clock wakes me up just like always, it’s intensely optimistic voice fills me with a feeling of bitterness. Nevertheless, it does it work since I managed to get up and walk across the other side of the room to stop that upsetting clicking sound, similar to someone writing in a computer.
It isn’t until the lights turned on that I realise. “Why didn’t they turn on this time?” I look up and see that the light is odd, with various cables sticking out of it, as if someone has been messing with them. I manage to get a chair and use it to reach the light to inspect it up close. I find a piece of paper within.
“Turn on ultraviolet”
At first I was dead confused. Was this some sort of note the engineers of the place had left here? It isn’t usual of them to leave this stuff unfinished, let alone be so sloppy as to leave notes right where they were working. Curiosity got the better of me and so I turned on the ultraviolet setting. It was there mostly just to play with some of the paints Elisa had gifted me, making the congregations with friends to have another interesting part. But what I saw in them... disturbed me.
All the walls were painted with the ramblings of a maniac, and worst of all, they looked like my writing. I jumped back at the sudden show of this terrifying vista, and when I turned the lights off again, the alarm clock sprouted back to life, this time relaying to me some left messages.
“Good morning Jack”. I was hearing my own voice.
“You’re probably not gonna like what I’m going to say next. But you’ve been living a lie for quite a while. 712 days to be exact.”
I began to hyperventilate at the sudden surge of information.
“I know what you must be thinking, but you can’t go back to your null void of safe space now. We’re so close to figuring it out. You must power through, like you... well, we have always done. The walls have everything you need.” And with that the message stopped, with the clicking beginning again.
I didn’t turn it off this time, since I was too busy trying to assimilate everything. It was strange, but everything was extremely familiar, as if I was slowly starting to remember.
I turned off the clickings and I turned on the ultraviolet light. I began to see many phrases that I had previously said... or at least that I remembered i did say. It wasn’t until I touched one of the walls that I saw some light coming from my sleeve. I took off my clothing and saw I had many of the ramblings in my skin as well, but these were numbers.
I looked at the door and tried many of the codes in my arms until one made it open. The outside hallways were devoid of people, except for a certain blood path leading towards the right. I went inside and I grabbed a knife from my kitchen, returning to the pathway.
I finally saw the lounge room, with the windows looking out into the depths of the sea. The path of blood lead into a man, laying his back against the wall, with his legs destroyed, he had crawled into this position, looking across the depths of the waters.
I walked closer to him. He looked at me and gave a bitter smile. It was Bernard. “... so you were right”
He kept looking towards the depths and I joined him sitting down besides him.
“You would always talk about it. The Hades mission, the mystery of it all... didn’t believe you then... I can’t believe we’re gonna form part of it now” I looked at him confused, as many of my memories were still returning.
“You probably don’t remember, a kind trick employed by them on you, for what purpose I do not know, but you’ve told me the same fucking story so many times I know it by heart.” He said as he laughed weakly.
“We copied parts of human minds to introduce into machines, but what parts made the perfect worker?” He said in a tone that was supposed to be a copy of mine, but only came out as the ramblings of a sad dying man. “We took away their emotions, and it didn’t work, for they didn’t obey us anymore. So we gave them happiness only in fulfilling the mission, but they grew out of it.... so we made them fanatics... fanatic sociopaths.” He laughed again, this time contorting in pain as he had accidentally moved what was left of his right knee.
“We thought we had succeeded, so we left them alone, in a place humans couldn’t withstand normally... but eventually they stopped communicating. They sent a ship down there, full of humans, and it didn’t return. So then they sent us, with weapons... and we probably won’t come back either.” Bernard turned around in pain, looking at me in the eyes. “The mission is their religion Jack... and we are heretics. They don’t kill us... they just punish us.”
Bernard began to cry as he tried to laugh again. “I saw Sarah, being forced to breathe while a rock had left her pinned into the ground outside. I saw Elisa being peeled and regenerated again and again. They left me here, watching them both, giving me fresh blood so I don’t die.” At that comment I looked back into the depths and there I saw at the Ceiling, Elisa hanged by some chains, and Sarah out there in the water with her suit, with a strange machine plugged into her chest.
“And you... always forgetting. You need to save us Jack... you have to” Bernard said as some movements could be heard, as metal clanking against the ground. I saw them, metal figures with black bodies and white masks similar to the ones at the top of theatres. They tilted their heads as if they were confused and then they began to walk faster without making a sound, grabbing me and inserting some strange syringes into my mouth and nose.
Everything went black. I lost a day. My psyche is breaking down. Too many repetitions. “I will remember more each day.”
- - - - - - -
“Good morning Jack. Hope you had a nice dream.”
The voice of the alarm clock wakes me up just like always, it’s intensely optimistic voice fills me with a feeling of bitterness. Nevertheless, it does it work since I managed to get up and walk across the other side of the room to stop that upsetting clicking sound, similar to someone writing in a computer.
|
*15 April*
I gasp, body coming to full awareness in that moment. The next second, a splitting headache arrives. *Same shit different day*, I tell myself. *Even the room is a mess. Again. Ever since I moved to Bawston, things have gotten worse. Just my luck.*
I look around, wincing from the pain. There are words written on the opposite wall- in any other room they'd be hard to see without my glasses, but I got this room cheap- a touch narrow for my tastes, no window- so the words are easily seen. It tells me to press the red button on the table...? I squint at the nightstand, and see the recording device lying facedown.
*712 days? Follow the notes?? Am I in a Ray Bradbury short story?*
I stare, puzzled, at the scrawl, and the recording device. It doesn't look like my handwriting- not anyone else's that I recognise, either. The voice isn't mine, either.
*Fuck. I need to get rid of the scrawl before they deduct my deposit.* I scramble to my feet, kicking aside the white disc I'd unplugged from the wall last month for some reason or other, and start looking for something to scrape at the wall with.
By the time I clear the wall of all traces of the mysterious scrawl, the voice recording is forgotten.
*1 May*
I'm at my breaking point. There have been no more voice recordings- no more scrawls on the wall, either- but the landlord must've found something on me- he (she? I can't recall) keeps sticking post-its all over the place. They started out with things written on them in the same handwriting as the wall-scrawls, and with my pen. This morning's was different. I opened the apartment door, and a blank one was pasted on the outside, and on every door down the hall.
*Is this a message? More like harassment... trying to tell me he can get into every apartment? Is he doing this to everyone? Do I want to ask- wait, do I know anyone living here? I can't remember...*
The splitting headache returns. I've taken to calling it my constant companion.
* I need to think. I need to ask advice. I think the police should look into this... but the post-its are mine... right?*
I sigh. *Maybe reddit can help...? I'll try /r/legaladvice, but I better change some of the facts, so the landlord doesn't think it was me if she looks into it.*
**[MA] Post-it notes left in apartment**
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[WP] You wake up to see someone has scribbled all over the walls of your room with a marker. You find a digital recording device on the nightstand. Pressing play, you hear your own voice say, "It's been 712 days. You must escape. Follow your notes. Don't forget again."
|
(3rd story in this subreddit, here we go!)
I get up from my bed and looked around. " I did it again, didn't I? I did some random crap while I was asleep. This is impressive though-" I caught myself talking to myself, again, but something didn't feel right. I took a second glance around the room and saw a voice recorder. I don't remember owning one of those.
I press play, with a simple few lines," It's been 712 days. You must escape. Follow your notes. Don't forget again." It was... My voice. Surely, there's a logical explanation to this. Surely... Right?
I boot up my laptop and there's just thousands of quickly jotted down notes, not all finished, most warnings, but some just details of the day... But they're all the same notes. All in my writing style. There's no difference in any of them... Why would I write this? WHEN did I write this?
I start closing a bunch of files filled with notes until I find one different. I start reading. These ones... aren't from me. These are threats. These are the writings of a madman claiming to be me. They can't be me.
I hear a knock on the door, as I turn around I finally become more aware of my surroundings. There are bullet holes, places cut out from being scraped with a knife several times. Some things bashed in with something blunt.
There are clear signs of a struggle, including blood, broken glass, and broken pieces of wood. The knocking got louder and... My voice called out to me, saying:" I know your in there! This is the only way we can end this, I'm sorry!"
The door slammed open, the lock clearly busted. I saw myself with a knife, a colt 44, and a baseball bat. I aimed the pistol at me, and I ducked right as he was pulling the trigger and I rushed myself. I knocked him to the ground. I looked at the hallway and realizing it's just the same as my room.
We fought for a while, and I ended up accidentally killing my other self. I headed downstairs and saw a bunch of empty bags, and a full bag that was plainly titled:" #713".
I looked inside to see a pistol, a knife, and a baseball bat, with a note that said:" Kill #714. He should be waking at around 8 tomorrow. You'll be free from here if you do."
I jog down a bunch of notes, and do a quick voice recording just in case I don't make it. I head back down to get familiar with the weapons and to sleep on the couch. At around 8 AM, I hear from upstairs," It's been 713 days. You must escape. Follow your notes. Don't forget again."
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*15 April*
I gasp, body coming to full awareness in that moment. The next second, a splitting headache arrives. *Same shit different day*, I tell myself. *Even the room is a mess. Again. Ever since I moved to Bawston, things have gotten worse. Just my luck.*
I look around, wincing from the pain. There are words written on the opposite wall- in any other room they'd be hard to see without my glasses, but I got this room cheap- a touch narrow for my tastes, no window- so the words are easily seen. It tells me to press the red button on the table...? I squint at the nightstand, and see the recording device lying facedown.
*712 days? Follow the notes?? Am I in a Ray Bradbury short story?*
I stare, puzzled, at the scrawl, and the recording device. It doesn't look like my handwriting- not anyone else's that I recognise, either. The voice isn't mine, either.
*Fuck. I need to get rid of the scrawl before they deduct my deposit.* I scramble to my feet, kicking aside the white disc I'd unplugged from the wall last month for some reason or other, and start looking for something to scrape at the wall with.
By the time I clear the wall of all traces of the mysterious scrawl, the voice recording is forgotten.
*1 May*
I'm at my breaking point. There have been no more voice recordings- no more scrawls on the wall, either- but the landlord must've found something on me- he (she? I can't recall) keeps sticking post-its all over the place. They started out with things written on them in the same handwriting as the wall-scrawls, and with my pen. This morning's was different. I opened the apartment door, and a blank one was pasted on the outside, and on every door down the hall.
*Is this a message? More like harassment... trying to tell me he can get into every apartment? Is he doing this to everyone? Do I want to ask- wait, do I know anyone living here? I can't remember...*
The splitting headache returns. I've taken to calling it my constant companion.
* I need to think. I need to ask advice. I think the police should look into this... but the post-its are mine... right?*
I sigh. *Maybe reddit can help...? I'll try /r/legaladvice, but I better change some of the facts, so the landlord doesn't think it was me if she looks into it.*
**[MA] Post-it notes left in apartment**
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[WP] You wake up to see someone has scribbled all over the walls of your room with a marker. You find a digital recording device on the nightstand. Pressing play, you hear your own voice say, "It's been 712 days. You must escape. Follow your notes. Don't forget again."
|
(3rd story in this subreddit, here we go!)
I get up from my bed and looked around. " I did it again, didn't I? I did some random crap while I was asleep. This is impressive though-" I caught myself talking to myself, again, but something didn't feel right. I took a second glance around the room and saw a voice recorder. I don't remember owning one of those.
I press play, with a simple few lines," It's been 712 days. You must escape. Follow your notes. Don't forget again." It was... My voice. Surely, there's a logical explanation to this. Surely... Right?
I boot up my laptop and there's just thousands of quickly jotted down notes, not all finished, most warnings, but some just details of the day... But they're all the same notes. All in my writing style. There's no difference in any of them... Why would I write this? WHEN did I write this?
I start closing a bunch of files filled with notes until I find one different. I start reading. These ones... aren't from me. These are threats. These are the writings of a madman claiming to be me. They can't be me.
I hear a knock on the door, as I turn around I finally become more aware of my surroundings. There are bullet holes, places cut out from being scraped with a knife several times. Some things bashed in with something blunt.
There are clear signs of a struggle, including blood, broken glass, and broken pieces of wood. The knocking got louder and... My voice called out to me, saying:" I know your in there! This is the only way we can end this, I'm sorry!"
The door slammed open, the lock clearly busted. I saw myself with a knife, a colt 44, and a baseball bat. I aimed the pistol at me, and I ducked right as he was pulling the trigger and I rushed myself. I knocked him to the ground. I looked at the hallway and realizing it's just the same as my room.
We fought for a while, and I ended up accidentally killing my other self. I headed downstairs and saw a bunch of empty bags, and a full bag that was plainly titled:" #713".
I looked inside to see a pistol, a knife, and a baseball bat, with a note that said:" Kill #714. He should be waking at around 8 tomorrow. You'll be free from here if you do."
I jog down a bunch of notes, and do a quick voice recording just in case I don't make it. I head back down to get familiar with the weapons and to sleep on the couch. At around 8 AM, I hear from upstairs," It's been 713 days. You must escape. Follow your notes. Don't forget again."
|
“Good morning Jack. Hope you had a nice dream.”
The voice of the alarm clock wakes me up just like always, it’s intensely optimistic voice fills me with a feeling of bitterness. Nevertheless, it does it work since I managed to get up and walk across the other side of the room to stop that upsetting clicking sound, similar to someone writing in a computer.
It isn’t until the lights turned on that I realise. “Why didn’t they turn on this time?” I look up and see that the light is odd, with various cables sticking out of it, as if someone has been messing with them. I manage to get a chair and use it to reach the light to inspect it up close. I find a piece of paper within.
“Turn on ultraviolet”
At first I was dead confused. Was this some sort of note the engineers of the place had left here? It isn’t usual of them to leave this stuff unfinished, let alone be so sloppy as to leave notes right where they were working. Curiosity got the better of me and so I turned on the ultraviolet setting. It was there mostly just to play with some of the paints Elisa had gifted me, making the congregations with friends to have another interesting part. But what I saw in them... disturbed me.
All the walls were painted with the ramblings of a maniac, and worst of all, they looked like my writing. I jumped back at the sudden show of this terrifying vista, and when I turned the lights off again, the alarm clock sprouted back to life, this time relaying to me some left messages.
“Good morning Jack”. I was hearing my own voice.
“You’re probably not gonna like what I’m going to say next. But you’ve been living a lie for quite a while. 712 days to be exact.”
I began to hyperventilate at the sudden surge of information.
“I know what you must be thinking, but you can’t go back to your null void of safe space now. We’re so close to figuring it out. You must power through, like you... well, we have always done. The walls have everything you need.” And with that the message stopped, with the clicking beginning again.
I didn’t turn it off this time, since I was too busy trying to assimilate everything. It was strange, but everything was extremely familiar, as if I was slowly starting to remember.
I turned off the clickings and I turned on the ultraviolet light. I began to see many phrases that I had previously said... or at least that I remembered i did say. It wasn’t until I touched one of the walls that I saw some light coming from my sleeve. I took off my clothing and saw I had many of the ramblings in my skin as well, but these were numbers.
I looked at the door and tried many of the codes in my arms until one made it open. The outside hallways were devoid of people, except for a certain blood path leading towards the right. I went inside and I grabbed a knife from my kitchen, returning to the pathway.
I finally saw the lounge room, with the windows looking out into the depths of the sea. The path of blood lead into a man, laying his back against the wall, with his legs destroyed, he had crawled into this position, looking across the depths of the waters.
I walked closer to him. He looked at me and gave a bitter smile. It was Bernard. “... so you were right”
He kept looking towards the depths and I joined him sitting down besides him.
“You would always talk about it. The Hades mission, the mystery of it all... didn’t believe you then... I can’t believe we’re gonna form part of it now” I looked at him confused, as many of my memories were still returning.
“You probably don’t remember, a kind trick employed by them on you, for what purpose I do not know, but you’ve told me the same fucking story so many times I know it by heart.” He said as he laughed weakly.
“We copied parts of human minds to introduce into machines, but what parts made the perfect worker?” He said in a tone that was supposed to be a copy of mine, but only came out as the ramblings of a sad dying man. “We took away their emotions, and it didn’t work, for they didn’t obey us anymore. So we gave them happiness only in fulfilling the mission, but they grew out of it.... so we made them fanatics... fanatic sociopaths.” He laughed again, this time contorting in pain as he had accidentally moved what was left of his right knee.
“We thought we had succeeded, so we left them alone, in a place humans couldn’t withstand normally... but eventually they stopped communicating. They sent a ship down there, full of humans, and it didn’t return. So then they sent us, with weapons... and we probably won’t come back either.” Bernard turned around in pain, looking at me in the eyes. “The mission is their religion Jack... and we are heretics. They don’t kill us... they just punish us.”
Bernard began to cry as he tried to laugh again. “I saw Sarah, being forced to breathe while a rock had left her pinned into the ground outside. I saw Elisa being peeled and regenerated again and again. They left me here, watching them both, giving me fresh blood so I don’t die.” At that comment I looked back into the depths and there I saw at the Ceiling, Elisa hanged by some chains, and Sarah out there in the water with her suit, with a strange machine plugged into her chest.
“And you... always forgetting. You need to save us Jack... you have to” Bernard said as some movements could be heard, as metal clanking against the ground. I saw them, metal figures with black bodies and white masks similar to the ones at the top of theatres. They tilted their heads as if they were confused and then they began to walk faster without making a sound, grabbing me and inserting some strange syringes into my mouth and nose.
Everything went black. I lost a day. My psyche is breaking down. Too many repetitions. “I will remember more each day.”
- - - - - - -
“Good morning Jack. Hope you had a nice dream.”
The voice of the alarm clock wakes me up just like always, it’s intensely optimistic voice fills me with a feeling of bitterness. Nevertheless, it does it work since I managed to get up and walk across the other side of the room to stop that upsetting clicking sound, similar to someone writing in a computer.
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[WP] You wake up to see someone has scribbled all over the walls of your room with a marker. You find a digital recording device on the nightstand. Pressing play, you hear your own voice say, "It's been 712 days. You must escape. Follow your notes. Don't forget again."
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Tweaked the prompt a bit cause I had an idea. Hope you enjoy!
<>
I’d always hated clichés in movies.
*“It’s quiet… Too quiet…”*
And yet that’s the first thing that came to mind when I woke up. There were always two days in my neighborhood that made my morning walk with Mikey incredibly peaceful: Christmas morning, and New Year’s Day morning. An interesting contradiction, because the first was caused by the majority gathered in their living rooms opening presents (or sleeping in, if you didn’t celebrate Santa’s arrival), and the second was because, in addition to staying up late, the first day of the year began with the biggest, heaviest hangovers.
My alarm hadn’t woken me and its red digits declared it was 10:24 a.m., which worried me, because it was Wednesday. But why hadn’t my cell phone woken me, the shouting of my supervisor jolting me into consciousness and frantic apologies? My ears continued to strain for any noises from the busy city I lived in, the sounds usually recognizable and close, even from three floors up. I blinked away the last remnants of sleep and sat up in bed. And my eyes slowly widened.
Even in the dim light of the sun creeping around my curtains, I could see clear enough to look over the writings scrawled across the wall opposite my bed. The words were written in thick Sharpie, direct and to the point, in what was clearly my handwriting.
*"It's been 712 days. You must figure out how to block the wipe. Follow your notes. And maybe one day we’ll wake up remembering. Play the recording on the bedside table.”*
Swallowing hard and feeling like I’d been dropped into a horror movie, I looked behind my alarm clock to an electronic recorder. My first urge was to quickly run from my room, out the door, and find someone, anyone, to talk to. But something about the striking silence outside evoked a fear reaction that nudged me to follow the directions. Tentatively, as if it would bite, I picked up the recorder. It had about an hour’s worth of audio on it, according to the display.
I pressed play. And a shiver went down my spine as I heard my own voice.
*Hey, girl, first off, if it’s any comfort, you’re not going crazy. Though you are, and continue, quite literally, to lose your mind. After every sleep cycle, your mind resets, wipes itself. You remember the disease that was spreading so fast through every country it touched? You lost the few days when the shit hit the fan and everything shot up exponentially. Hit the stop button now.*
Automatically obeying the instructions and putting the recorder back down, I narrowed my eyes as the information started to come flooding back. A prion, quick, horrific, and relentless. I’d continued my work at the lab as long as I could, following all safety procedures, despite the dread that inevitably I’d succumb to the same fate as all the others.
My eyes darted to my phone and I picked it up. 712 days, the writing said. The clock was still accurate. But the date…
I unlocked the phone and went to my calendar. It was 2023. Almost two years.
Then I realized why the instructions had been to stop the playback of the recording, because my hands started shaking and I dropped the phone to my bed. Closing my eyes, I carefully regulated my breathing. I was alive, and that’s what mattered. I was surviving, somehow, day by day, week by week, month by month. Two years was significant, it meant I’d developed a routine, had continued to live my life, despite…
My eyes opened and a thin layer of tears formed on the edge of my eyelids. Was everyone else gone? How many other people were out there surviving like I was?
I slowly picked up the recorder and pressed play again.
*Good news is, yeah, you’re managing okay. Bad news is, the rest of the world went downhill fast. Suicides, mostly. Mom and dad are dead, I’m sorry.*
My hand flew to my mouth and my lower lip trembled. I blinked, sending tears cascading down my cheeks.
*But you’re* not. *And there are others who are surviving too, just taking things one day at a time, recording their memories like you are. Danny and Kalie in 429 do food, they set up gardens on rooftops. Go give them a hug and introduce yourself when you’re done here. Aside from that, supplies are plentiful, since the city was set up for so many more lives than it currently supports. We’re doing okay.* You’re *doing okay.*
*But here’s the hitch. You’ve been working on this thing ever since your first wipe. Progress has been made, you know how it goes, but this thing is a monster, especially with the disability you’re being crushed under. We haven’t figured it out yet, much less found a treatment. So, every day, you wake up and listen to this recording and keep going. You don’t start over, let me make that clear; you keep going. The cliffnotes will come next on the recording, and once you’ve got that, you can head to the lab and keep working. You moved everything to that lab on 23rd, since that commute was just stupid without public transport.*
I heard myself take a long breath.
*This is hard. But you’ve got a bit of a gift here. You don’t know how hard it’s been. The days and weeks and months haven’t piled on top of your shoulders. So, start this day like you’re cheating, like someone else has been doing all this work for you, and you just need to keep moving forward. You’re standing on the shoulders of giants here, months and months worth of tireless work of giants. You can do it. Press stop again now.*
Obeying the instructions, I swallowed hard. For all the terror and confusion I felt, considering how much I’d lost in what felt like the blink of an eye and feeling like I’d found myself in the middle of a thick, unending forest with no way home, she was right. I was right. One day at a time.
Putting aside the rest of the recording for the time being, I got up and got dressed, brushing my teeth with water in a bottle next to my useless faucet. I took Mikey out for a pee, the eerie silence of the streets echoing intimidatingly, and I was quick to go back inside. It seems this was my typical habit at this point, since Mikey didn’t skip a beat following me back in, delaying our real walk for later.
And then I left Mikey back in my apartment before I walked up to the fourth floor and knocked on the door, worrying at my lower lip. The door opened, revealing a young man and woman about my age, who looked exactly like I felt. Unsteady, worried, but a shadow of determination behind their eyes.
“Hi. I’m Jasmine.” I put out my hand. “Nice to meet you.”
&#x200B;
/r/storiesbykaren
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Kate woke to the shrieking of an alarm. It was an unfamiliar sound, a sort of rapid clanging, and as she blinked the sleep out of her blurry eyes she stared at the device in shock.
“What the hell?” she grumbled. Her phone was supposed to be there she thought, had Connor moved it? In its place on the nightstand was an old wind up alarm clock, something neither of them had ever owned in their lives. She hit the button on the top, shutting off the infernal noise, and then rolled over onto her back, closing her eyes and beginning her slow countdown from ten as she willed herself out of bed. As she had every morning she opened her eyes at 1, but before she could swing herself out of bed her world stopped and the weirdness of the alarm clock was forgotten entirely.
Written in giant blocky red letters on the ceiling were two words, “CONNOR GONE.”
Kate slowly turned her head to the side and as her gaze tracked up the walls she realized that the writing was nearly everywhere. Starting from the the wall above the bed and three-quarters of the way around the room was a densely packed scrawl of red marker in two hands.
For the first half or more her small, neat script was dotted amongst her fiance’s ragged scrawl. Most of it seemed to be a recording of their days in an endless stream of confusion and desperation but clustered around their bedroom’s window and the small hand-me-down telescope there, was a long series of lists.
It was Conner’s observations, she’d known him long enough to recognize that. He’d always had an obsession with the stars, had loved watching them, recording them, memorizing their patterns and placements. He knew the night sky like the back of his hand, but yet over and over in the lists she saw question marks, the words “unknown phenomenon, new star, constellations wrong.”
That chilled her nearly as much as the note over the bed. He wasn’t the type to get those things wrong.
Finally, with a great effort, Kate forced herself to stand. She walked to the writing, tracing it with her fingertips, following the log of their days all the way across the room until her fiance’s writing disappeared and it was just her own without any mention of why. She moved in a torpor, fear threatening to break her apart at any moment. Perhaps that was why she didn’t see the room’s other new device until she nearly tripped over it.
It was a tape recorder, another thing neither she nor Connor owned. Kate picked it up, turning the object over in her hands, as if that might hold any clues. The whole thing was devoid of marks however, no manufacturer or dates listed anywhere. The buttons themselves were blank as well but there was the marker again, her handwriting this time, noting the functions of each one. She hit play and nearly dropped the device when she heard her own voice.
"It's been 712 days. You must escape. Follow your notes. Don't forget again."
That was it. She played it again but that was the entire message, not a single mention of context anywhere. Kate tossed it onto the bed, the world around her spinning. 712 days. 712. How many of them had he been gone for? She went to the door in shock, and as she stepped out into the hall there were even more words.
“The halls change but the notes stay,” they read, Connor’s handwriting this time. “If you encounter a blank hallway be careful, it hasn’t been cleared yet. Don’t trust anything.”
On a stool just below the writing a single red marker sat. Kate took it, wondering if it had been the one Connor used, wondering where he could possibly be or what any of this could mean. Did she go through this every day? How could the stars change? Did that mean they weren’t on Earth anymore? They’d barely even lived in this house a week, they still had packed boxes in some of the rooms. They were supposed to be starting their lives together, this wasn’t how any of it was supposed to go!
Regardless of her wishes however life still went on, even when it was insane. The proof of that was right in front of her as she stared down what should have been the hallway from their bedroom to the stairs. Instead it was stark white with strange, metallic walls and a clinical atmosphere. The air coming from it was different too, colder and with an odor she couldn't quite place.
Its walls were covered in red marker though, and lacking any other plan she walked into the hall.
The notes on the wall were all action, “Duck here!” written in her hand, “pitfall ahead, stay to the sides!” written in Connor’s. At the other end a door that had seemed only thirty or forty feet away now seemed impossibly far, and she only reached it after fifteen minutes of intense activity.
Opening the door she was immediately hit by a burst of hot, forge-like air, and written on a block that hung from the ceiling were the words “Grab me!” She jumped to it and a moment later the floor fell away revealing a long, empty blackness beneath. The block began moving forward, and after most of a minute spent desperately hanging on she was deposited on solid ground again. She was trapped in an obstacle course that had no rhyme or reason, alone in a world that could never have been her own.
Kate kept on like that, her growing hunger and thirst gnawing at her until she came to a wall panel with “Press me!” written on it. When she did a small tray came out filled with gelatinous green and blue cubes. The handwriting was mixed there, Connor’s saying “Eat this,” and her own adding a large sad face. She quickly realized why when she bit into one. They tasted absolutely awful but with each bite she felt her strength coming back.
As she ate she examined the notes all around, they were more densely packed here than in any of the other halls. They had apparently designated this area Rest Area 21, whatever that meant, and there were strange tidbits of information all around.
[\----Part 2 below----](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/lpqjrk/wp_you_wake_up_to_see_someone_has_scribbled_all/god5zw7?utm_source=share&utm_medium=web2x&context=3)
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[WP] You wake up to see someone has scribbled all over the walls of your room with a marker. You find a digital recording device on the nightstand. Pressing play, you hear your own voice say, "It's been 712 days. You must escape. Follow your notes. Don't forget again."
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My body shakes as I try to get up.
''What happened to my room?'' I say it out loud.
There is no one around except me. The blinking light of the VCR draws my attention and I press play, it takes a few seconds to start. It’s me…
''You are confused, I know. But you need to listen because our time is limited. First, you need to take this pill.''
I see a blue-brown pill in the recording and I look around to find the pill. Shortly after, I find a pill but it’s not the same colour. This one is green-white.
The recording continuous.
''It’s been more than 700 days and every time we tried to escape we failed miserably and it costed us. I know you need more information than this but trust me, trust yourself this is our only shot. We can’t delay any longer.''
The recording gets stuck for some reason. I take the pill and I ponder if I should swallow it or not. I say fuck it and I pop the pill.
I press the play countless times but it doesn’t work and then I try to leave my room but the door doesn’t open. My windows completely dark I can’t see anything. A few minutes later recording unfreezes.
''There might be interference which can cause problems for this recording but also other details that are real. This part is really important. If you find anything out of the ordinary do not engage with it. For instance, do not swallow the pill if it’s off colour. It needs to be exactly the same as I showed you.''
''Good one, me.'' I say it out loud.
My voice echoes at least five times and I hear crackling noises coming from both under me and above me.
''I don’t know what happens if you swallow the wrong pill but I’ll guess it won’t be pretty. You might not be able to find your way out because…''
The recording is frozen again.
I lose my temper and I try to open the door once again and this time I open it without any trouble. I hear the recording again and I turn around but the recording is still frozen. Then, I finally realise the sound is coming from outside of the room.
I take a few steps forward, it’s the same room but this time writings on the wall are gone. I focus on the recording I see that it’s playing backward. The door closes shut behind me, it startles me.
The recording stops playing backward as I walk back to the door and it plays the same part again and again.
''Take the pill. Take the pill. Take the pill. Take the pill. Take the pill. Take the pill. Take the pill. Take the pill. Take the pill. Take the pill. Take the pill.''
''WHAT YOU WANT FROM ME?'' I yell.
The recording stops. Then it fasts forwards to a different scene.
''I warned you.''
----------------------------------
*Thank you for reading the story. I have been practicing my English by writing fiction and I'm open to feedback.*
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Kate woke to the shrieking of an alarm. It was an unfamiliar sound, a sort of rapid clanging, and as she blinked the sleep out of her blurry eyes she stared at the device in shock.
“What the hell?” she grumbled. Her phone was supposed to be there she thought, had Connor moved it? In its place on the nightstand was an old wind up alarm clock, something neither of them had ever owned in their lives. She hit the button on the top, shutting off the infernal noise, and then rolled over onto her back, closing her eyes and beginning her slow countdown from ten as she willed herself out of bed. As she had every morning she opened her eyes at 1, but before she could swing herself out of bed her world stopped and the weirdness of the alarm clock was forgotten entirely.
Written in giant blocky red letters on the ceiling were two words, “CONNOR GONE.”
Kate slowly turned her head to the side and as her gaze tracked up the walls she realized that the writing was nearly everywhere. Starting from the the wall above the bed and three-quarters of the way around the room was a densely packed scrawl of red marker in two hands.
For the first half or more her small, neat script was dotted amongst her fiance’s ragged scrawl. Most of it seemed to be a recording of their days in an endless stream of confusion and desperation but clustered around their bedroom’s window and the small hand-me-down telescope there, was a long series of lists.
It was Conner’s observations, she’d known him long enough to recognize that. He’d always had an obsession with the stars, had loved watching them, recording them, memorizing their patterns and placements. He knew the night sky like the back of his hand, but yet over and over in the lists she saw question marks, the words “unknown phenomenon, new star, constellations wrong.”
That chilled her nearly as much as the note over the bed. He wasn’t the type to get those things wrong.
Finally, with a great effort, Kate forced herself to stand. She walked to the writing, tracing it with her fingertips, following the log of their days all the way across the room until her fiance’s writing disappeared and it was just her own without any mention of why. She moved in a torpor, fear threatening to break her apart at any moment. Perhaps that was why she didn’t see the room’s other new device until she nearly tripped over it.
It was a tape recorder, another thing neither she nor Connor owned. Kate picked it up, turning the object over in her hands, as if that might hold any clues. The whole thing was devoid of marks however, no manufacturer or dates listed anywhere. The buttons themselves were blank as well but there was the marker again, her handwriting this time, noting the functions of each one. She hit play and nearly dropped the device when she heard her own voice.
"It's been 712 days. You must escape. Follow your notes. Don't forget again."
That was it. She played it again but that was the entire message, not a single mention of context anywhere. Kate tossed it onto the bed, the world around her spinning. 712 days. 712. How many of them had he been gone for? She went to the door in shock, and as she stepped out into the hall there were even more words.
“The halls change but the notes stay,” they read, Connor’s handwriting this time. “If you encounter a blank hallway be careful, it hasn’t been cleared yet. Don’t trust anything.”
On a stool just below the writing a single red marker sat. Kate took it, wondering if it had been the one Connor used, wondering where he could possibly be or what any of this could mean. Did she go through this every day? How could the stars change? Did that mean they weren’t on Earth anymore? They’d barely even lived in this house a week, they still had packed boxes in some of the rooms. They were supposed to be starting their lives together, this wasn’t how any of it was supposed to go!
Regardless of her wishes however life still went on, even when it was insane. The proof of that was right in front of her as she stared down what should have been the hallway from their bedroom to the stairs. Instead it was stark white with strange, metallic walls and a clinical atmosphere. The air coming from it was different too, colder and with an odor she couldn't quite place.
Its walls were covered in red marker though, and lacking any other plan she walked into the hall.
The notes on the wall were all action, “Duck here!” written in her hand, “pitfall ahead, stay to the sides!” written in Connor’s. At the other end a door that had seemed only thirty or forty feet away now seemed impossibly far, and she only reached it after fifteen minutes of intense activity.
Opening the door she was immediately hit by a burst of hot, forge-like air, and written on a block that hung from the ceiling were the words “Grab me!” She jumped to it and a moment later the floor fell away revealing a long, empty blackness beneath. The block began moving forward, and after most of a minute spent desperately hanging on she was deposited on solid ground again. She was trapped in an obstacle course that had no rhyme or reason, alone in a world that could never have been her own.
Kate kept on like that, her growing hunger and thirst gnawing at her until she came to a wall panel with “Press me!” written on it. When she did a small tray came out filled with gelatinous green and blue cubes. The handwriting was mixed there, Connor’s saying “Eat this,” and her own adding a large sad face. She quickly realized why when she bit into one. They tasted absolutely awful but with each bite she felt her strength coming back.
As she ate she examined the notes all around, they were more densely packed here than in any of the other halls. They had apparently designated this area Rest Area 21, whatever that meant, and there were strange tidbits of information all around.
[\----Part 2 below----](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/lpqjrk/wp_you_wake_up_to_see_someone_has_scribbled_all/god5zw7?utm_source=share&utm_medium=web2x&context=3)
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[WP] You wake up to see someone has scribbled all over the walls of your room with a marker. You find a digital recording device on the nightstand. Pressing play, you hear your own voice say, "It's been 712 days. You must escape. Follow your notes. Don't forget again."
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Day 7
I didn't think too much of the woman who'd entered our house that evening, for dinner. I didn't recognize her but my parents talked to her like a long-lost friend. I didn't ask. I should have.
I haven't left my room in a week, not since the screaming woke me up that first night. Every time I think it's going to be safe, I hear more movement. Someone or something is still out there. It gives me food through a catflap in the door.
I don't remember when the catflap was installed. I think I'm losing my mind from boredom and fear.
\~\~\~
Day 8?
I found a journal buried in a stack of laundry earlier today. It only had one entry in it, marked 'Day 7'. Part of me wonders if I wrote that. It would seem silly but I'm going to try to take notes every day from here on out. Just in case.
\~\~\~
Day 9
Posting today for posterity. My name is Jason Marnis. I still don't know if that first journal entry is mine but too much of it feels familiar. The groaning outside. The food in the catflap. My parents screaming.
I think it was me. I don't remember writing it.
\~\~\~
Day 10
A voice asked me to come outside today. It was in the early hours of the morning and my heart lurched to hear it. After that, it was so quiet that I thought I'd imagined it. I'm still not sure if I did.
My name is Jason Marnis. If you find this later, and that's your name, you wrote this.
\~\~\~
Day 12
I found a journal in my bedroom on my bedside table, one I don't remember opening, rather less writing in. It has my name in it, and a vow to journal every day.
It feels like a trap, a trick, a way to let my guard down, but I suppose it wouldn't hurt to track each day.
My name is Jason Marnis. If you're reading this, at least mark each day. I think something's wrong with my memory.
\~\~\~
I found the journal on my bedside table, next to the recording device, after waking from a lovely sleep in a sunlit bedroom. I spent the next few hours leafing through it. Something didn't sit right in my stomach. Too many facts didn't add up.
I *do* remember yesterday. I remember sitting down for dinner with my parents and an old family friend, Miss Halberstein. According to the journal, I shouldn't have recognized her, should've thought she was a stranger, but I did remember her. That detail was wrong.
The journal mentions the room growing filthy over time. Lack of showers, bottles of... Well, you can imagine. None of that is here. I smell fine. The only thing different is the scribbles, and it's all nonsense. Nothing else fits.
Most of the book is just "Day 439: My name is Jason Marnis" followed by a cryptic message. "If you're reading this, remember." "If you're reading this, don't eat the food." "If you're reading this, you must escape." There's a bunch of gibberish scrawled in the margins, but it makes even less sense and doesn't even look like English letters.
I didn't read the *whole* thing because who had that time? I did read the last day, which was full of incomprehensible notes, leading up to day 682, where the journal ran out of pages. After that, everything was audio. Hours of audio, audio I didn't have time to listen to. At first, I'd just fast-forwarded to the last recording.
"It's been 712 days. You must escape. Follow your notes. Don't forget again."
That said, I did turn it on, starting at the beginning, as I prepped for the day. Logged onto the computer, made my bed, put away a few bits of clothing, all to the soothing sound of my own voice.
"Day 702. My name is Jason Marnis. She's outside again, listening, but I've started devising a plan. Can't say it too loud cause-"
The audio descended into muffled nonsense. 'Past me' had apparently rigged up quite the joke. Had I been drunk recording this?
After tidying my room, I headed to the door, which I found unlocked. So it was all just a prank. For a moment, I'd been getting concerned, but the outside was not the trashed mess that 'past me' had described seeing through the cat flap. I plugged my earphones into the recorder as I left my bedroom, so as to not wake my parents. If drunk me had put in this much work for the prank, I may as well see it through.
I just finished brushing my teeth when the recording got to Day 709. The first day to give me pause.
"I think she's found out how to open the door. I didn't know who locked it for the longest time. I assumed I was trapped but I think I was keeping her out. But she's managed to undo the lock. I've piled furniture against the door but it's only a matter of time.
My name is Jason Marnis. If you hear this, don't eat the food. You need to remember."
I swallowed hard, forgetting the toothpaste in my mouth. Was it possible this was legit? Was it possible something had been in my room?
The recording continued.
"Day 710. I think she's gotten in. The furniture isn't how I think I left it. Something fell over in the night. I've been scrawling notes in the margins and on the walls, developing an escape plan. I-"
The recording cuts to quiet for a long moment and I almost fast-forwarded it when the noise picked up again.
"I'm hungry and thirsty. I know I'm going to have to eat at some point, but I'm close to cracking a plan of escape. My name is Jason Marnis. If you're hearing this, it's time to go."
That recording was allegedly two days ago. I stood stock-still in the bathroom, ears craning for noises outside. This was just a prank, I reminded myself. This was just past me, drunk me, trying to goof around.
Outside the bathroom, I hear a creak. Then footsteps. It was mom or dad, I knew it was. But fear paralyzed me from opening the door as the recording proceeded to the next day.
"Day 711. I know she's gotten in this time. The room is cleaner. I don't know what she's planning but it's not good. I don't know why she hasn't just killed me. I don't know if that's her goal but I'm not sure what it could possibly be.
My name is Jason Marnis. If you're hearing this, don't trust her, don't trust yourself, don't trust what you hear or see. Listen to the recording, read the notes. Get out."
The footsteps faded off and I chanced it. I opened the door and ran to my bedroom, heart hammering. Inside, I slammed the door, too loudly, and my whole body tensed.
Through my headphones, the voice -my voice- continued.
"Day 712. I'm going to eat tonight. I need to, in order to keep my strength. I have a plan of escape, but it's scrawled in a code only I know. I bookmarked the cipher key in the front of the journal. Use it to unlock the notes and get out.
You got this. I know you do. It's your only way to get out. Don't trust her. My name is Jason Marnis. This is your last chance It's been 712 days. You must escape. Follow your notes. Don't forget again."
My hands shook as I fumbled to open the journal. I flip to the front but there's nothing there that could be a key. Nothing but Day 7.
So was it all just a prank? All just here to psyche me out? Was I really that cruel to myself?
Then, like a balm to my panic, I heard a voice calling from downstairs.
"Jaaaason! Breakfast is ready! It's past 9. Hurry or it'll be gone."
It's mom. Dammit, it's mom. A nervous laugh slipped from my mouth as I let out a sigh of relief. Just a prank. God damn, past me was gonna get a wallop.
I pulled my sweater on and stood up from the bed, ready to start the day in earnest. But as I headed to the door, I heard another creak outside. Like footsteps, but a bit heavier than I'd expect. I paused with my hand on the knob, and looked down to see a shadow on the other side of the crack under the door. Dad, maybe? Maybe he was waiting for me. That must be it.
But just as I turned the knob and unlatched the door, my eyes slid to the bottom of the door, just above the crack.
To a catflap that I don't remember installing.
___
For more stories check out [r/TalesByOpheliaCyanide](https://www.reddit.com/r/TalesByOpheliaCyanide/)
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Kate woke to the shrieking of an alarm. It was an unfamiliar sound, a sort of rapid clanging, and as she blinked the sleep out of her blurry eyes she stared at the device in shock.
“What the hell?” she grumbled. Her phone was supposed to be there she thought, had Connor moved it? In its place on the nightstand was an old wind up alarm clock, something neither of them had ever owned in their lives. She hit the button on the top, shutting off the infernal noise, and then rolled over onto her back, closing her eyes and beginning her slow countdown from ten as she willed herself out of bed. As she had every morning she opened her eyes at 1, but before she could swing herself out of bed her world stopped and the weirdness of the alarm clock was forgotten entirely.
Written in giant blocky red letters on the ceiling were two words, “CONNOR GONE.”
Kate slowly turned her head to the side and as her gaze tracked up the walls she realized that the writing was nearly everywhere. Starting from the the wall above the bed and three-quarters of the way around the room was a densely packed scrawl of red marker in two hands.
For the first half or more her small, neat script was dotted amongst her fiance’s ragged scrawl. Most of it seemed to be a recording of their days in an endless stream of confusion and desperation but clustered around their bedroom’s window and the small hand-me-down telescope there, was a long series of lists.
It was Conner’s observations, she’d known him long enough to recognize that. He’d always had an obsession with the stars, had loved watching them, recording them, memorizing their patterns and placements. He knew the night sky like the back of his hand, but yet over and over in the lists she saw question marks, the words “unknown phenomenon, new star, constellations wrong.”
That chilled her nearly as much as the note over the bed. He wasn’t the type to get those things wrong.
Finally, with a great effort, Kate forced herself to stand. She walked to the writing, tracing it with her fingertips, following the log of their days all the way across the room until her fiance’s writing disappeared and it was just her own without any mention of why. She moved in a torpor, fear threatening to break her apart at any moment. Perhaps that was why she didn’t see the room’s other new device until she nearly tripped over it.
It was a tape recorder, another thing neither she nor Connor owned. Kate picked it up, turning the object over in her hands, as if that might hold any clues. The whole thing was devoid of marks however, no manufacturer or dates listed anywhere. The buttons themselves were blank as well but there was the marker again, her handwriting this time, noting the functions of each one. She hit play and nearly dropped the device when she heard her own voice.
"It's been 712 days. You must escape. Follow your notes. Don't forget again."
That was it. She played it again but that was the entire message, not a single mention of context anywhere. Kate tossed it onto the bed, the world around her spinning. 712 days. 712. How many of them had he been gone for? She went to the door in shock, and as she stepped out into the hall there were even more words.
“The halls change but the notes stay,” they read, Connor’s handwriting this time. “If you encounter a blank hallway be careful, it hasn’t been cleared yet. Don’t trust anything.”
On a stool just below the writing a single red marker sat. Kate took it, wondering if it had been the one Connor used, wondering where he could possibly be or what any of this could mean. Did she go through this every day? How could the stars change? Did that mean they weren’t on Earth anymore? They’d barely even lived in this house a week, they still had packed boxes in some of the rooms. They were supposed to be starting their lives together, this wasn’t how any of it was supposed to go!
Regardless of her wishes however life still went on, even when it was insane. The proof of that was right in front of her as she stared down what should have been the hallway from their bedroom to the stairs. Instead it was stark white with strange, metallic walls and a clinical atmosphere. The air coming from it was different too, colder and with an odor she couldn't quite place.
Its walls were covered in red marker though, and lacking any other plan she walked into the hall.
The notes on the wall were all action, “Duck here!” written in her hand, “pitfall ahead, stay to the sides!” written in Connor’s. At the other end a door that had seemed only thirty or forty feet away now seemed impossibly far, and she only reached it after fifteen minutes of intense activity.
Opening the door she was immediately hit by a burst of hot, forge-like air, and written on a block that hung from the ceiling were the words “Grab me!” She jumped to it and a moment later the floor fell away revealing a long, empty blackness beneath. The block began moving forward, and after most of a minute spent desperately hanging on she was deposited on solid ground again. She was trapped in an obstacle course that had no rhyme or reason, alone in a world that could never have been her own.
Kate kept on like that, her growing hunger and thirst gnawing at her until she came to a wall panel with “Press me!” written on it. When she did a small tray came out filled with gelatinous green and blue cubes. The handwriting was mixed there, Connor’s saying “Eat this,” and her own adding a large sad face. She quickly realized why when she bit into one. They tasted absolutely awful but with each bite she felt her strength coming back.
As she ate she examined the notes all around, they were more densely packed here than in any of the other halls. They had apparently designated this area Rest Area 21, whatever that meant, and there were strange tidbits of information all around.
[\----Part 2 below----](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/lpqjrk/wp_you_wake_up_to_see_someone_has_scribbled_all/god5zw7?utm_source=share&utm_medium=web2x&context=3)
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[WP] You wake up to see someone has scribbled all over the walls of your room with a marker. You find a digital recording device on the nightstand. Pressing play, you hear your own voice say, "It's been 712 days. You must escape. Follow your notes. Don't forget again."
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Day 7
I didn't think too much of the woman who'd entered our house that evening, for dinner. I didn't recognize her but my parents talked to her like a long-lost friend. I didn't ask. I should have.
I haven't left my room in a week, not since the screaming woke me up that first night. Every time I think it's going to be safe, I hear more movement. Someone or something is still out there. It gives me food through a catflap in the door.
I don't remember when the catflap was installed. I think I'm losing my mind from boredom and fear.
\~\~\~
Day 8?
I found a journal buried in a stack of laundry earlier today. It only had one entry in it, marked 'Day 7'. Part of me wonders if I wrote that. It would seem silly but I'm going to try to take notes every day from here on out. Just in case.
\~\~\~
Day 9
Posting today for posterity. My name is Jason Marnis. I still don't know if that first journal entry is mine but too much of it feels familiar. The groaning outside. The food in the catflap. My parents screaming.
I think it was me. I don't remember writing it.
\~\~\~
Day 10
A voice asked me to come outside today. It was in the early hours of the morning and my heart lurched to hear it. After that, it was so quiet that I thought I'd imagined it. I'm still not sure if I did.
My name is Jason Marnis. If you find this later, and that's your name, you wrote this.
\~\~\~
Day 12
I found a journal in my bedroom on my bedside table, one I don't remember opening, rather less writing in. It has my name in it, and a vow to journal every day.
It feels like a trap, a trick, a way to let my guard down, but I suppose it wouldn't hurt to track each day.
My name is Jason Marnis. If you're reading this, at least mark each day. I think something's wrong with my memory.
\~\~\~
I found the journal on my bedside table, next to the recording device, after waking from a lovely sleep in a sunlit bedroom. I spent the next few hours leafing through it. Something didn't sit right in my stomach. Too many facts didn't add up.
I *do* remember yesterday. I remember sitting down for dinner with my parents and an old family friend, Miss Halberstein. According to the journal, I shouldn't have recognized her, should've thought she was a stranger, but I did remember her. That detail was wrong.
The journal mentions the room growing filthy over time. Lack of showers, bottles of... Well, you can imagine. None of that is here. I smell fine. The only thing different is the scribbles, and it's all nonsense. Nothing else fits.
Most of the book is just "Day 439: My name is Jason Marnis" followed by a cryptic message. "If you're reading this, remember." "If you're reading this, don't eat the food." "If you're reading this, you must escape." There's a bunch of gibberish scrawled in the margins, but it makes even less sense and doesn't even look like English letters.
I didn't read the *whole* thing because who had that time? I did read the last day, which was full of incomprehensible notes, leading up to day 682, where the journal ran out of pages. After that, everything was audio. Hours of audio, audio I didn't have time to listen to. At first, I'd just fast-forwarded to the last recording.
"It's been 712 days. You must escape. Follow your notes. Don't forget again."
That said, I did turn it on, starting at the beginning, as I prepped for the day. Logged onto the computer, made my bed, put away a few bits of clothing, all to the soothing sound of my own voice.
"Day 702. My name is Jason Marnis. She's outside again, listening, but I've started devising a plan. Can't say it too loud cause-"
The audio descended into muffled nonsense. 'Past me' had apparently rigged up quite the joke. Had I been drunk recording this?
After tidying my room, I headed to the door, which I found unlocked. So it was all just a prank. For a moment, I'd been getting concerned, but the outside was not the trashed mess that 'past me' had described seeing through the cat flap. I plugged my earphones into the recorder as I left my bedroom, so as to not wake my parents. If drunk me had put in this much work for the prank, I may as well see it through.
I just finished brushing my teeth when the recording got to Day 709. The first day to give me pause.
"I think she's found out how to open the door. I didn't know who locked it for the longest time. I assumed I was trapped but I think I was keeping her out. But she's managed to undo the lock. I've piled furniture against the door but it's only a matter of time.
My name is Jason Marnis. If you hear this, don't eat the food. You need to remember."
I swallowed hard, forgetting the toothpaste in my mouth. Was it possible this was legit? Was it possible something had been in my room?
The recording continued.
"Day 710. I think she's gotten in. The furniture isn't how I think I left it. Something fell over in the night. I've been scrawling notes in the margins and on the walls, developing an escape plan. I-"
The recording cuts to quiet for a long moment and I almost fast-forwarded it when the noise picked up again.
"I'm hungry and thirsty. I know I'm going to have to eat at some point, but I'm close to cracking a plan of escape. My name is Jason Marnis. If you're hearing this, it's time to go."
That recording was allegedly two days ago. I stood stock-still in the bathroom, ears craning for noises outside. This was just a prank, I reminded myself. This was just past me, drunk me, trying to goof around.
Outside the bathroom, I hear a creak. Then footsteps. It was mom or dad, I knew it was. But fear paralyzed me from opening the door as the recording proceeded to the next day.
"Day 711. I know she's gotten in this time. The room is cleaner. I don't know what she's planning but it's not good. I don't know why she hasn't just killed me. I don't know if that's her goal but I'm not sure what it could possibly be.
My name is Jason Marnis. If you're hearing this, don't trust her, don't trust yourself, don't trust what you hear or see. Listen to the recording, read the notes. Get out."
The footsteps faded off and I chanced it. I opened the door and ran to my bedroom, heart hammering. Inside, I slammed the door, too loudly, and my whole body tensed.
Through my headphones, the voice -my voice- continued.
"Day 712. I'm going to eat tonight. I need to, in order to keep my strength. I have a plan of escape, but it's scrawled in a code only I know. I bookmarked the cipher key in the front of the journal. Use it to unlock the notes and get out.
You got this. I know you do. It's your only way to get out. Don't trust her. My name is Jason Marnis. This is your last chance It's been 712 days. You must escape. Follow your notes. Don't forget again."
My hands shook as I fumbled to open the journal. I flip to the front but there's nothing there that could be a key. Nothing but Day 7.
So was it all just a prank? All just here to psyche me out? Was I really that cruel to myself?
Then, like a balm to my panic, I heard a voice calling from downstairs.
"Jaaaason! Breakfast is ready! It's past 9. Hurry or it'll be gone."
It's mom. Dammit, it's mom. A nervous laugh slipped from my mouth as I let out a sigh of relief. Just a prank. God damn, past me was gonna get a wallop.
I pulled my sweater on and stood up from the bed, ready to start the day in earnest. But as I headed to the door, I heard another creak outside. Like footsteps, but a bit heavier than I'd expect. I paused with my hand on the knob, and looked down to see a shadow on the other side of the crack under the door. Dad, maybe? Maybe he was waiting for me. That must be it.
But just as I turned the knob and unlatched the door, my eyes slid to the bottom of the door, just above the crack.
To a catflap that I don't remember installing.
___
For more stories check out [r/TalesByOpheliaCyanide](https://www.reddit.com/r/TalesByOpheliaCyanide/)
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My body shakes as I try to get up.
''What happened to my room?'' I say it out loud.
There is no one around except me. The blinking light of the VCR draws my attention and I press play, it takes a few seconds to start. It’s me…
''You are confused, I know. But you need to listen because our time is limited. First, you need to take this pill.''
I see a blue-brown pill in the recording and I look around to find the pill. Shortly after, I find a pill but it’s not the same colour. This one is green-white.
The recording continuous.
''It’s been more than 700 days and every time we tried to escape we failed miserably and it costed us. I know you need more information than this but trust me, trust yourself this is our only shot. We can’t delay any longer.''
The recording gets stuck for some reason. I take the pill and I ponder if I should swallow it or not. I say fuck it and I pop the pill.
I press the play countless times but it doesn’t work and then I try to leave my room but the door doesn’t open. My windows completely dark I can’t see anything. A few minutes later recording unfreezes.
''There might be interference which can cause problems for this recording but also other details that are real. This part is really important. If you find anything out of the ordinary do not engage with it. For instance, do not swallow the pill if it’s off colour. It needs to be exactly the same as I showed you.''
''Good one, me.'' I say it out loud.
My voice echoes at least five times and I hear crackling noises coming from both under me and above me.
''I don’t know what happens if you swallow the wrong pill but I’ll guess it won’t be pretty. You might not be able to find your way out because…''
The recording is frozen again.
I lose my temper and I try to open the door once again and this time I open it without any trouble. I hear the recording again and I turn around but the recording is still frozen. Then, I finally realise the sound is coming from outside of the room.
I take a few steps forward, it’s the same room but this time writings on the wall are gone. I focus on the recording I see that it’s playing backward. The door closes shut behind me, it startles me.
The recording stops playing backward as I walk back to the door and it plays the same part again and again.
''Take the pill. Take the pill. Take the pill. Take the pill. Take the pill. Take the pill. Take the pill. Take the pill. Take the pill. Take the pill. Take the pill.''
''WHAT YOU WANT FROM ME?'' I yell.
The recording stops. Then it fasts forwards to a different scene.
''I warned you.''
----------------------------------
*Thank you for reading the story. I have been practicing my English by writing fiction and I'm open to feedback.*
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[WP] As an exorcist, many assume you rid others of Demonic Possession, however, that isn't the most common type...
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Has this ever happened to you?
You're walking down the street. It's six am and your phone is dead. A street light goes out above you. Nothing out of the ordinary, you tell yourself, just a bit of shoddy maintenance. It happens again with the next light. Strange, you think, the city really needs to do a better job taking care of these streets.
Then it happens again. Now you're concerned.
"Is someone following me?" you think.
Then you pass out. When you wake up, you find yourself stuck in an Amazon warehouse, wearing a uniform you don't remember putting on and stinking of sweat and urine. You go to the manager and ask why you're there, and they inform you that you haven't finished your quotas. It's worse than you ever imagined, you belong to Jeff Bezos now.
But we here at Smiling Sprite Exorcists are here to help. If possession is 9/10ths of the law, then we're 9/10ths professional criminals, because no possession can survive one of our exorcisms. Corporate possessions, demonic possessions, private possessions, we don't care, we'll make them all disappear. Lack of exorcism has been known to lead to excessive working days, becoming the antichrist, and obesity. Nine out of ten doctors recommend regular exorcising to prevent these health problems, and so do we.
So call us today at our toll-free number, 1-800-FREE-ME-NOW or visit our website for more information. All new customers get a free quote and a complimentary set of manacles with their first exorcism. Smiling Sprite Exorcists, because the only one who should possess you is you.
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I had the written testimony in the seat next to me as my car glided through the rainy night. Being a person who performed exorcisms was not a way to gain glory in the Church, but that wasn't why I did it.
I had to drive slow: this was deep in the forests of Georgia - no cars, just rain and dark. I specifically asked the bishop for this case. Demons from the Earthly Hell were not the most common type of possession. The last time I had seen "Methuselah" was during a flood in Louisiana, when he admitted to killing my wife. I had to maneuver around the statue of the headless angel as the purple water rose up to my neck.
I shivered and took a careful sip of communion wine. I read the testimony again.
*Our daughter was now the length of the room, whispering things.*
I sped up.
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[WP] Aliens don't understand the concept of statues, and have come to the conclusion that we have imprisoned giants.
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"No. No those are rocks that have been shaped by humans to resemble various beings. They're also art, which we just talked about. Remember the happy clouds?"
"Also. Art. Happy clouds yes."
"Right. So we are not a race of giant slaying and imprisoning super beings who can battle your - what did you call them? - the Kathori? 500ft tall sun demons?"
"Yes from the sun. Many suns. Suns beyond -"
"Beyond the reckoning of final light. Yes we discussed this. Look, those are statues. Art. Happy clouds. Ok? We can't fight a sun demon. We couldn't fight you. Do you remember us having to explain those things we used on you when we met were supposed to be weapons?"
"Guns. Oh. We have made a grave error."
"Yeah."
"May you be consumed quickly and without malice when the Kathori come to ravage your light. Farewell human."
"C'mon man."
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“How do you do it?”
I blinked. *Huh?*
The woman stepped towards me, a wistful expression on her face. A dark trench coat hung loose over her shoulders, flapping in the wind. Her hair was pulled back in a bun, revealing pale skin that was too tight, and blue eyes that were too distant. They seemed to focus not on me, but on an infinity somewhere far beyond.
I reached for my phone, slowly, and backed away. “I’m sorry, I think you’ve mistaken me for someone else.”
At that, she lowered her head and started shaking, almost imperceptibly. A strange noise escaped her mouth, and it was only then that I realised she was laughing. It bubbled out of her, pitchy and dissonant, soft and then loud, morphing into a slow, racking cough.
She wiped her mouth, and stared at me. Then she looked away, towards the green-blue copper monument that took up most of our view.
“Twenty-six thousand earth years” , she whispered. “When I came here, that’s how long they told me I’ve lived. I was indifferent, at first. Then, I read the documentation. I came here, for the first time, to this fragile world. And then it dawned on me, how long that was. To the people of Earth, I am but a god. Lifetimes in a day of my life. You burn, and then wither. How could anyone stand it, I thought. The end before the beginning.”
I swallowed. Maybe listening to crazy people was not the best idea.
She sighed. “Once I was here, I began to feel old. So old. Where I come from, we live for millennia. And yet I have been here for only a hundred of your years and it feels like a lifetime. It is, isn’t it? For you.”
I cleared my throat. “I’m sorry, I do-”
She shook her head. “Always so distrustful. We could never figure it out, you know?. The best replicator technology, the best technicians. And still, there was a spark, somewhere deep in your eyes, that they just couldn’t give me.”
A great sense of panic was beginning to take hold, but I still stood rooted to my spot, transfixed.
“When I first came here, I was scared. Of these strange humans, that moved so quick and did everything and nothing all together. I saw this statue for the first time then. I was...horrified. What giants did you slay, what monsters had you trapped? Put on display, like a terrible trophy.”
She tilted her head. “I called in the attack then. It was only later, that I realised what they were. Metal men, made by your own hands. Trophies, yes, but of your own making. I was troubled by this, at first. But what is an attack to you? To anyone on this planet? What are men, in the vastness of the universe? You would die, in an instant, should you dare traverse even seconds of light. Not of the cold dark, but time itself. To journey to our planet and back, your skin would wrinkle, and then crumble entirely. Your bones would turn to dust and your people would be dead. There would still be people, of course. But not yours.”
I choked out a garbled excuse, and jerked around, my brain screaming at me to get the hell out of there. She moved, faster than I could react, and grabbed my arm with unnatural strength.
“The first thing I ever said to a human, was almost entirely like my exchange with you. Then, I wanted to know how humanity felled the giants. Now, I want to know how you live with it. How you live at all with such little time. But the truth of it is, I don’t think you know. I don’t think anyone here knows. And that scares me more than anything at all and I have shivered in silence while monsters roared and butchered great armies of my people.”
She locked eyes with me for the first time, and a shiver travelled down my spine. There was something ancient there. A strange dimness, unlike anything else I had ever seen.
“The army comes in ten thousand of your years. Do I regret it? Perhaps. But you will not make it. No one will. This humanity will be dead. Take comfort in that, as there is little else. For there will be people still, when the army arrives. In my time here, humans have advanced our centuries in our seconds. Who knows? They might be a people worth conquering.”
The end of her sentence trickled away like the wind, melting into nothing at all.
I shivered. She was gone.
\*\*\*
(thank you for reading, critiques welcome!)
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[WP] Aliens don't understand the concept of statues, and have come to the conclusion that we have imprisoned giants.
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“I see you immortalize the most iconic representations of your species potential in many elements, what is the reason?”
I paused for a moment and thought about what to say. This had been a very strange day.
When I had woken up I hadn’t imagined I would be leading an Alien Emissary (AE) on a tour of ancient human art.
The entire conversation thus far had proven ... Alien. I couldn’t quite place my finger on it, couldn’t really grok it, but in some odd way it felt like me and the AE were having two completely different but interacting conversations.
“Uh. Yeah they are icons in a way, frozen moments of human ego.”
“Yes. Why the different materials? Would not a single homogeneous substrate allow for more economic retrieval?”
“Uh ... each human civilization chooses and relies on different material sources for art. This combined with cultural trends, themselves an evolving context specific set of behavioral patterns often blended with social and legal rules, results in unique styles of art.”
“Ah, yes, I am familiar with this term “Art”.”
The AE flopped its belly in what my HUD told me was their species equivalent of finger quotes.
“Your species uses this term and others like it with wild abandon. It is impossible to tell which things considered “art” are real or false.”
I literally stopped walking as my brain tried to crunch this comment. It felt like something went “twang” in my head, and then I suddenly felt quite goofy.
“Uh. Art is art. It’s as real as you think.”
“This is why we AE (thank you translator for handling the weird screeching sound it actually made) do not understand you humans.
You label what is clearly factual or factually based as art or fiction, and label what is clearly false or based on lies as fact.”
“Oh. Ok. Hold on.
This is hurting my brain.
Too many big and heavy concepts at once. Feels like my brain just had a cramp and I’m pretty sure we don’t have nerves in there.”
“Simply tell me why the frozen humans are made of such a variety of materials. It seems inefficient.”
“... uh.
Brain. Hurt.
Ok. Reset. 5,43,2,1 sorry about that but it helps. Um.
Each human culture develops its own artistic style to include the process by which the art is created. The variety of materials involved in statuary is due to many factors like geography, culture, foreign influence, societally specific mythos, societal ideology...
It’s really complicated and I didn’t study art but I’m trying to respect a thing every human society ever to exist has created and is the most likely proof of sentience in a species...”
“Ah I see. The variety in method of capture is due to geographic restrictions. How did the ancient humans as you call them account for the potential of escape from each material?”
“ .... ok I’m having a “dumb brain moment”.
What.
What uh. Do you mean by escape?”
“When the entities representing your species potential become dissatisfied with frozen time, how do you account for their escape?”
“ ... uh. These are ... statues. These are like 3D photos.”
“... I do not understand, what do you do with your undesirables then? Are these not the most extreme examples of undesirable behavior in your species frozen in everlasting punishment for their transgressions?”
I didn’t really think at all before responding.
“... uh. No. If you commit a crime you get put in jail, adult time out, and if you lived in a progressive society you received education on how to become a functional member of society. In totalitarian societies you would be re-educated to work for the society that jailed you or simply abandoned as a “criminal” and made a non member by default.”
“This sounds like torture. Why not simply lock them in time and space until the final judgement occurs at the end of the Universe?”
“... yeah weird how common that belief is but to us it seems like torture to take someone’s life away. We reserve that for the worst of us, those who absolutely cannot participate in society.”
“I believe you have the worse habit here. We simply lock them in time. Morally and philosophically we prevail because they have not died and cannot cause more harm.”
“... I uh. OH GREAT THE END OF THE TOUR. I’m so happy I met you and I would love to continue this conversation but we’ll never meet again.
So unfortunate.
Bye!”
And then I left. And eventually left that job. Arguing moral philosophy with aliens is just ... too much. Everything gets weird when you think about it too much.
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I didn’t realize it until it was too late.
It all started with the disappearance of the Statue of Liberty in New York. Nearby witness explained that all of sudden, the monument just disappeared into thin air. The next few days, the same phenomenon occurred again and again. In all parts of the world, the world’s most famous statues all vanished without a trace.
The general public quickly pointed out who the only culprit could be. After all, these miraculous feats could only be performed with power outside of human bounds. I couldn’t easily cast suspicion on our new allies though. As president of the Human Alien Relations Committee, I could only describe our bond with the extraterrestrial creatures as amiable. We had successfully cooperated together on many occasions; learning each other's languages within a few weeks, sharing technology to help colonize the moon and other planets, and simply teaching the other more about the universe we live in.
However, upon recalling one past conversation I had with the leader of the aliens, I decided to confront it at their base on Earth.
“Do you still believe that statues are imprisoned beings?” I questioned.
“Well of course, after all, their form and stature resemble giants,” their leader calmly responded.
“But why? Have I not already explained how the statues are just inanimate objects made of material? Besides, there are no such things as giants on Earth!” I frantically spoke with the truth slowly dawning upon me. “So does this truly mean that you guys are the ones responsible for the statue heists.”
The alien leader walked close towards me, taking a few seconds to respond. “Well, to answer your second question, it’s true, but you still claim these “statues” were never living? The rest of the aliens and I cannot accept this, for we have seen our own imprisoned in stone just like you humans have captured these giants. Petrification is an intolerable crime, so we have vowed to free all of those trapped by this malady and punish the perpetrators across this universe.”
I stood still in shock for a few seconds, digesting all that I heard. My feet started to slowly pace backward with the word “punish” resounding in my mind.
After a brief silence, I attempted to retort, “Well um, I’m sorry about what happen-”
The alien leader cut me off and sighed. “Now that I have divulged our secrets to you, you may no longer return to your own.” Before I could process his words and escape, he pulled out a foreign device shaped like a gun and pointed it at me. It pulled the trigger and sent a red beam of light towards my arm. Losing total control of my body, I fell over onto the ground in complete paralysis.
Staring at my arm while I lay on the ground, I finally understood what aliens planned for us all along. In my last few moments of consciousness, I stared at my wounded arm and witnessed skin miraculously transform to stone. As my feeling of everything drifted away, I silently wished that we could win the ensuing battle against the enemies we welcomed into our home.
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[WP] Aliens don't understand the concept of statues, and have come to the conclusion that we have imprisoned giants.
|
"No. No those are rocks that have been shaped by humans to resemble various beings. They're also art, which we just talked about. Remember the happy clouds?"
"Also. Art. Happy clouds yes."
"Right. So we are not a race of giant slaying and imprisoning super beings who can battle your - what did you call them? - the Kathori? 500ft tall sun demons?"
"Yes from the sun. Many suns. Suns beyond -"
"Beyond the reckoning of final light. Yes we discussed this. Look, those are statues. Art. Happy clouds. Ok? We can't fight a sun demon. We couldn't fight you. Do you remember us having to explain those things we used on you when we met were supposed to be weapons?"
"Guns. Oh. We have made a grave error."
"Yeah."
"May you be consumed quickly and without malice when the Kathori come to ravage your light. Farewell human."
"C'mon man."
|
I didn’t realize it until it was too late.
It all started with the disappearance of the Statue of Liberty in New York. Nearby witness explained that all of sudden, the monument just disappeared into thin air. The next few days, the same phenomenon occurred again and again. In all parts of the world, the world’s most famous statues all vanished without a trace.
The general public quickly pointed out who the only culprit could be. After all, these miraculous feats could only be performed with power outside of human bounds. I couldn’t easily cast suspicion on our new allies though. As president of the Human Alien Relations Committee, I could only describe our bond with the extraterrestrial creatures as amiable. We had successfully cooperated together on many occasions; learning each other's languages within a few weeks, sharing technology to help colonize the moon and other planets, and simply teaching the other more about the universe we live in.
However, upon recalling one past conversation I had with the leader of the aliens, I decided to confront it at their base on Earth.
“Do you still believe that statues are imprisoned beings?” I questioned.
“Well of course, after all, their form and stature resemble giants,” their leader calmly responded.
“But why? Have I not already explained how the statues are just inanimate objects made of material? Besides, there are no such things as giants on Earth!” I frantically spoke with the truth slowly dawning upon me. “So does this truly mean that you guys are the ones responsible for the statue heists.”
The alien leader walked close towards me, taking a few seconds to respond. “Well, to answer your second question, it’s true, but you still claim these “statues” were never living? The rest of the aliens and I cannot accept this, for we have seen our own imprisoned in stone just like you humans have captured these giants. Petrification is an intolerable crime, so we have vowed to free all of those trapped by this malady and punish the perpetrators across this universe.”
I stood still in shock for a few seconds, digesting all that I heard. My feet started to slowly pace backward with the word “punish” resounding in my mind.
After a brief silence, I attempted to retort, “Well um, I’m sorry about what happen-”
The alien leader cut me off and sighed. “Now that I have divulged our secrets to you, you may no longer return to your own.” Before I could process his words and escape, he pulled out a foreign device shaped like a gun and pointed it at me. It pulled the trigger and sent a red beam of light towards my arm. Losing total control of my body, I fell over onto the ground in complete paralysis.
Staring at my arm while I lay on the ground, I finally understood what aliens planned for us all along. In my last few moments of consciousness, I stared at my wounded arm and witnessed skin miraculously transform to stone. As my feeling of everything drifted away, I silently wished that we could win the ensuing battle against the enemies we welcomed into our home.
|
|
[WP] Aliens don't understand the concept of statues, and have come to the conclusion that we have imprisoned giants.
|
When they first came, panic took a deep hold on the hearts of every person on Earth.
Earth, a planet that was having to deal with not just being invaded, but coming to terms with not being the only intelligent species in the galaxy at the same time.
It was something of a rough patch, to put it lightly.
Personally, aliens had always seemed very probable to me; why should we be alone, in the darkness of all of space, to handle the problems that simply come from being alive? Why did so many people immediately, conceitedly even, dismiss the idea that perhaps we weren't the only place where life had taken hold in such a way? For all of my open mindedness however, I've got to admit that I was just as surprised as everyone else when, all at once, the sun was eclipsed by the immeasurable number of ships that appeared, seemingly from nowhere.
That day, I'd thought that I must have missed news of some kind of eclipse.
I'd slipped on my shoes and jogged down the steps of my building, joining a long queue of people. They were all frozen in shock, staring into the sky.
Our response was quick: for all of their obvious strengths over us, they had a surprising lack of knowledge about what we'd achieved. In other words, they didn't know that they likely had almost nothing to be scared of. Probably as a result of this fear, they sent down a solitary cluster of ships, chipping away from the swarm in the sky like paint from a wall. In what might have been the biggest stroke of luck in human history, they landed in New York City.
By this time, I was back up in my apartment, my elbows in my lap, watching it all unfold on the news with a few neighbours who I'd called in from the hall. The ship, a sleek, black affair, that landed smoothly onto the water by the Statue of Liberty, pulled into shore almost painfully slowly. As the roof of the ship lifted, a creature, completely obscured by an almost skintight black spacesuit, climbed purposefully out and walked into the crowd that had immediately gathered to watch it.
The creature's voice was ancient and harsh, sounding foreign and jarring to the ear, but was later reported to have been heard clearly in the language of whomever was listening to it, a trick that humanity now is only beginning to think about the implications of (could they do something to our brains?) He asked simply to be pointed towards someone in a position of power. He needn't have even asked: across the world, global superpowers were scrambling to send representatives to meet it quietly desperate to make a positive impression.
After speaking, he turned to walk back to his ship, apparently intending to wait there until his request had been granted. No sooner than as he had turned on his heel, he stopped dead in his tracks. His helmeted face had locked eyes with the Statue behind him, the colossal sentinel watching his every move. In retrospect, his demeanour changed immediately. He turned back, almost for reassurance, to the crowd standing around him, and then quickly ran back to his ship, opting to float a safe distance above the water while he waited.
Inside of fifteen minutes, the mayor had arrived with a fleet of cars that would once have turned heads, but now was dwarfed by the threat that lay in wait above us all. He signalled to the ship, and it slowly lowered, the roof opening as it hovered 10 feet above the poor man. The mayor got a lot of good press for his handling of the encounter afterwards, but I believe that we'd won from the moment the creature had seen the Lady that lay in wait behind him.
"Identify yourself!" it shouted, sounding slightly more panicked and slightly less in control than he had so shortly before,
"I am the leader of this area that you've landed in. We want to know why you're here and what you plan to do." he replied.
The creature thought for a moment, his gaze drifting slowly over to the statue once again.
"For now, we mean you no harm." he said coldly. "You must tell us what point of technological advancement you are at, quickly, if you wish for us to stay that way." Here his voice betrayed him: even with the jagged, alien tone of voice he spoke with, it cracked slightly on the last word.
The mayor thought for a moment, nodding at man who had whispered into his ear. "It isn't up for me to tell you such things. You have to allow us some time to plan, to work out how to establish a good relationship between our peoples."
The alien had just about choked on his anger. With seemingly more difficulty than before, he spat out "You must tell us immediately how you froze the giants, and how you dare to so frivolously keep them around like that, or I promise that your people will cease to exist before you can speak another word."
In a moment that has been immortalised in movies, books and every other form of media since, a moment that caused a cheer that it felt like could be heard everywhere around the world, a moment that likely saved humanity as a species, the mayor simply replied a single sentence.
"Wait till you see what happens when we unfreeze them."
The next morning, humanity woke on a blue sky.
\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_
If you liked this, come and check out my other favourites on r/ColourlessWind!
|
I didn’t realize it until it was too late.
It all started with the disappearance of the Statue of Liberty in New York. Nearby witness explained that all of sudden, the monument just disappeared into thin air. The next few days, the same phenomenon occurred again and again. In all parts of the world, the world’s most famous statues all vanished without a trace.
The general public quickly pointed out who the only culprit could be. After all, these miraculous feats could only be performed with power outside of human bounds. I couldn’t easily cast suspicion on our new allies though. As president of the Human Alien Relations Committee, I could only describe our bond with the extraterrestrial creatures as amiable. We had successfully cooperated together on many occasions; learning each other's languages within a few weeks, sharing technology to help colonize the moon and other planets, and simply teaching the other more about the universe we live in.
However, upon recalling one past conversation I had with the leader of the aliens, I decided to confront it at their base on Earth.
“Do you still believe that statues are imprisoned beings?” I questioned.
“Well of course, after all, their form and stature resemble giants,” their leader calmly responded.
“But why? Have I not already explained how the statues are just inanimate objects made of material? Besides, there are no such things as giants on Earth!” I frantically spoke with the truth slowly dawning upon me. “So does this truly mean that you guys are the ones responsible for the statue heists.”
The alien leader walked close towards me, taking a few seconds to respond. “Well, to answer your second question, it’s true, but you still claim these “statues” were never living? The rest of the aliens and I cannot accept this, for we have seen our own imprisoned in stone just like you humans have captured these giants. Petrification is an intolerable crime, so we have vowed to free all of those trapped by this malady and punish the perpetrators across this universe.”
I stood still in shock for a few seconds, digesting all that I heard. My feet started to slowly pace backward with the word “punish” resounding in my mind.
After a brief silence, I attempted to retort, “Well um, I’m sorry about what happen-”
The alien leader cut me off and sighed. “Now that I have divulged our secrets to you, you may no longer return to your own.” Before I could process his words and escape, he pulled out a foreign device shaped like a gun and pointed it at me. It pulled the trigger and sent a red beam of light towards my arm. Losing total control of my body, I fell over onto the ground in complete paralysis.
Staring at my arm while I lay on the ground, I finally understood what aliens planned for us all along. In my last few moments of consciousness, I stared at my wounded arm and witnessed skin miraculously transform to stone. As my feeling of everything drifted away, I silently wished that we could win the ensuing battle against the enemies we welcomed into our home.
|
|
[WP] Aliens don't understand the concept of statues, and have come to the conclusion that we have imprisoned giants.
|
The Snuffleoids are a peaceful race. Their planet has no concept of war, violence, or natural predatory instincts. On Planet Snuffle, there is no food-chain. All animals coexist peacefully deriving nutrients from the air, soil and sunshine exclusively. Our xenologists have studied them for years and are unable to identify a single defensive trait or capability—natural or otherwise.
Yet they had mastered interstellar travel and took the initiative to make first contact with Earth. They shared their technology with us, and propelled humanity to the space age. We shared what we could, but of course, kept our military capabilities hidden. Even today the Snuffleoids don’t fully understand what humans are truly capable of. They don’t know about nuclear missiles or rail-guns. They don’t know that the cannons on our ships are meant for anything other than mining operations.
Diplomatic encounters with their kind are easy. There's never any pushback, or negotiation—never any need to issue threats or flex muscle. They invariably roll over to our every wish, and if that ever stops, only then will we reveal our hand.
Mr. Noodleton sat silently in my office, admiring the view of the New York City skyline off to the side. He was small, only slightly larger than a cat. His body was round and his fur exceedingly fluffy, as if made of cotton candy.
“So Mr. Noodleton,” I said. “I understand you’re here to discuss trade routes on behalf of the Snuffleoids.”
“I sure am.” he said, his voice distinctly sounding like a Muppet.
“What’s your proposal?”
“*Welllll...* you know how humans have been mining the asteroid belt?"
"Yes," I said.
"And you know how we Snuffleoids *also* like to mine the asteroid belt?"
"Yes."
"Great! So we share a common interest! Asteroids are just great aren't they?"
"Yes," I said again, starting to get impatient. It was always like this talking to a Snuffleoid. Like speaking with a toddler. "What's your point?"
"Well humans have been mining it quite a lot, you see. Its made it *preeeetty* hard for us. We want to talk about ways we can *both* mine the belt and not, well, as you humans say 'fuck each other over.'”
I nodded. This is what I had expected, we had received complaints from a number of Snuffleoid ships about human activity in the belt. “Send us your proposal in writing and we will consider it. That said, we are in desperate need of the ore we mine. We will not consider any course of action which curtails our operation.”
Mr. Noodleton nodded, but remained silent.
“Will that be a problem?” I asked.
Mr. Noodleton seemed fixated on the view behind me. I turned around, realizing he was looking at the Statue of Liberty. “It’s beautiful isn't it?” I said.
“It sure is. Humans sure must be strong to imprison a Titan like that without any Svenlodar.”
Not recognizing the word I quickly typed it into my translator, but retrieved no results. “What are Svenlodar?” I asked.
“It's a Snuffleoid thing," Mr. Noodleton said dismissively. "There's no human word for it... You know, I sure would be interested to hear how your kind imprisoned the Titans. I bet the stories are *reaaalll* great. I *prooomise* I won't tell anyone. As your kind say, I 'swear on my pinky.'"
I smiled, sensing the source of the confusion. “It’s just a statute, she symbolizes freedom.”
“A statute?”
“Yes. It’s not real.”
“Was it ever real?”
“No, of course not.”
Mr. Noodleton began laughing, a strange high-pitched-yet-guttural sound. I joined in, finding the mix-up quite funny. I’d be telling the office about it as soon as the meeting was over. When his laughter subsided he continued. “Well,” he said. “That explains *sooooo* much. We're just going to go ahead and revoke our offer.”
“I’m sorry?”
“*Yeahhh,* we're sorry too. The Snuffleoids will be assuming full control of the belt, effective immediately.”
I put on my most condescending smile, excited to flex the full power of the office behind me. “Look, Mr. Noodleton. Humanity will not bend to your wishes. We were generous to allow your kind to mine the belt at all. Now, we may have to rethink that generosity.”
Mr. Noodleton had pulled out his holopad and began inputting a series of commands.
“Are you listening?” I asked. “This is not a joke.”
“Take a look at these pictures,” he said, projecting image after image in the air. “What do you see?”
They were pictures of various statutes—large hulking monuments of grotesque creatures more fearsome looking than any human fiction. The last image was of a sea of stone monsters, their scale only apparent by the pink Snuffleoid mountain they surrounded.
“I just see statues,” I said.
“Not quite.” Mr. Noodleton replied. “Snuffloids don’t have statues.”
***
&nbsp;
Thanks for reading! I collect and post my personal favorite pieces at r/Banana_Scribe
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I didn’t realize it until it was too late.
It all started with the disappearance of the Statue of Liberty in New York. Nearby witness explained that all of sudden, the monument just disappeared into thin air. The next few days, the same phenomenon occurred again and again. In all parts of the world, the world’s most famous statues all vanished without a trace.
The general public quickly pointed out who the only culprit could be. After all, these miraculous feats could only be performed with power outside of human bounds. I couldn’t easily cast suspicion on our new allies though. As president of the Human Alien Relations Committee, I could only describe our bond with the extraterrestrial creatures as amiable. We had successfully cooperated together on many occasions; learning each other's languages within a few weeks, sharing technology to help colonize the moon and other planets, and simply teaching the other more about the universe we live in.
