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[WP] The zombie apocalypse has arrived. (Un)fortunately humans seem to be the only species outright immune to the virus.
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‘I hate the birds the most’, she said looking out over the park.
‘I can live with the birds, it’s the squirrels that I really hate’.
She grunted in agreement. ‘Have you ever seen an elephant one?’
‘No way. That’s not true’.
‘Cross my heart and hope to die. Me and dad went to the zoo a week after the whole thing started, the elephants had gone full Z, same as the baboons.’ He paused for a moment. ‘Not the giraffes though.’
‘You’re saying you saw zombie elephants and zombie baboons? That’s gross’.
They shuffled around on the bench, trying to get more comfortable.
‘I wonder, why not humans? I’d have thought where the baboons went so did we’.
‘Yeah, but it’s a virus though. It mutates. Maybe once it’s done with all the chickens it’ll come for the cats, or us’.
Suddenly, they had to duck, as two pigeons fell from the sky locked together in a fight to the death, before fleeing at the sight of one pigeon, its feathers torn and missing a foot, madly pecking at the others head, soft brain splashing on the brown park bench below it.
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I inhale sharply and the strong scent of gunpowder rushes to my head. The occasional crack of rifles tolling along the firing line is playing havoc with the dull ache of an oncoming migraine. "I need mags!" It seems like this is the umpteenth time I've yelled this phrase today but now, there's no response.
I make do with peripheral vision to peek at my sides, careful not to take my focus completely away from the tree line in front of me. Through the corner of my vision I see bodies, some human but most not - many of the corpses look mangled, torn, and bloody. "Fuck!" I exhale as I begin to slowly walk backwards. Squatting down I rummage through the corpses, after all, without ammo I won't be far from joining these poor bastards in the grave. It's not long into my little scavenging expedition when a large shadow begins to break through the tree line, followed by a roar.
Grandma K used to always say, "Don't romanticize disaster Mike." I loved her for it as much as I thought she was a little ol' crazy lady at the time. "It's just a movie or a game grandma!" I'd reply. I often remember thinking that humans are nothing if not for their basic needs. Food, water, shelter, entertainment - and what better way to stay entertained than disaster?
There were countless forms of media about nuclear winter, pandemics, meteors, zombies, and numerous other imaginings that were no less lethal and final. It really seems like a long unfulfilled wish come true that humanity would go out with bangs and whimpers to one of these scenarios. It's not quite as we had envisioned though, no. It's not man shaped creatures with insatiable hunger that you have to deal with in this horrific new world. The real nightmares are the animals, both big and small.
I don't know where or how it all started exactly. One minute I'm on the couch watching the news, eating cheese puffs, and then the next there's a video of some girl screaming "Stop! Snookums stop!" as she's ripped to shreds by her mutt. It didn't take long before there was a collective recognition of animals becoming the equivalent of zombies. Whether fortunate or unfortunate, humanity didn't seem to be susceptible to any such infections.
While humanity didn't need to worry about infection, it suffered from something else entirely. The sheer ferocity of a hungry, chaotic animal kingdom. Never in our wildest dreams did we think hordes of dogs, cats, pigs, cows, rodents, and everything in-between would drown cities and backwoods towns in blood and bits. Even animals that weren't predatory found ways to kill. It took 3 days from the time of the first report until I encountered the infected up close.
Grandma and I were toiling about in the garden when we heard an almost scratching, screeching like noise coming from the other side of the wooden privacy fence. Turned out it was a swarm of rats that tunneled underneath on the hunt for a snack. It was at that point I learned the scariest animals aren't the lone hunters or strays. No, it's the swarms. Not much more than 15 minutes went by before bones were all that was left behind.
It's been 2 weeks since hell was unleashed on the world. The small pockets of survivors, including myself have learned that we simply have no time to grieve let alone contemplate a way out of this mess. It's not like the movies where someone swoops in to save the day. We're on our own, struggling for every breath, every minute more we're alive. The only consolation is the deterioration of these undead critters seems to be accelerated, there might be hope for them to rot away before we're all dead.
The roaring intensifies and there are multiple sources. I see them now. Looks like a family of zombie bears, just what I fucking needed. Two big, one small. Fairly decomposed but structurally still deadly it would appear. I eject the empty magazine from my rifle and reload. The survivors around me are all dead and I no longer hear the occasional pop of gunfire in the distance either.
Mama and Papa start the charge with little bear trailing behind. The two 400lb hulking undead creatures gunning for their next meal is the priority, little guy is a threat but secondary. I raise the stock of the rifle to my shoulder and take aim. I begin to fire. Things get hazy as I shoot, reload, repeat. I take a claw to the chest and I feel the sticky drip of blood.
The bears are too close for firearms now. "Let's die together!" I scream, unsheathing a long knife as I get ready for one last vindictive strike. As I pull my arm back, ready to thrust, I hear the distinctive sound of automatic fire. I glance to the side quickly and see a rag-tag militia advancing toward me as they unload high velocity carnage on the creatures.
I release a sigh of relief as I watch the last of the bears stop moving. Turning toward my rescuers I notice fatigue and an aura of something unrecognizable. No, I've just forgot the feeling, they have hope. "Thank you" I say to them, sizing up the small group. "No need. You only have yourself to thank for holding out so far." one of the men says. He continues, "Why don't you join up with us? We're heading north. Got a lead on a community up that way. Supplies, numbers, and defensible encampments enough to hold out until this blows over."
The man holds his hand out to me in an inviting manner. I look on somewhat blankly, digesting what I've just learned. A community? Sounds too good to be true. In just two short weeks society collapsed and all that was left were a few patches of survivors but, what if it's real? I take but a moment before I shake his hand. "I look forward to seeing it."
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[WP] You're a magical girl (or boy) who wants to fight evil, but your transformation sequence is so horrifying that all villains just surrender when you show up.
|
Dear diary,
This is Elodie reporting in! I'm thirteen years old and I came back from my first Magical transformation today when there was an attack at the park gardens and it was soooo disappointing! I didn't even get to use the bow that my Magical crystal created for me or even meet Magical Melody (She's so awesome!!!!).
By the way, Nova is here in my lap right now and he's begging me to give him the rest of the custard pudding I'm eatting. This is supposed to be my celebration pudding, but I'm going to give it to his sparkling butt so he'll let me write my diary entry in peace.
But anyways, here's the scoop on what happened today:
I was visiting the spring astronomy festival at the park with Dad and my baby brother when suddenly, one of the Mistresses Stoneheart showed up on top of one the building roofs, yelling about petrifying everyone with some staff.
Luckily, Magical Melody showed up really quickly and was able to distract the Mistresses with her song blast while were all trying to evacuate out of the area. If I didn't have Nova in my backpack and the Magical crystal that he gave me, I would've been so scared about what was happening. I ended up hiding behind a table to stay and watch. That's when the two other Mistresses of Mayhem showed up with their ugly flying goons!
It must have been a trap for Magical Melody since none of her friends were showing up! I couldn't just let the Mistresses gang up on her, so I ran out towards Magical Melody holding my crystal to my heart and wishing for Magical powers too.
"I wish I may, I wish I might; I wish for Magical power might!"
My crystal exploded into super bright and colorful light with what sounded like a boom and then it's energy started swirling and spinning closer and closer around me into my Magical outfit. My transformation felt like it took foreverrrr, with the energy spinning like a whirlpool that even the daylight was getting sucked into. It felt like an eternity, but I was finally transformed into my Magical outfit, a very pretty(in my opinion) sparkling and twinkling bow in hand, ready to help Magical Melody!