However, upon recalling one past conversation I had with the leader of the aliens, I decided to confront it at their base on Earth.
“Do you still believe that statues are imprisoned beings?” I questioned.
“Well of course, after all, their form and stature resemble giants,” their leader calmly responded.
“But why? Have I not already explained how the statues are just inanimate objects made of material? Besides, there are no such things as giants on Earth!” I frantically spoke with the truth slowly dawning upon me. “So does this truly mean that you guys are the ones responsible for the statue heists.”
The alien leader walked close towards me, taking a few seconds to respond. “Well, to answer your second question, it’s true, but you still claim these “statues” were never living? The rest of the aliens and I cannot accept this, for we have seen our own imprisoned in stone just like you humans have captured these giants. Petrification is an intolerable crime, so we have vowed to free all of those trapped by this malady and punish the perpetrators across this universe.”
I stood still in shock for a few seconds, digesting all that I heard. My feet started to slowly pace backward with the word “punish” resounding in my mind.
After a brief silence, I attempted to retort, “Well um, I’m sorry about what happen-”
The alien leader cut me off and sighed. “Now that I have divulged our secrets to you, you may no longer return to your own.” Before I could process his words and escape, he pulled out a foreign device shaped like a gun and pointed it at me. It pulled the trigger and sent a red beam of light towards my arm. Losing total control of my body, I fell over onto the ground in complete paralysis.
Staring at my arm while I lay on the ground, I finally understood what aliens planned for us all along. In my last few moments of consciousness, I stared at my wounded arm and witnessed skin miraculously transform to stone. As my feeling of everything drifted away, I silently wished that we could win the ensuing battle against the enemies we welcomed into our home.
|
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[WP] Aliens don't understand the concept of statues, and have come to the conclusion that we have imprisoned giants.
|
"No. No those are rocks that have been shaped by humans to resemble various beings. They're also art, which we just talked about. Remember the happy clouds?"
"Also. Art. Happy clouds yes."
"Right. So we are not a race of giant slaying and imprisoning super beings who can battle your - what did you call them? - the Kathori? 500ft tall sun demons?"
"Yes from the sun. Many suns. Suns beyond -"
"Beyond the reckoning of final light. Yes we discussed this. Look, those are statues. Art. Happy clouds. Ok? We can't fight a sun demon. We couldn't fight you. Do you remember us having to explain those things we used on you when we met were supposed to be weapons?"
"Guns. Oh. We have made a grave error."
"Yeah."
"May you be consumed quickly and without malice when the Kathori come to ravage your light. Farewell human."
"C'mon man."
|
“I see you immortalize the most iconic representations of your species potential in many elements, what is the reason?”
I paused for a moment and thought about what to say. This had been a very strange day.
When I had woken up I hadn’t imagined I would be leading an Alien Emissary (AE) on a tour of ancient human art.
The entire conversation thus far had proven ... Alien. I couldn’t quite place my finger on it, couldn’t really grok it, but in some odd way it felt like me and the AE were having two completely different but interacting conversations.
“Uh. Yeah they are icons in a way, frozen moments of human ego.”
“Yes. Why the different materials? Would not a single homogeneous substrate allow for more economic retrieval?”
“Uh ... each human civilization chooses and relies on different material sources for art. This combined with cultural trends, themselves an evolving context specific set of behavioral patterns often blended with social and legal rules, results in unique styles of art.”
“Ah, yes, I am familiar with this term “Art”.”
The AE flopped its belly in what my HUD told me was their species equivalent of finger quotes.
“Your species uses this term and others like it with wild abandon. It is impossible to tell which things considered “art” are real or false.”
I literally stopped walking as my brain tried to crunch this comment. It felt like something went “twang” in my head, and then I suddenly felt quite goofy.
“Uh. Art is art. It’s as real as you think.”
“This is why we AE (thank you translator for handling the weird screeching sound it actually made) do not understand you humans.
You label what is clearly factual or factually based as art or fiction, and label what is clearly false or based on lies as fact.”
“Oh. Ok. Hold on.
This is hurting my brain.
Too many big and heavy concepts at once. Feels like my brain just had a cramp and I’m pretty sure we don’t have nerves in there.”
“Simply tell me why the frozen humans are made of such a variety of materials. It seems inefficient.”
“... uh.
Brain. Hurt.
Ok. Reset. 5,43,2,1 sorry about that but it helps. Um.
Each human culture develops its own artistic style to include the process by which the art is created. The variety of materials involved in statuary is due to many factors like geography, culture, foreign influence, societally specific mythos, societal ideology...
It’s really complicated and I didn’t study art but I’m trying to respect a thing every human society ever to exist has created and is the most likely proof of sentience in a species...”
“Ah I see. The variety in method of capture is due to geographic restrictions. How did the ancient humans as you call them account for the potential of escape from each material?”
“ .... ok I’m having a “dumb brain moment”.
What.
What uh. Do you mean by escape?”
“When the entities representing your species potential become dissatisfied with frozen time, how do you account for their escape?”
“ ... uh. These are ... statues. These are like 3D photos.”
“... I do not understand, what do you do with your undesirables then? Are these not the most extreme examples of undesirable behavior in your species frozen in everlasting punishment for their transgressions?”
I didn’t really think at all before responding.
“... uh. No. If you commit a crime you get put in jail, adult time out, and if you lived in a progressive society you received education on how to become a functional member of society. In totalitarian societies you would be re-educated to work for the society that jailed you or simply abandoned as a “criminal” and made a non member by default.”
“This sounds like torture. Why not simply lock them in time and space until the final judgement occurs at the end of the Universe?”
“... yeah weird how common that belief is but to us it seems like torture to take someone’s life away. We reserve that for the worst of us, those who absolutely cannot participate in society.”
“I believe you have the worse habit here. We simply lock them in time. Morally and philosophically we prevail because they have not died and cannot cause more harm.”
“... I uh. OH GREAT THE END OF THE TOUR. I’m so happy I met you and I would love to continue this conversation but we’ll never meet again.
So unfortunate.
Bye!”
And then I left. And eventually left that job. Arguing moral philosophy with aliens is just ... too much. Everything gets weird when you think about it too much.
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[WP] Aliens don't understand the concept of statues, and have come to the conclusion that we have imprisoned giants.
|
When they first came, panic took a deep hold on the hearts of every person on Earth.
Earth, a planet that was having to deal with not just being invaded, but coming to terms with not being the only intelligent species in the galaxy at the same time.
It was something of a rough patch, to put it lightly.
Personally, aliens had always seemed very probable to me; why should we be alone, in the darkness of all of space, to handle the problems that simply come from being alive? Why did so many people immediately, conceitedly even, dismiss the idea that perhaps we weren't the only place where life had taken hold in such a way? For all of my open mindedness however, I've got to admit that I was just as surprised as everyone else when, all at once, the sun was eclipsed by the immeasurable number of ships that appeared, seemingly from nowhere.
That day, I'd thought that I must have missed news of some kind of eclipse.
I'd slipped on my shoes and jogged down the steps of my building, joining a long queue of people. They were all frozen in shock, staring into the sky.
Our response was quick: for all of their obvious strengths over us, they had a surprising lack of knowledge about what we'd achieved. In other words, they didn't know that they likely had almost nothing to be scared of. Probably as a result of this fear, they sent down a solitary cluster of ships, chipping away from the swarm in the sky like paint from a wall. In what might have been the biggest stroke of luck in human history, they landed in New York City.
By this time, I was back up in my apartment, my elbows in my lap, watching it all unfold on the news with a few neighbours who I'd called in from the hall. The ship, a sleek, black affair, that landed smoothly onto the water by the Statue of Liberty, pulled into shore almost painfully slowly. As the roof of the ship lifted, a creature, completely obscured by an almost skintight black spacesuit, climbed purposefully out and walked into the crowd that had immediately gathered to watch it.
The creature's voice was ancient and harsh, sounding foreign and jarring to the ear, but was later reported to have been heard clearly in the language of whomever was listening to it, a trick that humanity now is only beginning to think about the implications of (could they do something to our brains?) He asked simply to be pointed towards someone in a position of power. He needn't have even asked: across the world, global superpowers were scrambling to send representatives to meet it quietly desperate to make a positive impression.
After speaking, he turned to walk back to his ship, apparently intending to wait there until his request had been granted. No sooner than as he had turned on his heel, he stopped dead in his tracks. His helmeted face had locked eyes with the Statue behind him, the colossal sentinel watching his every move. In retrospect, his demeanour changed immediately. He turned back, almost for reassurance, to the crowd standing around him, and then quickly ran back to his ship, opting to float a safe distance above the water while he waited.
Inside of fifteen minutes, the mayor had arrived with a fleet of cars that would once have turned heads, but now was dwarfed by the threat that lay in wait above us all. He signalled to the ship, and it slowly lowered, the roof opening as it hovered 10 feet above the poor man. The mayor got a lot of good press for his handling of the encounter afterwards, but I believe that we'd won from the moment the creature had seen the Lady that lay in wait behind him.
"Identify yourself!" it shouted, sounding slightly more panicked and slightly less in control than he had so shortly before,
"I am the leader of this area that you've landed in. We want to know why you're here and what you plan to do." he replied.
The creature thought for a moment, his gaze drifting slowly over to the statue once again.
"For now, we mean you no harm." he said coldly. "You must tell us what point of technological advancement you are at, quickly, if you wish for us to stay that way." Here his voice betrayed him: even with the jagged, alien tone of voice he spoke with, it cracked slightly on the last word.
The mayor thought for a moment, nodding at man who had whispered into his ear. "It isn't up for me to tell you such things. You have to allow us some time to plan, to work out how to establish a good relationship between our peoples."
The alien had just about choked on his anger. With seemingly more difficulty than before, he spat out "You must tell us immediately how you froze the giants, and how you dare to so frivolously keep them around like that, or I promise that your people will cease to exist before you can speak another word."
In a moment that has been immortalised in movies, books and every other form of media since, a moment that caused a cheer that it felt like could be heard everywhere around the world, a moment that likely saved humanity as a species, the mayor simply replied a single sentence.
"Wait till you see what happens when we unfreeze them."
The next morning, humanity woke on a blue sky.
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If you liked this, come and check out my other favourites on r/ColourlessWind!
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\-- brazen giant of Greek --
\-- conquering limbs --
Here -- shall stand
A mighty woman --
Is the imprisoned -- and her name
Mother of Exiles. -- her mild eyes --
\-- twin --
"Keep, ancient -- pomp!" cries she
\-- "Give me --
\-- masses yearning -- free
The wretched refuse --
\-- golden door!"
Unael looked at the translation on her device, her upper body askew - not everything seemed to have a one-on-one rendering. She had to resist the urge to touch the worn metal plate with her feelers.
*And...?* Her xenoarchaeologist colleague, Scran, telepathically asked her. She could feel his anxiety in her mind.
*There’s too much missing, but this looks promising… Here, have a look at some of the references,* she beamed back. She handed Scran the translator - he was more versed in human language than she was - and slithered back to take in the big picture again.
When she was far enough away, she drew herself up and gazed at the massive, half buried, light green giant. The petrified being held two objects; close to its chest, just peeking out of the sand, was some sort of tablet. The other appendage was stretched up high, far above its head, and held some sort of tool.
A weapon, perhaps, Unael thought. Despite being so different in physiology, she felt she understood the emotion on the giant’s face. It was one of grief, anger, but also determination. Unael again felt overcome by those same emotions, just like the first time she laid her big black eyes on the giant.
How could the humans do this to them? To humiliate an entire race like this…
Many petrified giants had been discovered on the deserted planet. They came in different shapes and had a wide variety of phenotypes - but not much was known about them. It was clear that they were outnumbered by the humans, whom they shared a planet with, once.
Humans… she thought with trembling feelers, and looked across the sandy dunes at the crumbling structures that dotted the horizon, their surfaces a mirror for the orange clouds the tallest of them pierced.
*This must have been their leader, Scran told her. It seems to me the humans describe their victory over her kind. The Mother of Exiles, they called this one, and a mighty woman too. The humans must have had some respect for them. Looking at the second part, it looks like they even recorded her final words. Sounds like a cry for freedom.*
*So, what are they called?* Unael sent back.
*They seemed to be called the Greeks,* came the response.
|
|
[WP] Aliens don't understand the concept of statues, and have come to the conclusion that we have imprisoned giants.
|
The Snuffleoids are a peaceful race. Their planet has no concept of war, violence, or natural predatory instincts. On Planet Snuffle, there is no food-chain. All animals coexist peacefully deriving nutrients from the air, soil and sunshine exclusively. Our xenologists have studied them for years and are unable to identify a single defensive trait or capability—natural or otherwise.
Yet they had mastered interstellar travel and took the initiative to make first contact with Earth. They shared their technology with us, and propelled humanity to the space age. We shared what we could, but of course, kept our military capabilities hidden. Even today the Snuffleoids don’t fully understand what humans are truly capable of. They don’t know about nuclear missiles or rail-guns. They don’t know that the cannons on our ships are meant for anything other than mining operations.
Diplomatic encounters with their kind are easy. There's never any pushback, or negotiation—never any need to issue threats or flex muscle. They invariably roll over to our every wish, and if that ever stops, only then will we reveal our hand.
Mr. Noodleton sat silently in my office, admiring the view of the New York City skyline off to the side. He was small, only slightly larger than a cat. His body was round and his fur exceedingly fluffy, as if made of cotton candy.
“So Mr. Noodleton,” I said. “I understand you’re here to discuss trade routes on behalf of the Snuffleoids.”
“I sure am.” he said, his voice distinctly sounding like a Muppet.
“What’s your proposal?”
“*Welllll...* you know how humans have been mining the asteroid belt?"
"Yes," I said.
"And you know how we Snuffleoids *also* like to mine the asteroid belt?"
"Yes."
"Great! So we share a common interest! Asteroids are just great aren't they?"
"Yes," I said again, starting to get impatient. It was always like this talking to a Snuffleoid. Like speaking with a toddler. "What's your point?"
"Well humans have been mining it quite a lot, you see. Its made it *preeeetty* hard for us. We want to talk about ways we can *both* mine the belt and not, well, as you humans say 'fuck each other over.'”
I nodded. This is what I had expected, we had received complaints from a number of Snuffleoid ships about human activity in the belt. “Send us your proposal in writing and we will consider it. That said, we are in desperate need of the ore we mine. We will not consider any course of action which curtails our operation.”
Mr. Noodleton nodded, but remained silent.
“Will that be a problem?” I asked.
Mr. Noodleton seemed fixated on the view behind me. I turned around, realizing he was looking at the Statue of Liberty. “It’s beautiful isn't it?” I said.
“It sure is. Humans sure must be strong to imprison a Titan like that without any Svenlodar.”
Not recognizing the word I quickly typed it into my translator, but retrieved no results. “What are Svenlodar?” I asked.
“It's a Snuffleoid thing," Mr. Noodleton said dismissively. "There's no human word for it... You know, I sure would be interested to hear how your kind imprisoned the Titans. I bet the stories are *reaaalll* great. I *prooomise* I won't tell anyone. As your kind say, I 'swear on my pinky.'"
I smiled, sensing the source of the confusion. “It’s just a statute, she symbolizes freedom.”
“A statute?”
“Yes. It’s not real.”
“Was it ever real?”
“No, of course not.”
Mr. Noodleton began laughing, a strange high-pitched-yet-guttural sound. I joined in, finding the mix-up quite funny. I’d be telling the office about it as soon as the meeting was over. When his laughter subsided he continued. “Well,” he said. “That explains *sooooo* much. We're just going to go ahead and revoke our offer.”
“I’m sorry?”
“*Yeahhh,* we're sorry too. The Snuffleoids will be assuming full control of the belt, effective immediately.”
I put on my most condescending smile, excited to flex the full power of the office behind me. “Look, Mr. Noodleton. Humanity will not bend to your wishes. We were generous to allow your kind to mine the belt at all. Now, we may have to rethink that generosity.”
Mr. Noodleton had pulled out his holopad and began inputting a series of commands.
“Are you listening?” I asked. “This is not a joke.”
“Take a look at these pictures,” he said, projecting image after image in the air. “What do you see?”
They were pictures of various statutes—large hulking monuments of grotesque creatures more fearsome looking than any human fiction. The last image was of a sea of stone monsters, their scale only apparent by the pink Snuffleoid mountain they surrounded.
“I just see statues,” I said.
“Not quite.” Mr. Noodleton replied. “Snuffloids don’t have statues.”
***
&nbsp;
Thanks for reading! I collect and post my personal favorite pieces at r/Banana_Scribe
|
\-- brazen giant of Greek --
\-- conquering limbs --
Here -- shall stand
A mighty woman --
Is the imprisoned -- and her name
Mother of Exiles. -- her mild eyes --
\-- twin --
"Keep, ancient -- pomp!" cries she
\-- "Give me --
\-- masses yearning -- free
The wretched refuse --
\-- golden door!"
Unael looked at the translation on her device, her upper body askew - not everything seemed to have a one-on-one rendering. She had to resist the urge to touch the worn metal plate with her feelers.
*And...?* Her xenoarchaeologist colleague, Scran, telepathically asked her. She could feel his anxiety in her mind.
*There’s too much missing, but this looks promising… Here, have a look at some of the references,* she beamed back. She handed Scran the translator - he was more versed in human language than she was - and slithered back to take in the big picture again.
When she was far enough away, she drew herself up and gazed at the massive, half buried, light green giant. The petrified being held two objects; close to its chest, just peeking out of the sand, was some sort of tablet. The other appendage was stretched up high, far above its head, and held some sort of tool.
A weapon, perhaps, Unael thought. Despite being so different in physiology, she felt she understood the emotion on the giant’s face. It was one of grief, anger, but also determination. Unael again felt overcome by those same emotions, just like the first time she laid her big black eyes on the giant.
How could the humans do this to them? To humiliate an entire race like this…
Many petrified giants had been discovered on the deserted planet. They came in different shapes and had a wide variety of phenotypes - but not much was known about them. It was clear that they were outnumbered by the humans, whom they shared a planet with, once.
Humans… she thought with trembling feelers, and looked across the sandy dunes at the crumbling structures that dotted the horizon, their surfaces a mirror for the orange clouds the tallest of them pierced.
*This must have been their leader, Scran told her. It seems to me the humans describe their victory over her kind. The Mother of Exiles, they called this one, and a mighty woman too. The humans must have had some respect for them. Looking at the second part, it looks like they even recorded her final words. Sounds like a cry for freedom.*
*So, what are they called?* Unael sent back.
*They seemed to be called the Greeks,* came the response.
|
|
[WP] Aliens don't understand the concept of statues, and have come to the conclusion that we have imprisoned giants.
|
When they first came, panic took a deep hold on the hearts of every person on Earth.
Earth, a planet that was having to deal with not just being invaded, but coming to terms with not being the only intelligent species in the galaxy at the same time.
It was something of a rough patch, to put it lightly.
Personally, aliens had always seemed very probable to me; why should we be alone, in the darkness of all of space, to handle the problems that simply come from being alive? Why did so many people immediately, conceitedly even, dismiss the idea that perhaps we weren't the only place where life had taken hold in such a way? For all of my open mindedness however, I've got to admit that I was just as surprised as everyone else when, all at once, the sun was eclipsed by the immeasurable number of ships that appeared, seemingly from nowhere.
That day, I'd thought that I must have missed news of some kind of eclipse.
I'd slipped on my shoes and jogged down the steps of my building, joining a long queue of people. They were all frozen in shock, staring into the sky.
Our response was quick: for all of their obvious strengths over us, they had a surprising lack of knowledge about what we'd achieved. In other words, they didn't know that they likely had almost nothing to be scared of. Probably as a result of this fear, they sent down a solitary cluster of ships, chipping away from the swarm in the sky like paint from a wall. In what might have been the biggest stroke of luck in human history, they landed in New York City.
By this time, I was back up in my apartment, my elbows in my lap, watching it all unfold on the news with a few neighbours who I'd called in from the hall. The ship, a sleek, black affair, that landed smoothly onto the water by the Statue of Liberty, pulled into shore almost painfully slowly. As the roof of the ship lifted, a creature, completely obscured by an almost skintight black spacesuit, climbed purposefully out and walked into the crowd that had immediately gathered to watch it.
The creature's voice was ancient and harsh, sounding foreign and jarring to the ear, but was later reported to have been heard clearly in the language of whomever was listening to it, a trick that humanity now is only beginning to think about the implications of (could they do something to our brains?) He asked simply to be pointed towards someone in a position of power. He needn't have even asked: across the world, global superpowers were scrambling to send representatives to meet it quietly desperate to make a positive impression.
After speaking, he turned to walk back to his ship, apparently intending to wait there until his request had been granted. No sooner than as he had turned on his heel, he stopped dead in his tracks. His helmeted face had locked eyes with the Statue behind him, the colossal sentinel watching his every move. In retrospect, his demeanour changed immediately. He turned back, almost for reassurance, to the crowd standing around him, and then quickly ran back to his ship, opting to float a safe distance above the water while he waited.
Inside of fifteen minutes, the mayor had arrived with a fleet of cars that would once have turned heads, but now was dwarfed by the threat that lay in wait above us all. He signalled to the ship, and it slowly lowered, the roof opening as it hovered 10 feet above the poor man. The mayor got a lot of good press for his handling of the encounter afterwards, but I believe that we'd won from the moment the creature had seen the Lady that lay in wait behind him.
"Identify yourself!" it shouted, sounding slightly more panicked and slightly less in control than he had so shortly before,
"I am the leader of this area that you've landed in. We want to know why you're here and what you plan to do." he replied.
The creature thought for a moment, his gaze drifting slowly over to the statue once again.
"For now, we mean you no harm." he said coldly. "You must tell us what point of technological advancement you are at, quickly, if you wish for us to stay that way." Here his voice betrayed him: even with the jagged, alien tone of voice he spoke with, it cracked slightly on the last word.
The mayor thought for a moment, nodding at man who had whispered into his ear. "It isn't up for me to tell you such things. You have to allow us some time to plan, to work out how to establish a good relationship between our peoples."
The alien had just about choked on his anger. With seemingly more difficulty than before, he spat out "You must tell us immediately how you froze the giants, and how you dare to so frivolously keep them around like that, or I promise that your people will cease to exist before you can speak another word."
In a moment that has been immortalised in movies, books and every other form of media since, a moment that caused a cheer that it felt like could be heard everywhere around the world, a moment that likely saved humanity as a species, the mayor simply replied a single sentence.
"Wait till you see what happens when we unfreeze them."
The next morning, humanity woke on a blue sky.
\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_
If you liked this, come and check out my other favourites on r/ColourlessWind!
|
They feared the statues. Immobile monuments of metal and stone, ones we've walked by without so much as a fleeting thought, and yet they inevitably shirked and shrunk.
It was curious behaviour, but perhaps not unexpected. We had come from very different worlds, after all. Where we erected memorials of our likeness high up in the sky, their preferred way of honour was to allow effigies to float off into space, perhaps spreading stories to other civilizations.
We laughed then. Because we had barely figured out--by their standards--how to allow our kind to even set foot past our atmosphere. But they were equally impressed with our engineering and architecture on Earth, where we had imprisoned giants with casts of alloy.
We laughed again. "These are not giants," we explained, as best as we could.
Our visitors could scarcely believe it. But it was the truth. Whilst our tributes could not make it to another world, we ensured they stayed alive through time, if not space.
"So why would you topple them?" our guets from another world asked, curious once more.
"Because time, just like space, can be incredibly unkind to those that came before," we said.
Some of them might have been fearsome giants, once. But now, they were nothing to be afraid of in braver times.
---
r/dexdrafts
|
|
[WP] Aliens don't understand the concept of statues, and have come to the conclusion that we have imprisoned giants.
|
The Snuffleoids are a peaceful race. Their planet has no concept of war, violence, or natural predatory instincts. On Planet Snuffle, there is no food-chain. All animals coexist peacefully deriving nutrients from the air, soil and sunshine exclusively. Our xenologists have studied them for years and are unable to identify a single defensive trait or capability—natural or otherwise.
Yet they had mastered interstellar travel and took the initiative to make first contact with Earth. They shared their technology with us, and propelled humanity to the space age. We shared what we could, but of course, kept our military capabilities hidden. Even today the Snuffleoids don’t fully understand what humans are truly capable of. They don’t know about nuclear missiles or rail-guns. They don’t know that the cannons on our ships are meant for anything other than mining operations.
Diplomatic encounters with their kind are easy. There's never any pushback, or negotiation—never any need to issue threats or flex muscle. They invariably roll over to our every wish, and if that ever stops, only then will we reveal our hand.
Mr. Noodleton sat silently in my office, admiring the view of the New York City skyline off to the side. He was small, only slightly larger than a cat. His body was round and his fur exceedingly fluffy, as if made of cotton candy.
“So Mr. Noodleton,” I said. “I understand you’re here to discuss trade routes on behalf of the Snuffleoids.”
“I sure am.” he said, his voice distinctly sounding like a Muppet.
“What’s your proposal?”
“*Welllll...* you know how humans have been mining the asteroid belt?"
"Yes," I said.
"And you know how we Snuffleoids *also* like to mine the asteroid belt?"
"Yes."
"Great! So we share a common interest! Asteroids are just great aren't they?"
"Yes," I said again, starting to get impatient. It was always like this talking to a Snuffleoid. Like speaking with a toddler. "What's your point?"
"Well humans have been mining it quite a lot, you see. Its made it *preeeetty* hard for us. We want to talk about ways we can *both* mine the belt and not, well, as you humans say 'fuck each other over.'”
I nodded. This is what I had expected, we had received complaints from a number of Snuffleoid ships about human activity in the belt. “Send us your proposal in writing and we will consider it. That said, we are in desperate need of the ore we mine. We will not consider any course of action which curtails our operation.”
Mr. Noodleton nodded, but remained silent.
“Will that be a problem?” I asked.
Mr. Noodleton seemed fixated on the view behind me. I turned around, realizing he was looking at the Statue of Liberty. “It’s beautiful isn't it?” I said.
“It sure is. Humans sure must be strong to imprison a Titan like that without any Svenlodar.”
Not recognizing the word I quickly typed it into my translator, but retrieved no results. “What are Svenlodar?” I asked.
“It's a Snuffleoid thing," Mr. Noodleton said dismissively. "There's no human word for it... You know, I sure would be interested to hear how your kind imprisoned the Titans. I bet the stories are *reaaalll* great. I *prooomise* I won't tell anyone. As your kind say, I 'swear on my pinky.'"
I smiled, sensing the source of the confusion. “It’s just a statute, she symbolizes freedom.”
“A statute?”
“Yes. It’s not real.”
“Was it ever real?”
“No, of course not.”
Mr. Noodleton began laughing, a strange high-pitched-yet-guttural sound. I joined in, finding the mix-up quite funny. I’d be telling the office about it as soon as the meeting was over. When his laughter subsided he continued. “Well,” he said. “That explains *sooooo* much. We're just going to go ahead and revoke our offer.”
“I’m sorry?”
“*Yeahhh,* we're sorry too. The Snuffleoids will be assuming full control of the belt, effective immediately.”
I put on my most condescending smile, excited to flex the full power of the office behind me. “Look, Mr. Noodleton. Humanity will not bend to your wishes. We were generous to allow your kind to mine the belt at all. Now, we may have to rethink that generosity.”
Mr. Noodleton had pulled out his holopad and began inputting a series of commands.
“Are you listening?” I asked. “This is not a joke.”
“Take a look at these pictures,” he said, projecting image after image in the air. “What do you see?”
They were pictures of various statutes—large hulking monuments of grotesque creatures more fearsome looking than any human fiction. The last image was of a sea of stone monsters, their scale only apparent by the pink Snuffleoid mountain they surrounded.
“I just see statues,” I said.
“Not quite.” Mr. Noodleton replied. “Snuffloids don’t have statues.”
***
&nbsp;
Thanks for reading! I collect and post my personal favorite pieces at r/Banana_Scribe
|
They feared the statues. Immobile monuments of metal and stone, ones we've walked by without so much as a fleeting thought, and yet they inevitably shirked and shrunk.
It was curious behaviour, but perhaps not unexpected. We had come from very different worlds, after all. Where we erected memorials of our likeness high up in the sky, their preferred way of honour was to allow effigies to float off into space, perhaps spreading stories to other civilizations.
We laughed then. Because we had barely figured out--by their standards--how to allow our kind to even set foot past our atmosphere. But they were equally impressed with our engineering and architecture on Earth, where we had imprisoned giants with casts of alloy.
We laughed again. "These are not giants," we explained, as best as we could.
Our visitors could scarcely believe it. But it was the truth. Whilst our tributes could not make it to another world, we ensured they stayed alive through time, if not space.
"So why would you topple them?" our guets from another world asked, curious once more.
"Because time, just like space, can be incredibly unkind to those that came before," we said.
Some of them might have been fearsome giants, once. But now, they were nothing to be afraid of in braver times.
---
r/dexdrafts
|
|
[WP] Aliens don't understand the concept of statues, and have come to the conclusion that we have imprisoned giants.
|
The Snuffleoids are a peaceful race. Their planet has no concept of war, violence, or natural predatory instincts. On Planet Snuffle, there is no food-chain. All animals coexist peacefully deriving nutrients from the air, soil and sunshine exclusively. Our xenologists have studied them for years and are unable to identify a single defensive trait or capability—natural or otherwise.
Yet they had mastered interstellar travel and took the initiative to make first contact with Earth. They shared their technology with us, and propelled humanity to the space age. We shared what we could, but of course, kept our military capabilities hidden. Even today the Snuffleoids don’t fully understand what humans are truly capable of. They don’t know about nuclear missiles or rail-guns. They don’t know that the cannons on our ships are meant for anything other than mining operations.
Diplomatic encounters with their kind are easy. There's never any pushback, or negotiation—never any need to issue threats or flex muscle. They invariably roll over to our every wish, and if that ever stops, only then will we reveal our hand.
Mr. Noodleton sat silently in my office, admiring the view of the New York City skyline off to the side. He was small, only slightly larger than a cat. His body was round and his fur exceedingly fluffy, as if made of cotton candy.
“So Mr. Noodleton,” I said. “I understand you’re here to discuss trade routes on behalf of the Snuffleoids.”
“I sure am.” he said, his voice distinctly sounding like a Muppet.
“What’s your proposal?”
“*Welllll...* you know how humans have been mining the asteroid belt?"
"Yes," I said.
"And you know how we Snuffleoids *also* like to mine the asteroid belt?"
"Yes."
"Great! So we share a common interest! Asteroids are just great aren't they?"
"Yes," I said again, starting to get impatient. It was always like this talking to a Snuffleoid. Like speaking with a toddler. "What's your point?"
"Well humans have been mining it quite a lot, you see. Its made it *preeeetty* hard for us. We want to talk about ways we can *both* mine the belt and not, well, as you humans say 'fuck each other over.'”
I nodded. This is what I had expected, we had received complaints from a number of Snuffleoid ships about human activity in the belt. “Send us your proposal in writing and we will consider it. That said, we are in desperate need of the ore we mine. We will not consider any course of action which curtails our operation.”
Mr. Noodleton nodded, but remained silent.
“Will that be a problem?” I asked.
Mr. Noodleton seemed fixated on the view behind me. I turned around, realizing he was looking at the Statue of Liberty. “It’s beautiful isn't it?” I said.
“It sure is. Humans sure must be strong to imprison a Titan like that without any Svenlodar.”
Not recognizing the word I quickly typed it into my translator, but retrieved no results. “What are Svenlodar?” I asked.
“It's a Snuffleoid thing," Mr. Noodleton said dismissively. "There's no human word for it... You know, I sure would be interested to hear how your kind imprisoned the Titans. I bet the stories are *reaaalll* great. I *prooomise* I won't tell anyone. As your kind say, I 'swear on my pinky.'"
I smiled, sensing the source of the confusion. “It’s just a statute, she symbolizes freedom.”
“A statute?”
“Yes. It’s not real.”
“Was it ever real?”
“No, of course not.”
Mr. Noodleton began laughing, a strange high-pitched-yet-guttural sound. I joined in, finding the mix-up quite funny. I’d be telling the office about it as soon as the meeting was over. When his laughter subsided he continued. “Well,” he said. “That explains *sooooo* much. We're just going to go ahead and revoke our offer.”
“I’m sorry?”
“*Yeahhh,* we're sorry too. The Snuffleoids will be assuming full control of the belt, effective immediately.”
I put on my most condescending smile, excited to flex the full power of the office behind me. “Look, Mr. Noodleton. Humanity will not bend to your wishes. We were generous to allow your kind to mine the belt at all. Now, we may have to rethink that generosity.”
Mr. Noodleton had pulled out his holopad and began inputting a series of commands.
“Are you listening?” I asked. “This is not a joke.”
“Take a look at these pictures,” he said, projecting image after image in the air. “What do you see?”
They were pictures of various statutes—large hulking monuments of grotesque creatures more fearsome looking than any human fiction. The last image was of a sea of stone monsters, their scale only apparent by the pink Snuffleoid mountain they surrounded.
“I just see statues,” I said.
“Not quite.” Mr. Noodleton replied. “Snuffloids don’t have statues.”
***
&nbsp;
Thanks for reading! I collect and post my personal favorite pieces at r/Banana_Scribe
|
When they first came, panic took a deep hold on the hearts of every person on Earth.
Earth, a planet that was having to deal with not just being invaded, but coming to terms with not being the only intelligent species in the galaxy at the same time.
It was something of a rough patch, to put it lightly.
Personally, aliens had always seemed very probable to me; why should we be alone, in the darkness of all of space, to handle the problems that simply come from being alive? Why did so many people immediately, conceitedly even, dismiss the idea that perhaps we weren't the only place where life had taken hold in such a way? For all of my open mindedness however, I've got to admit that I was just as surprised as everyone else when, all at once, the sun was eclipsed by the immeasurable number of ships that appeared, seemingly from nowhere.
That day, I'd thought that I must have missed news of some kind of eclipse.
I'd slipped on my shoes and jogged down the steps of my building, joining a long queue of people. They were all frozen in shock, staring into the sky.
Our response was quick: for all of their obvious strengths over us, they had a surprising lack of knowledge about what we'd achieved. In other words, they didn't know that they likely had almost nothing to be scared of. Probably as a result of this fear, they sent down a solitary cluster of ships, chipping away from the swarm in the sky like paint from a wall. In what might have been the biggest stroke of luck in human history, they landed in New York City.
By this time, I was back up in my apartment, my elbows in my lap, watching it all unfold on the news with a few neighbours who I'd called in from the hall. The ship, a sleek, black affair, that landed smoothly onto the water by the Statue of Liberty, pulled into shore almost painfully slowly. As the roof of the ship lifted, a creature, completely obscured by an almost skintight black spacesuit, climbed purposefully out and walked into the crowd that had immediately gathered to watch it.
The creature's voice was ancient and harsh, sounding foreign and jarring to the ear, but was later reported to have been heard clearly in the language of whomever was listening to it, a trick that humanity now is only beginning to think about the implications of (could they do something to our brains?) He asked simply to be pointed towards someone in a position of power. He needn't have even asked: across the world, global superpowers were scrambling to send representatives to meet it quietly desperate to make a positive impression.
After speaking, he turned to walk back to his ship, apparently intending to wait there until his request had been granted. No sooner than as he had turned on his heel, he stopped dead in his tracks. His helmeted face had locked eyes with the Statue behind him, the colossal sentinel watching his every move. In retrospect, his demeanour changed immediately. He turned back, almost for reassurance, to the crowd standing around him, and then quickly ran back to his ship, opting to float a safe distance above the water while he waited.
Inside of fifteen minutes, the mayor had arrived with a fleet of cars that would once have turned heads, but now was dwarfed by the threat that lay in wait above us all. He signalled to the ship, and it slowly lowered, the roof opening as it hovered 10 feet above the poor man. The mayor got a lot of good press for his handling of the encounter afterwards, but I believe that we'd won from the moment the creature had seen the Lady that lay in wait behind him.
"Identify yourself!" it shouted, sounding slightly more panicked and slightly less in control than he had so shortly before,
"I am the leader of this area that you've landed in. We want to know why you're here and what you plan to do." he replied.
The creature thought for a moment, his gaze drifting slowly over to the statue once again.
"For now, we mean you no harm." he said coldly. "You must tell us what point of technological advancement you are at, quickly, if you wish for us to stay that way." Here his voice betrayed him: even with the jagged, alien tone of voice he spoke with, it cracked slightly on the last word.
The mayor thought for a moment, nodding at man who had whispered into his ear. "It isn't up for me to tell you such things. You have to allow us some time to plan, to work out how to establish a good relationship between our peoples."
The alien had just about choked on his anger. With seemingly more difficulty than before, he spat out "You must tell us immediately how you froze the giants, and how you dare to so frivolously keep them around like that, or I promise that your people will cease to exist before you can speak another word."
In a moment that has been immortalised in movies, books and every other form of media since, a moment that caused a cheer that it felt like could be heard everywhere around the world, a moment that likely saved humanity as a species, the mayor simply replied a single sentence.
"Wait till you see what happens when we unfreeze them."
The next morning, humanity woke on a blue sky.
\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_
If you liked this, come and check out my other favourites on r/ColourlessWind!
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[WP] As a former Chosen One you saw the signs when your daughter/son got themselves into a similar situation. You sent them off on a sleepover with their new friends. It's time to have a 'talk' with their new 'stuffed animal'.
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"Elena, Mrs. Hill is here." Anna called, slurring the words slightly. She shifted on the couch, just barely catching the bottle of vodka before it hit the floor.
"Okay. Thanks mom." Elena replied. "I packed everything, we'll be fine." Anna watched her daughter cross the room in an almost run, catching the mischief in her green eyes before she hurried out the door. The girl had never been a good liar. Once Elena was out the door and safely in Mrs. Hill's car, Anna turned and stumbled over to the side room, opening the door to reveal the small stuffed bunny she'd removed from her daughter's bag earlier. The bunny paused in its attempt to struggle out of the hamster cage Anna had repurposed as its prison.
"I greet you, Princess of the Court of Storms. Please don't kill me." The bunny begged, looking up to the looming woman. "Elena came through the door of her own Will, we were...surprised to say the least." It stammered in a soft, feminine voice. "She is...very sensitive to..." the bunny paused as Anna opened the cage top. "Oh, thank the Queens...ack!" The bunny shouted in surprise as Anna ripped it out of the cage, slamming it against the wall and holding it by its tiny throat.
"How long?" Anna questioned in a growl.
"Ah, only two weeks, please, I am doing my best!" The bunny squeaked frantically. "But the hole under the school, you remember it. Its opening again." The bunny struggled against the grown woman's hand. "The Queen of Hearts sends her regards."
"Hearts? Of course. She's too soft for this. I'll handle it." Anna snapped, lamenting her daughter's choices. "And you? You're going to disappear. " Anna began squeezing.
"You know that's not how it works!" The bunny screamed, struggling again. "We were all saddened by what happened to Prince James, but you can't handle the darkness!" Anna's grip relaxed at the mention of her brother. "Not as you are now." The bunny continued. "And it would be dangerous to try." A long silence followed before Anna dropped the bunny, falling to her knees shortly after.
"Is it him?" Anna questioned.
"At least partially." The bunny answered. "Though, we think the Weeping Martyr is simply being drawn by Elena's light." The bunny finished. "She has friends. A high schooler named Kiko is helping her." The bunny crawled over to rest its tiny paws on Anna's hand as it to comfort her.
"The math tutor." Anna nodded. Then she turned to fix the stuffed animal with a glare. "Have you told them?"
"Kiko knows. She's actually encountered the Weeping Martyr before. It...well, she lived." The bunny offered helpfully. "For what it is worth, i wish Elena didn't have the spark." The bunny shook its head. "You and your brother's service should have been enough."
"The place under the school, have you found who it has affected?" Anna snapped suddenly. The bunny covered its mouth with its tiny paws.
"I...I don't think i should say." The bunny stammered.
"Tell me." Anna stated, clenching her fist. Bright green sparks gathered in her hand, warming the air and crackling and popping like a live wire.
"Ah, Princess, that's..." The bunny squeaked in fear and covered its eyes as Anna reached down, placing her emerald lightning coated hand in front of the stuffed guide. "The gym teacher! Its her gym teacher!" The bunny shouted. "Please don't use your Tempesta on me!"
"Time for a parent teacher conference." Anna stated as she stood up, starting across the room.
"But you can't! Its dangerous, your light guttered years ago!" The bunny protested, hopping across the floor after the woman.
"Who said anything about light?" Anna replied, sliding the pistol out of the gunsafe.
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(On mobile sorry for formatting)
Harik Auber, Bane of the Giants and their Three-headed King, slumps down infront of the small plush rabbit. He shouts, "SPEAK", to the measly doll and silence fills the cottage. Harik sighs and begins to recant a saying in a forgotten language he would never have thought to use again. The Hare perks up then responds in the same tongue, "Harik, your daughter has been chosen. She must sail the open seas to a faraway country and save its people from the tyrant known as Hercules' equal". "No", Harik argues, "I will face this hardship". "You have no choice in the matter" refutes the doll, "She is the only one who can save them from the same torment your people faced ages ago. Her destiny is set in stone, such as yours." Harik looks to the mantle where his array of weapons lies. Only they know the pain and suffering he has endured. Tears swelling he rises and sets to sharpening the blades and fletching the arrows. For tomorrow his daugthers life truly begins.
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[WP] As a former Chosen One you saw the signs when your daughter/son got themselves into a similar situation. You sent them off on a sleepover with their new friends. It's time to have a 'talk' with their new 'stuffed animal'.
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"No. That's impossible," She mumbled to herself.
It was only the women in her family who were granted this power. The power to save other realms. Other worlds. Other *universes*. But here it sat. The Blade of Eternity, floating ominously in the closet of her only son.
She had been careful. Exceedingly so, even giving up on her dreams to become a teacher lest her influence manifest in some young woman seeing her as a mother figure. Best not to test the open-endedness of magical prophecies after all. Especially not how quick this one seemed to be to change course.
She paced. It had to be wrong. Had to. Was she pregnant? No. That was impossible. Surely there were other Chosen that could do this. She lost the love of her life and fought through hell to get him back. She EARNED the quiet life in the suburbs, dammit!!
She picked through the belongings a bit more. It had to be a mistake. She had faith any of he progeny would world the Blade with skill, of course, and maybe this was penance for trying to circumvent the prophecy that her daughter would take up the mantle. She pulled out an old clear storage bin, the kind she stuffed Christmas decorations in. What was all this?
Make-up. Dresses. Skirts...? She stopped, as the realization hit. A sense of pride...until the voice cut through her like the Blade through the Molten Kings armor.
"Mom?" She heard the voice behind her. Shakey and scared. She wasn't supposed to see this. Nobody was. It was secret for a reason but with so many cups and plates missing...
"Honey. Hi. What's...wrong?"
Eyes full of years as she held a skirt in hand.
"Would you still love me...if I was your daughter?"
The fear melted into love. Acceptance.
"Baby...if you're happy that's all that matters to me. And if it brings you joy of course I accept you as my daughter."
And realization.
"Oh, goddammit."
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(On mobile sorry for formatting)
Harik Auber, Bane of the Giants and their Three-headed King, slumps down infront of the small plush rabbit. He shouts, "SPEAK", to the measly doll and silence fills the cottage. Harik sighs and begins to recant a saying in a forgotten language he would never have thought to use again. The Hare perks up then responds in the same tongue, "Harik, your daughter has been chosen. She must sail the open seas to a faraway country and save its people from the tyrant known as Hercules' equal". "No", Harik argues, "I will face this hardship". "You have no choice in the matter" refutes the doll, "She is the only one who can save them from the same torment your people faced ages ago. Her destiny is set in stone, such as yours." Harik looks to the mantle where his array of weapons lies. Only they know the pain and suffering he has endured. Tears swelling he rises and sets to sharpening the blades and fletching the arrows. For tomorrow his daugthers life truly begins.
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[WP] As a former Chosen One you saw the signs when your daughter/son got themselves into a similar situation. You sent them off on a sleepover with their new friends. It's time to have a 'talk' with their new 'stuffed animal'.
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With my daughter safely away at camp I crept up to her room and burst through the door. “Ah hA!!” I shouted, hoping to catch it in the act. No such luck. Three teddy bears sat primly on the bed, staring validly into space.
“I know what you are.”
No reaction.
“Fine. I’ll just throw out all the donuts you’ve been sneaking when you think everyone’s asleep.” Did the middle ones ear twitch? Or was I dreaming. Maybe I’m crazy. All these years I thought it had been a childhood dream.
But the memories were too real and the fact that my own child was telling similar tales was too much of coincidence. There was a Teddy Seal in the house.
“Ok. No more sweets in the house. Broccoli and eggplant only. Carrots for dessert, and I DONT mean carrot cake. In fact I think I’ll go flush the sugar now just so we aren’t tempted.”
I stride confidently towards the door. No teddy bear can resist sweets. At least mine couldn’t. Mr.Snuggles, aka Agent 603, was a glutton for donuts and desserts. I used to sneak him bites of pancake at breakfast to fuel him for his missions.
“Ok ok wait.” The middle bear stood up as the others struggled not to react and surreptitiously hold him down. “Please don’t do that. Exactly what do you think you know?”
“I know you’re probably a secret agent. My own bear growing up told me all about the Teddy Seals and their mission to protect the world.”
“Actually, it’s to protect and cuddle. Which is what I’m trying to do for your child.”
Sitting on the edge of the bed tears sprang to my eyes. “I know.” Memories of fighting pirates and Mr. Snuggles helping me first prank my bully and then somehow become friends with her in middle school overwhelmed me. “I just wanted to give an old friend a hug. Did you think I wouldn’t remember you Mr. Snuggles?”
His face lit up in a grin. “Most kids forget me when I leave for my next mission. You know you were my first assignment? I promise I’ve gotten better since then.” I grabbed him up in a tight squeeze.
“I got your favorite donuts, red velvet cream cheese. Let’s go talk in the kitchen.”
We headed to the door with Mr. Snuggles in my arms. I paused in the hall. “Mr. Snuggles?”
“Yeah?”
“No fighting pirates with my kid this time. She prefers pony’s and rainbows, not adventure and action.”
He laughed his contagious belly laugh. “Of course not! You weren’t even supposed to know about me, let alone remember all these years! I’ve gotten much better at keeping my cover since then. It’s only been 25 years.”
“Uh huh, sure. You twitched when I said donuts. And I saw your eyes move at breakfast the other day to watch the pancakes on the table.”
“Nu-uh!”
“Yu-hu “
“Ok Mr. Super Secret Agent, let’s go eat.”
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(On mobile sorry for formatting)
Harik Auber, Bane of the Giants and their Three-headed King, slumps down infront of the small plush rabbit. He shouts, "SPEAK", to the measly doll and silence fills the cottage. Harik sighs and begins to recant a saying in a forgotten language he would never have thought to use again. The Hare perks up then responds in the same tongue, "Harik, your daughter has been chosen. She must sail the open seas to a faraway country and save its people from the tyrant known as Hercules' equal". "No", Harik argues, "I will face this hardship". "You have no choice in the matter" refutes the doll, "She is the only one who can save them from the same torment your people faced ages ago. Her destiny is set in stone, such as yours." Harik looks to the mantle where his array of weapons lies. Only they know the pain and suffering he has endured. Tears swelling he rises and sets to sharpening the blades and fletching the arrows. For tomorrow his daugthers life truly begins.
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[WP] As a former Chosen One you saw the signs when your daughter/son got themselves into a similar situation. You sent them off on a sleepover with their new friends. It's time to have a 'talk' with their new 'stuffed animal'.
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I used to be the legend. The big, strong guy that fights off all the monsters, y'know? I was unstoppable, the Dragon-Slayer, the Storm-Bringer, the Lord of light. I had many titles, but now I'm just Jason.
With Krashkorial, the demon king, dead, I didn't have anything else to save. So I settled down, started a family, all that. It was nice, everything was good.
That is, until I caught my daughter playing with my axe. I had hung it up as a sort of decoration, reminder of the hardships I went through to get here. But only those blessed by the goddess of life are able to even pick it up, and she was swinging it around like it was a stick she found in the garden. Needless to say, I took it from her pretty quickly, and after an explanation of how she shouldn't be playing with sharp things or she might get hurt, I sent her to have a surprise sleepover with one of her friends. Not the smartest thing, I know. But I needed her out of the house.
"Mr. funnyface, I know you can hear me."
The stuffed dog sat on the bed like always, staring into the distance with its dark, plastic eyes.
"Talk. Now."
It didn't move, it just sagged a little from the amount of times my daughter's thrown it around.
"Dess."
That got it to pay attention, it whirled around, now staring right at me.
"How did you know it was me!? This is a new form!"
"I can detect magic, remember?"
"Oh. right."
"So, if you'd like to get back to your normal form, I'd like to have a little chat."
The dog suddenly contorted, metal plates shredding it from the inside, while a faint blue glow radiated from it. Suddenly, cotton and fabric was strewn everywhere as a small creature floated where the stuffed toy was. It was a small visored helmet, with blue wisps coming from the bottom. Dessatora's true form.
"So... what do you wan-"
"You KNOW what I want to talk about!" I slammed my fist against the wall in anger.
"Listen, I know you're angry, but there's a reason she was chosen!"
"No! I am not letting you take away her childhood like you did with mine! You whisked me aay to some magical fairytale land promising adventure, fun and wonder, but all I got was scars, a weapon that I don't want and years of therapy! You will NOT do that to he-"
"The demon king is back."
I stumbled back, knocked out of my rage by this sudden claim.
"He can't be, I killed him."
"we know you did, it was a day we've celebrated for years, but he's been revived by his remaining followers."
"I thought they all died in the last war of Asterioth?"
"We all did, but some of them slipped away, and they've been gathering power ever since."
"Then let me handle it, I'm a grown adult with years of experience."
"I can't he's been brought back more powerful than before, you'd die if you fought him."
"Then how can my 12 year old daughter stand any chance!?"
"You know how. Each blessing the goddess of light gives uses more of her energy, so it's stronger than the last."
"Then make her bless me again!" I was desperate, I just wanted my daughter to live a happy, normal life.
"You know that's not how it works."
"Make it how it works then! I won't let that damned demon ruin anymore lives!"
"She has to come. The demon king's still recuperating from its revival, but there's an impenetrable shield around it that not even you could penetrate."
"How long will it be like that?"
"At least five years. Let her train."
"Fine, but she will live a normal life after that. No more prophecies, no more chosen ones. Leave me and my family alone after that. Okay?"
"Deal."
"Good, now I guess it's time for me to train too, I've gotten a little rusty."
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My wife Alice stepped out the door, taking Siris to her first sleepover. I sat down on the edge of Siris' bed. "I know you're possessing Sir Bearington." No answer. "Removing souls was my specialty, you can talk from the bear or in a jar." The bear jolted to life, taking a defensive position behind the nearest pillow. "Now that I have your attention, tell me what you want with my daughter." "She's our new chosen one." Replied the bear.
"Chosen One," the words brought back so many memories of my training to fulfill the prophecy, "The chosen demon queen will stop the hero of light dead." The wording always seemed weird to me though it made much more sense when we first met. She charged into my throne room bursting through the door, stopping dead in her tracks when our eyes met.
"The hero of light will smite the demon queen." Alice's prophecy sounded normal but in that moment the throbbing in my chest revealed its deeper meaning. I smiled as I approached her and brushed the remnants of the door out of her hair with my hand. Looking into each other's eyes the words just came out, "I am certainly smitten."
Pulling myself from my nostalgia, "I thought we made it quite clear to both sides that choosing new champions was a violation of the peace agreement." "No champion my lady" the bear fearfully spoke, "but a mediator to keep the peace. Both sides have agreed on it." The bear frantically pulled Mr. Fuzzy, Siris' stuffed lion, out from behind another pillow. "She's from your side; tell her, you coward, before she kills us both." The lion spoke, "It's true. Faced with mutually assured destruction the dark has agreed to this compromise."
I sighed, "Alice will be home in an hour. If she agrees, we all can have a tea party with Siris tomorrow to discuss what she wants to do."
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[WP] As a former Chosen One you saw the signs when your daughter/son got themselves into a similar situation. You sent them off on a sleepover with their new friends. It's time to have a 'talk' with their new 'stuffed animal'.
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With my daughter safely away at camp I crept up to her room and burst through the door. “Ah hA!!” I shouted, hoping to catch it in the act. No such luck. Three teddy bears sat primly on the bed, staring validly into space.
“I know what you are.”
No reaction.
“Fine. I’ll just throw out all the donuts you’ve been sneaking when you think everyone’s asleep.” Did the middle ones ear twitch? Or was I dreaming. Maybe I’m crazy. All these years I thought it had been a childhood dream.
But the memories were too real and the fact that my own child was telling similar tales was too much of coincidence. There was a Teddy Seal in the house.
“Ok. No more sweets in the house. Broccoli and eggplant only. Carrots for dessert, and I DONT mean carrot cake. In fact I think I’ll go flush the sugar now just so we aren’t tempted.”
I stride confidently towards the door. No teddy bear can resist sweets. At least mine couldn’t. Mr.Snuggles, aka Agent 603, was a glutton for donuts and desserts. I used to sneak him bites of pancake at breakfast to fuel him for his missions.
“Ok ok wait.” The middle bear stood up as the others struggled not to react and surreptitiously hold him down. “Please don’t do that. Exactly what do you think you know?”
“I know you’re probably a secret agent. My own bear growing up told me all about the Teddy Seals and their mission to protect the world.”
“Actually, it’s to protect and cuddle. Which is what I’m trying to do for your child.”
Sitting on the edge of the bed tears sprang to my eyes. “I know.” Memories of fighting pirates and Mr. Snuggles helping me first prank my bully and then somehow become friends with her in middle school overwhelmed me. “I just wanted to give an old friend a hug. Did you think I wouldn’t remember you Mr. Snuggles?”
His face lit up in a grin. “Most kids forget me when I leave for my next mission. You know you were my first assignment? I promise I’ve gotten better since then.” I grabbed him up in a tight squeeze.
“I got your favorite donuts, red velvet cream cheese. Let’s go talk in the kitchen.”
We headed to the door with Mr. Snuggles in my arms. I paused in the hall. “Mr. Snuggles?”
“Yeah?”
“No fighting pirates with my kid this time. She prefers pony’s and rainbows, not adventure and action.”
He laughed his contagious belly laugh. “Of course not! You weren’t even supposed to know about me, let alone remember all these years! I’ve gotten much better at keeping my cover since then. It’s only been 25 years.”
“Uh huh, sure. You twitched when I said donuts. And I saw your eyes move at breakfast the other day to watch the pancakes on the table.”
“Nu-uh!”
“Yu-hu “
“Ok Mr. Super Secret Agent, let’s go eat.”
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My wife Alice stepped out the door, taking Siris to her first sleepover. I sat down on the edge of Siris' bed. "I know you're possessing Sir Bearington." No answer. "Removing souls was my specialty, you can talk from the bear or in a jar." The bear jolted to life, taking a defensive position behind the nearest pillow. "Now that I have your attention, tell me what you want with my daughter." "She's our new chosen one." Replied the bear.
"Chosen One," the words brought back so many memories of my training to fulfill the prophecy, "The chosen demon queen will stop the hero of light dead." The wording always seemed weird to me though it made much more sense when we first met. She charged into my throne room bursting through the door, stopping dead in her tracks when our eyes met.
"The hero of light will smite the demon queen." Alice's prophecy sounded normal but in that moment the throbbing in my chest revealed its deeper meaning. I smiled as I approached her and brushed the remnants of the door out of her hair with my hand. Looking into each other's eyes the words just came out, "I am certainly smitten."
Pulling myself from my nostalgia, "I thought we made it quite clear to both sides that choosing new champions was a violation of the peace agreement." "No champion my lady" the bear fearfully spoke, "but a mediator to keep the peace. Both sides have agreed on it." The bear frantically pulled Mr. Fuzzy, Siris' stuffed lion, out from behind another pillow. "She's from your side; tell her, you coward, before she kills us both." The lion spoke, "It's true. Faced with mutually assured destruction the dark has agreed to this compromise."
I sighed, "Alice will be home in an hour. If she agrees, we all can have a tea party with Siris tomorrow to discuss what she wants to do."
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[WP] As a former Chosen One you saw the signs when your daughter/son got themselves into a similar situation. You sent them off on a sleepover with their new friends. It's time to have a 'talk' with their new 'stuffed animal'.
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I saw the flash of light late at night. That's all it took, and I knew. I *knew* he was back.
When my daughter was old enough to walk, she'd immediately gone for stuffed animals. Now eleven, she kept a massive pile in the corner of her room, across from her bed. It had every animal imaginable in it, giraffes, hippos, dragons, unicorns, haphazardly lumped together.
It didn't take me long to find him. When I was young, he'd sat out in plain view, but he must have burrowed deep into the pile, hoping I wouldn't see him or suspect anything.
He looked exactly as I remembered. Golden, fuzzy fur, two large, adorable eyes, those perk, little ears, and that stitched-on smile.
I couldn't look at him. Just seeing him caused the painful memories of my childhood to come clawing back out from the dark recesses of my mind, where I kept them. My hands trembled hard, so much the sheers in my hands nearly fell.
Amnon had found me when I was nine; he promised me power, an opportunity to save people and fight evil. And we had. But I was just a child... I didn't understand what was going on, not really, and I had trusted him. I had trusted him.
Amnon twitched, "Jane! It's good to see you. Why don't you put those sheers down. For old time's sake."
He'd used the voice he used when giving a command. Hell, I nearly but the sheers down. I nearly put them down and ran. If I hadn't had a daughter, I would have left like lightning; I would have slammed the door shut on my way out and never come back. That voice, that tone of command and authority, it was the same tone he'd used on me at the end of the first year, when we had to do "special training" to strengthen my power.
I stopped trembling.
"Come on, Jane," Amnon said, his voice wavering for the first time I'd ever heard it, "Aren't we friends?"
"No," I said.
He tried to squirm. He was stronger than he looked, stronger than an adult human. But the magic he'd given me, well, some of it still coursed through my veins. I let it flow as I hadn't let it flow in decades, and held him in a vice-grip.
"We're not friends. It isn't good to see you. And you're never doing what you did to me to anyone, ever again."
Despite his power, it was over quick. The sheers tore through him easily enough, ripping apart the fabric of his body and exposing the magic gem at the heart of it all. I took that to the basement, crushed it in a vice, and that was the end of Amnon.
In the weeks that followed, my daughter was unhappy. She talked about 'her bear' that had gone missing. I didn't have the heart to tell her the truth, so I just pretended she'd never had Amnon around at all--that it had all been an unfinished dream.
She was safe.
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My wife Alice stepped out the door, taking Siris to her first sleepover. I sat down on the edge of Siris' bed. "I know you're possessing Sir Bearington." No answer. "Removing souls was my specialty, you can talk from the bear or in a jar." The bear jolted to life, taking a defensive position behind the nearest pillow. "Now that I have your attention, tell me what you want with my daughter." "She's our new chosen one." Replied the bear.
"Chosen One," the words brought back so many memories of my training to fulfill the prophecy, "The chosen demon queen will stop the hero of light dead." The wording always seemed weird to me though it made much more sense when we first met. She charged into my throne room bursting through the door, stopping dead in her tracks when our eyes met.
"The hero of light will smite the demon queen." Alice's prophecy sounded normal but in that moment the throbbing in my chest revealed its deeper meaning. I smiled as I approached her and brushed the remnants of the door out of her hair with my hand. Looking into each other's eyes the words just came out, "I am certainly smitten."
Pulling myself from my nostalgia, "I thought we made it quite clear to both sides that choosing new champions was a violation of the peace agreement." "No champion my lady" the bear fearfully spoke, "but a mediator to keep the peace. Both sides have agreed on it." The bear frantically pulled Mr. Fuzzy, Siris' stuffed lion, out from behind another pillow. "She's from your side; tell her, you coward, before she kills us both." The lion spoke, "It's true. Faced with mutually assured destruction the dark has agreed to this compromise."
I sighed, "Alice will be home in an hour. If she agrees, we all can have a tea party with Siris tomorrow to discuss what she wants to do."
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[WP] As a former Chosen One you saw the signs when your daughter/son got themselves into a similar situation. You sent them off on a sleepover with their new friends. It's time to have a 'talk' with their new 'stuffed animal'.
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They day had started normal enough, wake up, get ready, drop the twins off at school, go to work. Typical day I know.
Lunch time, going over the options I decided to pop home and grab leftovers. Walking in the door, I saw it. Waiting on the table where my children would see it first thing on coming home from school. A stuffed otter. I had never seen it before but I knew exactly what it was. I had long regretted going through that door in the attic that should have led to no where. I had wanted to burn that house down, my sister tried and look where that got her.
I pulled out my phone and shot my boss a quick message saying family issues had come up and I needed the rest of the day.
I grabbed the blasted toy from the table and shouted at it. "You can't have have them. I know what you are and who sent you. Your gods will get no more sacrifices from my family."
No response but I could see my angry glare reflected in it's beady plastic eyes.
I shook it some more waiting for a response and nothing. "Fine, I know you're imortal but you can still feel pain," I said as I walked into the living room and turned on the gas fire place.
"You wouldn't really do that to me would you," came a squeek from the toy in my hand? "The Lands of Fris needs it's Chosen One's to..."
"Child Soldiers" I interjected. "Thats what we were to you, killers with no idea or right and wrong, just doing as the Otter God commanded."
"No, you were are beloved Chosen One's" the stuffed toy protested. "You saved the Lands of Fris. We made you Kings and Queens of the land in our gratitude."
I shouted, "Give your gratitude to my Aunt and Uncle!" "I can't tell them about my cousin dying at the Battle of Fall, slain by the Autumn King." "No, Kyle dissapeared that fateful day as far as they are concerned, and the years waiting for him to never return have been torture on them"
"We've built him great statues through out the realm" the otter protested. "Our Medal of Kyle is the greatest honor any solider can recieve."
I stared dumbfounded, my arm holding the thing involuntarily moving a little towards the fire.
"And your sister," the otter continued, "our beloved Mother of Flowers.."
"Angela has been in a psychward for the past decade." Fighting back tears, "living 43 years in a magic world, growing up and being an adult, coming back and having to do it again broke her."
"But the Land of Fris is in peril" the stuffed toy protested. "The Kingdom of Fall has a new leader and is on the march again. The Realm of Shadows has been sending raiders into the farmlands of the northern reaches pillaging our food stocks."
"Have you tried diplomacy, trade treaties, foreign aide?" I asked, trying not to scream. "Anything other than kidnapping my children for child soldiers?"
"Chosen One's" the toy corrected. "And they came willingly once we told them what was at stake." "You had twins, we came as triplets hoping you would return with us. I'm sad that you aren't coming, the Otter God will be disappointed"
In anger I threw the stuffed toy into the fire. The squeeks of pain were somehow relaxing. I called the school knowing the outcome. Somehow during lunchtime they disappeared. The school was on lockdown, camera footage being reviewed, class mates being questioned, the works in this day and age. I knew what the outcome would be and I knew I'd have to wait before making my move to avoid becoming suspicious to the police.
The attic door in that abandoned house was still there. I had peeked through several times over the years before trying in vain to seal it shut. I had to clear my head, gather supplies, plan. I was going back through that door but I was not coming home alone.
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My wife Alice stepped out the door, taking Siris to her first sleepover. I sat down on the edge of Siris' bed. "I know you're possessing Sir Bearington." No answer. "Removing souls was my specialty, you can talk from the bear or in a jar." The bear jolted to life, taking a defensive position behind the nearest pillow. "Now that I have your attention, tell me what you want with my daughter." "She's our new chosen one." Replied the bear.
"Chosen One," the words brought back so many memories of my training to fulfill the prophecy, "The chosen demon queen will stop the hero of light dead." The wording always seemed weird to me though it made much more sense when we first met. She charged into my throne room bursting through the door, stopping dead in her tracks when our eyes met.
"The hero of light will smite the demon queen." Alice's prophecy sounded normal but in that moment the throbbing in my chest revealed its deeper meaning. I smiled as I approached her and brushed the remnants of the door out of her hair with my hand. Looking into each other's eyes the words just came out, "I am certainly smitten."
Pulling myself from my nostalgia, "I thought we made it quite clear to both sides that choosing new champions was a violation of the peace agreement." "No champion my lady" the bear fearfully spoke, "but a mediator to keep the peace. Both sides have agreed on it." The bear frantically pulled Mr. Fuzzy, Siris' stuffed lion, out from behind another pillow. "She's from your side; tell her, you coward, before she kills us both." The lion spoke, "It's true. Faced with mutually assured destruction the dark has agreed to this compromise."
I sighed, "Alice will be home in an hour. If she agrees, we all can have a tea party with Siris tomorrow to discuss what she wants to do."
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[WP] As a former Chosen One you saw the signs when your daughter/son got themselves into a similar situation. You sent them off on a sleepover with their new friends. It's time to have a 'talk' with their new 'stuffed animal'.
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I saw the flash of light late at night. That's all it took, and I knew. I *knew* he was back.
When my daughter was old enough to walk, she'd immediately gone for stuffed animals. Now eleven, she kept a massive pile in the corner of her room, across from her bed. It had every animal imaginable in it, giraffes, hippos, dragons, unicorns, haphazardly lumped together.
It didn't take me long to find him. When I was young, he'd sat out in plain view, but he must have burrowed deep into the pile, hoping I wouldn't see him or suspect anything.
He looked exactly as I remembered. Golden, fuzzy fur, two large, adorable eyes, those perk, little ears, and that stitched-on smile.
I couldn't look at him. Just seeing him caused the painful memories of my childhood to come clawing back out from the dark recesses of my mind, where I kept them. My hands trembled hard, so much the sheers in my hands nearly fell.
Amnon had found me when I was nine; he promised me power, an opportunity to save people and fight evil. And we had. But I was just a child... I didn't understand what was going on, not really, and I had trusted him. I had trusted him.
Amnon twitched, "Jane! It's good to see you. Why don't you put those sheers down. For old time's sake."
He'd used the voice he used when giving a command. Hell, I nearly but the sheers down. I nearly put them down and ran. If I hadn't had a daughter, I would have left like lightning; I would have slammed the door shut on my way out and never come back. That voice, that tone of command and authority, it was the same tone he'd used on me at the end of the first year, when we had to do "special training" to strengthen my power.
I stopped trembling.
"Come on, Jane," Amnon said, his voice wavering for the first time I'd ever heard it, "Aren't we friends?"
"No," I said.
He tried to squirm. He was stronger than he looked, stronger than an adult human. But the magic he'd given me, well, some of it still coursed through my veins. I let it flow as I hadn't let it flow in decades, and held him in a vice-grip.
"We're not friends. It isn't good to see you. And you're never doing what you did to me to anyone, ever again."
Despite his power, it was over quick. The sheers tore through him easily enough, ripping apart the fabric of his body and exposing the magic gem at the heart of it all. I took that to the basement, crushed it in a vice, and that was the end of Amnon.
In the weeks that followed, my daughter was unhappy. She talked about 'her bear' that had gone missing. I didn't have the heart to tell her the truth, so I just pretended she'd never had Amnon around at all--that it had all been an unfinished dream.
She was safe.
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I made sure that the lights covered the whole room, the only prominent shadows being the long, thin bar cast by the handmade pink wardrobe.
Set in the center of the bed was a plush of Bigsby Briar, a popular children's cartoon character. His black hair looked soft, the button eyes and smile warm despite it being an object. As I stood across from it, staring down at the strawberry-shaped bed, I was struck by the image of a mimic. A treasure of some sort that was ever so tempting, only to open its mouth as you touched it and snap off your hands before you could even pull back.
"Drop the act you sick little *thing*." I threw all the hate in my heart behind the word. Bigsby simply sat there, the thorny crown atop his head looking more like licorice. And then there was a cackle. It came from nowhere and everywhere. Not from within the room, or inside my head but somewhere else, a crevice just beyond my peripheral vision. A dull rusty sound that was more scraping rocks than person.
"What's this, What's this? I sense something fun!" The little doll juttered for a moment before standing on its stubby legs. It pointed the face up at me, the little stitched smile innocent. The voice had changed, it was now a sweet voice, layered and childish. Honey for a flytrap. "Haha, you're pretty big for a Justice Choir! Tell me, where's your Buddy-Buddy?" The head tilted to the left, a lock of fake hair bouncing slightly.
My teeth clenched. "At the bottom of the lake, along with the rest of you little monsters. Where you should be too. You already won. Why the *hell* are you in my daughter's room?" I felt my body stand on edge as the laugh started again.
"Oh, ho-ho-ho, you were one of the Justice Priests? Good! You did us a solid favor back then. Thanks!" It did a twirl, a little dance as my nerves began to fray. "After all, without you four, we couldn't have sealed the Heathens! Don't you feel happy?"
"Cut the BULLSHIT, you-you inhuman little doll! All this shit about Justice and magic, just stop. I know what you're trying to do! I won't let you. You won't hurt my family again." It stopped dancing and pulled its suspenders.
"But we didn't lie, we didn't hurt your family! You got your siblings and mom back, remember?" It jumped up and down on the bed. "Zoey has someone she lost too, you know? She wants them back, and we can give it to her!" I flinched at the words as it snapped the strands back.
"No. I was scared when Maria passed. She wanted Zoey to grow up and to be kind. To never have to suffer what we did. It-it was hard, but I knew I had to be there for them. You won't take my daughter too." The words caught in my throat before I continued.
"You killed Beth. She was more a sister to me, to us, than anyone else. Everything-" I clenched my hand and held my head as I felt my stomach tie into knots. "-It was perfect and we were all finally happy again, after all we'd lost. Not a care in the world, just weird shadow creatures that we fought on weekends, playing games and baking cookies and-and you little things. We never thought, we never KNEW what you were planning. How it was all going to end. We were a family."
It pulled out a crayon and paper from its suspender pocket, the digit-less hand clenching as it scribbled. "Aw...I'm sorry you feel that way. But, we told you! Nothing can come without sacrifice! And just cause you guys fought off the Heathens once doesn't mean they don't come back! It was just quicker this time around." It stood up and showed me the drawing.
"Oh god..." I hiccupped slightly. It was a pure black creature, like out of one of Zoey's nightmares. But it was different in that it had a familiar face transfixed into its shapeless, scratching body. "Beth..." I almost whimpered the words as it crumpled the drawing.
"Haha, yep yep! Just like before, the vessel is weakening. And just like before-" It stepped onto the carpeting, 12 inches tall as it waddled up to me. I took a step back. "We need a new one! Strong wishes have called out to us. Kids who want something back more than anything else. So much so that they'd do anything to get it! So-" It pressed its stubs into its chest. "-here we are!"
I kicked it. The doll let out a playful "Oof" as it landed on the bed, and I took out the scissors. "Now, now, don't be so hasty! You know what's inside of me! Don't be rash Jon!" I almost flinched, but picked it up by the neck. "You should know, Zoey's not the Abbot! She's not going to replace the vessel! It'll be someone else, pinky-promise!" I paused.
For a moment, it was tempting. It was that same temptation that had driven me before, when my family had died in the crash. I became disgusted with myself for thinking of it. "No. Leave my house. Never come back. Maria would never want anything to do with you, and neither will Zoey when I tell her. I'm done playing." The threat hung in the air a moment. And then from behind-
"Aww, one less Priest to help my Abbot? That's not good. The Heathens will win for sure..." My blood went cold. Turning around, I could only stare at the thing standing in the shadow of the dresser. Jack's favorite toy, Dino-Gar. The voice was low, pitched like a stereotypical dumb character from a kid's show.
"Jack'll need to work twice as hard to seal away the Heathens! And he's just a little boy..."
I felt a deep rage take hold as I turned back to Bigsby. It just shrugged. "What can I say? It was a two for one deal! Hee, heehee, heheehehehehehehehehehehehee!" It laughed as I dug the scissors into its downy flesh. The cackling didn't stop as I dragged the shears through it. More and more cotton spilled out until it was a storm, the rusty noise picking up in cadence as I cut my hand on accident. Blood mixed with filling as I screamed out, an impossible despair creeping in as there was nothing left to tear. I went to the dinosaur and madly tore with my hands. More of the same.
And just as before, they climbed out of the fluff, completely fine. There was nothing I could do. What did I even think I could do? More and more plush creatures slipped out from the piles, climbing up me as I tore at them. Until I was buried in them, the suffocating fabric choking me-
And with a start, I woke up. The cold sweat was matted to me. I could only shakily stand up and walk to the kids' room.
The dead of night and they weren't here. The room window was open. It was Saturday. I could only sit on the bed and wait. And pray that I wouldn't lose a child tonight.
\-END-
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[WP] As a former Chosen One you saw the signs when your daughter/son got themselves into a similar situation. You sent them off on a sleepover with their new friends. It's time to have a 'talk' with their new 'stuffed animal'.
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They day had started normal enough, wake up, get ready, drop the twins off at school, go to work. Typical day I know.
Lunch time, going over the options I decided to pop home and grab leftovers. Walking in the door, I saw it. Waiting on the table where my children would see it first thing on coming home from school. A stuffed otter. I had never seen it before but I knew exactly what it was. I had long regretted going through that door in the attic that should have led to no where. I had wanted to burn that house down, my sister tried and look where that got her.
I pulled out my phone and shot my boss a quick message saying family issues had come up and I needed the rest of the day.
I grabbed the blasted toy from the table and shouted at it. "You can't have have them. I know what you are and who sent you. Your gods will get no more sacrifices from my family."
No response but I could see my angry glare reflected in it's beady plastic eyes.
I shook it some more waiting for a response and nothing. "Fine, I know you're imortal but you can still feel pain," I said as I walked into the living room and turned on the gas fire place.
"You wouldn't really do that to me would you," came a squeek from the toy in my hand? "The Lands of Fris needs it's Chosen One's to..."
"Child Soldiers" I interjected. "Thats what we were to you, killers with no idea or right and wrong, just doing as the Otter God commanded."
"No, you were are beloved Chosen One's" the stuffed toy protested. "You saved the Lands of Fris. We made you Kings and Queens of the land in our gratitude."
I shouted, "Give your gratitude to my Aunt and Uncle!" "I can't tell them about my cousin dying at the Battle of Fall, slain by the Autumn King." "No, Kyle dissapeared that fateful day as far as they are concerned, and the years waiting for him to never return have been torture on them"
"We've built him great statues through out the realm" the otter protested. "Our Medal of Kyle is the greatest honor any solider can recieve."
I stared dumbfounded, my arm holding the thing involuntarily moving a little towards the fire.
"And your sister," the otter continued, "our beloved Mother of Flowers.."
"Angela has been in a psychward for the past decade." Fighting back tears, "living 43 years in a magic world, growing up and being an adult, coming back and having to do it again broke her."
"But the Land of Fris is in peril" the stuffed toy protested. "The Kingdom of Fall has a new leader and is on the march again. The Realm of Shadows has been sending raiders into the farmlands of the northern reaches pillaging our food stocks."
"Have you tried diplomacy, trade treaties, foreign aide?" I asked, trying not to scream. "Anything other than kidnapping my children for child soldiers?"
"Chosen One's" the toy corrected. "And they came willingly once we told them what was at stake." "You had twins, we came as triplets hoping you would return with us. I'm sad that you aren't coming, the Otter God will be disappointed"
In anger I threw the stuffed toy into the fire. The squeeks of pain were somehow relaxing. I called the school knowing the outcome. Somehow during lunchtime they disappeared. The school was on lockdown, camera footage being reviewed, class mates being questioned, the works in this day and age. I knew what the outcome would be and I knew I'd have to wait before making my move to avoid becoming suspicious to the police.
The attic door in that abandoned house was still there. I had peeked through several times over the years before trying in vain to seal it shut. I had to clear my head, gather supplies, plan. I was going back through that door but I was not coming home alone.
|
I made sure that the lights covered the whole room, the only prominent shadows being the long, thin bar cast by the handmade pink wardrobe.
Set in the center of the bed was a plush of Bigsby Briar, a popular children's cartoon character. His black hair looked soft, the button eyes and smile warm despite it being an object. As I stood across from it, staring down at the strawberry-shaped bed, I was struck by the image of a mimic. A treasure of some sort that was ever so tempting, only to open its mouth as you touched it and snap off your hands before you could even pull back.
"Drop the act you sick little *thing*." I threw all the hate in my heart behind the word. Bigsby simply sat there, the thorny crown atop his head looking more like licorice. And then there was a cackle. It came from nowhere and everywhere. Not from within the room, or inside my head but somewhere else, a crevice just beyond my peripheral vision. A dull rusty sound that was more scraping rocks than person.
"What's this, What's this? I sense something fun!" The little doll juttered for a moment before standing on its stubby legs. It pointed the face up at me, the little stitched smile innocent. The voice had changed, it was now a sweet voice, layered and childish. Honey for a flytrap. "Haha, you're pretty big for a Justice Choir! Tell me, where's your Buddy-Buddy?" The head tilted to the left, a lock of fake hair bouncing slightly.
My teeth clenched. "At the bottom of the lake, along with the rest of you little monsters. Where you should be too. You already won. Why the *hell* are you in my daughter's room?" I felt my body stand on edge as the laugh started again.
"Oh, ho-ho-ho, you were one of the Justice Priests? Good! You did us a solid favor back then. Thanks!" It did a twirl, a little dance as my nerves began to fray. "After all, without you four, we couldn't have sealed the Heathens! Don't you feel happy?"
"Cut the BULLSHIT, you-you inhuman little doll! All this shit about Justice and magic, just stop. I know what you're trying to do! I won't let you. You won't hurt my family again." It stopped dancing and pulled its suspenders.
"But we didn't lie, we didn't hurt your family! You got your siblings and mom back, remember?" It jumped up and down on the bed. "Zoey has someone she lost too, you know? She wants them back, and we can give it to her!" I flinched at the words as it snapped the strands back.
"No. I was scared when Maria passed. She wanted Zoey to grow up and to be kind. To never have to suffer what we did. It-it was hard, but I knew I had to be there for them. You won't take my daughter too." The words caught in my throat before I continued.
"You killed Beth. She was more a sister to me, to us, than anyone else. Everything-" I clenched my hand and held my head as I felt my stomach tie into knots. "-It was perfect and we were all finally happy again, after all we'd lost. Not a care in the world, just weird shadow creatures that we fought on weekends, playing games and baking cookies and-and you little things. We never thought, we never KNEW what you were planning. How it was all going to end. We were a family."
It pulled out a crayon and paper from its suspender pocket, the digit-less hand clenching as it scribbled. "Aw...I'm sorry you feel that way. But, we told you! Nothing can come without sacrifice! And just cause you guys fought off the Heathens once doesn't mean they don't come back! It was just quicker this time around." It stood up and showed me the drawing.
"Oh god..." I hiccupped slightly. It was a pure black creature, like out of one of Zoey's nightmares. But it was different in that it had a familiar face transfixed into its shapeless, scratching body. "Beth..." I almost whimpered the words as it crumpled the drawing.
"Haha, yep yep! Just like before, the vessel is weakening. And just like before-" It stepped onto the carpeting, 12 inches tall as it waddled up to me. I took a step back. "We need a new one! Strong wishes have called out to us. Kids who want something back more than anything else. So much so that they'd do anything to get it! So-" It pressed its stubs into its chest. "-here we are!"
I kicked it. The doll let out a playful "Oof" as it landed on the bed, and I took out the scissors. "Now, now, don't be so hasty! You know what's inside of me! Don't be rash Jon!" I almost flinched, but picked it up by the neck. "You should know, Zoey's not the Abbot! She's not going to replace the vessel! It'll be someone else, pinky-promise!" I paused.
For a moment, it was tempting. It was that same temptation that had driven me before, when my family had died in the crash. I became disgusted with myself for thinking of it. "No. Leave my house. Never come back. Maria would never want anything to do with you, and neither will Zoey when I tell her. I'm done playing." The threat hung in the air a moment. And then from behind-
"Aww, one less Priest to help my Abbot? That's not good. The Heathens will win for sure..." My blood went cold. Turning around, I could only stare at the thing standing in the shadow of the dresser. Jack's favorite toy, Dino-Gar. The voice was low, pitched like a stereotypical dumb character from a kid's show.
"Jack'll need to work twice as hard to seal away the Heathens! And he's just a little boy..."
I felt a deep rage take hold as I turned back to Bigsby. It just shrugged. "What can I say? It was a two for one deal! Hee, heehee, heheehehehehehehehehehehehee!" It laughed as I dug the scissors into its downy flesh. The cackling didn't stop as I dragged the shears through it. More and more cotton spilled out until it was a storm, the rusty noise picking up in cadence as I cut my hand on accident. Blood mixed with filling as I screamed out, an impossible despair creeping in as there was nothing left to tear. I went to the dinosaur and madly tore with my hands. More of the same.
And just as before, they climbed out of the fluff, completely fine. There was nothing I could do. What did I even think I could do? More and more plush creatures slipped out from the piles, climbing up me as I tore at them. Until I was buried in them, the suffocating fabric choking me-
And with a start, I woke up. The cold sweat was matted to me. I could only shakily stand up and walk to the kids' room.
The dead of night and they weren't here. The room window was open. It was Saturday. I could only sit on the bed and wait. And pray that I wouldn't lose a child tonight.
\-END-
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[WP] As a former Chosen One you saw the signs when your daughter/son got themselves into a similar situation. You sent them off on a sleepover with their new friends. It's time to have a 'talk' with their new 'stuffed animal'.
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I saw the flash of light late at night. That's all it took, and I knew. I *knew* he was back.
When my daughter was old enough to walk, she'd immediately gone for stuffed animals. Now eleven, she kept a massive pile in the corner of her room, across from her bed. It had every animal imaginable in it, giraffes, hippos, dragons, unicorns, haphazardly lumped together.
It didn't take me long to find him. When I was young, he'd sat out in plain view, but he must have burrowed deep into the pile, hoping I wouldn't see him or suspect anything.
He looked exactly as I remembered. Golden, fuzzy fur, two large, adorable eyes, those perk, little ears, and that stitched-on smile.
I couldn't look at him. Just seeing him caused the painful memories of my childhood to come clawing back out from the dark recesses of my mind, where I kept them. My hands trembled hard, so much the sheers in my hands nearly fell.