Except that I didn't see any of the Mistresses around when I was done transforming! Or the goons or even Melody! I was by myself and space around me looked like somebody had leveled everything apound and shattered the ground that I was standing on.
I looked at my Magical dress, and it was super cute and so was my hair that had grown much longer, but I hate that everything was sooo black! My gloves, my boots, and my skirt were all so black that they blended into each other and even made everything around me seem gloomier. Magical Melody has an outfit thats full of pastel yellows and pink, and I hoped mine would be blue or purple. But somehow I ended up with black and I am so sad and disappointed.
Since no one was around, I transformed back and headed back to where everyone evacuated and eventually found Dad.
Nova says he was watching from a bit far away and that I did a good job though. According to him, some of the flying goons did try to hit me but they got wound up in all that spinning energy and couldn't escape. Apparently I was just pulling everything in including Mistress Stoneheart's staff, and almost her too, and that's when everyone started retreating.
Maybe next time I'll get to shoot my bow though and I still need to think of my Magical name. I'm thinking Magical Starlight, but Nova is suggesting Magical Stardark, which is not what I want to go for though.
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"Please don't turn! I beg of you!" Rika called out, she had been with him ever since he was a child. "Stop this! this isn't you! You know that turning will break the cardinal rule!" She screamed out, but it did reach, she was seeing the man who she had love for so long was turning.
The man that held Rika hostage smiled, in pleasure as he saw Arous fighting with himself in his head screaming help. "He won't be able to hear you Rika. He's already losing, the sight of you being in danger and being cut up is to much for him to handle." Jack a long time rival of Arous had used Rika as a tool to lure him in.
Arous screamed in pain as he fought with himself to not turn, but he was losing sight of his reasoning, everything he had was done to keep her safe. That was his sole objective, to keep her safe and to keep her out of harms way. Everything had become blank, the faint voice of Rika calling him echoed in his head but nothing could get him out. "Please I need help, Rika...where are you?" He called for her, but the voice of Rikka still echoed in his head. He loved Rika, but just didn't know how to confess. "Rika I love you. I'm sorry that I can't tell you, because I'm a weak person. I'm sorry that you have to deal with a wek man like me."
"I love you to Arous, I love how that even though you're weak you still try to be strong by protecting me. I love that how everytime you apologize, you smile like it's okay, seeing your smiled reassures me on how much I love you. It tells me that you care for me." Rika said, but her voice no longer called out to him.
His heart had dropped, a sinking feeling had taken over his body. "Please no, Rika." he cried softly. "Rika?" he called out again and nothing. His heart sank even lower, he opened his eyes blood was at his knees. His teary eyes followed the trail of blood.
At the end of the puddle of blood laid Rika's lifeless body, his heart shattered to a million pieces as he was met with the lifeless body of Rika. "Rika?" He called out to her, voice cracking. He started to cry at the sight of her body, he called out to her again but no response memories of her flashed in her head, her smile, her beautiful heart warming smile. Gone.
Arous's mind became blank. Rika was now dead, the love of his life, deadinfront of his eyes. He no longer had a reason to live, the thought of a life without Rika had never crossed his mind as she was his everything.
"Now then, thats one loose end. Time for your turn Arous." Jack smiled as he held up his sword placing it onto his neck. Jack then coughed up blood, he had looked down. Arous's back had spikes coming out of it. Jack had backed up and watch the man he was going to kill get up and turn to face him. Sheer terror came from Jack who looked at a man whose eyes were pitch black. "WHO ARE YO-YOU!!" Jack yelled scared for his life.
Arous looked at him as an arm came out of Arous's chest grabbing Jack by the neck. "I AM THE ONE WHO MAKE YOU MEET YOUR MAKER." The skin of Arous's skin had started to rot away giving a foul smell of rotting meat. Wings came out of his back, that dripped a black residue that stained the skies black. Hooves grew out from under his feet, his face ripped. Underneath lied a black cloth covering his eyes, pitch black horns blasted out from his skull spraying blood across jacks face, which had started to burn him.
Jack screamed in pain as the blood touched him. Arous howled, his jaw ripping and his teeth being sharp like razors. Another set of horns had gown from the back of Arous's neck, the horns connected making a complete circle, it glowed an iridecent red. "Y.....OU...... AS....KED WHO..... I..... AM...?" The blindfold came off of Arous's eyes revealing the pitch black void that were his eyes. "I AM THE DEMON KING AROUS PHINIOX"
Jack then screamed in horror as Arous's mouth opened eating half of jacks body.
Arous had broken the cardinal rule, he had turned staining the skies black.
This was only the end of the beginning, for Arous Phiniox The Demon King, the angel turned demon.
Hope you guys enjoyed the story. :)
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[WP] You're a magical girl (or boy) who wants to fight evil, but your transformation sequence is so horrifying that all villains just surrender when you show up.
|
\*Inspired by the post from u/NicodemusLux
\--Years later--
You know, people say that moms need to be 2/3 sweetness and light and 1/3 bats\*\*t crazy just so you know not to mess with them. I've only seen it once back when I was still in high school.
We lived in the suburbs just outside the city. No matter what the news said, it never came to our town. It was like everything bad took a look at us and went Nope. School was just like everywhere with it's normal groups that always changed around Freshman year when powers started to develop. I got lucky and got durability and flight like Dad. Mom was happy about it too for some reason. She always said she never developed powers but I'll swear when she gives you The Look, it freezes you straight to your bones.
Like I said, 1st year of high school everyone gets their powers and everything goes to hell. One kid, Mike, got fire powers and started to push people around. Not where the teachers or heroes could catch him of course, he wasn't that stupid. He jumped me on my way home from school one day and was about to pound my face in when we just stopped. Mom was across the street looking at us like we had just broken her favorite bone china again. Mike started mouthing off, "Let me go! When I get free I will burn you and all you own lady. You know who my dad is huh?! That's right, The Immolator! I'll find where you live and...hurk"
My mom got this look in her eyes that scared me. Forget china, we were in broke grandpa's urn and tried to hide it territory. Mike shut his mouth so fast I heard his teeth crunch and my mom just walked up to him.
"Oh, you're Ralph's boy." she said quietly, "I guess I'll need to make this as clear as I can like I did with him." With that she changed. Bones sprouted like bamboo from her skin, coating her in bloody ivory. "You will listen to me young man. You will not cause any trouble in this town or hurt anyone, am I clear? If you lie or break your word to me, I will have your skeleton take off it's meat suit, put it into a grinder, and roll you in salt before I hand you over to the proper authorities. Do I make myself clear?"
Mike's head nodded so fast I thought it would fly off.
My mom is so cool.
|
"Please don't turn! I beg of you!" Rika called out, she had been with him ever since he was a child. "Stop this! this isn't you! You know that turning will break the cardinal rule!" She screamed out, but it did reach, she was seeing the man who she had love for so long was turning.
The man that held Rika hostage smiled, in pleasure as he saw Arous fighting with himself in his head screaming help. "He won't be able to hear you Rika. He's already losing, the sight of you being in danger and being cut up is to much for him to handle." Jack a long time rival of Arous had used Rika as a tool to lure him in.
Arous screamed in pain as he fought with himself to not turn, but he was losing sight of his reasoning, everything he had was done to keep her safe. That was his sole objective, to keep her safe and to keep her out of harms way. Everything had become blank, the faint voice of Rika calling him echoed in his head but nothing could get him out. "Please I need help, Rika...where are you?" He called for her, but the voice of Rikka still echoed in his head. He loved Rika, but just didn't know how to confess. "Rika I love you. I'm sorry that I can't tell you, because I'm a weak person. I'm sorry that you have to deal with a wek man like me."
"I love you to Arous, I love how that even though you're weak you still try to be strong by protecting me. I love that how everytime you apologize, you smile like it's okay, seeing your smiled reassures me on how much I love you. It tells me that you care for me." Rika said, but her voice no longer called out to him.
His heart had dropped, a sinking feeling had taken over his body. "Please no, Rika." he cried softly. "Rika?" he called out again and nothing. His heart sank even lower, he opened his eyes blood was at his knees. His teary eyes followed the trail of blood.
At the end of the puddle of blood laid Rika's lifeless body, his heart shattered to a million pieces as he was met with the lifeless body of Rika. "Rika?" He called out to her, voice cracking. He started to cry at the sight of her body, he called out to her again but no response memories of her flashed in her head, her smile, her beautiful heart warming smile. Gone.
Arous's mind became blank. Rika was now dead, the love of his life, deadinfront of his eyes. He no longer had a reason to live, the thought of a life without Rika had never crossed his mind as she was his everything.
"Now then, thats one loose end. Time for your turn Arous." Jack smiled as he held up his sword placing it onto his neck. Jack then coughed up blood, he had looked down. Arous's back had spikes coming out of it. Jack had backed up and watch the man he was going to kill get up and turn to face him. Sheer terror came from Jack who looked at a man whose eyes were pitch black. "WHO ARE YO-YOU!!" Jack yelled scared for his life.
Arous looked at him as an arm came out of Arous's chest grabbing Jack by the neck. "I AM THE ONE WHO MAKE YOU MEET YOUR MAKER." The skin of Arous's skin had started to rot away giving a foul smell of rotting meat. Wings came out of his back, that dripped a black residue that stained the skies black. Hooves grew out from under his feet, his face ripped. Underneath lied a black cloth covering his eyes, pitch black horns blasted out from his skull spraying blood across jacks face, which had started to burn him.
Jack screamed in pain as the blood touched him. Arous howled, his jaw ripping and his teeth being sharp like razors. Another set of horns had gown from the back of Arous's neck, the horns connected making a complete circle, it glowed an iridecent red. "Y.....OU...... AS....KED WHO..... I..... AM...?" The blindfold came off of Arous's eyes revealing the pitch black void that were his eyes. "I AM THE DEMON KING AROUS PHINIOX"
Jack then screamed in horror as Arous's mouth opened eating half of jacks body.
Arous had broken the cardinal rule, he had turned staining the skies black.
This was only the end of the beginning, for Arous Phiniox The Demon King, the angel turned demon.
Hope you guys enjoyed the story. :)
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[WP] You're a magical girl (or boy) who wants to fight evil, but your transformation sequence is so horrifying that all villains just surrender when you show up.
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Hero Documentation Initiative, File P-H-072
Registered hero: “Queen of The Stars”
Real name and associated files: see file [REDACTED]
Power classification: Transformation class, magical girl sub-classification.
Information:
The Queen of The Stars (abbreviated to “Stars” here on in) has two known forms, the Idle state and The Active state. In her Idle state Stars resembles a teenage to young adult female wearing attire indicative of her Magical Girl classification, taking heavy influence from anime in the genre of the same name from between the 80s to 90s. A common mistake made by villains is assuming this form is her post transformation akin to many other magical girls who must power up from a civilian disguise.
Upon being threatened by a villain or upon seeing other magical girls transform, Stars will begin to enter an active state. All image references of this active state have been expunged from this record after being deemed a Cognitohazard, but eyewitness reports from those who have worked with her describe this form as serpent like and appearing “as through staring into the infinite void of space”
Power classification: Class 3, permitted to engage villains off world or in non-populated areas only. Though no documented reports exist of Stars using their powers in their active state due to the villain(s) either retreating or voluntarily surrendering if she changes back, the potential psychological damage she could cause the public is too great a risk a more classification.
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"Please don't turn! I beg of you!" Rika called out, she had been with him ever since he was a child. "Stop this! this isn't you! You know that turning will break the cardinal rule!" She screamed out, but it did reach, she was seeing the man who she had love for so long was turning.
The man that held Rika hostage smiled, in pleasure as he saw Arous fighting with himself in his head screaming help. "He won't be able to hear you Rika. He's already losing, the sight of you being in danger and being cut up is to much for him to handle." Jack a long time rival of Arous had used Rika as a tool to lure him in.
Arous screamed in pain as he fought with himself to not turn, but he was losing sight of his reasoning, everything he had was done to keep her safe. That was his sole objective, to keep her safe and to keep her out of harms way. Everything had become blank, the faint voice of Rika calling him echoed in his head but nothing could get him out. "Please I need help, Rika...where are you?" He called for her, but the voice of Rikka still echoed in his head. He loved Rika, but just didn't know how to confess. "Rika I love you. I'm sorry that I can't tell you, because I'm a weak person. I'm sorry that you have to deal with a wek man like me."
"I love you to Arous, I love how that even though you're weak you still try to be strong by protecting me. I love that how everytime you apologize, you smile like it's okay, seeing your smiled reassures me on how much I love you. It tells me that you care for me." Rika said, but her voice no longer called out to him.
His heart had dropped, a sinking feeling had taken over his body. "Please no, Rika." he cried softly. "Rika?" he called out again and nothing. His heart sank even lower, he opened his eyes blood was at his knees. His teary eyes followed the trail of blood.
At the end of the puddle of blood laid Rika's lifeless body, his heart shattered to a million pieces as he was met with the lifeless body of Rika. "Rika?" He called out to her, voice cracking. He started to cry at the sight of her body, he called out to her again but no response memories of her flashed in her head, her smile, her beautiful heart warming smile. Gone.
Arous's mind became blank. Rika was now dead, the love of his life, deadinfront of his eyes. He no longer had a reason to live, the thought of a life without Rika had never crossed his mind as she was his everything.
"Now then, thats one loose end. Time for your turn Arous." Jack smiled as he held up his sword placing it onto his neck. Jack then coughed up blood, he had looked down. Arous's back had spikes coming out of it. Jack had backed up and watch the man he was going to kill get up and turn to face him. Sheer terror came from Jack who looked at a man whose eyes were pitch black. "WHO ARE YO-YOU!!" Jack yelled scared for his life.
Arous looked at him as an arm came out of Arous's chest grabbing Jack by the neck. "I AM THE ONE WHO MAKE YOU MEET YOUR MAKER." The skin of Arous's skin had started to rot away giving a foul smell of rotting meat. Wings came out of his back, that dripped a black residue that stained the skies black. Hooves grew out from under his feet, his face ripped. Underneath lied a black cloth covering his eyes, pitch black horns blasted out from his skull spraying blood across jacks face, which had started to burn him.
Jack screamed in pain as the blood touched him. Arous howled, his jaw ripping and his teeth being sharp like razors. Another set of horns had gown from the back of Arous's neck, the horns connected making a complete circle, it glowed an iridecent red. "Y.....OU...... AS....KED WHO..... I..... AM...?" The blindfold came off of Arous's eyes revealing the pitch black void that were his eyes. "I AM THE DEMON KING AROUS PHINIOX"
Jack then screamed in horror as Arous's mouth opened eating half of jacks body.
Arous had broken the cardinal rule, he had turned staining the skies black.
This was only the end of the beginning, for Arous Phiniox The Demon King, the angel turned demon.
Hope you guys enjoyed the story. :)
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[WP] You're a magical girl (or boy) who wants to fight evil, but your transformation sequence is so horrifying that all villains just surrender when you show up.
|
Dear diary,
This is Elodie reporting in! I'm thirteen years old and I came back from my first Magical transformation today when there was an attack at the park gardens and it was soooo disappointing! I didn't even get to use the bow that my Magical crystal created for me or even meet Magical Melody (She's so awesome!!!!).