Amnon had found me when I was nine; he promised me power, an opportunity to save people and fight evil. And we had. But I was just a child... I didn't understand what was going on, not really, and I had trusted him. I had trusted him.
Amnon twitched, "Jane! It's good to see you. Why don't you put those sheers down. For old time's sake."
He'd used the voice he used when giving a command. Hell, I nearly but the sheers down. I nearly put them down and ran. If I hadn't had a daughter, I would have left like lightning; I would have slammed the door shut on my way out and never come back. That voice, that tone of command and authority, it was the same tone he'd used on me at the end of the first year, when we had to do "special training" to strengthen my power.
I stopped trembling.
"Come on, Jane," Amnon said, his voice wavering for the first time I'd ever heard it, "Aren't we friends?"
"No," I said.
He tried to squirm. He was stronger than he looked, stronger than an adult human. But the magic he'd given me, well, some of it still coursed through my veins. I let it flow as I hadn't let it flow in decades, and held him in a vice-grip.
"We're not friends. It isn't good to see you. And you're never doing what you did to me to anyone, ever again."
Despite his power, it was over quick. The sheers tore through him easily enough, ripping apart the fabric of his body and exposing the magic gem at the heart of it all. I took that to the basement, crushed it in a vice, and that was the end of Amnon.
In the weeks that followed, my daughter was unhappy. She talked about 'her bear' that had gone missing. I didn't have the heart to tell her the truth, so I just pretended she'd never had Amnon around at all--that it had all been an unfinished dream.
She was safe.
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I used to be the legend. The big, strong guy that fights off all the monsters, y'know? I was unstoppable, the Dragon-Slayer, the Storm-Bringer, the Lord of light. I had many titles, but now I'm just Jason.
With Krashkorial, the demon king, dead, I didn't have anything else to save. So I settled down, started a family, all that. It was nice, everything was good.
That is, until I caught my daughter playing with my axe. I had hung it up as a sort of decoration, reminder of the hardships I went through to get here. But only those blessed by the goddess of life are able to even pick it up, and she was swinging it around like it was a stick she found in the garden. Needless to say, I took it from her pretty quickly, and after an explanation of how she shouldn't be playing with sharp things or she might get hurt, I sent her to have a surprise sleepover with one of her friends. Not the smartest thing, I know. But I needed her out of the house.
"Mr. funnyface, I know you can hear me."
The stuffed dog sat on the bed like always, staring into the distance with its dark, plastic eyes.
"Talk. Now."
It didn't move, it just sagged a little from the amount of times my daughter's thrown it around.
"Dess."
That got it to pay attention, it whirled around, now staring right at me.
"How did you know it was me!? This is a new form!"
"I can detect magic, remember?"
"Oh. right."
"So, if you'd like to get back to your normal form, I'd like to have a little chat."
The dog suddenly contorted, metal plates shredding it from the inside, while a faint blue glow radiated from it. Suddenly, cotton and fabric was strewn everywhere as a small creature floated where the stuffed toy was. It was a small visored helmet, with blue wisps coming from the bottom. Dessatora's true form.
"So... what do you wan-"
"You KNOW what I want to talk about!" I slammed my fist against the wall in anger.
"Listen, I know you're angry, but there's a reason she was chosen!"
"No! I am not letting you take away her childhood like you did with mine! You whisked me aay to some magical fairytale land promising adventure, fun and wonder, but all I got was scars, a weapon that I don't want and years of therapy! You will NOT do that to he-"
"The demon king is back."
I stumbled back, knocked out of my rage by this sudden claim.
"He can't be, I killed him."
"we know you did, it was a day we've celebrated for years, but he's been revived by his remaining followers."
"I thought they all died in the last war of Asterioth?"
"We all did, but some of them slipped away, and they've been gathering power ever since."
"Then let me handle it, I'm a grown adult with years of experience."
"I can't he's been brought back more powerful than before, you'd die if you fought him."
"Then how can my 12 year old daughter stand any chance!?"
"You know how. Each blessing the goddess of light gives uses more of her energy, so it's stronger than the last."
"Then make her bless me again!" I was desperate, I just wanted my daughter to live a happy, normal life.
"You know that's not how it works."
"Make it how it works then! I won't let that damned demon ruin anymore lives!"
"She has to come. The demon king's still recuperating from its revival, but there's an impenetrable shield around it that not even you could penetrate."
"How long will it be like that?"
"At least five years. Let her train."
"Fine, but she will live a normal life after that. No more prophecies, no more chosen ones. Leave me and my family alone after that. Okay?"
"Deal."
"Good, now I guess it's time for me to train too, I've gotten a little rusty."
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[WP] As a former Chosen One you saw the signs when your daughter/son got themselves into a similar situation. You sent them off on a sleepover with their new friends. It's time to have a 'talk' with their new 'stuffed animal'.
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They day had started normal enough, wake up, get ready, drop the twins off at school, go to work. Typical day I know.
Lunch time, going over the options I decided to pop home and grab leftovers. Walking in the door, I saw it. Waiting on the table where my children would see it first thing on coming home from school. A stuffed otter. I had never seen it before but I knew exactly what it was. I had long regretted going through that door in the attic that should have led to no where. I had wanted to burn that house down, my sister tried and look where that got her.
I pulled out my phone and shot my boss a quick message saying family issues had come up and I needed the rest of the day.
I grabbed the blasted toy from the table and shouted at it. "You can't have have them. I know what you are and who sent you. Your gods will get no more sacrifices from my family."
No response but I could see my angry glare reflected in it's beady plastic eyes.
I shook it some more waiting for a response and nothing. "Fine, I know you're imortal but you can still feel pain," I said as I walked into the living room and turned on the gas fire place.
"You wouldn't really do that to me would you," came a squeek from the toy in my hand? "The Lands of Fris needs it's Chosen One's to..."
"Child Soldiers" I interjected. "Thats what we were to you, killers with no idea or right and wrong, just doing as the Otter God commanded."
"No, you were are beloved Chosen One's" the stuffed toy protested. "You saved the Lands of Fris. We made you Kings and Queens of the land in our gratitude."
I shouted, "Give your gratitude to my Aunt and Uncle!" "I can't tell them about my cousin dying at the Battle of Fall, slain by the Autumn King." "No, Kyle dissapeared that fateful day as far as they are concerned, and the years waiting for him to never return have been torture on them"
"We've built him great statues through out the realm" the otter protested. "Our Medal of Kyle is the greatest honor any solider can recieve."
I stared dumbfounded, my arm holding the thing involuntarily moving a little towards the fire.
"And your sister," the otter continued, "our beloved Mother of Flowers.."
"Angela has been in a psychward for the past decade." Fighting back tears, "living 43 years in a magic world, growing up and being an adult, coming back and having to do it again broke her."
"But the Land of Fris is in peril" the stuffed toy protested. "The Kingdom of Fall has a new leader and is on the march again. The Realm of Shadows has been sending raiders into the farmlands of the northern reaches pillaging our food stocks."
"Have you tried diplomacy, trade treaties, foreign aide?" I asked, trying not to scream. "Anything other than kidnapping my children for child soldiers?"
"Chosen One's" the toy corrected. "And they came willingly once we told them what was at stake." "You had twins, we came as triplets hoping you would return with us. I'm sad that you aren't coming, the Otter God will be disappointed"
In anger I threw the stuffed toy into the fire. The squeeks of pain were somehow relaxing. I called the school knowing the outcome. Somehow during lunchtime they disappeared. The school was on lockdown, camera footage being reviewed, class mates being questioned, the works in this day and age. I knew what the outcome would be and I knew I'd have to wait before making my move to avoid becoming suspicious to the police.
The attic door in that abandoned house was still there. I had peeked through several times over the years before trying in vain to seal it shut. I had to clear my head, gather supplies, plan. I was going back through that door but I was not coming home alone.
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I used to be the legend. The big, strong guy that fights off all the monsters, y'know? I was unstoppable, the Dragon-Slayer, the Storm-Bringer, the Lord of light. I had many titles, but now I'm just Jason.
With Krashkorial, the demon king, dead, I didn't have anything else to save. So I settled down, started a family, all that. It was nice, everything was good.
That is, until I caught my daughter playing with my axe. I had hung it up as a sort of decoration, reminder of the hardships I went through to get here. But only those blessed by the goddess of life are able to even pick it up, and she was swinging it around like it was a stick she found in the garden. Needless to say, I took it from her pretty quickly, and after an explanation of how she shouldn't be playing with sharp things or she might get hurt, I sent her to have a surprise sleepover with one of her friends. Not the smartest thing, I know. But I needed her out of the house.
"Mr. funnyface, I know you can hear me."
The stuffed dog sat on the bed like always, staring into the distance with its dark, plastic eyes.
"Talk. Now."
It didn't move, it just sagged a little from the amount of times my daughter's thrown it around.
"Dess."
That got it to pay attention, it whirled around, now staring right at me.
"How did you know it was me!? This is a new form!"
"I can detect magic, remember?"
"Oh. right."
"So, if you'd like to get back to your normal form, I'd like to have a little chat."
The dog suddenly contorted, metal plates shredding it from the inside, while a faint blue glow radiated from it. Suddenly, cotton and fabric was strewn everywhere as a small creature floated where the stuffed toy was. It was a small visored helmet, with blue wisps coming from the bottom. Dessatora's true form.
"So... what do you wan-"
"You KNOW what I want to talk about!" I slammed my fist against the wall in anger.
"Listen, I know you're angry, but there's a reason she was chosen!"
"No! I am not letting you take away her childhood like you did with mine! You whisked me aay to some magical fairytale land promising adventure, fun and wonder, but all I got was scars, a weapon that I don't want and years of therapy! You will NOT do that to he-"
"The demon king is back."
I stumbled back, knocked out of my rage by this sudden claim.
"He can't be, I killed him."
"we know you did, it was a day we've celebrated for years, but he's been revived by his remaining followers."
"I thought they all died in the last war of Asterioth?"
"We all did, but some of them slipped away, and they've been gathering power ever since."
"Then let me handle it, I'm a grown adult with years of experience."
"I can't he's been brought back more powerful than before, you'd die if you fought him."
"Then how can my 12 year old daughter stand any chance!?"
"You know how. Each blessing the goddess of light gives uses more of her energy, so it's stronger than the last."
"Then make her bless me again!" I was desperate, I just wanted my daughter to live a happy, normal life.
"You know that's not how it works."
"Make it how it works then! I won't let that damned demon ruin anymore lives!"
"She has to come. The demon king's still recuperating from its revival, but there's an impenetrable shield around it that not even you could penetrate."
"How long will it be like that?"
"At least five years. Let her train."
"Fine, but she will live a normal life after that. No more prophecies, no more chosen ones. Leave me and my family alone after that. Okay?"
"Deal."
"Good, now I guess it's time for me to train too, I've gotten a little rusty."
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[WP] As a former Chosen One you saw the signs when your daughter/son got themselves into a similar situation. You sent them off on a sleepover with their new friends. It's time to have a 'talk' with their new 'stuffed animal'.
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"So... Tybalt... how nice of you reappear and say nothing to your old friend..."
The Cat plush blinked and took the form or a bipdeal black cat with a crown, scepter, and cape, before becoming a woman clad in nothing but a crown, scepter and cape, a catlike tail behind her, with the legs and arms of cat, looking dapper, smirking with pride.
"Oh dear Helena, what a delightfur\~" She added the pun in the last sentence before Helen slapped her across the face.
"YEEOUCH! WHAT THE HELL?!" Tybalt screeched .
"What did you with my daughter?"
"oh that, well look it's not my fault if she's got the magical talent in her... and besides, you haven't fulfilled your oaths, and you owe me-"
Helen raised her hand again only to have Tybalt take the form of a large panther. "Now Now now... no more nonsense... She made the Pact, she's the newest Magical girl, and until She fulfils YOUR oath to the Kingdom of Faemore, she's going to remain that way..."
Helen growled. "She's not your property to do with as she pleases... I still have my pacts and powers with your nobles, Tybalt..."
"So you do... But no matter. She will be safe enough under my guidence with the rest of the Pride's children... So i'd leave her alone, pretend it's normal... or else..."
Helen watched her former Familair return to a Stuffed toy and then vanish from the room... she knew they would only come back.
She left her daughter's room, and made a phone Call. Karen, Sarah and the others...
It was time for her little Magical Quartet to have words with the Fae once again.
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"She's gone!" Marie yelled up the wooden stairwell, letting her husband know it was time. Randal began his march onto his daughter's room.
He checked his blade, making sure the shining, gleaming steel would come flashing out when needed. He peeked through the windows, seeing the bleak darkness and pondering how much longer they would have. Dark Lords always loved attacking at dusk or evening or even midnight. Never in the morning nor in midday. They would attack during dinner or during rest. Randal remembered when his own village had been raided. Darker than black shadows led to murderous followers.
Randal grimaced at the thought. Twenty years and he still couldn't wash away those horrid memories. Friends being slaughtered, families being butchered and lives being destroyed. Senseless, unknowable violence.
But that was the motif of a Dark Lord, it seemed. Marie had said the same thing happened to her when Randal first met the heroine of Allden. Her home had been burned down in the evening, but the same story. *Murder for the sake of it.* Randal grimaced at that thought as he moved through his own wooden cottage. He was like a wolf, trying to find his prey.
That was why when Randal saw the carrion crows and ravens start flocking, he knew something must be wrong. When Randal noticed the disheveled merchants, bards, and peddlers coming in, speaking of desolation and destruction, then he knew.
"Another Dark Lord is rising in the East," one of the merchants had said a few weeks ago. Randal furrowed his brows at that while he and Cynthia were shopping for a new toy. Cynthia had done her due diligence and passed the last of her classes in the new place of learning that popped up near Willowsburrow. Randal had requested one when the queen of Iloya asked what the hero wanted. He told her he wanted a bright future for his children.
Now it seemed darkness plagued Cynthia's future, and another prophecy would rob lives and futures.
Marie and Randal agreed that they would do everything in their chosen powers to stop that. They hoped that Pinecreek would have the chosen one. Then it would mean Willowsburrow would just need to repulse the onslaught of dark fiends and friends of the night.
Randal and Marie knew they could do it. They had defeated armies of chaos just twenty years ago. Aging might have robbed them of some of their speed, but no withering of time could steal their power.
Then came the signs. Cynthia had burst into Randal and Marie's room one night, crying about dark dreams. He had asked what she dreamt about. She told them of dark riders coming to Willowsburrow, burning down the village.
Randal and Marie looked at each other with pained expressions. The same thing had happened to Marie right before her village burned down.
Then one day, when father and daughter walked around the village's perimeter, Cynthia jumped in fear. She told her father how a dark rider had been staring at them. How his stillness scared her.
Randal had pursed his lips that day and looked out once more. He knew the scene. He and his father went through the same thing all those years ago.
Then came the doll. When Cynthia had picked it out, Randal thought nothing of it. But then the darkness fell. The doll must have been the eyes of the Dark Lord, Randal thought. A way to see her world. To find her and kill her before she could grow strong. The wheels of prophecy move to take his daughter away from him and his wife.
Then came the forces of light. A wizard had appeared, asking for Cynthia. Just like had a wizard had came to Marie. A ranger came from the darkness one day, brooding but vigilant, just like Randal's own. Even a Faewin had come to Willowsburrow. She had asked for Cynthia, commenting on how beautiful his daughter's eyes were. Each and every person coming to the village was a sign that the gears of destiny were turning.
But Randal wouldn't let his daughter go through that pain. Randal's thoughts about the past few weeks faded as he felt the floorboards creak. He stood in front of Cynthia's room.
Randal moved his jaw, getting it ready to push words through it. He didn't want to be rude to his guest. He heard the stairwell groan as his wife moved up it. Randal smirked at that. *Reinforcements are always appreciated.*
He opened the door to a sparse but lived-in room. A table, a chair, a bookcase, a bed, and stuffed animals filled the room. There on the desk was Cynthia's newest stuffed animal. A fox with golden eyes.
Randal watched it as he moved through the room. He knew it was watching him. He thought the color was strange for an item of a Dark Lord.
Randal crossed his arms, staring down the fox. "So," Randal's deep voice cracked out, hitting the silence like a whip, "it's Cynthia, isn't it?"
No response came from the doll, its eyes staring down Randal.
Randal pursed his lips at that and slowly nodded. "Alright, not everyone is a talker. I understand. But, I know what you are."
The fox looked as if it tilted its head. Randal let silence take the room. Distant sounds of dark wings flapping could be heard now. The fox unsettled Randal. *What Dark Lord would have a white fox with gold eyes? Far too close to the colors of Fate and Destiny.*
Randal crossed the room, making each step as deliberate as he could. He wanted to intimidate whoever watched behind those gold, fake eyes. Randal licked his lips, floorboards creaking as he rested his weight. Silence once again filled the room. Only the sound of a bowstring being half-drawn whispered its way to Randal. He smiled at the sound. *Marie's in position.*
"It's fine if you don't want to say anything. Really, it is. Just know that my daughter will *not* be apart of whatever *you* want."
Randal moved to pick up the fox, to throw it out and be rid of it. But before he could, it spoke.
An ethereal, ancient voice rasped out of the fox. "You *dare* stop the gears of Destiny?"
Randal immediately stepped back, retreating to find a better position. *What Dark Lord sounds like that?* If that thing came alive, he wanted distance to use his sword. Once Randal felt like he could pull his blade, he spoke up. "For my Cynthia, I would stop time itself from turning to save her."
The fox's head jerked, swiveling to look directly at Randal. "So you would defy me? Even after I have given you so much fame?"
Randal gulped. This was not a Dark Lord. "Defy who?"
The fox's stitched mouth broke out of its threaded bindings, revealing ghostly teeth. Its plush, soft face curled up into a hard, jagged smile. Cackling came from the ruinous toy. It filled the room, torturing the silence and turning the sparse room into a nightmare.
The cackling died as the fox spoke once more. "It is me, your old friend, Randal Dythorn. The architect of Destiny. I am Fate. The god that gave you your place in history. Forever on, you'll be woven into the threads of Iloya's history as its savior. Wouldn't you want the same for your daughter?" The fox's curdling smile assaulted Randal's vision as its words soured his expression.
But before he could say anything, an arrow flew into the room, slamming itself into the fox's head. The arrowhead tore through the fabric and cotton, shredding the fox's head.
The fox moved no more.
Randal's eyebrows rose as he turned to see his wife at the doorframe. She looked furious, huffing and puffing. Only one thing shot out of her mouth.
"Screw prophecies and screw you, Fate. Randal, let's go save our daughter."
And so, the two chosen ones ran as hard as they could to find their daughter. For they knew the pain that the gears of Destiny could inflict. The suffering Fate could bring to the innocent. But they knew. So they rushed.
The two chosen ones held no doubt that darkness would descend on Willowsburrow far faster than anticipated. Fate would ensure the new Dark Lord would move quicker now. But a husband and wife's light would shine in the quiet village, saving the people and changing Destiny. For Fate failed to realize that his acceleration couldn't defeat the resolve of two parents.
Fate had no clue how far the chosen pair would go to keep their daughter safe.
___
Thank you so much for reading! If you liked this and want more of my writing, then you can find it here at r/WritingKnightly!
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[WP] As a former Chosen One you saw the signs when your daughter/son got themselves into a similar situation. You sent them off on a sleepover with their new friends. It's time to have a 'talk' with their new 'stuffed animal'.
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I swirled my drink and watched the ice cube clack against the glass. Used to be that I'd keep bitters and fancy simple syrups around the house to play at being a mixologist, but these days by the time I got around to having a drink, I was too tired to do anything but to sip whiskey on the rocks. Being a single parent was tough, but I wouldn't trade it for anything. Even if it meant having a weariness settled deep within my bones.
I downed the rest of my whiskey and left the glass by the sink. Sam was off at a sleepover, no doubt being coaxed into ridiculous outfits by her fashionista best friend, and the house should have been quiet. Instead, I could hear the faint sounds of a video game emanating from her room.
It wasn't fear, exactly, that froze me at the bottom of the stairs. Even when I had charged the necromancer king, a gouge gaping in my side and the celestial sword shaking in my hands, I hadn't been afraid— I had been ready to pay the blood price to save kingdom that fostered me. The heaviness in my limbs now, the tightness in my chest— it was only the weariness again, the knowledge that the simple life in the suburbs, the normalcy and gentle pace I had worked so hard to cultivate, was no longer mine to keep.
Because Sam had come home one day with new stuffed animal, a cat with butterfly wings and three iridescent eyes, and ever since the stench of faerie magic had overpowered the familiar rank smell of sweaty shinguards in her room.
I was throwing open Sam's door before I could even think about, instincts taking over like they had when I adventured through Autumn's Edge. A sylph, all silver skin, wicked whiskers and sharp teeth, looked up from a game of Hollow Knight and smiled at me.
"I was wondering when we would meet, Saturn's Star."
"That's not my name anymore."
"Do you prefer Dr. Gravett? I must admit, I tried reading your treatise on black holes and gravitational warping, but the physics of this plane are just sooo boring."
I sat down on Sam's bed—unmade, and we'd being having a chat about that later— and crossed my legs. "I find this world plenty enough for me." I smiled, all teeth and narrowed eyes. "And for my daughter."
"The Court disagrees."
"Kindly, the Court can shove their disagreement up their puckered assholes." Politics had gotten Leo, the first boy I ever loved, killed. The machinations of the Fae had been Autumn's undoing before— I wouldn't let that ruin seep into my world.
"Bold of you to badmouth the Court when the throne was yours and you threw it away."
"I was a child! Barely 15 and still in braces. I was in no shape to lead. To govern."
"That wasn't your call to make," the creature hissed, hackles raised and wings flat against its back. "We had ten years of civil war after you left."
I flinched, remembering the hollowed husks of burnt-down villages as Leo, Amber, and I had made the final trek to the Necromancer King's castle. Dispatching the tyrant should have given Autumn the time to rebuild— the prophecy had been clear, that my blood price would water the fields and let prosperity again bloom.
And I had done my part. I remembered dying, staring up at the frozen stars and feeling my life's blood leech away from me. Only the dying pulse of reanimation magic from the Necromancer King had pulled back me into the realm of the living. On darker days, when Sam was at practice and I stalked our house alone, I wondered if the only thing keeping me alive was rotten magic fused into my soul— if I truly deserved to live, when so many of my friends had perished getting me to that castle.
I stared down at my hands, fingers shaking despite my earlier drink. "I paid the blood price. There was nothing else I could have done."
"You could have *stayed.*" There was something mournful in the sylph's voice, a note that reminded me of Amber's when she had sung all the songs of her kingdom at our campfires. I wondered if this sylph was someone I had met during those two fateful years in Autumn; time moved so differently for the Fae, that it was hard to tell.
The sylph stared at the screen, the pause menu displaying an impressive collection of charms and achievements, and sighed before turning off the game and shutting down the TV.
"Consider this as a courtesy call. Some of us still remember your sacrifice, as little as it all came to."
The sylph stood and shifted, shrinking into a harmless-looking stuffed animal and heading towards the open window near Sam's desk. The cold was back in my veins, and it was fear this time.
"Where is my daughter?" I stood up, my hand going for a sword no longer at my waist. "What have you done to Sam? Stars damn it all, I paid the blood price. This should all be over."
The sylph was barely bigger than my hand in this form, but still those three eyes burned like supernovas as they turned back to look at me.
"Your death was not the blood price we needed. Your daughter's life will have to do instead."
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"She's gone!" Marie yelled up the wooden stairwell, letting her husband know it was time. Randal began his march onto his daughter's room.
He checked his blade, making sure the shining, gleaming steel would come flashing out when needed. He peeked through the windows, seeing the bleak darkness and pondering how much longer they would have. Dark Lords always loved attacking at dusk or evening or even midnight. Never in the morning nor in midday. They would attack during dinner or during rest. Randal remembered when his own village had been raided. Darker than black shadows led to murderous followers.
Randal grimaced at the thought. Twenty years and he still couldn't wash away those horrid memories. Friends being slaughtered, families being butchered and lives being destroyed. Senseless, unknowable violence.
But that was the motif of a Dark Lord, it seemed. Marie had said the same thing happened to her when Randal first met the heroine of Allden. Her home had been burned down in the evening, but the same story. *Murder for the sake of it.* Randal grimaced at that thought as he moved through his own wooden cottage. He was like a wolf, trying to find his prey.
That was why when Randal saw the carrion crows and ravens start flocking, he knew something must be wrong. When Randal noticed the disheveled merchants, bards, and peddlers coming in, speaking of desolation and destruction, then he knew.
"Another Dark Lord is rising in the East," one of the merchants had said a few weeks ago. Randal furrowed his brows at that while he and Cynthia were shopping for a new toy. Cynthia had done her due diligence and passed the last of her classes in the new place of learning that popped up near Willowsburrow. Randal had requested one when the queen of Iloya asked what the hero wanted. He told her he wanted a bright future for his children.
Now it seemed darkness plagued Cynthia's future, and another prophecy would rob lives and futures.
Marie and Randal agreed that they would do everything in their chosen powers to stop that. They hoped that Pinecreek would have the chosen one. Then it would mean Willowsburrow would just need to repulse the onslaught of dark fiends and friends of the night.
Randal and Marie knew they could do it. They had defeated armies of chaos just twenty years ago. Aging might have robbed them of some of their speed, but no withering of time could steal their power.
Then came the signs. Cynthia had burst into Randal and Marie's room one night, crying about dark dreams. He had asked what she dreamt about. She told them of dark riders coming to Willowsburrow, burning down the village.
Randal and Marie looked at each other with pained expressions. The same thing had happened to Marie right before her village burned down.
Then one day, when father and daughter walked around the village's perimeter, Cynthia jumped in fear. She told her father how a dark rider had been staring at them. How his stillness scared her.
Randal had pursed his lips that day and looked out once more. He knew the scene. He and his father went through the same thing all those years ago.
Then came the doll. When Cynthia had picked it out, Randal thought nothing of it. But then the darkness fell. The doll must have been the eyes of the Dark Lord, Randal thought. A way to see her world. To find her and kill her before she could grow strong. The wheels of prophecy move to take his daughter away from him and his wife.
Then came the forces of light. A wizard had appeared, asking for Cynthia. Just like had a wizard had came to Marie. A ranger came from the darkness one day, brooding but vigilant, just like Randal's own. Even a Faewin had come to Willowsburrow. She had asked for Cynthia, commenting on how beautiful his daughter's eyes were. Each and every person coming to the village was a sign that the gears of destiny were turning.
But Randal wouldn't let his daughter go through that pain. Randal's thoughts about the past few weeks faded as he felt the floorboards creak. He stood in front of Cynthia's room.
Randal moved his jaw, getting it ready to push words through it. He didn't want to be rude to his guest. He heard the stairwell groan as his wife moved up it. Randal smirked at that. *Reinforcements are always appreciated.*
He opened the door to a sparse but lived-in room. A table, a chair, a bookcase, a bed, and stuffed animals filled the room. There on the desk was Cynthia's newest stuffed animal. A fox with golden eyes.
Randal watched it as he moved through the room. He knew it was watching him. He thought the color was strange for an item of a Dark Lord.
Randal crossed his arms, staring down the fox. "So," Randal's deep voice cracked out, hitting the silence like a whip, "it's Cynthia, isn't it?"
No response came from the doll, its eyes staring down Randal.
Randal pursed his lips at that and slowly nodded. "Alright, not everyone is a talker. I understand. But, I know what you are."
The fox looked as if it tilted its head. Randal let silence take the room. Distant sounds of dark wings flapping could be heard now. The fox unsettled Randal. *What Dark Lord would have a white fox with gold eyes? Far too close to the colors of Fate and Destiny.*
Randal crossed the room, making each step as deliberate as he could. He wanted to intimidate whoever watched behind those gold, fake eyes. Randal licked his lips, floorboards creaking as he rested his weight. Silence once again filled the room. Only the sound of a bowstring being half-drawn whispered its way to Randal. He smiled at the sound. *Marie's in position.*
"It's fine if you don't want to say anything. Really, it is. Just know that my daughter will *not* be apart of whatever *you* want."
Randal moved to pick up the fox, to throw it out and be rid of it. But before he could, it spoke.
An ethereal, ancient voice rasped out of the fox. "You *dare* stop the gears of Destiny?"
Randal immediately stepped back, retreating to find a better position. *What Dark Lord sounds like that?* If that thing came alive, he wanted distance to use his sword. Once Randal felt like he could pull his blade, he spoke up. "For my Cynthia, I would stop time itself from turning to save her."
The fox's head jerked, swiveling to look directly at Randal. "So you would defy me? Even after I have given you so much fame?"
Randal gulped. This was not a Dark Lord. "Defy who?"
The fox's stitched mouth broke out of its threaded bindings, revealing ghostly teeth. Its plush, soft face curled up into a hard, jagged smile. Cackling came from the ruinous toy. It filled the room, torturing the silence and turning the sparse room into a nightmare.
The cackling died as the fox spoke once more. "It is me, your old friend, Randal Dythorn. The architect of Destiny. I am Fate. The god that gave you your place in history. Forever on, you'll be woven into the threads of Iloya's history as its savior. Wouldn't you want the same for your daughter?" The fox's curdling smile assaulted Randal's vision as its words soured his expression.
But before he could say anything, an arrow flew into the room, slamming itself into the fox's head. The arrowhead tore through the fabric and cotton, shredding the fox's head.
The fox moved no more.
Randal's eyebrows rose as he turned to see his wife at the doorframe. She looked furious, huffing and puffing. Only one thing shot out of her mouth.
"Screw prophecies and screw you, Fate. Randal, let's go save our daughter."
And so, the two chosen ones ran as hard as they could to find their daughter. For they knew the pain that the gears of Destiny could inflict. The suffering Fate could bring to the innocent. But they knew. So they rushed.
The two chosen ones held no doubt that darkness would descend on Willowsburrow far faster than anticipated. Fate would ensure the new Dark Lord would move quicker now. But a husband and wife's light would shine in the quiet village, saving the people and changing Destiny. For Fate failed to realize that his acceleration couldn't defeat the resolve of two parents.
Fate had no clue how far the chosen pair would go to keep their daughter safe.
___
Thank you so much for reading! If you liked this and want more of my writing, then you can find it here at r/WritingKnightly!
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[WP] As a former Chosen One you saw the signs when your daughter/son got themselves into a similar situation. You sent them off on a sleepover with their new friends. It's time to have a 'talk' with their new 'stuffed animal'.
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I sat down on Cassie’s bed, crossed my legs, and removed the notebook from the pocket of my pants. “State your name and speciality for the record,” I said, scribbling on the first page to get the ink flowing. After a moment of silence, I looked up from my journal. “I know Cassie’s a chosen one. I’m her parent, and I’m not letting you take my daughter on some wild journey without telling me what she’ll be facing, first.”
Silence.
“Look, you can stay silent all night, but I know you’ve been talking to her at night, I know her powers have been manifesting. I’d rather she not have to face destiny without at least some training first. So I’ll ask again, name and specialty, please and thank you.”
After another brief silence, the stuffed bear, affectionately named Bear, finally spoke. “Who the hell are you?” they asked.
“I should hope you don’t use that kind of language with my daughter. I’ll give you one more chance to answer the question before you have to find a new child to leech on.”
They groaned, stood up, and stretched, before walking closer to sit down in front of me. “My name is Ollie.”
“Ollie,” I repeated. “Ollie, Ollie, Ollie, Ollie, Ollie… Noted. And what power do you train?”
They hesitated for a moment. “Chaos magic.”
I looked up my notebook again. “Chaos magic? The fuck is my daughter doing with chaos magic?” Chaos magic was generally known as the hardest magic to tame. The most powerful, sure, but that power held up to its name. It was notoriously unpredictable, and most users died fairly young in the pursuit of mastery. In the whole world, there was only one master of chaos magic.
Ollie shrugged. “Fuck if I know, I didn’t give her the power, I was just assigned as her guide. But she’s one of the most powerful chaos magic users anyone has ever seen, in terms of potential, that is.”
“Oi, watch the language, plushie.”
“You swore first!” they protested.
“Yeah, well, I’m Cassie’s parent. She knows better than to copy me by now, you’re her spirit guide.”
“Don’t worry, I’ve been taking good care of her,” Ollie said. “As have you, clearly. Which brings me to my question-”
“You don’t get questions yet,” I interrupted. “What terrible deed has my daughter been tasked with fulfilling?”
Ollie shook their head. “You don’t want to know.”
“I’m fairly certain I do,” I growled. “What are you planning for my daughter?”
Again, Ollie hesitated. After a moment, they decided that I knew too much already to stop now. “Chaos magic,” they said slowly.
“Yeah,” I replied, “you mentioned that part.”
“No,” said Ollie, putting their head in their hands. “No, I mean… Chaos magic. She’s going to master it.”
I froze and nearly dropped my pen. “Excuse me?”
“Only one man has mastered Chaos magic, and he’s used it to live a long and wretched life. Your daughter isn’t just another chosen one, she’s *the* Chosen One.”
There was an old legend, considered by some to be a prophecy, THE prophecy, even, that a young person would master chaos magic, topple a tyrant, and make chaos safe to use. It also said that at the end of the Chosen One’s journey, they would die, their death being the catalyst for the future of magic itself. Being a prophecy, it was vague. Very vague. It gave no timelines, names, or really anything of use. Most people, myself included, felt it was horseshit.
“No,” I said. “That’s just a myth, and even if it wasn’t there’s no way in hell I’m letting you lead Cas to her death, that isn’t happening.”
“The rest of the guides seem to think it’s real,” Ollie said. “And we all seem to think Cassie is The One.”
I looked down for a moment into my notebook, a single question searing into the back of my skull. “What does Kelvin think?”
“What does Kelvin think?” Ollie whispered back to themself. Then it hit them. “Holy fucking shit,” they yelled.
“Language!”
“No, no, no, fuck you, fuck me, holy shit!” They were dancing around the bed, jumping up and down, laughing hysterically. “You’re fucking Josephine Sanchez, aren’t you?” I was silent. “Holy shit you are, you’re a fucking *legend* up there! Fulfilling two prophecies with one guide, you’re a double whammy. Terrina the Destroyer AND Jacob the Conqueror? A god damned superstar, after you and Kelvin parted ways, we completely lost track of you, no wonder Cassie is ‘The One’ The One with you as her mother, holy shit!”
“Answer the question,” I whispered.
Ollie calmed down, and resumed their seat in front of me. “Yes,” they finally said. “Yes, Kelvin thinks Cassie is The One, but nobody knows she’s your daughter, I swear.” I nodded, thinking silently to myself. It felt like I just found out she’d been in a car crash, my mind was racing at a million miles an hour, and yet I couldn’t understand a word of it. The silence was overpowering, crushing, and claustrophobic. “If it makes you feel better,” Ollie said, seeing the terror on my face, “the Council of Guides thinks that, after she beats The Master, she’ll live. For a while, at least. The Prophecy says she’ll topple a tyrant and die bringing sanity to chaos magic. Two separate feats, and the latter will likely take decades of hard work.”
“Will you stay with her for that time? Whatever time she has left?”
Ollie nodded. After a moment of silence, they asked a question of their own. “Will you help her train?”
I hesitated. “I’m not sure what good I can do,” I finally replied. “I was never trained in chaos magic. But I will teach her, under one condition.” Ollie looked into my eyes. “Under no circumstances is any harm to befall my daughter. She is under your care, and if a damn thing happens to her, I will hold you personally accountable. Twice.”
Ollie nodded instantly. “As long as she has me as her guide, and as long as I live, I will protect Cassie.”
“Then it sounds like we’re in agreement,” I replied, standing up from the bed and placing my notebook in my pocket. “Training starts this weekend, on Saturday morning. We’ll tell Cas tomorrow night when she’s home. Together.”
|
"She's gone!" Marie yelled up the wooden stairwell, letting her husband know it was time. Randal began his march onto his daughter's room.
He checked his blade, making sure the shining, gleaming steel would come flashing out when needed. He peeked through the windows, seeing the bleak darkness and pondering how much longer they would have. Dark Lords always loved attacking at dusk or evening or even midnight. Never in the morning nor in midday. They would attack during dinner or during rest. Randal remembered when his own village had been raided. Darker than black shadows led to murderous followers.
Randal grimaced at the thought. Twenty years and he still couldn't wash away those horrid memories. Friends being slaughtered, families being butchered and lives being destroyed. Senseless, unknowable violence.
But that was the motif of a Dark Lord, it seemed. Marie had said the same thing happened to her when Randal first met the heroine of Allden. Her home had been burned down in the evening, but the same story. *Murder for the sake of it.* Randal grimaced at that thought as he moved through his own wooden cottage. He was like a wolf, trying to find his prey.
That was why when Randal saw the carrion crows and ravens start flocking, he knew something must be wrong. When Randal noticed the disheveled merchants, bards, and peddlers coming in, speaking of desolation and destruction, then he knew.
"Another Dark Lord is rising in the East," one of the merchants had said a few weeks ago. Randal furrowed his brows at that while he and Cynthia were shopping for a new toy. Cynthia had done her due diligence and passed the last of her classes in the new place of learning that popped up near Willowsburrow. Randal had requested one when the queen of Iloya asked what the hero wanted. He told her he wanted a bright future for his children.
Now it seemed darkness plagued Cynthia's future, and another prophecy would rob lives and futures.
Marie and Randal agreed that they would do everything in their chosen powers to stop that. They hoped that Pinecreek would have the chosen one. Then it would mean Willowsburrow would just need to repulse the onslaught of dark fiends and friends of the night.
Randal and Marie knew they could do it. They had defeated armies of chaos just twenty years ago. Aging might have robbed them of some of their speed, but no withering of time could steal their power.
Then came the signs. Cynthia had burst into Randal and Marie's room one night, crying about dark dreams. He had asked what she dreamt about. She told them of dark riders coming to Willowsburrow, burning down the village.
Randal and Marie looked at each other with pained expressions. The same thing had happened to Marie right before her village burned down.
Then one day, when father and daughter walked around the village's perimeter, Cynthia jumped in fear. She told her father how a dark rider had been staring at them. How his stillness scared her.
Randal had pursed his lips that day and looked out once more. He knew the scene. He and his father went through the same thing all those years ago.
Then came the doll. When Cynthia had picked it out, Randal thought nothing of it. But then the darkness fell. The doll must have been the eyes of the Dark Lord, Randal thought. A way to see her world. To find her and kill her before she could grow strong. The wheels of prophecy move to take his daughter away from him and his wife.
Then came the forces of light. A wizard had appeared, asking for Cynthia. Just like had a wizard had came to Marie. A ranger came from the darkness one day, brooding but vigilant, just like Randal's own. Even a Faewin had come to Willowsburrow. She had asked for Cynthia, commenting on how beautiful his daughter's eyes were. Each and every person coming to the village was a sign that the gears of destiny were turning.
But Randal wouldn't let his daughter go through that pain. Randal's thoughts about the past few weeks faded as he felt the floorboards creak. He stood in front of Cynthia's room.
Randal moved his jaw, getting it ready to push words through it. He didn't want to be rude to his guest. He heard the stairwell groan as his wife moved up it. Randal smirked at that. *Reinforcements are always appreciated.*
He opened the door to a sparse but lived-in room. A table, a chair, a bookcase, a bed, and stuffed animals filled the room. There on the desk was Cynthia's newest stuffed animal. A fox with golden eyes.
Randal watched it as he moved through the room. He knew it was watching him. He thought the color was strange for an item of a Dark Lord.
Randal crossed his arms, staring down the fox. "So," Randal's deep voice cracked out, hitting the silence like a whip, "it's Cynthia, isn't it?"
No response came from the doll, its eyes staring down Randal.
Randal pursed his lips at that and slowly nodded. "Alright, not everyone is a talker. I understand. But, I know what you are."
The fox looked as if it tilted its head. Randal let silence take the room. Distant sounds of dark wings flapping could be heard now. The fox unsettled Randal. *What Dark Lord would have a white fox with gold eyes? Far too close to the colors of Fate and Destiny.*
Randal crossed the room, making each step as deliberate as he could. He wanted to intimidate whoever watched behind those gold, fake eyes. Randal licked his lips, floorboards creaking as he rested his weight. Silence once again filled the room. Only the sound of a bowstring being half-drawn whispered its way to Randal. He smiled at the sound. *Marie's in position.*
"It's fine if you don't want to say anything. Really, it is. Just know that my daughter will *not* be apart of whatever *you* want."
Randal moved to pick up the fox, to throw it out and be rid of it. But before he could, it spoke.
An ethereal, ancient voice rasped out of the fox. "You *dare* stop the gears of Destiny?"
Randal immediately stepped back, retreating to find a better position. *What Dark Lord sounds like that?* If that thing came alive, he wanted distance to use his sword. Once Randal felt like he could pull his blade, he spoke up. "For my Cynthia, I would stop time itself from turning to save her."
The fox's head jerked, swiveling to look directly at Randal. "So you would defy me? Even after I have given you so much fame?"
Randal gulped. This was not a Dark Lord. "Defy who?"
The fox's stitched mouth broke out of its threaded bindings, revealing ghostly teeth. Its plush, soft face curled up into a hard, jagged smile. Cackling came from the ruinous toy. It filled the room, torturing the silence and turning the sparse room into a nightmare.
The cackling died as the fox spoke once more. "It is me, your old friend, Randal Dythorn. The architect of Destiny. I am Fate. The god that gave you your place in history. Forever on, you'll be woven into the threads of Iloya's history as its savior. Wouldn't you want the same for your daughter?" The fox's curdling smile assaulted Randal's vision as its words soured his expression.
But before he could say anything, an arrow flew into the room, slamming itself into the fox's head. The arrowhead tore through the fabric and cotton, shredding the fox's head.
The fox moved no more.
Randal's eyebrows rose as he turned to see his wife at the doorframe. She looked furious, huffing and puffing. Only one thing shot out of her mouth.
"Screw prophecies and screw you, Fate. Randal, let's go save our daughter."
And so, the two chosen ones ran as hard as they could to find their daughter. For they knew the pain that the gears of Destiny could inflict. The suffering Fate could bring to the innocent. But they knew. So they rushed.
The two chosen ones held no doubt that darkness would descend on Willowsburrow far faster than anticipated. Fate would ensure the new Dark Lord would move quicker now. But a husband and wife's light would shine in the quiet village, saving the people and changing Destiny. For Fate failed to realize that his acceleration couldn't defeat the resolve of two parents.
Fate had no clue how far the chosen pair would go to keep their daughter safe.
___
Thank you so much for reading! If you liked this and want more of my writing, then you can find it here at r/WritingKnightly!
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[WP] As a former Chosen One you saw the signs when your daughter/son got themselves into a similar situation. You sent them off on a sleepover with their new friends. It's time to have a 'talk' with their new 'stuffed animal'.
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I always knew my kid, Halo, was special. However, instead of pride, I have worry. Tell me it's normal for a 7-year-old to pick up sewing in 15 minutes by himself. Tell me it's typical for little Halo to make his own stuffed bears that look store-bought after a few mere hours of practice. Please do. I could use more denial right now.
See, I used to be one of those "Chosen ones" or "Fated Legends" and I retired right after I defeated the Dragon Lord at age 20. One of the signs of being a chosen one is that you have extraordinary talent in whatever your heart desires. My deal was that I loved fighting, like any cliched hero. I could have... passed the Legends stuff onto Halo.
But that's stupid. You're stupid. I'm stupid, this stuff isn't hereditary! It can't be!
Look, I'll prove it once and for all. I have a sword called 'OP' that only shines bright when it's touched by Fated Legends. Normally, it's Parenting 101 to keep kids away from sharp stuff, but not this time.
"Halo! Wanna play a game?" I say to him, who is playing with his first stuffed bear.
"Yes! Yes! Yes!" He says, jumping up in excitement.
"Okay, let's play Statue. Close your eyes, put your hands out and stay very, very still until I say 'Move'. Then count to 100. When you are done counting, I'll say 'Move', and then you win!"
Halo squints at me, saying, "That sounds like no fun."
"Try it first, then we'll see if you're right. C'mon."
He does a cute, tiny grunt, then plays my game. As he counts, I place the sword in his hands and let go. OP gleams... like a star would. I grab OP and shove it back into a nearby box. Darn it. Wait, I feel someone watching me... is Halo cheating? I turn to him, and his eyes are squeezed shut. Nope, not him. I then look at his teddy bear, sitting up. Hold on, wasn't it lying down before?
Fuck.
Halo giggles, "Mommy said a bad word!"
Crap, I said that out loud? Well done, me. Best mom ever.
I keep my preppy voice, "Welp! Looks like Mommy has to feed the swear jar."
He opens his eyes and rushs to the swear jar on the counter. "Jar goes Nom nom nom!"
I guess he lost the game. I go up to the jar half filled with dollar notes and coins, open the jar, and take out my wallet. I drop a quarter in.
Halo says "Nom"
I drop another in.
"Nom"
And three more.
"Nom nom nom!"
Then I drop a fiver in.
"Big one! NOMMMMM"
I chuckle. Halo is such a happy, silly billy. I then frown at the fact that it may not last. Why world? Why pick him to lose his childhood for you? I whip my head around to look at that teddy bear. It's giving me a funny look. That punk.
"Say, Halo. It looks like your teddy needs a bath."
Halo looks at the toy bear, and says, "His name is Sir Cuddles."
"Okay. I'm going to take Sir Cuddles to the bathroom and clean him. You stay here and watch TV."
"Can I come?"
"No, because everyone needs alone time when in the bath."
"Okie dokie."
I grab the bear and head to the bathroom-now-interrogation-room. I lock the door and toss the toy onto the sink.
"You're alive, aren't you?"
The teddy bear stares at me with its beady eyes, never flinching. I slam my hand on the sink like interrogators do with tables when they want to intimidate suspects. The "pling" sound is not as effective.
"Don't lie. I know the deal about Chosen ones getting odd guardian angels. Tell me what you know or i'll throw you in the fireplace."
The bear blinks at me, saying, "That would break your son's heart."
"You underestimate how good a desperate parent is at lying to their kids. Now talk." I poke the toy in the belly.
Sir Cuddles starts to talk in a sagely voice, "A long time ago, there was a humble carpenter, who lived in harmony with all-"
I cut him off, "No backstories. Just tell me what evil he has to defeat and when."
The bear snorts in disapproval, "Fine. In 10 years, he has to defeat a demon lord."
"And when does his training start?"
"In 3 days."
I sigh, knowing the burden. I would never wish it on my child, so I say, "Can I take his place?"
Sir Cuddles folds his arms, "Yes, but the universe seems to favour teens more, not middle aged adults. While I can guarantee Halo's victory, I cannot guarantee yours."
"Wow, ageist. I'm only 30, you know."
The bear scoffs, "It's merely something I observed over centuries. I repeat, centuries. Feel free to dismiss it."
Any uncertainity I had about my decision is now replaced by justifiable irritation. With all of my conviction, I say, "I'm going to prove this ageist universe wrong and kick that demon's ass. Let me fight for Halo."
"Okay, grandma. You can do that, I'll help you with your wheelchair."
"Fuck you too."
|
"She's gone!" Marie yelled up the wooden stairwell, letting her husband know it was time. Randal began his march onto his daughter's room.
He checked his blade, making sure the shining, gleaming steel would come flashing out when needed. He peeked through the windows, seeing the bleak darkness and pondering how much longer they would have. Dark Lords always loved attacking at dusk or evening or even midnight. Never in the morning nor in midday. They would attack during dinner or during rest. Randal remembered when his own village had been raided. Darker than black shadows led to murderous followers.
Randal grimaced at the thought. Twenty years and he still couldn't wash away those horrid memories. Friends being slaughtered, families being butchered and lives being destroyed. Senseless, unknowable violence.
But that was the motif of a Dark Lord, it seemed. Marie had said the same thing happened to her when Randal first met the heroine of Allden. Her home had been burned down in the evening, but the same story. *Murder for the sake of it.* Randal grimaced at that thought as he moved through his own wooden cottage. He was like a wolf, trying to find his prey.
That was why when Randal saw the carrion crows and ravens start flocking, he knew something must be wrong. When Randal noticed the disheveled merchants, bards, and peddlers coming in, speaking of desolation and destruction, then he knew.
"Another Dark Lord is rising in the East," one of the merchants had said a few weeks ago. Randal furrowed his brows at that while he and Cynthia were shopping for a new toy. Cynthia had done her due diligence and passed the last of her classes in the new place of learning that popped up near Willowsburrow. Randal had requested one when the queen of Iloya asked what the hero wanted. He told her he wanted a bright future for his children.
Now it seemed darkness plagued Cynthia's future, and another prophecy would rob lives and futures.
Marie and Randal agreed that they would do everything in their chosen powers to stop that. They hoped that Pinecreek would have the chosen one. Then it would mean Willowsburrow would just need to repulse the onslaught of dark fiends and friends of the night.
Randal and Marie knew they could do it. They had defeated armies of chaos just twenty years ago. Aging might have robbed them of some of their speed, but no withering of time could steal their power.
Then came the signs. Cynthia had burst into Randal and Marie's room one night, crying about dark dreams. He had asked what she dreamt about. She told them of dark riders coming to Willowsburrow, burning down the village.
Randal and Marie looked at each other with pained expressions. The same thing had happened to Marie right before her village burned down.
Then one day, when father and daughter walked around the village's perimeter, Cynthia jumped in fear. She told her father how a dark rider had been staring at them. How his stillness scared her.
Randal had pursed his lips that day and looked out once more. He knew the scene. He and his father went through the same thing all those years ago.
Then came the doll. When Cynthia had picked it out, Randal thought nothing of it. But then the darkness fell. The doll must have been the eyes of the Dark Lord, Randal thought. A way to see her world. To find her and kill her before she could grow strong. The wheels of prophecy move to take his daughter away from him and his wife.
Then came the forces of light. A wizard had appeared, asking for Cynthia. Just like had a wizard had came to Marie. A ranger came from the darkness one day, brooding but vigilant, just like Randal's own. Even a Faewin had come to Willowsburrow. She had asked for Cynthia, commenting on how beautiful his daughter's eyes were. Each and every person coming to the village was a sign that the gears of destiny were turning.
But Randal wouldn't let his daughter go through that pain. Randal's thoughts about the past few weeks faded as he felt the floorboards creak. He stood in front of Cynthia's room.
Randal moved his jaw, getting it ready to push words through it. He didn't want to be rude to his guest. He heard the stairwell groan as his wife moved up it. Randal smirked at that. *Reinforcements are always appreciated.*
He opened the door to a sparse but lived-in room. A table, a chair, a bookcase, a bed, and stuffed animals filled the room. There on the desk was Cynthia's newest stuffed animal. A fox with golden eyes.
Randal watched it as he moved through the room. He knew it was watching him. He thought the color was strange for an item of a Dark Lord.
Randal crossed his arms, staring down the fox. "So," Randal's deep voice cracked out, hitting the silence like a whip, "it's Cynthia, isn't it?"
No response came from the doll, its eyes staring down Randal.
Randal pursed his lips at that and slowly nodded. "Alright, not everyone is a talker. I understand. But, I know what you are."
The fox looked as if it tilted its head. Randal let silence take the room. Distant sounds of dark wings flapping could be heard now. The fox unsettled Randal. *What Dark Lord would have a white fox with gold eyes? Far too close to the colors of Fate and Destiny.*
Randal crossed the room, making each step as deliberate as he could. He wanted to intimidate whoever watched behind those gold, fake eyes. Randal licked his lips, floorboards creaking as he rested his weight. Silence once again filled the room. Only the sound of a bowstring being half-drawn whispered its way to Randal. He smiled at the sound. *Marie's in position.*
"It's fine if you don't want to say anything. Really, it is. Just know that my daughter will *not* be apart of whatever *you* want."
Randal moved to pick up the fox, to throw it out and be rid of it. But before he could, it spoke.
An ethereal, ancient voice rasped out of the fox. "You *dare* stop the gears of Destiny?"
Randal immediately stepped back, retreating to find a better position. *What Dark Lord sounds like that?* If that thing came alive, he wanted distance to use his sword. Once Randal felt like he could pull his blade, he spoke up. "For my Cynthia, I would stop time itself from turning to save her."
The fox's head jerked, swiveling to look directly at Randal. "So you would defy me? Even after I have given you so much fame?"
Randal gulped. This was not a Dark Lord. "Defy who?"
The fox's stitched mouth broke out of its threaded bindings, revealing ghostly teeth. Its plush, soft face curled up into a hard, jagged smile. Cackling came from the ruinous toy. It filled the room, torturing the silence and turning the sparse room into a nightmare.
The cackling died as the fox spoke once more. "It is me, your old friend, Randal Dythorn. The architect of Destiny. I am Fate. The god that gave you your place in history. Forever on, you'll be woven into the threads of Iloya's history as its savior. Wouldn't you want the same for your daughter?" The fox's curdling smile assaulted Randal's vision as its words soured his expression.
But before he could say anything, an arrow flew into the room, slamming itself into the fox's head. The arrowhead tore through the fabric and cotton, shredding the fox's head.
The fox moved no more.
Randal's eyebrows rose as he turned to see his wife at the doorframe. She looked furious, huffing and puffing. Only one thing shot out of her mouth.
"Screw prophecies and screw you, Fate. Randal, let's go save our daughter."
And so, the two chosen ones ran as hard as they could to find their daughter. For they knew the pain that the gears of Destiny could inflict. The suffering Fate could bring to the innocent. But they knew. So they rushed.
The two chosen ones held no doubt that darkness would descend on Willowsburrow far faster than anticipated. Fate would ensure the new Dark Lord would move quicker now. But a husband and wife's light would shine in the quiet village, saving the people and changing Destiny. For Fate failed to realize that his acceleration couldn't defeat the resolve of two parents.
Fate had no clue how far the chosen pair would go to keep their daughter safe.
___
Thank you so much for reading! If you liked this and want more of my writing, then you can find it here at r/WritingKnightly!
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[WP] As a former Chosen One you saw the signs when your daughter/son got themselves into a similar situation. You sent them off on a sleepover with their new friends. It's time to have a 'talk' with their new 'stuffed animal'.
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“Have fun,” I say to Jenny as she waves to me from the car. Her friends are laughing and giggling. How fast she’s grown I think to myself as I watch the car drive away. It’s too early for them to come. But is it too early? It was about this age when I was taken.
I step into the house and close the door. I lean against the door, breathing softly, trying to steady myself. They are probably just scouting, I tell myself. Nothing more. I’ll go talk to it and find out.
I head upstairs and slowly open the door to my daughter’s room. Even though she’s ten now, there are still childish toys, including her stuffed animals piled up in the corner of her bed. A new one has appeared. A new one with uncanny eyes.
“I know it’s you, Lazrath,” I say to the teddy bear who only looks blankly towards the ceiling. I stand there staring at it for a long time. Finally, the eyes move a little, and a little more, then they rest on me, glaring.
The teddy bear sits up, then pushes itself off the bed, transforming itself into the goblin I know so well. Lazrath. First lieutenant of the Queen.
He bows to me, mockingly.
“What do you want?” I ask him.
“It is time for your daughter to pass over, to come where she rightfully belongs. The Queen is getting impatient.”
“Impatient?” I say, incredulously. “She’s not going, Lazrath. That will not happen. Not while I’m still alive.”
“The queen can make arrangements for that,” Lazrath says with a chuckle. “The fact is, *Prince.* Your daughter is stronger than you know. Even stronger than you were back then.”
“Of course she is,” I say. “I know that. But she belongs here. With me. Not out there. There’s nothing good for her there.”
“She rots here. Wasted. Just like you.” Lazrath says, pointing his gangly little finger at me. He was short, slimy, with a huge pot belly.
“Maybe you should change back. You looked better as the stuffed bear,” I say.
Lazrath sneers. “Don’t test me, Prince. You will regret it.”
“I’m no prince,” I say, walking up to him, grabbing him by the neck. He kicks his feet, trying to squirm out of my grasp as I raise him in the air. “And I’m not going to say it again. *Leave. My. Daughter. Alone*!” I scream and toss him roughly on the bed.
“Oh!” he yelps out, scooting of the bed. “She will hear about this!”
He summons a portal and steps up to it. “Be seeing her soon, Prince.”
I step quickly towards Lazrath, but he ducks into the portal and disappears as it contracts and then is gone and I’m left standing in the silence of my daughter’s room with the pink bed rails and white dresser and mirror with pictures of her friends and boys in magazines and I feel really, really old.
\---
*“’I’m too old to swing on branches, said the boy.’*
*‘My trunk is gone,’ said the tree. ‘You cannot climb—’*
*‘I’m too tired to climb’ said the boy.*
*‘I am sorry,’ sighed the tree. ‘I wish that I could give you something… but I have nothing left. I am just an old stump. I am sorry…’*
&#x200B;
“Dad?”
“Yes, Jenny?”
“Why do you like to read this book so much?”
“I don’t know.” I say, closing the book. “It’s a beautiful book about the sacrifices we make for the ones we love.” I smile down at her, pushing the hair out of her face. “You’ll understand when you become an old, tired stump like me.”
“You’re not old Daddy!”
“Well, maybe not. But I sure feel that way. How was your sleepover?”
“It was fun, Dad. Rachael has a trampoline! And her mom baked us cookies and, in the morning, she made us all a huge breakfast that was so good.”
“That’s wonderful, Jenny. I’m glad you had fun.”
“Dad?”
“Yes, Jenny?”
“Where’s Mommy?”
I smile again and take a deep breath. “Jenny that is an important question, and we will talk about that soon. But tonight, I want you to rest. And I am going to sit here in this chair and rest also.”
“You’re going to sleep in my room?”
“For tonight, yes. I just want to be close to you. Is that okay, Jenny?”
She looked at me and shrugged. “Sure, Dad.” She rolled over and I pulled the covers up to her shoulders and kissed her head, then turned out the light. “Goodnight, sweetie.”
“Goodnight, Dad.”
\----
I am woken by a crash of a glass downstairs. I shoot up out of my chair. Jenny. I look at the bed and she is gone.
“Jenny!” I shout and I get no answer. I run to the door and take three steps at a time until I’m at the bottom of the stairs.
There, standing with Jenny is the Lazrath the teddy bear.
Jenny stares at me, she seems like she is sleep walking.
“It’s time,” Lazrath said. “You’ll be wise to forget about her.”
“Jenny!” I scream and run towards them, but they’ve walked through the portal and it contracts and disappears in my grasping hands.
I sit there, looking at my hands, at the spot Jenny last was. I sigh. I never thought it would come to this. Jenny wasn’t safe there. Not with *her.* I need to return. I need to get her back from the Queen before it is too late. I need to get her back from her mother.
\----
I walk into my room and pull the chest from under the bed. It is covered in dust. I blow the dust off then undo the latches. There sitting inside is the lute I’ve tried for so long to forget about. The golden wood grain twisting under the light like flames. I pick up the lute and it feels awkward in my hands.
I pluck a cord, then another. I try to calm my body but there is nothing there. Nothing inside me. The music is for the young, I think to myself. It’s no use. You won’t be able to return.
Try. You must try, I tell myself. And so, I try again, and my fingers pluck the cords and the lute sings softly. Yet it is still not there. I toss the lute on the bed in frustration. It’s not going to work. She’s gone and I can’t get her back. I sit on the bed and lean forward, grabbing my hair.
Just calm down, Anthony. Now pick up the lute and think about everything you’ve tried to forget. Think about the gardens and the flowers and the mountain breeze. Think about the purple skies and teal moons. Think about the castle in all its shining crystal magnificence and the halls of chorus and the laughter and elves in their eternal beauty and the wonderment of youth that flowed from there.
And the lute was singing now in my hands, and I can feel it, my fingers going, catching the long-forgotten melody. The portal began to open slowly at first, in spits and starts, but the melody increased, and my fingers worked the lute faster and faster and there, it was open. And I stepped through to the mountains and the castle which I had not seen since I was not much older than a boy.
It was different now. Much different. The sky had turned red, bleeding. No more the eversoft purple nights with the teal moonlight. No more gardens of variegated flowers and their scent wafting in the mountain breeze. No more was there the everlasting romance of it all. What was left was only a dead sky and the castle, black as black could be. Breaking up from the wasteland like a necrotic tooth.
The land of elves and laughter had died, and it was goblin territory now. And I heard the goblins laughter high up on the ramparts of the black castle and I could see them dancing their spiteful dances at me in the dead, bloody sky.
I walked across the desiccated and cracked earth and up to the black castle. I played a song of lament for the land that had been lost. The land of my youth and love. And I sang for memories that were now blown away with the mountain breeze. And I stepped towards the black castle. Stepped over the bridge to speak with the Goblin Queen. To speak with my once lover. One who I would have stayed here with forever. If it wasn’t for what happened.
And the great doors creaked open for me. Thousands, hundreds of feet high they rose. And within those doors the chorus and the laughter that I remembered was gone and the beautiful mosaics on the white stone walls were gone and now it was only cobwebs and shadows.
And there, up in the webs was a great spider who came gliding down to me on a long, thick string.
“Ah, so the prince has returned, has he? And what does the prince want here?”
“I am here to bring my daughter home. I am here to speak with the Queen.”
“Well, well,” said the spider in her shrill little voice. “Maybe the queen doesn’t want to talk to you. Maybe your daughter doesn’t want to talk to you.” And she cackled, her great bulbous body twitching in the air with her laughter.
“I am going into the castle, and you will not stop me,” I said.
“Oh, is that right?” The spider said, lowering itself completely to the ground. And on the spider’s back were thousands and thousands of baby spiders tumbling over each other in a seething mass. “My babies are hungry,” she said and the babies leaped off the spider’s back and crawled towards me frantically in a wave.
I started the song low and short at first, the melody dragging amongst the room. And I picked up the speed, playing my fury for the lost times, for the abandoned hall of the castle, left now only for shadows and spiders. I played for the death of the kingdom I remembered, and I let that anger flare into the lute in a *chant of flame,* sending thin strings of fire swirling around me.
And as the tiny little spiders crawled up my legs, they withered and screamed and curled up from the heat and I parted through them like butter.
“My babies!” cried the great fat spider, her eight black eyes filled with fury. “You will pay for my misfortune,” she screamed, skittering towards me.
\---
***PART II BELOW***
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"She's gone!" Marie yelled up the wooden stairwell, letting her husband know it was time. Randal began his march onto his daughter's room.
He checked his blade, making sure the shining, gleaming steel would come flashing out when needed. He peeked through the windows, seeing the bleak darkness and pondering how much longer they would have. Dark Lords always loved attacking at dusk or evening or even midnight. Never in the morning nor in midday. They would attack during dinner or during rest. Randal remembered when his own village had been raided. Darker than black shadows led to murderous followers.
Randal grimaced at the thought. Twenty years and he still couldn't wash away those horrid memories. Friends being slaughtered, families being butchered and lives being destroyed. Senseless, unknowable violence.
But that was the motif of a Dark Lord, it seemed. Marie had said the same thing happened to her when Randal first met the heroine of Allden. Her home had been burned down in the evening, but the same story. *Murder for the sake of it.* Randal grimaced at that thought as he moved through his own wooden cottage. He was like a wolf, trying to find his prey.
That was why when Randal saw the carrion crows and ravens start flocking, he knew something must be wrong. When Randal noticed the disheveled merchants, bards, and peddlers coming in, speaking of desolation and destruction, then he knew.
"Another Dark Lord is rising in the East," one of the merchants had said a few weeks ago. Randal furrowed his brows at that while he and Cynthia were shopping for a new toy. Cynthia had done her due diligence and passed the last of her classes in the new place of learning that popped up near Willowsburrow. Randal had requested one when the queen of Iloya asked what the hero wanted. He told her he wanted a bright future for his children.
Now it seemed darkness plagued Cynthia's future, and another prophecy would rob lives and futures.
Marie and Randal agreed that they would do everything in their chosen powers to stop that. They hoped that Pinecreek would have the chosen one. Then it would mean Willowsburrow would just need to repulse the onslaught of dark fiends and friends of the night.
Randal and Marie knew they could do it. They had defeated armies of chaos just twenty years ago. Aging might have robbed them of some of their speed, but no withering of time could steal their power.
Then came the signs. Cynthia had burst into Randal and Marie's room one night, crying about dark dreams. He had asked what she dreamt about. She told them of dark riders coming to Willowsburrow, burning down the village.
Randal and Marie looked at each other with pained expressions. The same thing had happened to Marie right before her village burned down.
Then one day, when father and daughter walked around the village's perimeter, Cynthia jumped in fear. She told her father how a dark rider had been staring at them. How his stillness scared her.
Randal had pursed his lips that day and looked out once more. He knew the scene. He and his father went through the same thing all those years ago.
Then came the doll. When Cynthia had picked it out, Randal thought nothing of it. But then the darkness fell. The doll must have been the eyes of the Dark Lord, Randal thought. A way to see her world. To find her and kill her before she could grow strong. The wheels of prophecy move to take his daughter away from him and his wife.
Then came the forces of light. A wizard had appeared, asking for Cynthia. Just like had a wizard had came to Marie. A ranger came from the darkness one day, brooding but vigilant, just like Randal's own. Even a Faewin had come to Willowsburrow. She had asked for Cynthia, commenting on how beautiful his daughter's eyes were. Each and every person coming to the village was a sign that the gears of destiny were turning.
But Randal wouldn't let his daughter go through that pain. Randal's thoughts about the past few weeks faded as he felt the floorboards creak. He stood in front of Cynthia's room.
Randal moved his jaw, getting it ready to push words through it. He didn't want to be rude to his guest. He heard the stairwell groan as his wife moved up it. Randal smirked at that. *Reinforcements are always appreciated.*
He opened the door to a sparse but lived-in room. A table, a chair, a bookcase, a bed, and stuffed animals filled the room. There on the desk was Cynthia's newest stuffed animal. A fox with golden eyes.
Randal watched it as he moved through the room. He knew it was watching him. He thought the color was strange for an item of a Dark Lord.
Randal crossed his arms, staring down the fox. "So," Randal's deep voice cracked out, hitting the silence like a whip, "it's Cynthia, isn't it?"
No response came from the doll, its eyes staring down Randal.
Randal pursed his lips at that and slowly nodded. "Alright, not everyone is a talker. I understand. But, I know what you are."
The fox looked as if it tilted its head. Randal let silence take the room. Distant sounds of dark wings flapping could be heard now. The fox unsettled Randal. *What Dark Lord would have a white fox with gold eyes? Far too close to the colors of Fate and Destiny.*
Randal crossed the room, making each step as deliberate as he could. He wanted to intimidate whoever watched behind those gold, fake eyes. Randal licked his lips, floorboards creaking as he rested his weight. Silence once again filled the room. Only the sound of a bowstring being half-drawn whispered its way to Randal. He smiled at the sound. *Marie's in position.*
"It's fine if you don't want to say anything. Really, it is. Just know that my daughter will *not* be apart of whatever *you* want."
Randal moved to pick up the fox, to throw it out and be rid of it. But before he could, it spoke.
An ethereal, ancient voice rasped out of the fox. "You *dare* stop the gears of Destiny?"
Randal immediately stepped back, retreating to find a better position. *What Dark Lord sounds like that?* If that thing came alive, he wanted distance to use his sword. Once Randal felt like he could pull his blade, he spoke up. "For my Cynthia, I would stop time itself from turning to save her."
The fox's head jerked, swiveling to look directly at Randal. "So you would defy me? Even after I have given you so much fame?"
Randal gulped. This was not a Dark Lord. "Defy who?"
The fox's stitched mouth broke out of its threaded bindings, revealing ghostly teeth. Its plush, soft face curled up into a hard, jagged smile. Cackling came from the ruinous toy. It filled the room, torturing the silence and turning the sparse room into a nightmare.
The cackling died as the fox spoke once more. "It is me, your old friend, Randal Dythorn. The architect of Destiny. I am Fate. The god that gave you your place in history. Forever on, you'll be woven into the threads of Iloya's history as its savior. Wouldn't you want the same for your daughter?" The fox's curdling smile assaulted Randal's vision as its words soured his expression.
But before he could say anything, an arrow flew into the room, slamming itself into the fox's head. The arrowhead tore through the fabric and cotton, shredding the fox's head.
The fox moved no more.
Randal's eyebrows rose as he turned to see his wife at the doorframe. She looked furious, huffing and puffing. Only one thing shot out of her mouth.
"Screw prophecies and screw you, Fate. Randal, let's go save our daughter."
And so, the two chosen ones ran as hard as they could to find their daughter. For they knew the pain that the gears of Destiny could inflict. The suffering Fate could bring to the innocent. But they knew. So they rushed.
The two chosen ones held no doubt that darkness would descend on Willowsburrow far faster than anticipated. Fate would ensure the new Dark Lord would move quicker now. But a husband and wife's light would shine in the quiet village, saving the people and changing Destiny. For Fate failed to realize that his acceleration couldn't defeat the resolve of two parents.
Fate had no clue how far the chosen pair would go to keep their daughter safe.
___
Thank you so much for reading! If you liked this and want more of my writing, then you can find it here at r/WritingKnightly!
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[WP] As a former Chosen One you saw the signs when your daughter/son got themselves into a similar situation. You sent them off on a sleepover with their new friends. It's time to have a 'talk' with their new 'stuffed animal'.
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I sat down on Cassie’s bed, crossed my legs, and removed the notebook from the pocket of my pants. “State your name and speciality for the record,” I said, scribbling on the first page to get the ink flowing. After a moment of silence, I looked up from my journal. “I know Cassie’s a chosen one. I’m her parent, and I’m not letting you take my daughter on some wild journey without telling me what she’ll be facing, first.”
Silence.
“Look, you can stay silent all night, but I know you’ve been talking to her at night, I know her powers have been manifesting. I’d rather she not have to face destiny without at least some training first. So I’ll ask again, name and specialty, please and thank you.”
After another brief silence, the stuffed bear, affectionately named Bear, finally spoke. “Who the hell are you?” they asked.
“I should hope you don’t use that kind of language with my daughter. I’ll give you one more chance to answer the question before you have to find a new child to leech on.”
They groaned, stood up, and stretched, before walking closer to sit down in front of me. “My name is Ollie.”
“Ollie,” I repeated. “Ollie, Ollie, Ollie, Ollie, Ollie… Noted. And what power do you train?”
They hesitated for a moment. “Chaos magic.”
I looked up my notebook again. “Chaos magic? The fuck is my daughter doing with chaos magic?” Chaos magic was generally known as the hardest magic to tame. The most powerful, sure, but that power held up to its name. It was notoriously unpredictable, and most users died fairly young in the pursuit of mastery. In the whole world, there was only one master of chaos magic.
Ollie shrugged. “Fuck if I know, I didn’t give her the power, I was just assigned as her guide. But she’s one of the most powerful chaos magic users anyone has ever seen, in terms of potential, that is.”
“Oi, watch the language, plushie.”
“You swore first!” they protested.
“Yeah, well, I’m Cassie’s parent. She knows better than to copy me by now, you’re her spirit guide.”
“Don’t worry, I’ve been taking good care of her,” Ollie said. “As have you, clearly. Which brings me to my question-”
“You don’t get questions yet,” I interrupted. “What terrible deed has my daughter been tasked with fulfilling?”
Ollie shook their head. “You don’t want to know.”
“I’m fairly certain I do,” I growled. “What are you planning for my daughter?”
Again, Ollie hesitated. After a moment, they decided that I knew too much already to stop now. “Chaos magic,” they said slowly.
“Yeah,” I replied, “you mentioned that part.”
“No,” said Ollie, putting their head in their hands. “No, I mean… Chaos magic. She’s going to master it.”
I froze and nearly dropped my pen. “Excuse me?”
“Only one man has mastered Chaos magic, and he’s used it to live a long and wretched life. Your daughter isn’t just another chosen one, she’s *the* Chosen One.”
There was an old legend, considered by some to be a prophecy, THE prophecy, even, that a young person would master chaos magic, topple a tyrant, and make chaos safe to use. It also said that at the end of the Chosen One’s journey, they would die, their death being the catalyst for the future of magic itself. Being a prophecy, it was vague. Very vague. It gave no timelines, names, or really anything of use. Most people, myself included, felt it was horseshit.
“No,” I said. “That’s just a myth, and even if it wasn’t there’s no way in hell I’m letting you lead Cas to her death, that isn’t happening.”
“The rest of the guides seem to think it’s real,” Ollie said. “And we all seem to think Cassie is The One.”
I looked down for a moment into my notebook, a single question searing into the back of my skull. “What does Kelvin think?”
“What does Kelvin think?” Ollie whispered back to themself. Then it hit them. “Holy fucking shit,” they yelled.
“Language!”
“No, no, no, fuck you, fuck me, holy shit!” They were dancing around the bed, jumping up and down, laughing hysterically. “You’re fucking Josephine Sanchez, aren’t you?” I was silent. “Holy shit you are, you’re a fucking *legend* up there! Fulfilling two prophecies with one guide, you’re a double whammy. Terrina the Destroyer AND Jacob the Conqueror? A god damned superstar, after you and Kelvin parted ways, we completely lost track of you, no wonder Cassie is ‘The One’ The One with you as her mother, holy shit!”
“Answer the question,” I whispered.
Ollie calmed down, and resumed their seat in front of me. “Yes,” they finally said. “Yes, Kelvin thinks Cassie is The One, but nobody knows she’s your daughter, I swear.” I nodded, thinking silently to myself. It felt like I just found out she’d been in a car crash, my mind was racing at a million miles an hour, and yet I couldn’t understand a word of it. The silence was overpowering, crushing, and claustrophobic. “If it makes you feel better,” Ollie said, seeing the terror on my face, “the Council of Guides thinks that, after she beats The Master, she’ll live. For a while, at least. The Prophecy says she’ll topple a tyrant and die bringing sanity to chaos magic. Two separate feats, and the latter will likely take decades of hard work.”
“Will you stay with her for that time? Whatever time she has left?”
Ollie nodded. After a moment of silence, they asked a question of their own. “Will you help her train?”
I hesitated. “I’m not sure what good I can do,” I finally replied. “I was never trained in chaos magic. But I will teach her, under one condition.” Ollie looked into my eyes. “Under no circumstances is any harm to befall my daughter. She is under your care, and if a damn thing happens to her, I will hold you personally accountable. Twice.”
Ollie nodded instantly. “As long as she has me as her guide, and as long as I live, I will protect Cassie.”
“Then it sounds like we’re in agreement,” I replied, standing up from the bed and placing my notebook in my pocket. “Training starts this weekend, on Saturday morning. We’ll tell Cas tomorrow night when she’s home. Together.”
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"So... Tybalt... how nice of you reappear and say nothing to your old friend..."
The Cat plush blinked and took the form or a bipdeal black cat with a crown, scepter, and cape, before becoming a woman clad in nothing but a crown, scepter and cape, a catlike tail behind her, with the legs and arms of cat, looking dapper, smirking with pride.
"Oh dear Helena, what a delightfur\~" She added the pun in the last sentence before Helen slapped her across the face.
"YEEOUCH! WHAT THE HELL?!" Tybalt screeched .
"What did you with my daughter?"
"oh that, well look it's not my fault if she's got the magical talent in her... and besides, you haven't fulfilled your oaths, and you owe me-"
Helen raised her hand again only to have Tybalt take the form of a large panther. "Now Now now... no more nonsense... She made the Pact, she's the newest Magical girl, and until She fulfils YOUR oath to the Kingdom of Faemore, she's going to remain that way..."
Helen growled. "She's not your property to do with as she pleases... I still have my pacts and powers with your nobles, Tybalt..."
"So you do... But no matter. She will be safe enough under my guidence with the rest of the Pride's children... So i'd leave her alone, pretend it's normal... or else..."
Helen watched her former Familair return to a Stuffed toy and then vanish from the room... she knew they would only come back.
She left her daughter's room, and made a phone Call. Karen, Sarah and the others...
It was time for her little Magical Quartet to have words with the Fae once again.
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[WP] As a former Chosen One you saw the signs when your daughter/son got themselves into a similar situation. You sent them off on a sleepover with their new friends. It's time to have a 'talk' with their new 'stuffed animal'.
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I always knew my kid, Halo, was special. However, instead of pride, I have worry. Tell me it's normal for a 7-year-old to pick up sewing in 15 minutes by himself. Tell me it's typical for little Halo to make his own stuffed bears that look store-bought after a few mere hours of practice. Please do. I could use more denial right now.
See, I used to be one of those "Chosen ones" or "Fated Legends" and I retired right after I defeated the Dragon Lord at age 20. One of the signs of being a chosen one is that you have extraordinary talent in whatever your heart desires. My deal was that I loved fighting, like any cliched hero. I could have... passed the Legends stuff onto Halo.
But that's stupid. You're stupid. I'm stupid, this stuff isn't hereditary! It can't be!
Look, I'll prove it once and for all. I have a sword called 'OP' that only shines bright when it's touched by Fated Legends. Normally, it's Parenting 101 to keep kids away from sharp stuff, but not this time.
"Halo! Wanna play a game?" I say to him, who is playing with his first stuffed bear.
"Yes! Yes! Yes!" He says, jumping up in excitement.
"Okay, let's play Statue. Close your eyes, put your hands out and stay very, very still until I say 'Move'. Then count to 100. When you are done counting, I'll say 'Move', and then you win!"
Halo squints at me, saying, "That sounds like no fun."
"Try it first, then we'll see if you're right. C'mon."
He does a cute, tiny grunt, then plays my game. As he counts, I place the sword in his hands and let go. OP gleams... like a star would. I grab OP and shove it back into a nearby box. Darn it. Wait, I feel someone watching me... is Halo cheating? I turn to him, and his eyes are squeezed shut. Nope, not him. I then look at his teddy bear, sitting up. Hold on, wasn't it lying down before?
Fuck.
Halo giggles, "Mommy said a bad word!"
Crap, I said that out loud? Well done, me. Best mom ever.
I keep my preppy voice, "Welp! Looks like Mommy has to feed the swear jar."
He opens his eyes and rushs to the swear jar on the counter. "Jar goes Nom nom nom!"
I guess he lost the game. I go up to the jar half filled with dollar notes and coins, open the jar, and take out my wallet. I drop a quarter in.
Halo says "Nom"
I drop another in.
"Nom"
And three more.
"Nom nom nom!"
Then I drop a fiver in.
"Big one! NOMMMMM"
I chuckle. Halo is such a happy, silly billy. I then frown at the fact that it may not last. Why world? Why pick him to lose his childhood for you? I whip my head around to look at that teddy bear. It's giving me a funny look. That punk.
"Say, Halo. It looks like your teddy needs a bath."
Halo looks at the toy bear, and says, "His name is Sir Cuddles."
"Okay. I'm going to take Sir Cuddles to the bathroom and clean him. You stay here and watch TV."
"Can I come?"
"No, because everyone needs alone time when in the bath."
"Okie dokie."
I grab the bear and head to the bathroom-now-interrogation-room. I lock the door and toss the toy onto the sink.
"You're alive, aren't you?"
The teddy bear stares at me with its beady eyes, never flinching. I slam my hand on the sink like interrogators do with tables when they want to intimidate suspects. The "pling" sound is not as effective.
"Don't lie. I know the deal about Chosen ones getting odd guardian angels. Tell me what you know or i'll throw you in the fireplace."
The bear blinks at me, saying, "That would break your son's heart."
"You underestimate how good a desperate parent is at lying to their kids. Now talk." I poke the toy in the belly.
Sir Cuddles starts to talk in a sagely voice, "A long time ago, there was a humble carpenter, who lived in harmony with all-"
I cut him off, "No backstories. Just tell me what evil he has to defeat and when."
The bear snorts in disapproval, "Fine. In 10 years, he has to defeat a demon lord."
"And when does his training start?"
"In 3 days."
I sigh, knowing the burden. I would never wish it on my child, so I say, "Can I take his place?"
Sir Cuddles folds his arms, "Yes, but the universe seems to favour teens more, not middle aged adults. While I can guarantee Halo's victory, I cannot guarantee yours."
"Wow, ageist. I'm only 30, you know."
The bear scoffs, "It's merely something I observed over centuries. I repeat, centuries. Feel free to dismiss it."
Any uncertainity I had about my decision is now replaced by justifiable irritation. With all of my conviction, I say, "I'm going to prove this ageist universe wrong and kick that demon's ass. Let me fight for Halo."
"Okay, grandma. You can do that, I'll help you with your wheelchair."
"Fuck you too."
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"So... Tybalt... how nice of you reappear and say nothing to your old friend..."
The Cat plush blinked and took the form or a bipdeal black cat with a crown, scepter, and cape, before becoming a woman clad in nothing but a crown, scepter and cape, a catlike tail behind her, with the legs and arms of cat, looking dapper, smirking with pride.
"Oh dear Helena, what a delightfur\~" She added the pun in the last sentence before Helen slapped her across the face.
"YEEOUCH! WHAT THE HELL?!" Tybalt screeched .
"What did you with my daughter?"
"oh that, well look it's not my fault if she's got the magical talent in her... and besides, you haven't fulfilled your oaths, and you owe me-"
Helen raised her hand again only to have Tybalt take the form of a large panther. "Now Now now... no more nonsense... She made the Pact, she's the newest Magical girl, and until She fulfils YOUR oath to the Kingdom of Faemore, she's going to remain that way..."
Helen growled. "She's not your property to do with as she pleases... I still have my pacts and powers with your nobles, Tybalt..."
"So you do... But no matter. She will be safe enough under my guidence with the rest of the Pride's children... So i'd leave her alone, pretend it's normal... or else..."
Helen watched her former Familair return to a Stuffed toy and then vanish from the room... she knew they would only come back.
She left her daughter's room, and made a phone Call. Karen, Sarah and the others...
It was time for her little Magical Quartet to have words with the Fae once again.
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[WP] As a former Chosen One you saw the signs when your daughter/son got themselves into a similar situation. You sent them off on a sleepover with their new friends. It's time to have a 'talk' with their new 'stuffed animal'.
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I sat down on Cassie’s bed, crossed my legs, and removed the notebook from the pocket of my pants. “State your name and speciality for the record,” I said, scribbling on the first page to get the ink flowing. After a moment of silence, I looked up from my journal. “I know Cassie’s a chosen one. I’m her parent, and I’m not letting you take my daughter on some wild journey without telling me what she’ll be facing, first.”
Silence.
“Look, you can stay silent all night, but I know you’ve been talking to her at night, I know her powers have been manifesting. I’d rather she not have to face destiny without at least some training first. So I’ll ask again, name and specialty, please and thank you.”
After another brief silence, the stuffed bear, affectionately named Bear, finally spoke. “Who the hell are you?” they asked.
“I should hope you don’t use that kind of language with my daughter. I’ll give you one more chance to answer the question before you have to find a new child to leech on.”
They groaned, stood up, and stretched, before walking closer to sit down in front of me. “My name is Ollie.”
“Ollie,” I repeated. “Ollie, Ollie, Ollie, Ollie, Ollie… Noted. And what power do you train?”
They hesitated for a moment. “Chaos magic.”
I looked up my notebook again. “Chaos magic? The fuck is my daughter doing with chaos magic?” Chaos magic was generally known as the hardest magic to tame. The most powerful, sure, but that power held up to its name. It was notoriously unpredictable, and most users died fairly young in the pursuit of mastery. In the whole world, there was only one master of chaos magic.
Ollie shrugged. “Fuck if I know, I didn’t give her the power, I was just assigned as her guide. But she’s one of the most powerful chaos magic users anyone has ever seen, in terms of potential, that is.”
“Oi, watch the language, plushie.”
“You swore first!” they protested.
“Yeah, well, I’m Cassie’s parent. She knows better than to copy me by now, you’re her spirit guide.”
“Don’t worry, I’ve been taking good care of her,” Ollie said. “As have you, clearly. Which brings me to my question-”
“You don’t get questions yet,” I interrupted. “What terrible deed has my daughter been tasked with fulfilling?”
Ollie shook their head. “You don’t want to know.”
“I’m fairly certain I do,” I growled. “What are you planning for my daughter?”
Again, Ollie hesitated. After a moment, they decided that I knew too much already to stop now. “Chaos magic,” they said slowly.
“Yeah,” I replied, “you mentioned that part.”
“No,” said Ollie, putting their head in their hands. “No, I mean… Chaos magic. She’s going to master it.”
I froze and nearly dropped my pen. “Excuse me?”
“Only one man has mastered Chaos magic, and he’s used it to live a long and wretched life. Your daughter isn’t just another chosen one, she’s *the* Chosen One.”
There was an old legend, considered by some to be a prophecy, THE prophecy, even, that a young person would master chaos magic, topple a tyrant, and make chaos safe to use. It also said that at the end of the Chosen One’s journey, they would die, their death being the catalyst for the future of magic itself. Being a prophecy, it was vague. Very vague. It gave no timelines, names, or really anything of use. Most people, myself included, felt it was horseshit.
“No,” I said. “That’s just a myth, and even if it wasn’t there’s no way in hell I’m letting you lead Cas to her death, that isn’t happening.”
“The rest of the guides seem to think it’s real,” Ollie said. “And we all seem to think Cassie is The One.”
I looked down for a moment into my notebook, a single question searing into the back of my skull. “What does Kelvin think?”
“What does Kelvin think?” Ollie whispered back to themself. Then it hit them. “Holy fucking shit,” they yelled.
“Language!”
“No, no, no, fuck you, fuck me, holy shit!” They were dancing around the bed, jumping up and down, laughing hysterically. “You’re fucking Josephine Sanchez, aren’t you?” I was silent. “Holy shit you are, you’re a fucking *legend* up there! Fulfilling two prophecies with one guide, you’re a double whammy. Terrina the Destroyer AND Jacob the Conqueror? A god damned superstar, after you and Kelvin parted ways, we completely lost track of you, no wonder Cassie is ‘The One’ The One with you as her mother, holy shit!”
“Answer the question,” I whispered.
Ollie calmed down, and resumed their seat in front of me. “Yes,” they finally said. “Yes, Kelvin thinks Cassie is The One, but nobody knows she’s your daughter, I swear.” I nodded, thinking silently to myself. It felt like I just found out she’d been in a car crash, my mind was racing at a million miles an hour, and yet I couldn’t understand a word of it. The silence was overpowering, crushing, and claustrophobic. “If it makes you feel better,” Ollie said, seeing the terror on my face, “the Council of Guides thinks that, after she beats The Master, she’ll live. For a while, at least. The Prophecy says she’ll topple a tyrant and die bringing sanity to chaos magic. Two separate feats, and the latter will likely take decades of hard work.”
“Will you stay with her for that time? Whatever time she has left?”
Ollie nodded. After a moment of silence, they asked a question of their own. “Will you help her train?”
I hesitated. “I’m not sure what good I can do,” I finally replied. “I was never trained in chaos magic. But I will teach her, under one condition.” Ollie looked into my eyes. “Under no circumstances is any harm to befall my daughter. She is under your care, and if a damn thing happens to her, I will hold you personally accountable. Twice.”
Ollie nodded instantly. “As long as she has me as her guide, and as long as I live, I will protect Cassie.”
“Then it sounds like we’re in agreement,” I replied, standing up from the bed and placing my notebook in my pocket. “Training starts this weekend, on Saturday morning. We’ll tell Cas tomorrow night when she’s home. Together.”
|
I swirled my drink and watched the ice cube clack against the glass. Used to be that I'd keep bitters and fancy simple syrups around the house to play at being a mixologist, but these days by the time I got around to having a drink, I was too tired to do anything but to sip whiskey on the rocks. Being a single parent was tough, but I wouldn't trade it for anything. Even if it meant having a weariness settled deep within my bones.
I downed the rest of my whiskey and left the glass by the sink. Sam was off at a sleepover, no doubt being coaxed into ridiculous outfits by her fashionista best friend, and the house should have been quiet. Instead, I could hear the faint sounds of a video game emanating from her room.
It wasn't fear, exactly, that froze me at the bottom of the stairs. Even when I had charged the necromancer king, a gouge gaping in my side and the celestial sword shaking in my hands, I hadn't been afraid— I had been ready to pay the blood price to save kingdom that fostered me. The heaviness in my limbs now, the tightness in my chest— it was only the weariness again, the knowledge that the simple life in the suburbs, the normalcy and gentle pace I had worked so hard to cultivate, was no longer mine to keep.
Because Sam had come home one day with new stuffed animal, a cat with butterfly wings and three iridescent eyes, and ever since the stench of faerie magic had overpowered the familiar rank smell of sweaty shinguards in her room.
I was throwing open Sam's door before I could even think about, instincts taking over like they had when I adventured through Autumn's Edge. A sylph, all silver skin, wicked whiskers and sharp teeth, looked up from a game of Hollow Knight and smiled at me.
"I was wondering when we would meet, Saturn's Star."
"That's not my name anymore."
"Do you prefer Dr. Gravett? I must admit, I tried reading your treatise on black holes and gravitational warping, but the physics of this plane are just sooo boring."
I sat down on Sam's bed—unmade, and we'd being having a chat about that later— and crossed my legs. "I find this world plenty enough for me." I smiled, all teeth and narrowed eyes. "And for my daughter."
"The Court disagrees."
"Kindly, the Court can shove their disagreement up their puckered assholes." Politics had gotten Leo, the first boy I ever loved, killed. The machinations of the Fae had been Autumn's undoing before— I wouldn't let that ruin seep into my world.
"Bold of you to badmouth the Court when the throne was yours and you threw it away."
"I was a child! Barely 15 and still in braces. I was in no shape to lead. To govern."
"That wasn't your call to make," the creature hissed, hackles raised and wings flat against its back. "We had ten years of civil war after you left."
I flinched, remembering the hollowed husks of burnt-down villages as Leo, Amber, and I had made the final trek to the Necromancer King's castle. Dispatching the tyrant should have given Autumn the time to rebuild— the prophecy had been clear, that my blood price would water the fields and let prosperity again bloom.
And I had done my part. I remembered dying, staring up at the frozen stars and feeling my life's blood leech away from me. Only the dying pulse of reanimation magic from the Necromancer King had pulled back me into the realm of the living. On darker days, when Sam was at practice and I stalked our house alone, I wondered if the only thing keeping me alive was rotten magic fused into my soul— if I truly deserved to live, when so many of my friends had perished getting me to that castle.
I stared down at my hands, fingers shaking despite my earlier drink. "I paid the blood price. There was nothing else I could have done."
"You could have *stayed.*" There was something mournful in the sylph's voice, a note that reminded me of Amber's when she had sung all the songs of her kingdom at our campfires. I wondered if this sylph was someone I had met during those two fateful years in Autumn; time moved so differently for the Fae, that it was hard to tell.
The sylph stared at the screen, the pause menu displaying an impressive collection of charms and achievements, and sighed before turning off the game and shutting down the TV.
"Consider this as a courtesy call. Some of us still remember your sacrifice, as little as it all came to."
The sylph stood and shifted, shrinking into a harmless-looking stuffed animal and heading towards the open window near Sam's desk. The cold was back in my veins, and it was fear this time.
"Where is my daughter?" I stood up, my hand going for a sword no longer at my waist. "What have you done to Sam? Stars damn it all, I paid the blood price. This should all be over."
The sylph was barely bigger than my hand in this form, but still those three eyes burned like supernovas as they turned back to look at me.
"Your death was not the blood price we needed. Your daughter's life will have to do instead."
|
|
[WP] As a former Chosen One you saw the signs when your daughter/son got themselves into a similar situation. You sent them off on a sleepover with their new friends. It's time to have a 'talk' with their new 'stuffed animal'.
|
I always knew my kid, Halo, was special. However, instead of pride, I have worry. Tell me it's normal for a 7-year-old to pick up sewing in 15 minutes by himself. Tell me it's typical for little Halo to make his own stuffed bears that look store-bought after a few mere hours of practice. Please do. I could use more denial right now.
See, I used to be one of those "Chosen ones" or "Fated Legends" and I retired right after I defeated the Dragon Lord at age 20. One of the signs of being a chosen one is that you have extraordinary talent in whatever your heart desires. My deal was that I loved fighting, like any cliched hero. I could have... passed the Legends stuff onto Halo.
But that's stupid. You're stupid. I'm stupid, this stuff isn't hereditary! It can't be!
Look, I'll prove it once and for all. I have a sword called 'OP' that only shines bright when it's touched by Fated Legends. Normally, it's Parenting 101 to keep kids away from sharp stuff, but not this time.
"Halo! Wanna play a game?" I say to him, who is playing with his first stuffed bear.
"Yes! Yes! Yes!" He says, jumping up in excitement.
"Okay, let's play Statue. Close your eyes, put your hands out and stay very, very still until I say 'Move'. Then count to 100. When you are done counting, I'll say 'Move', and then you win!"
Halo squints at me, saying, "That sounds like no fun."
"Try it first, then we'll see if you're right. C'mon."
He does a cute, tiny grunt, then plays my game. As he counts, I place the sword in his hands and let go. OP gleams... like a star would. I grab OP and shove it back into a nearby box. Darn it. Wait, I feel someone watching me... is Halo cheating? I turn to him, and his eyes are squeezed shut. Nope, not him. I then look at his teddy bear, sitting up. Hold on, wasn't it lying down before?
Fuck.
Halo giggles, "Mommy said a bad word!"
Crap, I said that out loud? Well done, me. Best mom ever.
I keep my preppy voice, "Welp! Looks like Mommy has to feed the swear jar."
He opens his eyes and rushs to the swear jar on the counter. "Jar goes Nom nom nom!"
I guess he lost the game. I go up to the jar half filled with dollar notes and coins, open the jar, and take out my wallet. I drop a quarter in.
Halo says "Nom"
I drop another in.
"Nom"
And three more.
"Nom nom nom!"
Then I drop a fiver in.
"Big one! NOMMMMM"
I chuckle. Halo is such a happy, silly billy. I then frown at the fact that it may not last. Why world? Why pick him to lose his childhood for you? I whip my head around to look at that teddy bear. It's giving me a funny look. That punk.
"Say, Halo. It looks like your teddy needs a bath."
Halo looks at the toy bear, and says, "His name is Sir Cuddles."
"Okay. I'm going to take Sir Cuddles to the bathroom and clean him. You stay here and watch TV."
"Can I come?"
"No, because everyone needs alone time when in the bath."
"Okie dokie."
I grab the bear and head to the bathroom-now-interrogation-room. I lock the door and toss the toy onto the sink.
"You're alive, aren't you?"
The teddy bear stares at me with its beady eyes, never flinching. I slam my hand on the sink like interrogators do with tables when they want to intimidate suspects. The "pling" sound is not as effective.
"Don't lie. I know the deal about Chosen ones getting odd guardian angels. Tell me what you know or i'll throw you in the fireplace."
The bear blinks at me, saying, "That would break your son's heart."
"You underestimate how good a desperate parent is at lying to their kids. Now talk." I poke the toy in the belly.
Sir Cuddles starts to talk in a sagely voice, "A long time ago, there was a humble carpenter, who lived in harmony with all-"
I cut him off, "No backstories. Just tell me what evil he has to defeat and when."
The bear snorts in disapproval, "Fine. In 10 years, he has to defeat a demon lord."
"And when does his training start?"
"In 3 days."
I sigh, knowing the burden. I would never wish it on my child, so I say, "Can I take his place?"
Sir Cuddles folds his arms, "Yes, but the universe seems to favour teens more, not middle aged adults. While I can guarantee Halo's victory, I cannot guarantee yours."
"Wow, ageist. I'm only 30, you know."
The bear scoffs, "It's merely something I observed over centuries. I repeat, centuries. Feel free to dismiss it."
Any uncertainity I had about my decision is now replaced by justifiable irritation. With all of my conviction, I say, "I'm going to prove this ageist universe wrong and kick that demon's ass. Let me fight for Halo."
"Okay, grandma. You can do that, I'll help you with your wheelchair."
"Fuck you too."
|
I swirled my drink and watched the ice cube clack against the glass. Used to be that I'd keep bitters and fancy simple syrups around the house to play at being a mixologist, but these days by the time I got around to having a drink, I was too tired to do anything but to sip whiskey on the rocks. Being a single parent was tough, but I wouldn't trade it for anything. Even if it meant having a weariness settled deep within my bones.
I downed the rest of my whiskey and left the glass by the sink. Sam was off at a sleepover, no doubt being coaxed into ridiculous outfits by her fashionista best friend, and the house should have been quiet. Instead, I could hear the faint sounds of a video game emanating from her room.
It wasn't fear, exactly, that froze me at the bottom of the stairs. Even when I had charged the necromancer king, a gouge gaping in my side and the celestial sword shaking in my hands, I hadn't been afraid— I had been ready to pay the blood price to save kingdom that fostered me. The heaviness in my limbs now, the tightness in my chest— it was only the weariness again, the knowledge that the simple life in the suburbs, the normalcy and gentle pace I had worked so hard to cultivate, was no longer mine to keep.
Because Sam had come home one day with new stuffed animal, a cat with butterfly wings and three iridescent eyes, and ever since the stench of faerie magic had overpowered the familiar rank smell of sweaty shinguards in her room.
I was throwing open Sam's door before I could even think about, instincts taking over like they had when I adventured through Autumn's Edge. A sylph, all silver skin, wicked whiskers and sharp teeth, looked up from a game of Hollow Knight and smiled at me.
"I was wondering when we would meet, Saturn's Star."
"That's not my name anymore."
"Do you prefer Dr. Gravett? I must admit, I tried reading your treatise on black holes and gravitational warping, but the physics of this plane are just sooo boring."
I sat down on Sam's bed—unmade, and we'd being having a chat about that later— and crossed my legs. "I find this world plenty enough for me." I smiled, all teeth and narrowed eyes. "And for my daughter."
"The Court disagrees."
"Kindly, the Court can shove their disagreement up their puckered assholes." Politics had gotten Leo, the first boy I ever loved, killed. The machinations of the Fae had been Autumn's undoing before— I wouldn't let that ruin seep into my world.
"Bold of you to badmouth the Court when the throne was yours and you threw it away."
"I was a child! Barely 15 and still in braces. I was in no shape to lead. To govern."
"That wasn't your call to make," the creature hissed, hackles raised and wings flat against its back. "We had ten years of civil war after you left."
I flinched, remembering the hollowed husks of burnt-down villages as Leo, Amber, and I had made the final trek to the Necromancer King's castle. Dispatching the tyrant should have given Autumn the time to rebuild— the prophecy had been clear, that my blood price would water the fields and let prosperity again bloom.
And I had done my part. I remembered dying, staring up at the frozen stars and feeling my life's blood leech away from me. Only the dying pulse of reanimation magic from the Necromancer King had pulled back me into the realm of the living. On darker days, when Sam was at practice and I stalked our house alone, I wondered if the only thing keeping me alive was rotten magic fused into my soul— if I truly deserved to live, when so many of my friends had perished getting me to that castle.
I stared down at my hands, fingers shaking despite my earlier drink. "I paid the blood price. There was nothing else I could have done."
"You could have *stayed.*" There was something mournful in the sylph's voice, a note that reminded me of Amber's when she had sung all the songs of her kingdom at our campfires. I wondered if this sylph was someone I had met during those two fateful years in Autumn; time moved so differently for the Fae, that it was hard to tell.
The sylph stared at the screen, the pause menu displaying an impressive collection of charms and achievements, and sighed before turning off the game and shutting down the TV.
"Consider this as a courtesy call. Some of us still remember your sacrifice, as little as it all came to."
The sylph stood and shifted, shrinking into a harmless-looking stuffed animal and heading towards the open window near Sam's desk. The cold was back in my veins, and it was fear this time.
"Where is my daughter?" I stood up, my hand going for a sword no longer at my waist. "What have you done to Sam? Stars damn it all, I paid the blood price. This should all be over."
The sylph was barely bigger than my hand in this form, but still those three eyes burned like supernovas as they turned back to look at me.
"Your death was not the blood price we needed. Your daughter's life will have to do instead."
|
|
[WP] As a former Chosen One you saw the signs when your daughter/son got themselves into a similar situation. You sent them off on a sleepover with their new friends. It's time to have a 'talk' with their new 'stuffed animal'.
|
“Have fun,” I say to Jenny as she waves to me from the car. Her friends are laughing and giggling. How fast she’s grown I think to myself as I watch the car drive away. It’s too early for them to come. But is it too early? It was about this age when I was taken.
I step into the house and close the door. I lean against the door, breathing softly, trying to steady myself. They are probably just scouting, I tell myself. Nothing more. I’ll go talk to it and find out.
I head upstairs and slowly open the door to my daughter’s room. Even though she’s ten now, there are still childish toys, including her stuffed animals piled up in the corner of her bed. A new one has appeared. A new one with uncanny eyes.
“I know it’s you, Lazrath,” I say to the teddy bear who only looks blankly towards the ceiling. I stand there staring at it for a long time. Finally, the eyes move a little, and a little more, then they rest on me, glaring.
The teddy bear sits up, then pushes itself off the bed, transforming itself into the goblin I know so well. Lazrath. First lieutenant of the Queen.
He bows to me, mockingly.
“What do you want?” I ask him.
“It is time for your daughter to pass over, to come where she rightfully belongs. The Queen is getting impatient.”
“Impatient?” I say, incredulously. “She’s not going, Lazrath. That will not happen. Not while I’m still alive.”
“The queen can make arrangements for that,” Lazrath says with a chuckle. “The fact is, *Prince.* Your daughter is stronger than you know. Even stronger than you were back then.”
“Of course she is,” I say. “I know that. But she belongs here. With me. Not out there. There’s nothing good for her there.”
“She rots here. Wasted. Just like you.” Lazrath says, pointing his gangly little finger at me. He was short, slimy, with a huge pot belly.
“Maybe you should change back. You looked better as the stuffed bear,” I say.
Lazrath sneers. “Don’t test me, Prince. You will regret it.”
“I’m no prince,” I say, walking up to him, grabbing him by the neck. He kicks his feet, trying to squirm out of my grasp as I raise him in the air. “And I’m not going to say it again. *Leave. My. Daughter. Alone*!” I scream and toss him roughly on the bed.
“Oh!” he yelps out, scooting of the bed. “She will hear about this!”
He summons a portal and steps up to it. “Be seeing her soon, Prince.”
I step quickly towards Lazrath, but he ducks into the portal and disappears as it contracts and then is gone and I’m left standing in the silence of my daughter’s room with the pink bed rails and white dresser and mirror with pictures of her friends and boys in magazines and I feel really, really old.
\---
*“’I’m too old to swing on branches, said the boy.’*
*‘My trunk is gone,’ said the tree. ‘You cannot climb—’*
*‘I’m too tired to climb’ said the boy.*
*‘I am sorry,’ sighed the tree. ‘I wish that I could give you something… but I have nothing left. I am just an old stump. I am sorry…’*
&#x200B;
“Dad?”
“Yes, Jenny?”
“Why do you like to read this book so much?”
“I don’t know.” I say, closing the book. “It’s a beautiful book about the sacrifices we make for the ones we love.” I smile down at her, pushing the hair out of her face. “You’ll understand when you become an old, tired stump like me.”
“You’re not old Daddy!”
“Well, maybe not. But I sure feel that way. How was your sleepover?”
“It was fun, Dad. Rachael has a trampoline! And her mom baked us cookies and, in the morning, she made us all a huge breakfast that was so good.”
“That’s wonderful, Jenny. I’m glad you had fun.”
“Dad?”
“Yes, Jenny?”
“Where’s Mommy?”
I smile again and take a deep breath. “Jenny that is an important question, and we will talk about that soon. But tonight, I want you to rest. And I am going to sit here in this chair and rest also.”
“You’re going to sleep in my room?”
“For tonight, yes. I just want to be close to you. Is that okay, Jenny?”
She looked at me and shrugged. “Sure, Dad.” She rolled over and I pulled the covers up to her shoulders and kissed her head, then turned out the light. “Goodnight, sweetie.”
“Goodnight, Dad.”
\----
I am woken by a crash of a glass downstairs. I shoot up out of my chair. Jenny. I look at the bed and she is gone.
“Jenny!” I shout and I get no answer. I run to the door and take three steps at a time until I’m at the bottom of the stairs.
There, standing with Jenny is the Lazrath the teddy bear.
Jenny stares at me, she seems like she is sleep walking.
“It’s time,” Lazrath said. “You’ll be wise to forget about her.”
“Jenny!” I scream and run towards them, but they’ve walked through the portal and it contracts and disappears in my grasping hands.
I sit there, looking at my hands, at the spot Jenny last was. I sigh. I never thought it would come to this. Jenny wasn’t safe there. Not with *her.* I need to return. I need to get her back from the Queen before it is too late. I need to get her back from her mother.
\----
I walk into my room and pull the chest from under the bed. It is covered in dust. I blow the dust off then undo the latches. There sitting inside is the lute I’ve tried for so long to forget about. The golden wood grain twisting under the light like flames. I pick up the lute and it feels awkward in my hands.
I pluck a cord, then another. I try to calm my body but there is nothing there. Nothing inside me. The music is for the young, I think to myself. It’s no use. You won’t be able to return.
Try. You must try, I tell myself. And so, I try again, and my fingers pluck the cords and the lute sings softly. Yet it is still not there. I toss the lute on the bed in frustration. It’s not going to work. She’s gone and I can’t get her back. I sit on the bed and lean forward, grabbing my hair.
Just calm down, Anthony. Now pick up the lute and think about everything you’ve tried to forget. Think about the gardens and the flowers and the mountain breeze. Think about the purple skies and teal moons. Think about the castle in all its shining crystal magnificence and the halls of chorus and the laughter and elves in their eternal beauty and the wonderment of youth that flowed from there.
And the lute was singing now in my hands, and I can feel it, my fingers going, catching the long-forgotten melody. The portal began to open slowly at first, in spits and starts, but the melody increased, and my fingers worked the lute faster and faster and there, it was open. And I stepped through to the mountains and the castle which I had not seen since I was not much older than a boy.
It was different now. Much different. The sky had turned red, bleeding. No more the eversoft purple nights with the teal moonlight. No more gardens of variegated flowers and their scent wafting in the mountain breeze. No more was there the everlasting romance of it all. What was left was only a dead sky and the castle, black as black could be. Breaking up from the wasteland like a necrotic tooth.
The land of elves and laughter had died, and it was goblin territory now. And I heard the goblins laughter high up on the ramparts of the black castle and I could see them dancing their spiteful dances at me in the dead, bloody sky.
I walked across the desiccated and cracked earth and up to the black castle. I played a song of lament for the land that had been lost. The land of my youth and love. And I sang for memories that were now blown away with the mountain breeze. And I stepped towards the black castle. Stepped over the bridge to speak with the Goblin Queen. To speak with my once lover. One who I would have stayed here with forever. If it wasn’t for what happened.
And the great doors creaked open for me. Thousands, hundreds of feet high they rose. And within those doors the chorus and the laughter that I remembered was gone and the beautiful mosaics on the white stone walls were gone and now it was only cobwebs and shadows.
And there, up in the webs was a great spider who came gliding down to me on a long, thick string.
“Ah, so the prince has returned, has he? And what does the prince want here?”
“I am here to bring my daughter home. I am here to speak with the Queen.”
“Well, well,” said the spider in her shrill little voice. “Maybe the queen doesn’t want to talk to you. Maybe your daughter doesn’t want to talk to you.” And she cackled, her great bulbous body twitching in the air with her laughter.
“I am going into the castle, and you will not stop me,” I said.
“Oh, is that right?” The spider said, lowering itself completely to the ground. And on the spider’s back were thousands and thousands of baby spiders tumbling over each other in a seething mass. “My babies are hungry,” she said and the babies leaped off the spider’s back and crawled towards me frantically in a wave.
I started the song low and short at first, the melody dragging amongst the room. And I picked up the speed, playing my fury for the lost times, for the abandoned hall of the castle, left now only for shadows and spiders. I played for the death of the kingdom I remembered, and I let that anger flare into the lute in a *chant of flame,* sending thin strings of fire swirling around me.
And as the tiny little spiders crawled up my legs, they withered and screamed and curled up from the heat and I parted through them like butter.
“My babies!” cried the great fat spider, her eight black eyes filled with fury. “You will pay for my misfortune,” she screamed, skittering towards me.
\---
***PART II BELOW***
|
I swirled my drink and watched the ice cube clack against the glass. Used to be that I'd keep bitters and fancy simple syrups around the house to play at being a mixologist, but these days by the time I got around to having a drink, I was too tired to do anything but to sip whiskey on the rocks. Being a single parent was tough, but I wouldn't trade it for anything. Even if it meant having a weariness settled deep within my bones.
I downed the rest of my whiskey and left the glass by the sink. Sam was off at a sleepover, no doubt being coaxed into ridiculous outfits by her fashionista best friend, and the house should have been quiet. Instead, I could hear the faint sounds of a video game emanating from her room.
It wasn't fear, exactly, that froze me at the bottom of the stairs. Even when I had charged the necromancer king, a gouge gaping in my side and the celestial sword shaking in my hands, I hadn't been afraid— I had been ready to pay the blood price to save kingdom that fostered me. The heaviness in my limbs now, the tightness in my chest— it was only the weariness again, the knowledge that the simple life in the suburbs, the normalcy and gentle pace I had worked so hard to cultivate, was no longer mine to keep.
Because Sam had come home one day with new stuffed animal, a cat with butterfly wings and three iridescent eyes, and ever since the stench of faerie magic had overpowered the familiar rank smell of sweaty shinguards in her room.
I was throwing open Sam's door before I could even think about, instincts taking over like they had when I adventured through Autumn's Edge. A sylph, all silver skin, wicked whiskers and sharp teeth, looked up from a game of Hollow Knight and smiled at me.
"I was wondering when we would meet, Saturn's Star."
"That's not my name anymore."
"Do you prefer Dr. Gravett? I must admit, I tried reading your treatise on black holes and gravitational warping, but the physics of this plane are just sooo boring."
I sat down on Sam's bed—unmade, and we'd being having a chat about that later— and crossed my legs. "I find this world plenty enough for me." I smiled, all teeth and narrowed eyes. "And for my daughter."
"The Court disagrees."
"Kindly, the Court can shove their disagreement up their puckered assholes." Politics had gotten Leo, the first boy I ever loved, killed. The machinations of the Fae had been Autumn's undoing before— I wouldn't let that ruin seep into my world.
"Bold of you to badmouth the Court when the throne was yours and you threw it away."
"I was a child! Barely 15 and still in braces. I was in no shape to lead. To govern."
"That wasn't your call to make," the creature hissed, hackles raised and wings flat against its back. "We had ten years of civil war after you left."
I flinched, remembering the hollowed husks of burnt-down villages as Leo, Amber, and I had made the final trek to the Necromancer King's castle. Dispatching the tyrant should have given Autumn the time to rebuild— the prophecy had been clear, that my blood price would water the fields and let prosperity again bloom.
And I had done my part. I remembered dying, staring up at the frozen stars and feeling my life's blood leech away from me. Only the dying pulse of reanimation magic from the Necromancer King had pulled back me into the realm of the living. On darker days, when Sam was at practice and I stalked our house alone, I wondered if the only thing keeping me alive was rotten magic fused into my soul— if I truly deserved to live, when so many of my friends had perished getting me to that castle.
I stared down at my hands, fingers shaking despite my earlier drink. "I paid the blood price. There was nothing else I could have done."
"You could have *stayed.*" There was something mournful in the sylph's voice, a note that reminded me of Amber's when she had sung all the songs of her kingdom at our campfires. I wondered if this sylph was someone I had met during those two fateful years in Autumn; time moved so differently for the Fae, that it was hard to tell.
The sylph stared at the screen, the pause menu displaying an impressive collection of charms and achievements, and sighed before turning off the game and shutting down the TV.
"Consider this as a courtesy call. Some of us still remember your sacrifice, as little as it all came to."
The sylph stood and shifted, shrinking into a harmless-looking stuffed animal and heading towards the open window near Sam's desk. The cold was back in my veins, and it was fear this time.
"Where is my daughter?" I stood up, my hand going for a sword no longer at my waist. "What have you done to Sam? Stars damn it all, I paid the blood price. This should all be over."
The sylph was barely bigger than my hand in this form, but still those three eyes burned like supernovas as they turned back to look at me.
"Your death was not the blood price we needed. Your daughter's life will have to do instead."
|
|
[WP] As a former Chosen One you saw the signs when your daughter/son got themselves into a similar situation. You sent them off on a sleepover with their new friends. It's time to have a 'talk' with their new 'stuffed animal'.
|
I sat down on Cassie’s bed, crossed my legs, and removed the notebook from the pocket of my pants. “State your name and speciality for the record,” I said, scribbling on the first page to get the ink flowing. After a moment of silence, I looked up from my journal. “I know Cassie’s a chosen one. I’m her parent, and I’m not letting you take my daughter on some wild journey without telling me what she’ll be facing, first.”
Silence.
“Look, you can stay silent all night, but I know you’ve been talking to her at night, I know her powers have been manifesting. I’d rather she not have to face destiny without at least some training first. So I’ll ask again, name and specialty, please and thank you.”
After another brief silence, the stuffed bear, affectionately named Bear, finally spoke. “Who the hell are you?” they asked.
“I should hope you don’t use that kind of language with my daughter. I’ll give you one more chance to answer the question before you have to find a new child to leech on.”
They groaned, stood up, and stretched, before walking closer to sit down in front of me. “My name is Ollie.”
“Ollie,” I repeated. “Ollie, Ollie, Ollie, Ollie, Ollie… Noted. And what power do you train?”
They hesitated for a moment. “Chaos magic.”
I looked up my notebook again. “Chaos magic? The fuck is my daughter doing with chaos magic?” Chaos magic was generally known as the hardest magic to tame. The most powerful, sure, but that power held up to its name. It was notoriously unpredictable, and most users died fairly young in the pursuit of mastery. In the whole world, there was only one master of chaos magic.
Ollie shrugged. “Fuck if I know, I didn’t give her the power, I was just assigned as her guide. But she’s one of the most powerful chaos magic users anyone has ever seen, in terms of potential, that is.”
“Oi, watch the language, plushie.”
“You swore first!” they protested.
“Yeah, well, I’m Cassie’s parent. She knows better than to copy me by now, you’re her spirit guide.”
“Don’t worry, I’ve been taking good care of her,” Ollie said. “As have you, clearly. Which brings me to my question-”
“You don’t get questions yet,” I interrupted. “What terrible deed has my daughter been tasked with fulfilling?”
Ollie shook their head. “You don’t want to know.”
“I’m fairly certain I do,” I growled. “What are you planning for my daughter?”
Again, Ollie hesitated. After a moment, they decided that I knew too much already to stop now. “Chaos magic,” they said slowly.
“Yeah,” I replied, “you mentioned that part.”
“No,” said Ollie, putting their head in their hands. “No, I mean… Chaos magic. She’s going to master it.”
I froze and nearly dropped my pen. “Excuse me?”
“Only one man has mastered Chaos magic, and he’s used it to live a long and wretched life. Your daughter isn’t just another chosen one, she’s *the* Chosen One.”
There was an old legend, considered by some to be a prophecy, THE prophecy, even, that a young person would master chaos magic, topple a tyrant, and make chaos safe to use. It also said that at the end of the Chosen One’s journey, they would die, their death being the catalyst for the future of magic itself. Being a prophecy, it was vague. Very vague. It gave no timelines, names, or really anything of use. Most people, myself included, felt it was horseshit.
“No,” I said. “That’s just a myth, and even if it wasn’t there’s no way in hell I’m letting you lead Cas to her death, that isn’t happening.”
“The rest of the guides seem to think it’s real,” Ollie said. “And we all seem to think Cassie is The One.”
I looked down for a moment into my notebook, a single question searing into the back of my skull. “What does Kelvin think?”
“What does Kelvin think?” Ollie whispered back to themself. Then it hit them. “Holy fucking shit,” they yelled.
“Language!”
“No, no, no, fuck you, fuck me, holy shit!” They were dancing around the bed, jumping up and down, laughing hysterically. “You’re fucking Josephine Sanchez, aren’t you?” I was silent. “Holy shit you are, you’re a fucking *legend* up there! Fulfilling two prophecies with one guide, you’re a double whammy. Terrina the Destroyer AND Jacob the Conqueror? A god damned superstar, after you and Kelvin parted ways, we completely lost track of you, no wonder Cassie is ‘The One’ The One with you as her mother, holy shit!”
“Answer the question,” I whispered.
Ollie calmed down, and resumed their seat in front of me. “Yes,” they finally said. “Yes, Kelvin thinks Cassie is The One, but nobody knows she’s your daughter, I swear.” I nodded, thinking silently to myself. It felt like I just found out she’d been in a car crash, my mind was racing at a million miles an hour, and yet I couldn’t understand a word of it. The silence was overpowering, crushing, and claustrophobic. “If it makes you feel better,” Ollie said, seeing the terror on my face, “the Council of Guides thinks that, after she beats The Master, she’ll live. For a while, at least. The Prophecy says she’ll topple a tyrant and die bringing sanity to chaos magic. Two separate feats, and the latter will likely take decades of hard work.”
“Will you stay with her for that time? Whatever time she has left?”
Ollie nodded. After a moment of silence, they asked a question of their own. “Will you help her train?”
I hesitated. “I’m not sure what good I can do,” I finally replied. “I was never trained in chaos magic. But I will teach her, under one condition.” Ollie looked into my eyes. “Under no circumstances is any harm to befall my daughter. She is under your care, and if a damn thing happens to her, I will hold you personally accountable. Twice.”
Ollie nodded instantly. “As long as she has me as her guide, and as long as I live, I will protect Cassie.”
“Then it sounds like we’re in agreement,” I replied, standing up from the bed and placing my notebook in my pocket. “Training starts this weekend, on Saturday morning. We’ll tell Cas tomorrow night when she’s home. Together.”
|
Monique poured herself a glass of wine before addressing the stuffed ferret in the room. If she was being honest with herself it was the second glass, but surely the one she’d had fifteen minutes ago hadn’t counted? She’d needed the confidence boost, anyone would have. It was time though, her daughter was gone, her husband was gone, it was just the two of them.
“Fidel.” She said his name softly as she turned. The ferret was arranged across the top of the living room couch. He was well over a foot long with adorable large glassy eyes and a bright white head coming up from a fluffy, cinnamon furred body. He was soft to the touch, his tail felt nearly real when stroked, and if you moved his limbs just so you could see the stitches. He’d become her daughter’s best friend from the moment her stepfather had brought him home.
He was also a lie, and a curse no matter what anyone might say.
“Fidel,” she repeated, crossing the room towards him. Monique sat down in the chair she had arranged across from the couch and took a long sip of her drink. “I know you’re in there, you can’t hide from me. We both know who I was in that other world. What I was capable of.”
The ferret sat resilient. Reaching into her pocket Monique pulled out a lighter, one kept since her long ago days as a smoker. A large candle sat on the table between them and she lit it, her hands clumsy on the striker the first time. The smell of sandalwood filled the air, it wasn’t what she’d have picked for a torture but it would do.
Monique stood, grabbing the ferret by the scruff of its stuffed neck and squeezing hard enough to have broken bone if any were there. With every passing second she could feel the old ways coming back again. She took another sip.
“Last chance,” she said menacingly. He was silent, infuriatingly so.
In one fluid motion Monique thrust the ferret out over the candle, dipping his tail down towards the flame. The scent of singed fur began to overwhelm the sandalwood as she counted backwards.
3…2…-
“Ow, godsdamnit Monique! What the hell?!?” Fidel’s body twisted, coming to life in her hand. He drew his tail up, patting at it with his paws as his head writhed, trying to find a way out of her iron grip.
She blinked hard, nearly dropping her wine but never for a second loosening her grip on him.
“You never cussed,” she said, surprised.
“Yeah? Well you were seven when we met, even I have standards!” His voice was just like she’d remembered it from all those years before, low and gravelly, the barest hints of a strange accent. It was more at home in an old mercenary than a stuffed animal.
“Shit that hurt though! How’d you figure it out? I thought I was doin’ pretty good.”
“Good? From you? Fidel she’s my daughter! After everything I did for you people you couldn’t have left us alone? I nearly died on the Other Side, I won’t let you take away her childhood too!”
“Now look Nika—” She shook him hard, his little ferret limbs splaying through the air as he screamed in terror.
“It’s Monique now,” she said angrily, “I left all of that behind me when Maya was born.”
She stopped shaking him and tossed Fidel back onto the couch where he lay wheezing, rolling around between his back and his stomach as if he couldn’t decide which hurt less. “Yeah-” he said, coughing, “I can fuckin’ tell. Not a trace of the Beast of Gévaudan anywhere to be found.”
“Never call me that again.”
“Never do that again and we’ve got a deal.”
Now it was Monique’s turn to weaponize silence. She took her seat across from him again and watched the little ferret test each of his limbs carefully, checking to see if any of the stitches had torn. When he was finally satisfied he hopped onto the table between them, carefully pushing the candle out of the way, and settled onto his haunches in front of her.
“None of that answers my question though. How’d you know? I was an elephant the last time you saw me.”
In answer Monique reached into her shirt, pulling out the locket that hung there. When she flicked it open Fidel gasped, his face bathed in its bright green glow. “A Vair stone!” he hissed, “enchanted to detect magic? You must have made me the moment I crossed the threshold. You’re even more powerful than I thought if you brought that back with you.”
“And it wasn’t the only thing…” she let her words trail off meaningfully, watching Fidel to see what he might do. He had the measure of the situation now though, he would give nothing up for free.
“What’s happening now?” she finally asked. “Is there another rebellion? A dragon perhaps? What could you possibly need another chosen one for that I didn’t solve for you seven years ago?”
Fidel glanced around furtively, whispering a word that made his eyes glow. She knew the spell, he was looking for eavesdroppers, both magical and electronic.
“We’re alone,” Monique said dismissively, “I already swept it.”
“You’re completely sure?” he said. “I ask this not just for myself but for you as well. The Nika—” he stopped himself, slapping at his snout with his right forepaw, “— Monique, apologies. The Monique that I knew kept her secrets close to her chest, especially from the ones she loved.”
She took another too long sip of wine. Fidel waited for her to finish before continuing.
“It’s about Jaden,” he said, and her heart stopped. The little wine left in her glass began to shake and Monique closed her eyes, wishing she was anywhere but here, anyone but who she was.
Fidel spoke again though, and she hated him for it. “When were you going to tell Maya she had a brother?”
\--------
If you enjoyed that I've got tons more over at r/TurningtoWords. Come check it out, I'd love to have you!
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[WP] As a former Chosen One you saw the signs when your daughter/son got themselves into a similar situation. You sent them off on a sleepover with their new friends. It's time to have a 'talk' with their new 'stuffed animal'.
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I always knew my kid, Halo, was special. However, instead of pride, I have worry. Tell me it's normal for a 7-year-old to pick up sewing in 15 minutes by himself. Tell me it's typical for little Halo to make his own stuffed bears that look store-bought after a few mere hours of practice. Please do. I could use more denial right now.
See, I used to be one of those "Chosen ones" or "Fated Legends" and I retired right after I defeated the Dragon Lord at age 20. One of the signs of being a chosen one is that you have extraordinary talent in whatever your heart desires. My deal was that I loved fighting, like any cliched hero. I could have... passed the Legends stuff onto Halo.
But that's stupid. You're stupid. I'm stupid, this stuff isn't hereditary! It can't be!
Look, I'll prove it once and for all. I have a sword called 'OP' that only shines bright when it's touched by Fated Legends. Normally, it's Parenting 101 to keep kids away from sharp stuff, but not this time.
"Halo! Wanna play a game?" I say to him, who is playing with his first stuffed bear.
"Yes! Yes! Yes!" He says, jumping up in excitement.
"Okay, let's play Statue. Close your eyes, put your hands out and stay very, very still until I say 'Move'. Then count to 100. When you are done counting, I'll say 'Move', and then you win!"
Halo squints at me, saying, "That sounds like no fun."
"Try it first, then we'll see if you're right. C'mon."
He does a cute, tiny grunt, then plays my game. As he counts, I place the sword in his hands and let go. OP gleams... like a star would. I grab OP and shove it back into a nearby box. Darn it. Wait, I feel someone watching me... is Halo cheating? I turn to him, and his eyes are squeezed shut. Nope, not him. I then look at his teddy bear, sitting up. Hold on, wasn't it lying down before?
Fuck.
Halo giggles, "Mommy said a bad word!"
Crap, I said that out loud? Well done, me. Best mom ever.
I keep my preppy voice, "Welp! Looks like Mommy has to feed the swear jar."
He opens his eyes and rushs to the swear jar on the counter. "Jar goes Nom nom nom!"
I guess he lost the game. I go up to the jar half filled with dollar notes and coins, open the jar, and take out my wallet. I drop a quarter in.
Halo says "Nom"
I drop another in.
"Nom"
And three more.
"Nom nom nom!"
Then I drop a fiver in.
"Big one! NOMMMMM"
I chuckle. Halo is such a happy, silly billy. I then frown at the fact that it may not last. Why world? Why pick him to lose his childhood for you? I whip my head around to look at that teddy bear. It's giving me a funny look. That punk.
"Say, Halo. It looks like your teddy needs a bath."
Halo looks at the toy bear, and says, "His name is Sir Cuddles."
"Okay. I'm going to take Sir Cuddles to the bathroom and clean him. You stay here and watch TV."
"Can I come?"
"No, because everyone needs alone time when in the bath."
"Okie dokie."
I grab the bear and head to the bathroom-now-interrogation-room. I lock the door and toss the toy onto the sink.
"You're alive, aren't you?"
The teddy bear stares at me with its beady eyes, never flinching. I slam my hand on the sink like interrogators do with tables when they want to intimidate suspects. The "pling" sound is not as effective.
"Don't lie. I know the deal about Chosen ones getting odd guardian angels. Tell me what you know or i'll throw you in the fireplace."
The bear blinks at me, saying, "That would break your son's heart."
"You underestimate how good a desperate parent is at lying to their kids. Now talk." I poke the toy in the belly.
Sir Cuddles starts to talk in a sagely voice, "A long time ago, there was a humble carpenter, who lived in harmony with all-"
I cut him off, "No backstories. Just tell me what evil he has to defeat and when."
The bear snorts in disapproval, "Fine. In 10 years, he has to defeat a demon lord."
"And when does his training start?"
"In 3 days."
I sigh, knowing the burden. I would never wish it on my child, so I say, "Can I take his place?"
Sir Cuddles folds his arms, "Yes, but the universe seems to favour teens more, not middle aged adults. While I can guarantee Halo's victory, I cannot guarantee yours."
"Wow, ageist. I'm only 30, you know."
The bear scoffs, "It's merely something I observed over centuries. I repeat, centuries. Feel free to dismiss it."
Any uncertainity I had about my decision is now replaced by justifiable irritation. With all of my conviction, I say, "I'm going to prove this ageist universe wrong and kick that demon's ass. Let me fight for Halo."
"Okay, grandma. You can do that, I'll help you with your wheelchair."
"Fuck you too."
|
Monique poured herself a glass of wine before addressing the stuffed ferret in the room. If she was being honest with herself it was the second glass, but surely the one she’d had fifteen minutes ago hadn’t counted? She’d needed the confidence boost, anyone would have. It was time though, her daughter was gone, her husband was gone, it was just the two of them.
“Fidel.” She said his name softly as she turned. The ferret was arranged across the top of the living room couch. He was well over a foot long with adorable large glassy eyes and a bright white head coming up from a fluffy, cinnamon furred body. He was soft to the touch, his tail felt nearly real when stroked, and if you moved his limbs just so you could see the stitches. He’d become her daughter’s best friend from the moment her stepfather had brought him home.
He was also a lie, and a curse no matter what anyone might say.
“Fidel,” she repeated, crossing the room towards him. Monique sat down in the chair she had arranged across from the couch and took a long sip of her drink. “I know you’re in there, you can’t hide from me. We both know who I was in that other world. What I was capable of.”
The ferret sat resilient. Reaching into her pocket Monique pulled out a lighter, one kept since her long ago days as a smoker. A large candle sat on the table between them and she lit it, her hands clumsy on the striker the first time. The smell of sandalwood filled the air, it wasn’t what she’d have picked for a torture but it would do.
Monique stood, grabbing the ferret by the scruff of its stuffed neck and squeezing hard enough to have broken bone if any were there. With every passing second she could feel the old ways coming back again. She took another sip.
“Last chance,” she said menacingly. He was silent, infuriatingly so.
In one fluid motion Monique thrust the ferret out over the candle, dipping his tail down towards the flame. The scent of singed fur began to overwhelm the sandalwood as she counted backwards.
3…2…-
“Ow, godsdamnit Monique! What the hell?!?” Fidel’s body twisted, coming to life in her hand. He drew his tail up, patting at it with his paws as his head writhed, trying to find a way out of her iron grip.
She blinked hard, nearly dropping her wine but never for a second loosening her grip on him.
“You never cussed,” she said, surprised.
“Yeah? Well you were seven when we met, even I have standards!” His voice was just like she’d remembered it from all those years before, low and gravelly, the barest hints of a strange accent. It was more at home in an old mercenary than a stuffed animal.
“Shit that hurt though! How’d you figure it out? I thought I was doin’ pretty good.”
“Good? From you? Fidel she’s my daughter! After everything I did for you people you couldn’t have left us alone? I nearly died on the Other Side, I won’t let you take away her childhood too!”
“Now look Nika—” She shook him hard, his little ferret limbs splaying through the air as he screamed in terror.
“It’s Monique now,” she said angrily, “I left all of that behind me when Maya was born.”
She stopped shaking him and tossed Fidel back onto the couch where he lay wheezing, rolling around between his back and his stomach as if he couldn’t decide which hurt less. “Yeah-” he said, coughing, “I can fuckin’ tell. Not a trace of the Beast of Gévaudan anywhere to be found.”
“Never call me that again.”
“Never do that again and we’ve got a deal.”
Now it was Monique’s turn to weaponize silence. She took her seat across from him again and watched the little ferret test each of his limbs carefully, checking to see if any of the stitches had torn. When he was finally satisfied he hopped onto the table between them, carefully pushing the candle out of the way, and settled onto his haunches in front of her.
“None of that answers my question though. How’d you know? I was an elephant the last time you saw me.”
In answer Monique reached into her shirt, pulling out the locket that hung there. When she flicked it open Fidel gasped, his face bathed in its bright green glow. “A Vair stone!” he hissed, “enchanted to detect magic? You must have made me the moment I crossed the threshold. You’re even more powerful than I thought if you brought that back with you.”
“And it wasn’t the only thing…” she let her words trail off meaningfully, watching Fidel to see what he might do. He had the measure of the situation now though, he would give nothing up for free.
“What’s happening now?” she finally asked. “Is there another rebellion? A dragon perhaps? What could you possibly need another chosen one for that I didn’t solve for you seven years ago?”
Fidel glanced around furtively, whispering a word that made his eyes glow. She knew the spell, he was looking for eavesdroppers, both magical and electronic.
“We’re alone,” Monique said dismissively, “I already swept it.”
“You’re completely sure?” he said. “I ask this not just for myself but for you as well. The Nika—” he stopped himself, slapping at his snout with his right forepaw, “— Monique, apologies. The Monique that I knew kept her secrets close to her chest, especially from the ones she loved.”
She took another too long sip of wine. Fidel waited for her to finish before continuing.
“It’s about Jaden,” he said, and her heart stopped. The little wine left in her glass began to shake and Monique closed her eyes, wishing she was anywhere but here, anyone but who she was.
Fidel spoke again though, and she hated him for it. “When were you going to tell Maya she had a brother?”
\--------
If you enjoyed that I've got tons more over at r/TurningtoWords. Come check it out, I'd love to have you!
|
|
[WP] As a former Chosen One you saw the signs when your daughter/son got themselves into a similar situation. You sent them off on a sleepover with their new friends. It's time to have a 'talk' with their new 'stuffed animal'.
|
“Have fun,” I say to Jenny as she waves to me from the car. Her friends are laughing and giggling. How fast she’s grown I think to myself as I watch the car drive away. It’s too early for them to come. But is it too early? It was about this age when I was taken.
I step into the house and close the door. I lean against the door, breathing softly, trying to steady myself. They are probably just scouting, I tell myself. Nothing more. I’ll go talk to it and find out.
I head upstairs and slowly open the door to my daughter’s room. Even though she’s ten now, there are still childish toys, including her stuffed animals piled up in the corner of her bed. A new one has appeared. A new one with uncanny eyes.
“I know it’s you, Lazrath,” I say to the teddy bear who only looks blankly towards the ceiling. I stand there staring at it for a long time. Finally, the eyes move a little, and a little more, then they rest on me, glaring.
The teddy bear sits up, then pushes itself off the bed, transforming itself into the goblin I know so well. Lazrath. First lieutenant of the Queen.
He bows to me, mockingly.
“What do you want?” I ask him.
“It is time for your daughter to pass over, to come where she rightfully belongs. The Queen is getting impatient.”
“Impatient?” I say, incredulously. “She’s not going, Lazrath. That will not happen. Not while I’m still alive.”
“The queen can make arrangements for that,” Lazrath says with a chuckle. “The fact is, *Prince.* Your daughter is stronger than you know. Even stronger than you were back then.”
“Of course she is,” I say. “I know that. But she belongs here. With me. Not out there. There’s nothing good for her there.”
“She rots here. Wasted. Just like you.” Lazrath says, pointing his gangly little finger at me. He was short, slimy, with a huge pot belly.
“Maybe you should change back. You looked better as the stuffed bear,” I say.
Lazrath sneers. “Don’t test me, Prince. You will regret it.”
“I’m no prince,” I say, walking up to him, grabbing him by the neck. He kicks his feet, trying to squirm out of my grasp as I raise him in the air. “And I’m not going to say it again. *Leave. My. Daughter. Alone*!” I scream and toss him roughly on the bed.
“Oh!” he yelps out, scooting of the bed. “She will hear about this!”
He summons a portal and steps up to it. “Be seeing her soon, Prince.”
I step quickly towards Lazrath, but he ducks into the portal and disappears as it contracts and then is gone and I’m left standing in the silence of my daughter’s room with the pink bed rails and white dresser and mirror with pictures of her friends and boys in magazines and I feel really, really old.
\---
*“’I’m too old to swing on branches, said the boy.’*
*‘My trunk is gone,’ said the tree. ‘You cannot climb—’*
*‘I’m too tired to climb’ said the boy.*
*‘I am sorry,’ sighed the tree. ‘I wish that I could give you something… but I have nothing left. I am just an old stump. I am sorry…’*
&#x200B;
“Dad?”
“Yes, Jenny?”
“Why do you like to read this book so much?”
“I don’t know.” I say, closing the book. “It’s a beautiful book about the sacrifices we make for the ones we love.” I smile down at her, pushing the hair out of her face. “You’ll understand when you become an old, tired stump like me.”
“You’re not old Daddy!”
“Well, maybe not. But I sure feel that way. How was your sleepover?”
“It was fun, Dad. Rachael has a trampoline! And her mom baked us cookies and, in the morning, she made us all a huge breakfast that was so good.”
“That’s wonderful, Jenny. I’m glad you had fun.”
“Dad?”
“Yes, Jenny?”
“Where’s Mommy?”
I smile again and take a deep breath. “Jenny that is an important question, and we will talk about that soon. But tonight, I want you to rest. And I am going to sit here in this chair and rest also.”
“You’re going to sleep in my room?”
“For tonight, yes. I just want to be close to you. Is that okay, Jenny?”
She looked at me and shrugged. “Sure, Dad.” She rolled over and I pulled the covers up to her shoulders and kissed her head, then turned out the light. “Goodnight, sweetie.”
“Goodnight, Dad.”
\----
I am woken by a crash of a glass downstairs. I shoot up out of my chair. Jenny. I look at the bed and she is gone.
“Jenny!” I shout and I get no answer. I run to the door and take three steps at a time until I’m at the bottom of the stairs.
There, standing with Jenny is the Lazrath the teddy bear.
Jenny stares at me, she seems like she is sleep walking.
“It’s time,” Lazrath said. “You’ll be wise to forget about her.”
“Jenny!” I scream and run towards them, but they’ve walked through the portal and it contracts and disappears in my grasping hands.
I sit there, looking at my hands, at the spot Jenny last was. I sigh. I never thought it would come to this. Jenny wasn’t safe there. Not with *her.* I need to return. I need to get her back from the Queen before it is too late. I need to get her back from her mother.
\----
I walk into my room and pull the chest from under the bed. It is covered in dust. I blow the dust off then undo the latches. There sitting inside is the lute I’ve tried for so long to forget about. The golden wood grain twisting under the light like flames. I pick up the lute and it feels awkward in my hands.
I pluck a cord, then another. I try to calm my body but there is nothing there. Nothing inside me. The music is for the young, I think to myself. It’s no use. You won’t be able to return.
Try. You must try, I tell myself. And so, I try again, and my fingers pluck the cords and the lute sings softly. Yet it is still not there. I toss the lute on the bed in frustration. It’s not going to work. She’s gone and I can’t get her back. I sit on the bed and lean forward, grabbing my hair.
Just calm down, Anthony. Now pick up the lute and think about everything you’ve tried to forget. Think about the gardens and the flowers and the mountain breeze. Think about the purple skies and teal moons. Think about the castle in all its shining crystal magnificence and the halls of chorus and the laughter and elves in their eternal beauty and the wonderment of youth that flowed from there.
And the lute was singing now in my hands, and I can feel it, my fingers going, catching the long-forgotten melody. The portal began to open slowly at first, in spits and starts, but the melody increased, and my fingers worked the lute faster and faster and there, it was open. And I stepped through to the mountains and the castle which I had not seen since I was not much older than a boy.
It was different now. Much different. The sky had turned red, bleeding. No more the eversoft purple nights with the teal moonlight. No more gardens of variegated flowers and their scent wafting in the mountain breeze. No more was there the everlasting romance of it all. What was left was only a dead sky and the castle, black as black could be. Breaking up from the wasteland like a necrotic tooth.
The land of elves and laughter had died, and it was goblin territory now. And I heard the goblins laughter high up on the ramparts of the black castle and I could see them dancing their spiteful dances at me in the dead, bloody sky.
I walked across the desiccated and cracked earth and up to the black castle. I played a song of lament for the land that had been lost. The land of my youth and love. And I sang for memories that were now blown away with the mountain breeze. And I stepped towards the black castle. Stepped over the bridge to speak with the Goblin Queen. To speak with my once lover. One who I would have stayed here with forever. If it wasn’t for what happened.
And the great doors creaked open for me. Thousands, hundreds of feet high they rose. And within those doors the chorus and the laughter that I remembered was gone and the beautiful mosaics on the white stone walls were gone and now it was only cobwebs and shadows.
And there, up in the webs was a great spider who came gliding down to me on a long, thick string.
“Ah, so the prince has returned, has he? And what does the prince want here?”
“I am here to bring my daughter home. I am here to speak with the Queen.”
“Well, well,” said the spider in her shrill little voice. “Maybe the queen doesn’t want to talk to you. Maybe your daughter doesn’t want to talk to you.” And she cackled, her great bulbous body twitching in the air with her laughter.
“I am going into the castle, and you will not stop me,” I said.
“Oh, is that right?” The spider said, lowering itself completely to the ground. And on the spider’s back were thousands and thousands of baby spiders tumbling over each other in a seething mass. “My babies are hungry,” she said and the babies leaped off the spider’s back and crawled towards me frantically in a wave.
I started the song low and short at first, the melody dragging amongst the room. And I picked up the speed, playing my fury for the lost times, for the abandoned hall of the castle, left now only for shadows and spiders. I played for the death of the kingdom I remembered, and I let that anger flare into the lute in a *chant of flame,* sending thin strings of fire swirling around me.
And as the tiny little spiders crawled up my legs, they withered and screamed and curled up from the heat and I parted through them like butter.
“My babies!” cried the great fat spider, her eight black eyes filled with fury. “You will pay for my misfortune,” she screamed, skittering towards me.
\---
***PART II BELOW***
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Monique poured herself a glass of wine before addressing the stuffed ferret in the room. If she was being honest with herself it was the second glass, but surely the one she’d had fifteen minutes ago hadn’t counted? She’d needed the confidence boost, anyone would have. It was time though, her daughter was gone, her husband was gone, it was just the two of them.
“Fidel.” She said his name softly as she turned. The ferret was arranged across the top of the living room couch. He was well over a foot long with adorable large glassy eyes and a bright white head coming up from a fluffy, cinnamon furred body. He was soft to the touch, his tail felt nearly real when stroked, and if you moved his limbs just so you could see the stitches. He’d become her daughter’s best friend from the moment her stepfather had brought him home.
He was also a lie, and a curse no matter what anyone might say.
“Fidel,” she repeated, crossing the room towards him. Monique sat down in the chair she had arranged across from the couch and took a long sip of her drink. “I know you’re in there, you can’t hide from me. We both know who I was in that other world. What I was capable of.”
The ferret sat resilient. Reaching into her pocket Monique pulled out a lighter, one kept since her long ago days as a smoker. A large candle sat on the table between them and she lit it, her hands clumsy on the striker the first time. The smell of sandalwood filled the air, it wasn’t what she’d have picked for a torture but it would do.
Monique stood, grabbing the ferret by the scruff of its stuffed neck and squeezing hard enough to have broken bone if any were there. With every passing second she could feel the old ways coming back again. She took another sip.
“Last chance,” she said menacingly. He was silent, infuriatingly so.
In one fluid motion Monique thrust the ferret out over the candle, dipping his tail down towards the flame. The scent of singed fur began to overwhelm the sandalwood as she counted backwards.
3…2…-
“Ow, godsdamnit Monique! What the hell?!?” Fidel’s body twisted, coming to life in her hand. He drew his tail up, patting at it with his paws as his head writhed, trying to find a way out of her iron grip.
She blinked hard, nearly dropping her wine but never for a second loosening her grip on him.
“You never cussed,” she said, surprised.
“Yeah? Well you were seven when we met, even I have standards!” His voice was just like she’d remembered it from all those years before, low and gravelly, the barest hints of a strange accent. It was more at home in an old mercenary than a stuffed animal.
“Shit that hurt though! How’d you figure it out? I thought I was doin’ pretty good.”
“Good? From you? Fidel she’s my daughter! After everything I did for you people you couldn’t have left us alone? I nearly died on the Other Side, I won’t let you take away her childhood too!”
“Now look Nika—” She shook him hard, his little ferret limbs splaying through the air as he screamed in terror.
“It’s Monique now,” she said angrily, “I left all of that behind me when Maya was born.”
She stopped shaking him and tossed Fidel back onto the couch where he lay wheezing, rolling around between his back and his stomach as if he couldn’t decide which hurt less. “Yeah-” he said, coughing, “I can fuckin’ tell. Not a trace of the Beast of Gévaudan anywhere to be found.”
“Never call me that again.”
“Never do that again and we’ve got a deal.”
Now it was Monique’s turn to weaponize silence. She took her seat across from him again and watched the little ferret test each of his limbs carefully, checking to see if any of the stitches had torn. When he was finally satisfied he hopped onto the table between them, carefully pushing the candle out of the way, and settled onto his haunches in front of her.
“None of that answers my question though. How’d you know? I was an elephant the last time you saw me.”
In answer Monique reached into her shirt, pulling out the locket that hung there. When she flicked it open Fidel gasped, his face bathed in its bright green glow. “A Vair stone!” he hissed, “enchanted to detect magic? You must have made me the moment I crossed the threshold. You’re even more powerful than I thought if you brought that back with you.”
“And it wasn’t the only thing…” she let her words trail off meaningfully, watching Fidel to see what he might do. He had the measure of the situation now though, he would give nothing up for free.
“What’s happening now?” she finally asked. “Is there another rebellion? A dragon perhaps? What could you possibly need another chosen one for that I didn’t solve for you seven years ago?”
Fidel glanced around furtively, whispering a word that made his eyes glow. She knew the spell, he was looking for eavesdroppers, both magical and electronic.
“We’re alone,” Monique said dismissively, “I already swept it.”
“You’re completely sure?” he said. “I ask this not just for myself but for you as well. The Nika—” he stopped himself, slapping at his snout with his right forepaw, “— Monique, apologies. The Monique that I knew kept her secrets close to her chest, especially from the ones she loved.”
She took another too long sip of wine. Fidel waited for her to finish before continuing.
“It’s about Jaden,” he said, and her heart stopped. The little wine left in her glass began to shake and Monique closed her eyes, wishing she was anywhere but here, anyone but who she was.
Fidel spoke again though, and she hated him for it. “When were you going to tell Maya she had a brother?”
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If you enjoyed that I've got tons more over at r/TurningtoWords. Come check it out, I'd love to have you!
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[WP] Set in a dangerous city in the early 1900s, Zeus, the corrupt mayor, Poseidon, who owns the ports, and Hades, kingpin of the back alley drug trade, run the city unapologetically. All are vying for more power in this Greek pantheon film noir setting. (From popular demand from r/books!)
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Aléxandros Zeus Theos was the all-American success story. He came from Greece with nothing but his two young brothers in tow. He founded a business, Olympus Shipping and Import, becoming wildly rich and successful. He ran a crusading campaign for mayor, promising “lightning and fury” against the crooks and con men who ran the city. Yes, Mr. Theos was the all-American succes story. A model citizen. A great man. A titan of industry.
One that built his import business smuggling wine from the old country during Prohibition.
One that had his brother, Peter “Poseidon” Theos run the dockworker’s Union with an iron fist.
One that ran every crooked card game in the Greek neighborhoods out of his exclusive Dionysus Club.
One that owned every crooked cop, dirty politician, and fink thief in town.
One that turned a blind eye as his brother, who goes by the street name Hades, poisoned poor neighborhoods with opium.
He was the a success story alright - a story of everything that’s rotten and dirty in this Country, everything that we try so hard to convince ourselves we’re not. I didn’t shed any tears when the Giove family had him taken care of - but my bosses in Washington don’t like it when big shots get gunned down in broad daylight, especially when they’re under investigation.
So they sent me to this godforsaken city, to bust heads until I got some answers. Nobody cares if they’re the right ones.
Maybe there aren’t any. But I don’t particularly care. All I know is, these scumbags think they’re gods. Untouchable. And If that’s the case around here - well, call me Prometheus.
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“Give him a break, boys! It’s my turn.” In a dingy, poorly lit room underneath one of the most rundown buildings in Hades a crowd of thugs and bullies parted around a chair. The figure tied down in the chair, sandy colored hair streaked with dirt and blood, spat a loogie at his own feet, blood swirling with the phlem. The figure, barely stepping into his twenties, kept his head down and eyes out of the light.
Across from the young man, towering between the common thugs, was a sharply dressed mountain of a man. A cruel grin danced on his face as he stepped forward, rumbling out, “C’mon kid, too scared to face Cerberus?” He lumbered closer and knelt down before the chair, “I ain’t gonna hurt ya. Not yet at least. So look at me!” He roared and whipped the young man’s head up, staring into his eyes.
The kid’s eyes were a cloudy white, blank and unfocused. Cerberus bared his teeth in satisfaction, “Now ain’t that better? Tell me yer name, kid.” The demand rumbled low and threatening within the tiny room, sending a chill down the spines of all the men. The kid’s breathing, a frantic and terrified sound, rasped in the room. The tension built as unseeing white eyes flicked erratically. Cerberus gripped his shoulder, squeezing tightly.
“I’m Noone.” It came out as barely more than a whisper, like the sound of wind through leaves.
Cerberus laughed. His hands flew to his belly as he laughed. It rumbled like stone on stone, shaking the support beams of the tiny room. Dust rained down from the ceiling as he laughed, the other thugs in the room joining with him. “Now ain’t that funny! Y’know, ‘Noone’ we captured Odysseus last week. Athena thought he’d be able to sneak into the Boss’s operation,” Cerberus stared into Noone’s white eyes once again, “We know yer Tiresias’ little prodigy. You ain’t down here for no reason.” Cerberus gripped Noone’s neck between his massive hands, “So why’re you here?”
Noone rasped, a whisper floating out from his lips, “The cops are here.”
“What?”
Cerberus spun around as the door behind him slammed open. A thug stood at the entrance to the grimy room, fear clear on his face, “Cerberus, the cops are here! We gotta go!”
“Clear the men out,” Cerberus turned to Noone, a growl rising in his throat, “What. Did you. Do?”
“They’re armed, and from Zeus’ district. They won’t be kind to you.”
“This isn’t over,” with a final declaration, Cerberus pushed the chair over, sending Noone’s head slamming into the cracked tiled floor with a snap. By the time the police arrived, the room held a single battered wooden chair illuminated by a swinging overhead light.
Across town, deep within Poseidon’s realm, a wooden door opened and a blind young man slipped into a cozy home. The hardwood floors were covered in thick rugs, and a worn leather couched was pushed against the wall. Across from the door was a stairway that led up to a loft where the sounds of cooking could be heard. The door clicked shut behind him as he whispered, “Atalanta, I’m home.”
“Archimedes! How did the investigation go?” A woman’s voice, rough from shouting and salty sea air called down from the loft. Archimedes placed a hand against the wall, slowly guiding himself to the stairs across the room.
“Cerberus found me. I’ll have to go back.”
The sound of a knife chopping vegetables stopped as Atalanta, a muscular woman with her dark hair pulled into a braid, turned around. She gasped when she finally saw Archimedes, “You’re not going back until that bruising goes away,” she pulled out a chair and guided the frail young man into it, “Sit down, I’m gonna have to clean you up.” She pulled a small first aid kit out from under the sink, gently applying disinfectant and bandages to Archimedes, “I’ll have to accompany you next time, for protection.”
Archimedes didn’t answer. The sound of sizzling meat filled the silence between them as Atalanta finished cleaning him up. Archimedes sighed, “I’m sorry.”
Atalanta turned, a gentle expression on her face, “You don’t have to apologize for getting roughed up,” she dumped the chopped up vegetables into a pan with the cooked meat, the sizzling renewing once more.
“I’m sorry the Sight doesn’t work.”
“Archimedes, you don’t –“ the quiet man cut her off gently.
“I’m sorry I can’t See your husband anymore. Or Tiresias. Or anyone who’s disappeared.” He rubbed his hands together as he spoke.
“It’s not your fault,” Atalanta said, “Tiresias couldn’t see them either. But you don’t need any special Sight to be able to solve the problem. I’m not mad at you.” Both of them heard the note of uncertainty within her voice at the end. Both decided to ignore it.
Archimedes stood suddenly, hands reaching out for something to anchor him. After a few seconds they came to rest on the countertop, and he navigated his way over to the far wall, which was scattered with notes made in braille. He ran his fingers over the bumps, following the interconnected strands of thread that linked the various bits of evidence, “If I had been paying attention, I would’ve noticed them vanishing from my Sight. Then Tiresias wouldn’t have felt the need to investigate on his own.”
Archimedes turned around, sliding down against the wall until he was sitting at its base. He buried his head in his hands, fingers gripping at his unkempt hair, “It’s my fault. How did I miss Apollo vanishing?!”
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[WP] Set in a dangerous city in the early 1900s, Zeus, the corrupt mayor, Poseidon, who owns the ports, and Hades, kingpin of the back alley drug trade, run the city unapologetically. All are vying for more power in this Greek pantheon film noir setting. (From popular demand from r/books!)
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First time replying to one of these, but the prompt was just too good to pass up.
**Los Dioses Sea Port, April 12th 1945**
Grey water lapped at the side of the ships tethered to the docks, making small plunking sounds as the tide rolled back in. A red sphere burnt through the haze of smoke and early morning fog as the sun began to rise off the Eastern horizon, bathing the city of Los Dioses in a swirling world of light and shadow. Hades Gonzales stood halfway down the deck of the wharf staring out at the sea as the sun began to light the water, turning it from the murky grey of pre-dawn to a vibrant mix of green and blue. I had been so long since he had been out on that water, so long since he had had the pleasure of not having to care, or not having to look after his little brother’s as they plotted and schemed. Even now he was not her just to admire the water. He shook himself as he remembered his real purpose in being here and looked around wondering how long he would be kept waiting by that insolent brat.
Hades sighed again as he pulled a small pocket watch out of the pocket of his suit and placed the white fedora back on his head. He paused for a second, looking at the engravings on the crown of the watch. Three small skeletons danced with each other while two more played instruments in the background, he smiled sadly as he remembered the day he had been given this watch, November 1st, 1944. He remember sobbing by the hospital bed as his mother lay dying before him, tears started welling in his eyes as he recalled his mother raising her hand and gesturing him to come closer. She had placed the watch in his hands and then gently closed his fingers around the watch.
“Do not cry mi hijo,” Mother had said, “remember death is not the end, you of all people should know that.”
“Lo siento madre,” He had replied, “but I know no such thing, death is the end, and if anything comes after I don’t know what it is.”
His mother had slapped his hand with surprising strength after he had said this. “Ay, chico tanto,” She exclaimed with what little vigor her body would allow, “have I taught you nothing!? Ah no importa, you will learn soon enough.” She had looked away from him then, towards the bedside table laden with flowers. Hades looked over as well and another small spark of rage was struck in his chest as he read the cards once more.
“Do not be angry with tu hermanos mi hijo,” His mother had said, “they are powerful and busy men, they will have their reasons for not being able to come.” Hades scoffed at his mothers and looked away from his brothers’ sorry substitutes for showing up to say goodbye. *Like I am not just as busy as either of them*, Hades had thought to himself, *yet I somehow found time to come and visit my mother on her deathbed*. “Yes, I know.” His mother had said, nodding, almost seeming to read his mind as she had so often done. “But they’ve never been as sensitive and caring as you, have they mi hijo? Keep them safe won’t you?”
The sound of footsteps coming towards him down the wharf, interrupting his recollections, and as he turned, wiping the tears from his eyes, he saw his brother walking down the gayway towards him. He had on his favorite ocean blue polo shirt and brown slacks, he was tall and tan, though Hades thought he could see some slight creasing on his neck, suggesting his tan was quite as natural as it appeared.
“Des!” His brother said, using their childhood nickname for him by way of a familiar greeting. “It’s good to see you again!”
“Poseidon.” Hades replied nodding his head slightly, choosing not to reply with as much feigned enthusiasm as his brother. Undithered his brother waved his hand at the use of his full name, and the obvious annoyance in his brother’s voice.
“Oh come now Des,” Poseidon replied, “No need to be so formal, were all friends here aren’t w?.”
“Brothers actually.” Said a voice, and they turned to see a third man walking towards them. He was clean shaven, except for a small blond goatee that framed his blindingly white false smile, and with near white blonde hair and electric blue eyes he had the picture perfect for a politician, and it helped that he happened to look much more like their father than his two older brothers. Zeus was dressed in his usual crisp grey suit with a golden and blue pinstripe tie, and black dress shoes to tie the whole thing together with a neat little bow.
“Zuzu!” Poseidon exclaimed, greeting their little brother with the same level of enthusiasm. “How’s the governing life been treating you?”
“Quite well,thank you.” Zeus replied coolly, though Hades could see the annoyance in his brother’s eyes at being referred to by his old nickname. Chuckling softly to himself, Hades decided to use the old names himself, anything that caused Zuzu discomfort was fine with him, especially as he was the one that called his meating.
“It certainly looks like it.” Poseidon replied, looking Zeus up and down. “Those are some pretty fancy looking clothes to be wearing to a family meeting on the wharf.”
“Lay off him Po.” Hades interjecting as he saw a slight hint of red come to Zeus’s cheeks at their brother’s words.
“What I was just commenting on his fancy getup is all,” Poseidon said with a mischievous twinkle in his eye, “it’s not like I was making fun of him or anything.”
“Dropped it.” Hades replied, looking him in the eye. “Speaking of meetings Zuzu, why don’t you tell us why you called this one.”
“Uh, yes well,” Zeus stammered as he tried to collect himself, little splotches of color still visible on his neck and face. “I’ve called you both here to discuss some rather important business that I think needs to be attended to.”
“Oh really?” Poseidon asked, mock curiosity written all over his face. Hades had to refrain from smiling as he saw Zeus stop in his tracks while taking a breath to continue speaking. Really Poseidon wasn’t so bad all the time, he certainly knew how to wind their brother up, and a wound up Zeus was always worth watching. Hades punched Poseidon in the arm lightly and waved for Zeus to continue.
“Right well, it’s about Dad.” Both brother’s eyes snapped up as Zeus said this.
“What about him?” Hades asked, cautiously.
“Have either of you heard from him in a while?” Zeus asked them.
“No, I haven’t seen him since the funeral.” Poseidon responded.
“You mean you haven’t heard from him since the funeral,” Hades interrupted coldly, as Zeus opened his mouth to continue “He would have had to have actually been there for you to have seen him.” Poseidon waved his brother’s response aside and turned back to Zeus.
“What about Dad, Zuzu?” He asked.
Zeus seemed to steal himself before speaking and then said, “I think it’s fair to say that in light of recent events, father seems to have outlasted his usefulness to our organization.” Hades' jaw nearly dropped at his brother’s words and he opened his mouth to reply, but Poseidon beat him to it.
“What do you mean ‘seems to have outlasted his usefulness’?” Poseidon asked incredulously.
“I think it’s fairly obvious,” Zeus said, seeming to have somehow gained confidence from his brother’s reactions. “I think it’s time Dad was made to retire. Permanently.”
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“Give him a break, boys! It’s my turn.” In a dingy, poorly lit room underneath one of the most rundown buildings in Hades a crowd of thugs and bullies parted around a chair. The figure tied down in the chair, sandy colored hair streaked with dirt and blood, spat a loogie at his own feet, blood swirling with the phlem. The figure, barely stepping into his twenties, kept his head down and eyes out of the light.
Across from the young man, towering between the common thugs, was a sharply dressed mountain of a man. A cruel grin danced on his face as he stepped forward, rumbling out, “C’mon kid, too scared to face Cerberus?” He lumbered closer and knelt down before the chair, “I ain’t gonna hurt ya. Not yet at least. So look at me!” He roared and whipped the young man’s head up, staring into his eyes.
The kid’s eyes were a cloudy white, blank and unfocused. Cerberus bared his teeth in satisfaction, “Now ain’t that better? Tell me yer name, kid.” The demand rumbled low and threatening within the tiny room, sending a chill down the spines of all the men. The kid’s breathing, a frantic and terrified sound, rasped in the room. The tension built as unseeing white eyes flicked erratically. Cerberus gripped his shoulder, squeezing tightly.
“I’m Noone.” It came out as barely more than a whisper, like the sound of wind through leaves.
Cerberus laughed. His hands flew to his belly as he laughed. It rumbled like stone on stone, shaking the support beams of the tiny room. Dust rained down from the ceiling as he laughed, the other thugs in the room joining with him. “Now ain’t that funny! Y’know, ‘Noone’ we captured Odysseus last week. Athena thought he’d be able to sneak into the Boss’s operation,” Cerberus stared into Noone’s white eyes once again, “We know yer Tiresias’ little prodigy. You ain’t down here for no reason.” Cerberus gripped Noone’s neck between his massive hands, “So why’re you here?”
Noone rasped, a whisper floating out from his lips, “The cops are here.”
“What?”
Cerberus spun around as the door behind him slammed open. A thug stood at the entrance to the grimy room, fear clear on his face, “Cerberus, the cops are here! We gotta go!”
“Clear the men out,” Cerberus turned to Noone, a growl rising in his throat, “What. Did you. Do?”
“They’re armed, and from Zeus’ district. They won’t be kind to you.”
“This isn’t over,” with a final declaration, Cerberus pushed the chair over, sending Noone’s head slamming into the cracked tiled floor with a snap. By the time the police arrived, the room held a single battered wooden chair illuminated by a swinging overhead light.
Across town, deep within Poseidon’s realm, a wooden door opened and a blind young man slipped into a cozy home. The hardwood floors were covered in thick rugs, and a worn leather couched was pushed against the wall. Across from the door was a stairway that led up to a loft where the sounds of cooking could be heard. The door clicked shut behind him as he whispered, “Atalanta, I’m home.”
“Archimedes! How did the investigation go?” A woman’s voice, rough from shouting and salty sea air called down from the loft. Archimedes placed a hand against the wall, slowly guiding himself to the stairs across the room.
“Cerberus found me. I’ll have to go back.”
The sound of a knife chopping vegetables stopped as Atalanta, a muscular woman with her dark hair pulled into a braid, turned around. She gasped when she finally saw Archimedes, “You’re not going back until that bruising goes away,” she pulled out a chair and guided the frail young man into it, “Sit down, I’m gonna have to clean you up.” She pulled a small first aid kit out from under the sink, gently applying disinfectant and bandages to Archimedes, “I’ll have to accompany you next time, for protection.”
Archimedes didn’t answer. The sound of sizzling meat filled the silence between them as Atalanta finished cleaning him up. Archimedes sighed, “I’m sorry.”
Atalanta turned, a gentle expression on her face, “You don’t have to apologize for getting roughed up,” she dumped the chopped up vegetables into a pan with the cooked meat, the sizzling renewing once more.
“I’m sorry the Sight doesn’t work.”
“Archimedes, you don’t –“ the quiet man cut her off gently.
“I’m sorry I can’t See your husband anymore. Or Tiresias. Or anyone who’s disappeared.” He rubbed his hands together as he spoke.
“It’s not your fault,” Atalanta said, “Tiresias couldn’t see them either. But you don’t need any special Sight to be able to solve the problem. I’m not mad at you.” Both of them heard the note of uncertainty within her voice at the end. Both decided to ignore it.
Archimedes stood suddenly, hands reaching out for something to anchor him. After a few seconds they came to rest on the countertop, and he navigated his way over to the far wall, which was scattered with notes made in braille. He ran his fingers over the bumps, following the interconnected strands of thread that linked the various bits of evidence, “If I had been paying attention, I would’ve noticed them vanishing from my Sight. Then Tiresias wouldn’t have felt the need to investigate on his own.”
Archimedes turned around, sliding down against the wall until he was sitting at its base. He buried his head in his hands, fingers gripping at his unkempt hair, “It’s my fault. How did I miss Apollo vanishing?!”
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[WP] Set in a dangerous city in the early 1900s, Zeus, the corrupt mayor, Poseidon, who owns the ports, and Hades, kingpin of the back alley drug trade, run the city unapologetically. All are vying for more power in this Greek pantheon film noir setting. (From popular demand from r/books!)
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Aléxandros Zeus Theos was the all-American success story. He came from Greece with nothing but his two young brothers in tow. He founded a business, Olympus Shipping and Import, becoming wildly rich and successful. He ran a crusading campaign for mayor, promising “lightning and fury” against the crooks and con men who ran the city. Yes, Mr. Theos was the all-American succes story. A model citizen. A great man. A titan of industry.
One that built his import business smuggling wine from the old country during Prohibition.
One that had his brother, Peter “Poseidon” Theos run the dockworker’s Union with an iron fist.
One that ran every crooked card game in the Greek neighborhoods out of his exclusive Dionysus Club.
One that owned every crooked cop, dirty politician, and fink thief in town.
One that turned a blind eye as his brother, who goes by the street name Hades, poisoned poor neighborhoods with opium.
He was the a success story alright - a story of everything that’s rotten and dirty in this Country, everything that we try so hard to convince ourselves we’re not. I didn’t shed any tears when the Giove family had him taken care of - but my bosses in Washington don’t like it when big shots get gunned down in broad daylight, especially when they’re under investigation.
So they sent me to this godforsaken city, to bust heads until I got some answers. Nobody cares if they’re the right ones.
Maybe there aren’t any. But I don’t particularly care. All I know is, these scumbags think they’re gods. Untouchable. And If that’s the case around here - well, call me Prometheus.
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>**THE UNDERWORLD'S FLORA & FAUNA**
"You're running for *Hades* these days?" Alphonse scoffed. "Leaving the port will be the worst decision you've ever made." The salty seawater smell permeated the air, and columns of smoke rose from every chimney in the city. In truth, I still loved working the docks- even the grimiest job tugged on my heart with a certain nostalgia...but I would never return.
"I have my reasons, Alphonse. You know I didn't leave because I wanted to."
"What was it, then? Why would you give up on this life? You could've run your own fishery, for gods-sakes. Been a Captain. Anything, really."
"I-you remember Persephone?"
"Remember? Yeah, sure, your wedding is in, what, three months? Once the leaves turn orange, right?" Alphonse asked.