By the way, Nova is here in my lap right now and he's begging me to give him the rest of the custard pudding I'm eatting. This is supposed to be my celebration pudding, but I'm going to give it to his sparkling butt so he'll let me write my diary entry in peace.
But anyways, here's the scoop on what happened today:
I was visiting the spring astronomy festival at the park with Dad and my baby brother when suddenly, one of the Mistresses Stoneheart showed up on top of one the building roofs, yelling about petrifying everyone with some staff.
Luckily, Magical Melody showed up really quickly and was able to distract the Mistresses with her song blast while were all trying to evacuate out of the area. If I didn't have Nova in my backpack and the Magical crystal that he gave me, I would've been so scared about what was happening. I ended up hiding behind a table to stay and watch. That's when the two other Mistresses of Mayhem showed up with their ugly flying goons!
It must have been a trap for Magical Melody since none of her friends were showing up! I couldn't just let the Mistresses gang up on her, so I ran out towards Magical Melody holding my crystal to my heart and wishing for Magical powers too.
"I wish I may, I wish I might; I wish for Magical power might!"
My crystal exploded into super bright and colorful light with what sounded like a boom and then it's energy started swirling and spinning closer and closer around me into my Magical outfit. My transformation felt like it took foreverrrr, with the energy spinning like a whirlpool that even the daylight was getting sucked into. It felt like an eternity, but I was finally transformed into my Magical outfit, a very pretty(in my opinion) sparkling and twinkling bow in hand, ready to help Magical Melody!
Except that I didn't see any of the Mistresses around when I was done transforming! Or the goons or even Melody! I was by myself and space around me looked like somebody had leveled everything apound and shattered the ground that I was standing on.
I looked at my Magical dress, and it was super cute and so was my hair that had grown much longer, but I hate that everything was sooo black! My gloves, my boots, and my skirt were all so black that they blended into each other and even made everything around me seem gloomier. Magical Melody has an outfit thats full of pastel yellows and pink, and I hoped mine would be blue or purple. But somehow I ended up with black and I am so sad and disappointed.
Since no one was around, I transformed back and headed back to where everyone evacuated and eventually found Dad.
Nova says he was watching from a bit far away and that I did a good job though. According to him, some of the flying goons did try to hit me but they got wound up in all that spinning energy and couldn't escape. Apparently I was just pulling everything in including Mistress Stoneheart's staff, and almost her too, and that's when everyone started retreating.
Maybe next time I'll get to shoot my bow though and I still need to think of my Magical name. I'm thinking Magical Starlight, but Nova is suggesting Magical Stardark, which is not what I want to go for though.
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\[Poem\], *freeform*
Evil stands in the place of honor
Twisting what it can
Many have resisted it, many have bowed
I can not stand idly by
I rise to my feet with courage of heart
I knew it was my destiny, but why so soon
If it must be,
Then I give myself to that within
The transformation has only begun
Only primordial past has seen it,
Nothing has understood it
Mass will not bear it and energy will not contend with it
In the door of oblivion I stand
At the threshold of existence
Ancient power unrestrainable, now under my command
Beyond the farthest star, past the edge of all existence
There lies my future, there lies my fear
I brought it with me, for all to have
Now this great terror envelopes me
I am only the bearer here to share
Mind breaks and Strength withers
Nothing will stand against such despair
Even the end rushes closer
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[WP] You're a magical girl (or boy) who wants to fight evil, but your transformation sequence is so horrifying that all villains just surrender when you show up.
|
\*Inspired by the post from u/NicodemusLux
\--Years later--
You know, people say that moms need to be 2/3 sweetness and light and 1/3 bats\*\*t crazy just so you know not to mess with them. I've only seen it once back when I was still in high school.
We lived in the suburbs just outside the city. No matter what the news said, it never came to our town. It was like everything bad took a look at us and went Nope. School was just like everywhere with it's normal groups that always changed around Freshman year when powers started to develop. I got lucky and got durability and flight like Dad. Mom was happy about it too for some reason. She always said she never developed powers but I'll swear when she gives you The Look, it freezes you straight to your bones.
Like I said, 1st year of high school everyone gets their powers and everything goes to hell. One kid, Mike, got fire powers and started to push people around. Not where the teachers or heroes could catch him of course, he wasn't that stupid. He jumped me on my way home from school one day and was about to pound my face in when we just stopped. Mom was across the street looking at us like we had just broken her favorite bone china again. Mike started mouthing off, "Let me go! When I get free I will burn you and all you own lady. You know who my dad is huh?! That's right, The Immolator! I'll find where you live and...hurk"
My mom got this look in her eyes that scared me. Forget china, we were in broke grandpa's urn and tried to hide it territory. Mike shut his mouth so fast I heard his teeth crunch and my mom just walked up to him.
"Oh, you're Ralph's boy." she said quietly, "I guess I'll need to make this as clear as I can like I did with him." With that she changed. Bones sprouted like bamboo from her skin, coating her in bloody ivory. "You will listen to me young man. You will not cause any trouble in this town or hurt anyone, am I clear? If you lie or break your word to me, I will have your skeleton take off it's meat suit, put it into a grinder, and roll you in salt before I hand you over to the proper authorities. Do I make myself clear?"
Mike's head nodded so fast I thought it would fly off.
My mom is so cool.
|
\[Poem\], *freeform*
Evil stands in the place of honor
Twisting what it can
Many have resisted it, many have bowed
I can not stand idly by
I rise to my feet with courage of heart
I knew it was my destiny, but why so soon
If it must be,
Then I give myself to that within
The transformation has only begun
Only primordial past has seen it,
Nothing has understood it
Mass will not bear it and energy will not contend with it
In the door of oblivion I stand
At the threshold of existence
Ancient power unrestrainable, now under my command
Beyond the farthest star, past the edge of all existence
There lies my future, there lies my fear
I brought it with me, for all to have
Now this great terror envelopes me
I am only the bearer here to share
Mind breaks and Strength withers
Nothing will stand against such despair
Even the end rushes closer
|
|
[WP] You're a magical girl (or boy) who wants to fight evil, but your transformation sequence is so horrifying that all villains just surrender when you show up.
|
Hero Documentation Initiative, File P-H-072
Registered hero: “Queen of The Stars”
Real name and associated files: see file [REDACTED]
Power classification: Transformation class, magical girl sub-classification.
Information:
The Queen of The Stars (abbreviated to “Stars” here on in) has two known forms, the Idle state and The Active state. In her Idle state Stars resembles a teenage to young adult female wearing attire indicative of her Magical Girl classification, taking heavy influence from anime in the genre of the same name from between the 80s to 90s. A common mistake made by villains is assuming this form is her post transformation akin to many other magical girls who must power up from a civilian disguise.