"Y- yeah. Yeah. Well, it's...related to that. I'll explain when it's all over."
I couldn't find it within me to tell him. If no one else had told him about Persephone's accident, I wouldn't either.
Persephone had been the most wild, kind, adventurous person. What she had seen in me, I wasn't sure- but after seeing one another for a few seasons, she wanted me to marry her. I was ecstatic- every day since then my heart had been so full it could have burst- with the most childlike glee, and the most fulfilling love- but, one day, Persephone had gone down to the cliffs. She wanted to practice scaling them- half way through a storm blew in, and she hadn't been seen since.
Now I worked for Hades. He would know if Persephone was dead- he had some kind of...power within the realm of death, the specifics of which no one but his closest circle knew. Or, if Persephone had been abducted, he would know that, too- not a single crime would be committed without his knowledge...and Persephone was very distinct. Her skin was dotted with freckles, her hair was wild and a deep shade of blood red- and anyone who tried to have abducted her would have had a hell of a fight on their hands. I'd felt Persephone's punch before- even playfully, she could hit harder than I could sometimes.
My primary hope was to gain a promotion quickly- then I would be granted a special job, and an audience with Hades. I could ask him then what he knew, and ask for his help- I'd have to offer my entire life in servitude, but it'd be worth it. I'd gladly rot a thousand years in Zeus's prison towers, high in the sky, before risking Persephone's safety.
I handed my delivery to Alphonse and returned to Hades' lair- a few flights of stairs below a pub, pretty deep into the underground.
"Oi, oi!" The doorman called, returning from what I assumed was his latrine break. "You didn't check in with me."
"What, you want me over your shoulder in there?" I asked wryly. Being a certain blend of cocky and rude was the best way to fit in in the Underworld.
"Shut the hell up. Wait for me next time, or I'll cave in your skull." The big man glowered. "Boss is waitin' for you."
"Arman?"
"Yeah. Back room."
I walked through the all-too familiar den of iniquity- some of my cohorts were rolling around, half out of their mind on Red Dust, some of them were still hungover.
Arman was different- at least, a little. He was practically an elder amongst thieves, pushing his thirtieth year, and I had never seen him drink enough to lose his sense.
"Silas. I've got a job for you." He said by way of greeting.
"Everyone else too hungover?" I asked with a smirk.
"Exactly. You already finished two jobs before these wastrels even girded their loins properly. I'll give you one more job today, then you can take off."
"What's the job?" I'd object to leaving early later.
"This is our latest recruit. Name is Hans. Show him how to properly make contact with our man inside Poseidon's territory."
"Spice run." I said- our slang for 'easy job'.
Hans stood from a nearby table, where it looked like he'd been cleaning out everyone else at a game of cards.
"You got heavy sleeves?" I asked, indicating his winnings.
"Nothing of the sort." He gave me a little smile. "Check 'em if you like, nothing hidden up them at all. 'Sides a knife."
Hans was a picture-perfect thief. His hair was dark, cropped short. His nose had seen a few brawls, but he was still clear behind the eyes, not punch-drunk. I was surprised this was his first time running with Hades.
"We're burning daylight." I said, heading to the surface.
The white buildings, reflecting mid-day sunlight, greeted my eyes unpleasantly.
"I'll let you in on a secret, Hans." I said, once our eyes had adjusted. "I used to be a dockman myself- did a little sailing, too- so I'm old friends with our contact out there. I'm going to trust you not to screw this up." I added a dangerous edge to my voice. "This is the easiest job our gang can give you, especially with me along." I began to run him through the gang's basics while we took an abandoned path towards the sea- I taught him the basic signs and counter-signs so we could communicate wordlessly with other thieves in public, as well as some of our preferred hideouts if we were too hot to return to the proper Underworld.
Once we arrived at the docks, I found Alphonse once more- though he didn't like that I was running for Hades, he himself had been getting a little cut from them for a few years now, unbeknownst to me.
As we were leaving, Hans peppered me with a few more questions.
"So, if we're arrested, how do we handle it?"
"Depends. Are you in good with Hades? If so, he might have an 'out' for you- but if he doesn't know your name, well, I hope you have some bail money... Or a fascination with counting specs of dust."
"What if I'm just being chased?"
"Don't bring that shit back to the Underworld. Lose the tail in the streets, then wait at least a few more hours to make sure you're alone before coming back."
"You've only been with the guild for a month and you know all this?"
"Details save lives...and might get me closer to Hades."
"What do you want from Hades?"
I hesitated. I really had no reason to tell him anything- but maybe if he got Hades' attention before I did, he could help me. He'd owe me after this lesson anyway.
"Sure, I'll tell you. About a month back, I was set to be married, and I was going to go far with Poseidon's crew. He knew my name and was keeping an eye out for my exploits, looking to promote me up the chain. Good man, Poseidon. Then...my lover disappeared. She went out towards the cliffs for some climbing practice, and she was either swept away or taken away. I want to know which, and word is that Hades knows some of those things."
"Do you have anything of hers on you?"
"Huh?"
"Like, a locket, or a letter she wrote you."
"I...I have a lock of her hair. Why do you ask?"
"Come on. You're the only sober asshole in my employ and you haven't figured it out yet?"
I smirked. "I had a suspicion. Honored to meet you, Hades."
"Keep calling me Hans. The only one who knows my real identity is Arman, and now you. Lets keep it that way. Gimme her hair."
I passed over the lock of hair, tightly bound.
Hades held it in one of his hands and half-closed his eyes. "She is alive."
I breathed a sigh of relief that had been pent in my chest since the moment Persephone had gone. "Where is she?"
"She... she *was* abducted, but not like you were thinking. You know of the Benefic?"
"Benefic? Uh. They're like farming monks, right?"
"Yep, pretty much. They grow food and go to church, and that's their whole life. They're about a three day ride south of here. Seems like Persephone is with them. Her mother's forced her back."
"Hade- I mean, Hans. I know I just started working for you, but if I can get help bringing her back, I will give you my *entire life*. As long as I can be with her, you can have anything else."
"Don't be dumb. What if I asked for your man-bits? She'd end up leaving you anyway." Hades said with a sardonic grin- but I knew he didn't mean it. He was just poking fun. "I'll take you up on it, Silas. Here's my condition- once you're back with Persephone, Hades is going to take a trip. I mean...*I* will take a trip. There's rumors of a *very* interesting mine in the north that contains jewels and metals with fantastic powers and properties. I *must* examine it myself. In exchange, you run the Underworld while I'm gone."
I opened my mouth to talk, but Hades cut me off. "All you need to do is hear the state of affairs from Arman, and make the executive decisions. You've got more than two braincells operating at any given time, I'm sure you can do it. And...to help you successfully recover your lovely bride, take this."
Hades passed me a jewel that I'd never seen the likeness of ever before- it was clusters of red gems, all joined together, almost like grapes on a vine, or a pomegranate.
"This will loan you some of my powers while you're out. Have fun!" Hades gave me his first true smile, a face-splitting grin, ear to ear, that was somehow both charming and intimidating.
I looked down at the gem for a moment longer, and when I looked back up, Hades was gone.
I knew what I had to do. I knew where Persephone was- and the fastest way to get there was by boat.
*Sorry, Poseidon- but I'm stealing one of your ships, and I'm rescuing Persephone. I'll pay you back some day.*
------------------------
r/nystorm_writes
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[WP] Set in a dangerous city in the early 1900s, Zeus, the corrupt mayor, Poseidon, who owns the ports, and Hades, kingpin of the back alley drug trade, run the city unapologetically. All are vying for more power in this Greek pantheon film noir setting. (From popular demand from r/books!)
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First time replying to one of these, but the prompt was just too good to pass up.
**Los Dioses Sea Port, April 12th 1945**
Grey water lapped at the side of the ships tethered to the docks, making small plunking sounds as the tide rolled back in. A red sphere burnt through the haze of smoke and early morning fog as the sun began to rise off the Eastern horizon, bathing the city of Los Dioses in a swirling world of light and shadow. Hades Gonzales stood halfway down the deck of the wharf staring out at the sea as the sun began to light the water, turning it from the murky grey of pre-dawn to a vibrant mix of green and blue. I had been so long since he had been out on that water, so long since he had had the pleasure of not having to care, or not having to look after his little brother’s as they plotted and schemed. Even now he was not her just to admire the water. He shook himself as he remembered his real purpose in being here and looked around wondering how long he would be kept waiting by that insolent brat.
Hades sighed again as he pulled a small pocket watch out of the pocket of his suit and placed the white fedora back on his head. He paused for a second, looking at the engravings on the crown of the watch. Three small skeletons danced with each other while two more played instruments in the background, he smiled sadly as he remembered the day he had been given this watch, November 1st, 1944. He remember sobbing by the hospital bed as his mother lay dying before him, tears started welling in his eyes as he recalled his mother raising her hand and gesturing him to come closer. She had placed the watch in his hands and then gently closed his fingers around the watch.
“Do not cry mi hijo,” Mother had said, “remember death is not the end, you of all people should know that.”
“Lo siento madre,” He had replied, “but I know no such thing, death is the end, and if anything comes after I don’t know what it is.”
His mother had slapped his hand with surprising strength after he had said this. “Ay, chico tanto,” She exclaimed with what little vigor her body would allow, “have I taught you nothing!? Ah no importa, you will learn soon enough.” She had looked away from him then, towards the bedside table laden with flowers. Hades looked over as well and another small spark of rage was struck in his chest as he read the cards once more.
“Do not be angry with tu hermanos mi hijo,” His mother had said, “they are powerful and busy men, they will have their reasons for not being able to come.” Hades scoffed at his mothers and looked away from his brothers’ sorry substitutes for showing up to say goodbye. *Like I am not just as busy as either of them*, Hades had thought to himself, *yet I somehow found time to come and visit my mother on her deathbed*. “Yes, I know.” His mother had said, nodding, almost seeming to read his mind as she had so often done. “But they’ve never been as sensitive and caring as you, have they mi hijo? Keep them safe won’t you?”
The sound of footsteps coming towards him down the wharf, interrupting his recollections, and as he turned, wiping the tears from his eyes, he saw his brother walking down the gayway towards him. He had on his favorite ocean blue polo shirt and brown slacks, he was tall and tan, though Hades thought he could see some slight creasing on his neck, suggesting his tan was quite as natural as it appeared.
“Des!” His brother said, using their childhood nickname for him by way of a familiar greeting. “It’s good to see you again!”
“Poseidon.” Hades replied nodding his head slightly, choosing not to reply with as much feigned enthusiasm as his brother. Undithered his brother waved his hand at the use of his full name, and the obvious annoyance in his brother’s voice.
“Oh come now Des,” Poseidon replied, “No need to be so formal, were all friends here aren’t w?.”
“Brothers actually.” Said a voice, and they turned to see a third man walking towards them. He was clean shaven, except for a small blond goatee that framed his blindingly white false smile, and with near white blonde hair and electric blue eyes he had the picture perfect for a politician, and it helped that he happened to look much more like their father than his two older brothers. Zeus was dressed in his usual crisp grey suit with a golden and blue pinstripe tie, and black dress shoes to tie the whole thing together with a neat little bow.
“Zuzu!” Poseidon exclaimed, greeting their little brother with the same level of enthusiasm. “How’s the governing life been treating you?”
“Quite well,thank you.” Zeus replied coolly, though Hades could see the annoyance in his brother’s eyes at being referred to by his old nickname. Chuckling softly to himself, Hades decided to use the old names himself, anything that caused Zuzu discomfort was fine with him, especially as he was the one that called his meating.
“It certainly looks like it.” Poseidon replied, looking Zeus up and down. “Those are some pretty fancy looking clothes to be wearing to a family meeting on the wharf.”
“Lay off him Po.” Hades interjecting as he saw a slight hint of red come to Zeus’s cheeks at their brother’s words.
“What I was just commenting on his fancy getup is all,” Poseidon said with a mischievous twinkle in his eye, “it’s not like I was making fun of him or anything.”
“Dropped it.” Hades replied, looking him in the eye. “Speaking of meetings Zuzu, why don’t you tell us why you called this one.”
“Uh, yes well,” Zeus stammered as he tried to collect himself, little splotches of color still visible on his neck and face. “I’ve called you both here to discuss some rather important business that I think needs to be attended to.”
“Oh really?” Poseidon asked, mock curiosity written all over his face. Hades had to refrain from smiling as he saw Zeus stop in his tracks while taking a breath to continue speaking. Really Poseidon wasn’t so bad all the time, he certainly knew how to wind their brother up, and a wound up Zeus was always worth watching. Hades punched Poseidon in the arm lightly and waved for Zeus to continue.
“Right well, it’s about Dad.” Both brother’s eyes snapped up as Zeus said this.
“What about him?” Hades asked, cautiously.
“Have either of you heard from him in a while?” Zeus asked them.
“No, I haven’t seen him since the funeral.” Poseidon responded.
“You mean you haven’t heard from him since the funeral,” Hades interrupted coldly, as Zeus opened his mouth to continue “He would have had to have actually been there for you to have seen him.” Poseidon waved his brother’s response aside and turned back to Zeus.
“What about Dad, Zuzu?” He asked.
Zeus seemed to steal himself before speaking and then said, “I think it’s fair to say that in light of recent events, father seems to have outlasted his usefulness to our organization.” Hades' jaw nearly dropped at his brother’s words and he opened his mouth to reply, but Poseidon beat him to it.
“What do you mean ‘seems to have outlasted his usefulness’?” Poseidon asked incredulously.
“I think it’s fairly obvious,” Zeus said, seeming to have somehow gained confidence from his brother’s reactions. “I think it’s time Dad was made to retire. Permanently.”
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>**THE UNDERWORLD'S FLORA & FAUNA**
"You're running for *Hades* these days?" Alphonse scoffed. "Leaving the port will be the worst decision you've ever made." The salty seawater smell permeated the air, and columns of smoke rose from every chimney in the city. In truth, I still loved working the docks- even the grimiest job tugged on my heart with a certain nostalgia...but I would never return.
"I have my reasons, Alphonse. You know I didn't leave because I wanted to."
"What was it, then? Why would you give up on this life? You could've run your own fishery, for gods-sakes. Been a Captain. Anything, really."
"I-you remember Persephone?"
"Remember? Yeah, sure, your wedding is in, what, three months? Once the leaves turn orange, right?" Alphonse asked.
"Y- yeah. Yeah. Well, it's...related to that. I'll explain when it's all over."
I couldn't find it within me to tell him. If no one else had told him about Persephone's accident, I wouldn't either.
Persephone had been the most wild, kind, adventurous person. What she had seen in me, I wasn't sure- but after seeing one another for a few seasons, she wanted me to marry her. I was ecstatic- every day since then my heart had been so full it could have burst- with the most childlike glee, and the most fulfilling love- but, one day, Persephone had gone down to the cliffs. She wanted to practice scaling them- half way through a storm blew in, and she hadn't been seen since.
Now I worked for Hades. He would know if Persephone was dead- he had some kind of...power within the realm of death, the specifics of which no one but his closest circle knew. Or, if Persephone had been abducted, he would know that, too- not a single crime would be committed without his knowledge...and Persephone was very distinct. Her skin was dotted with freckles, her hair was wild and a deep shade of blood red- and anyone who tried to have abducted her would have had a hell of a fight on their hands. I'd felt Persephone's punch before- even playfully, she could hit harder than I could sometimes.
My primary hope was to gain a promotion quickly- then I would be granted a special job, and an audience with Hades. I could ask him then what he knew, and ask for his help- I'd have to offer my entire life in servitude, but it'd be worth it. I'd gladly rot a thousand years in Zeus's prison towers, high in the sky, before risking Persephone's safety.
I handed my delivery to Alphonse and returned to Hades' lair- a few flights of stairs below a pub, pretty deep into the underground.
"Oi, oi!" The doorman called, returning from what I assumed was his latrine break. "You didn't check in with me."
"What, you want me over your shoulder in there?" I asked wryly. Being a certain blend of cocky and rude was the best way to fit in in the Underworld.
"Shut the hell up. Wait for me next time, or I'll cave in your skull." The big man glowered. "Boss is waitin' for you."
"Arman?"
"Yeah. Back room."
I walked through the all-too familiar den of iniquity- some of my cohorts were rolling around, half out of their mind on Red Dust, some of them were still hungover.
Arman was different- at least, a little. He was practically an elder amongst thieves, pushing his thirtieth year, and I had never seen him drink enough to lose his sense.
"Silas. I've got a job for you." He said by way of greeting.
"Everyone else too hungover?" I asked with a smirk.
"Exactly. You already finished two jobs before these wastrels even girded their loins properly. I'll give you one more job today, then you can take off."
"What's the job?" I'd object to leaving early later.
"This is our latest recruit. Name is Hans. Show him how to properly make contact with our man inside Poseidon's territory."
"Spice run." I said- our slang for 'easy job'.
Hans stood from a nearby table, where it looked like he'd been cleaning out everyone else at a game of cards.
"You got heavy sleeves?" I asked, indicating his winnings.
"Nothing of the sort." He gave me a little smile. "Check 'em if you like, nothing hidden up them at all. 'Sides a knife."
Hans was a picture-perfect thief. His hair was dark, cropped short. His nose had seen a few brawls, but he was still clear behind the eyes, not punch-drunk. I was surprised this was his first time running with Hades.
"We're burning daylight." I said, heading to the surface.
The white buildings, reflecting mid-day sunlight, greeted my eyes unpleasantly.
"I'll let you in on a secret, Hans." I said, once our eyes had adjusted. "I used to be a dockman myself- did a little sailing, too- so I'm old friends with our contact out there. I'm going to trust you not to screw this up." I added a dangerous edge to my voice. "This is the easiest job our gang can give you, especially with me along." I began to run him through the gang's basics while we took an abandoned path towards the sea- I taught him the basic signs and counter-signs so we could communicate wordlessly with other thieves in public, as well as some of our preferred hideouts if we were too hot to return to the proper Underworld.
Once we arrived at the docks, I found Alphonse once more- though he didn't like that I was running for Hades, he himself had been getting a little cut from them for a few years now, unbeknownst to me.
As we were leaving, Hans peppered me with a few more questions.
"So, if we're arrested, how do we handle it?"
"Depends. Are you in good with Hades? If so, he might have an 'out' for you- but if he doesn't know your name, well, I hope you have some bail money... Or a fascination with counting specs of dust."
"What if I'm just being chased?"
"Don't bring that shit back to the Underworld. Lose the tail in the streets, then wait at least a few more hours to make sure you're alone before coming back."
"You've only been with the guild for a month and you know all this?"
"Details save lives...and might get me closer to Hades."
"What do you want from Hades?"
I hesitated. I really had no reason to tell him anything- but maybe if he got Hades' attention before I did, he could help me. He'd owe me after this lesson anyway.
"Sure, I'll tell you. About a month back, I was set to be married, and I was going to go far with Poseidon's crew. He knew my name and was keeping an eye out for my exploits, looking to promote me up the chain. Good man, Poseidon. Then...my lover disappeared. She went out towards the cliffs for some climbing practice, and she was either swept away or taken away. I want to know which, and word is that Hades knows some of those things."
"Do you have anything of hers on you?"
"Huh?"
"Like, a locket, or a letter she wrote you."
"I...I have a lock of her hair. Why do you ask?"
"Come on. You're the only sober asshole in my employ and you haven't figured it out yet?"
I smirked. "I had a suspicion. Honored to meet you, Hades."
"Keep calling me Hans. The only one who knows my real identity is Arman, and now you. Lets keep it that way. Gimme her hair."
I passed over the lock of hair, tightly bound.
Hades held it in one of his hands and half-closed his eyes. "She is alive."
I breathed a sigh of relief that had been pent in my chest since the moment Persephone had gone. "Where is she?"
"She... she *was* abducted, but not like you were thinking. You know of the Benefic?"
"Benefic? Uh. They're like farming monks, right?"
"Yep, pretty much. They grow food and go to church, and that's their whole life. They're about a three day ride south of here. Seems like Persephone is with them. Her mother's forced her back."
"Hade- I mean, Hans. I know I just started working for you, but if I can get help bringing her back, I will give you my *entire life*. As long as I can be with her, you can have anything else."
"Don't be dumb. What if I asked for your man-bits? She'd end up leaving you anyway." Hades said with a sardonic grin- but I knew he didn't mean it. He was just poking fun. "I'll take you up on it, Silas. Here's my condition- once you're back with Persephone, Hades is going to take a trip. I mean...*I* will take a trip. There's rumors of a *very* interesting mine in the north that contains jewels and metals with fantastic powers and properties. I *must* examine it myself. In exchange, you run the Underworld while I'm gone."
I opened my mouth to talk, but Hades cut me off. "All you need to do is hear the state of affairs from Arman, and make the executive decisions. You've got more than two braincells operating at any given time, I'm sure you can do it. And...to help you successfully recover your lovely bride, take this."
Hades passed me a jewel that I'd never seen the likeness of ever before- it was clusters of red gems, all joined together, almost like grapes on a vine, or a pomegranate.
"This will loan you some of my powers while you're out. Have fun!" Hades gave me his first true smile, a face-splitting grin, ear to ear, that was somehow both charming and intimidating.
I looked down at the gem for a moment longer, and when I looked back up, Hades was gone.
I knew what I had to do. I knew where Persephone was- and the fastest way to get there was by boat.
*Sorry, Poseidon- but I'm stealing one of your ships, and I'm rescuing Persephone. I'll pay you back some day.*
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r/nystorm_writes
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[WP] Set in a dangerous city in the early 1900s, Zeus, the corrupt mayor, Poseidon, who owns the ports, and Hades, kingpin of the back alley drug trade, run the city unapologetically. All are vying for more power in this Greek pantheon film noir setting. (From popular demand from r/books!)
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Tyche hurried through the dying light of the docks, wooden crates piled so high around her that they formed a warren on alleys all on their own. She’d have been hopelessly lost down her if she didn’t already know the way, in fact she had been that first time. The longshoreman’s hall wasn’t far though, she could already hear their riotous laughter and explosive arguments.
The creature that followed her lurked somewhere behind, she could feel it in the gathering darkness, and if it was there its master wouldn’t be far behind.
Turning the last corner the saw the long squat building in front of her, a massive trident emblazoned on its side. It was the only beacon of light left on the docks and she ran towards it, towards safety.
When Tyche crashed through the heavy oak double doors the hall fell silent. She had that effect on mortals, most goddesses did, though in her case she suspected it wasn’t for her beauty. She had short, raven hair and clean muscled, sun bronzed skin. She eschewed the tunics and cloaks the rest of the pantheon still insisted on, instead wearing a simple knee length dress. Her shoes had been kicked off somewhere during her run.
She was beautiful of course, that was part of a deity’s mark, even grizzled old Hephaestus would put a mortal to shame, but in this hall all the men were used to her. They reacted instead to her obvious fear, her gasping breaths. All across the hall the longshoremen threw down cards or drinks and grabbed whatever they had at hand, mostly heavy wrenches and empty bottles.
All except for one man who grabbed onto her, guiding her into a chair a safe distance away from the door and then crouching door in front of her.
“Are you ok?” he asked urgently. “Is it the seeker again, did they find you?”
When Tyche finally got her breath she didn’t respond, instead she reached out and grabbed him, her grip preternaturally strong, and pulled him into a fierce kiss. Across the hall someone whistled loudly and then grunted in pain. A new worker most likely, one of the others must have hit him.
“Elliot, thank Rhea you were here!” she said when the kiss ended. His rough, stubbly face seemed young in the harsh light of the hall, but there were other things there too, love, protectiveness. Fear as well, but deeply hidden, the others wouldn’t have known.
“There’s a seeker, yes. He caught me on my way out of Harlem but I don’t think he found anyone else. He’s out on the docks now, close by but I’m not sure where. If I try to scry him Poseidon might sense it.”
“Don’t try then, the boys and I will handle it. Do you know how many dogs this one has?”
“Only one, I’m certain of it.”
Elliot nodded, stroking his chin thoughtfully. Looking around the hall he began pointing men out one by one until he reached ten. Without a word each of them stood of from their chairs, shaking hands with their fellows or clapping each other on the back with a heavy sense of finality. When he was done Elliot pulled a rusted key from his pocket and went to a long series of chests along the west wall. He stopped at the second one, unlocking it and doling it small packages that revealed softly glowing cudgels as each man unwrapped his.
“We’ll be back soon,” he said as he lead them to the door. Tyche got there first, blocking the way out.
“Not without me you aren’t.”
A muscle in Elliot’s jaw twitched. She could see the fear in his eyes more clearly now and she knew it was all for her.
“I’m not letting you put yourself in danger again.”
“Letting me?” she said softly. “I love you Elliot but never, never say that to me again.”
As she spoke a scepter began to appear in her hand, larger and more brightly glowing than any of theirs. Tyche walked right up to Elliot, putting her free hand on his chest. “I came here for help and I do need it,” she said, “but you don’t go to battle without me. Not now, not ever.” She stood up onto the tips of her toes, kissing him again to soften the blow to his ego. He was a good man, and nobody could truly escape being a product of their time. Nobody whistled that time.
She watched him swallow down his misgivings. It was hard for him and a part of her loved him for that. A greater part loved that he could ignore them when it truly mattered.
“OK,” he said. “Lets go boys!”
Elliot lead his picked men out of the hall as if he had an army at his back, they spilled out into the night without any of the bluster she had once expected of dock workers. These men were cool, collected. It wasn’t their first battle and it wouldn’t be the last. Some of them might even die tonight, dying in her service. Tyche tried to commit all of their faces to memory, she owed them that at least. The cause might be just, but the price was steep.
Once the fighters were outside more men boiled out, and though these were louder, less disciplined, each had an important job. They began swarming up the scaffolding and towers of the dockyard, running to each of the great floodlights that overlooked the area. Soon the entirety of the yard was bathed in an artificial sunlight and whistles rang out from above, signals this time. Their spotters had found the Seeker, the chase was on.
Elliot, Tyche, and the ten fighters ran hard toward the east entrance, where the spotters indicated he was. Unless the Seeker was very skilled he would quickly become turned around in the warren of crates. The longshoremen knew their patterns of their mazes, kept them as a jealously guarded secret, even changing their courses if they thought others had figured them out. Poseidon allowed such things from his servants, of the three members of the Triumvirate he was the most hands off.
They had the Seeker cornered in fifteen minutes, trapped within a dead end cul-de-sac. Tyche could hear the baying off his hound, a collection of sharp, discordant notes. When they finally approached him the man knew he had failed, and likely knew what the punishment for it would be. He drew his sword all the same however, and with a quick, practice motion, he released his hound’s leash.
A Seeker’s hound was a ferocious beast. Bred from Cerberus himself they were each a three headed monstrosity larger than a St. Bernard and fiercer than the angriest bulldog. This one had reddish brown fur, a single black stripe running from its rightmost head all the way to the tail. It crossed the distance between them like a gunshot, its master only steps behind.
Tyche saw the first longshoreman die as soon as it reached their ranks. His cry of anguish as three sets of jaws closed around him was heartbreaking, as was Elliot’s shout of fury a moment later. She knew the price their love had cost him, that man had likely been a friend, they all were.
She had her target though, the hound was ferocious but it could be dealt with, there were enough fighters here. The Seeker however, he might use the opportunity to escape and regardless of what he may or may not have seen in Harlem that couldn’t happen.
Tyche was on him instantly, her scepter a blur as she struck. The Seeker was good though, they had to be, the rising through the ranks was a dangerous affair on its own. He parried her first blow and her second, and his sword passed so close by her once that its very tip sliced through her dress at the hip. Then Elliot was on her, his cudgel already bloodied, and together they drove the seeker backwards, towards the wall of crates and his harsh fate.
It was Tyche who finally dropped him, her scepter crashing into the side of his head when he tried to parry one of Elliot’s blows. In the aftermath they both stood there gasping, listening to the cries of the wounded.
“How many?” she asked, her heart in her throat.
“Just one,” one of the workers answered. There was sadness in his voice yes but something else too, pride, almost reverence. Tyche had to turn away from his gaze, it was too much, no one deserved that.
“I’m sorry,” she said quietly to Elliot.
His head turned, finally looking away from the dead man and hound. “Thank you,” he said. “We’ll take care of his family.”
“He had a family?”
“A wife, one son.”
She didn’t know what to say to that. She’d never gotten used to people fighting for her, even in the old days.
The other workers were gathering though, the fighters and the spotters, forming a great knot of people all around her. One of them, the one who had spoken before, approached.
“He knew the risks,” the man said, “we all do. There’s not a man here who doesn’t believe in you or the cause though, and if we have to try our luck for a better future who better to do it beside than the goddess of fortune?”
Tyche smiled at him, reaching out to touch the man’s brow. She traced a small symbol there with a finger and he said a few reverent words, staring at her like he’d been blessed. She knew better though, her gifts were little protection from what would come. A coin had two sides, and once flipped only the fates knew which side it might land on.
“What should we do with him?” Elliot asked, kicking at the unconscious Seeker on the ground.
“The usual,” she said, “make him disappear. Not the water though, never that.”
Elliot just nodded. He knew the score by now.
Tyche wrapped an arm around her waist, leaning her head into his shoulder as other men dragged the Seeker away. “Hades picked poorly with that one,” she said. They stood there a long time before going home.
\-----
If you enjoyed that I've got tons more over at r/TurningtoWords. Come check it out, I'd love to have you!
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Hermes sighed as Mr. Hades gave him another errand. Hades sweetened the deal by complimenting the boy for his remarkable speed. After all, he had gotten his start in stealing the product from a meat packing plant on the other side of town. He was to check up on a certain associate named Sisyphus who had stolen the recent shipment of whiskey all the way from Styx by tying up his favorite delivery driver and one of his lieutenants. The Three Heads had been sent after him but when they couldn’t sniff him out.
As Hermes raced down the back alley streets, hoping to find the old man, he remembered his confrontation with Hades. His cool breath sent shivers up his neck. He had shrunk down to skin and bones ever since Persephone chose to live with her mother for the time being, but his size did nothing but make him even more intimidating.
Hermes finally found the place where Sisyphus was hiding. He knocked on the screen door and saw a quivering shell of a man in the shadows. As he entered, Sisyphus tried his best to evade him but he was no match for Hermes’s speed. Hermes dragged the old man kicking and screaming. Hades was very particular in the punishment befitting of him. Sisyphus was injected with a snake-like syringe full of stimulants to make sure he didn’t get to rest. Hermes looked upon the rock quarry and boarded the elevator with the geezer being held upside down by the feet, dangling over the side. Hermes felt merciful today, so Sisyphus was only dropped 10 feet. After hearing a telltale crunch, Hermes pressed the up button on the elevator. He cut the cables to the elevator so that there was no way out. He would keep moving rocks and fall back down until he died. Hermes walked over to a pay phone and dialed his boss.
“It’s done.”
|
|
[WP] Set in a dangerous city in the early 1900s, Zeus, the corrupt mayor, Poseidon, who owns the ports, and Hades, kingpin of the back alley drug trade, run the city unapologetically. All are vying for more power in this Greek pantheon film noir setting. (From popular demand from r/books!)
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Olympia, 1927.
What a city - Art Deco style buildings reach dizzying heights, and on their terraced tops, beyond the clouds, gods and demigods carouse day and night.
A city of gold and glitter, unblemished, untainted… A facade.
Zeus reveled in theatrics, but for now, he’d played his part. He found Athena in the mingling crowd, and hovered close to her ear.
“I’m off, dear. Do entertain the guests for me, will you?”
Athena nodded. “Be careful.”
Zeus sniggered, and with a confident swagger left the party - bodyguards falling in behind him.
\*\*\*
The moon was unusually big this evening; a spotlight for all the thugs and hustlers that roamed Olympia’s underbelly. Near the city’s expansive docks, a muscle car snuffed out its headlights. A man in a striped suit, who had been lounging against a shipping container, rushed to the passenger side of the car, and opened the door. Poseidon stepped out of his car, Pegasus, cane first, followed by his polished oxfords.
He took a deep breath and ran his fingers along the top of his cane - it had three pointed tips. “It’s a good night for business,” he said, gazing at the yacht moored before him. Entering the ship’s spacious and luxurious cabin, he saw that Zeus had already poured himself a drink with a bottle from the well-appointed liquor shelves.
“Make yourself at home, Mr. Mayor.” Poseidon gripped the cane with both hands.
“This is my home, is it not? This entire city is my house,” Zeus said, gesticulating with his rock glass.
“‘Course… ‘course… but I gotto say, Zeus, you keep an unclean house.”
Zeus drank down his liquor in one go, and dangled the empty glass in his hand. In a blink of the eye, Zeus had smashed the glass against the wall.
“Because of scum like Hades! And you, brother,” - he pointed an accusing finger at Poseidon, a thin flash of electricity ran along it - “you were supposed to cut off his supplies. But for some reason, his clubs are always stocked and his product always finds its way out of town.”
“That’s because I allow it,” Poseidon said with no hesitation.
Zeus shifted to a more stand-offish pose, and then crossed his arms. “Are you still mad because Athena getting her district? Huh? She beat you fair and square, you two-faced *malakas*.”
Poseidon reached into his jacket, extracted a small golden case and flicked it open. He leisurely picked up a thick torpedo cigar, which he placed in his mouth. He turned his head to the minion by his side, who promptly lit it up for him.
Zeus’ fury mounted, and his polished accent slipped. “Well, wadda ya got to say for yourself, before I run you outta my town?”
Poseidon puffed and removed the cigar. “I just hope you get my point.” Just as quick as Zeus had thrown the glass, the trident cane was now firmly planted into Zeus’ chest.
Zeus looked down, blood trickling from his lips. He could not believe that a garish disability aid had just struck him down. He sagged to the floor, lifeless.
Poseidon took another suck from his cigar. “Throw him overboard."
\*\*\*
Heracles couldn’t finish. The orgy at the club Styx was great, but he’d usually be done by now. Something was wrong. He shook a host of beautiful promiscuous men and women off of him, and tried to rise.
“What’s the matter, Herc?” said a dracaena who was clawing at his biceps.
“I don’t know…”
Under protests and moans, he managed to leave the fuck pile, throw on his outfit, and get to club’s lobby. He tapped on the shoulder of the concierge.
“Mr. Heracles?” The man had a bowler hat and a wispy moustache.
“Where’s the phone?”
He led Heracles to a dial-phone, who rotated its wheel a few times and held the horn by his ear.
“Yes, is this the police? Do you know more?” came a tinny response after a few seconds.
“What?”
“Heracles, is that you?” another voice asked. It was Athena.
“Yeah, what’s going on?”
“Zeus has gone missing. I fear the worst has happened to him. Please, come to the Mt. Olympus plaza at once!”
“I-I… I’ll come,” Heracles stammered, and tossed the horn on the phone. He looked around - the concierge was still patiently waiting.
“Take me to your boss' office,” Heracles demanded.
“Right away, sir.”
A gilded cage rattled to the lower basements, and the bars opened.
“Straight ahead, sir.”
“Yeah, yeah, I know,” Heracles snapped.
The brick and mortar hallway ended at a red door. A sign on the door showed a three-headed beast with the words: “Beware of the dog.”
He knocked, and the door opened automatically. The room beyond was covered in a red hue from unseen lights. At the back, behind a desk, sat a bearded man, counting stacks of money. He looked up at Heracles.
“Ah, he who cannot get enough of the taste of forbidden fruit.” Hades flashed a smile, which disappeared as fast as it had appeared. “Down, girl!” he snapped at the three headed dog that was sniffing at Heracles.
“I think I’ve made my choice…” Heracles said.
“Oh?” Hades put down the money and put his hands together like a steeple.
“I think something happened to my father. I didn’t think it was possible, but here we are,” Heracles sighed, and sank down on a chair opposite of Hades.
“Hmm, even gods are not immune to the dangers of this city.”
“I agree to your offer. Support my campaign, fund me, and I will protect you, unlike my father ever did.”
Hades stood up, and extended his hand. Heracles rose and took the hand with both of his. Hades grinned with a toothy smile from ear to ear.
“A piece of advice for the future mayor. First chance you get, get rid of that *malakas,* Poseidon.”
|
Hermes sighed as Mr. Hades gave him another errand. Hades sweetened the deal by complimenting the boy for his remarkable speed. After all, he had gotten his start in stealing the product from a meat packing plant on the other side of town. He was to check up on a certain associate named Sisyphus who had stolen the recent shipment of whiskey all the way from Styx by tying up his favorite delivery driver and one of his lieutenants. The Three Heads had been sent after him but when they couldn’t sniff him out.
As Hermes raced down the back alley streets, hoping to find the old man, he remembered his confrontation with Hades. His cool breath sent shivers up his neck. He had shrunk down to skin and bones ever since Persephone chose to live with her mother for the time being, but his size did nothing but make him even more intimidating.
Hermes finally found the place where Sisyphus was hiding. He knocked on the screen door and saw a quivering shell of a man in the shadows. As he entered, Sisyphus tried his best to evade him but he was no match for Hermes’s speed. Hermes dragged the old man kicking and screaming. Hades was very particular in the punishment befitting of him. Sisyphus was injected with a snake-like syringe full of stimulants to make sure he didn’t get to rest. Hermes looked upon the rock quarry and boarded the elevator with the geezer being held upside down by the feet, dangling over the side. Hermes felt merciful today, so Sisyphus was only dropped 10 feet. After hearing a telltale crunch, Hermes pressed the up button on the elevator. He cut the cables to the elevator so that there was no way out. He would keep moving rocks and fall back down until he died. Hermes walked over to a pay phone and dialed his boss.
“It’s done.”
|
|
[WP] Set in a dangerous city in the early 1900s, Zeus, the corrupt mayor, Poseidon, who owns the ports, and Hades, kingpin of the back alley drug trade, run the city unapologetically. All are vying for more power in this Greek pantheon film noir setting. (From popular demand from r/books!)
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“You’re looking well as always, Zeus,” Hermes said as he pulled out a golden cigarette from the inside of his suit pocket and lit it, “Hate to say it, but with what I’ve heard today, I’m not sure your good times are gonna last.”
Zeus leaned his massive frame forward over his enormous mahogany desk, his chiseled face grim as he stroked his beard. “What is the news, Hermes?”
“Looks like the worst-case scenario for you, pops. It looks like your two brothers made a deal behind your back to smuggling something very valuable from overseas into the black market.” Hermes took another pull from his cigar, “If it goes on, it could easily mean one of the two brothers get to sit at this desk of yours.”
A thundercloud passed over Zeus's face, “Is it that bad? What are they smuggling?”
Hermes let Zeus’s question hang dramatically for a moment before he said, “Ambrosia.”
“You’re sure?” Zeus said, gritting his teeth.
“This is not a trick, I swear by the River Styx. I’d never joke about something this important.” Hermes replied.
Zeus’s blue eyes flashed and a vein bulged in his neck as he struggled to contain his wrath, “Those fools,” he rumbled, “Are they so desperate to dethrone me that they’ll give immortality to mortals and cause the downfall of our entire race?”
*Ambrosia... they wouldn't do something as risky as banding together to commit a forbidden act for something like money. Are they perhaps making immortal legions of mortals to fight me? Either way, this is very bad...*
Hermes looked sidelong at Zeus, “So, what are you going to do, Zeus? Are you going to take it to a council at Mt. Olympus? I’m sure the rest of us would side with you against Poseiden and Hades.”
Zeus shook his head, “No. They’ve almost certainly thought of that. I have to do things my own way. I’ll crush them in a way they’d never expect.” He stood up, stroking his beard. His eyes still burned with wrath, but it was a cold, calculating anger that made Hermes shiver slightly.
“I… think I’m gonna go now, Zeus. Take care.” Hermes said, tossing his cigarette into the bin and turning to leave.
“Wait,” Zeus said, “I need a favor from you.”
Hermes cringed slightly and then turned around, “Look, I never really get involved in these things. Telling you this information is enough danger to send me into hiding for a couple of decades. Going beyond that is…”
“It’s not much,” Zeus said, “I just need you to send a message for me. I’ll reward you handsomely.”
“In that case… I can do that. Only for you,” Hermes said, “Who is it for?”
*If they're going to use mortals as pawns, I can play that game too.*
“Odysseus.” Zeus said, “Tell him I need him to go on one more adventure.”
___
Read my best prompt answers and more at r/WanderWilder. Thanks for reading!
|
Hermes sighed as Mr. Hades gave him another errand. Hades sweetened the deal by complimenting the boy for his remarkable speed. After all, he had gotten his start in stealing the product from a meat packing plant on the other side of town. He was to check up on a certain associate named Sisyphus who had stolen the recent shipment of whiskey all the way from Styx by tying up his favorite delivery driver and one of his lieutenants. The Three Heads had been sent after him but when they couldn’t sniff him out.
As Hermes raced down the back alley streets, hoping to find the old man, he remembered his confrontation with Hades. His cool breath sent shivers up his neck. He had shrunk down to skin and bones ever since Persephone chose to live with her mother for the time being, but his size did nothing but make him even more intimidating.
Hermes finally found the place where Sisyphus was hiding. He knocked on the screen door and saw a quivering shell of a man in the shadows. As he entered, Sisyphus tried his best to evade him but he was no match for Hermes’s speed. Hermes dragged the old man kicking and screaming. Hades was very particular in the punishment befitting of him. Sisyphus was injected with a snake-like syringe full of stimulants to make sure he didn’t get to rest. Hermes looked upon the rock quarry and boarded the elevator with the geezer being held upside down by the feet, dangling over the side. Hermes felt merciful today, so Sisyphus was only dropped 10 feet. After hearing a telltale crunch, Hermes pressed the up button on the elevator. He cut the cables to the elevator so that there was no way out. He would keep moving rocks and fall back down until he died. Hermes walked over to a pay phone and dialed his boss.
“It’s done.”
|
|
[WP] Set in a dangerous city in the early 1900s, Zeus, the corrupt mayor, Poseidon, who owns the ports, and Hades, kingpin of the back alley drug trade, run the city unapologetically. All are vying for more power in this Greek pantheon film noir setting. (From popular demand from r/books!)
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Blood pattered onto a wooden pier soaked in rain as a cold wind whipped through crates stacked high in preparation for smuggling. A private eye wiped his nose as he struggled back to his feet, the world around him going various shades of grey to match the unimpressive rolling cloud cover.
"You're in the wrong place at the wrong time, buddy," rumbled a man approximately the size and general shape or a large boulder. He cracked knuckles on hands the size of hams, coarse hair covering knuckles and forearms.
The private eye managed to stand, albeit shakily, and spat a glob of blood onto the ground. With an absurd clarity, he could see spots of blood clinging both to the behemoth's knuckles and splattered across a plain white shirt tucked into rather expensive looking suit pants. Long dark locks of hair tumbled around a face chiseled from granite, framed by an equally tangled black beard.
With one pale hand he rubbed his nose, which gave a sharp cry of protest at being touched so soon after the solid whack it'd just received.
"I'm not here about whatever the fuck you're selling," the private eye said, with one hand gesturing at the stacked crates. If he was lucky, they were rum runners. If he was very unlucky, and he suspected he might be, they were smuggling ambrosia. And that was the kind of thing that earned you a very fashionable pair of cement shoes.
The giant crossed his arms.
"And? What are you doing out here, sneaking on my uncle's pier?"
This was bad news, and the private eye was far too sober for his liking already. Brushes with death usually cleared those cobwebs of a perpetual buzz that he liked to decorate his mind with.
"You're testing my patience. I ain't exactly the patient sort," said the giant. To punctuate his point he once again crackled his knuckles.
"I'm looking for a girl," the private eye said. He fumbled around his pockets, finding nothing. He must've lost the picture somewhere earlier, making his way through the wharves trying and hoping that whomever had scooped up his client's daughter wasn't the human trafficking type. You could buy and ship anything out from these piers and ships. People, guns, booze, what have you. Yet there was only one man on this pier at this time, and that was either his saving grace or his condemnation. Given his size, he didn't look like the sort of man who needed backup.
"Buddy there ain't many girls around here. She got a name?"
The private eye wracked the depths of his mind, which was quite the effort given the incoming hangover exacerbated only by the cold and the damp. What did it start with?
"Persephone," he finally managed.
It'd been a strange day, though most days were strange if you struggled to go through any of them sober. She'd walked in with the expression of a woman who hates being interrupted, and would be liable to plug you full of lead if you were dumb enough to do so. Someone had broken into her estate, in the nice part of town, where the arboretum and park and other fancy rich person shit kept the undesirable elements of Olympia out. What was the name of the neighborhood again? Something flowery? Spring something? He couldn't remember. All he knew was the client's name was Demeter and that someone had taken her precious little girl in the middle of the night.
Though to the private eye going on thirty wasn't exactly little, the but he wasn't one to ask questions. Money was money, and if there were a few vials of ambrosia in him for it on the side, he wasn't going to be stupid enough as to turn something like that down.
Something rippled across the giant's face, though the private eye couldn't quite tell if that was a good or bad sign. Good, he supposed, since he wasn't being lifted bodily into the air and dumped directly into the Aegean harbor with a broken neck.
*Someone had thrown me into the harbor before, but didn't matter what, who, or why.*
Those intrusive thoughts came into the private eye's mind more often than he'd like, but they were easy to brush aside.
"Mmm, rings a bell," the giant said, rubbing fore finger and thumb together, "With the right price, I might even have something to say."
The private eye grimaced at that. Times were tough, but the payday on this job had an absurd price tag. He'd probably be able to recover his losses, if there were any.
"Take me somewhere out of the cold, and I might have something to make this worth your while."
The private eye reached into his coat pocket, and withdrew a flask to take a long swig from, a trickle of wine slipping down the corner of his mouth. Whatever it'd take to fight off the eventual apocalyptic headache.
"There's a bar not far from here, and if you buy me enough drinks with cash under the glass, I'll have some answers."
The giant no longer looked like he was going to crack open the private eye's skull, and to that the private eye gave thanks.
"You got a name?" asked the private eye, holding out one hand to be shook.
The giant's hand clasped over the private eye's, swallowing it whole. If the giant gripped it any harder, he guessed his hands would shatter from the crushing strength.
"Call me Heracles," the giant said.
"Call me Dionysus," said the private eye.
Something about that name jarred the private eye's memory, whenever that could be moved from its winey depths. Where had he heard that before?
The giant turned to lead him away from the docks, and the private eye followed.
Something about this didn't feel right.
"I've got a feeling you're going to tell me something I don't want to hear," Dionysus said to the lumbering mountain. The rain had dissolved into a weaker mist, though the lanterns on the street were lighting themselves one by one to fight off the pervading shadows.
Heracles laughed, though he didn't turn to look at the private eye.
"You don't know the half of it," he said, and left it at that, his boots clattering onto the wet stone of the sidewalk.
Something about that response cause a white hot ball of anxiety to plummet into his stomach, though Dionysus couldn't quite explain why.
*Not even noon, and almost drowned by some goon,* the private eye thought to himself.
*The big man said his uncle ran the dock.*
Demigods weren't exactly uncommon, but they ranged on the harmless to quite worse than running into one of the big Olympians themselves. Though Dionysus couldn't say if he'd recognize any of them. He drifted into town, or he could've been born here. He never would've known, he wasn't the man with the sort of memory that stuck around.
Still, he couldn't help but feel like there was something else brewing.
Something about this job rubbed him the wrong way.
He followed the giant who called himself Heracles to wherever he led. There was something about this town that gave Dionysus the impression that there were no easy days. Not in Olympia.
It was the sort of town where anything could happen.
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
r/kallistowrites [Part 2](https://old.reddit.com/r/KallistoWrites/comments/lx32gl/an_unconventional_kidnapping_part_2/?)
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Hermes sighed as Mr. Hades gave him another errand. Hades sweetened the deal by complimenting the boy for his remarkable speed. After all, he had gotten his start in stealing the product from a meat packing plant on the other side of town. He was to check up on a certain associate named Sisyphus who had stolen the recent shipment of whiskey all the way from Styx by tying up his favorite delivery driver and one of his lieutenants. The Three Heads had been sent after him but when they couldn’t sniff him out.
As Hermes raced down the back alley streets, hoping to find the old man, he remembered his confrontation with Hades. His cool breath sent shivers up his neck. He had shrunk down to skin and bones ever since Persephone chose to live with her mother for the time being, but his size did nothing but make him even more intimidating.
Hermes finally found the place where Sisyphus was hiding. He knocked on the screen door and saw a quivering shell of a man in the shadows. As he entered, Sisyphus tried his best to evade him but he was no match for Hermes’s speed. Hermes dragged the old man kicking and screaming. Hades was very particular in the punishment befitting of him. Sisyphus was injected with a snake-like syringe full of stimulants to make sure he didn’t get to rest. Hermes looked upon the rock quarry and boarded the elevator with the geezer being held upside down by the feet, dangling over the side. Hermes felt merciful today, so Sisyphus was only dropped 10 feet. After hearing a telltale crunch, Hermes pressed the up button on the elevator. He cut the cables to the elevator so that there was no way out. He would keep moving rocks and fall back down until he died. Hermes walked over to a pay phone and dialed his boss.
“It’s done.”
|
|
[WP] Set in a dangerous city in the early 1900s, Zeus, the corrupt mayor, Poseidon, who owns the ports, and Hades, kingpin of the back alley drug trade, run the city unapologetically. All are vying for more power in this Greek pantheon film noir setting. (From popular demand from r/books!)
|
Olympus City was warm of weather but cold of heart. Gold leaf plated virtually every surface, serving as a stark reminder of what the city really was—gilded on the outside, rusted, dull and rotten just underneath. In the City there was no survival without compromise. Compromise of safety, integrity, and standards. For the true of heart, it was a hell-hole. For the misfits, outcasts, and lowlifes, it was a land of opportunity. As a bastard, Hercules should’ve fit right in.
He didn’t. As the son of the Mayor, no one with a toe out of line wanted anything to do with him. That was problematic in a city where anyone worth anything was *born* out of line. His father had his own reasons to keep his distance. Her name was Hera. She hated Hercules from the moment he was born. He was a testament to both his father’s dishonesty, and in her mind, to her own inadequacy.
So Hercules was nothing to no one. A zero. It was a position he embraced. There were no expectations, no oversight. If he wanted to make a move, no one would see it coming. After all, what could an unconnected bastard demi-god hope to achieve in a city like this?
“We need to talk,” Hercules said, entering his father’s office.
“Whoa kid, maybe a knock next time will ya?” Zeus said, standing straight up from his desk, adjusting his neck-tie and zipping his fly.
“Yeah, I *did* knock. Maybe if your secretary was at her desk, she could’ve given you a ring.”
“She’s got other places to be.”
“Right. I bet she's got important work to do under your desk.” Hercules asked.
Zeus’s shoulders slumped. “You got me. Get out of here Karen. If anyone rings, I’m busy.” A woman crawled out from underneath the desk, straightened her blouse, and ran out of the office hurriedly. Zeus sat back down. “What do you want, kid?”
“Word on the street is Hades got a new shipment coming in. It’s a big one.”
“Street?” Zeus said, squinting. “What street? You don’t know nothing about the street.”
“I know enough to know about the shipment.”
“There’s *always* a shipment. You want to talk import-export, talk to Poseidon. I’m just the guy who makes sure the city doesn’t burn.”
“I already talked to Uncle.” Hercules said. “He told me all about it.”
“Whatever it is, I don’t want anything to do with it all right? I got enough on my plate. Is that it? You all done here?”
“I want in, Dad.”
“You want *in*?”
“I want a cut.”
“Let’s say hypothetically there was a cut to be had, what makes you think you're worth it? What makes you think you got anything to offer?”
“I have the same thing you have—information. Information that *maybe* I’ll choose to forget.”
Zeus smiled. “You mean Karen? Don’t even think about it kid, Hera’s used to it all by now.”
“Information about the shipment,” Hercules said. “All it’d take is one call to the Heavenly Bureau and your whole operation comes crumbling down.”
Zeus laughed. “The *HBI?!* You think they’ll care about what a no-one like you has to say? You’re a *demi-god* Herc. You need to accept that and move one.
“You don’t think they’ll be interested in hearing about a *ten ton* shipment of Nectar?”
“Ten *tons*? You really don’t know shit do you, kid. There’s no ten-ton shipment. I’d know if Hades was pulling in that kind of volume. He hasn’t had a supplier like that in years. Your uncle's been messing with you. Now get the hell out of here.”
Hercules left, smiling to himself. He tapped the wire at his chest three times, signaling that he was a safe distance away, then crushed it between his fingers.
***
Hercules surveyed the docks, looking for any sign of his uncle. Nothing. He pulled out a pack of Old Reds, smoked one to the filter, and flicked the butt into the ocean. A tiny whirlpool formed where it landed, which grew larger and larger, eventually funneling upwards like a tornado.
"*Prepare to die litter-bug!*" Poseidon yelled, his torso just above the circling torrent of water, trident pointed at Hercules' throat.
"Hello, uncle." Hercules said calmly.
"Oh it's you." The water calmed and Poseidon took a step onto the docks. "Since when do you smoke?"
"Since when have you been smuggling Nectar with Hades?"
"I have no idea what you're talking about," Poseidon said, stone-faced.
"Look," Hercules said. "I don't have time to mess around. I know everything. You really trusted my father to keep that quiet?"
Poseidon said nothing for a moment, only stared at Hercules eyebrows furrowed. "Who else knows?" he asked eventually.
"By now, everyone who matters. He told one of his girls. The HBI will be on him and Hades any minute. You need to cut ties and cover your ass ASAP."
Poseidon nodded. "Thanks for the heads up."
"Don't thank me yet. There's no such thing as a free lunch, uncle."
***
"Ah Hercules, so nice to see you. Its been so long. How are things?" Hades asked, the flame atop his head rolling lazily.
"Not bad," Hercules said casually. "How're things between you and Poseidon?"
Hades' flame dimmed to a smolder. "What do you know?"
"Everything."
"How?"
"Take a wild guess."
"That drunken rat just can't keep his mouth shut around the girls, can he."
"Have you heard from Poseidon?" Hercules asked.
"Yes. So that's why he jumped ship?"
Hercules nodded.
"Well, thank you for the information. So what exactly is it that *you* want?" Hades asked.
"If I know, the HBI knows. You need to lay low for a little while. I can help you hide, I know a place on Earth where--"
"What do you *want,*" Hades asked with more force, the flame atop his head blazing to life.
"Okay okay, I'll get to the point," Hercules said raising his hands. "When you resume operations, you're going to need someone on the inside. You're going to need another Zeus. I can be that someone, but you're going to need to help me get there."
Hades thought for a moment. "You're a half-blood," he said, as if that settled the matter.
"With you and Poseidon funding me it won't matter."
"Poseidon's on board?"
"If you're on board, he won't have a choice. Between us, we have enough dirt to bury him."
Hades smiled. "You're smart, kid. Must take after your mother. We'll talk later." With a flash of smoke, he was gone.
Hercules smiled to himself. He'd be Zero to Hero in no time flat.
***
&nbsp;
More of my favorite pieces at r/Banana_Scribe
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Hermes sighed as Mr. Hades gave him another errand. Hades sweetened the deal by complimenting the boy for his remarkable speed. After all, he had gotten his start in stealing the product from a meat packing plant on the other side of town. He was to check up on a certain associate named Sisyphus who had stolen the recent shipment of whiskey all the way from Styx by tying up his favorite delivery driver and one of his lieutenants. The Three Heads had been sent after him but when they couldn’t sniff him out.
As Hermes raced down the back alley streets, hoping to find the old man, he remembered his confrontation with Hades. His cool breath sent shivers up his neck. He had shrunk down to skin and bones ever since Persephone chose to live with her mother for the time being, but his size did nothing but make him even more intimidating.
Hermes finally found the place where Sisyphus was hiding. He knocked on the screen door and saw a quivering shell of a man in the shadows. As he entered, Sisyphus tried his best to evade him but he was no match for Hermes’s speed. Hermes dragged the old man kicking and screaming. Hades was very particular in the punishment befitting of him. Sisyphus was injected with a snake-like syringe full of stimulants to make sure he didn’t get to rest. Hermes looked upon the rock quarry and boarded the elevator with the geezer being held upside down by the feet, dangling over the side. Hermes felt merciful today, so Sisyphus was only dropped 10 feet. After hearing a telltale crunch, Hermes pressed the up button on the elevator. He cut the cables to the elevator so that there was no way out. He would keep moving rocks and fall back down until he died. Hermes walked over to a pay phone and dialed his boss.
“It’s done.”
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[WP] Set in a dangerous city in the early 1900s, Zeus, the corrupt mayor, Poseidon, who owns the ports, and Hades, kingpin of the back alley drug trade, run the city unapologetically. All are vying for more power in this Greek pantheon film noir setting. (From popular demand from r/books!)
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They were the Gods of this city. 3 brothers ruling over their individual parts.
Zeus, on the face of it, was a shining beacon of good. The eldest brother became mayor, shaping the city to his vision, which to anyone visiting was a glorious and prosperous city of gold. But those of us living here saw it for what it really was. Zeus' playground. Somewhere for him to do whatever he wanted, and what he wanted was rarely legal. That's where his brothers came in.
Poseidon held the ports. Anything coming in or leaving the city went by Poseidon. If it could get on a boat, and you had the money, he could get it for you. If you needed to make a fast exit, or hide someplace, provided it wasn't from the family, he was the guy to see. He controlled the waters, and the Kraken gang made sure it stayed that way.
And while the other two stood in the light, the youngest brother hid in the Underworld of the city. Hades moved things along the backstreets, in the alleyways, and rumour has it, through an underground system of tunnels. The problem with being in Hades' crew was that no one ever got out alive. Ever. His main business was drugs. He and his wife, Persephone, had created a substance known as Pomegranate. Little dark red pills that gave the kind of high no other drug could match. But with that came addiction. Once you tried it, you belonged to Hades forever.
No one questioned it, and if they did, that person disappeared very quickly. Everyone knew they ran business out of Club Olympus, and if you needed to deal with them, that was the place to go. Dionysius ran the place, but he was more likely to be found propping up the bar instead of working it. But if you could catch him sober, you might get an audience with Hermes, who would get the message to the right person. Aphrodite ran the brothels. Hepheastus could get you weapons, but Ares had the men for a fight. Apollo was the one to go to for any kind of advice, but his prices were steep. His twin sister Artemis was the chief of police, and as corrupt as the rest of them. It all seemed so perfect, the Gods ruled from atop their metaphorical mountain, and everyone either fell in line or vanished.
What no one knew was the conflict between the brothers. Zeus was at the top and he wanted to keep it that way. He gave off this untouchable aura, but he knew better than anyone that power could be taken. He tried to keep the top dogs happy, but his own desires often risked his relationship with them. His biggest weakness was women. Though married, Zeus would use his power, his fame, or his money to get any woman he wanted. And he wasn't the most subtle man. Poseidon and Hades had both tried to win Hera to their side by bringing up his infidelity. With her, either one could bring Zeus down. Poseidon was under the impression that if he could control the docks, he could handle anything in the city, while Hades had the view that without him the city would fall apart, so why not step up and leave the shadows.
Deals were forged, loyalties brought, promises made. Everyone chose a side, except one.
Apollo could see it coming. He saw the plans made for war. A war that would leave the city in ashes, with no one left alive to claim victory, and he wanted no part in it.
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Hermes sighed as Mr. Hades gave him another errand. Hades sweetened the deal by complimenting the boy for his remarkable speed. After all, he had gotten his start in stealing the product from a meat packing plant on the other side of town. He was to check up on a certain associate named Sisyphus who had stolen the recent shipment of whiskey all the way from Styx by tying up his favorite delivery driver and one of his lieutenants. The Three Heads had been sent after him but when they couldn’t sniff him out.
As Hermes raced down the back alley streets, hoping to find the old man, he remembered his confrontation with Hades. His cool breath sent shivers up his neck. He had shrunk down to skin and bones ever since Persephone chose to live with her mother for the time being, but his size did nothing but make him even more intimidating.
Hermes finally found the place where Sisyphus was hiding. He knocked on the screen door and saw a quivering shell of a man in the shadows. As he entered, Sisyphus tried his best to evade him but he was no match for Hermes’s speed. Hermes dragged the old man kicking and screaming. Hades was very particular in the punishment befitting of him. Sisyphus was injected with a snake-like syringe full of stimulants to make sure he didn’t get to rest. Hermes looked upon the rock quarry and boarded the elevator with the geezer being held upside down by the feet, dangling over the side. Hermes felt merciful today, so Sisyphus was only dropped 10 feet. After hearing a telltale crunch, Hermes pressed the up button on the elevator. He cut the cables to the elevator so that there was no way out. He would keep moving rocks and fall back down until he died. Hermes walked over to a pay phone and dialed his boss.
“It’s done.”
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[WP] Set in a dangerous city in the early 1900s, Zeus, the corrupt mayor, Poseidon, who owns the ports, and Hades, kingpin of the back alley drug trade, run the city unapologetically. All are vying for more power in this Greek pantheon film noir setting. (From popular demand from r/books!)
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“Oh god!” cried Hephaestus, looking at the pictures my associates took for him.
“That’s no god,” I said with as much sympathy as I could.
“I know who it is!” Hephaestus snapped at me, as he flipped through the pictures of his wife, Aphrodite, with her lover, Ares.
It’s my job. It’s not glamorous. But it pays the bills and sometimes it feels good to help a fella out like this man here, Hephaestus. A hard worker who worked his way up and now owns three steel mills in the center of the industrial district. Built his company—Vulcan Industries—with his own hands. Now they're living high on the hog, and what’s his wife do? She gets playful with the Olympus’s chief of police, Ares.
It ain’t good to have a man like Ares knowing I been spying on him with his sidepiece, but I told Hephaestus I’d help him, and I took his money. So here we are.
“Look I’m real sorry, mister,” I say to Hephaestus, who is still flipping through the pictures. “Now how ‘bout you get a drink. Head down to the bar *The Bacchae,* Dionysus runs it and is a good friend of mine. Tell him the drink’s on me.”
Hephaestus dropped the pictures and looked at me, smiling.
“No,” he said and I didn’t like the look in his eyes. “No, I got plans of my own.”
“Now just take it easy,” I said to the man. “Don’t go doing anything stupid.”
Hephaestus set an envelope down on my desk with my payment and stood up.
“Thank you, Jason, for your service. I knew I could trust you.”
“Just doing my job. Look, I take no pleasure in it. I was hoping it wouldn’t turn out this way with your wife.”
“Goodbye, Jason.”
“See you around, Hephaestus,” I said, tipping my cap to him as he walked out of the room.
I leaned back in my chair. Another day in Olympus, this god forsaken city filled with the most spiteful and petty and two-timin’ people imaginable.
I can’t complain though, these people keep me well employed. Bought me a Studebaker just a couple months. It was expensive, but a man’s gotta have style if he wants to attract the right customers.
“Mr. Iolcus,” I hear my assistant, Medea, over the intercom. “A lady is here to see you.”
“Let her in, Medea. Thank you.”
Here we go again, I say to myself, standing up and brushing off my suit, looking in the mirror. I nod in approval.
The door opens and a beautiful woman walks in. She is older. Blonde hair down to her shoulders. Enough jewelry around her neck to pay a kid’s way through college.
“How many I help you….,” I say, reaching for her hand, inquiring for her name.
“Mrs. Kronos,” she said. “But you can call me Hera.”
My heart skips a beat.
“Kronos,” I repeated. “I don’t imagine you are…”
“Yes, Mr. Iolcus. My husband is Zeus, the mayor. He's actually the reason I’m here to see you.”
What a day, I say to myself.
“Alright, Mrs. Kronos, why don’t you just sit right there." I lead her to a chair for clients in from of my desk. "Smoke?” I ask her, pulling out my gold case from my suit pocket.
“No,” she said, waving her gloved hand. “No thank you.”
“You mind?” I ask. “It’s not everyday I get the Mayor’s wife in here.”
“Go ahead,” she said. Her face was serious, drawn tight. She was beautiful, even at her age. And elegant. Her gloved hands held the sparkling purse on her lap and she sat up straight, like a statue. If the mayor was foolin’ around on her, he was an idiot. But aren't we all?
I took a deep drag on my cigarette, then asked, “how may I help you, Mrs. Kronos?”
“Do you know my husband, Mr. Iolcus?”
“Never met the man,” I said.
“Well, I’m sure you’ve heard rumors.”
“Rumors don’t mean much, Mrs. Kronos. Now look, I’m a busy man. Is there something I can do for you?”
She looked at me nervously.
“Yes, Mr. Iolcus—”
“Call me, Jason.”
“Yes, Jason, there is. You see, I believe my husband is having an affair.”
I nod, taking another drag of my cigarette.
“Do you love your husband, Mrs. Kronos?”
“I do,” she said.
“Then how ‘bout you just forget about this? Are you sure you really want what I may find? Honestly, your husband can make my life hard if he finds out about this. I got a license I gotta look out for.”
“What’s your rate?” She asked me.
“I’m not cheap, ma’am.”
“Well I’ll pay you your regular rate plus an extra $5,000 if you find anything.”
I stroke my chin, thinking. But there ain’t much to think about. $5,000 dollars makes it simple.
I press the intercom. “Medea, bring Mrs. Kronos one of our standard contracts, will you?”
“Right away, Mr. Iolcus.”
“Are you sure about this, Mrs. Kronos?”
“I’m sure,” she said as Medea walked in and placed the contract in front of Mrs. Kronos who bent forward and signed the contract. I grabbed the contract and signed it then ripped the carbon copy off the back and handed it to Mrs. Kronos. I walked Medea out of the room and held it open.
“I’ll be in touch with you soon, Mrs. Kronos. I’ll get started on the case today.”
She stood up and I got a whiff of her perfume. She turned and looked at me as she walked past, and I felt weak in the knees. What a knockout she was.
“Let’s hope that this is all just a misunderstanding.”
She laughed a little as she walked past Medea’s desk and out into the rainy Olympus night.
\----
I lock up for the night and turn to walk to my car, pulling my trench coat tight. The rain has stopped, and the steam is coming off the street in wavy hoary strings. As I get close to my car, a police crawler pulls up and two thugs with badges get out, looking at me like a dog drooling over a piece of raw meat.
“Where you headin’ tonight?” one of the officers asked me.
“Your wife just called, said she was feeling a little lonely, thought I’d stop by,” I say, taking a drag of my cigarette.
“Wise guy, eh? Let’s see if you’re so wise missin’ a few teeth,” the police officer said, tapping his trudgeon on the front of my car.
“Save it,” I say, blowing out a cloud of smoke. “That may work on some street walker, but you ain’t scaring me.”
“Police Chief wants to see you downtown. You’re coming with us, Jason.”
I could make a fuss out of this, but that wouldn’t really help any.
“Alright, big shot. Let’s take a drive then.” I flick my cigarette at his feet and walk towards the crawler. I knew I shouldn’t have taken that damn contract with Hephaestus. Ares isn’t someone I want to be on their bad side.
\----
***Part II Below***
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Hermes sighed as Mr. Hades gave him another errand. Hades sweetened the deal by complimenting the boy for his remarkable speed. After all, he had gotten his start in stealing the product from a meat packing plant on the other side of town. He was to check up on a certain associate named Sisyphus who had stolen the recent shipment of whiskey all the way from Styx by tying up his favorite delivery driver and one of his lieutenants. The Three Heads had been sent after him but when they couldn’t sniff him out.
As Hermes raced down the back alley streets, hoping to find the old man, he remembered his confrontation with Hades. His cool breath sent shivers up his neck. He had shrunk down to skin and bones ever since Persephone chose to live with her mother for the time being, but his size did nothing but make him even more intimidating.
Hermes finally found the place where Sisyphus was hiding. He knocked on the screen door and saw a quivering shell of a man in the shadows. As he entered, Sisyphus tried his best to evade him but he was no match for Hermes’s speed. Hermes dragged the old man kicking and screaming. Hades was very particular in the punishment befitting of him. Sisyphus was injected with a snake-like syringe full of stimulants to make sure he didn’t get to rest. Hermes looked upon the rock quarry and boarded the elevator with the geezer being held upside down by the feet, dangling over the side. Hermes felt merciful today, so Sisyphus was only dropped 10 feet. After hearing a telltale crunch, Hermes pressed the up button on the elevator. He cut the cables to the elevator so that there was no way out. He would keep moving rocks and fall back down until he died. Hermes walked over to a pay phone and dialed his boss.
“It’s done.”
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[WP] Set in a dangerous city in the early 1900s, Zeus, the corrupt mayor, Poseidon, who owns the ports, and Hades, kingpin of the back alley drug trade, run the city unapologetically. All are vying for more power in this Greek pantheon film noir setting. (From popular demand from r/books!)
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Olympus City was warm of weather but cold of heart. Gold leaf plated virtually every surface, serving as a stark reminder of what the city really was—gilded on the outside, rusted, dull and rotten just underneath. In the City there was no survival without compromise. Compromise of safety, integrity, and standards. For the true of heart, it was a hell-hole. For the misfits, outcasts, and lowlifes, it was a land of opportunity. As a bastard, Hercules should’ve fit right in.
He didn’t. As the son of the Mayor, no one with a toe out of line wanted anything to do with him. That was problematic in a city where anyone worth anything was *born* out of line. His father had his own reasons to keep his distance. Her name was Hera. She hated Hercules from the moment he was born. He was a testament to both his father’s dishonesty, and in her mind, to her own inadequacy.
So Hercules was nothing to no one. A zero. It was a position he embraced. There were no expectations, no oversight. If he wanted to make a move, no one would see it coming. After all, what could an unconnected bastard demi-god hope to achieve in a city like this?
“We need to talk,” Hercules said, entering his father’s office.
“Whoa kid, maybe a knock next time will ya?” Zeus said, standing straight up from his desk, adjusting his neck-tie and zipping his fly.
“Yeah, I *did* knock. Maybe if your secretary was at her desk, she could’ve given you a ring.”
“She’s got other places to be.”
“Right. I bet she's got important work to do under your desk.” Hercules asked.
Zeus’s shoulders slumped. “You got me. Get out of here Karen. If anyone rings, I’m busy.” A woman crawled out from underneath the desk, straightened her blouse, and ran out of the office hurriedly. Zeus sat back down. “What do you want, kid?”
“Word on the street is Hades got a new shipment coming in. It’s a big one.”
“Street?” Zeus said, squinting. “What street? You don’t know nothing about the street.”
“I know enough to know about the shipment.”
“There’s *always* a shipment. You want to talk import-export, talk to Poseidon. I’m just the guy who makes sure the city doesn’t burn.”
“I already talked to Uncle.” Hercules said. “He told me all about it.”
“Whatever it is, I don’t want anything to do with it all right? I got enough on my plate. Is that it? You all done here?”
“I want in, Dad.”
“You want *in*?”
“I want a cut.”
“Let’s say hypothetically there was a cut to be had, what makes you think you're worth it? What makes you think you got anything to offer?”
“I have the same thing you have—information. Information that *maybe* I’ll choose to forget.”
Zeus smiled. “You mean Karen? Don’t even think about it kid, Hera’s used to it all by now.”
“Information about the shipment,” Hercules said. “All it’d take is one call to the Heavenly Bureau and your whole operation comes crumbling down.”
Zeus laughed. “The *HBI?!* You think they’ll care about what a no-one like you has to say? You’re a *demi-god* Herc. You need to accept that and move one.
“You don’t think they’ll be interested in hearing about a *ten ton* shipment of Nectar?”
“Ten *tons*? You really don’t know shit do you, kid. There’s no ten-ton shipment. I’d know if Hades was pulling in that kind of volume. He hasn’t had a supplier like that in years. Your uncle's been messing with you. Now get the hell out of here.”
Hercules left, smiling to himself. He tapped the wire at his chest three times, signaling that he was a safe distance away, then crushed it between his fingers.
***
Hercules surveyed the docks, looking for any sign of his uncle. Nothing. He pulled out a pack of Old Reds, smoked one to the filter, and flicked the butt into the ocean. A tiny whirlpool formed where it landed, which grew larger and larger, eventually funneling upwards like a tornado.
"*Prepare to die litter-bug!*" Poseidon yelled, his torso just above the circling torrent of water, trident pointed at Hercules' throat.
"Hello, uncle." Hercules said calmly.
"Oh it's you." The water calmed and Poseidon took a step onto the docks. "Since when do you smoke?"
"Since when have you been smuggling Nectar with Hades?"
"I have no idea what you're talking about," Poseidon said, stone-faced.
"Look," Hercules said. "I don't have time to mess around. I know everything. You really trusted my father to keep that quiet?"
Poseidon said nothing for a moment, only stared at Hercules eyebrows furrowed. "Who else knows?" he asked eventually.
"By now, everyone who matters. He told one of his girls. The HBI will be on him and Hades any minute. You need to cut ties and cover your ass ASAP."
Poseidon nodded. "Thanks for the heads up."
"Don't thank me yet. There's no such thing as a free lunch, uncle."
***
"Ah Hercules, so nice to see you. Its been so long. How are things?" Hades asked, the flame atop his head rolling lazily.
"Not bad," Hercules said casually. "How're things between you and Poseidon?"
Hades' flame dimmed to a smolder. "What do you know?"
"Everything."
"How?"
"Take a wild guess."
"That drunken rat just can't keep his mouth shut around the girls, can he."
"Have you heard from Poseidon?" Hercules asked.
"Yes. So that's why he jumped ship?"
Hercules nodded.
"Well, thank you for the information. So what exactly is it that *you* want?" Hades asked.
"If I know, the HBI knows. You need to lay low for a little while. I can help you hide, I know a place on Earth where--"
"What do you *want,*" Hades asked with more force, the flame atop his head blazing to life.
"Okay okay, I'll get to the point," Hercules said raising his hands. "When you resume operations, you're going to need someone on the inside. You're going to need another Zeus. I can be that someone, but you're going to need to help me get there."
Hades thought for a moment. "You're a half-blood," he said, as if that settled the matter.
"With you and Poseidon funding me it won't matter."
"Poseidon's on board?"
"If you're on board, he won't have a choice. Between us, we have enough dirt to bury him."
Hades smiled. "You're smart, kid. Must take after your mother. We'll talk later." With a flash of smoke, he was gone.
Hercules smiled to himself. He'd be Zero to Hero in no time flat.
***
&nbsp;
More of my favorite pieces at r/Banana_Scribe
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Tyche hurried through the dying light of the docks, wooden crates piled so high around her that they formed a warren on alleys all on their own. She’d have been hopelessly lost down her if she didn’t already know the way, in fact she had been that first time. The longshoreman’s hall wasn’t far though, she could already hear their riotous laughter and explosive arguments.
The creature that followed her lurked somewhere behind, she could feel it in the gathering darkness, and if it was there its master wouldn’t be far behind.
Turning the last corner the saw the long squat building in front of her, a massive trident emblazoned on its side. It was the only beacon of light left on the docks and she ran towards it, towards safety.
When Tyche crashed through the heavy oak double doors the hall fell silent. She had that effect on mortals, most goddesses did, though in her case she suspected it wasn’t for her beauty. She had short, raven hair and clean muscled, sun bronzed skin. She eschewed the tunics and cloaks the rest of the pantheon still insisted on, instead wearing a simple knee length dress. Her shoes had been kicked off somewhere during her run.
She was beautiful of course, that was part of a deity’s mark, even grizzled old Hephaestus would put a mortal to shame, but in this hall all the men were used to her. They reacted instead to her obvious fear, her gasping breaths. All across the hall the longshoremen threw down cards or drinks and grabbed whatever they had at hand, mostly heavy wrenches and empty bottles.
All except for one man who grabbed onto her, guiding her into a chair a safe distance away from the door and then crouching door in front of her.
“Are you ok?” he asked urgently. “Is it the seeker again, did they find you?”
When Tyche finally got her breath she didn’t respond, instead she reached out and grabbed him, her grip preternaturally strong, and pulled him into a fierce kiss. Across the hall someone whistled loudly and then grunted in pain. A new worker most likely, one of the others must have hit him.
“Elliot, thank Rhea you were here!” she said when the kiss ended. His rough, stubbly face seemed young in the harsh light of the hall, but there were other things there too, love, protectiveness. Fear as well, but deeply hidden, the others wouldn’t have known.
“There’s a seeker, yes. He caught me on my way out of Harlem but I don’t think he found anyone else. He’s out on the docks now, close by but I’m not sure where. If I try to scry him Poseidon might sense it.”
“Don’t try then, the boys and I will handle it. Do you know how many dogs this one has?”
“Only one, I’m certain of it.”
Elliot nodded, stroking his chin thoughtfully. Looking around the hall he began pointing men out one by one until he reached ten. Without a word each of them stood of from their chairs, shaking hands with their fellows or clapping each other on the back with a heavy sense of finality. When he was done Elliot pulled a rusted key from his pocket and went to a long series of chests along the west wall. He stopped at the second one, unlocking it and doling it small packages that revealed softly glowing cudgels as each man unwrapped his.
“We’ll be back soon,” he said as he lead them to the door. Tyche got there first, blocking the way out.
“Not without me you aren’t.”
A muscle in Elliot’s jaw twitched. She could see the fear in his eyes more clearly now and she knew it was all for her.
“I’m not letting you put yourself in danger again.”
“Letting me?” she said softly. “I love you Elliot but never, never say that to me again.”
As she spoke a scepter began to appear in her hand, larger and more brightly glowing than any of theirs. Tyche walked right up to Elliot, putting her free hand on his chest. “I came here for help and I do need it,” she said, “but you don’t go to battle without me. Not now, not ever.” She stood up onto the tips of her toes, kissing him again to soften the blow to his ego. He was a good man, and nobody could truly escape being a product of their time. Nobody whistled that time.
She watched him swallow down his misgivings. It was hard for him and a part of her loved him for that. A greater part loved that he could ignore them when it truly mattered.
“OK,” he said. “Lets go boys!”
Elliot lead his picked men out of the hall as if he had an army at his back, they spilled out into the night without any of the bluster she had once expected of dock workers. These men were cool, collected. It wasn’t their first battle and it wouldn’t be the last. Some of them might even die tonight, dying in her service. Tyche tried to commit all of their faces to memory, she owed them that at least. The cause might be just, but the price was steep.
Once the fighters were outside more men boiled out, and though these were louder, less disciplined, each had an important job. They began swarming up the scaffolding and towers of the dockyard, running to each of the great floodlights that overlooked the area. Soon the entirety of the yard was bathed in an artificial sunlight and whistles rang out from above, signals this time. Their spotters had found the Seeker, the chase was on.
Elliot, Tyche, and the ten fighters ran hard toward the east entrance, where the spotters indicated he was. Unless the Seeker was very skilled he would quickly become turned around in the warren of crates. The longshoremen knew their patterns of their mazes, kept them as a jealously guarded secret, even changing their courses if they thought others had figured them out. Poseidon allowed such things from his servants, of the three members of the Triumvirate he was the most hands off.
They had the Seeker cornered in fifteen minutes, trapped within a dead end cul-de-sac. Tyche could hear the baying off his hound, a collection of sharp, discordant notes. When they finally approached him the man knew he had failed, and likely knew what the punishment for it would be. He drew his sword all the same however, and with a quick, practice motion, he released his hound’s leash.
A Seeker’s hound was a ferocious beast. Bred from Cerberus himself they were each a three headed monstrosity larger than a St. Bernard and fiercer than the angriest bulldog. This one had reddish brown fur, a single black stripe running from its rightmost head all the way to the tail. It crossed the distance between them like a gunshot, its master only steps behind.
Tyche saw the first longshoreman die as soon as it reached their ranks. His cry of anguish as three sets of jaws closed around him was heartbreaking, as was Elliot’s shout of fury a moment later. She knew the price their love had cost him, that man had likely been a friend, they all were.
She had her target though, the hound was ferocious but it could be dealt with, there were enough fighters here. The Seeker however, he might use the opportunity to escape and regardless of what he may or may not have seen in Harlem that couldn’t happen.
Tyche was on him instantly, her scepter a blur as she struck. The Seeker was good though, they had to be, the rising through the ranks was a dangerous affair on its own. He parried her first blow and her second, and his sword passed so close by her once that its very tip sliced through her dress at the hip. Then Elliot was on her, his cudgel already bloodied, and together they drove the seeker backwards, towards the wall of crates and his harsh fate.
It was Tyche who finally dropped him, her scepter crashing into the side of his head when he tried to parry one of Elliot’s blows. In the aftermath they both stood there gasping, listening to the cries of the wounded.
“How many?” she asked, her heart in her throat.
“Just one,” one of the workers answered. There was sadness in his voice yes but something else too, pride, almost reverence. Tyche had to turn away from his gaze, it was too much, no one deserved that.
“I’m sorry,” she said quietly to Elliot.
His head turned, finally looking away from the dead man and hound. “Thank you,” he said. “We’ll take care of his family.”
“He had a family?”
“A wife, one son.”
She didn’t know what to say to that. She’d never gotten used to people fighting for her, even in the old days.
The other workers were gathering though, the fighters and the spotters, forming a great knot of people all around her. One of them, the one who had spoken before, approached.
“He knew the risks,” the man said, “we all do. There’s not a man here who doesn’t believe in you or the cause though, and if we have to try our luck for a better future who better to do it beside than the goddess of fortune?”
Tyche smiled at him, reaching out to touch the man’s brow. She traced a small symbol there with a finger and he said a few reverent words, staring at her like he’d been blessed. She knew better though, her gifts were little protection from what would come. A coin had two sides, and once flipped only the fates knew which side it might land on.
“What should we do with him?” Elliot asked, kicking at the unconscious Seeker on the ground.
“The usual,” she said, “make him disappear. Not the water though, never that.”
Elliot just nodded. He knew the score by now.
Tyche wrapped an arm around her waist, leaning her head into his shoulder as other men dragged the Seeker away. “Hades picked poorly with that one,” she said. They stood there a long time before going home.
\-----
If you enjoyed that I've got tons more over at r/TurningtoWords. Come check it out, I'd love to have you!
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[WP] Set in a dangerous city in the early 1900s, Zeus, the corrupt mayor, Poseidon, who owns the ports, and Hades, kingpin of the back alley drug trade, run the city unapologetically. All are vying for more power in this Greek pantheon film noir setting. (From popular demand from r/books!)
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Olympus City was warm of weather but cold of heart. Gold leaf plated virtually every surface, serving as a stark reminder of what the city really was—gilded on the outside, rusted, dull and rotten just underneath. In the City there was no survival without compromise. Compromise of safety, integrity, and standards. For the true of heart, it was a hell-hole. For the misfits, outcasts, and lowlifes, it was a land of opportunity. As a bastard, Hercules should’ve fit right in.
He didn’t. As the son of the Mayor, no one with a toe out of line wanted anything to do with him. That was problematic in a city where anyone worth anything was *born* out of line. His father had his own reasons to keep his distance. Her name was Hera. She hated Hercules from the moment he was born. He was a testament to both his father’s dishonesty, and in her mind, to her own inadequacy.
So Hercules was nothing to no one. A zero. It was a position he embraced. There were no expectations, no oversight. If he wanted to make a move, no one would see it coming. After all, what could an unconnected bastard demi-god hope to achieve in a city like this?
“We need to talk,” Hercules said, entering his father’s office.
“Whoa kid, maybe a knock next time will ya?” Zeus said, standing straight up from his desk, adjusting his neck-tie and zipping his fly.
“Yeah, I *did* knock. Maybe if your secretary was at her desk, she could’ve given you a ring.”
“She’s got other places to be.”
“Right. I bet she's got important work to do under your desk.” Hercules asked.
Zeus’s shoulders slumped. “You got me. Get out of here Karen. If anyone rings, I’m busy.” A woman crawled out from underneath the desk, straightened her blouse, and ran out of the office hurriedly. Zeus sat back down. “What do you want, kid?”
“Word on the street is Hades got a new shipment coming in. It’s a big one.”
“Street?” Zeus said, squinting. “What street? You don’t know nothing about the street.”
“I know enough to know about the shipment.”
“There’s *always* a shipment. You want to talk import-export, talk to Poseidon. I’m just the guy who makes sure the city doesn’t burn.”
“I already talked to Uncle.” Hercules said. “He told me all about it.”
“Whatever it is, I don’t want anything to do with it all right? I got enough on my plate. Is that it? You all done here?”
“I want in, Dad.”
“You want *in*?”
“I want a cut.”
“Let’s say hypothetically there was a cut to be had, what makes you think you're worth it? What makes you think you got anything to offer?”
“I have the same thing you have—information. Information that *maybe* I’ll choose to forget.”
Zeus smiled. “You mean Karen? Don’t even think about it kid, Hera’s used to it all by now.”
“Information about the shipment,” Hercules said. “All it’d take is one call to the Heavenly Bureau and your whole operation comes crumbling down.”
Zeus laughed. “The *HBI?!* You think they’ll care about what a no-one like you has to say? You’re a *demi-god* Herc. You need to accept that and move one.
“You don’t think they’ll be interested in hearing about a *ten ton* shipment of Nectar?”
“Ten *tons*? You really don’t know shit do you, kid. There’s no ten-ton shipment. I’d know if Hades was pulling in that kind of volume. He hasn’t had a supplier like that in years. Your uncle's been messing with you. Now get the hell out of here.”
Hercules left, smiling to himself. He tapped the wire at his chest three times, signaling that he was a safe distance away, then crushed it between his fingers.
***
Hercules surveyed the docks, looking for any sign of his uncle. Nothing. He pulled out a pack of Old Reds, smoked one to the filter, and flicked the butt into the ocean. A tiny whirlpool formed where it landed, which grew larger and larger, eventually funneling upwards like a tornado.
"*Prepare to die litter-bug!*" Poseidon yelled, his torso just above the circling torrent of water, trident pointed at Hercules' throat.
"Hello, uncle." Hercules said calmly.
"Oh it's you." The water calmed and Poseidon took a step onto the docks. "Since when do you smoke?"
"Since when have you been smuggling Nectar with Hades?"
"I have no idea what you're talking about," Poseidon said, stone-faced.
"Look," Hercules said. "I don't have time to mess around. I know everything. You really trusted my father to keep that quiet?"
Poseidon said nothing for a moment, only stared at Hercules eyebrows furrowed. "Who else knows?" he asked eventually.
"By now, everyone who matters. He told one of his girls. The HBI will be on him and Hades any minute. You need to cut ties and cover your ass ASAP."
Poseidon nodded. "Thanks for the heads up."
"Don't thank me yet. There's no such thing as a free lunch, uncle."
***
"Ah Hercules, so nice to see you. Its been so long. How are things?" Hades asked, the flame atop his head rolling lazily.
"Not bad," Hercules said casually. "How're things between you and Poseidon?"
Hades' flame dimmed to a smolder. "What do you know?"
"Everything."
"How?"
"Take a wild guess."
"That drunken rat just can't keep his mouth shut around the girls, can he."
"Have you heard from Poseidon?" Hercules asked.
"Yes. So that's why he jumped ship?"
Hercules nodded.
"Well, thank you for the information. So what exactly is it that *you* want?" Hades asked.
"If I know, the HBI knows. You need to lay low for a little while. I can help you hide, I know a place on Earth where--"
"What do you *want,*" Hades asked with more force, the flame atop his head blazing to life.
"Okay okay, I'll get to the point," Hercules said raising his hands. "When you resume operations, you're going to need someone on the inside. You're going to need another Zeus. I can be that someone, but you're going to need to help me get there."
Hades thought for a moment. "You're a half-blood," he said, as if that settled the matter.
"With you and Poseidon funding me it won't matter."
"Poseidon's on board?"
"If you're on board, he won't have a choice. Between us, we have enough dirt to bury him."
Hades smiled. "You're smart, kid. Must take after your mother. We'll talk later." With a flash of smoke, he was gone.
Hercules smiled to himself. He'd be Zero to Hero in no time flat.
***
&nbsp;
More of my favorite pieces at r/Banana_Scribe
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“You’re looking well as always, Zeus,” Hermes said as he pulled out a golden cigarette from the inside of his suit pocket and lit it, “Hate to say it, but with what I’ve heard today, I’m not sure your good times are gonna last.”
Zeus leaned his massive frame forward over his enormous mahogany desk, his chiseled face grim as he stroked his beard. “What is the news, Hermes?”
“Looks like the worst-case scenario for you, pops. It looks like your two brothers made a deal behind your back to smuggling something very valuable from overseas into the black market.” Hermes took another pull from his cigar, “If it goes on, it could easily mean one of the two brothers get to sit at this desk of yours.”
A thundercloud passed over Zeus's face, “Is it that bad? What are they smuggling?”
Hermes let Zeus’s question hang dramatically for a moment before he said, “Ambrosia.”
“You’re sure?” Zeus said, gritting his teeth.
“This is not a trick, I swear by the River Styx. I’d never joke about something this important.” Hermes replied.
Zeus’s blue eyes flashed and a vein bulged in his neck as he struggled to contain his wrath, “Those fools,” he rumbled, “Are they so desperate to dethrone me that they’ll give immortality to mortals and cause the downfall of our entire race?”
*Ambrosia... they wouldn't do something as risky as banding together to commit a forbidden act for something like money. Are they perhaps making immortal legions of mortals to fight me? Either way, this is very bad...*
Hermes looked sidelong at Zeus, “So, what are you going to do, Zeus? Are you going to take it to a council at Mt. Olympus? I’m sure the rest of us would side with you against Poseiden and Hades.”
Zeus shook his head, “No. They’ve almost certainly thought of that. I have to do things my own way. I’ll crush them in a way they’d never expect.” He stood up, stroking his beard. His eyes still burned with wrath, but it was a cold, calculating anger that made Hermes shiver slightly.
“I… think I’m gonna go now, Zeus. Take care.” Hermes said, tossing his cigarette into the bin and turning to leave.
“Wait,” Zeus said, “I need a favor from you.”
Hermes cringed slightly and then turned around, “Look, I never really get involved in these things. Telling you this information is enough danger to send me into hiding for a couple of decades. Going beyond that is…”
“It’s not much,” Zeus said, “I just need you to send a message for me. I’ll reward you handsomely.”
“In that case… I can do that. Only for you,” Hermes said, “Who is it for?”
*If they're going to use mortals as pawns, I can play that game too.*
“Odysseus.” Zeus said, “Tell him I need him to go on one more adventure.”
___
Read my best prompt answers and more at r/WanderWilder. Thanks for reading!
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[WP] Set in a dangerous city in the early 1900s, Zeus, the corrupt mayor, Poseidon, who owns the ports, and Hades, kingpin of the back alley drug trade, run the city unapologetically. All are vying for more power in this Greek pantheon film noir setting. (From popular demand from r/books!)
|
Olympus City was warm of weather but cold of heart. Gold leaf plated virtually every surface, serving as a stark reminder of what the city really was—gilded on the outside, rusted, dull and rotten just underneath. In the City there was no survival without compromise. Compromise of safety, integrity, and standards. For the true of heart, it was a hell-hole. For the misfits, outcasts, and lowlifes, it was a land of opportunity. As a bastard, Hercules should’ve fit right in.
He didn’t. As the son of the Mayor, no one with a toe out of line wanted anything to do with him. That was problematic in a city where anyone worth anything was *born* out of line. His father had his own reasons to keep his distance. Her name was Hera. She hated Hercules from the moment he was born. He was a testament to both his father’s dishonesty, and in her mind, to her own inadequacy.
So Hercules was nothing to no one. A zero. It was a position he embraced. There were no expectations, no oversight. If he wanted to make a move, no one would see it coming. After all, what could an unconnected bastard demi-god hope to achieve in a city like this?
“We need to talk,” Hercules said, entering his father’s office.
“Whoa kid, maybe a knock next time will ya?” Zeus said, standing straight up from his desk, adjusting his neck-tie and zipping his fly.
“Yeah, I *did* knock. Maybe if your secretary was at her desk, she could’ve given you a ring.”
“She’s got other places to be.”
“Right. I bet she's got important work to do under your desk.” Hercules asked.
Zeus’s shoulders slumped. “You got me. Get out of here Karen. If anyone rings, I’m busy.” A woman crawled out from underneath the desk, straightened her blouse, and ran out of the office hurriedly. Zeus sat back down. “What do you want, kid?”
“Word on the street is Hades got a new shipment coming in. It’s a big one.”
“Street?” Zeus said, squinting. “What street? You don’t know nothing about the street.”
“I know enough to know about the shipment.”
“There’s *always* a shipment. You want to talk import-export, talk to Poseidon. I’m just the guy who makes sure the city doesn’t burn.”
“I already talked to Uncle.” Hercules said. “He told me all about it.”
“Whatever it is, I don’t want anything to do with it all right? I got enough on my plate. Is that it? You all done here?”
“I want in, Dad.”
“You want *in*?”
“I want a cut.”
“Let’s say hypothetically there was a cut to be had, what makes you think you're worth it? What makes you think you got anything to offer?”
“I have the same thing you have—information. Information that *maybe* I’ll choose to forget.”
Zeus smiled. “You mean Karen? Don’t even think about it kid, Hera’s used to it all by now.”
“Information about the shipment,” Hercules said. “All it’d take is one call to the Heavenly Bureau and your whole operation comes crumbling down.”
Zeus laughed. “The *HBI?!* You think they’ll care about what a no-one like you has to say? You’re a *demi-god* Herc. You need to accept that and move one.
“You don’t think they’ll be interested in hearing about a *ten ton* shipment of Nectar?”
“Ten *tons*? You really don’t know shit do you, kid. There’s no ten-ton shipment. I’d know if Hades was pulling in that kind of volume. He hasn’t had a supplier like that in years. Your uncle's been messing with you. Now get the hell out of here.”
Hercules left, smiling to himself. He tapped the wire at his chest three times, signaling that he was a safe distance away, then crushed it between his fingers.
***
Hercules surveyed the docks, looking for any sign of his uncle. Nothing. He pulled out a pack of Old Reds, smoked one to the filter, and flicked the butt into the ocean. A tiny whirlpool formed where it landed, which grew larger and larger, eventually funneling upwards like a tornado.
"*Prepare to die litter-bug!*" Poseidon yelled, his torso just above the circling torrent of water, trident pointed at Hercules' throat.
"Hello, uncle." Hercules said calmly.
"Oh it's you." The water calmed and Poseidon took a step onto the docks. "Since when do you smoke?"
"Since when have you been smuggling Nectar with Hades?"
"I have no idea what you're talking about," Poseidon said, stone-faced.
"Look," Hercules said. "I don't have time to mess around. I know everything. You really trusted my father to keep that quiet?"
Poseidon said nothing for a moment, only stared at Hercules eyebrows furrowed. "Who else knows?" he asked eventually.
"By now, everyone who matters. He told one of his girls. The HBI will be on him and Hades any minute. You need to cut ties and cover your ass ASAP."
Poseidon nodded. "Thanks for the heads up."
"Don't thank me yet. There's no such thing as a free lunch, uncle."
***
"Ah Hercules, so nice to see you. Its been so long. How are things?" Hades asked, the flame atop his head rolling lazily.
"Not bad," Hercules said casually. "How're things between you and Poseidon?"
Hades' flame dimmed to a smolder. "What do you know?"
"Everything."
"How?"
"Take a wild guess."
"That drunken rat just can't keep his mouth shut around the girls, can he."
"Have you heard from Poseidon?" Hercules asked.
"Yes. So that's why he jumped ship?"
Hercules nodded.
"Well, thank you for the information. So what exactly is it that *you* want?" Hades asked.
"If I know, the HBI knows. You need to lay low for a little while. I can help you hide, I know a place on Earth where--"
"What do you *want,*" Hades asked with more force, the flame atop his head blazing to life.
"Okay okay, I'll get to the point," Hercules said raising his hands. "When you resume operations, you're going to need someone on the inside. You're going to need another Zeus. I can be that someone, but you're going to need to help me get there."
Hades thought for a moment. "You're a half-blood," he said, as if that settled the matter.
"With you and Poseidon funding me it won't matter."
"Poseidon's on board?"
"If you're on board, he won't have a choice. Between us, we have enough dirt to bury him."
Hades smiled. "You're smart, kid. Must take after your mother. We'll talk later." With a flash of smoke, he was gone.
Hercules smiled to himself. He'd be Zero to Hero in no time flat.
***
&nbsp;
More of my favorite pieces at r/Banana_Scribe
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Blood pattered onto a wooden pier soaked in rain as a cold wind whipped through crates stacked high in preparation for smuggling. A private eye wiped his nose as he struggled back to his feet, the world around him going various shades of grey to match the unimpressive rolling cloud cover.
"You're in the wrong place at the wrong time, buddy," rumbled a man approximately the size and general shape or a large boulder. He cracked knuckles on hands the size of hams, coarse hair covering knuckles and forearms.
The private eye managed to stand, albeit shakily, and spat a glob of blood onto the ground. With an absurd clarity, he could see spots of blood clinging both to the behemoth's knuckles and splattered across a plain white shirt tucked into rather expensive looking suit pants. Long dark locks of hair tumbled around a face chiseled from granite, framed by an equally tangled black beard.
With one pale hand he rubbed his nose, which gave a sharp cry of protest at being touched so soon after the solid whack it'd just received.
"I'm not here about whatever the fuck you're selling," the private eye said, with one hand gesturing at the stacked crates. If he was lucky, they were rum runners. If he was very unlucky, and he suspected he might be, they were smuggling ambrosia. And that was the kind of thing that earned you a very fashionable pair of cement shoes.
The giant crossed his arms.
"And? What are you doing out here, sneaking on my uncle's pier?"
This was bad news, and the private eye was far too sober for his liking already. Brushes with death usually cleared those cobwebs of a perpetual buzz that he liked to decorate his mind with.
"You're testing my patience. I ain't exactly the patient sort," said the giant. To punctuate his point he once again crackled his knuckles.
"I'm looking for a girl," the private eye said. He fumbled around his pockets, finding nothing. He must've lost the picture somewhere earlier, making his way through the wharves trying and hoping that whomever had scooped up his client's daughter wasn't the human trafficking type. You could buy and ship anything out from these piers and ships. People, guns, booze, what have you. Yet there was only one man on this pier at this time, and that was either his saving grace or his condemnation. Given his size, he didn't look like the sort of man who needed backup.
"Buddy there ain't many girls around here. She got a name?"
The private eye wracked the depths of his mind, which was quite the effort given the incoming hangover exacerbated only by the cold and the damp. What did it start with?
"Persephone," he finally managed.
It'd been a strange day, though most days were strange if you struggled to go through any of them sober. She'd walked in with the expression of a woman who hates being interrupted, and would be liable to plug you full of lead if you were dumb enough to do so. Someone had broken into her estate, in the nice part of town, where the arboretum and park and other fancy rich person shit kept the undesirable elements of Olympia out. What was the name of the neighborhood again? Something flowery? Spring something? He couldn't remember. All he knew was the client's name was Demeter and that someone had taken her precious little girl in the middle of the night.
Though to the private eye going on thirty wasn't exactly little, the but he wasn't one to ask questions. Money was money, and if there were a few vials of ambrosia in him for it on the side, he wasn't going to be stupid enough as to turn something like that down.
Something rippled across the giant's face, though the private eye couldn't quite tell if that was a good or bad sign. Good, he supposed, since he wasn't being lifted bodily into the air and dumped directly into the Aegean harbor with a broken neck.
*Someone had thrown me into the harbor before, but didn't matter what, who, or why.*
Those intrusive thoughts came into the private eye's mind more often than he'd like, but they were easy to brush aside.
"Mmm, rings a bell," the giant said, rubbing fore finger and thumb together, "With the right price, I might even have something to say."
The private eye grimaced at that. Times were tough, but the payday on this job had an absurd price tag. He'd probably be able to recover his losses, if there were any.
"Take me somewhere out of the cold, and I might have something to make this worth your while."
The private eye reached into his coat pocket, and withdrew a flask to take a long swig from, a trickle of wine slipping down the corner of his mouth. Whatever it'd take to fight off the eventual apocalyptic headache.
"There's a bar not far from here, and if you buy me enough drinks with cash under the glass, I'll have some answers."
The giant no longer looked like he was going to crack open the private eye's skull, and to that the private eye gave thanks.
"You got a name?" asked the private eye, holding out one hand to be shook.
The giant's hand clasped over the private eye's, swallowing it whole. If the giant gripped it any harder, he guessed his hands would shatter from the crushing strength.
"Call me Heracles," the giant said.
"Call me Dionysus," said the private eye.
Something about that name jarred the private eye's memory, whenever that could be moved from its winey depths. Where had he heard that before?
The giant turned to lead him away from the docks, and the private eye followed.
Something about this didn't feel right.
"I've got a feeling you're going to tell me something I don't want to hear," Dionysus said to the lumbering mountain. The rain had dissolved into a weaker mist, though the lanterns on the street were lighting themselves one by one to fight off the pervading shadows.
Heracles laughed, though he didn't turn to look at the private eye.
"You don't know the half of it," he said, and left it at that, his boots clattering onto the wet stone of the sidewalk.
Something about that response cause a white hot ball of anxiety to plummet into his stomach, though Dionysus couldn't quite explain why.
*Not even noon, and almost drowned by some goon,* the private eye thought to himself.
*The big man said his uncle ran the dock.*
Demigods weren't exactly uncommon, but they ranged on the harmless to quite worse than running into one of the big Olympians themselves. Though Dionysus couldn't say if he'd recognize any of them. He drifted into town, or he could've been born here. He never would've known, he wasn't the man with the sort of memory that stuck around.
Still, he couldn't help but feel like there was something else brewing.
Something about this job rubbed him the wrong way.
He followed the giant who called himself Heracles to wherever he led. There was something about this town that gave Dionysus the impression that there were no easy days. Not in Olympia.
It was the sort of town where anything could happen.
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
r/kallistowrites [Part 2](https://old.reddit.com/r/KallistoWrites/comments/lx32gl/an_unconventional_kidnapping_part_2/?)
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[WP] Set in a dangerous city in the early 1900s, Zeus, the corrupt mayor, Poseidon, who owns the ports, and Hades, kingpin of the back alley drug trade, run the city unapologetically. All are vying for more power in this Greek pantheon film noir setting. (From popular demand from r/books!)
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They were the Gods of this city. 3 brothers ruling over their individual parts.
Zeus, on the face of it, was a shining beacon of good. The eldest brother became mayor, shaping the city to his vision, which to anyone visiting was a glorious and prosperous city of gold. But those of us living here saw it for what it really was. Zeus' playground. Somewhere for him to do whatever he wanted, and what he wanted was rarely legal. That's where his brothers came in.
Poseidon held the ports. Anything coming in or leaving the city went by Poseidon. If it could get on a boat, and you had the money, he could get it for you. If you needed to make a fast exit, or hide someplace, provided it wasn't from the family, he was the guy to see. He controlled the waters, and the Kraken gang made sure it stayed that way.
And while the other two stood in the light, the youngest brother hid in the Underworld of the city. Hades moved things along the backstreets, in the alleyways, and rumour has it, through an underground system of tunnels. The problem with being in Hades' crew was that no one ever got out alive. Ever. His main business was drugs. He and his wife, Persephone, had created a substance known as Pomegranate. Little dark red pills that gave the kind of high no other drug could match. But with that came addiction. Once you tried it, you belonged to Hades forever.
No one questioned it, and if they did, that person disappeared very quickly. Everyone knew they ran business out of Club Olympus, and if you needed to deal with them, that was the place to go. Dionysius ran the place, but he was more likely to be found propping up the bar instead of working it. But if you could catch him sober, you might get an audience with Hermes, who would get the message to the right person. Aphrodite ran the brothels. Hepheastus could get you weapons, but Ares had the men for a fight. Apollo was the one to go to for any kind of advice, but his prices were steep. His twin sister Artemis was the chief of police, and as corrupt as the rest of them. It all seemed so perfect, the Gods ruled from atop their metaphorical mountain, and everyone either fell in line or vanished.
What no one knew was the conflict between the brothers. Zeus was at the top and he wanted to keep it that way. He gave off this untouchable aura, but he knew better than anyone that power could be taken. He tried to keep the top dogs happy, but his own desires often risked his relationship with them. His biggest weakness was women. Though married, Zeus would use his power, his fame, or his money to get any woman he wanted. And he wasn't the most subtle man. Poseidon and Hades had both tried to win Hera to their side by bringing up his infidelity. With her, either one could bring Zeus down. Poseidon was under the impression that if he could control the docks, he could handle anything in the city, while Hades had the view that without him the city would fall apart, so why not step up and leave the shadows.
Deals were forged, loyalties brought, promises made. Everyone chose a side, except one.
Apollo could see it coming. He saw the plans made for war. A war that would leave the city in ashes, with no one left alive to claim victory, and he wanted no part in it.
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Blood pattered onto a wooden pier soaked in rain as a cold wind whipped through crates stacked high in preparation for smuggling. A private eye wiped his nose as he struggled back to his feet, the world around him going various shades of grey to match the unimpressive rolling cloud cover.
"You're in the wrong place at the wrong time, buddy," rumbled a man approximately the size and general shape or a large boulder. He cracked knuckles on hands the size of hams, coarse hair covering knuckles and forearms.
The private eye managed to stand, albeit shakily, and spat a glob of blood onto the ground. With an absurd clarity, he could see spots of blood clinging both to the behemoth's knuckles and splattered across a plain white shirt tucked into rather expensive looking suit pants. Long dark locks of hair tumbled around a face chiseled from granite, framed by an equally tangled black beard.
With one pale hand he rubbed his nose, which gave a sharp cry of protest at being touched so soon after the solid whack it'd just received.
"I'm not here about whatever the fuck you're selling," the private eye said, with one hand gesturing at the stacked crates. If he was lucky, they were rum runners. If he was very unlucky, and he suspected he might be, they were smuggling ambrosia. And that was the kind of thing that earned you a very fashionable pair of cement shoes.
The giant crossed his arms.
"And? What are you doing out here, sneaking on my uncle's pier?"
This was bad news, and the private eye was far too sober for his liking already. Brushes with death usually cleared those cobwebs of a perpetual buzz that he liked to decorate his mind with.
"You're testing my patience. I ain't exactly the patient sort," said the giant. To punctuate his point he once again crackled his knuckles.
"I'm looking for a girl," the private eye said. He fumbled around his pockets, finding nothing. He must've lost the picture somewhere earlier, making his way through the wharves trying and hoping that whomever had scooped up his client's daughter wasn't the human trafficking type. You could buy and ship anything out from these piers and ships. People, guns, booze, what have you. Yet there was only one man on this pier at this time, and that was either his saving grace or his condemnation. Given his size, he didn't look like the sort of man who needed backup.
"Buddy there ain't many girls around here. She got a name?"
The private eye wracked the depths of his mind, which was quite the effort given the incoming hangover exacerbated only by the cold and the damp. What did it start with?
"Persephone," he finally managed.
It'd been a strange day, though most days were strange if you struggled to go through any of them sober. She'd walked in with the expression of a woman who hates being interrupted, and would be liable to plug you full of lead if you were dumb enough to do so. Someone had broken into her estate, in the nice part of town, where the arboretum and park and other fancy rich person shit kept the undesirable elements of Olympia out. What was the name of the neighborhood again? Something flowery? Spring something? He couldn't remember. All he knew was the client's name was Demeter and that someone had taken her precious little girl in the middle of the night.
Though to the private eye going on thirty wasn't exactly little, the but he wasn't one to ask questions. Money was money, and if there were a few vials of ambrosia in him for it on the side, he wasn't going to be stupid enough as to turn something like that down.
Something rippled across the giant's face, though the private eye couldn't quite tell if that was a good or bad sign. Good, he supposed, since he wasn't being lifted bodily into the air and dumped directly into the Aegean harbor with a broken neck.
*Someone had thrown me into the harbor before, but didn't matter what, who, or why.*
Those intrusive thoughts came into the private eye's mind more often than he'd like, but they were easy to brush aside.
"Mmm, rings a bell," the giant said, rubbing fore finger and thumb together, "With the right price, I might even have something to say."
The private eye grimaced at that. Times were tough, but the payday on this job had an absurd price tag. He'd probably be able to recover his losses, if there were any.
"Take me somewhere out of the cold, and I might have something to make this worth your while."
The private eye reached into his coat pocket, and withdrew a flask to take a long swig from, a trickle of wine slipping down the corner of his mouth. Whatever it'd take to fight off the eventual apocalyptic headache.
"There's a bar not far from here, and if you buy me enough drinks with cash under the glass, I'll have some answers."
The giant no longer looked like he was going to crack open the private eye's skull, and to that the private eye gave thanks.
"You got a name?" asked the private eye, holding out one hand to be shook.
The giant's hand clasped over the private eye's, swallowing it whole. If the giant gripped it any harder, he guessed his hands would shatter from the crushing strength.
"Call me Heracles," the giant said.
"Call me Dionysus," said the private eye.
Something about that name jarred the private eye's memory, whenever that could be moved from its winey depths. Where had he heard that before?
The giant turned to lead him away from the docks, and the private eye followed.
Something about this didn't feel right.
"I've got a feeling you're going to tell me something I don't want to hear," Dionysus said to the lumbering mountain. The rain had dissolved into a weaker mist, though the lanterns on the street were lighting themselves one by one to fight off the pervading shadows.
Heracles laughed, though he didn't turn to look at the private eye.
"You don't know the half of it," he said, and left it at that, his boots clattering onto the wet stone of the sidewalk.
Something about that response cause a white hot ball of anxiety to plummet into his stomach, though Dionysus couldn't quite explain why.
*Not even noon, and almost drowned by some goon,* the private eye thought to himself.
*The big man said his uncle ran the dock.*
Demigods weren't exactly uncommon, but they ranged on the harmless to quite worse than running into one of the big Olympians themselves. Though Dionysus couldn't say if he'd recognize any of them. He drifted into town, or he could've been born here. He never would've known, he wasn't the man with the sort of memory that stuck around.
Still, he couldn't help but feel like there was something else brewing.
Something about this job rubbed him the wrong way.
He followed the giant who called himself Heracles to wherever he led. There was something about this town that gave Dionysus the impression that there were no easy days. Not in Olympia.
It was the sort of town where anything could happen.
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r/kallistowrites [Part 2](https://old.reddit.com/r/KallistoWrites/comments/lx32gl/an_unconventional_kidnapping_part_2/?)
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[WP] Set in a dangerous city in the early 1900s, Zeus, the corrupt mayor, Poseidon, who owns the ports, and Hades, kingpin of the back alley drug trade, run the city unapologetically. All are vying for more power in this Greek pantheon film noir setting. (From popular demand from r/books!)
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“Oh god!” cried Hephaestus, looking at the pictures my associates took for him.
“That’s no god,” I said with as much sympathy as I could.
“I know who it is!” Hephaestus snapped at me, as he flipped through the pictures of his wife, Aphrodite, with her lover, Ares.
It’s my job. It’s not glamorous. But it pays the bills and sometimes it feels good to help a fella out like this man here, Hephaestus. A hard worker who worked his way up and now owns three steel mills in the center of the industrial district. Built his company—Vulcan Industries—with his own hands. Now they're living high on the hog, and what’s his wife do? She gets playful with the Olympus’s chief of police, Ares.
It ain’t good to have a man like Ares knowing I been spying on him with his sidepiece, but I told Hephaestus I’d help him, and I took his money. So here we are.
“Look I’m real sorry, mister,” I say to Hephaestus, who is still flipping through the pictures. “Now how ‘bout you get a drink. Head down to the bar *The Bacchae,* Dionysus runs it and is a good friend of mine. Tell him the drink’s on me.”
Hephaestus dropped the pictures and looked at me, smiling.
“No,” he said and I didn’t like the look in his eyes. “No, I got plans of my own.”
“Now just take it easy,” I said to the man. “Don’t go doing anything stupid.”
Hephaestus set an envelope down on my desk with my payment and stood up.
“Thank you, Jason, for your service. I knew I could trust you.”
“Just doing my job. Look, I take no pleasure in it. I was hoping it wouldn’t turn out this way with your wife.”
“Goodbye, Jason.”
“See you around, Hephaestus,” I said, tipping my cap to him as he walked out of the room.
I leaned back in my chair. Another day in Olympus, this god forsaken city filled with the most spiteful and petty and two-timin’ people imaginable.
I can’t complain though, these people keep me well employed. Bought me a Studebaker just a couple months. It was expensive, but a man’s gotta have style if he wants to attract the right customers.
“Mr. Iolcus,” I hear my assistant, Medea, over the intercom. “A lady is here to see you.”
“Let her in, Medea. Thank you.”
Here we go again, I say to myself, standing up and brushing off my suit, looking in the mirror. I nod in approval.
The door opens and a beautiful woman walks in. She is older. Blonde hair down to her shoulders. Enough jewelry around her neck to pay a kid’s way through college.
“How many I help you….,” I say, reaching for her hand, inquiring for her name.
“Mrs. Kronos,” she said. “But you can call me Hera.”
My heart skips a beat.
“Kronos,” I repeated. “I don’t imagine you are…”
“Yes, Mr. Iolcus. My husband is Zeus, the mayor. He's actually the reason I’m here to see you.”
What a day, I say to myself.
“Alright, Mrs. Kronos, why don’t you just sit right there." I lead her to a chair for clients in from of my desk. "Smoke?” I ask her, pulling out my gold case from my suit pocket.
“No,” she said, waving her gloved hand. “No thank you.”
“You mind?” I ask. “It’s not everyday I get the Mayor’s wife in here.”
“Go ahead,” she said. Her face was serious, drawn tight. She was beautiful, even at her age. And elegant. Her gloved hands held the sparkling purse on her lap and she sat up straight, like a statue. If the mayor was foolin’ around on her, he was an idiot. But aren't we all?
I took a deep drag on my cigarette, then asked, “how may I help you, Mrs. Kronos?”
“Do you know my husband, Mr. Iolcus?”
“Never met the man,” I said.
“Well, I’m sure you’ve heard rumors.”
“Rumors don’t mean much, Mrs. Kronos. Now look, I’m a busy man. Is there something I can do for you?”
She looked at me nervously.
“Yes, Mr. Iolcus—”
“Call me, Jason.”
“Yes, Jason, there is. You see, I believe my husband is having an affair.”
I nod, taking another drag of my cigarette.
“Do you love your husband, Mrs. Kronos?”
“I do,” she said.
“Then how ‘bout you just forget about this? Are you sure you really want what I may find? Honestly, your husband can make my life hard if he finds out about this. I got a license I gotta look out for.”
“What’s your rate?” She asked me.
“I’m not cheap, ma’am.”
“Well I’ll pay you your regular rate plus an extra $5,000 if you find anything.”
I stroke my chin, thinking. But there ain’t much to think about. $5,000 dollars makes it simple.
I press the intercom. “Medea, bring Mrs. Kronos one of our standard contracts, will you?”
“Right away, Mr. Iolcus.”
“Are you sure about this, Mrs. Kronos?”
“I’m sure,” she said as Medea walked in and placed the contract in front of Mrs. Kronos who bent forward and signed the contract. I grabbed the contract and signed it then ripped the carbon copy off the back and handed it to Mrs. Kronos. I walked Medea out of the room and held it open.
“I’ll be in touch with you soon, Mrs. Kronos. I’ll get started on the case today.”
She stood up and I got a whiff of her perfume. She turned and looked at me as she walked past, and I felt weak in the knees. What a knockout she was.
“Let’s hope that this is all just a misunderstanding.”
She laughed a little as she walked past Medea’s desk and out into the rainy Olympus night.
\----
I lock up for the night and turn to walk to my car, pulling my trench coat tight. The rain has stopped, and the steam is coming off the street in wavy hoary strings. As I get close to my car, a police crawler pulls up and two thugs with badges get out, looking at me like a dog drooling over a piece of raw meat.
“Where you headin’ tonight?” one of the officers asked me.
“Your wife just called, said she was feeling a little lonely, thought I’d stop by,” I say, taking a drag of my cigarette.
“Wise guy, eh? Let’s see if you’re so wise missin’ a few teeth,” the police officer said, tapping his trudgeon on the front of my car.
“Save it,” I say, blowing out a cloud of smoke. “That may work on some street walker, but you ain’t scaring me.”
“Police Chief wants to see you downtown. You’re coming with us, Jason.”
I could make a fuss out of this, but that wouldn’t really help any.
“Alright, big shot. Let’s take a drive then.” I flick my cigarette at his feet and walk towards the crawler. I knew I shouldn’t have taken that damn contract with Hephaestus. Ares isn’t someone I want to be on their bad side.
\----
***Part II Below***
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Blood pattered onto a wooden pier soaked in rain as a cold wind whipped through crates stacked high in preparation for smuggling. A private eye wiped his nose as he struggled back to his feet, the world around him going various shades of grey to match the unimpressive rolling cloud cover.
"You're in the wrong place at the wrong time, buddy," rumbled a man approximately the size and general shape or a large boulder. He cracked knuckles on hands the size of hams, coarse hair covering knuckles and forearms.
The private eye managed to stand, albeit shakily, and spat a glob of blood onto the ground. With an absurd clarity, he could see spots of blood clinging both to the behemoth's knuckles and splattered across a plain white shirt tucked into rather expensive looking suit pants. Long dark locks of hair tumbled around a face chiseled from granite, framed by an equally tangled black beard.
With one pale hand he rubbed his nose, which gave a sharp cry of protest at being touched so soon after the solid whack it'd just received.
"I'm not here about whatever the fuck you're selling," the private eye said, with one hand gesturing at the stacked crates. If he was lucky, they were rum runners. If he was very unlucky, and he suspected he might be, they were smuggling ambrosia. And that was the kind of thing that earned you a very fashionable pair of cement shoes.
The giant crossed his arms.
"And? What are you doing out here, sneaking on my uncle's pier?"
This was bad news, and the private eye was far too sober for his liking already. Brushes with death usually cleared those cobwebs of a perpetual buzz that he liked to decorate his mind with.
"You're testing my patience. I ain't exactly the patient sort," said the giant. To punctuate his point he once again crackled his knuckles.
"I'm looking for a girl," the private eye said. He fumbled around his pockets, finding nothing. He must've lost the picture somewhere earlier, making his way through the wharves trying and hoping that whomever had scooped up his client's daughter wasn't the human trafficking type. You could buy and ship anything out from these piers and ships. People, guns, booze, what have you. Yet there was only one man on this pier at this time, and that was either his saving grace or his condemnation. Given his size, he didn't look like the sort of man who needed backup.
"Buddy there ain't many girls around here. She got a name?"
The private eye wracked the depths of his mind, which was quite the effort given the incoming hangover exacerbated only by the cold and the damp. What did it start with?
"Persephone," he finally managed.
It'd been a strange day, though most days were strange if you struggled to go through any of them sober. She'd walked in with the expression of a woman who hates being interrupted, and would be liable to plug you full of lead if you were dumb enough to do so. Someone had broken into her estate, in the nice part of town, where the arboretum and park and other fancy rich person shit kept the undesirable elements of Olympia out. What was the name of the neighborhood again? Something flowery? Spring something? He couldn't remember. All he knew was the client's name was Demeter and that someone had taken her precious little girl in the middle of the night.
Though to the private eye going on thirty wasn't exactly little, the but he wasn't one to ask questions. Money was money, and if there were a few vials of ambrosia in him for it on the side, he wasn't going to be stupid enough as to turn something like that down.
Something rippled across the giant's face, though the private eye couldn't quite tell if that was a good or bad sign. Good, he supposed, since he wasn't being lifted bodily into the air and dumped directly into the Aegean harbor with a broken neck.
*Someone had thrown me into the harbor before, but didn't matter what, who, or why.*
Those intrusive thoughts came into the private eye's mind more often than he'd like, but they were easy to brush aside.
"Mmm, rings a bell," the giant said, rubbing fore finger and thumb together, "With the right price, I might even have something to say."
The private eye grimaced at that. Times were tough, but the payday on this job had an absurd price tag. He'd probably be able to recover his losses, if there were any.
"Take me somewhere out of the cold, and I might have something to make this worth your while."
The private eye reached into his coat pocket, and withdrew a flask to take a long swig from, a trickle of wine slipping down the corner of his mouth. Whatever it'd take to fight off the eventual apocalyptic headache.
"There's a bar not far from here, and if you buy me enough drinks with cash under the glass, I'll have some answers."
The giant no longer looked like he was going to crack open the private eye's skull, and to that the private eye gave thanks.
"You got a name?" asked the private eye, holding out one hand to be shook.
The giant's hand clasped over the private eye's, swallowing it whole. If the giant gripped it any harder, he guessed his hands would shatter from the crushing strength.
"Call me Heracles," the giant said.
"Call me Dionysus," said the private eye.
Something about that name jarred the private eye's memory, whenever that could be moved from its winey depths. Where had he heard that before?
The giant turned to lead him away from the docks, and the private eye followed.
Something about this didn't feel right.
"I've got a feeling you're going to tell me something I don't want to hear," Dionysus said to the lumbering mountain. The rain had dissolved into a weaker mist, though the lanterns on the street were lighting themselves one by one to fight off the pervading shadows.
Heracles laughed, though he didn't turn to look at the private eye.
"You don't know the half of it," he said, and left it at that, his boots clattering onto the wet stone of the sidewalk.
Something about that response cause a white hot ball of anxiety to plummet into his stomach, though Dionysus couldn't quite explain why.
*Not even noon, and almost drowned by some goon,* the private eye thought to himself.
*The big man said his uncle ran the dock.*
Demigods weren't exactly uncommon, but they ranged on the harmless to quite worse than running into one of the big Olympians themselves. Though Dionysus couldn't say if he'd recognize any of them. He drifted into town, or he could've been born here. He never would've known, he wasn't the man with the sort of memory that stuck around.
Still, he couldn't help but feel like there was something else brewing.
Something about this job rubbed him the wrong way.
He followed the giant who called himself Heracles to wherever he led. There was something about this town that gave Dionysus the impression that there were no easy days. Not in Olympia.
It was the sort of town where anything could happen.
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r/kallistowrites [Part 2](https://old.reddit.com/r/KallistoWrites/comments/lx32gl/an_unconventional_kidnapping_part_2/?)
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[WP] Set in a dangerous city in the early 1900s, Zeus, the corrupt mayor, Poseidon, who owns the ports, and Hades, kingpin of the back alley drug trade, run the city unapologetically. All are vying for more power in this Greek pantheon film noir setting. (From popular demand from r/books!)
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“Oh god!” cried Hephaestus, looking at the pictures my associates took for him.
“That’s no god,” I said with as much sympathy as I could.
“I know who it is!” Hephaestus snapped at me, as he flipped through the pictures of his wife, Aphrodite, with her lover, Ares.
It’s my job. It’s not glamorous. But it pays the bills and sometimes it feels good to help a fella out like this man here, Hephaestus. A hard worker who worked his way up and now owns three steel mills in the center of the industrial district. Built his company—Vulcan Industries—with his own hands. Now they're living high on the hog, and what’s his wife do? She gets playful with the Olympus’s chief of police, Ares.
It ain’t good to have a man like Ares knowing I been spying on him with his sidepiece, but I told Hephaestus I’d help him, and I took his money. So here we are.
“Look I’m real sorry, mister,” I say to Hephaestus, who is still flipping through the pictures. “Now how ‘bout you get a drink. Head down to the bar *The Bacchae,* Dionysus runs it and is a good friend of mine. Tell him the drink’s on me.”
Hephaestus dropped the pictures and looked at me, smiling.
“No,” he said and I didn’t like the look in his eyes. “No, I got plans of my own.”
“Now just take it easy,” I said to the man. “Don’t go doing anything stupid.”
Hephaestus set an envelope down on my desk with my payment and stood up.
“Thank you, Jason, for your service. I knew I could trust you.”
“Just doing my job. Look, I take no pleasure in it. I was hoping it wouldn’t turn out this way with your wife.”
“Goodbye, Jason.”
“See you around, Hephaestus,” I said, tipping my cap to him as he walked out of the room.
I leaned back in my chair. Another day in Olympus, this god forsaken city filled with the most spiteful and petty and two-timin’ people imaginable.
I can’t complain though, these people keep me well employed. Bought me a Studebaker just a couple months. It was expensive, but a man’s gotta have style if he wants to attract the right customers.
“Mr. Iolcus,” I hear my assistant, Medea, over the intercom. “A lady is here to see you.”
“Let her in, Medea. Thank you.”
Here we go again, I say to myself, standing up and brushing off my suit, looking in the mirror. I nod in approval.
The door opens and a beautiful woman walks in. She is older. Blonde hair down to her shoulders. Enough jewelry around her neck to pay a kid’s way through college.
“How many I help you….,” I say, reaching for her hand, inquiring for her name.
“Mrs. Kronos,” she said. “But you can call me Hera.”
My heart skips a beat.
“Kronos,” I repeated. “I don’t imagine you are…”
“Yes, Mr. Iolcus. My husband is Zeus, the mayor. He's actually the reason I’m here to see you.”
What a day, I say to myself.
“Alright, Mrs. Kronos, why don’t you just sit right there." I lead her to a chair for clients in from of my desk. "Smoke?” I ask her, pulling out my gold case from my suit pocket.
“No,” she said, waving her gloved hand. “No thank you.”
“You mind?” I ask. “It’s not everyday I get the Mayor’s wife in here.”
“Go ahead,” she said. Her face was serious, drawn tight. She was beautiful, even at her age. And elegant. Her gloved hands held the sparkling purse on her lap and she sat up straight, like a statue. If the mayor was foolin’ around on her, he was an idiot. But aren't we all?
I took a deep drag on my cigarette, then asked, “how may I help you, Mrs. Kronos?”
“Do you know my husband, Mr. Iolcus?”
“Never met the man,” I said.
“Well, I’m sure you’ve heard rumors.”
“Rumors don’t mean much, Mrs. Kronos. Now look, I’m a busy man. Is there something I can do for you?”
She looked at me nervously.
“Yes, Mr. Iolcus—”
“Call me, Jason.”
“Yes, Jason, there is. You see, I believe my husband is having an affair.”
I nod, taking another drag of my cigarette.
“Do you love your husband, Mrs. Kronos?”
“I do,” she said.
“Then how ‘bout you just forget about this? Are you sure you really want what I may find? Honestly, your husband can make my life hard if he finds out about this. I got a license I gotta look out for.”
“What’s your rate?” She asked me.
“I’m not cheap, ma’am.”
“Well I’ll pay you your regular rate plus an extra $5,000 if you find anything.”
I stroke my chin, thinking. But there ain’t much to think about. $5,000 dollars makes it simple.
I press the intercom. “Medea, bring Mrs. Kronos one of our standard contracts, will you?”
“Right away, Mr. Iolcus.”
“Are you sure about this, Mrs. Kronos?”
“I’m sure,” she said as Medea walked in and placed the contract in front of Mrs. Kronos who bent forward and signed the contract. I grabbed the contract and signed it then ripped the carbon copy off the back and handed it to Mrs. Kronos. I walked Medea out of the room and held it open.
“I’ll be in touch with you soon, Mrs. Kronos. I’ll get started on the case today.”
She stood up and I got a whiff of her perfume. She turned and looked at me as she walked past, and I felt weak in the knees. What a knockout she was.
“Let’s hope that this is all just a misunderstanding.”
She laughed a little as she walked past Medea’s desk and out into the rainy Olympus night.
\----
I lock up for the night and turn to walk to my car, pulling my trench coat tight. The rain has stopped, and the steam is coming off the street in wavy hoary strings. As I get close to my car, a police crawler pulls up and two thugs with badges get out, looking at me like a dog drooling over a piece of raw meat.
“Where you headin’ tonight?” one of the officers asked me.
“Your wife just called, said she was feeling a little lonely, thought I’d stop by,” I say, taking a drag of my cigarette.
“Wise guy, eh? Let’s see if you’re so wise missin’ a few teeth,” the police officer said, tapping his trudgeon on the front of my car.
“Save it,” I say, blowing out a cloud of smoke. “That may work on some street walker, but you ain’t scaring me.”
“Police Chief wants to see you downtown. You’re coming with us, Jason.”
I could make a fuss out of this, but that wouldn’t really help any.
“Alright, big shot. Let’s take a drive then.” I flick my cigarette at his feet and walk towards the crawler. I knew I shouldn’t have taken that damn contract with Hephaestus. Ares isn’t someone I want to be on their bad side.
\----
***Part II Below***
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They were the Gods of this city. 3 brothers ruling over their individual parts.
Zeus, on the face of it, was a shining beacon of good. The eldest brother became mayor, shaping the city to his vision, which to anyone visiting was a glorious and prosperous city of gold. But those of us living here saw it for what it really was. Zeus' playground. Somewhere for him to do whatever he wanted, and what he wanted was rarely legal. That's where his brothers came in.
Poseidon held the ports. Anything coming in or leaving the city went by Poseidon. If it could get on a boat, and you had the money, he could get it for you. If you needed to make a fast exit, or hide someplace, provided it wasn't from the family, he was the guy to see. He controlled the waters, and the Kraken gang made sure it stayed that way.
And while the other two stood in the light, the youngest brother hid in the Underworld of the city. Hades moved things along the backstreets, in the alleyways, and rumour has it, through an underground system of tunnels. The problem with being in Hades' crew was that no one ever got out alive. Ever. His main business was drugs. He and his wife, Persephone, had created a substance known as Pomegranate. Little dark red pills that gave the kind of high no other drug could match. But with that came addiction. Once you tried it, you belonged to Hades forever.
No one questioned it, and if they did, that person disappeared very quickly. Everyone knew they ran business out of Club Olympus, and if you needed to deal with them, that was the place to go. Dionysius ran the place, but he was more likely to be found propping up the bar instead of working it. But if you could catch him sober, you might get an audience with Hermes, who would get the message to the right person. Aphrodite ran the brothels. Hepheastus could get you weapons, but Ares had the men for a fight. Apollo was the one to go to for any kind of advice, but his prices were steep. His twin sister Artemis was the chief of police, and as corrupt as the rest of them. It all seemed so perfect, the Gods ruled from atop their metaphorical mountain, and everyone either fell in line or vanished.
What no one knew was the conflict between the brothers. Zeus was at the top and he wanted to keep it that way. He gave off this untouchable aura, but he knew better than anyone that power could be taken. He tried to keep the top dogs happy, but his own desires often risked his relationship with them. His biggest weakness was women. Though married, Zeus would use his power, his fame, or his money to get any woman he wanted. And he wasn't the most subtle man. Poseidon and Hades had both tried to win Hera to their side by bringing up his infidelity. With her, either one could bring Zeus down. Poseidon was under the impression that if he could control the docks, he could handle anything in the city, while Hades had the view that without him the city would fall apart, so why not step up and leave the shadows.
Deals were forged, loyalties brought, promises made. Everyone chose a side, except one.
Apollo could see it coming. He saw the plans made for war. A war that would leave the city in ashes, with no one left alive to claim victory, and he wanted no part in it.
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[WP] you are out with a friend when suddenly you blink and everything around you looks ruined and everyone looks like statues. A frail old man looks at you and weeps while he says “After 84 years, I finally was able to wake someone up”
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Ah come on not this fucking bullshit again I thought to myself
Seems like every other decade some fucking idiot wakes me up
"After 84 years, I finally was able to wake someone up” said an old frail man
"Hey pal, do you know how to read"?
The old man looked at me with a puzzled expression "well yes but i dont see how this is at all relevant"
I pointed to the sign outside of my door " Read this"
"Cryogenic sleep" said the man slowly " yeah whats that mean anyway?"
It means that I put myself here on purpose we all did. Thats why there is a sign called cryogenic sleep
"I just assumed it was a sex thing that you gen z kids are into" said the man quietly
"A sex thing?? Grt the fuck out"
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He hugged me and squeezed my body tighter than when my dad would put me in "the grip" as a child; some kind of “game” created by the devouring pattern in which it would hold me in it arms to restrict my movement and joyfully watch me struggle and fail in my fight to escape.
My embodied memory of trauma was this old man’s release. He began to sob as he held me in his arms.
"I'm sorry. I'm just so glad you're here." He sniffed, pulled back and pulled a pocket square from his sun-stained suit which looked as if it was slowly melting from his body. He blew his thick, cherry nose and sounded off with a productive expression. When he finished, he didn't look at his rag but broke with common habit to maintain eye contact with me.
I was unstartled by this quick change in environment. I had gone cold and numb long ago and felt unmoved by his sincere emotional tenor.
“That will wear off in time” He said. His eyes showing some blend of emotion, spark, and perhaps, concern? I don’t know.
I was mildly curious as to how he seemed to know what I was thinking but didn’t bother to ask. I just stood there.
“Come, lets go have a cup of tea. I tripped and spilled some on you when admiring your beauty and that's exactly when you woke up!
Let's go have more and share in conversation!"
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[WP] you are out with a friend when suddenly you blink and everything around you looks ruined and everyone looks like statues. A frail old man looks at you and weeps while he says “After 84 years, I finally was able to wake someone up”
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For a moment, Jason thought he was dreaming. One second, he had been walking with his friend Trixie, talking and laughing while their hair blew in the wind — and the next, the entire scene changed. He was suddenly standing in the middle of a sort of wasteland, with what looked like hundreds of people surrounding them, all completely still, as if time itself had frozen, underneath a fiery red sky. And someone else was there too.
An old man, though he didn't look like any old man Jason had ever met. Though his face was lined with age, his body was strongly built, his deep-brown eyes were filled with tears, and his silver hair was styled in a crew cut. His face was full of a happiness that Jason could tell he had not known in a long time.
"I'm sorry," he said, bewildered, "but what is going on here? What are you talking about, 84 years?"
"Oh, right." The man shook his head, seeming to snap out of his reverie. "I suppose I should explain. Follow me, we don't have much time."
He made to move off, but Jason said firmly, "I'm not going anywhere until you tell me what's happening!"
The old man sighed. "Ah yes, I almost forgot the stubbornness of Youth. Very well, you will have your explanation, but we won't have time for questions.
"It happened a hundred years ago —"
"How on earth could *you* have experienced something a century —"
"I said no questions!" The man took a deep breath. "A hundred years ago, They came. Unfortunately, we didn't know it. Back then, our defense systems were so horribly inferior that they managed to slip by them without even using their abilities. They managed to hide out for a while, while they set up."
"Set up what? Who is 'They'?"
"Their bases," said the man. "Their... factories, one could call them. Where they made their weapons. As for 'they,' we don't know *what* they are exactly. All we know is that, they bided their time, operating in the shadows, for several years after they'd landed. Their abilities, we later found out, were mental in nature. Telekinesis, telepathy, the sort.
"They'd been controlling scores of our people for ages before anyone realized, using them as drones in their horrible factories. By the time we found out, their weapon was ready."
"Aliens?" said Jason, aghast. "You're saying *aliens* came to Earth? But that's not possible. We would have known —"
"Not if you'd been sleeping," the old man said calmly. "That's what they do. They took a select portion of the population, made them into — into — *breeders*," he said in disgust. "Using them to continue the human race so that *they* can continue to use us."
"As what?"
"Food," said the man grimly. "No, they don't actually eat us," he added, at the look of horror on Jason's face. "They're not carnivorous. Haven't you been listening? They're *mental*-based creatures. They keep us locked in these trances after we reach a certain age, trap us in a sort of mindscape of a perfectly ordinary world to subdue us while they feed on our minds in the real world. I can't believe I managed to wake you up," he said, voice choked with sadness. "It's been so long since — I thought we'd never see anyone else moving again."
There was a silence while Jason tried to absorb the information. Aliens? Mindscapes? Factories?
His head was reeling. He dropped to the floor, one hand on his temple.
"I don't understand," he said, looking desperately up at the old man. "I don't understand. How did any of this happen? Why do I believe you — all of this is crazy!"
"I know it's hard to digest, son," the old man said kindly. "But you can get more answers later. Right now, we need to move. It won't be long before they realize you managed to get out, and then —"
A wet, gurgling shriek suddenly split the air, sending a shiver up Jason's spine.
"Shit!" the old man cried, looking suddenly frightened. His eyes were fixed on something behind him. Jason whirled around, and his eyes went wide with terror.
So, this is my first post here, hope you guys like it!
Edit: I'm considering doing a part 2, but I have a few early morning things to deal with before that, and I don't really have anywhere to put it yet, since I don't have a personal sub, so I'll likely post it back here.
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I always felt like there was something slightly wrong with me. My friends, family, lovers, I always seemed a bit off compared to them. Sometimes it felt like there was a veil between me and reality. Without cause that veil suddenly lifted. But the friend I had just been stargazing with, on top of our apartment buildings roof, seemed to have disappeared. Excitedly I looked around. Hoping finally I wouldn't be so awkward. That I could follow conversation as easily as everyone could. Somehow, I knew that was all possible now. But as I gazed from side to side reality abruptly became worse. The high rises that seconds ago sparkled towards the edge of the horizon were all now silent. The unbothered moonlight looked down on to withering facades, crumbling houses, exposed frames. I turned around, quickly letting out a gasp. Behind me there was an old man. Pencil thing legs, hunched over, and a voice reminiscent of sandpaper on glass.
"Finally. I- its be- 84 years. So lon- Finally I woke someone up."
His voice awkward in conversation, it sounded unused. An accent without practice. I felt like he was talking aloud rather than addressing me.
"Sir, are you... are you alright?" I stammered
"I ca- cant believe it. I I'm not crazy. This really-" he stared off into the distance for a few seconds.
"Happened" he finished.
"What are you talking about?" fear was starting to seep into my voice but I tried to stay calm.
He seemed to snap out of it for a brief second. Then he stared straight at me. He started walking towards me. I tried backing away but the roofs edge was right behind me. Placing both hands on both of my shoulders he started speaking in a rushed voice. His breath reeked.
"Listen, you cant trust them. Theyre trying to suck you dry. Trying to keep you there, stuck. Dont listen to them. Its not real. None of it is."
"I dont know what youre talking about. I dont know where I a-" Suddenly he disappeared. It startled me almost knocking myself off the edge but I caught myself in the last second. Then he came back.
"YOU you cant trust them. Stay away. We're nothing more than cattle to the-" again he disappeared. Not even a linger of his voice in the passing breeze. Something caught my attention near the stairs leading down to the apartments. It was my friend, carrying a new six pack.
"Hey! You alright? Looking kind of grey." he said, as he settled down on one of our two crappy plastic seats.
"Yeah" I said uncertainly, "Think I might have drunk a bit too much."
"Always such a lightweight." He laughed. "C'mon take another. Gotta get you used to it. Cant be getting all crazy with two beers."
Reluctantly I took the drink. I felt like something important had just happened. A memory, or a passing thought. But already it drifted away. I looked out into the city lights as my friend babbled on about some girl he'd just met. They looked awfully bright, somehow artificial, it was probably the beer. I took another drink, then turned around to hear my friend finishing a joke. I laughed.
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[WP] They tried to burn her, drown her, decapitate her, hang her... but the witch just won't die. You are guarding her cell while the clerics think of other means of execution. The witch laughs. "Have you heard of the 3 fold rule? A witches' power to return 3 times the pain inflicted upon them?"
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"Three fold rule. Three fold rule. Three fold rule. Three fold rule. Three fold rule. Three fold rule." The witch sang from her cell. Her chanting echoed in the halls of the dark and damp prison.
You shift your weight on your feet and rap your knuckles against the stone wall a few times "You should be quiet."
"Oh? You speak to me?" The witch asked.
"Yes, I'm asking you to please be quiet."
"So polite, this one." Her voice, like a jagged shadow, added an eerie life to the dark flame-lit halls.
Clenching your teeth, you return to attention.
The fifteenth attempt on her life had taken place at dusk, this time with a smelting furnace and charcoal. Her clothes burned away, her hair frizzed and popped, her eyebrows singed. But she did not burn. The clerics would not return until dawn.
"Three fold rule. Three fold rule. Three fold rule." Her chant began again.
You let out a sigh.
"Oh, am I bothering you?" Her voice came from right behind you.
You fall forward, taking several steps to regain your balance, and swivel deftly on your feet - pike at the ready for an assault. But the witch remained behind the bars, her face pressed into them just behind and beside where you had stood watch along the adjoining wall.
"It is disconcerting, that is all." You said, lowering your pike.
"Indeed it should be." She said, gently stroking the bars of her cell with one finger.
"I'm well aware." You said, eyeing her from your safe distance.
"Oh, you have heard of the three fold rule?" She asks now, gripping the bars in her hands.
"I... I'm aware of it." You said, glancing around the dimly lit halls of the prison for eavesdroppers.
"And how is that?"
"My mother... she" you began, taking a step forward and lowering your voice, "She was burned."
"Oooooooohhhh hooo hoooo" The witch's voice howls in the prison's halls as she retreats into the shadows.
You hear her scuff around, and knock into her water bowl. Scratching and shuffling fills the quiet space for a few moments.
"You understand, I've done you no harm." You say, taking another step forward.
"Yes, yes, you've been quite careful, young man."
You stared into the darkness of her cell for a long moment. After what felt like an eternity, you hear her shuffle up to the bars once more.
"You should leave."
"Huh?" You turn to face her, her face now fully revealed in the light. It was scarred and broken, her nose twisted from repeated abuse.
"Leave, before dawn."
You felt your skin crawl.
"Three fold rule?" You asked.
"I'm going to burn this village to the ground." She rasped.
You feel yourself taking a step backwards, instinctively repulsed by this new hatred she exuded.
"Why are you telling me this?"
"We are kin, kid, whether you realize it or not. I would be remiss to hurt you."
"What?"
"GO! RUN! RUN! GO! THREE FOLD RULE! THREE FOLD RULE! THREE FOLD RULE!" She began to scream.
You ran.
The village asleep, you had no problem abandoning your post and escaping its walls.
The distant screams began as you crested the hill to the north of the village, the sun had just broken over the eastern mountains.
You stop and turn, falling to the ground in shock. A column of fire, as tall as a mountain, tore into the sky above the village. It slowly expanded outwards, engulfing the village and the screams within. A wave of heat hit you, even miles away.
You scrambled to your feet and began to run, down the other side of the hill and to freedom.
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**Three years later**
You ordered another round from the barkeep, and slide your empty to join its friends.
"You sure you can walk out of here?" The barkeep asked, sliding a new ale in front of you.
You looked at the warm beer for a moment. "I'm fine." You said.
The barkeep shrugged and returned to his tasks.
"I'm sure you can walk out of here just fine." A voice behind you said, a familiar voice.
You turn to face them, a beautiful young woman. Her long hair escapes her cloaked head, but beneath the cloak's hood you can see a smile.
"Who're you..." you began to ask.
"Rule of three" The young lady said.
You jumped to attention.
"It took awhile to find you." She extends a hand.
You take her hand, and stand from the stool.
"Are you ready to find out what I meant?" She asked.
"What you meant?"
"Our kinship. Are you ready to see how deep this fox den goes?"
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"Not at all," Taylor said sincerely. "Is that why you are so powerful now?"
"Um. Yes?" the witch replied, a little bewildered. When Delores cackled her previous line, she expected it to fall on deaf walls. Or, at the most, elicit a quick "shut up" from the guard at her door, or from one of the clerics fervently discussing strategies to kill the witch just around the corner, unseen but unquiet.
"That is very cool!" Taylor nodded. Very enthusiastically. Delores' own head involuntarily tagged along, though with much smaller movements compared to the guard's vigorous nods.
"Oh. That is kind of you," Delores coughed a little, remembering that she was supposed to be an evil witch. "I shall ensure that you have a quick, painless death, when I break out of your pathetic little prison!"
"But," Taylor rubbed his chin, one of the few exposed parts of his face under an oversized helmet, flickering in the candlelight. "Shouldn't you torture me a lot, if you want to be nice?"
Delores paused. She stared at him.
"What?"
"The three-fold rule, right? If you give me a quick painless death, like lopping off my head"--Taylor flicked at the side of his head, fingernail clanging metal, and made three plopping sounds that grew gradually softer--"it would roll over there, and that was it. Dead. But maybe, if you torture me a lot..."
"That only applies to witches," Delores said, before she could catch herself. "I don't think you have any latent powers. Not from what I can see, at least."
"Oh," Taylor said. He sniffed. "Oh. I thought like maybe, if I experienced a lot of pain, I might be able to discover some magic in me. Or something."
"You want pain? Delores asked, incredulous. "Do you even know what you are wishing for? And how are you not afraid of me? Do you not know the horrors I can wring out of the dark 'verse?"
"It couldn't suck more than now, right?" Taylor said brightly. Yet, there was a twinge of something underneath. Delores felt it. "Maybe I don't know what I'm wishing for. I mean, I do, but, it just doesn't seem very feasible, does it? And why would I be afraid of you? You are basically crackling with power. The clerics took one look at you and turned whiter than their cloaks. You could leave anytime you want, right?"
"I suppose," Delores muttered.
"But yet, here you are," Taylor said. "I don't know. I just don't think you are bad or anything, you know?"
"Um," Delores blinked, unsure of what to say. "I killed a lot of people in the village."
"I saw some of their names," Taylor whispered. "A lot of bad eggs."
"Oh," Delores stared at her hands, now. She didn't really want to look this guard in the eyes any more. "How did you know?"
"I'm not a very smart or capable person, ma'am," Taylor said. "I've been stuck here guarding an empty cell for longer than I'd like. I think they put you here because they thought that if you escaped and I died, it wouldn't really matter."
"Ouch," the witch winced. "I'm sure they don't think of you that way. Or any other person."
"Yeah," the guard said. "That's why they tried to burn, drown, decapitate, and hang you."
"I'm not really a person."
"I feel that way, too," Taylor said. He patted the side of his scabbard, unsheathing a wooden sword. "They didn't even give me a metal one."
"That's really terrible," Delores said, glancing at Taylor periodically.
"So," Taylor said. "What say you? Break out of the prison, then? Inflict some pain on me, make it more realistic. Maybe I can become a witch too."
"I can't," Delores said softly, her head down.
"What?"
"The principle of pain? It works the other way round, too," Delores smiled, shaking her head. "You've... I've enjoyed talking to you. It was nice."
"What?" Taylor said, crashing against the bars of the cell. "Does that mean I hurt you? Oh no. I'm so sorry."
"Ah, don't worry," the witch said. "I'm not powerful enough to break out of this prison right now."
Delores had heard the conversation dying down. The footsteps had shuffled off into different directions, but one was coming towards her. She chuckled when she saw an old man coming into view, because Taylor was right. The cleric was whiter than his sheets.
As Taylor hastily stepped aside, the cleric clenched his fingers tightly, before cracking them apart. A palpable atmospheric shift was felt in the room, before the cleric also took out a ring of keys and opened the cell's physical lock.
Without a word, Delores stood up and walked towards the exit. She turned towards Taylor, who had his back against the wall, and mouthed "I'm sorry."
"Don't worry, love," Delores whispered, enhancing her words to Taylor with a little magical suggestion. "You took some pain away from me, and it was nice."
"Woah," Taylor murmured.
"But from what I know of these clerics, they will try and kill me once again," Delores smiled. "And they won't succeed. And then, I'll take down this prison for the both of us."
Taylor nodded with renewed vigour. The cleric turned back, tugging on Delores' chains.
"Then," Delores winked. "We'll see about your comforting me once more."
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r/dexdrafts
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[WP] Humans don't have FTL yet, but these deathworlders will packbond with anything, and a packbonded human will go to bat for their crew. This is why aliens take humans onto their ships and humans can escape an over-crowded earth. But how does this expectation of humanity change societies on earth?
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It was strange, being on the float after half a decade of artificial gravity, and it was tedious, floating slowly toward the earth after spending much of that time in the grey-blue blur of hyperspace and the somewhat slower spatial distortion bubbles that could get you from Gliese to Tau Ceti in hours. Back to the backwater that was earth, that was Home, that was all mankind had ever known until people like me signed up for duty with HSMs (Horrible Space Monsters).
For five years I had griped, bitched, pissed and moaned about every duty given to me, even though the pay was good and I never hesitated to carry out an order. Everybody did their job. It was written in your contract that you’d be spaced, shot, fried, flayed, or even eaten alive if you didn’t do your part, though I’d never met anybody obnoxious enough to sign up as a glorified mercenary just so they could say “no” when push came to shove. You knew what was expected of you going in: basic training on earth weeded out the weak, the unwilling, and the stupid, long before they could cause a diplomatic incident out in the vacuum.
But complaining, that was the age-old tradition of grunts. I’m sure the legionaries who burned Carthage to the ground liked to whine that they missed Rome, that they hated Salting the Earth Duty. And I’m sure their centurions told them to shut up just like human noncoms on permanent interstellar deployments did.
My shuttle wobbled a little when it hit the upper atmosphere and fired its first retrorockets. Everything made by man felt so flimsy, so primitive, after the Delkac frigates and M’khrti freighters, the Usullub gas giant patrol skiffs, the Pe landing craft. For five years I had gone wherever Interstellar Dynamic Solutions had sent me, bringing a Kalashnikov to particle weapon fights and *winning*, every time, because humans are born with horseshoes up their asses and an old Russian assault rifle never runs out of batteries, never fails to shoot holes in reflector armor. I could feel earth’s gravity getting stronger, feel the bench I’d been floating above become a piece of furniture and not just a sentimental accoutrement.
The landing pad was just outside my hometown. Invermere had grown a little since I’d left: it covered a few more kilometers of the Columbia Valley, about ready to fully consume Radium in the north and on its way to a marriage with Cranbrook in the south. For some reason, with a naivete that I thought had been beaten out of me in the last five years, I expected there to be a big crowd waiting for me and the other eight survivors of our tour. Two hundred of us had gone to the stars all those years ago. A hundred and ninety-one were either buried in soil under alien skies, floated through the infinite sky in emptied torpedo casings, or were tiny wisps of vapor where nameless battles had taken place in the interstellar medium. I thought we’d be remembered as heroes.
Instead, the crowd was a gaggle. Of parents, of spouses, of kids, of siblings. There were no reverential gazes as we stepped off the shuttle and onto the tarmac, just an intense, palpable feeling of relief emanating from those we’d left behind. My mother embraced me for a long time. My little brother gave me a curt nod. My elder brother was nowhere to be seen—working on Luna, mom said.
When I got home, everything was different in some intangible way. My room had been left just the way I had it when I shipped out for basic, but the posters were hollow, the bed was too small, the stickers on my dresser were meaningless somehow. Robbed of significance. It was the same everywhere I went: when my mother took me on a long walk through the streets I’d grown up on, I tried to summon up some nostalgia but couldn’t. That night, when some old friends invited me out for drinks, their conversation not only bored but disgusted me. They gossiped about friends, worried about whether they could get an employment contract and get off Personal Income, they asked me for stories about aliens, about whether I’d ever gotten laid with a non-human (“Yeah, I banged a different-colored space monster every week.” Blank stares, nervous laughter. “Jesus Christ, I’m kidding, the only humanoids other than us are more likely to *eat* you than hook up.”).
Everything was the same, but I was different. I checked out a university, at my mom’s urging, since veterans were put at the front of the line for educational placement, there was a kid handing out pamphlets that went on and on about how we were being used by the aliens as slave labor. “Let them fight their own battles,” the kid cried out at disinterested passersby, “We shouldn’t have to die just because they aren’t physiologically capable of fighting a ground war.” I wanted to tell him that wasn’t it, that physiology could be overcome but psychology was the problem, that human beings were used because we *enjoyed* killing. Because we treated mass slaughter like a fun math problem, because we went into a trance of bloodlust and implacable violence when we were burnt out, instead of just shutting down and waiting for death like most species out there.
My mother cried when I signed back up, this time for a permanent position. She begged me not to go, begged me to stay with her, she said I didn’t have to go to school or get a job or ever work again. I couldn’t explain to her the truth as it became more apparent to me every day, couldn’t bear to tell her that I was no longer any more human than I was alien, that the stars were my home now, that I couldn’t stand in line at the food kiosks or bear one more second of somebody who’d never been beyond Luna’s orbit telling *me* how the galaxy works.
It was strange, leaving earth and feeling gravity drop away again. But it was very easy to climb aboard a Oranossk fast-attack raider with my own squad, all fresh faces and old worries. It felt like going home.
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My name is Ebony Darkness Dem—shit, wrong universe. My name is Karen Smith. I’m as generic as humans being come. Just your normal, everyday bipedal gal. Except I don’t like the aliens. I’m not like other humans, who fawn over them, who seem them as the saviors of our race. Ha! They can barely operate a vending machine, how are they going to save us?
Not to say the aliens aren’t cool. I’ll guess I’ll admit that. Just kidding! They’re total losers who don’t even know how to fight. I’m crushing one underneath my boot right now. Serves ‘em right, if you ask me, trying to come down and shake things up for humanity. We already have a system for overpopulation: weakness. That’s why I trained to kill these fuzzy fuckers. They don’t deserve to walk our soil.
Do they think they can come down and just poof! All of us are going to love them? No, of course not. Some of us aren’t weak. Some of us have scruples, morals, decency. Some of us know that Earth is the best place in the universe, that humans are peak evolution, that our guns splatter alien guts better than anyone else’s. Which is why I’m raiding one of their ships now, mowing them down as they rush towards me, blasters raised.
And look! There’s a weakling, he’s got that look in his eyes. That look that says he sold his soul to lick something shiny, to fuck that spaceship’s AI, to bow to aliens instead of who he should: me, to other men. And now he’s bowing, oh yes, but this is not a pose he’s chosen. And there are more, they’re yelling in that guttural alien tongue that is abuse on human ears. They’re rushing to me, their eyes surprised at the intrusion of another human. But soon they’re bowing, too.
I’m not like other humans, I believe in strength. I believe in the power of humanity. And I will never, ever, bow to the aliens as they do. They just feel too good beneath my boot.
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r/AinsleyAdams
Always fun to start the morning with something goofy!
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[WP] In a world without race, religion, or nations, it appeared that society had finally achieved peace. That is until people began swearing their allegiance to different fictional anime girls. That's when the world fell into chaos. When the Waifu Wars began.
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The world was once again corrupt. The bigger Waifu clans took hold of what used to be countries and made them into their land where only people who supported their Waifu could live. Places like Erza Scarlet, Zero Two, and Hinata Hyuga were among the biggest, claiming large, resource-rich lands.
Smaller allegiances like Rem, Mai, Bulma, and many others would claim a city or small country and go to battle with nearing ones, wiping out the population of the enemy Waifu supporters to show they were the superior race with the best girl.
The wars that broke out were terrible. Gunshots were the normal day-to-day sound as different clans would go all out in honour of their beloved fictional characters.
Though battles were vigorous and dangerous, it was much worse for the smaller Waifu clans. In the bigger colonies, they had enough people to defend, hunt, grow food, and create a safe haven with resources necessary for survival.
It was much different with us though. I was a part of an outcast Waifu group. We were clans that supported Waifu’s who weren’t as popular. Even though the larger Groups would ignore us, not engaging in battle since we more pests than threats to them, we still had many troubles that we faced on our own.
Scavenging for food, digging for small bits of clean water, looking for environments where we could stay without being caught in the crossfire.
Many of these outcast Waifu groups had been obliterated early on. I remember old highschool friends who were part of the Mami allegiance. All of them slaughtered by my clan. They attacked first after we rejected joining them and so we had no other option than to kill them or be killed.
I remember crying as I saw their eyes roll back, letting out terrible bloody screams. I knew it couldn’t be helped, but it hurt nonetheless.
What had our world come to?
In a time not so long ago, we had achieved perfect peace. A world where everyone was safe. This stayed for years. I was raised in the first generation that got to be born into this completely safe world.
Then, when I turned 14 years old… it happened.
Out of nowhere, people all began to band together. At first, it seemed that it was harmless fun. People around the world moving to join their fellow anime watchers and sharing the love of the same fictional woman.
Before long, it turned hostile. First, arguments, then fistfights, and after... this. A planet now in constant war and tragedy.
When I had to choose though, I didn’t want to. In my mind, these clans and wars were meaningless because in the end, we were real people and they were animations created by us. I loved my Waifu, but not to these extents and that’s why when I was asked to join the rebels, I immediately accepted.
They were searching for the fountain of wishing. A fountain where every millennium, one wish was granted to whoever found it and drank the water that it held.
Originally, it was only ever a legend, but the rebels had managed to find it. It turned out to be hidden, existing underneath the Hinata palace, the centrepiece of the land of Hinata.
The small team of us were to find it and wish for world peace that would last an eternity.
“Bernard, cover us as we go in, kill anyone who tries to enter from the outside,” I commanded through the communication systems.
“I have you covered. I got a clear sight of the entrance and theirs no wind today so my shots will be perfect. You guys are safe from the outside,” replied the sniper on our team, stationed 800 metres away, hidden.
I signalled my team to slowly head in. We entered through the entrance of a cave opening, an alternate route to get into the palace's underground. It was the only way, other than through the main entrance which would be suicide.
Quietly making our way through, flashlights and guns out, we looked around for any Naruto’s. That was what the supporters of Hinata called themselves.
There, in the distance, I saw it. The glint of silver. I began to quicken my pace and it was clear as day. It was the wishing fountain.
“This is it. We can finally make peace once again,” Roger said as he approached the fountain side. He was one of the men on the team, an ex-military soldier.
I stood, staring at the baby blue water, thinking about how it would all be over. "So who wants to do it?" I asked the team.
“I think you should get to do the honours. You joined our group last but always were the most influential to our success,” said Geremy, the founder of the rebel group and the one who had taken me in.
I looked around at our group, seeing all their looks of agreement. I nodded with a determined look. I was going to fix this world.
The legend says to sip the water and think of the wish you want for it to be granted.
I walked to the fountain and scooped some of the water with my cupped hands, watching as it rippled.
I slowly began to bring it to my lips, but as I did this, I realized just how powerful this fountain really was. It could grant me any wish. Make anything I ever wanted to come true.
Suddenly, my selfish desires overtook and I quickly drank all the water from my hands, thinking hard about what I wanted. Greed dominated when things came down to it.
I opened my shut eyes to see my wish emerge from the water. I began to cry tears of joy. It was beautiful.
My team’s mouth was agape as they watched, unable to process what they were seeing. They then slowly brought their guns up, pointing them at me as they realized how I had given in to my selfishness. I had doomed the world.
I didn’t notice them though. I could only stare at my beloved wish. “It worked! You’re really alive! My love… Asuna!”
If you enjoyed the story, please check out my Instagram at Zoppy.tz for daily short story uploads! It would mean a lot and I’m sure you will enjoy them!
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“Holy moly WHAT THE HELL?” I shouted. I’d been in a coma for five years, and suddenly... BOOM. The so-called Waifu Wars, battles for the best Waifu of all time, had started happening all over the world. I didn’t know what to expect, but I sure as hell didn’t expect this.
But, despite my reluctance, I could already feel like I wanted to fight against the people who like Lucy Heartfilia. Maybe I was already hopelessly radicalized. Maybe the entire world would be destroyed in these wars. But so be it. If it means Shuna is voted best Waifu in the world, I don’t care. I’d even kill for it.
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[WP] After fifteen years of marriage, you don't know how to break it to your spouse that you're teeeeechnically not human.
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Milk. Butter. Potatoes. Spinach. Carrots. Tomatoes…. I am forgetting something. Baking Soda!
I turn around and move to the baking aisle. I am not forgetting anything this time. Jamila keeps taunting me for being forgetful, but not this time. This time she will cheer in glee and swoon into my arms… maybe not that but she will be very pleased.
I see the baking soda, but there are two brands. Mr. Artie’s Baking and The Nine Tailed Fox’s Baking… huh. I pick up Mr. Artie’s and head to the counter. Today was supposed to be special. But I guess after 15 years, marriage anniversary is not such a big deal.
“That will be $57.69. Card or cash?”
“Card.” I say, as I pull my debit card out of my wallet and give it to the cashier.
But being late due to work on your anniversary is sad, and the thing that is sadder is that your wife tells you to buy groceries while coming home without being upset, not a tiny bit, that you are late.
Today was supposed to be special. The breeze hits me as I step out of the supermarket. Now where did I park my car? Shit. I try to pull out my keys out of my pockets while balancing the bag of groceries. This is going to take forever. No one is around. Let me just move to the side. There. Now no one will see me. My tail comes out and grabs my keys from my pocket. Today was supposed to be special because I am planning to tell her that I am not human.
I change gears as my foot pushes the pedal. I will be home in about ten minutes. I know I should have told her before. Maybe after our first year or second or third or fourth. But something or the other would come up. I have even written letters but something would come up. Family visits. Career ups and dips. And…. Anyway, I know I fucked up but today was supposed to be the day. And the day is not over. I mean technically it is evening but the anniversary is not over. And I will make today… evening special.
I pull over, get out quickly and jog and grab the groceries. The key is in my hand. Time to be a romantic.
“Jamjam.”
The smell of her cooking is the most beautiful scent in the world. I step into the kitchen, and lay the groceries. I look at her back. She is not as young as she used to be. Everyday, she is aging.
“So you know what happened today...” She says as she turns around to look at me. “...Why are you crying?”
Shit. Tears roll down my cheeks.
“It’s just… today is our anniversary and you are making good food.”
“I thought someone died. Stop scaring me and stop crying for nothing. I make good food everyday.”
She looks through the groceries.
“Fine. Fine. What happened today?”
”You forgot coriander.”
“Ohhhhhh yeah.”
“How can you not remember about 6-7 things?”
“I told you to text me…”
“And I told you should be able to remember 6 to 7 things, You are a grown adult.”
“Fine. I will go get it.”
“No. I will manage. I will get it tomorrow morning.”
So much for a special anniversary. I just have to tell her another time.
“I will freshen up.”
“Okay…. By the way, are you free this weekend?”
“Why won’t I be?”
“You have been in the office a lot lately.”
“There has been a lot of work.”
“I understand. It’s just that I wanted to buy some clothes and my elder sister is going on a family trip...”
“I will make time.”
“Then I can bid farewell to this apron.”
“What?! No!”
“What?”
“The apron has so many memories.”
She looks at the apron and smiles sadly.
“I used to feed Khadija wearing this apron... ”
I walk towards her and hold her in my arms. I want to say something but I can’t. Words choke in guilt.
“You are as built as ever… ” She rubs my torso with her hands. “How do you keep in shape with so much work? You don’t go to the gym.”
“I am active during the night, you know.” I say grinning as I give her a kiss.
“But I have put on so much weight, Harold. I was looking at our wedding photos and you look the same except for some grey hair.”
“Jamila, you are beautiful.”
“Wait.” She moves to the stove. “Dinner is ready. As I was saying…. What was I saying?”
“About what happened today.”
“Aaliyah…. I was talking about my weight. Harold!”
“I am sorry.” I chuckle sheepishly.
“Fine. Aaliyah came over and she told me that she is pregnant.”
My niece doesn’t understand subtleness.
“She could have called.”
“Nonsense. Such important news needs to be said face to face. And it’s a good thing. It’s been two years since she got married. Right time to have a child.”
“Jamila, you don’t need to do this.”
“Do what?”
“Pretend to be happy.”
“I am happy. I was so scared that it will be difficult for her to get pregnant. Her husband’s family were hesitant for the marriage because… ”
“They thought she would be like you. They are fucked up.”
“Harold!”
“You need to stop hiding behind a mask.”
I just said that. She looks at me, bites her lips and softly says, “Then what else can I do?”
“Jamila… ”
“Nobody cares, Harold. Nobody. And I am tired of being tired.” She laughs.
“I care.”
“I know.”
“Is it not enough?”
“No. I stay at home. I cook. I clean. I watch shows about horrible mother-in-laws. This is not living.”
“I have told you to get a job.”
“Harold… Go freshen up. I will place the plates.”
“Jamila, we are having a discussion.”
“No, we are not. You just look at me as a burden.”
“What the fuck?”
“Just waiting for me to die.”
“Shut the fuck up!”