Upon being threatened by a villain or upon seeing other magical girls transform, Stars will begin to enter an active state. All image references of this active state have been expunged from this record after being deemed a Cognitohazard, but eyewitness reports from those who have worked with her describe this form as serpent like and appearing “as through staring into the infinite void of space”
Power classification: Class 3, permitted to engage villains off world or in non-populated areas only. Though no documented reports exist of Stars using their powers in their active state due to the villain(s) either retreating or voluntarily surrendering if she changes back, the potential psychological damage she could cause the public is too great a risk a more classification.
|
\[Poem\], *freeform*
Evil stands in the place of honor
Twisting what it can
Many have resisted it, many have bowed
I can not stand idly by
I rise to my feet with courage of heart
I knew it was my destiny, but why so soon
If it must be,
Then I give myself to that within
The transformation has only begun
Only primordial past has seen it,
Nothing has understood it
Mass will not bear it and energy will not contend with it
In the door of oblivion I stand
At the threshold of existence
Ancient power unrestrainable, now under my command
Beyond the farthest star, past the edge of all existence
There lies my future, there lies my fear
I brought it with me, for all to have
Now this great terror envelopes me
I am only the bearer here to share
Mind breaks and Strength withers
Nothing will stand against such despair
Even the end rushes closer
|
|
[WP] You're a magical girl (or boy) who wants to fight evil, but your transformation sequence is so horrifying that all villains just surrender when you show up.
|
Ella was usually the last hero to be called in. She was exceedingly powerful, but there was one issue with her powers. She had to transform.
If she didn't transform she was a bit above a normal human in strength and power, which was surprising given her cute petite frame. She could bench press about one thousand two hundred or so pounds. That didn't really help when a person could incinerate a building in an instant however. One may ask if her normal human form isn't that useful then why wouldn't she transform, and why doesn't the hero association call her more often? They had a very good reason, because she was a wendigo.
Each time they sent her in they had to weigh the cost in human lives versus defeating the villain. Not because she killed humans, but because her form left those who saw it with nightmares. Some people she "saved" even ended up killing themselves a few hours or days later. She had grown numb to it all. Something about understanding that the lives of the many she saves mattering more than the few she disturbs.
It was known that her wendigo form had increased strength, speed, reflexes, and durability, but she claimed to not know her upper limit. The few that actually faced her were no match, and she tried to stay out of the form as much as possible as to not disturb others. Today she was called in once again, and all heroes were told to clear the area while evacuating as many civilians as possible.
She walked until she was a few feet away from her opponent. She kept her hands in the pockets of her black skirt that her boyfriend had gotten for her. She wasn't joking when she told him that him being that thoughtful made her fall madly in love with him. Luckily her clothes seem to go into another dimension or something when she transformed so she didn't have to worry about them tearing.
Her foe was simply a man that excited kinetic energy in stationary objects. In english he made rocks explode. A very dangerous ability in a city. They figured sending her in was worth the risk. He didn't seem to notice her until she spoke in her cutesy high pitched voice.
"Hello. Excuse me sir. I think it would be best if you gave up now."
He turned his head to look at the girl who could not be more than five feet tall. "Really now. And who's going to make me? I still haven't received my money."
She smiled, knowing he likely had no idea who she was. Most didn't. She was rarely called in. "I'm going to have to stop you. Trust me. You don't want to do this."
He laughed while grabbing a marble out of his bag. After it turned orange he thumped it at her forehead, causing her to explode along with it he presumed. "Stupid cunt."
"You should really learn how to speak to a lady." A voice said, it had *just* the timbre of a growl. She let it all go after that. Truthfully the transformation hurt quite a bit. Unfortunately for her enemies this was not a handicap, as she happened to be a masochist, who also happened to be a sadist. This was going to be a very, very, fun day for her.
He looked on as her bones seemed to contort in unnatural ways, then he heard cracking and girl like giggling. At times the bones protruded out of her skin, causing her to bleed heavily before the would sealed itself behind a thick hide and fur. Her size increased in disconcerting spurts. Her face elongated and the teeth became razor sharp. She began breathing heavily before her rib cage burst from her chest and began moving like hard tentacles.
Before he could say the words I concede she was already consuming his flesh while enjoying his screams, and the taste of iron as she drank his blood.
|
\[Poem\], *freeform*
Evil stands in the place of honor
Twisting what it can
Many have resisted it, many have bowed
I can not stand idly by
I rise to my feet with courage of heart
I knew it was my destiny, but why so soon
If it must be,
Then I give myself to that within
The transformation has only begun
Only primordial past has seen it,
Nothing has understood it
Mass will not bear it and energy will not contend with it
In the door of oblivion I stand
At the threshold of existence
Ancient power unrestrainable, now under my command
Beyond the farthest star, past the edge of all existence
There lies my future, there lies my fear
I brought it with me, for all to have
Now this great terror envelopes me
I am only the bearer here to share
Mind breaks and Strength withers
Nothing will stand against such despair
Even the end rushes closer
|
|
[WP] You're a magical girl (or boy) who wants to fight evil, but your transformation sequence is so horrifying that all villains just surrender when you show up.
|
Hero Documentation Initiative, File P-H-072
Registered hero: “Queen of The Stars”
Real name and associated files: see file [REDACTED]
Power classification: Transformation class, magical girl sub-classification.
Information:
The Queen of The Stars (abbreviated to “Stars” here on in) has two known forms, the Idle state and The Active state. In her Idle state Stars resembles a teenage to young adult female wearing attire indicative of her Magical Girl classification, taking heavy influence from anime in the genre of the same name from between the 80s to 90s. A common mistake made by villains is assuming this form is her post transformation akin to many other magical girls who must power up from a civilian disguise.
Upon being threatened by a villain or upon seeing other magical girls transform, Stars will begin to enter an active state. All image references of this active state have been expunged from this record after being deemed a Cognitohazard, but eyewitness reports from those who have worked with her describe this form as serpent like and appearing “as through staring into the infinite void of space”
Power classification: Class 3, permitted to engage villains off world or in non-populated areas only. Though no documented reports exist of Stars using their powers in their active state due to the villain(s) either retreating or voluntarily surrendering if she changes back, the potential psychological damage she could cause the public is too great a risk a more classification.
|
Dear diary,
This is Elodie reporting in! I'm thirteen years old and I came back from my first Magical transformation today when there was an attack at the park gardens and it was soooo disappointing! I didn't even get to use the bow that my Magical crystal created for me or even meet Magical Melody (She's so awesome!!!!).
By the way, Nova is here in my lap right now and he's begging me to give him the rest of the custard pudding I'm eatting. This is supposed to be my celebration pudding, but I'm going to give it to his sparkling butt so he'll let me write my diary entry in peace.
But anyways, here's the scoop on what happened today:
I was visiting the spring astronomy festival at the park with Dad and my baby brother when suddenly, one of the Mistresses Stoneheart showed up on top of one the building roofs, yelling about petrifying everyone with some staff.
Luckily, Magical Melody showed up really quickly and was able to distract the Mistresses with her song blast while were all trying to evacuate out of the area. If I didn't have Nova in my backpack and the Magical crystal that he gave me, I would've been so scared about what was happening. I ended up hiding behind a table to stay and watch. That's when the two other Mistresses of Mayhem showed up with their ugly flying goons!
It must have been a trap for Magical Melody since none of her friends were showing up! I couldn't just let the Mistresses gang up on her, so I ran out towards Magical Melody holding my crystal to my heart and wishing for Magical powers too.
"I wish I may, I wish I might; I wish for Magical power might!"
My crystal exploded into super bright and colorful light with what sounded like a boom and then it's energy started swirling and spinning closer and closer around me into my Magical outfit. My transformation felt like it took foreverrrr, with the energy spinning like a whirlpool that even the daylight was getting sucked into. It felt like an eternity, but I was finally transformed into my Magical outfit, a very pretty(in my opinion) sparkling and twinkling bow in hand, ready to help Magical Melody!
Except that I didn't see any of the Mistresses around when I was done transforming! Or the goons or even Melody! I was by myself and space around me looked like somebody had leveled everything apound and shattered the ground that I was standing on.
I looked at my Magical dress, and it was super cute and so was my hair that had grown much longer, but I hate that everything was sooo black! My gloves, my boots, and my skirt were all so black that they blended into each other and even made everything around me seem gloomier. Magical Melody has an outfit thats full of pastel yellows and pink, and I hoped mine would be blue or purple. But somehow I ended up with black and I am so sad and disappointed.