“No. You shut the fuck up! You have been lying!”
|
*Okay, okay. I can do this. I* have *to do this.* Our two oldest playing in the yard with their friends, the third down for a nap, and a fourth on the way. My heart was thumping hard in my chest. *For her sake.* “Hey, Rose, my life, can you come here a minute?” I called down to her from the bedroom. “Just finishing lunch! What’s up?” She replied. I took a deep breath, thinking I was gonna pass out, “Just need to tell you something... D-Don’t rush! it’s no biggie.” I heard her snort a giggle, “Okay, weirdo.” *Good. Good* I cleared my throat and sat on the bed, *this is good. I got time to plan my words.* I looked out the window, seeing my kids race their bikes- I ran to open the window “Put those helmets back on!” The kids all groaned at my dadisms “Ah-! Don’t make me come down there!” I waited a moment and turned to sit back on the bed. “Relax, Frank, she loves you,” I said to myself. *Yeah, this you, not the* **real** *you.*
I stat staring at the wall clock for what seemed like an eternity. “So what’s up?” she said with a smile, “What’s *sooo* important that I must-“ she paused for a split second, but it was long enough for my heart to sink into the pit of my being. “Frankie, what’s wrong?” I took one final deep breath, “Please, sit, I need to tell you something.” My face must’ve been white as a ghost, because when she sat down with he, I could feel her legs trembling and her heart pounding. “Frankie, what’s wrong?” Her voice trembled a little, and her eyes glossing over. My mind was racing with all the possibilities of what could be said and what could happen. “You know what my favorite movie is, right?” I asked her, my own voice quivering. Wiping her eyes, she seemed to be taken aback, and relaxed a bit, which relaxed me a bit, too. “Yeah, yeah. The *Guardians of the Galaxy 2*... Why?” I cleared my throat again “Tell me about the movie, please.” “Yes... but what’s this-“ I cut her off “Please. This is the only way I thought of... Please.” She looked up a second and put one hand on her belly, “Ah, well. The character was taken from earth as a child. And he grew up in space. And he met his real dad, but he turned out to be the bad guy, and the one who stole him was his actual dad. Oh- and he loved his mixtapes because h
They were a gift from his mother.”
I nodded. “You’re right, you’re right,” I wearily smiled and kissed her on the head. I started to think this was a bad way to break the news to her that I wasn’t human. “Do you remember... what the bad dad was called by the character’s mother?” She thought a moment, “No, I’m sorry,” I couldn’t help but to chuckle at the absurdity that I found myself in, “It’s alright. He was her Spaceman, and she was her Water Lilly.” I fell to her feet and looked into her eyes, “Do you love me?” I pleaded her. “Of course I do!” She seemed almost insulted at the mere notion, “I love you beyond the stars.” I had to stop myself from passing out. “You are *my* Rose, anI am your Spaceman.”
I saw the gears in her head turning, putting all of what was said into context. Her eyes went wide, and she asked the question, “*You’re not human?*” I hung my head, trying to push back the tears, “No. no I’m not.” She fell to the ground and squeezed me tight, “No. you are *my* Spaceman, and I *am* your Rose.”
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[WP] Billions of books suddenly fell from the sky right in front of your eyes. Their titles were simply names. Some books had endings, others, such as the book you found, were still being written.
|
I remember the day that snapped our timeline in two.
I was with some friends on my uncle's farm, we'd found a large pond and an old tree, and were taking turns rope-swinging off of it and into the water. It was my turn and I'd been handed the knotted rope when we heard a thunderous crash in the woods, resulting in a plume of smoke that could be seen for miles.
We rushed over and witnessed the entire tree-lined area being crushed into a perfectly-formed rectangle. When I saw it, I initially thought it was an alien spaceship, a huge, heavy aircraft with a sleek white finish. I was wrong. It wasn't a spaceship. It was a bookcase. A massive, wooden bookcase.
We'd arrived at its rear, so when we walked around and saw the books, we couldn't believe it.
Things only got stranger from there. The books had names of people as their titles. A few of the names rung a bell in the back of my mind, and I later found out they were the names of people who had lived in the town almost two hundred years ago. They were the founders of the place, my uncle had told me the stories growing up, and was incessantly pointing out that our family could be traced back to one of them.
Michael found a book with the name of his grandfather, but the book ended abruptly, a swathe of blank pages left unfilled. Everyone knew about Great Pete, he had done amazing things as the town mayor, but he never was the same after his wife passed. One day, out of immense grief, he decided to just end it. Michael still has the pistol.
Michael's grandmother had a book with scant few pages. It was a glorified collection of pamphlets. That stung me, and Michael's stony face almost squeezed the tears out of my eyes.
Winona was the first to find her own book. The cover had intricate designs in black, and there were doodles scattered all through the pages. She would be pursuing a career in animation at the end of the summer. She read through the pages, mouth agape, as the rest of us crowded around her. As she neared the end of the text, *the text just kept on going!* The last sentence before she shut the book was literally: "...and Winona hastily snapped the book shut in exasperation."
When Ann read her book, it became clear that something was different. Her book had a definite beginning, middle, and end. At first, we thought she'd picked the wrong book, but everything from the cover to the table of contents to the actual prose lined up neatly with a description of her own life. The last twenty pages detailed things that had not yet happened, but the craziest part was the way the book ended. According to the story, Ann would die by winking out of existence.
We all sat together in silence for a while after reading that.
Delia stood up and began perusing the shelves idly. She hadn't yet found her own book, but she wasn't in any hurry to. I followed her from the corner of my eye as I tried to make sense of what all of this meant. I was coming up empty.
"Sam, look," she said, and I joined her at the bookcase.
I knelt down to take a look. There, in the last row, at the very bottom right of the shelf, lay my book. *Samuel Juniper Jackson, Volume 1*.
I blinked. I reached out to it and ran my fingers over its unusually large spine. The cover was made of a dark brown leather. My eyes wandered over to the next book, and it was in the same type of cover. *Samuel Juniper Jackson, Volume 2*.
*What?*
I staggered back and landed on my butt. This did not make any sense. Still seated on the ground, I pulled out all of the books at the very end of the bookcase. They were all thick tomes covered in dark brown leather. They all had my name. And there were five of them.
The first volume had only about a third of its pages filled. The others were completely empty. I read and re-read it three times, completely absorbed in the text. This was my story, laid out for all to see. It was at that moment that I knew. I gained a clarity that was instinctual, almost primal.
My name is Samuel Juniper Jackson, and the fate of the future is in my hands.
|
The sky darkened, similar to a thunderstorm. But the sound was nothing like rain and thunder. It was the sound of falling books. Magnified by thousands, no more than that, millions. There were books everywhere.
They all had the same cover. A light grey background, an outline of a person, and a name. Not a title, but a name. No author, no publishing company, no blurbs, nothing else that you would expect.
I picked up a few that had hit the ground in front of me. One was small, reminding me of the beginning reader books from when I was younger. The name on it was Emily. I flipped through the pages, I couldn’t make anything out specifically, but all the pages where filled.
The next one said David. This one was longer, more like those compilation books you find in thrift stores. Again, I wasn’t able to see anything specific — it’s like the words blurred as if I was in an actual rainstorm — but the pages were all filled.
The last one I had in my hand had my name on it. But that had to be a coincidence, Morgan wasn’t that uncommon of a name.
I opened the book, and the words, like the other two were illegible. But when I reached what I thought was the end, a new blank page appeared. I kept turning, and more blank pages appeared. The book in my hands went from something the size of a cozy murder mystery paperback to the size of a college textbook in just the turn of a few pages.
God, I hope I didn’t screw up anything.
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[WP] Dragons require large amounts of metals for their diet, their hoards full of gold because while gold is collected with iron and steel it cannot be digested, their reputation for killing knights due to the amount of steel on their armour and weapons
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The party of adventurers entered the cavernous treasure room of the dragon’s lair and gaped at the mountains of glittering gold of the dragon’s hoard. The dragon himself was in the human form of a large, rugged warrior in glowing crimson plate mail, glaring down at the intruders with red, vertical slit eyes.
“Why have you come?” The dragon boomed, “Do you wish to get eaten?”
The adventurers kneeled. The warrior at the front addressed the dragon.
“O dragon of the mountain, we mean no harm upon you, we only wish that you would stop eating our kingdom’s knights,” The man said.
“Surely you’ve come with a proposition?” The dragon said, “Or did you plan to offer yourself as food to compensate for wasting my time?”
The adventurer swallowed, “O dragon, our offer is gold. We have…”
“*Don’t be ridiculous!”* The dragon roared, “Look around you? Do you think I need gold? It’s less than worthless to me.”
The adventurer bowed his head even lower. “N… no great dragon, you have unimaginable wealth so naturally you don’t need our gold. What, may I ask, would please you instead of gold?”
The dragon subsided slightly and looked thoughtful, “I suppose… whatever it is that the knights wear.”
“You want… carriages full of armor?”
The dragon nodded, “Yes, that would… actually be quite nice.” The dragon looked at the trembling adventurer in front of him and his gaze softened slightly. “Maybe I had the wrong idea about you, adventurer. You may be a bit slow, but I think we can come to an agreement.”
The adventurer visibly relaxed, as well as the rest of his party. “So, is it agreed upon then? We will bring you carriages of armor in exchange for the lives of our knights?”
The dragon scowled slightly, “Actually I would appreciate one more favor.”
“What would that be, mighty dragon?”
“Can you humans make use of all this,” The dragon gestured at his hoard, “I know it’s a fairly useless metal but…”
“Yes! We can make use of that!”
The dragon looked relieved, “Please bring some empty carriages then to get rid of all of this for me in exchange for more armor.”
“Why, may I ask, do you wish to get rid of your gold, o wise dragon?”
The dragon looked at the adventurer, “Isn’t it obvious? To me, gold is indigestible.”
The adventurer still looked confused.
The dragon sighed, “In other words, this gold is my poop.”
___
If you enjoyed, check out r/WanderWilder for more stories. Thanks for reading!
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&#x200B;
I should begin this tale with an introduction to Genette. You've probably never heard of it, or would ever want to go there. It's here in the United States, but far to the southwest. I guess about where Arizona would be—if this were still the world as we knew it before the Event. It's mainly one big city, with a few outlying farms, ranches, and towns.
Many had taken to reconstruction by trying to replicate the way things were, I even heard of a settlement in Texas with a Mcdonald's set up, kind of pointless with no cars but people grew hearing stories of how great the old world was and pine for something they never were there to see, let alone understand.
Genette was not like this. The town looked like something from medieval fantasy, with perhaps a little old west flair, some would say the other way around. The Claimers taking most of the metal led to some creative building decisions as they did everywhere. The High Ditch Saloon was a perfect example of the craftmanship of this lost age, fine wood joinery top to bottom.
Now that I've set the scene, let me introduce you to that man at the bar, the one in a full set of steel plate armor. Doesn't quite fit, does he? That's Randall Hooke, and he fancies himself a Baiter, though there hadn't been a sighting of a Claimer in these parts for some forty years, until today that is.
"Another round, Boss," Randall said, suffering through the shot of whiskey. All baiters drank whiskey, he knew. He'd get used to it eventually.
"My wallet won't allow you to extend your tab further, I'm afraid, and besides, look like I'd be doing you a favor." The barkeep said with a good-natured but stern face.
"You know I'm good for it, Preach!" He said, getting up with an elaborate motion, clanking all the way. "A baiter doesn't make steady stack. It comes in big drops."
"If it comes at all, Randall. Take a leave on now. I might be feeling more charitable tomorrow."
"Yeah, yeah. Too bad Minn didn't stop by." He said, downing a pitcher of water in one pass. It got hot out there.
"Last I heard, she wasn't planning on being anywhere you were."
Randall shook his head as he heaved towards the swinging doors, another feat to pass in his full kit. Barry the stacker in his fine striped hat held his gut directly in the way.
"I ain't got it this week, Barry. I know, I'm sorry. wait, is that Dandy Girl behind you?"
"It ain't nothing like that, Mr. Hooke. It's a Claimer! Spotted just five miles south and heading this way. I know you sold your horse last winter but Farmer May was nice enough to give it back, free of charge."
Randall's head spun, this was his chance. This was what he needed. He tried to hide the excitement on his face. "Five miles south. How long ago?"
"Probably not ten minutes, Dale's boy on that thunderfoot horse ripped up here as soon as he saw it."
"Good," Randall said, downing his faceguard, realized how constricted his vision was and raising it up again. "I'll head south, then once I spot it, I'll draw it easy to the east gorge."
"Godspeed, son. We're counting on you."
Part 2 on the way.
&#x200B;
\---
For more of my writing, see /r/surinical
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[WP] Dragons require large amounts of metals for their diet, their hoards full of gold because while gold is collected with iron and steel it cannot be digested, their reputation for killing knights due to the amount of steel on their armour and weapons
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EDIT The Second: A lot more people liked this than I thought they would! Parts 2, 3, and 3.5 in the replies below!
\---
"Get off of me, you overgrown bat-lizard!"
"Stop wriggling, you lanky pile of bones!"
The scene would have been comical, Mara was sure, if she wasn't the one currently flattened under the bulk of a dragon who was currently trying to gnaw through her armour.
She wasn't big, as most dragons went, merely twice the size of a horse - clearly young and inexperienced. Still clever enough to have hidden in ambush, and pushed Mara to the ground with a single, bounding pounce.
Now she was busy gnawing on Mara's steel gorget, trying to eat through the metal to get at the juicy flesh below, growling as her sharp teeth dug in.
With fresh desperation, Mara kicked at the base of the dragon's throat - and was gratified as the beast let go, staggering back with a choked cry of pain. Wasting no time, Mara scrambled for her fallen spear, and whirled to face the dragon again - but paused with puzzlement.
The beast heaved, retched - and accompanied by a stream of bile, left a glistening pile of small bones and glimmering coins on the cave floor.
"Guh, that *hurt!*" the dragon whined, curling up to shield her battered throat. "Look at this mess, you made me lose my lunch!"
Mara blinked, before shaking her surprise off and brandishing her spear. "It was *supposed* to hurt! I didn't want to be next on the menu, you gluttonous monster!"
The dragon shied back. "I just wanted the armour! Do you have *any idea* how good properly forged steel tastes?" As if in emphasis, the dragon's gaze locked on the sharp point of Mara's spear - her eyes full of hungry greed.
"You *eat metal?"*
"Of course! How else would we get scales like this?" she rose to her full height and extended her wings, turning this way and that to display herself. Her dark-grey scales shone, reflecting light like a freshly polished blade.
"So dragons hunt knights because we wear *armour*?" Mara asked with disbelief. "How could that possibly be worth the risk of being hunted down by more of us?"
"Well, yeah," the dragon replied. "Wouldn't *you* try to eat a chicken if it walked into your home already wrapped in perfectly-cooked bacon? Even if you might get pecked?"
Mara raised a hand - then lowered it, slowly, as she thought that sentence over. Well...
"Right then, strip that armour and I'll let you live. Humans are too lean, anyway." The dragon stalked closer, teeth bared in a greedy grin.
"Hold! I paid a lot of gold for this armour, and your hoard will be worth a lot more! You're not getting it without a fight!" Mara readied herself again.
The dragon paused. "Gold? Like... *Gold* gold?"
Mara blinked, again. "Yes?"
The dragon tilted her head. "Like the shiny leftovers I just puked up?"
"...Yes, now you mention it. Like them."
"Huh. I usually just pile it up and sleep on it." She tilted her head the other way, quizzically. "Are you saying you humans like the stuff?"
Mara felt wheels turn in her head. "Say, dragon. Do you have a name?"
"...My mother used to call me Kamacite. Why do you ask?"
"It's only polite to know the name of a potential business partner. My name's Mara."
Kamacite blinked, nonplussed. "Business partner?"
"Indeed." Mara removed her ruined gorget and held it out toward Kamacite. "Here, you have this as a snack. Let me take that little pile of... *leftovers* you voided, and I'll return in a week to discuss the rest."
\---
"Didn't your mother teach you anything about the dangers of gluttony?" Mara asked, a wry grin on her face.
Kamacite groaned, rubbing at her distended belly with a foreleg, as she lay on her side in a well-fed stupor. "Thou art a cruel woman, Mara. To have slain me with mine own hubris."
Mara looked over at the cart that had, up until half an hour ago, been piled high with scrap metal from a nearby village's forge. "Well, Kamacite, provided you survive your tummy ache, there will be plenty more of this steel where it came from." She grinned as she hefted the pouch of gold in her hand. A full cart of iron and scrap steel for barely half of what Kamacite had thrown up during their little tussle.
Kamacite's eyes lit up, and she raised her head to look at Mara. "Tell me more. What do you need?"
Mara smiled. "Just a few more *leftovers.*"
&#x200B;
EDIT: A missing letter.
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&#x200B;
I should begin this tale with an introduction to Genette. You've probably never heard of it, or would ever want to go there. It's here in the United States, but far to the southwest. I guess about where Arizona would be—if this were still the world as we knew it before the Event. It's mainly one big city, with a few outlying farms, ranches, and towns.
Many had taken to reconstruction by trying to replicate the way things were, I even heard of a settlement in Texas with a Mcdonald's set up, kind of pointless with no cars but people grew hearing stories of how great the old world was and pine for something they never were there to see, let alone understand.
Genette was not like this. The town looked like something from medieval fantasy, with perhaps a little old west flair, some would say the other way around. The Claimers taking most of the metal led to some creative building decisions as they did everywhere. The High Ditch Saloon was a perfect example of the craftmanship of this lost age, fine wood joinery top to bottom.
Now that I've set the scene, let me introduce you to that man at the bar, the one in a full set of steel plate armor. Doesn't quite fit, does he? That's Randall Hooke, and he fancies himself a Baiter, though there hadn't been a sighting of a Claimer in these parts for some forty years, until today that is.
"Another round, Boss," Randall said, suffering through the shot of whiskey. All baiters drank whiskey, he knew. He'd get used to it eventually.
"My wallet won't allow you to extend your tab further, I'm afraid, and besides, look like I'd be doing you a favor." The barkeep said with a good-natured but stern face.
"You know I'm good for it, Preach!" He said, getting up with an elaborate motion, clanking all the way. "A baiter doesn't make steady stack. It comes in big drops."
"If it comes at all, Randall. Take a leave on now. I might be feeling more charitable tomorrow."
"Yeah, yeah. Too bad Minn didn't stop by." He said, downing a pitcher of water in one pass. It got hot out there.
"Last I heard, she wasn't planning on being anywhere you were."
Randall shook his head as he heaved towards the swinging doors, another feat to pass in his full kit. Barry the stacker in his fine striped hat held his gut directly in the way.
"I ain't got it this week, Barry. I know, I'm sorry. wait, is that Dandy Girl behind you?"
"It ain't nothing like that, Mr. Hooke. It's a Claimer! Spotted just five miles south and heading this way. I know you sold your horse last winter but Farmer May was nice enough to give it back, free of charge."
Randall's head spun, this was his chance. This was what he needed. He tried to hide the excitement on his face. "Five miles south. How long ago?"
"Probably not ten minutes, Dale's boy on that thunderfoot horse ripped up here as soon as he saw it."
"Good," Randall said, downing his faceguard, realized how constricted his vision was and raising it up again. "I'll head south, then once I spot it, I'll draw it easy to the east gorge."
"Godspeed, son. We're counting on you."
Part 2 on the way.
&#x200B;
\---
For more of my writing, see /r/surinical
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[WP] Dragons require large amounts of metals for their diet, their hoards full of gold because while gold is collected with iron and steel it cannot be digested, their reputation for killing knights due to the amount of steel on their armour and weapons
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Edit: I really didn't think people would like my writing! I'll keep doing responses to other writing prompts and I'll add a PT. 2 to this response later today! Thank you so much for the awards!!
It's another slow day. I haven't had a visitor for at least 4 full moons. My days are different from the delivery boy's. I would often hear them speak of how one day for them is signified by the sun going dark. Such short days... How can they get anything done with such frequent hibernation periods?
Anyway, I am starving. The last few delivery boys have been very bad at their job. I'm fairly clear with my delivery instructions.
"Please leave armor at entrance."
So why do these men insist on entering my domain, wearing my meal? Not only is that unsanitary, but extraordinarily rude. I left the payment out by the entrance, so I don't know what I'm missing here.
It's the same scene, every time. The men come in, uninvited, and WEARING MY MEAL. Then, they shout about how, "(They) will SLAY the beast and be a hero for the Princess!" First of all, rude. Secondly, what does me ordering armor for delivery have to do with this small man's princess? Unbelievable.
Of course, I have to kill them every time. However, I could definitely make a strong case for self defense. They try to kill me almost every time (except for the few who run off STILL WEARING MY ORDER), so why shouldn't I return the favor?
I hear a familiar squeaking approach. My next order. I truly hope this one gets it right. I left out 4 gold bars, so hopefully that'll be sufficient payment.
"Just leave the armor by the door! I'll come get it when you leave. I left a tip!"
"YOUR BELLOWING DOES NOT FRIGHTEN ME, BEAST," The human responds. Again, rude. I specifically used my indoor voice this time.
The man appears in front of me. Another human that doesn't know how to follow delivery instructions. Nice.
"Excuse me, you didn't need to come in, I just want your armor. Maybe your sword if you're feeling generous," I say this every time, just in case someone wanted to choose compliance over violence (never works but it's worth a shot).
The human started shaking, however he maintained his position, "Dragon, your roaring meets deaf ears. I must slay you if I ever hope to restore my family's honor."
Okay, boo hoo. Your family doesn't have "honor." I don't know what that has to do with me, but I'm still hungry. I decide to change my food retrieval tactic. This time I'm going to show them what I mean, because apparently my words mean nothing.
I pluck his sword out of his quivering hands and toss it in my mouth. Delicious.
The look in this man's eyes was almost comical. Fear and confusion make the funniest expression on human faces. I reached for his helmet, but it seemed like it was glued to his head. I tried to pluck it off, but his whole body came with it. My fingers are not nimble enough to unlatch the straps that keep this steel fastened on his body.
In a moment of ignorance, I flicked his body around, attempted to loosen the helmet's hold on the head. The man went entirely limp. Oops. I think he's dead.
"If you had listened in the first place, you would have been able to just go home. Stupid man."
Can't say I didn't try.
Edit:
PART TWO:
I'm kind of sick of this lifestyle, if I'm being honest. The routine has lost it's luster. My life isn't boring, by any means. I travel all over the world! How could that be boring? There is always something new to see, even in places I've already visited.
The process of obtaining sustenance at my home of residence, however, THAT is the routine I am sick of.
When is there going to be a human that can follow my instructions? I am tired of having to pick and pry my food off of those idiot delivery boys. The metal tastes awful when its mixed with dead human. The smell of decay sticks to the metal like glue. Even if I'm quick with the removal of the armor, the taste of death is potent, and not even the most rigorous of washing can remove it. Disgusting, but edible.
---------
They found my brother Artemis', mangled body at the foot of the mountain this morning. He had told me of his intentions to slay the dragon of the mountain, but I had foolishly dismissed his proclamation.
I understand why Arty chose took take on this quest. Our family has been dragged through the mud since my father's scandal became common knowledge throughout the village. Father had stolen precious metals from the Knights' armory in order to fashion an armored chest plate, that he planned to sell. His intentions were good, as he planned on using the coin from the armor to provide for us and everyone else that lived in the impoverished sect of town.
Obviously, he never sold the chest plate. He was beheaded due to the gravity of his crime, as the chest plate would have been worth at least 3 gold bars. More than enough to feed the starving mouths in our village, and anyone else in the surrounding towns who have been stricken by the Queen's greed.
If Arty had succeeded in his quest, that would mean we would be saved. My mother would no longer be spat on as she crossed the market square, and I would have been able to eat something other than maggoty bread. In my 14 years of life, 12 of them were wonderful. Arty and I never went hungry, and life was full of playing and 3 meals a day. We weren't rich, but life was good.
"Mother, did the Queen's guard say anything about Arty?" I knew most of the information already, but I didn't want mother to know I was eavesdropping on local gossip.
"Mari," she only ever called me that when she was breaking bad news. She usually called me Mariella, "Your brother went to slay the Dragon of the Mountain, they found his body this morning. He was stripped of his armor and weapons."
Mother would never normally be so casual when announcing the death of a family member, but recent events had hardened her. I understood, but still flinched when she recounted the gruesome details.
"Why wouldn't he have his armor?" Father had crafted it for him, so this news had genuinely bewildered me. He was typically quite protective of his armor, especially since Father's untimely death.
"I don't know dear, they all come down that way," Her voice sounded flat, like she turned off all her feelings. I understand why, just not how. I wish I had that power. Maybe my chest would stop hurting all the time.
I decided Mother had had enough of my interrogation. I turned away and walked to my sleeping area.
Why was his armor gone, but his body was whole? The Dragon of the Mountain is killing anyone who approaches, but not eating them. Seems wasteful. No armor, and Mother said they all come down that way. But, why?
A thought burst into my head like a catapult had put it there. Go find out why, Mariella. I could see little reason why not. Of course, I could die. Then who would be here for Mother? But what does mother need me for? She rarely leaves the hut, and has almost stopped being my mother entirely. Maybe a successful quest could bring my former caring and loving mother back to me.
There is no time to wait. Father had left me armor that was a little too big ("You'll grow into it, buttercup," is what he always said), but it'll still work for the job.
I made an internal pact to leave in the deep night, so I won't wake Mother.
///
Mother is finally asleep. I grab a few pieces of the maggoty bread, and walk to the abandoned blacksmith shop, where my Father once worked. My armor was hidden in a wall behind an old tool shelf. Still there, perfect. I wouldn't know what I would do if it had been taken. I'd probably still make the trek, as I don't have much to lose.
The hike will probably take half of the daylight, so it's ideal that I'm starting while its still dark. Onward, I go.
------
The distant clanking awakened me from my light slumber. Well that is an unexpected occurrence. They never send another delivery this soon. Maybe they heard the rumbling of my ever-hungry belly. That's fine. I'm never going to complain about fast service.
Maybe this man will actually do it right. Would hate to soil my meal, again.
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&#x200B;
I should begin this tale with an introduction to Genette. You've probably never heard of it, or would ever want to go there. It's here in the United States, but far to the southwest. I guess about where Arizona would be—if this were still the world as we knew it before the Event. It's mainly one big city, with a few outlying farms, ranches, and towns.
Many had taken to reconstruction by trying to replicate the way things were, I even heard of a settlement in Texas with a Mcdonald's set up, kind of pointless with no cars but people grew hearing stories of how great the old world was and pine for something they never were there to see, let alone understand.
Genette was not like this. The town looked like something from medieval fantasy, with perhaps a little old west flair, some would say the other way around. The Claimers taking most of the metal led to some creative building decisions as they did everywhere. The High Ditch Saloon was a perfect example of the craftmanship of this lost age, fine wood joinery top to bottom.
Now that I've set the scene, let me introduce you to that man at the bar, the one in a full set of steel plate armor. Doesn't quite fit, does he? That's Randall Hooke, and he fancies himself a Baiter, though there hadn't been a sighting of a Claimer in these parts for some forty years, until today that is.
"Another round, Boss," Randall said, suffering through the shot of whiskey. All baiters drank whiskey, he knew. He'd get used to it eventually.
"My wallet won't allow you to extend your tab further, I'm afraid, and besides, look like I'd be doing you a favor." The barkeep said with a good-natured but stern face.
"You know I'm good for it, Preach!" He said, getting up with an elaborate motion, clanking all the way. "A baiter doesn't make steady stack. It comes in big drops."
"If it comes at all, Randall. Take a leave on now. I might be feeling more charitable tomorrow."
"Yeah, yeah. Too bad Minn didn't stop by." He said, downing a pitcher of water in one pass. It got hot out there.
"Last I heard, she wasn't planning on being anywhere you were."
Randall shook his head as he heaved towards the swinging doors, another feat to pass in his full kit. Barry the stacker in his fine striped hat held his gut directly in the way.
"I ain't got it this week, Barry. I know, I'm sorry. wait, is that Dandy Girl behind you?"
"It ain't nothing like that, Mr. Hooke. It's a Claimer! Spotted just five miles south and heading this way. I know you sold your horse last winter but Farmer May was nice enough to give it back, free of charge."
Randall's head spun, this was his chance. This was what he needed. He tried to hide the excitement on his face. "Five miles south. How long ago?"
"Probably not ten minutes, Dale's boy on that thunderfoot horse ripped up here as soon as he saw it."
"Good," Randall said, downing his faceguard, realized how constricted his vision was and raising it up again. "I'll head south, then once I spot it, I'll draw it easy to the east gorge."
"Godspeed, son. We're counting on you."
Part 2 on the way.
&#x200B;
\---
For more of my writing, see /r/surinical
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[WP] Dragons require large amounts of metals for their diet, their hoards full of gold because while gold is collected with iron and steel it cannot be digested, their reputation for killing knights due to the amount of steel on their armour and weapons
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Edit: I really didn't think people would like my writing! I'll keep doing responses to other writing prompts and I'll add a PT. 2 to this response later today! Thank you so much for the awards!!
It's another slow day. I haven't had a visitor for at least 4 full moons. My days are different from the delivery boy's. I would often hear them speak of how one day for them is signified by the sun going dark. Such short days... How can they get anything done with such frequent hibernation periods?
Anyway, I am starving. The last few delivery boys have been very bad at their job. I'm fairly clear with my delivery instructions.
"Please leave armor at entrance."
So why do these men insist on entering my domain, wearing my meal? Not only is that unsanitary, but extraordinarily rude. I left the payment out by the entrance, so I don't know what I'm missing here.
It's the same scene, every time. The men come in, uninvited, and WEARING MY MEAL. Then, they shout about how, "(They) will SLAY the beast and be a hero for the Princess!" First of all, rude. Secondly, what does me ordering armor for delivery have to do with this small man's princess? Unbelievable.
Of course, I have to kill them every time. However, I could definitely make a strong case for self defense. They try to kill me almost every time (except for the few who run off STILL WEARING MY ORDER), so why shouldn't I return the favor?
I hear a familiar squeaking approach. My next order. I truly hope this one gets it right. I left out 4 gold bars, so hopefully that'll be sufficient payment.
"Just leave the armor by the door! I'll come get it when you leave. I left a tip!"
"YOUR BELLOWING DOES NOT FRIGHTEN ME, BEAST," The human responds. Again, rude. I specifically used my indoor voice this time.
The man appears in front of me. Another human that doesn't know how to follow delivery instructions. Nice.
"Excuse me, you didn't need to come in, I just want your armor. Maybe your sword if you're feeling generous," I say this every time, just in case someone wanted to choose compliance over violence (never works but it's worth a shot).
The human started shaking, however he maintained his position, "Dragon, your roaring meets deaf ears. I must slay you if I ever hope to restore my family's honor."
Okay, boo hoo. Your family doesn't have "honor." I don't know what that has to do with me, but I'm still hungry. I decide to change my food retrieval tactic. This time I'm going to show them what I mean, because apparently my words mean nothing.
I pluck his sword out of his quivering hands and toss it in my mouth. Delicious.
The look in this man's eyes was almost comical. Fear and confusion make the funniest expression on human faces. I reached for his helmet, but it seemed like it was glued to his head. I tried to pluck it off, but his whole body came with it. My fingers are not nimble enough to unlatch the straps that keep this steel fastened on his body.
In a moment of ignorance, I flicked his body around, attempted to loosen the helmet's hold on the head. The man went entirely limp. Oops. I think he's dead.
"If you had listened in the first place, you would have been able to just go home. Stupid man."
Can't say I didn't try.
Edit:
PART TWO:
I'm kind of sick of this lifestyle, if I'm being honest. The routine has lost it's luster. My life isn't boring, by any means. I travel all over the world! How could that be boring? There is always something new to see, even in places I've already visited.
The process of obtaining sustenance at my home of residence, however, THAT is the routine I am sick of.
When is there going to be a human that can follow my instructions? I am tired of having to pick and pry my food off of those idiot delivery boys. The metal tastes awful when its mixed with dead human. The smell of decay sticks to the metal like glue. Even if I'm quick with the removal of the armor, the taste of death is potent, and not even the most rigorous of washing can remove it. Disgusting, but edible.
---------
They found my brother Artemis', mangled body at the foot of the mountain this morning. He had told me of his intentions to slay the dragon of the mountain, but I had foolishly dismissed his proclamation.
I understand why Arty chose took take on this quest. Our family has been dragged through the mud since my father's scandal became common knowledge throughout the village. Father had stolen precious metals from the Knights' armory in order to fashion an armored chest plate, that he planned to sell. His intentions were good, as he planned on using the coin from the armor to provide for us and everyone else that lived in the impoverished sect of town.
Obviously, he never sold the chest plate. He was beheaded due to the gravity of his crime, as the chest plate would have been worth at least 3 gold bars. More than enough to feed the starving mouths in our village, and anyone else in the surrounding towns who have been stricken by the Queen's greed.
If Arty had succeeded in his quest, that would mean we would be saved. My mother would no longer be spat on as she crossed the market square, and I would have been able to eat something other than maggoty bread. In my 14 years of life, 12 of them were wonderful. Arty and I never went hungry, and life was full of playing and 3 meals a day. We weren't rich, but life was good.
"Mother, did the Queen's guard say anything about Arty?" I knew most of the information already, but I didn't want mother to know I was eavesdropping on local gossip.
"Mari," she only ever called me that when she was breaking bad news. She usually called me Mariella, "Your brother went to slay the Dragon of the Mountain, they found his body this morning. He was stripped of his armor and weapons."
Mother would never normally be so casual when announcing the death of a family member, but recent events had hardened her. I understood, but still flinched when she recounted the gruesome details.
"Why wouldn't he have his armor?" Father had crafted it for him, so this news had genuinely bewildered me. He was typically quite protective of his armor, especially since Father's untimely death.
"I don't know dear, they all come down that way," Her voice sounded flat, like she turned off all her feelings. I understand why, just not how. I wish I had that power. Maybe my chest would stop hurting all the time.
I decided Mother had had enough of my interrogation. I turned away and walked to my sleeping area.
Why was his armor gone, but his body was whole? The Dragon of the Mountain is killing anyone who approaches, but not eating them. Seems wasteful. No armor, and Mother said they all come down that way. But, why?
A thought burst into my head like a catapult had put it there. Go find out why, Mariella. I could see little reason why not. Of course, I could die. Then who would be here for Mother? But what does mother need me for? She rarely leaves the hut, and has almost stopped being my mother entirely. Maybe a successful quest could bring my former caring and loving mother back to me.
There is no time to wait. Father had left me armor that was a little too big ("You'll grow into it, buttercup," is what he always said), but it'll still work for the job.
I made an internal pact to leave in the deep night, so I won't wake Mother.
///
Mother is finally asleep. I grab a few pieces of the maggoty bread, and walk to the abandoned blacksmith shop, where my Father once worked. My armor was hidden in a wall behind an old tool shelf. Still there, perfect. I wouldn't know what I would do if it had been taken. I'd probably still make the trek, as I don't have much to lose.
The hike will probably take half of the daylight, so it's ideal that I'm starting while its still dark. Onward, I go.
------
The distant clanking awakened me from my light slumber. Well that is an unexpected occurrence. They never send another delivery this soon. Maybe they heard the rumbling of my ever-hungry belly. That's fine. I'm never going to complain about fast service.
Maybe this man will actually do it right. Would hate to soil my meal, again.
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EDIT The Second: A lot more people liked this than I thought they would! Parts 2, 3, and 3.5 in the replies below!
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"Get off of me, you overgrown bat-lizard!"
"Stop wriggling, you lanky pile of bones!"
The scene would have been comical, Mara was sure, if she wasn't the one currently flattened under the bulk of a dragon who was currently trying to gnaw through her armour.
She wasn't big, as most dragons went, merely twice the size of a horse - clearly young and inexperienced. Still clever enough to have hidden in ambush, and pushed Mara to the ground with a single, bounding pounce.
Now she was busy gnawing on Mara's steel gorget, trying to eat through the metal to get at the juicy flesh below, growling as her sharp teeth dug in.
With fresh desperation, Mara kicked at the base of the dragon's throat - and was gratified as the beast let go, staggering back with a choked cry of pain. Wasting no time, Mara scrambled for her fallen spear, and whirled to face the dragon again - but paused with puzzlement.
The beast heaved, retched - and accompanied by a stream of bile, left a glistening pile of small bones and glimmering coins on the cave floor.
"Guh, that *hurt!*" the dragon whined, curling up to shield her battered throat. "Look at this mess, you made me lose my lunch!"
Mara blinked, before shaking her surprise off and brandishing her spear. "It was *supposed* to hurt! I didn't want to be next on the menu, you gluttonous monster!"
The dragon shied back. "I just wanted the armour! Do you have *any idea* how good properly forged steel tastes?" As if in emphasis, the dragon's gaze locked on the sharp point of Mara's spear - her eyes full of hungry greed.
"You *eat metal?"*
"Of course! How else would we get scales like this?" she rose to her full height and extended her wings, turning this way and that to display herself. Her dark-grey scales shone, reflecting light like a freshly polished blade.
"So dragons hunt knights because we wear *armour*?" Mara asked with disbelief. "How could that possibly be worth the risk of being hunted down by more of us?"
"Well, yeah," the dragon replied. "Wouldn't *you* try to eat a chicken if it walked into your home already wrapped in perfectly-cooked bacon? Even if you might get pecked?"
Mara raised a hand - then lowered it, slowly, as she thought that sentence over. Well...
"Right then, strip that armour and I'll let you live. Humans are too lean, anyway." The dragon stalked closer, teeth bared in a greedy grin.
"Hold! I paid a lot of gold for this armour, and your hoard will be worth a lot more! You're not getting it without a fight!" Mara readied herself again.
The dragon paused. "Gold? Like... *Gold* gold?"
Mara blinked, again. "Yes?"
The dragon tilted her head. "Like the shiny leftovers I just puked up?"
"...Yes, now you mention it. Like them."
"Huh. I usually just pile it up and sleep on it." She tilted her head the other way, quizzically. "Are you saying you humans like the stuff?"
Mara felt wheels turn in her head. "Say, dragon. Do you have a name?"
"...My mother used to call me Kamacite. Why do you ask?"
"It's only polite to know the name of a potential business partner. My name's Mara."
Kamacite blinked, nonplussed. "Business partner?"
"Indeed." Mara removed her ruined gorget and held it out toward Kamacite. "Here, you have this as a snack. Let me take that little pile of... *leftovers* you voided, and I'll return in a week to discuss the rest."
\---
"Didn't your mother teach you anything about the dangers of gluttony?" Mara asked, a wry grin on her face.
Kamacite groaned, rubbing at her distended belly with a foreleg, as she lay on her side in a well-fed stupor. "Thou art a cruel woman, Mara. To have slain me with mine own hubris."
Mara looked over at the cart that had, up until half an hour ago, been piled high with scrap metal from a nearby village's forge. "Well, Kamacite, provided you survive your tummy ache, there will be plenty more of this steel where it came from." She grinned as she hefted the pouch of gold in her hand. A full cart of iron and scrap steel for barely half of what Kamacite had thrown up during their little tussle.
Kamacite's eyes lit up, and she raised her head to look at Mara. "Tell me more. What do you need?"
Mara smiled. "Just a few more *leftovers.*"
&#x200B;
EDIT: A missing letter.
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[WP] "No Man can kill me!" the demon jeers, taking in the carnage it has caused. "But I am no man," you proclaim, ripping away your helmet to reveal your feminine features. You strike, your blade bouncing harmlessly off the demon's hide. "Did you... did you really think that's what I meant?"
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Damnit, I thought I could dress as a female to fool the dragon but it looks like it figured me out. I shout out in an attempt to higher the pitch in my voice as it cracks as my shout breaks free from my throat.
*"I'll SlAy YoUu!"* I say as I ready my sword that I covered in sprinkles and flowers as I swing once again. The movement of the swing causes the water-balloons that I'd put on my under armor to fall out and hit the ground and burst as the water poured over the ground.
"Dude, you're embarrassing yourself." The dragon says nonchalantly as the water touches my metal-clad shoes. I run towards it with the water splashing with every step I make and I swing my blade with vigor only for it to crumble on the scales of the foul beast.
"DoOn'T MaAke mE AnnGrY," I shout as wig falls off of my head and onto the wet soil. I notice quickly and pick it up but the mud already infiltrated the wig, I guess I won't be getting a return on it now. The wetness of the wig drips down my face and smears the crimson make-up I had on my lips along with the mascara and glued eyelashes I had on. I put it back on in haste as the dragon leers in disgust.
The plan is working perfectly, all that's left is for the dragon to attack me.
The dragon heaves "Enough!" its breath fills the room with a filthy repugnance as it whips its tail at me with a killing blow.
Just as the tail is about to hit me with the force of a mountain I ducked down and reached into my bag and inside of it was my daughter. This was my fail-safe plan just in case my original plan failed. I threw my 1-year-old daughter at the behemoth of a monster as if she were a football and she hits the target.
"Ow." The dragon says sarcastically as my child hits the cold wet ground with a thud.
It appears that my attack worked. I retreat from the cave as I hear my daughter crying and I find my way back to the king. I explain my situation to him and tell him the dragon's weakness and he understands me perfectly.
"We'll prepare the baby cannons." The king says sternly as he gives me the task to go collect cannon-ball-sized young girls from across the kingdom.
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“Nope,” I chuckled. I struck again, this time a few drops of blood ran down its hide. It recoiled, not in pain but surprise. It was now weary of me and began to strike back. Surely it had noticed by now that when I took off my “horned” helmet, the horns remained. As we lunge at each other I grin, bearing my fangs at my opponent and said, “Pssh you thought I was here on behalf of the humans didn’t you, but I’m here on behalf of myself, this is a political battle King Azazel, I’m going to take your title!” He stands slack for a moment and then turns his back, slouching. I prepare a fatal strike, and then he whimpers, “the humans used to revile me, now look, they don’t feel oppressed by me anymore, did they even care that a slaughtered a herd of their cattle yesterday?” I didn’t know what to do with this. “I’m sure they’re terrified of you,” I respond, this is getting really sad. “Are you sure they are, that I am not a failure of a demon king,” he whined before collapsing in hysterics. Nope. Nope. Nope. I am a demon, a cruel hell beast, I don’t get paid enough to do this. Turns out my little encouragement was all he needed, and he paid me, in souls. Now I got paid enough for this. Anyway, that’s the story of how I became Hell’s first therapist.
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[WP] "No Man can kill me!" the demon jeers, taking in the carnage it has caused. "But I am no man," you proclaim, ripping away your helmet to reveal your feminine features. You strike, your blade bouncing harmlessly off the demon's hide. "Did you... did you really think that's what I meant?"
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I blink. “I mean…kind of.”
The demon scoffs. “Then you’re even dumber than you look, girl. Man can be gender-neutral, and it doesn’t take a brilliant mind to figure out that that was how the prophecy meant it.”
I shrug. “It’s an old prophecy. People were pretty misogynistic then. They could’ve just not even considered women as a possibility.”
He shakes his head. A literal demon shakes his head at me. And he looks *exasperated*, too. “Go home. Just go home. You’re an idiot.”
I grip my sword tighter. “I’m not going anywhere. Don’t you think it’s unfair? The prophecy?”
“Unfair?” At that, he laughs. “I’m a demon, girl. We don’t take fairness into consideration.” He begins to stalk away.
I follow, determined, through the rubble. “No human can even scratch you. How can you be sure of your skill? You may be weak, and only succeeding because of your prophesized immunity.”
He stops. “What are you even talking about?”
“Don’t you want to prove yourself?” I goad. “Show that you’re truly skilled in battle? Because you can’t, not truly, as long as you’re unable to be hurt.”
The demon is silent for a moment. “Are you…trying to *taunt* me into making myself vulnerable to you?”
I chuckle. “No,” I say with a smile, “I’m just the distraction.”
Roots spring from the ground, winding around the demon, holding him tightly in place. “What is this?!” he demands.
“No Man can kill you,” Rava reminds him as she and Aerwyna stride over. “A prophecy written by humans who had never seen any other kind.”
“We aren’t men by any definition,” Aerwyna continues, gesturing to her pointed ears and Rava’s diminutive height.
“Not even your arbitrary, archaic one,” I cut in. “I may not be able to kill you, but I can provide a distraction for those who can.”
“You argued with her over prophecy,” Aerwyna taunts, “while I cast this spell. And now, Rava will do the honors of finishing you off.”
“You *cannot* do this! I am—“
“Dead,” Rava interrupts, climbing up the roots so her sword can reach his neck. “You’re dead, is what you are.”
And with one clean *swing*, she slices the demon’s head off.
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“Nope,” I chuckled. I struck again, this time a few drops of blood ran down its hide. It recoiled, not in pain but surprise. It was now weary of me and began to strike back. Surely it had noticed by now that when I took off my “horned” helmet, the horns remained. As we lunge at each other I grin, bearing my fangs at my opponent and said, “Pssh you thought I was here on behalf of the humans didn’t you, but I’m here on behalf of myself, this is a political battle King Azazel, I’m going to take your title!” He stands slack for a moment and then turns his back, slouching. I prepare a fatal strike, and then he whimpers, “the humans used to revile me, now look, they don’t feel oppressed by me anymore, did they even care that a slaughtered a herd of their cattle yesterday?” I didn’t know what to do with this. “I’m sure they’re terrified of you,” I respond, this is getting really sad. “Are you sure they are, that I am not a failure of a demon king,” he whined before collapsing in hysterics. Nope. Nope. Nope. I am a demon, a cruel hell beast, I don’t get paid enough to do this. Turns out my little encouragement was all he needed, and he paid me, in souls. Now I got paid enough for this. Anyway, that’s the story of how I became Hell’s first therapist.
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[WP] "No Man can kill me!" the demon jeers, taking in the carnage it has caused. "But I am no man," you proclaim, ripping away your helmet to reveal your feminine features. You strike, your blade bouncing harmlessly off the demon's hide. "Did you... did you really think that's what I meant?"
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"Did you... Did you really think that's what I meant?" Any malice in his voice had melted away to confusion.
The warrior shrugged. "I don't know, I just sorta thought. You said no MAN so-"
"No HUman, idiot. Man as in mankind. What the hell did you think I meant?"
"Y'know, I was kinda hoping you meant man as in a man. Like fae rules."
"Fae rules?" The demon opened his mouth once or twice, struggling to formulate an appropriate response. "There's no fae rules. Its just... The laws of the universe."
"You're a demon from hell who summons fire from your fingertips! Laws of the universe don't apply!" She stomps her foot, like an angry child setting rules for a game of pretend.
"What do you mean they don't apply? They clearly do since your plan didn't work! Ok, ok. How about this: No HUMAN can kill me. How's that?"
The warrior looked at the ground, brow furrowed. "So what if I was a therian? Like, I identify as a wolf or something."
"Oh my lord" the demon mutters under his breath. "No. You're still a human. You're not a wolf."
"No, but I identify as a wolf!"
"No. Even if you were a wolf it wouldn't- OK here. No Mortal can kill me."
"So what if I identified as a dragon then?" Her tone rose in indignation. "Some dragons are immortal in some cultures."
"But you're still a human! You cant just decide you're not a human!"
"But have you tested it?"
"No, I haven't tested it. I don't need to."
"But how would you know if you haven't tested it?" Her expression steels. She fights her urge to glance at the figure carefully making his way behind the demon. A figure clad in scaled armor.
"I don't NEED to test it! No mortal can-" his words are cut off by a sword, slicing its way through his layers of enchanted armor.
The warrior grins. "You probably should have tested that."
The demons skin flakes and begins to crumble away. "Actually... I probably should have."
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“Nope,” I chuckled. I struck again, this time a few drops of blood ran down its hide. It recoiled, not in pain but surprise. It was now weary of me and began to strike back. Surely it had noticed by now that when I took off my “horned” helmet, the horns remained. As we lunge at each other I grin, bearing my fangs at my opponent and said, “Pssh you thought I was here on behalf of the humans didn’t you, but I’m here on behalf of myself, this is a political battle King Azazel, I’m going to take your title!” He stands slack for a moment and then turns his back, slouching. I prepare a fatal strike, and then he whimpers, “the humans used to revile me, now look, they don’t feel oppressed by me anymore, did they even care that a slaughtered a herd of their cattle yesterday?” I didn’t know what to do with this. “I’m sure they’re terrified of you,” I respond, this is getting really sad. “Are you sure they are, that I am not a failure of a demon king,” he whined before collapsing in hysterics. Nope. Nope. Nope. I am a demon, a cruel hell beast, I don’t get paid enough to do this. Turns out my little encouragement was all he needed, and he paid me, in souls. Now I got paid enough for this. Anyway, that’s the story of how I became Hell’s first therapist.
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[WP] "No Man can kill me!" the demon jeers, taking in the carnage it has caused. "But I am no man," you proclaim, ripping away your helmet to reveal your feminine features. You strike, your blade bouncing harmlessly off the demon's hide. "Did you... did you really think that's what I meant?"
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Council had just been called to session when the main doors suddenly burst open and a twelve foot tall demon casually strode through. Its black body was spotted with metal plates, all smeared with ash and blood, and it was dragging along an almost-certainly-dead guard. It effortlessly tossed the body towards the podium of the High Chairman, and started speaking...
When it finished the room stood in silence. The demon’s wings seemed to sag, disappointed that none of its intended listeners actually understood ancient Hebrew. In synch, they all turned their attention to the frantic, clearly underpaid woman sitting in a corner while scrolling through a digital dictionary.“Umm... He says, ‘The time of man has finally reached its limit. This council must surrender to me and they may possibly live. Fight, and you shall die a painful death. For I have been blessed with the protection of divines. No man can kill me!”
One of the guards, clearly emboldened by the last statement tossed off her helmet, revealing long black hair. She swiftly unhooked her dagger and charged the demon. With a shout, she plunged it between two metal plates... with no effect. The demon sent her flying across the room with a mere backhand slap.
“Sorry!” the translator blushed while skimming a few more pages, “I meant human. Not man. ‘The time of *humans* has finally reached its limit’, and ‘No *human* can kill me.’ Sorry.”
With that point clarified, the room continued in silence. The members of council exchanged glances, not wanting to make the first move. After a few extremely long minutes, the High Chairman stood up, withdrew his blaster, and spattered the demon’s brains all over the floor.
“High Chairman Vhu’Tjry! I thought we agreed no weapons on the floor!” exclaimed a furious Councilwoman Ckck Ck Ck, her multple arms pounding the desk in rage.
“I’m not on the floor. I’m still at my seat.” the High Chairman defended with a swish of his antennae, “Besides, it was clearly threatening Councilman Weaver.”
“Yea, but killing it may have been an over-reaction...” Councilman Weaver said meekly. While he could usually handle a bit of blood, this was too much for his human stomach,
“Not to mention a violation of Treaty 7657 Section 65 Part E-8!” chimed in a delegate from the Xehon Hivemind, clearly expecting everyone to recall the stated passage word-for-word.
And so the Galactic Council slid into its typical day to day chaos; completely ignoring the janitorial staff who slithered into the room and cleaned up the mess mid-session.
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*It was that same look of arrogance I had seen a hundred times before; that foolish certainty only a man was capable of. And demons, as you know, they represent the worst of all men.*
I strode down the stony path towards that fabled summoning ground. But, I was too late. The poor souls that had brought the beast into this world were already mutilated and feasted upon. When will they learn, I thought. You can never trust a demon. Least of all, one hungry after the bleak solitude of the nether realm.
Two glowing red eyes stared as I approached, at once puzzled and disdainful. The demon's voice was deep, and eloquent: "I suppose they sent you to kill me, did they?" his jagged teeth showing under the smugness of his smile.
This was the third bounty of the day, and I wasn't in the mood for the usual pontification. Demons relish the sound of their own voice. It made watching them die that much more satisfying.
"Stupid child. Don't you realise, no *man* can kill me."
"But I am no man," I answered, as I launched up the steps and removed my helmet, revealing a cascade of long red hair. I unsheathed my sword. The demon looked back at me, evidently speechless.
Eventually, he said: "Well begging your pardon, m'lady. I had no idea you were...so beautiful."
I was taken aback, and so took a moment to calculate the next move. Was this genuine? I studied close the looming countenance before me: the rippling musculature of a seasoned warrior, the smoothness of dark-red skin; the chiseled features now crestfallen in shame; the square, masculine jawline beneath sorrowful eyes and the curled horns of a demonic king.
He saw the curiosity on my face, and seized the moment to approach. "Do not worry, m'lady -- I intend you no harm.'
I could feel his hot breath on my face. Powerless to move, hypnotised trance-like in his gaze. He reached out a clawed and vascular hand, and, ever so gently, guided the hair from my face. He was tall, so very tall, so much more powerful up close. I knew I was witness to the most magnificent of all specimens. I couldn't move, and I did not want to.
With his other hand he took my own. And, as he slowly guided it towards himself, to that which I was suddenly begging for with my very soul, he whispered, "*The things I will do to you*."
Suddenly intoxicated with excitement, the soup that I'd downed at the inn only a half hour before rippled through my stomach, and I couldn't stop myself from ripping out a massive, earth-shattering fart. He stepped back in amazement.
Too embarrassed to speak, the uncertainty of the moment palpable, I did the only thing I knew how: I thrust my sword deep into his muscular chest, standing stoic as he stumbled backwards.
As he drew his last breathe, all I could say was, "I am sorry."
&#x200B;
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Thanks for reading!
r/nikomachus
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[WP] "No Man can kill me!" the demon jeers, taking in the carnage it has caused. "But I am no man," you proclaim, ripping away your helmet to reveal your feminine features. You strike, your blade bouncing harmlessly off the demon's hide. "Did you... did you really think that's what I meant?"
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As my blade bounced off the demon, I struggled to bring it back up. Swords are always made so big and heavy, you know.
Mr. Demon sighed as he picked me up, making me drop my sword. Well, it was of whoever was the dead guy I found holding it, but he was dead, so you get the point.
“Stone, I’ve already told you that you can’t play with sharp objects yet. Your fragile baby arms can’t even lift it,” Mr. Demon nagged as his minions continued to cause chaos around us.
“But I wanna plaaaay!” I whine, kicking my legs. “And I’m not a baby! I’m eight and a half!”
“Yes yes, you humans age so fast! But because of that, you should understand by now that you have to wait to become a harborer of chaos and darkness!”
Lightning struck with his words, never failing to scare me.
“Pleeeeeaaase! Let me at least seee!” I begged, looking up at his humanoid red face.
“Stone, this is the last time I’m going to say it, you—“
“***STAY AWAY FROM THAT CHILD YOU FIEND!***” yelled a soldier as he attempted to strike Mr. Demon down with his mighty sword.
With a wave of his taloned hand, the soldier’s sword shattered and the man collapsed.
“Like I was saying, you are—“
“He has a child!” I heard a woman screech. A few of the winged imps began to eat her flesh, causing her to truly screech.
He opened a fiery portal to return us to the underworld as he continued. “You are much too—“
“S-sire...?”
“****WHAT IS IT?!?!****” Mr. Demon hissed as he turned from the portal to face the destruction of the human town.
The poor demon practically burst into flames with fear. “T-the human girl, S-Stone... a-appears to be broken...”
“It’s just a cut from that big helmet!” I giggled, rubbing my forehead.
“Oh no! Your fragile human skin seems to be torn again!” Mr. Demon panicked as he ran into the portal, returning us to the comfort of Hell.
“It’s fine! You can’t even tell the blood’s my own!” I rub my face. “Wow... there is- a lot of blood.”
Mr. Demon found somewhere to set me down, starting to inspect the cut. “How long have you had this?!”
“Like I said, it’s from the helmet! I actually got used to the burning of bacteria gathering in the wound pretty quickly!”
Mr. Demon did lots of demon stuff, like summoning weird tape and clear potions. It all kinda hurt, like always. I didn’t like when he saw I was hurt, because that clear potion had a burning that I’d never get used to.
After my head was wrapped with the weird white tape, Mr. Demon held my hands together so I wouldn’t pick at it.
“Stone, you are much too small and weak to wreak destruction on the human world yet. And you got hurt trying to.”
“They should really not wear helmets that cut them, that’s just stupid,” I murmured.
“Stone, you are the biggest disappointment of the millennium.” Mr. Demon pulled a stern face, his spikey horn-brows furrowing.
“I know!” I extended my arms for a hug.
Mr. Demon sighed with a smile and finally gave him, minding all his spikes. I could feel him patting my messy mane, but I knew he got angry when I let him know I noticed.
“I’m your disappointment, Mr. Demon.”
“I know you are, Stone.”
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*It was that same look of arrogance I had seen a hundred times before; that foolish certainty only a man was capable of. And demons, as you know, they represent the worst of all men.*
I strode down the stony path towards that fabled summoning ground. But, I was too late. The poor souls that had brought the beast into this world were already mutilated and feasted upon. When will they learn, I thought. You can never trust a demon. Least of all, one hungry after the bleak solitude of the nether realm.
Two glowing red eyes stared as I approached, at once puzzled and disdainful. The demon's voice was deep, and eloquent: "I suppose they sent you to kill me, did they?" his jagged teeth showing under the smugness of his smile.
This was the third bounty of the day, and I wasn't in the mood for the usual pontification. Demons relish the sound of their own voice. It made watching them die that much more satisfying.
"Stupid child. Don't you realise, no *man* can kill me."
"But I am no man," I answered, as I launched up the steps and removed my helmet, revealing a cascade of long red hair. I unsheathed my sword. The demon looked back at me, evidently speechless.
Eventually, he said: "Well begging your pardon, m'lady. I had no idea you were...so beautiful."
I was taken aback, and so took a moment to calculate the next move. Was this genuine? I studied close the looming countenance before me: the rippling musculature of a seasoned warrior, the smoothness of dark-red skin; the chiseled features now crestfallen in shame; the square, masculine jawline beneath sorrowful eyes and the curled horns of a demonic king.
He saw the curiosity on my face, and seized the moment to approach. "Do not worry, m'lady -- I intend you no harm.'
I could feel his hot breath on my face. Powerless to move, hypnotised trance-like in his gaze. He reached out a clawed and vascular hand, and, ever so gently, guided the hair from my face. He was tall, so very tall, so much more powerful up close. I knew I was witness to the most magnificent of all specimens. I couldn't move, and I did not want to.
With his other hand he took my own. And, as he slowly guided it towards himself, to that which I was suddenly begging for with my very soul, he whispered, "*The things I will do to you*."
Suddenly intoxicated with excitement, the soup that I'd downed at the inn only a half hour before rippled through my stomach, and I couldn't stop myself from ripping out a massive, earth-shattering fart. He stepped back in amazement.
Too embarrassed to speak, the uncertainty of the moment palpable, I did the only thing I knew how: I thrust my sword deep into his muscular chest, standing stoic as he stumbled backwards.
As he drew his last breathe, all I could say was, "I am sorry."
&#x200B;
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Thanks for reading!
r/nikomachus
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[WP] "No Man can kill me!" the demon jeers, taking in the carnage it has caused. "But I am no man," you proclaim, ripping away your helmet to reveal your feminine features. You strike, your blade bouncing harmlessly off the demon's hide. "Did you... did you really think that's what I meant?"
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"No man can kill me!"
"But I am no man!" Shining steel fell away to reveal flaxen locks framing a smooth chin and delicate nose. "You gaze upon a woman! Eo-HaA!"
Leaving the dramatic geneology monologue to be finished over the foe's corpse, a bloody sword in a slender-fingered hand flashed up, inerrantly seeking the gap in the demon's visor.
Where it bounced off harmlessly.
"Did...did you really think that's what I meant?"
"Oh no, darling, not at all. I just wanted you to be paying attention to me."
A split second later, something slammed into the back of the fiend's knees. As he fell, the demon felt matted fur behind his calves, before feeling his buttocks on stone. From this new supine position, he had an excellent view of the paws, not hands, that seized upon his helmet. The fangs that sought to gnaw his nose from his face. And the fact that other sets of paws and fangs were taking their pick of his limbs.
"And not my attack dogs."
She turned her head and released a shrill whistle. The beast on his face pulled away, and the demon allowed himself to believe that this human woman would do what their kind is so known for, showing soft hearted mercy. This idea fled quickly, though, as his vision filled with a storm of feathers in the space recently vacated by fur.
"And if that didn't work, I also had falcons."
Reflexively, the demon's eyes widened in horror.
A moment later, both falcons were savoring their moist, tender spoils of a successful hunt, followed moments later by the hounds claiming their own meal.
|
*It was that same look of arrogance I had seen a hundred times before; that foolish certainty only a man was capable of. And demons, as you know, they represent the worst of all men.*
I strode down the stony path towards that fabled summoning ground. But, I was too late. The poor souls that had brought the beast into this world were already mutilated and feasted upon. When will they learn, I thought. You can never trust a demon. Least of all, one hungry after the bleak solitude of the nether realm.
Two glowing red eyes stared as I approached, at once puzzled and disdainful. The demon's voice was deep, and eloquent: "I suppose they sent you to kill me, did they?" his jagged teeth showing under the smugness of his smile.
This was the third bounty of the day, and I wasn't in the mood for the usual pontification. Demons relish the sound of their own voice. It made watching them die that much more satisfying.
"Stupid child. Don't you realise, no *man* can kill me."
"But I am no man," I answered, as I launched up the steps and removed my helmet, revealing a cascade of long red hair. I unsheathed my sword. The demon looked back at me, evidently speechless.
Eventually, he said: "Well begging your pardon, m'lady. I had no idea you were...so beautiful."
I was taken aback, and so took a moment to calculate the next move. Was this genuine? I studied close the looming countenance before me: the rippling musculature of a seasoned warrior, the smoothness of dark-red skin; the chiseled features now crestfallen in shame; the square, masculine jawline beneath sorrowful eyes and the curled horns of a demonic king.
He saw the curiosity on my face, and seized the moment to approach. "Do not worry, m'lady -- I intend you no harm.'
I could feel his hot breath on my face. Powerless to move, hypnotised trance-like in his gaze. He reached out a clawed and vascular hand, and, ever so gently, guided the hair from my face. He was tall, so very tall, so much more powerful up close. I knew I was witness to the most magnificent of all specimens. I couldn't move, and I did not want to.
With his other hand he took my own. And, as he slowly guided it towards himself, to that which I was suddenly begging for with my very soul, he whispered, "*The things I will do to you*."
Suddenly intoxicated with excitement, the soup that I'd downed at the inn only a half hour before rippled through my stomach, and I couldn't stop myself from ripping out a massive, earth-shattering fart. He stepped back in amazement.
Too embarrassed to speak, the uncertainty of the moment palpable, I did the only thing I knew how: I thrust my sword deep into his muscular chest, standing stoic as he stumbled backwards.
As he drew his last breathe, all I could say was, "I am sorry."
&#x200B;
\~\~\~\~\~\~\~\~\~\~\~\~\~\~
Thanks for reading!
r/nikomachus
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|
[WP] "No Man can kill me!" the demon jeers, taking in the carnage it has caused. "But I am no man," you proclaim, ripping away your helmet to reveal your feminine features. You strike, your blade bouncing harmlessly off the demon's hide. "Did you... did you really think that's what I meant?"
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"CUUUUUUUUT" a shrill voice screams out. You groan inwardly and let your sword drop limply to your side.
"Wh...what happened? Did I do something wrong?" Dorgridion looks around confused, leathery wings drooping.
*"Amateurs"* You think, fluffing your hair and gesturing to your assistant for a water bottle. The small goblin comes quickly, opening a fresh bottle.
The director is rubbing at his eyes as if maybe, just maybe he can rub away yet another bad take. Finally he stands and comes towards the large demon. "Look D-man. We've talked about this. You have got to stay on script." He punctures he word with a small clap.
"But... But that's not at all how prophecies work. Like at all. I would know, I come from a long line of de..."
The director cuts him off, "Look man. You aren't in Hell anymore. This is Hollywood and if you want to survive in here, you gotta do this right and you gotta do it fast. There's a line of demons out there that I could cast in a heartbeat.
Dorgridion again looks confused "But she... she wouldn't... she can't actually kill me... if you are filming something, shouldn't you at least make it accurate?"
"ITS. A. SHAMPOO. COMMERCIAL" The directors shrill voice is now echoing off the set. Your goblin assistant winces a little and you wave him off. Dorgridion looks like he might start crying. You just roll your eyes. The director takes and deep breath, his hands together, almost as if he were praying for patience, "Just say your lines, let her stab you and editing will take care of the rest, okay? Okay."
He returns to his chair, "Places everyone" To nobody in particular he mutters "I cannot believe I sold my soul to pay for art school just to end up here"
ETA: thanks do much for all the love 💕 this is my first time posting here and you guys have definitely given me the confidence to keep posting!! 😊
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*It was that same look of arrogance I had seen a hundred times before; that foolish certainty only a man was capable of. And demons, as you know, they represent the worst of all men.*
I strode down the stony path towards that fabled summoning ground. But, I was too late. The poor souls that had brought the beast into this world were already mutilated and feasted upon. When will they learn, I thought. You can never trust a demon. Least of all, one hungry after the bleak solitude of the nether realm.
Two glowing red eyes stared as I approached, at once puzzled and disdainful. The demon's voice was deep, and eloquent: "I suppose they sent you to kill me, did they?" his jagged teeth showing under the smugness of his smile.
This was the third bounty of the day, and I wasn't in the mood for the usual pontification. Demons relish the sound of their own voice. It made watching them die that much more satisfying.
"Stupid child. Don't you realise, no *man* can kill me."
"But I am no man," I answered, as I launched up the steps and removed my helmet, revealing a cascade of long red hair. I unsheathed my sword. The demon looked back at me, evidently speechless.
Eventually, he said: "Well begging your pardon, m'lady. I had no idea you were...so beautiful."
I was taken aback, and so took a moment to calculate the next move. Was this genuine? I studied close the looming countenance before me: the rippling musculature of a seasoned warrior, the smoothness of dark-red skin; the chiseled features now crestfallen in shame; the square, masculine jawline beneath sorrowful eyes and the curled horns of a demonic king.
He saw the curiosity on my face, and seized the moment to approach. "Do not worry, m'lady -- I intend you no harm.'
I could feel his hot breath on my face. Powerless to move, hypnotised trance-like in his gaze. He reached out a clawed and vascular hand, and, ever so gently, guided the hair from my face. He was tall, so very tall, so much more powerful up close. I knew I was witness to the most magnificent of all specimens. I couldn't move, and I did not want to.
With his other hand he took my own. And, as he slowly guided it towards himself, to that which I was suddenly begging for with my very soul, he whispered, "*The things I will do to you*."
Suddenly intoxicated with excitement, the soup that I'd downed at the inn only a half hour before rippled through my stomach, and I couldn't stop myself from ripping out a massive, earth-shattering fart. He stepped back in amazement.
Too embarrassed to speak, the uncertainty of the moment palpable, I did the only thing I knew how: I thrust my sword deep into his muscular chest, standing stoic as he stumbled backwards.
As he drew his last breathe, all I could say was, "I am sorry."
&#x200B;
\~\~\~\~\~\~\~\~\~\~\~\~\~\~
Thanks for reading!
r/nikomachus
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|
[WP] "No Man can kill me!" the demon jeers, taking in the carnage it has caused. "But I am no man," you proclaim, ripping away your helmet to reveal your feminine features. You strike, your blade bouncing harmlessly off the demon's hide. "Did you... did you really think that's what I meant?"
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Council had just been called to session when the main doors suddenly burst open and a twelve foot tall demon casually strode through. Its black body was spotted with metal plates, all smeared with ash and blood, and it was dragging along an almost-certainly-dead guard. It effortlessly tossed the body towards the podium of the High Chairman, and started speaking...
When it finished the room stood in silence. The demon’s wings seemed to sag, disappointed that none of its intended listeners actually understood ancient Hebrew. In synch, they all turned their attention to the frantic, clearly underpaid woman sitting in a corner while scrolling through a digital dictionary.“Umm... He says, ‘The time of man has finally reached its limit. This council must surrender to me and they may possibly live. Fight, and you shall die a painful death. For I have been blessed with the protection of divines. No man can kill me!”
One of the guards, clearly emboldened by the last statement tossed off her helmet, revealing long black hair. She swiftly unhooked her dagger and charged the demon. With a shout, she plunged it between two metal plates... with no effect. The demon sent her flying across the room with a mere backhand slap.
“Sorry!” the translator blushed while skimming a few more pages, “I meant human. Not man. ‘The time of *humans* has finally reached its limit’, and ‘No *human* can kill me.’ Sorry.”
With that point clarified, the room continued in silence. The members of council exchanged glances, not wanting to make the first move. After a few extremely long minutes, the High Chairman stood up, withdrew his blaster, and spattered the demon’s brains all over the floor.
“High Chairman Vhu’Tjry! I thought we agreed no weapons on the floor!” exclaimed a furious Councilwoman Ckck Ck Ck, her multple arms pounding the desk in rage.
“I’m not on the floor. I’m still at my seat.” the High Chairman defended with a swish of his antennae, “Besides, it was clearly threatening Councilman Weaver.”
“Yea, but killing it may have been an over-reaction...” Councilman Weaver said meekly. While he could usually handle a bit of blood, this was too much for his human stomach,
“Not to mention a violation of Treaty 7657 Section 65 Part E-8!” chimed in a delegate from the Xehon Hivemind, clearly expecting everyone to recall the stated passage word-for-word.
And so the Galactic Council slid into its typical day to day chaos; completely ignoring the janitorial staff who slithered into the room and cleaned up the mess mid-session.
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Sora's eyes widened in surprise when her blade clanged helplessly against my body. I was confused as well- not by my invincibility, but by how literally she took my words.
"Y-You... You *do* realize that by 'man' I mean human, right...?" Satan be damned, I know it's been a while since my lines were written, but surely even a teenage girl of the modern world would still understand them?
"The prophecies never *said* human!" She said indignantly. "Everyone back in *my* town took it the same way I did."
I scratched my head. "I... I really have no clue what to say to that. Um, better luck next time?"
As I stared around at the useless carnage I caused, I sighed. "You clearly aren't prepared, and *I* can't achieve *my* fate unless *you* achieve yours... So just go home for now and get a better read of the Ancient One's words. And by the next lunar eclipse, I expect a 10-page paper of an analysis on the prophecies of the Ancient One, along with a 5-page essay explaining why and how you are fit to fulfill them."
Sora's eyes widened, but before she could open her mouth I continued. "The next lunar eclipse is in 957 days, which is around three years, and by now you should be familiar with the content even if you don't know the exact meaning so I don't want any excuses! Either get it done or pay a terrible price," I said. "Now... I have a random child to go make an unfairly legally binding deal with. Adieu, as the modern spawn say nowadays." I sank under the earth without waiting for a response.
Even if I waited, I wouldn't get any response- Sora was already sprinting for her car, getting ready to drive back to town and start on her essays. Or maybe give the people who raised her a piece of her mind for interpreting the prophecies wrong. Who knows?
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[WP] "No Man can kill me!" the demon jeers, taking in the carnage it has caused. "But I am no man," you proclaim, ripping away your helmet to reveal your feminine features. You strike, your blade bouncing harmlessly off the demon's hide. "Did you... did you really think that's what I meant?"
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As my blade bounced off the demon, I struggled to bring it back up. Swords are always made so big and heavy, you know.
Mr. Demon sighed as he picked me up, making me drop my sword. Well, it was of whoever was the dead guy I found holding it, but he was dead, so you get the point.
“Stone, I’ve already told you that you can’t play with sharp objects yet. Your fragile baby arms can’t even lift it,” Mr. Demon nagged as his minions continued to cause chaos around us.
“But I wanna plaaaay!” I whine, kicking my legs. “And I’m not a baby! I’m eight and a half!”
“Yes yes, you humans age so fast! But because of that, you should understand by now that you have to wait to become a harborer of chaos and darkness!”
Lightning struck with his words, never failing to scare me.
“Pleeeeeaaase! Let me at least seee!” I begged, looking up at his humanoid red face.
“Stone, this is the last time I’m going to say it, you—“
“***STAY AWAY FROM THAT CHILD YOU FIEND!***” yelled a soldier as he attempted to strike Mr. Demon down with his mighty sword.
With a wave of his taloned hand, the soldier’s sword shattered and the man collapsed.
“Like I was saying, you are—“
“He has a child!” I heard a woman screech. A few of the winged imps began to eat her flesh, causing her to truly screech.
He opened a fiery portal to return us to the underworld as he continued. “You are much too—“
“S-sire...?”
“****WHAT IS IT?!?!****” Mr. Demon hissed as he turned from the portal to face the destruction of the human town.
The poor demon practically burst into flames with fear. “T-the human girl, S-Stone... a-appears to be broken...”
“It’s just a cut from that big helmet!” I giggled, rubbing my forehead.
“Oh no! Your fragile human skin seems to be torn again!” Mr. Demon panicked as he ran into the portal, returning us to the comfort of Hell.
“It’s fine! You can’t even tell the blood’s my own!” I rub my face. “Wow... there is- a lot of blood.”
Mr. Demon found somewhere to set me down, starting to inspect the cut. “How long have you had this?!”
“Like I said, it’s from the helmet! I actually got used to the burning of bacteria gathering in the wound pretty quickly!”
Mr. Demon did lots of demon stuff, like summoning weird tape and clear potions. It all kinda hurt, like always. I didn’t like when he saw I was hurt, because that clear potion had a burning that I’d never get used to.
After my head was wrapped with the weird white tape, Mr. Demon held my hands together so I wouldn’t pick at it.
“Stone, you are much too small and weak to wreak destruction on the human world yet. And you got hurt trying to.”
“They should really not wear helmets that cut them, that’s just stupid,” I murmured.
“Stone, you are the biggest disappointment of the millennium.” Mr. Demon pulled a stern face, his spikey horn-brows furrowing.
“I know!” I extended my arms for a hug.
Mr. Demon sighed with a smile and finally gave him, minding all his spikes. I could feel him patting my messy mane, but I knew he got angry when I let him know I noticed.
“I’m your disappointment, Mr. Demon.”
“I know you are, Stone.”
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Sora's eyes widened in surprise when her blade clanged helplessly against my body. I was confused as well- not by my invincibility, but by how literally she took my words.
"Y-You... You *do* realize that by 'man' I mean human, right...?" Satan be damned, I know it's been a while since my lines were written, but surely even a teenage girl of the modern world would still understand them?
"The prophecies never *said* human!" She said indignantly. "Everyone back in *my* town took it the same way I did."
I scratched my head. "I... I really have no clue what to say to that. Um, better luck next time?"
As I stared around at the useless carnage I caused, I sighed. "You clearly aren't prepared, and *I* can't achieve *my* fate unless *you* achieve yours... So just go home for now and get a better read of the Ancient One's words. And by the next lunar eclipse, I expect a 10-page paper of an analysis on the prophecies of the Ancient One, along with a 5-page essay explaining why and how you are fit to fulfill them."
Sora's eyes widened, but before she could open her mouth I continued. "The next lunar eclipse is in 957 days, which is around three years, and by now you should be familiar with the content even if you don't know the exact meaning so I don't want any excuses! Either get it done or pay a terrible price," I said. "Now... I have a random child to go make an unfairly legally binding deal with. Adieu, as the modern spawn say nowadays." I sank under the earth without waiting for a response.
Even if I waited, I wouldn't get any response- Sora was already sprinting for her car, getting ready to drive back to town and start on her essays. Or maybe give the people who raised her a piece of her mind for interpreting the prophecies wrong. Who knows?
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[WP] "No Man can kill me!" the demon jeers, taking in the carnage it has caused. "But I am no man," you proclaim, ripping away your helmet to reveal your feminine features. You strike, your blade bouncing harmlessly off the demon's hide. "Did you... did you really think that's what I meant?"
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"No man can kill me!"
"But I am no man!" Shining steel fell away to reveal flaxen locks framing a smooth chin and delicate nose. "You gaze upon a woman! Eo-HaA!"
Leaving the dramatic geneology monologue to be finished over the foe's corpse, a bloody sword in a slender-fingered hand flashed up, inerrantly seeking the gap in the demon's visor.
Where it bounced off harmlessly.
"Did...did you really think that's what I meant?"
"Oh no, darling, not at all. I just wanted you to be paying attention to me."
A split second later, something slammed into the back of the fiend's knees. As he fell, the demon felt matted fur behind his calves, before feeling his buttocks on stone. From this new supine position, he had an excellent view of the paws, not hands, that seized upon his helmet. The fangs that sought to gnaw his nose from his face. And the fact that other sets of paws and fangs were taking their pick of his limbs.
"And not my attack dogs."
She turned her head and released a shrill whistle. The beast on his face pulled away, and the demon allowed himself to believe that this human woman would do what their kind is so known for, showing soft hearted mercy. This idea fled quickly, though, as his vision filled with a storm of feathers in the space recently vacated by fur.
"And if that didn't work, I also had falcons."
Reflexively, the demon's eyes widened in horror.
A moment later, both falcons were savoring their moist, tender spoils of a successful hunt, followed moments later by the hounds claiming their own meal.
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Sora's eyes widened in surprise when her blade clanged helplessly against my body. I was confused as well- not by my invincibility, but by how literally she took my words.
"Y-You... You *do* realize that by 'man' I mean human, right...?" Satan be damned, I know it's been a while since my lines were written, but surely even a teenage girl of the modern world would still understand them?
"The prophecies never *said* human!" She said indignantly. "Everyone back in *my* town took it the same way I did."
I scratched my head. "I... I really have no clue what to say to that. Um, better luck next time?"
As I stared around at the useless carnage I caused, I sighed. "You clearly aren't prepared, and *I* can't achieve *my* fate unless *you* achieve yours... So just go home for now and get a better read of the Ancient One's words. And by the next lunar eclipse, I expect a 10-page paper of an analysis on the prophecies of the Ancient One, along with a 5-page essay explaining why and how you are fit to fulfill them."
Sora's eyes widened, but before she could open her mouth I continued. "The next lunar eclipse is in 957 days, which is around three years, and by now you should be familiar with the content even if you don't know the exact meaning so I don't want any excuses! Either get it done or pay a terrible price," I said. "Now... I have a random child to go make an unfairly legally binding deal with. Adieu, as the modern spawn say nowadays." I sank under the earth without waiting for a response.
Even if I waited, I wouldn't get any response- Sora was already sprinting for her car, getting ready to drive back to town and start on her essays. Or maybe give the people who raised her a piece of her mind for interpreting the prophecies wrong. Who knows?
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[WP] "No Man can kill me!" the demon jeers, taking in the carnage it has caused. "But I am no man," you proclaim, ripping away your helmet to reveal your feminine features. You strike, your blade bouncing harmlessly off the demon's hide. "Did you... did you really think that's what I meant?"
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"CUUUUUUUUT" a shrill voice screams out. You groan inwardly and let your sword drop limply to your side.
"Wh...what happened? Did I do something wrong?" Dorgridion looks around confused, leathery wings drooping.
*"Amateurs"* You think, fluffing your hair and gesturing to your assistant for a water bottle. The small goblin comes quickly, opening a fresh bottle.
The director is rubbing at his eyes as if maybe, just maybe he can rub away yet another bad take. Finally he stands and comes towards the large demon. "Look D-man. We've talked about this. You have got to stay on script." He punctures he word with a small clap.
"But... But that's not at all how prophecies work. Like at all. I would know, I come from a long line of de..."
The director cuts him off, "Look man. You aren't in Hell anymore. This is Hollywood and if you want to survive in here, you gotta do this right and you gotta do it fast. There's a line of demons out there that I could cast in a heartbeat.
Dorgridion again looks confused "But she... she wouldn't... she can't actually kill me... if you are filming something, shouldn't you at least make it accurate?"
"ITS. A. SHAMPOO. COMMERCIAL" The directors shrill voice is now echoing off the set. Your goblin assistant winces a little and you wave him off. Dorgridion looks like he might start crying. You just roll your eyes. The director takes and deep breath, his hands together, almost as if he were praying for patience, "Just say your lines, let her stab you and editing will take care of the rest, okay? Okay."
He returns to his chair, "Places everyone" To nobody in particular he mutters "I cannot believe I sold my soul to pay for art school just to end up here"
ETA: thanks do much for all the love 💕 this is my first time posting here and you guys have definitely given me the confidence to keep posting!! 😊
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Sora's eyes widened in surprise when her blade clanged helplessly against my body. I was confused as well- not by my invincibility, but by how literally she took my words.
"Y-You... You *do* realize that by 'man' I mean human, right...?" Satan be damned, I know it's been a while since my lines were written, but surely even a teenage girl of the modern world would still understand them?
"The prophecies never *said* human!" She said indignantly. "Everyone back in *my* town took it the same way I did."
I scratched my head. "I... I really have no clue what to say to that. Um, better luck next time?"
As I stared around at the useless carnage I caused, I sighed. "You clearly aren't prepared, and *I* can't achieve *my* fate unless *you* achieve yours... So just go home for now and get a better read of the Ancient One's words. And by the next lunar eclipse, I expect a 10-page paper of an analysis on the prophecies of the Ancient One, along with a 5-page essay explaining why and how you are fit to fulfill them."
Sora's eyes widened, but before she could open her mouth I continued. "The next lunar eclipse is in 957 days, which is around three years, and by now you should be familiar with the content even if you don't know the exact meaning so I don't want any excuses! Either get it done or pay a terrible price," I said. "Now... I have a random child to go make an unfairly legally binding deal with. Adieu, as the modern spawn say nowadays." I sank under the earth without waiting for a response.
Even if I waited, I wouldn't get any response- Sora was already sprinting for her car, getting ready to drive back to town and start on her essays. Or maybe give the people who raised her a piece of her mind for interpreting the prophecies wrong. Who knows?
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[WP] "No Man can kill me!" the demon jeers, taking in the carnage it has caused. "But I am no man," you proclaim, ripping away your helmet to reveal your feminine features. You strike, your blade bouncing harmlessly off the demon's hide. "Did you... did you really think that's what I meant?"
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As my blade bounced off the demon, I struggled to bring it back up. Swords are always made so big and heavy, you know.
Mr. Demon sighed as he picked me up, making me drop my sword. Well, it was of whoever was the dead guy I found holding it, but he was dead, so you get the point.
“Stone, I’ve already told you that you can’t play with sharp objects yet. Your fragile baby arms can’t even lift it,” Mr. Demon nagged as his minions continued to cause chaos around us.
“But I wanna plaaaay!” I whine, kicking my legs. “And I’m not a baby! I’m eight and a half!”
“Yes yes, you humans age so fast! But because of that, you should understand by now that you have to wait to become a harborer of chaos and darkness!”
Lightning struck with his words, never failing to scare me.
“Pleeeeeaaase! Let me at least seee!” I begged, looking up at his humanoid red face.
“Stone, this is the last time I’m going to say it, you—“
“***STAY AWAY FROM THAT CHILD YOU FIEND!***” yelled a soldier as he attempted to strike Mr. Demon down with his mighty sword.