Since no one was around, I transformed back and headed back to where everyone evacuated and eventually found Dad.
Nova says he was watching from a bit far away and that I did a good job though. According to him, some of the flying goons did try to hit me but they got wound up in all that spinning energy and couldn't escape. Apparently I was just pulling everything in including Mistress Stoneheart's staff, and almost her too, and that's when everyone started retreating.
Maybe next time I'll get to shoot my bow though and I still need to think of my Magical name. I'm thinking Magical Starlight, but Nova is suggesting Magical Stardark, which is not what I want to go for though.
|
|
[WP] You're a magical girl (or boy) who wants to fight evil, but your transformation sequence is so horrifying that all villains just surrender when you show up.
|
My name is mike and I am a 14 yr old who just recently found out about my magic powers oh jeez how exited I felt when that magic cat with a wizard hat entered through my window in the last full moon
The Cat said it was my destiny to protect the world from the forces of evil and he gave me a magic pen so I could transform into The Mighty Cyan Magician and use the power of love to fend of any monsters that may dare to cross into this worlds and save those which I love
Or so I thought
A week ago a monster from the army of Evil arrived at my home town and with his mighty Powers it was able to destroy my favourite smoothie place how awful is that?
In a whim I pulled my magic pen and transformed *but* my transformation while surrounded by light was still showing my body as my clothes transformed into my suit
Turns out The forces of Evil would rather not watch and underage boy strip down while transforming every time we fight so more often than not they will simply run away
Honestly It is really creepy and i wish it didn’t work like this
|
Villain: "I hear your powers are so horrifying that it makes people cower in your wake. I **must** take it from you!"
Me: "I'd rather not"
Villain: "Do it or ... I will kill this puppy!"
Me: "Fine"
<Transformation occurs>
Villain: "No!"
<Villain calls 911>
Villain: "Hello? I'd like to confess to all of my crimes, just lock me away from this superhero!"
<Police come in>
Police: "Thank you for capturing them. From all of what you have done to this villain, they will no longer wreak havoc to the innocent. Tell us what you did to subdue them?"
Me: "I'd rather not say"
Police: "Keeping your powers and weaknesses a secret, huh? Good thinking. Well, time to take lock them up for a while."
My thoughts: (At some point I should find out if I have other powers besides this transfomation)
|
|
[WP] You're a magical girl (or boy) who wants to fight evil, but your transformation sequence is so horrifying that all villains just surrender when you show up.
|
Ella was usually the last hero to be called in. She was exceedingly powerful, but there was one issue with her powers. She had to transform.
If she didn't transform she was a bit above a normal human in strength and power, which was surprising given her cute petite frame. She could bench press about one thousand two hundred or so pounds. That didn't really help when a person could incinerate a building in an instant however. One may ask if her normal human form isn't that useful then why wouldn't she transform, and why doesn't the hero association call her more often? They had a very good reason, because she was a wendigo.
Each time they sent her in they had to weigh the cost in human lives versus defeating the villain. Not because she killed humans, but because her form left those who saw it with nightmares. Some people she "saved" even ended up killing themselves a few hours or days later. She had grown numb to it all. Something about understanding that the lives of the many she saves mattering more than the few she disturbs.
It was known that her wendigo form had increased strength, speed, reflexes, and durability, but she claimed to not know her upper limit. The few that actually faced her were no match, and she tried to stay out of the form as much as possible as to not disturb others. Today she was called in once again, and all heroes were told to clear the area while evacuating as many civilians as possible.
She walked until she was a few feet away from her opponent. She kept her hands in the pockets of her black skirt that her boyfriend had gotten for her. She wasn't joking when she told him that him being that thoughtful made her fall madly in love with him. Luckily her clothes seem to go into another dimension or something when she transformed so she didn't have to worry about them tearing.
Her foe was simply a man that excited kinetic energy in stationary objects. In english he made rocks explode. A very dangerous ability in a city. They figured sending her in was worth the risk. He didn't seem to notice her until she spoke in her cutesy high pitched voice.
"Hello. Excuse me sir. I think it would be best if you gave up now."
He turned his head to look at the girl who could not be more than five feet tall. "Really now. And who's going to make me? I still haven't received my money."
She smiled, knowing he likely had no idea who she was. Most didn't. She was rarely called in. "I'm going to have to stop you. Trust me. You don't want to do this."
He laughed while grabbing a marble out of his bag. After it turned orange he thumped it at her forehead, causing her to explode along with it he presumed. "Stupid cunt."
"You should really learn how to speak to a lady." A voice said, it had *just* the timbre of a growl. She let it all go after that. Truthfully the transformation hurt quite a bit. Unfortunately for her enemies this was not a handicap, as she happened to be a masochist, who also happened to be a sadist. This was going to be a very, very, fun day for her.
He looked on as her bones seemed to contort in unnatural ways, then he heard cracking and girl like giggling. At times the bones protruded out of her skin, causing her to bleed heavily before the would sealed itself behind a thick hide and fur. Her size increased in disconcerting spurts. Her face elongated and the teeth became razor sharp. She began breathing heavily before her rib cage burst from her chest and began moving like hard tentacles.
Before he could say the words I concede she was already consuming his flesh while enjoying his screams, and the taste of iron as she drank his blood.
|
Villain: "I hear your powers are so horrifying that it makes people cower in your wake. I **must** take it from you!"
Me: "I'd rather not"
Villain: "Do it or ... I will kill this puppy!"
Me: "Fine"
<Transformation occurs>
Villain: "No!"
<Villain calls 911>
Villain: "Hello? I'd like to confess to all of my crimes, just lock me away from this superhero!"
<Police come in>
Police: "Thank you for capturing them. From all of what you have done to this villain, they will no longer wreak havoc to the innocent. Tell us what you did to subdue them?"
Me: "I'd rather not say"
Police: "Keeping your powers and weaknesses a secret, huh? Good thinking. Well, time to take lock them up for a while."
My thoughts: (At some point I should find out if I have other powers besides this transfomation)
|
|
[WP] You're a magical girl (or boy) who wants to fight evil, but your transformation sequence is so horrifying that all villains just surrender when you show up.
|
When Kelly stormed into my office, my associates were amused. A bombastic entrance for a very modestly dressed stripper, right? I glanced at Tony who was looking at Mikey, who was staring daggers at Rob, who was perplexed since we party after business is concluded not during. When she started listing all our crimes, everyone got real mad, it sounded like we was going to get arrested. Since the Feds decided to send a message, we sent one first. Mikey was the first to draw his gun and fire, but he wasn't alone. There was blood. A lot of blood. More blood than there should have been. And why was it shooting out at such high pressure? The sound of gunfire gave way to squelching and cracking. She stood there before us, covered in steaming hot blood, which was still spurting out of her. She was convulsing and spasming, and with every crack she'd contort as another bone snapped loudly. I think Rob was quietly praying, but he wasn't so silent when bones started jutting out of her, tearing her flesh and clothes to pieces. The gutteral roaring she made; her eyes fallen into her head leaving holes too dark to simply be empty, as her head hung upside-down from broken neck. Her spine made an awful crunch as she arced backwards and vomited more blood like a fountain. But this was different, it didn't flow away or puddle, instead it gathered around her. It even drew all the other blood back to her. I lost track of my squad, I had such insane tunnel vision, i couldn't do a thing but watch this happen. And then the blood cocoon ignited like a magnesium fire. When the light subsided, there she stood, unharmed. She looked to be a few inches taller, her hair was styled to one side, and she had on a following gown adorned with strange glowing symbols. She declared she'd stop us, in the name of... I don't know what. It was a sound man can't make. It was a name man mustn't speak!