With a wave of his taloned hand, the soldier’s sword shattered and the man collapsed.
“Like I was saying, you are—“
“He has a child!” I heard a woman screech. A few of the winged imps began to eat her flesh, causing her to truly screech.
He opened a fiery portal to return us to the underworld as he continued. “You are much too—“
“S-sire...?”
“****WHAT IS IT?!?!****” Mr. Demon hissed as he turned from the portal to face the destruction of the human town.
The poor demon practically burst into flames with fear. “T-the human girl, S-Stone... a-appears to be broken...”
“It’s just a cut from that big helmet!” I giggled, rubbing my forehead.
“Oh no! Your fragile human skin seems to be torn again!” Mr. Demon panicked as he ran into the portal, returning us to the comfort of Hell.
“It’s fine! You can’t even tell the blood’s my own!” I rub my face. “Wow... there is- a lot of blood.”
Mr. Demon found somewhere to set me down, starting to inspect the cut. “How long have you had this?!”
“Like I said, it’s from the helmet! I actually got used to the burning of bacteria gathering in the wound pretty quickly!”
Mr. Demon did lots of demon stuff, like summoning weird tape and clear potions. It all kinda hurt, like always. I didn’t like when he saw I was hurt, because that clear potion had a burning that I’d never get used to.
After my head was wrapped with the weird white tape, Mr. Demon held my hands together so I wouldn’t pick at it.
“Stone, you are much too small and weak to wreak destruction on the human world yet. And you got hurt trying to.”
“They should really not wear helmets that cut them, that’s just stupid,” I murmured.
“Stone, you are the biggest disappointment of the millennium.” Mr. Demon pulled a stern face, his spikey horn-brows furrowing.
“I know!” I extended my arms for a hug.
Mr. Demon sighed with a smile and finally gave him, minding all his spikes. I could feel him patting my messy mane, but I knew he got angry when I let him know I noticed.
“I’m your disappointment, Mr. Demon.”
“I know you are, Stone.”
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Council had just been called to session when the main doors suddenly burst open and a twelve foot tall demon casually strode through. Its black body was spotted with metal plates, all smeared with ash and blood, and it was dragging along an almost-certainly-dead guard. It effortlessly tossed the body towards the podium of the High Chairman, and started speaking...
When it finished the room stood in silence. The demon’s wings seemed to sag, disappointed that none of its intended listeners actually understood ancient Hebrew. In synch, they all turned their attention to the frantic, clearly underpaid woman sitting in a corner while scrolling through a digital dictionary.“Umm... He says, ‘The time of man has finally reached its limit. This council must surrender to me and they may possibly live. Fight, and you shall die a painful death. For I have been blessed with the protection of divines. No man can kill me!”
One of the guards, clearly emboldened by the last statement tossed off her helmet, revealing long black hair. She swiftly unhooked her dagger and charged the demon. With a shout, she plunged it between two metal plates... with no effect. The demon sent her flying across the room with a mere backhand slap.
“Sorry!” the translator blushed while skimming a few more pages, “I meant human. Not man. ‘The time of *humans* has finally reached its limit’, and ‘No *human* can kill me.’ Sorry.”
With that point clarified, the room continued in silence. The members of council exchanged glances, not wanting to make the first move. After a few extremely long minutes, the High Chairman stood up, withdrew his blaster, and spattered the demon’s brains all over the floor.
“High Chairman Vhu’Tjry! I thought we agreed no weapons on the floor!” exclaimed a furious Councilwoman Ckck Ck Ck, her multple arms pounding the desk in rage.
“I’m not on the floor. I’m still at my seat.” the High Chairman defended with a swish of his antennae, “Besides, it was clearly threatening Councilman Weaver.”
“Yea, but killing it may have been an over-reaction...” Councilman Weaver said meekly. While he could usually handle a bit of blood, this was too much for his human stomach,
“Not to mention a violation of Treaty 7657 Section 65 Part E-8!” chimed in a delegate from the Xehon Hivemind, clearly expecting everyone to recall the stated passage word-for-word.
And so the Galactic Council slid into its typical day to day chaos; completely ignoring the janitorial staff who slithered into the room and cleaned up the mess mid-session.
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[WP] "No Man can kill me!" the demon jeers, taking in the carnage it has caused. "But I am no man," you proclaim, ripping away your helmet to reveal your feminine features. You strike, your blade bouncing harmlessly off the demon's hide. "Did you... did you really think that's what I meant?"
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"CUUUUUUUUT" a shrill voice screams out. You groan inwardly and let your sword drop limply to your side.
"Wh...what happened? Did I do something wrong?" Dorgridion looks around confused, leathery wings drooping.
*"Amateurs"* You think, fluffing your hair and gesturing to your assistant for a water bottle. The small goblin comes quickly, opening a fresh bottle.
The director is rubbing at his eyes as if maybe, just maybe he can rub away yet another bad take. Finally he stands and comes towards the large demon. "Look D-man. We've talked about this. You have got to stay on script." He punctures he word with a small clap.
"But... But that's not at all how prophecies work. Like at all. I would know, I come from a long line of de..."
The director cuts him off, "Look man. You aren't in Hell anymore. This is Hollywood and if you want to survive in here, you gotta do this right and you gotta do it fast. There's a line of demons out there that I could cast in a heartbeat.
Dorgridion again looks confused "But she... she wouldn't... she can't actually kill me... if you are filming something, shouldn't you at least make it accurate?"
"ITS. A. SHAMPOO. COMMERCIAL" The directors shrill voice is now echoing off the set. Your goblin assistant winces a little and you wave him off. Dorgridion looks like he might start crying. You just roll your eyes. The director takes and deep breath, his hands together, almost as if he were praying for patience, "Just say your lines, let her stab you and editing will take care of the rest, okay? Okay."
He returns to his chair, "Places everyone" To nobody in particular he mutters "I cannot believe I sold my soul to pay for art school just to end up here"
ETA: thanks do much for all the love 💕 this is my first time posting here and you guys have definitely given me the confidence to keep posting!! 😊
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# How to Break a Siege of Legends
(Part 8: How to Change a Long-Held Trope)
(Note: How to Break a Siege of Legends is episodic; each part is self-contained. This story can be enjoyed without reading the previous sections.)
**"You said this town runs on narrative more than physics—how strong is the effect?"** Lien asked Variem as they jogged through town. The various undead tending to their duties looked up curiously as they passed before disregarding them.
"Strong enough that your associate summoned a monster attack by politely discussing how bad it would be if one suddenly appeared," Variem snapped at Eiko. The burly mechanic shrugged unrepentantly.
"Water under the bridge. What we've got to do is figure out what to do *about* it," Eiko said.
Lien rubbed his chin. "So... the effect is strong enough that if we find the right trope to fit into, reality will warp itself to fit."
"More than that," Variem said. "Whatever monsters are coming, we can expect them to start falling into tropes themselves, as soon as they arrive."
"Which will be...?" Lien asked.
Variem gave him an impatient glance. "Whenever it's narratively appropriate!"
"Right, right, sorry. I come from a part of the psychosphere where physics hasn't been whored out to dramatic tension." Lien paused as a thought struck him. "...dramatic tension. Oh, bloody hell, I've been doing this all wrong."
"Lien?" Eiko asked.
"What I'm doing right now? Rushing towards the city's leadership in order to rally a defense? That's playing things like a general. If I keep going, I'm going to turn this into a war story. Civilian deaths, massive lines of battle, presumably some genius trick of tactics that turns the tide at the end—it's going to be huge in scale, and probably disrupt the lives of everyone in this city."
Variem skidded to a halt, her face blanching. "Dammit, you're right."
"I told you I've been in narrative-dominant parts of the world before. I can play by the rules. Doesn't mean I like them." Lien grimaced. "...Alright, change of plans. Or, er, change of genre. We're not raising an army; that's just begging for a drawn-out conflict. Eiko and I are going to face this monster invasion by ourselves."
"Are you crazy?" Eiko snapped. "We have no idea how many of them there are? What if it's another dragon? Or *fifty* dragons?"
"Does that sound like a story you'd read? Two bold and plucky heroes escape from a doomed city to face an army of monsters only to get incinerated as soon as they step foot outside its boundaries?" Lien shook his head. "No. Whatever invasion is coming, the narrative imperative will whittle them down into something that two people wouldn't instantly get killed by."
"He has a point," Variem admitted.
Eiko looked between the two of them and swore. "Fine. Lien, you're with me. Get in the car." Eiko turned around, got into her probably-illegal racecar, and popped the passenger door open for Lien.
As if to test that it still worked, Lien withdrew a mummified hand from his pocket and whispered, "*Fuego.*" A gout of flame as thick as his arm burst out, he leapt back, fumbling with the hand. "Gah! Magic really *is* stronger than normal here!"
Eiko gave him a baffled look. "You literally figured that out first thing when we arrived; why the hell'd you nearly burn your face off *again*?"
Lien grinned, tucking the hand back into his pocket. "Foreshadowing. If the narrative laws are in full play here, I should be able to pull that hand out when I most need it and wreck some stuff. Speaking of! Let's get going." He hopped in the car with Eiko; she slammed the pedal to the metal, and the two of them sped away from Argenton.
It wasn't long before they crested the first hill and saw the invading monster—apparently, the laws of narrative were rather impatient. It was a demon of some kind, out of some legend Lien wasn't familiar with. The car drifted to a halt as the ivory-skinned eight-foot-tall demon stared at them.
"Hey! You! Pale fucker!" Eiko rolled down the window and shouted. "You have five seconds to turn around and stomp back to whatever cave you crawled out of before we squeeze the juice from your body and serve it with ice!"
"Oddly specific," Lien noted.
Eiko grinned. "When life gives you demons, make demonade."
The demon gave a hearty, sultry chuckle. "Oh, you plucky little mortals never fail to amuse me. No man can kill me."
Lien's eyes lit up. The demon had fallen into a trope. The trap was set. He gave Eiko a look. "You know this trope?"
"Like the back of my hand," Eiko said. Raising her voice, she roared, "Fool! I AM NO MAN!" The roar of her car joined her own as six hundred horsepower of steel barreled towards the demon—
—and the hood crumpled inwards as the car bent around its unmoving body, spewing foul smoke and greasy oil. Lien had half a second to comprehend that something had gone *horribly wrong* before an airbag hit him like the fist of a giant. Dazed, he looked out the window at the grinning, white-scaled demon.
"Did you really think that was what I meant?" the demon asked, clambering forwards. Belatedly, Lien realized their mistake. They'd left the borders of Argenton to fight the demon; and outside Argenton, narrative reality gave way to plain old physics and magic. The tropes may have started in the way he knew, but their ending was in the hands of fate.
But Lien had one last card to play.
He reached into his coat and took out his mummified hand, then—despite the flaring pain in his broken ribs—pointed it at the demon. "Magic is stronger here, bastard. *Fuego, pyrofuego!*"
With a blinding bolt of white and a roar of fire brighter than the sun, an empowered fire spell foreshadowed by narrative reality hurled the demon bodily backwards; it roared in agony as it stumbled backwards, singed but not dead. Eiko slammed a fist on her car, and it belatedly started up, albeit at a fraction of its top speed.
"Plan B!" Eiko shouted, "We need a plan B!"
Lien, his face grim, turned back to Argenton. "No. We need our plan A. Turning this into a hero's journey failed," he said. "Let's try a war story instead."
A.N.
I'm trying something new! "How to Break a Siege of Legends" will be an episodic story where each part is inspired by a writing prompt that catches my eye. Check out [this post](https://www.reddit.com/r/bubblewriters/comments/mdh066/how_to_break_a_siege_of_legends_masterpost/) for more information.
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[WP] "No Man can kill me!" the demon jeers, taking in the carnage it has caused. "But I am no man," you proclaim, ripping away your helmet to reveal your feminine features. You strike, your blade bouncing harmlessly off the demon's hide. "Did you... did you really think that's what I meant?"
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"CUUUUUUUUT" a shrill voice screams out. You groan inwardly and let your sword drop limply to your side.
"Wh...what happened? Did I do something wrong?" Dorgridion looks around confused, leathery wings drooping.
*"Amateurs"* You think, fluffing your hair and gesturing to your assistant for a water bottle. The small goblin comes quickly, opening a fresh bottle.
The director is rubbing at his eyes as if maybe, just maybe he can rub away yet another bad take. Finally he stands and comes towards the large demon. "Look D-man. We've talked about this. You have got to stay on script." He punctures he word with a small clap.
"But... But that's not at all how prophecies work. Like at all. I would know, I come from a long line of de..."
The director cuts him off, "Look man. You aren't in Hell anymore. This is Hollywood and if you want to survive in here, you gotta do this right and you gotta do it fast. There's a line of demons out there that I could cast in a heartbeat.
Dorgridion again looks confused "But she... she wouldn't... she can't actually kill me... if you are filming something, shouldn't you at least make it accurate?"
"ITS. A. SHAMPOO. COMMERCIAL" The directors shrill voice is now echoing off the set. Your goblin assistant winces a little and you wave him off. Dorgridion looks like he might start crying. You just roll your eyes. The director takes and deep breath, his hands together, almost as if he were praying for patience, "Just say your lines, let her stab you and editing will take care of the rest, okay? Okay."
He returns to his chair, "Places everyone" To nobody in particular he mutters "I cannot believe I sold my soul to pay for art school just to end up here"
ETA: thanks do much for all the love 💕 this is my first time posting here and you guys have definitely given me the confidence to keep posting!! 😊
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“Well, at least I tried. Also it was theorically a good attempt, isn’t it? ”
The demon shruggs, “Yeah, can’t deny that.” He itches his chin under his helmet. “I... I liked your hair by the way. I mean, don’t get me wrong but it’s so shiny and nice.”
You blush, “Oh... Thanks.” After an awkward silence you continue, “I actually liked your armor. Is it steel?”
His face is covered with darkness but you are able to feel the joy from his tone. “It’s not steel, it’s Mordorian iron with a nice touch of Saruman’s magic.”
“Really? I thought these were older.”
“Actually they were. But we wanted some reconstructions. Have you seen these engravings?”
You step closer, “Wow, is it the tale of Sauron’s rings?”
He beams, “You’re the first person who notices it.”
You shyly shrug, “I’m just into history, you know...”
He chuckles, “Well... Wanna grab a coffee sometime? I know a nice place back in Mordor.”
You lift your brows, “Uh, I don’t think Mordor is a good choice for me... You see.”
“Ouch, sorry my bad. Errr, what about Grey Havens?”
“Sounds nice!”
“Okay, great! So I’ll come and pick you with my flying beast by 8 pm after battle if we survive.”
You nod happily, “Alright. See you then!”
“Bye!”
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[WP] You are an ethical necromancer. All your minions were raised voluntarily, under fair contracts. But some people can't see a spooky castle in the woods staffed by undead without breaking in and trying to kill you.
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He had a quick symbolic jab of his pitchfork.
'..and this'll be that last day you claim the souls of the innocent. We cannot stand idly by and watch you condemn these people to eternity without the afterlife!'
'Ok, I'm going to stop you right there. I haven't condemned anyone.'
The crowd behind the intruder where becoming restless, some eying up cloth banners on the castle walls. Clearly tempted to put their torches to an extra purpose.
'You condemn the dead to a flesh prison! They are husks and must be released!'
'Ok, rude. Also, you're in a "flesh prison" yourself are you not? I wonder, and this is not a threat just a point, if you yearn to be released from yours? I suspect you do not.'
'That's not the..'
The Necromancer cut him off.
'I'm not done. And I think it is the point. Would you not in-fact do just about anything to remain in your "flesh prison" for as long as possible?'
'It's against God!'
'Most things are, he doesn't seem to mind that much. He's certainly not stopped me.'
'We're stopping you for him!'
'Oh wow, arrogant. he asked you to do this himself did he? Didn't feel like getting up did he not? Or is this idea just something you read somewhere and made some assumptions about.'
'You'll be damned to an eternity in Hell for this!'
'Sounds like my business. Do I come to the village and tell you how to pot? Do I look over your shoulder and pressure you about what a silent deity probably wants? You know what, don't answer that. DAVE!'
Dave shambled into the large hall where the standoff is taking place, his rotting skin barely containing his organs.
The leader of the group gasped, some at the back could be heard vomiting.
'Dave! There you are.' He turned to the crowd 'I'd like you all to meet our newest recruit, I think you know him already though.'
'This is an aberration! You are an abomination!'
'IiiiIIiii'mmmm Rrriigihhttt heerrreeee duudeeeeeeeeee.. ' Dave responded.
The necromancer chimed in, as he knew Dave speaking for himself would take a while.
'Dave Spritzferrld, dock worker who died from complications after his hands where crushed in a crane accident.'
The necromancer produced a parchment from his robe.
'You'll see here the terms laid out clearly, literal life after death. Client takes all risk of libel and recourse, small monthly fee for castle upkeep for as long as he choses to remain undead, no minimum term. You'll see his signature on the bottom.'
'You could have ordered him to sign that after death!'
'You mean after the accident that destroyed his hands?'
Ms. Spritzferrld emerged from the front of the crowd.
'Dave! My god Dave is it really you?! What has he done to you!?'
'OOooonnlllyyy wwhhaatt IIii assskkedddd. Iiii wwanntteedd tooo staaayy withhh youuuuu iifff iiIIIi DDiieedddd ffriirrrrssstststttt.'
The necromancer interjected again, wanting to keep things moving.
'There, you see? It's my understanding he wasn't expecting it so soon in life, but was given every opportunity to back out.'
'So after you got the contract you killed him to add him to your army!' The leader of the mob proclaimed, freshly outraged.
The necromancer pressed his temples. 'What are you people smoking? There where a lot of witnesses to the accident on the dock. It's fully documented. And if you want to know the circumstances of his death speak to the village doctor! That's not my business.'
'I'm not incompetent!' Came an older shout from the back of the crowd. They where beginning to quietly shuffle out of the hall.
Unaware, the leader took another shot. 'Why the secrecy if it's so legitimate? Why the castle? Why not bring them to the village in confidence?!'
'You're literally carrying a pitchfork.'
He looked down at his hands, and gave a little symbolic jab forward with it but his heart wasn't in it any more.
'You remember that invasion of undead creatures your hero fought off a month or two ago? The little ones with the shiny skin?'
'Oh no.'
'The children from the school fire trying to say goodbye to their parents.'
'Oh... Oh no'
Most of the mob had left. A few awkwardly hung around in patches but had the look they where just waiting politely.
'Now fuck off back to your village and the next time you see something you don't understand, try talking before fire. Why did you even use fire on them you monsters?! Those poor children had to burn twice. If you want I have a dictionary and you can look up 'Humane' I'll even read it out for if you can't read, but not today.'
'S..sorry... I...'
'Let me help, Sorry you can't fix it, sorry you caused so much suffering, sorry your first response is always violence. I'll (And this one is important) I'll learn from this.'
'Right, yes. OK. Sorry.' And he turned and left slowly, lost in thought.
Of the few still remaining idle in the hall, a voice chirped up
'Can I have a look at one of those contracts please?'
Dave shambled back out through the door he'd entered through, wondering if his widow would return to visit.
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They say I practice magic and communicate with the dead. That I summon their spirits. The dead that is, as apparitions and visions. Sometimes they say I raise them bodily for the purpose of divination, imparting the means to foretell futures events and discover hidden knowledge.
Sometimes they say, I bring back people from the dead and some nights it is said I use the dead as a weapon.
Do you believe them, my love, do you believe you are dead? Do you believe this connection we have is because you have tasted death and the amount of energy transferred and converted per unit time for you to rise again?
Have I the power of Elijah or are you are the descendant of the widow’s boy he raised?
Or is it more fitting for me to be seen as Melisandre, rest assured Jon Snow would not have been my choice?
The fair and reasonable contract terms are enforced by the Necromancy Act of 300 AD. The malefic restrict the limits the undead can place potential liabilities when creating a necromancy contract. The Act focuses on the contractual provisions and notices that limit or exclude liability. This includes noncontractual terms and is designed to avoid stretching the supernatural laws that are in place. Any dead wishing to rely on these contract terms to assess liability should review the Necromancy Act prior to any challenge made in the Mosaic Law court system which prescribes the death penalty to practitioners of necromancy.
As your existence is against the law and it is the law of the land that I am put to death. We can either run and found our own land with new laws or stay and change the laws of the land through activism, lobbying and good old fashion corruption.
What I need from you is proof that your love for me is unwavering, how you chose to prove it is at your discretion. Even as the media surrounds us and the anti-necromancy wing (ANW) gains popularity and ammunition within every household is an alley with a secret wish for me to return their loved ones to them.
Prove your love to me and we will change the earth. The day will come when the undead and living co-exist in uneasy harmony.
I wake up with a heavy heart. I know I will find you gone. On my phone is a message from you. “You can’t handle this, it’s too much. You hated life when you were living why did I have to bring you back?”
I open the app on my phone, to read the tracker in your skull. I forward the location pin to my contact in the ANW.
As I walk through the night my heart torn, there is a pandemic of depression that has infected the living and the dead. There is no peace with so much unresolved pain.
As I think of you and what severe mental and physical suffering you will be going through. Behind me like the Pied piper is a scraggly line of the undead slowly waking.
With access to centuries of dead from the past, present and future, somewhere there will be that someone that gets me, that connection of minds, that mutual respect, that unconditional love, that total understanding.
My phone rings, it is the administrator, Susan Hockfield. How did it go she says over the phone? Do you need to ask? I reply.
No, she says, I can see the dead rising from the soil in the cemetery through the glass walls of my office.
It cannot be helped I reply numbly.
Leave with me she says.
And I will.
I trust her to create a new society, with new laws, the new Earth.
It is a new day.
I smile.
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[WP] You are an ethical necromancer. All your minions were raised voluntarily, under fair contracts. But some people can't see a spooky castle in the woods staffed by undead without breaking in and trying to kill you.
|
"This is the fifth time *this month*", Varyas said tiredly to the audience assembled before her. "And we're only halfway through February."
The town's mayor's gaze fell to his lap with embarrassment. He sighed, knowing what was coming next.
"Look, Lucius, I know it's not your fault. None of the village's citizens are responsible for what keeps happening, I've confirmed that myself by... chatting... with those who *are* responsible. They've all been very... forthright with me. Must be my charming personality," she said with a cat-like grin.
Lucius met his gaze, as Varyas spoke continued.
"Despite that, the fact does remain that we had an agreement, and you're not living up to your end of the bargain here. I can't continue supplying you with free labour if you don't keep these damned 'holy men' from trying to lay siege to my castle all the time, OK? The town's infrastructure has been built off the hard work of my friend's labours, and they deserve to be able to work without fear of being decapitated by some monk with a grudge and delusions of grandeur."
"I totally agree," Lucius concurred. "We're doing our best to provide for their safety! I hope you believe that!"
"I do," Varyas replied, "But you're going to have to show me with actions, not words."
She walked slowly up to the table, closing the distance between the herself and the town council in seconds. The council members shrunk in their seats, fearing what would come next. But instead of being turned into mindless zombies, Varyas simply dropped a scroll on the desk in front of the mayor, then stepped back several paces.
"That is the location of the city where some ignoramus... one with more money than brains... is sending these 'expeditionary forces' to try to sack us. His last team gave up the location in exchange for me *not* turning them into the latest members of our little construction crew."
Varyas turned and gracefully strode down the aisle towards the town hall entrance, waving a hand in the air dramatically.
"Please arrange to send some of your guards to convince him to direct his attention elsewhere. I don't want to have to redirect any more of the brutes away from the heavy lifting to deal with further incursions."
Varyas paused at the door, casting a glance back over her shoulder.
"Needless to say, we'll need a small extension on the fourth windmill. We lost a few volunteers in the last attack and won't have the bodies to keep to our commitment."
"Of course! I understand totally," Lucius quickly acquiesced.
"Thank you, Lucius. Until tomorrow then!"
Varyas pulled the doors open with a practiced flourish, and strode into the street. Everywhere, her undead volunteers worked tirelessly, repairing potholes in the streets, laying foundations to new buildings, and moving town resources about as needed.
As she passed the windmill project, she nodded to the Lich in charge.
"Marcus. How goes the battle?"
"Quite well, mum, despite yesterday's setback. I think we'll actually be on time, even with the interruption from those damned monks taken into account."
"You don't say," Varyas replied with a glowing smile. "That's impressive, Marcus. Very impressive."
"I do what I can for the people," Marcus said, tipping his hat and bowing in respect.
"You know Marcus, if you manage to get this project finished on schedule despite these setbacks? We'll look like miracle workers. We might *even* be able to get a bonus from that idiot Lucius, as well. And if I get a bonus, so should you... I think we can cut that last month off your contract. Get you reunited with your family a little earlier."
Although Marcus' face showed delight, no blood flowed in his arteries, and his visage was still white as a scroll of paper.
"That would be extremely generous of you, mum!" he said happily.
"Nonsense," she replied. "It's the least I can do for my star worker. We must reward those who do an excellent job, set a good example for the rest of the workforce and all that, right?"
"Indeed," Marcus replied with a smile.
"Good. Well then, carry on. That windmill won't finish itself!"
As she turned to leave, she quietly prayed to Thanatos that Lucius' minions would be able to convince that interfering Lord to stop sending people over here to try and destroy them, or she would have to intervene herself.
And that just wouldn't do.
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“(Sigh)... who is it this time?”
‘Necromancer, I have come to put an end to you and your wicked ways!’
“...Really?”
‘Yes, now die in the name of—‘
“All that is good in this world and yeah, yeah, yeah. I’ve heard it all before, you’re not original.”
‘...I- um- well, how-‘
“Seriously, I hear that from everyone else who trespasses to either kill me, steal my shit, or both. Ranging from discount Conan to the ghost of weeb’s past, I have been threatened by so many self-righteous jackasses who only ever see ‘Dead people work for me’ and immediately think I’m trying to bring the end-times. I know I’m a necromancer, but unlike you I show the dead some respect.”
‘What are you-‘
“Every person I’ve raised has volunteered to be so. I’ve left everybody else alone. So far the only people who have a problem with that are the infuriating cult you call a church, and the countless wannabe heroes who think that I’m gonna be a generic gloomy cult boss trying to achieve lichdom or borderline Dracula. Case in point: you.”
‘I’m not-‘
“We’re you expecting a pale, flamboyantly dressed royal in red and black, with a pension for monologues paired with red wine?”
‘No!’
“...”
‘...yes’
“...(sigh)... ok, I think I’m done for tonight. Fitzgerald, could you please escort our latest... guest... out.”
}Certainly, milord.{
“Thank you, I’m heading to bed. Goodnight.”
}Goodnight, sir. Now, please follow me to the door you broke down, good sir.{
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[WP] You are an ethical necromancer. All your minions were raised voluntarily, under fair contracts. But some people can't see a spooky castle in the woods staffed by undead without breaking in and trying to kill you.
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"Oh god, not this shit again..." Rain left his cozy bed while cursing out loud. With slow steps, he walked to the window and stuck his head out.
There, he saw a group of man, trespassing his garden.
A young man with golden hair and a slim figure noticed his appearance and frowned deeply. Not waiting for the three others nearby, he pointed with his silver sword and stated.
"You demon spawn, we came to ward off the evil you breed, get ready to feel the Justice of our party, the Golden Leaf!"
He spoke swiftly and with a certain rhythm that it almost sounded like poetry. Unlike his cold voice, his eyes still watched the garden with wary eyes, just like others on his team. In the end, Rain's garden was a bit gloomy.
As if the young man was too afraid to stay silent, he began to talk again, blabbering random justice and wicked acts of necromancy.
High up on his castle, Rain felt the chill of the night and thought of learning a heat spell for his well-being.
"Right, I must do that." He concluded as he watched the young man's speech.
Not wanting to spend more time on this stupid guy, Rain took out a scroll from the nearby cabinet and throw it down towards the group.
Noticing the incoming object, the young man's face turned ghastly pale as he jumped back.
"AAAAH!"
Along with him, his teammates also took ten steps back while raising their armors, if not, their swords to be on guard.
For a moment, they looked at the scroll with utter fear.
Rain found it surprising, as these fellows were clearly too young for the job. They were easily scared. But he had no time to play with them, as bedtime was overdue.
So, he spoke.
"That's a sign of Mage Tower, and I'm a member of it. So, leave quickly, and don't forget to fix the wall you breach through."
Rain said his usual line and waited. From his experience, the party leader would first scan the scroll to see if it was poisoned or enchanted, then read it from far away, and finally, would leave his home quietly. As no adventurer would dare to anger the Mage Tower, not that they would win against an actual Mage.
"What is he standing there for?" Rain frowned. The said leader was doing nothing and stood on his spot like a statue.
Almost as soon as Rain muttered to himself, the leader fell back, with foam on his mouth. Then his fellow members rushed to nurse him, only to escape from the garden without looking at the scroll.
This was the first time Rain saw a group so green, that they would be scared from a fallen object. At least, he thought, they left even faster than others... Finally, Rain returned to his warm bed in a happy mood.
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# How to Break a Siege of Legends
(Interlude 1: Variem)
(Note: How to Break a Siege of Legends is episodic; each part is self-contained. This story can be enjoyed without reading the previous sections.)
**"Ms. Variem! Ms. Variem!"** Dante sprinted up to his employer's bedroom in the castle tower. "There's, er, someone here to see you." He tore the door open.
Variem, Necromancer and Mayor of Arlington, catapulted herself out of bed. Her wife gave Dante a look that could have withered the flesh off his bones if he wasn't already a skeleton. "Dante, how many times have I told you that humans require *privacy* and spaces to call their *own—*"
"You won't *have* a space to call your own if you don't deal with this *right now*!" Dante hopped up and down, his bones rattling.
Variem traded a glance with her wife—then sighed. "Alright, Variem." She slipped into a practical farmer's getup. "I'll go and see to whatever this is—"
"That won't be necessary," a deep, rumbling voice said from outside.
Variem closed her eyes. "...there's a dragon looking through my bedroom window, isn't there?"
"Indeed." A face the size of an oak log loomed in her window as she threw aside the curtains. "You may call me Flametongue, if you have any need to name me. Perhaps you can scream it as I incinerate you to your bones."
Variem gave the dragon a perplexed look. "And... why in the name of the gods would you ever do that?"
The dragon snorted. "Necromancer. Do you not think I see your corrupting art spreading across the land?"
"As one of said corrupted arts, I think I have something relevant to say," Dante piped up.
"Dante—" Variem snapped at the bonekin. But he had already leapt out through the window and landed on Flametongue's nose.
"I don't know a lot," Dante said, "but I know that humans need *privacy* and a *space to call their own*. If you don't provide Ms. Variem with both of those *right this instant—*"
Flametongue flicked her nose up.
Dante didn't even get to scream as the gout of dragonflame incinerated him to less than ash.
Variem and her wife gaped at where the bonekin had been. Flametongue, satisfied, licked her lips and said, "Now, where was I? Ah, yes—"
"He was a *child*," Variem hissed.
"Excuse me?" Flametongue blinked.
"I built him last year. He was a *child*, and you *killed him.*" Variem felt his death still lingering in the air. She grabbed onto it, twisted it into her own powers. "You dare come into my home, my demesne, and *slay the citizens under my protection?*"
She sent out a mental command, and twenty skeletal archers popped out from various places in the castle. Flametongue's eyes narrowed as she calculated odds. The archers would be useless against her scales, and Variem knew it—if Flametongue attacked, everything she had built would be destroyed.
So she could *not* let Flametongue attack.
"I will give you one chance to leave with the insults you have already dealt us." She wrapped the death of Dante into a ball, and darkness swelled around one fist. "Begone, dragon, before you find out what the Necromancer of Argenton can do."
Flametongue growled once, then turned around. "Dismantle your castle and burn down your forests, Necromancer. I will return in a year. If your village is cleansed of your taint by then, well... perhaps we can reach an accommodation after all." Flametongue flapped once, twice, then soared into the sky.
Variem exhaled and looked at the power in her hands. Barely enough to singe Flametongue's scales. Dante had been so much more valuable in life than death.
Then she turned to her wife. "...we may have some remodeling to do, my love. And fast."
A.N.
I'm trying something new! "How to Break a Siege of Legends" will be an episodic story where each part is inspired by a writing prompt that catches my eye. Check out [this post](https://www.reddit.com/r/bubblewriters/comments/mdh066/how_to_break_a_siege_of_legends_masterpost/) for more information.
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[WP] You are an ethical necromancer. All your minions were raised voluntarily, under fair contracts. But some people can't see a spooky castle in the woods staffed by undead without breaking in and trying to kill you.
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Cindyr the necromancer walked down the stairs in a pink fuzzy robe to meet his intruders. As his slippers squeaked into the emptiness of his mansion with each step down the seemingly endless winding ivory endless staircase, he wondered which of the many enemies he'd developed over the decades had sent these assassins over. They probably weren't local— he'd dealt with most of those. So whom?
The assassins, decked out in fine steel armour covering them from head to foot, had been corralled into a corner, pikes poking their throat by attentive unliving in bright, purple livery.
"So, who are you and whaddaya want?" mumbled Cindyr, taking a sip of the coffee. It was quite cold. Just the way he liked it.
"We're here to stop you and your machinations you vile fiend!" the tallest of the group said with the certainty of a person for whose life had never suffered a single failure, and was used to giving orders, not taking them. The broad shouldered assassin stood ramrod straight, as though their armour had been ironed by pride.
*'Ah, the leader. This'll make it easy,'* Cindyr thought. "What's your name, assassin?"
"Palar, and you would do well to remember it, for it shall be the last name you whisper as my blade pierces your rotting heart!" the tall assassin spat.
"Oh you don't need to do the act for me. I've seen it all before. Was it Balázs who hired you? Petro? Andri? Ah hah. Andri it is," Cindyr said, watching Palar flinch at the last name. All but the most stubborn of aristocratic families had given up the fight over the last century, and the list of names grew smaller with each generation. Perhaps, in a few more, he'd have a good night's rest.
"Fiend! You may know my paymaster, but I fight not for money, but for—"
"As a gesture of good will," Cindyr interrupted loudly, "I'll let you leave this place alive *and* I'll sweeten the pot by paying pay you two-half Andri's rate to *fuck off*. What does he pay? Hundred gilder up front, two-fifty on completion?" The tall adventurer went rigid with surprise, clearly not expecting this was where the conversation was going.
"Palar you dumb piece of shit. Take the deal!" the smaller of the companions hissed. Cindyr waggled his eyebrows.
"Shut it Benri. Tell me, *Necromancer*, why I should listen to your words?" Palar asked, looking intently at Cindyr's face. Before anyone could react, the sound of fingers clicking rang out in the large hall, and a circle of light sprange beneath everyone's feet.
"You cheeky bastard," Cindyr said, coffee sloshing out of his mug in surprise as he looked down and scanned the runes on the circle. "Is this a *Ring of Truth*? You cast a *Ring of Truth* in *my house?*"
"Whilst in this circle you can tell no lie to me, fiend! Now explain to me why I shan't kill you where you stand!"
"By the World Above, you've got pikes poking at your throat, and you've the balls to think *you've* the leverage? The fucking *nerve* of assassins these days! Fine! *Fine!* You want to know why you can't kill me? Because if you *do*, *you'll* be sending ten thousand people to a slow death. Even assassins have limits to how many heads they can hang proudly on their neck."
"Ha! So you *have* bound yourself to these souls eh? Perhaps I should strike you dead where you stand."
"What? Are you *simple in the head*? Necromancy doesn't work like that. Everyone here signed *Contract Magic* *Agreements* with me. *Willingly*."
At his word, some of the unliving reached a free hand into their breast pockets, pulling out a carefully sealed scroll. They unfurled it, and Palan's eyes narrowed, then widened as he came to realise his error. He could not deny what was written on them; witnessed by many and signed in blood. Then he realised his second error; he looked into some of the eyes of the unalive, and saw the spark of life dancing to a pulse, waiting to stick their pikes into his neck.
"Then, what do you mean by *sending people to the gallows?*" Palar swallowed.
"I mean that *I* am the voice of all these villages. We are a *commune*. *I* speak on their behalf. This castle is a seat of a legitimate *government. I* am a bastion against the ancient and oppressive system you all call *Feudalism,* which seeks to put everyone under my charge in chains, and who would spend lives like coin to try and break us. I am one of many here keeping jackals like *Andri* and his ilk from swooping in and putting everyone in this region to the sword."
It angered Cindyr that he kept needing to justify the position of the village communes. Why couldn't everyone leave them well enough alone? Because of course, they were afraid; if the disease of democracy spread, the little empires would be ruined.
It had been the villagers who had come to him at first a century ago. He was a small timer then, a fledgling contract magician with barely a penny to his name. But even so, he had been more than happy to help, raising an army of skeletons to protect their fledgling village. Again. And again. And again.
The decades passed with stalemate, until the villagers came to him with another idea that would turn the fortunes of their little movement. If he could offer them the option to fight *after* death, to fight so that their children, and their children, could continue to live without masters, then they would take it without hesitation. They truly believed in their convictions, and from that moment on, so too did he. Word spread over the decades, and number of villages who joined in their democratic collective grew in number, until one day they were a force unto their own, able to withstand the bullying of the feudal lords in the region. He was proud at having helped an entire population realise their potential. He was happy to call his equal the person who was willing to die, and live on after, and soon, he would count himself amongst those eternal soldiers.
"So, what? You're going to keep building an army here, and then what? Take over the world?"
"What? No. Worlds Above, no. That would make us no better than the Oppressors who seek to oppress us. We only fight to defend ourselves, *never* to impose our will. Ask anyone you want when you leave, they'll be more than happy to tell you how they ended up here., and how we have never raised the sword in anger." The subject of war and violence rubbed Cindyr's mood raw, so he changed the subject. "Hold on. Didn't you see the clerks when you broke in?"
"Err, I don't have to answer that," Palar shifted uneasily, the advantage of his moral position suddenly switched over.
"Palar you gobshite fucking weasle, we walked past plenty of rooms with them. You even said *this seems a bit weird, I thought there were ghosts and shit here,*" the smallest companion hissed. Cindyr pointed at the companion, eyebrows shooting up, saying *see? See?!*
"Fine. *Fine,*" Palar said, snapping away the Ring of Truth.
"Good. *Good*. Everyone, stand down. I think we can start talking business now," Cindyr said. At his word, the unliving grunted and withdrew their pikes, but stood wearily at attention, bodies coiled with tension, ready to spring into action if Palar so much as looked at him funny.
Palar and Cindyr bandied back and forth for a while, an unliving servant meandering over with a tray of coffee and treats for the adventurers, who accepted the offering with shaking, adrenaline soaked hands.
For a braindead assassin, Palar was quite the political scholar, wanting to know a little more about the things he was doing. He was new to the region, apparently, him and his crew looking to make a name for themselves.
Cindyr was sympathetic; he'd done a lot over the decades to dissuade the various assassin guilds to stop coming after him. Andri and his ilk were getting desperate if they were looking for assassins outside of the region.
Palar demanded far more than Cindyr knew Andri would be willing to offer. But the session of truth had spent him, and he just wanted rid of them. A price was finally agreed upon, and a contract— magically binding only in word— was quickly drawn up.
Before Palar and his adventurers turned to leave, Cindyr spoke up, a new cup of coffee in hand. "Oh, Palar, before you go. I want you to take this." An unliving servant appeared by his side almost instantly with a tray, on which were three scrolls.
"If you find yourself in need of work before you depart the land of the living, come back to this region once more with this scroll, and we'll work something out. I offer more than favourable rates, as you'll find out when you find out what the going rate is for the region."
Palar stared at him intensely, then burst out into a hearty laughter. "You know what? I think I will. I have never heard of an unliving assassin before, eh? I relish the chance to make history, even in death."
"That's all I could want," Cindyr said as he bid the assassins away. He didn't have much hope for the assassin coming back, even in death, but then that was the scroll's purpose: to give the assassin an opportunity to join the cause, or to spread word of it. Regardless of what happened, the assassin would be doing the cause a favour in the end.
A smile broke Cindyr's face as he waved, showing the ivory whites of his teeth, like small skeletons packed into rows. Perhaps, one day, he wouldn't need to deal with assassins. Perhaps, one day, he could sleep in peace, without the thought of masters clouding his mind. But until then, all he could do was smile and wave. Smile, and wave.
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# How to Break a Siege of Legends
(Interlude 1: Variem)
(Note: How to Break a Siege of Legends is episodic; each part is self-contained. This story can be enjoyed without reading the previous sections.)
**"Ms. Variem! Ms. Variem!"** Dante sprinted up to his employer's bedroom in the castle tower. "There's, er, someone here to see you." He tore the door open.
Variem, Necromancer and Mayor of Arlington, catapulted herself out of bed. Her wife gave Dante a look that could have withered the flesh off his bones if he wasn't already a skeleton. "Dante, how many times have I told you that humans require *privacy* and spaces to call their *own—*"
"You won't *have* a space to call your own if you don't deal with this *right now*!" Dante hopped up and down, his bones rattling.
Variem traded a glance with her wife—then sighed. "Alright, Variem." She slipped into a practical farmer's getup. "I'll go and see to whatever this is—"
"That won't be necessary," a deep, rumbling voice said from outside.
Variem closed her eyes. "...there's a dragon looking through my bedroom window, isn't there?"
"Indeed." A face the size of an oak log loomed in her window as she threw aside the curtains. "You may call me Flametongue, if you have any need to name me. Perhaps you can scream it as I incinerate you to your bones."
Variem gave the dragon a perplexed look. "And... why in the name of the gods would you ever do that?"
The dragon snorted. "Necromancer. Do you not think I see your corrupting art spreading across the land?"
"As one of said corrupted arts, I think I have something relevant to say," Dante piped up.
"Dante—" Variem snapped at the bonekin. But he had already leapt out through the window and landed on Flametongue's nose.
"I don't know a lot," Dante said, "but I know that humans need *privacy* and a *space to call their own*. If you don't provide Ms. Variem with both of those *right this instant—*"
Flametongue flicked her nose up.
Dante didn't even get to scream as the gout of dragonflame incinerated him to less than ash.
Variem and her wife gaped at where the bonekin had been. Flametongue, satisfied, licked her lips and said, "Now, where was I? Ah, yes—"
"He was a *child*," Variem hissed.
"Excuse me?" Flametongue blinked.
"I built him last year. He was a *child*, and you *killed him.*" Variem felt his death still lingering in the air. She grabbed onto it, twisted it into her own powers. "You dare come into my home, my demesne, and *slay the citizens under my protection?*"
She sent out a mental command, and twenty skeletal archers popped out from various places in the castle. Flametongue's eyes narrowed as she calculated odds. The archers would be useless against her scales, and Variem knew it—if Flametongue attacked, everything she had built would be destroyed.
So she could *not* let Flametongue attack.
"I will give you one chance to leave with the insults you have already dealt us." She wrapped the death of Dante into a ball, and darkness swelled around one fist. "Begone, dragon, before you find out what the Necromancer of Argenton can do."
Flametongue growled once, then turned around. "Dismantle your castle and burn down your forests, Necromancer. I will return in a year. If your village is cleansed of your taint by then, well... perhaps we can reach an accommodation after all." Flametongue flapped once, twice, then soared into the sky.
Variem exhaled and looked at the power in her hands. Barely enough to singe Flametongue's scales. Dante had been so much more valuable in life than death.
Then she turned to her wife. "...we may have some remodeling to do, my love. And fast."
A.N.
I'm trying something new! "How to Break a Siege of Legends" will be an episodic story where each part is inspired by a writing prompt that catches my eye. Check out [this post](https://www.reddit.com/r/bubblewriters/comments/mdh066/how_to_break_a_siege_of_legends_masterpost/) for more information.
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[WP] You are an ethical necromancer. All your minions were raised voluntarily, under fair contracts. But some people can't see a spooky castle in the woods staffed by undead without breaking in and trying to kill you.
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The door to his laboratory burst in, a knight in gore spattered armor stomping through. The greatsword the knight carried was drenched in the fluids of the dead.
"Unclean beast!" The knight roared, "This foul magic has no place in the Kingdom of," but stopped when the necromancer held up his hand.
"They were volunteers." The necromancer said with a sigh. "You just killed people who wanted to be undead."
The knight seemed unsure of himself for a moment.
"Lies! No one of sound mind would want to be a slave!" He nodded, as if confirming it for himself.
"This is getting really old." The necromancer said. He then stood from his desk. The knight, fearing some spell of transmutation or worse, went into ready stance, sword held high. The necromancer ignored the knight, walking to his collection of chests and boxes. He started rummaging through them, muttering to himself.
"All I want to do is study, but noooo can't do that, can't be left alone to see why things work like they do. Try to figure out something no one else could, but nope, you've got people like this jacov kicking in my doors, you owe me a new one by the way, yelling about 'oh evil magics', or 'unnatural ways' or some such crap. Ah, Here they are."
He turned then with a fist full of parchment.
"These are the contracts. They are legal, signed by the volunteer and the witness priest. The people in this keep are not my slaves. Or employees for that matter. They are willing test subjects for highly sensitive work. I see you've gone glassy eye."
The knight indeed had a thousand yard stare as if the words being spoken to him meant nothing.
"What I'm trying to tell you is you've killed my subjects and extended the time needed for my research. Again. You are not the first one to kick down my doors."
The knight was perplexed. Here is the thing guilty of creating the undead creatures he just dispatched, telling him *he* was in the wrong.
"I don't understand." Was all the knight could muster.
The necromancer smacked his forehead with his palm.
"In the shortest words I know." The necromancer said, "You. Are. Wrong. You. Need. To leave. I will contact. The knights captain. So you can pay. For my door. Andmysubjects. Now. Go." He finished by walking to the now ruined door and pointed out the doorway.
The knight still seemed confused but went as he was told. The necromancer produced a flute from his robes and tittered a few notes. Shuffling feet made their way up the steps. A rotten man appeared at the top of the stairs, his jaw hung limp.
"Fetch your friends, Dale, we've got a door to repair." The zombie simply moaned in agreement.
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# How to Break a Siege of Legends
(Interlude 1: Variem)
(Note: How to Break a Siege of Legends is episodic; each part is self-contained. This story can be enjoyed without reading the previous sections.)
**"Ms. Variem! Ms. Variem!"** Dante sprinted up to his employer's bedroom in the castle tower. "There's, er, someone here to see you." He tore the door open.
Variem, Necromancer and Mayor of Arlington, catapulted herself out of bed. Her wife gave Dante a look that could have withered the flesh off his bones if he wasn't already a skeleton. "Dante, how many times have I told you that humans require *privacy* and spaces to call their *own—*"
"You won't *have* a space to call your own if you don't deal with this *right now*!" Dante hopped up and down, his bones rattling.
Variem traded a glance with her wife—then sighed. "Alright, Variem." She slipped into a practical farmer's getup. "I'll go and see to whatever this is—"
"That won't be necessary," a deep, rumbling voice said from outside.
Variem closed her eyes. "...there's a dragon looking through my bedroom window, isn't there?"
"Indeed." A face the size of an oak log loomed in her window as she threw aside the curtains. "You may call me Flametongue, if you have any need to name me. Perhaps you can scream it as I incinerate you to your bones."
Variem gave the dragon a perplexed look. "And... why in the name of the gods would you ever do that?"
The dragon snorted. "Necromancer. Do you not think I see your corrupting art spreading across the land?"
"As one of said corrupted arts, I think I have something relevant to say," Dante piped up.
"Dante—" Variem snapped at the bonekin. But he had already leapt out through the window and landed on Flametongue's nose.
"I don't know a lot," Dante said, "but I know that humans need *privacy* and a *space to call their own*. If you don't provide Ms. Variem with both of those *right this instant—*"
Flametongue flicked her nose up.
Dante didn't even get to scream as the gout of dragonflame incinerated him to less than ash.
Variem and her wife gaped at where the bonekin had been. Flametongue, satisfied, licked her lips and said, "Now, where was I? Ah, yes—"
"He was a *child*," Variem hissed.
"Excuse me?" Flametongue blinked.
"I built him last year. He was a *child*, and you *killed him.*" Variem felt his death still lingering in the air. She grabbed onto it, twisted it into her own powers. "You dare come into my home, my demesne, and *slay the citizens under my protection?*"
She sent out a mental command, and twenty skeletal archers popped out from various places in the castle. Flametongue's eyes narrowed as she calculated odds. The archers would be useless against her scales, and Variem knew it—if Flametongue attacked, everything she had built would be destroyed.
So she could *not* let Flametongue attack.
"I will give you one chance to leave with the insults you have already dealt us." She wrapped the death of Dante into a ball, and darkness swelled around one fist. "Begone, dragon, before you find out what the Necromancer of Argenton can do."
Flametongue growled once, then turned around. "Dismantle your castle and burn down your forests, Necromancer. I will return in a year. If your village is cleansed of your taint by then, well... perhaps we can reach an accommodation after all." Flametongue flapped once, twice, then soared into the sky.
Variem exhaled and looked at the power in her hands. Barely enough to singe Flametongue's scales. Dante had been so much more valuable in life than death.
Then she turned to her wife. "...we may have some remodeling to do, my love. And fast."
A.N.
I'm trying something new! "How to Break a Siege of Legends" will be an episodic story where each part is inspired by a writing prompt that catches my eye. Check out [this post](https://www.reddit.com/r/bubblewriters/comments/mdh066/how_to_break_a_siege_of_legends_masterpost/) for more information.
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[WP] You are an ethical necromancer. All your minions were raised voluntarily, under fair contracts. But some people can't see a spooky castle in the woods staffed by undead without breaking in and trying to kill you.
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"Sir, there's another band of heroes trying to get in."
"Thank you Captain."
I stretched, letting out a groan before straightening my robes. My staff floated to my hand, the black flame growing at my touch. I left the latest batch of preservation fluid to mix, whilst I dealt with the latest set of do-gooders.
Captain Ulgreve led the way to the front gate. His armour glowed with the many enchantments I had laid upon it. It would do no good for my oldest friend to be slain easily, so I had seen to it that he wouldn't be. We passed a few servants, who stepped aside with practiced ease.
Situations like this were relatively common. No matter how many times I sent them away, more heroes would come. I couldn't really blame them though. My castle was quite spooky looking. It was in a fantastic state for its age though, much better then when I had found it.
I pulled back my focus. It was all to easy for me to get distracted. We quickly made our way to the outer wall. A group of guards stood ready whilst Ergota, my raised giant, braced the gates themselves. The wood rattled at the heroes attempts to get in, and I could hear muffled talking from the other side. It wasn't clear enough to hear what they were saying, so I took the time to address my guards.
"Thank you everyone for being ready. Ergota, are you having difficulty?"
She laughed.
"No, they aren't that strong."
"Glad to hear it. How's little Jela doing?"
"She's growing up so fast. She went on her first hunt last week."
I clapped my hands, grinning.
"How exciting! Did she succeed?"
Ergota pointed at a tooth on her belt.
"She brought down a bear. I'm very proud."
"She is definitely her mother's daughter. Harris, Plath, Bert, how about you? Are your families doing well?"
They all gave me little updates. I smiled at each one, before returning back to the matter at hand.
"Right, they aren't going to go away are they? Let them through, we can deal with their misguided intentions."
Ergota stepped back, placing her hand on the oversized warhammer she favorued. The gates heaved open, and the three heroes stood before us. One was dressed in a hodgepodge set of armour, that looked to have been scavenged from multiple battles. The second held an ordinary bow, and looked to barely be called an adult. The third was a slight fellow, holding twin daggers.
They looked a little shocked at the sudden ease up of pressure. As they faced me and my guards, they paled. I could understand this too. All of us had greyish skin, pulled tight against the bone. Our eyes shone with the same sickly green flames. I looked the most alive, probably because I hadn't actually died, but rather painlessly transitioned to the point between life and death.
Armour boy spluttered for a moment, before making actual words.
"You! You're the evil necromancer!"
I almost laughed at the cheesy line. Once I found myself insulted to be called that. Now I just found it amusing. Bow girl followed it up.
"Your vile schemes are at an end."
Yup, that was a standard shout. Dagger bloke shook his head, mouthing something as he slowly began to back up. I assumed it was an insult.
"First off, what vile schemes do you think I'm running? Why do you think me evil?"
Armour boy shouted back.
"You must be wanting to control this country! How else can the common folk like you so much?! And you force the dead to do your bidding!"
I looked at the guards around me.
"Have I ever forced you to do anything?"
They shook their heads, but Harris piped up.
"Hold on, you did make me wear a tutu for a day!"
I snorted.
"Only because you lost a bet." I turned back to the group. "You see? And to answer your question, it's because I employ those who have died through no fault of their own. They get to work to help their families, and their families get more time to spent with them."
The heroes looked at each other. Armour boy and Bow girl had a look of confusion. Dagger bloke just looked annoyed. He finally spoke at a normal volume.
"I told you! But no, you didn't listen to me. Idiots." He nodded to me, "My apologies. I told them that you weren't evil, but they don't listen to me. With your permission, we will leave."
I gave him a smile.
"Thank you. By all means, go ahead."
Ergota closed the gates. I turned to head back inside. Hopefully the fluid would be ready for the next step by now.
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# How to Break a Siege of Legends
(Interlude 1: Variem)
(Note: How to Break a Siege of Legends is episodic; each part is self-contained. This story can be enjoyed without reading the previous sections.)
**"Ms. Variem! Ms. Variem!"** Dante sprinted up to his employer's bedroom in the castle tower. "There's, er, someone here to see you." He tore the door open.
Variem, Necromancer and Mayor of Arlington, catapulted herself out of bed. Her wife gave Dante a look that could have withered the flesh off his bones if he wasn't already a skeleton. "Dante, how many times have I told you that humans require *privacy* and spaces to call their *own—*"
"You won't *have* a space to call your own if you don't deal with this *right now*!" Dante hopped up and down, his bones rattling.
Variem traded a glance with her wife—then sighed. "Alright, Variem." She slipped into a practical farmer's getup. "I'll go and see to whatever this is—"
"That won't be necessary," a deep, rumbling voice said from outside.
Variem closed her eyes. "...there's a dragon looking through my bedroom window, isn't there?"
"Indeed." A face the size of an oak log loomed in her window as she threw aside the curtains. "You may call me Flametongue, if you have any need to name me. Perhaps you can scream it as I incinerate you to your bones."
Variem gave the dragon a perplexed look. "And... why in the name of the gods would you ever do that?"
The dragon snorted. "Necromancer. Do you not think I see your corrupting art spreading across the land?"
"As one of said corrupted arts, I think I have something relevant to say," Dante piped up.
"Dante—" Variem snapped at the bonekin. But he had already leapt out through the window and landed on Flametongue's nose.
"I don't know a lot," Dante said, "but I know that humans need *privacy* and a *space to call their own*. If you don't provide Ms. Variem with both of those *right this instant—*"
Flametongue flicked her nose up.
Dante didn't even get to scream as the gout of dragonflame incinerated him to less than ash.
Variem and her wife gaped at where the bonekin had been. Flametongue, satisfied, licked her lips and said, "Now, where was I? Ah, yes—"
"He was a *child*," Variem hissed.
"Excuse me?" Flametongue blinked.
"I built him last year. He was a *child*, and you *killed him.*" Variem felt his death still lingering in the air. She grabbed onto it, twisted it into her own powers. "You dare come into my home, my demesne, and *slay the citizens under my protection?*"
She sent out a mental command, and twenty skeletal archers popped out from various places in the castle. Flametongue's eyes narrowed as she calculated odds. The archers would be useless against her scales, and Variem knew it—if Flametongue attacked, everything she had built would be destroyed.
So she could *not* let Flametongue attack.
"I will give you one chance to leave with the insults you have already dealt us." She wrapped the death of Dante into a ball, and darkness swelled around one fist. "Begone, dragon, before you find out what the Necromancer of Argenton can do."
Flametongue growled once, then turned around. "Dismantle your castle and burn down your forests, Necromancer. I will return in a year. If your village is cleansed of your taint by then, well... perhaps we can reach an accommodation after all." Flametongue flapped once, twice, then soared into the sky.
Variem exhaled and looked at the power in her hands. Barely enough to singe Flametongue's scales. Dante had been so much more valuable in life than death.
Then she turned to her wife. "...we may have some remodeling to do, my love. And fast."
A.N.
I'm trying something new! "How to Break a Siege of Legends" will be an episodic story where each part is inspired by a writing prompt that catches my eye. Check out [this post](https://www.reddit.com/r/bubblewriters/comments/mdh066/how_to_break_a_siege_of_legends_masterpost/) for more information.
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[WP] You are an ethical necromancer. All your minions were raised voluntarily, under fair contracts. But some people can't see a spooky castle in the woods staffed by undead without breaking in and trying to kill you.
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Cindyr the necromancer walked down the stairs in a pink fuzzy robe to meet his intruders. As his slippers squeaked into the emptiness of his mansion with each step down the seemingly endless winding ivory endless staircase, he wondered which of the many enemies he'd developed over the decades had sent these assassins over. They probably weren't local— he'd dealt with most of those. So whom?
The assassins, decked out in fine steel armour covering them from head to foot, had been corralled into a corner, pikes poking their throat by attentive unliving in bright, purple livery.
"So, who are you and whaddaya want?" mumbled Cindyr, taking a sip of the coffee. It was quite cold. Just the way he liked it.
"We're here to stop you and your machinations you vile fiend!" the tallest of the group said with the certainty of a person for whose life had never suffered a single failure, and was used to giving orders, not taking them. The broad shouldered assassin stood ramrod straight, as though their armour had been ironed by pride.
*'Ah, the leader. This'll make it easy,'* Cindyr thought. "What's your name, assassin?"
"Palar, and you would do well to remember it, for it shall be the last name you whisper as my blade pierces your rotting heart!" the tall assassin spat.
"Oh you don't need to do the act for me. I've seen it all before. Was it Balázs who hired you? Petro? Andri? Ah hah. Andri it is," Cindyr said, watching Palar flinch at the last name. All but the most stubborn of aristocratic families had given up the fight over the last century, and the list of names grew smaller with each generation. Perhaps, in a few more, he'd have a good night's rest.
"Fiend! You may know my paymaster, but I fight not for money, but for—"
"As a gesture of good will," Cindyr interrupted loudly, "I'll let you leave this place alive *and* I'll sweeten the pot by paying pay you two-half Andri's rate to *fuck off*. What does he pay? Hundred gilder up front, two-fifty on completion?" The tall adventurer went rigid with surprise, clearly not expecting this was where the conversation was going.
"Palar you dumb piece of shit. Take the deal!" the smaller of the companions hissed. Cindyr waggled his eyebrows.
"Shut it Benri. Tell me, *Necromancer*, why I should listen to your words?" Palar asked, looking intently at Cindyr's face. Before anyone could react, the sound of fingers clicking rang out in the large hall, and a circle of light sprange beneath everyone's feet.
"You cheeky bastard," Cindyr said, coffee sloshing out of his mug in surprise as he looked down and scanned the runes on the circle. "Is this a *Ring of Truth*? You cast a *Ring of Truth* in *my house?*"
"Whilst in this circle you can tell no lie to me, fiend! Now explain to me why I shan't kill you where you stand!"
"By the World Above, you've got pikes poking at your throat, and you've the balls to think *you've* the leverage? The fucking *nerve* of assassins these days! Fine! *Fine!* You want to know why you can't kill me? Because if you *do*, *you'll* be sending ten thousand people to a slow death. Even assassins have limits to how many heads they can hang proudly on their neck."
"Ha! So you *have* bound yourself to these souls eh? Perhaps I should strike you dead where you stand."
"What? Are you *simple in the head*? Necromancy doesn't work like that. Everyone here signed *Contract Magic* *Agreements* with me. *Willingly*."
At his word, some of the unliving reached a free hand into their breast pockets, pulling out a carefully sealed scroll. They unfurled it, and Palan's eyes narrowed, then widened as he came to realise his error. He could not deny what was written on them; witnessed by many and signed in blood. Then he realised his second error; he looked into some of the eyes of the unalive, and saw the spark of life dancing to a pulse, waiting to stick their pikes into his neck.
"Then, what do you mean by *sending people to the gallows?*" Palar swallowed.
"I mean that *I* am the voice of all these villages. We are a *commune*. *I* speak on their behalf. This castle is a seat of a legitimate *government. I* am a bastion against the ancient and oppressive system you all call *Feudalism,* which seeks to put everyone under my charge in chains, and who would spend lives like coin to try and break us. I am one of many here keeping jackals like *Andri* and his ilk from swooping in and putting everyone in this region to the sword."
It angered Cindyr that he kept needing to justify the position of the village communes. Why couldn't everyone leave them well enough alone? Because of course, they were afraid; if the disease of democracy spread, the little empires would be ruined.
It had been the villagers who had come to him at first a century ago. He was a small timer then, a fledgling contract magician with barely a penny to his name. But even so, he had been more than happy to help, raising an army of skeletons to protect their fledgling village. Again. And again. And again.
The decades passed with stalemate, until the villagers came to him with another idea that would turn the fortunes of their little movement. If he could offer them the option to fight *after* death, to fight so that their children, and their children, could continue to live without masters, then they would take it without hesitation. They truly believed in their convictions, and from that moment on, so too did he. Word spread over the decades, and number of villages who joined in their democratic collective grew in number, until one day they were a force unto their own, able to withstand the bullying of the feudal lords in the region. He was proud at having helped an entire population realise their potential. He was happy to call his equal the person who was willing to die, and live on after, and soon, he would count himself amongst those eternal soldiers.
"So, what? You're going to keep building an army here, and then what? Take over the world?"
"What? No. Worlds Above, no. That would make us no better than the Oppressors who seek to oppress us. We only fight to defend ourselves, *never* to impose our will. Ask anyone you want when you leave, they'll be more than happy to tell you how they ended up here., and how we have never raised the sword in anger." The subject of war and violence rubbed Cindyr's mood raw, so he changed the subject. "Hold on. Didn't you see the clerks when you broke in?"
"Err, I don't have to answer that," Palar shifted uneasily, the advantage of his moral position suddenly switched over.
"Palar you gobshite fucking weasle, we walked past plenty of rooms with them. You even said *this seems a bit weird, I thought there were ghosts and shit here,*" the smallest companion hissed. Cindyr pointed at the companion, eyebrows shooting up, saying *see? See?!*
"Fine. *Fine,*" Palar said, snapping away the Ring of Truth.
"Good. *Good*. Everyone, stand down. I think we can start talking business now," Cindyr said. At his word, the unliving grunted and withdrew their pikes, but stood wearily at attention, bodies coiled with tension, ready to spring into action if Palar so much as looked at him funny.
Palar and Cindyr bandied back and forth for a while, an unliving servant meandering over with a tray of coffee and treats for the adventurers, who accepted the offering with shaking, adrenaline soaked hands.
For a braindead assassin, Palar was quite the political scholar, wanting to know a little more about the things he was doing. He was new to the region, apparently, him and his crew looking to make a name for themselves.
Cindyr was sympathetic; he'd done a lot over the decades to dissuade the various assassin guilds to stop coming after him. Andri and his ilk were getting desperate if they were looking for assassins outside of the region.
Palar demanded far more than Cindyr knew Andri would be willing to offer. But the session of truth had spent him, and he just wanted rid of them. A price was finally agreed upon, and a contract— magically binding only in word— was quickly drawn up.
Before Palar and his adventurers turned to leave, Cindyr spoke up, a new cup of coffee in hand. "Oh, Palar, before you go. I want you to take this." An unliving servant appeared by his side almost instantly with a tray, on which were three scrolls.
"If you find yourself in need of work before you depart the land of the living, come back to this region once more with this scroll, and we'll work something out. I offer more than favourable rates, as you'll find out when you find out what the going rate is for the region."
Palar stared at him intensely, then burst out into a hearty laughter. "You know what? I think I will. I have never heard of an unliving assassin before, eh? I relish the chance to make history, even in death."
"That's all I could want," Cindyr said as he bid the assassins away. He didn't have much hope for the assassin coming back, even in death, but then that was the scroll's purpose: to give the assassin an opportunity to join the cause, or to spread word of it. Regardless of what happened, the assassin would be doing the cause a favour in the end.
A smile broke Cindyr's face as he waved, showing the ivory whites of his teeth, like small skeletons packed into rows. Perhaps, one day, he wouldn't need to deal with assassins. Perhaps, one day, he could sleep in peace, without the thought of masters clouding his mind. But until then, all he could do was smile and wave. Smile, and wave.
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"Oh god, not this shit again..." Rain left his cozy bed while cursing out loud. With slow steps, he walked to the window and stuck his head out.
There, he saw a group of man, trespassing his garden.
A young man with golden hair and a slim figure noticed his appearance and frowned deeply. Not waiting for the three others nearby, he pointed with his silver sword and stated.
"You demon spawn, we came to ward off the evil you breed, get ready to feel the Justice of our party, the Golden Leaf!"
He spoke swiftly and with a certain rhythm that it almost sounded like poetry. Unlike his cold voice, his eyes still watched the garden with wary eyes, just like others on his team. In the end, Rain's garden was a bit gloomy.
As if the young man was too afraid to stay silent, he began to talk again, blabbering random justice and wicked acts of necromancy.
High up on his castle, Rain felt the chill of the night and thought of learning a heat spell for his well-being.
"Right, I must do that." He concluded as he watched the young man's speech.
Not wanting to spend more time on this stupid guy, Rain took out a scroll from the nearby cabinet and throw it down towards the group.
Noticing the incoming object, the young man's face turned ghastly pale as he jumped back.
"AAAAH!"
Along with him, his teammates also took ten steps back while raising their armors, if not, their swords to be on guard.
For a moment, they looked at the scroll with utter fear.
Rain found it surprising, as these fellows were clearly too young for the job. They were easily scared. But he had no time to play with them, as bedtime was overdue.
So, he spoke.
"That's a sign of Mage Tower, and I'm a member of it. So, leave quickly, and don't forget to fix the wall you breach through."
Rain said his usual line and waited. From his experience, the party leader would first scan the scroll to see if it was poisoned or enchanted, then read it from far away, and finally, would leave his home quietly. As no adventurer would dare to anger the Mage Tower, not that they would win against an actual Mage.
"What is he standing there for?" Rain frowned. The said leader was doing nothing and stood on his spot like a statue.
Almost as soon as Rain muttered to himself, the leader fell back, with foam on his mouth. Then his fellow members rushed to nurse him, only to escape from the garden without looking at the scroll.
This was the first time Rain saw a group so green, that they would be scared from a fallen object. At least, he thought, they left even faster than others... Finally, Rain returned to his warm bed in a happy mood.
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[WP] You are an ethical necromancer. All your minions were raised voluntarily, under fair contracts. But some people can't see a spooky castle in the woods staffed by undead without breaking in and trying to kill you.
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The door to his laboratory burst in, a knight in gore spattered armor stomping through. The greatsword the knight carried was drenched in the fluids of the dead.
"Unclean beast!" The knight roared, "This foul magic has no place in the Kingdom of," but stopped when the necromancer held up his hand.
"They were volunteers." The necromancer said with a sigh. "You just killed people who wanted to be undead."
The knight seemed unsure of himself for a moment.
"Lies! No one of sound mind would want to be a slave!" He nodded, as if confirming it for himself.
"This is getting really old." The necromancer said. He then stood from his desk. The knight, fearing some spell of transmutation or worse, went into ready stance, sword held high. The necromancer ignored the knight, walking to his collection of chests and boxes. He started rummaging through them, muttering to himself.
"All I want to do is study, but noooo can't do that, can't be left alone to see why things work like they do. Try to figure out something no one else could, but nope, you've got people like this jacov kicking in my doors, you owe me a new one by the way, yelling about 'oh evil magics', or 'unnatural ways' or some such crap. Ah, Here they are."
He turned then with a fist full of parchment.
"These are the contracts. They are legal, signed by the volunteer and the witness priest. The people in this keep are not my slaves. Or employees for that matter. They are willing test subjects for highly sensitive work. I see you've gone glassy eye."
The knight indeed had a thousand yard stare as if the words being spoken to him meant nothing.
"What I'm trying to tell you is you've killed my subjects and extended the time needed for my research. Again. You are not the first one to kick down my doors."
The knight was perplexed. Here is the thing guilty of creating the undead creatures he just dispatched, telling him *he* was in the wrong.
"I don't understand." Was all the knight could muster.
The necromancer smacked his forehead with his palm.
"In the shortest words I know." The necromancer said, "You. Are. Wrong. You. Need. To leave. I will contact. The knights captain. So you can pay. For my door. Andmysubjects. Now. Go." He finished by walking to the now ruined door and pointed out the doorway.
The knight still seemed confused but went as he was told. The necromancer produced a flute from his robes and tittered a few notes. Shuffling feet made their way up the steps. A rotten man appeared at the top of the stairs, his jaw hung limp.
"Fetch your friends, Dale, we've got a door to repair." The zombie simply moaned in agreement.
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Lightning cracks across a dark and cloudy sky, illuminating the spires of the ancient, ivy-covered castle. As the rain begins to fall softly, a group of hooded figures walks along a forest path that leads toward mangled iron gates.
The band enters the castle grounds and reaches the overhang that protects the main entrance, flinging back their cloaks to reveal four well-armed adventurers. A massive Human with fiery red hair wears nothing across his back but a battleaxe, while an otherworldly Elf wields a bow that shines with bright white light. Magical energy dances across the small fingers of a Gnome and a well-dressed Tiefling smiles with his hand resting on the lute at his side.
The only one who’s face bears any sense of joviality, the Tiefling is the first to speak. With a smirk he scoffs, “I do have to say, these evil wizards certainly have a flair for the dramatic in choosing their lairs.” The Human’s face breaks with a wry smile for a moment before straightening again and turning back. “Keep sharp, stay together. We’ll kill this bastard and clear the castle of anythin’ valuable, don’t think anybody’s comin’ back for it anytime soon.” The Gnome nods in agreement and approaches the main entrance. He flicks his wrist and a clicking sound is heard, the door swinging open softly. The Elf looks to the others before slipping into the shadows to scout ahead, followed shortly after by the others.
As they make their way forward into a large foyer, three shambling forms begin approaching from the darkness. As they near the light cast by the Elf’s bow their ghastly faces are revealed, rotting flesh sloughing from their cheeks, their eyes glowing with a strange green energy. In a flash the adventurers are upon them: the Human’s axe biting through undead flesh, the Elf’s arrow piercing between partially exposed ribs, the Gnome releasing a burning blast of energy. The whole battle is over in seconds as the undead fall.
The party continues into the castle, slaughtering any undead they can find. After another thirty or so have been felled, the Human asks aloud to no one in particular, “Zombies, why do it always have to be zombies?” It’s the Elf’s turn to laugh, and they respond in a lilting voice, “Necromancy is a dark art, but not a terribly complicated one. The spells and incantations to raise the dead can be found in many places, this is one of the reasons why the magic is so dangerous and intolerable.” The Elf seems to notice something ahead, “Hold! Something stirs in the darkness.” The party quickly eases into their fighting stances and draws their weapons as footsteps can now be heard approaching.
The person that comes down the hall is not a zombie, but another man, clad in a red robe covering simple black clothes. He carries a staff and a small flower, and speaks aloud, “Welcome to my home. I’m sorry that I could not greet you personally upon your arrival for I was indisposed. However, after seeing how you greeted my friends perhaps it is for the best.” The hardened adventurers waste no time listening to the ramblings of an obvious necromancer, leaping into action at the first opportunity.
The Human interrupts whatever the man was to say next with a swing from his axe. Just able to dodge out of the way the robed figure cries out, “No! You don’t...” but his voice is silenced and replaced with a gurgle of blood as an arrow thuds into his chest. The Gnome chants something in a loud voice and the stone of the castle wall morphs into a large hand, reaching out and wrapping around the necromancer. From behind the party the Tiefling plays a few chords on their lute, and a wave of energy washes of the other members seeming to bolster them. The Human swings again with his axe, this time finding purchase in the necromancer’s shoulder, a splash of blood spraying across their faces. The Gnome releases the stone hand and Necromancer falls to ground as the party gathers around him. Looking up at those who have killed him his eyes are filled with sadness, and as the light leaves them he chokes out with his last breath, “Please...leave...leave now...run...” as the flower falls from his hand.
As life fades from the figure the party looks to one another. The Tiefling says full of confidence, “I wonder what he meant? These guys are always so cryptic and weird, at least the pay should be good!” This seems to break the group’s battle focus, and as they calm they begin gathering valuables and preparing for the journey back to the nearby town.
Their pockets laden with the gold and jewels of the dilapidated castle, they start to head back to the foyer and the main entrance. The Elf turns to the party and looks uneasy, “Did you hear that?” No-one else seems to at first, but then the Tiefling notices it too. A scratching, a shambling. In the distance for now, but growing steadily closer. The Gnome and the Human pick it up and the Gnome turns and speaks four words, the first out of him this entire journey, “We must leave, now!”
As the sounds grow the adventurers begin to run, shapes starting to appear in the darkness behind them. They round a corner and find themselves facing a horde of zombies as far down the hallway as the can see. As they pause in shock the shapes behind them come into view, another pack of the undead. At that moment a multitude of voices speak as one as if from the air itself, “Murderers! You have killed the Master! We lived here in peace for decades, given a second chance at life by his mercy! You will pay, as will the rest of the living!” The zombies snarl this time as they lunge, much faster and clearly more aggressive than before. The adventurers disappear under the horde of risen bodies.
The sun breaks over the castle the next day, the storm from the night before cleared. A field of flowers is revealed stretching from the entrance of the castle and into the woods; flowers of the same kind that the necromancer clutched as he died.
The door to the castle opens.
A bare foot sporting only half of it’s flesh crushes one of the flowers as the scene fades to black.
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[WP] You are an ethical necromancer. All your minions were raised voluntarily, under fair contracts. But some people can't see a spooky castle in the woods staffed by undead without breaking in and trying to kill you.
|
"Sir, there's another band of heroes trying to get in."
"Thank you Captain."
I stretched, letting out a groan before straightening my robes. My staff floated to my hand, the black flame growing at my touch. I left the latest batch of preservation fluid to mix, whilst I dealt with the latest set of do-gooders.
Captain Ulgreve led the way to the front gate. His armour glowed with the many enchantments I had laid upon it. It would do no good for my oldest friend to be slain easily, so I had seen to it that he wouldn't be. We passed a few servants, who stepped aside with practiced ease.
Situations like this were relatively common. No matter how many times I sent them away, more heroes would come. I couldn't really blame them though. My castle was quite spooky looking. It was in a fantastic state for its age though, much better then when I had found it.
I pulled back my focus. It was all to easy for me to get distracted. We quickly made our way to the outer wall. A group of guards stood ready whilst Ergota, my raised giant, braced the gates themselves. The wood rattled at the heroes attempts to get in, and I could hear muffled talking from the other side. It wasn't clear enough to hear what they were saying, so I took the time to address my guards.
"Thank you everyone for being ready. Ergota, are you having difficulty?"
She laughed.
"No, they aren't that strong."
"Glad to hear it. How's little Jela doing?"
"She's growing up so fast. She went on her first hunt last week."
I clapped my hands, grinning.
"How exciting! Did she succeed?"
Ergota pointed at a tooth on her belt.
"She brought down a bear. I'm very proud."
"She is definitely her mother's daughter. Harris, Plath, Bert, how about you? Are your families doing well?"
They all gave me little updates. I smiled at each one, before returning back to the matter at hand.
"Right, they aren't going to go away are they? Let them through, we can deal with their misguided intentions."
Ergota stepped back, placing her hand on the oversized warhammer she favorued. The gates heaved open, and the three heroes stood before us. One was dressed in a hodgepodge set of armour, that looked to have been scavenged from multiple battles. The second held an ordinary bow, and looked to barely be called an adult. The third was a slight fellow, holding twin daggers.
They looked a little shocked at the sudden ease up of pressure. As they faced me and my guards, they paled. I could understand this too. All of us had greyish skin, pulled tight against the bone. Our eyes shone with the same sickly green flames. I looked the most alive, probably because I hadn't actually died, but rather painlessly transitioned to the point between life and death.
Armour boy spluttered for a moment, before making actual words.
"You! You're the evil necromancer!"
I almost laughed at the cheesy line. Once I found myself insulted to be called that. Now I just found it amusing. Bow girl followed it up.
"Your vile schemes are at an end."
Yup, that was a standard shout. Dagger bloke shook his head, mouthing something as he slowly began to back up. I assumed it was an insult.
"First off, what vile schemes do you think I'm running? Why do you think me evil?"
Armour boy shouted back.
"You must be wanting to control this country! How else can the common folk like you so much?! And you force the dead to do your bidding!"
I looked at the guards around me.
"Have I ever forced you to do anything?"
They shook their heads, but Harris piped up.
"Hold on, you did make me wear a tutu for a day!"
I snorted.
"Only because you lost a bet." I turned back to the group. "You see? And to answer your question, it's because I employ those who have died through no fault of their own. They get to work to help their families, and their families get more time to spent with them."
The heroes looked at each other. Armour boy and Bow girl had a look of confusion. Dagger bloke just looked annoyed. He finally spoke at a normal volume.
"I told you! But no, you didn't listen to me. Idiots." He nodded to me, "My apologies. I told them that you weren't evil, but they don't listen to me. With your permission, we will leave."
I gave him a smile.
"Thank you. By all means, go ahead."
Ergota closed the gates. I turned to head back inside. Hopefully the fluid would be ready for the next step by now.
|
Lightning cracks across a dark and cloudy sky, illuminating the spires of the ancient, ivy-covered castle. As the rain begins to fall softly, a group of hooded figures walks along a forest path that leads toward mangled iron gates.
The band enters the castle grounds and reaches the overhang that protects the main entrance, flinging back their cloaks to reveal four well-armed adventurers. A massive Human with fiery red hair wears nothing across his back but a battleaxe, while an otherworldly Elf wields a bow that shines with bright white light. Magical energy dances across the small fingers of a Gnome and a well-dressed Tiefling smiles with his hand resting on the lute at his side.
The only one who’s face bears any sense of joviality, the Tiefling is the first to speak. With a smirk he scoffs, “I do have to say, these evil wizards certainly have a flair for the dramatic in choosing their lairs.” The Human’s face breaks with a wry smile for a moment before straightening again and turning back. “Keep sharp, stay together. We’ll kill this bastard and clear the castle of anythin’ valuable, don’t think anybody’s comin’ back for it anytime soon.” The Gnome nods in agreement and approaches the main entrance. He flicks his wrist and a clicking sound is heard, the door swinging open softly. The Elf looks to the others before slipping into the shadows to scout ahead, followed shortly after by the others.
As they make their way forward into a large foyer, three shambling forms begin approaching from the darkness. As they near the light cast by the Elf’s bow their ghastly faces are revealed, rotting flesh sloughing from their cheeks, their eyes glowing with a strange green energy. In a flash the adventurers are upon them: the Human’s axe biting through undead flesh, the Elf’s arrow piercing between partially exposed ribs, the Gnome releasing a burning blast of energy. The whole battle is over in seconds as the undead fall.
The party continues into the castle, slaughtering any undead they can find. After another thirty or so have been felled, the Human asks aloud to no one in particular, “Zombies, why do it always have to be zombies?” It’s the Elf’s turn to laugh, and they respond in a lilting voice, “Necromancy is a dark art, but not a terribly complicated one. The spells and incantations to raise the dead can be found in many places, this is one of the reasons why the magic is so dangerous and intolerable.” The Elf seems to notice something ahead, “Hold! Something stirs in the darkness.” The party quickly eases into their fighting stances and draws their weapons as footsteps can now be heard approaching.
The person that comes down the hall is not a zombie, but another man, clad in a red robe covering simple black clothes. He carries a staff and a small flower, and speaks aloud, “Welcome to my home. I’m sorry that I could not greet you personally upon your arrival for I was indisposed. However, after seeing how you greeted my friends perhaps it is for the best.” The hardened adventurers waste no time listening to the ramblings of an obvious necromancer, leaping into action at the first opportunity.
The Human interrupts whatever the man was to say next with a swing from his axe. Just able to dodge out of the way the robed figure cries out, “No! You don’t...” but his voice is silenced and replaced with a gurgle of blood as an arrow thuds into his chest. The Gnome chants something in a loud voice and the stone of the castle wall morphs into a large hand, reaching out and wrapping around the necromancer. From behind the party the Tiefling plays a few chords on their lute, and a wave of energy washes of the other members seeming to bolster them. The Human swings again with his axe, this time finding purchase in the necromancer’s shoulder, a splash of blood spraying across their faces. The Gnome releases the stone hand and Necromancer falls to ground as the party gathers around him. Looking up at those who have killed him his eyes are filled with sadness, and as the light leaves them he chokes out with his last breath, “Please...leave...leave now...run...” as the flower falls from his hand.
As life fades from the figure the party looks to one another. The Tiefling says full of confidence, “I wonder what he meant? These guys are always so cryptic and weird, at least the pay should be good!” This seems to break the group’s battle focus, and as they calm they begin gathering valuables and preparing for the journey back to the nearby town.
Their pockets laden with the gold and jewels of the dilapidated castle, they start to head back to the foyer and the main entrance. The Elf turns to the party and looks uneasy, “Did you hear that?” No-one else seems to at first, but then the Tiefling notices it too. A scratching, a shambling. In the distance for now, but growing steadily closer. The Gnome and the Human pick it up and the Gnome turns and speaks four words, the first out of him this entire journey, “We must leave, now!”
As the sounds grow the adventurers begin to run, shapes starting to appear in the darkness behind them. They round a corner and find themselves facing a horde of zombies as far down the hallway as the can see. As they pause in shock the shapes behind them come into view, another pack of the undead. At that moment a multitude of voices speak as one as if from the air itself, “Murderers! You have killed the Master! We lived here in peace for decades, given a second chance at life by his mercy! You will pay, as will the rest of the living!” The zombies snarl this time as they lunge, much faster and clearly more aggressive than before. The adventurers disappear under the horde of risen bodies.
The sun breaks over the castle the next day, the storm from the night before cleared. A field of flowers is revealed stretching from the entrance of the castle and into the woods; flowers of the same kind that the necromancer clutched as he died.
The door to the castle opens.
A bare foot sporting only half of it’s flesh crushes one of the flowers as the scene fades to black.
|
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