I looked around the room: Mikey had gone pale and the only moving he did was his labored breathing, Rob was curled on the floor whimpering softly, Tony was flat on his back staring wide eyed at nothing.
When the Feds came in, we don't know how long it was, but we confessed everything. We just wanted them to keep that thing away from us. I think I'd rather they looked at me like i was crazy, instead of that look of concern that passed between them...
|
Villain: "I hear your powers are so horrifying that it makes people cower in your wake. I **must** take it from you!"
Me: "I'd rather not"
Villain: "Do it or ... I will kill this puppy!"
Me: "Fine"
<Transformation occurs>
Villain: "No!"
<Villain calls 911>
Villain: "Hello? I'd like to confess to all of my crimes, just lock me away from this superhero!"
<Police come in>
Police: "Thank you for capturing them. From all of what you have done to this villain, they will no longer wreak havoc to the innocent. Tell us what you did to subdue them?"
Me: "I'd rather not say"
Police: "Keeping your powers and weaknesses a secret, huh? Good thinking. Well, time to take lock them up for a while."
My thoughts: (At some point I should find out if I have other powers besides this transfomation)
|
|
[WP] You're a magical girl (or boy) who wants to fight evil, but your transformation sequence is so horrifying that all villains just surrender when you show up.
|
"Helena, come quick! Dr. Shard is attacking the school!"
I gave a start, as my little fairy friend, Hema, buzzed anxiously in front of me. Slamming my locker shut, I ran for the quad.
Dr. Shard stood on a platform made of crystal blades, while the students surrounding him were encased in crystal, shards at each of their throats.
"Let the heroes come! Let them dare to intervene! I cannot be stopped!" He raised his staff and lightning began to course the the crystals.
"I will stop you!" I cried.
Dr. Shard looked at me, seeing nothing but a 15 year old girl. He began to laugh. "Foolish child, you too will become part of the Engine!"
But before he could encase me in crystal shards, Hema clung to my forehead and we began the Merge.
I glowed red and lifted off the ground. My hair splayed out and began twisting into braids.
I opened my mouth and my eyes, and the blood poured out.
It coalesced into a transluscent, shimmery sphere around me. I could feel my bones pulsate as they generated more blood, and more. The thrumming sound grew louder.
"I am Sanguinex!" I shouted.
Dr. Shard was a very powerful villain. I decided I shouldn't hold back; I would need all the help I could get. I knew the students here would volunteer to help if I had time to ask them. They were good kids. I would just take a little from each of them, they'd not even miss it, and fortunately there were so many.
The students encased in crystal opened their eyes and mouths, and the blood streamed forth, meeting my sphere and merging with it. Just a pint from each, maybe two from the football team.
"Blood Sword!" I cried, and formed my spinning blade. Just before launching myself at Dr. Shard, I... realized he was laying face down on the concrete with his hands on the back of his head. He appeared to have some kind of tremor.
"I surrender" came his muffled voice. Puzzled, I looked around and saw the crystal melting. The students were free.
"If this is some kind of trick..." I said, pointing my blade at him.
"No trick! Please call Captain Destiny, I am sure he will be happy to come place me in custody. I will just wait here until then."
"Thank you!" he added quickly, and then fell silent.
After the authorities came, and I found a private place to unmerge, Hema looked at me sadly. "I'm so sorry Helena! I'm sure one of these days we'll actually get to fight!"
|
Villain: "I hear your powers are so horrifying that it makes people cower in your wake. I **must** take it from you!"
Me: "I'd rather not"
Villain: "Do it or ... I will kill this puppy!"
Me: "Fine"
<Transformation occurs>
Villain: "No!"
<Villain calls 911>
Villain: "Hello? I'd like to confess to all of my crimes, just lock me away from this superhero!"
<Police come in>
Police: "Thank you for capturing them. From all of what you have done to this villain, they will no longer wreak havoc to the innocent. Tell us what you did to subdue them?"
Me: "I'd rather not say"
Police: "Keeping your powers and weaknesses a secret, huh? Good thinking. Well, time to take lock them up for a while."
My thoughts: (At some point I should find out if I have other powers besides this transfomation)
|
|
[WP] You're a magical girl (or boy) who wants to fight evil, but your transformation sequence is so horrifying that all villains just surrender when you show up.
|
When Kelly stormed into my office, my associates were amused. A bombastic entrance for a very modestly dressed stripper, right? I glanced at Tony who was looking at Mikey, who was staring daggers at Rob, who was perplexed since we party after business is concluded not during. When she started listing all our crimes, everyone got real mad, it sounded like we was going to get arrested. Since the Feds decided to send a message, we sent one first. Mikey was the first to draw his gun and fire, but he wasn't alone. There was blood. A lot of blood. More blood than there should have been. And why was it shooting out at such high pressure? The sound of gunfire gave way to squelching and cracking. She stood there before us, covered in steaming hot blood, which was still spurting out of her. She was convulsing and spasming, and with every crack she'd contort as another bone snapped loudly. I think Rob was quietly praying, but he wasn't so silent when bones started jutting out of her, tearing her flesh and clothes to pieces. The gutteral roaring she made; her eyes fallen into her head leaving holes too dark to simply be empty, as her head hung upside-down from broken neck. Her spine made an awful crunch as she arced backwards and vomited more blood like a fountain. But this was different, it didn't flow away or puddle, instead it gathered around her. It even drew all the other blood back to her. I lost track of my squad, I had such insane tunnel vision, i couldn't do a thing but watch this happen. And then the blood cocoon ignited like a magnesium fire. When the light subsided, there she stood, unharmed. She looked to be a few inches taller, her hair was styled to one side, and she had on a following gown adorned with strange glowing symbols. She declared she'd stop us, in the name of... I don't know what. It was a sound man can't make. It was a name man mustn't speak!
I looked around the room: Mikey had gone pale and the only moving he did was his labored breathing, Rob was curled on the floor whimpering softly, Tony was flat on his back staring wide eyed at nothing.
When the Feds came in, we don't know how long it was, but we confessed everything. We just wanted them to keep that thing away from us. I think I'd rather they looked at me like i was crazy, instead of that look of concern that passed between them...
|
My name is mike and I am a 14 yr old who just recently found out about my magic powers oh jeez how exited I felt when that magic cat with a wizard hat entered through my window in the last full moon
The Cat said it was my destiny to protect the world from the forces of evil and he gave me a magic pen so I could transform into The Mighty Cyan Magician and use the power of love to fend of any monsters that may dare to cross into this worlds and save those which I love
Or so I thought
A week ago a monster from the army of Evil arrived at my home town and with his mighty Powers it was able to destroy my favourite smoothie place how awful is that?
In a whim I pulled my magic pen and transformed *but* my transformation while surrounded by light was still showing my body as my clothes transformed into my suit
Turns out The forces of Evil would rather not watch and underage boy strip down while transforming every time we fight so more often than not they will simply run away
Honestly It is really creepy and i wish it didn’t work like this
|
|
[WP] You're a magical girl (or boy) who wants to fight evil, but your transformation sequence is so horrifying that all villains just surrender when you show up.
|
"Buwahaha! Pretty Girl Z, you have fallen into my diabolical trap!", exclaimed Deathpants. "My sinister cage made ENTIRELY of pants woven with Infinity Z, your only weakness, will make you helpless as I rob this small child's lemonade stand!"
"You fiend!" shouted Pretty Girl Z, clenching both delicate, pink nail polished hands into fists with a very dramatic sound. "Unhand that orphan child lemonade salesman this very instant, or I will be forced to unleash my true power upon you!"
The small child behind the lemonade stand frowned, as though reminded of his missing parents, as he watched the legendary Pretty Girl Z square off against the diabolical Deathpants with a tear down one cheek.
As everyone knows, Pretty Girl Z had been saving the day here in Outerwear City for years, defeating every clothing-related supervillain that dared to rear their ugly head, and she did it with grace, charm, and a cute giggle that made all the boys swoon.
Pretty Girl Z had become a staple of the rather unfortunately named city, and her broad straw hat, silver hoop earrings, relatable yellow sundress, brown purse and summer sandals had become known as symbols of justice far and wide.
Today was just another day in Outerwear City, even if you were a poor, lemonade-selling orphan, because if you were in danger from some rando 45-year old dad with no weekend plans, a roll of duct tape, and a garage full of spare clothing from the thrift store, you could count on Pretty Girl Z showing up and saving the day.
How, you might ask? Because, when she was little, Pretty Girl Z was bitten by a radioactive Instagram influencer, giving her the power to transform! The orphan pulled out his umbrella, knowing full well what was about to happen to Deathpants, and he closed his eyes tight, as it began.
Deathpants's eyes widened, and he exclaimed, "No! Umm... p-p-please don't... I was only joking, Pretty Girl Z! I'm your biggest fan! Please!"
But it was too late. Overhead, the skies began to darken ominously. A chill wind howled through the treetops, and lightning began to flash. The temperature dipped, and Deathpants began to run. He knew it would be futile, just like all the others, but he had to try. Melinda. The kids. God, what was he doing? He needed to get the hell out of here, before-
The sky began to crack open, as reality over the man's head began to shatter, revealing the primordial abyss beyond the boundaries of existence. The wind picked up speed, and lightning crashed again and again. The sunny day had gone blacker than night. There was no sound but the screaming of the wind, no light but the metronome pulse of lightning.
No sight but the abyss.
The yawning chasm into immateriality split further, and from it snaked a tentacle larger than the moon. It was followed by unnatural gibbous wings like a bat that swooped across the sky from horizon to horizon. And then the eye opened.
The terrible eye.
It shone with a red light that pierced other, weaker eyes. It punctured souls. The walls of nearby buildings began dripping human blood. Every light was extinguished. The eye was upon the world.
Deathpants collapsed, gibbering to himself, tearing at his now empty eyesockets with both hands, leaving deep gashes in his ruined face. His skin began to wriggle, as though filled with a thousand maggots. He burst into flames, and as he combusted, his peeling face began to grin with the faint cobwebs of disintegrated musculature.
And he began to sing the song.
"Dainty cute girl, flashy fun girl, Pretty Girl Z!
Here to vanquish friend and foe,
So kick back, relax, enjoy the show,
She's here for justice, she's here for truth,
She lights the sky, protects the youth,
Pretty-pretty-pretty girl,
Pretty-pretty-pretty girl,
Pretty-pretty-pretty girl,
Pretty Girl Z! Yeah!"
As the last exclamation left his black, ruined skull, the eye closed, and the unearthly creature beat its wings once, soundlessly, and rose into the sky. The rift was sealed, and the end of all things was averted once more. But only with a terrible cost. A human sacrifice was made. And the day was saved.
Thanks to Pretty Girl Z.
"...hey, orphan kid? Could you let me out of this stupid pants cage thing? It's nailed shut or something..."
"...orphan kid?"
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"Todo-chan! I'll take care of this!" I shout as the schoolboy cowers in the corner of the room.
I can feel it, the swelling of my emotions as the transformation starts! The glow of pure purple light surrounds me! The wonderful sensation as my arms fully detach at the shoulders! The joyousness as they reattach and spin wildly into place! I can beat anyone!
As my lower torso folds in on itself and collapses into a space of imperceptible nothingness my true spirit comes alive! I will surpass my limits! The tail that wasn't there before appears before my GI tract slowly forms into existence in excruciating detail! These monsters had better run!
The sensation that runs up my legs is nothing compared to the spirit I feel in my heart! I will...
"OH, GOD!" I hear through the power of my cosmic state of pure enlightenment... "Please, please make it stop!"
I look over and see that Todo-chan is covered in blood and sick.
"Oh, dear... what evil do-er has done this to you?" I ask. He seems really scared because he won't even lookup. I know who's responsible for this!
I turn to face Captain Fukitora and his army of sentient mole people...
"You've done this haven't you Fukitora!" I say turning to look at them but they, too, are all doubled over vomiting onto the ground. As long as they aren't hurting Todo-chan anymore...
"Oh no! This area must be poisoned!" I think, "That happens a lot with these bad guys!"
I quickly grab Todo-chan and fly him through his ear-piercing shrieks to the hospital. I leave him there and quickly return to my home, transforming in secret along the way.
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[WP] You're a magical girl (or boy) who wants to fight evil, but your transformation sequence is so horrifying that all villains just surrender when you show up.
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"Buwahaha! Pretty Girl Z, you have fallen into my diabolical trap!", exclaimed Deathpants. "My sinister cage made ENTIRELY of pants woven with Infinity Z, your only weakness, will make you helpless as I rob this small child's lemonade stand!"
"You fiend!" shouted Pretty Girl Z, clenching both delicate, pink nail polished hands into fists with a very dramatic sound. "Unhand that orphan child lemonade salesman this very instant, or I will be forced to unleash my true power upon you!"
The small child behind the lemonade stand frowned, as though reminded of his missing parents, as he watched the legendary Pretty Girl Z square off against the diabolical Deathpants with a tear down one cheek.
As everyone knows, Pretty Girl Z had been saving the day here in Outerwear City for years, defeating every clothing-related supervillain that dared to rear their ugly head, and she did it with grace, charm, and a cute giggle that made all the boys swoon.
Pretty Girl Z had become a staple of the rather unfortunately named city, and her broad straw hat, silver hoop earrings, relatable yellow sundress, brown purse and summer sandals had become known as symbols of justice far and wide.
Today was just another day in Outerwear City, even if you were a poor, lemonade-selling orphan, because if you were in danger from some rando 45-year old dad with no weekend plans, a roll of duct tape, and a garage full of spare clothing from the thrift store, you could count on Pretty Girl Z showing up and saving the day.
How, you might ask? Because, when she was little, Pretty Girl Z was bitten by a radioactive Instagram influencer, giving her the power to transform! The orphan pulled out his umbrella, knowing full well what was about to happen to Deathpants, and he closed his eyes tight, as it began.
Deathpants's eyes widened, and he exclaimed, "No! Umm... p-p-please don't... I was only joking, Pretty Girl Z! I'm your biggest fan! Please!"
But it was too late. Overhead, the skies began to darken ominously. A chill wind howled through the treetops, and lightning began to flash. The temperature dipped, and Deathpants began to run. He knew it would be futile, just like all the others, but he had to try. Melinda. The kids. God, what was he doing? He needed to get the hell out of here, before-
The sky began to crack open, as reality over the man's head began to shatter, revealing the primordial abyss beyond the boundaries of existence. The wind picked up speed, and lightning crashed again and again. The sunny day had gone blacker than night. There was no sound but the screaming of the wind, no light but the metronome pulse of lightning.
No sight but the abyss.
The yawning chasm into immateriality split further, and from it snaked a tentacle larger than the moon. It was followed by unnatural gibbous wings like a bat that swooped across the sky from horizon to horizon. And then the eye opened.
The terrible eye.
It shone with a red light that pierced other, weaker eyes. It punctured souls. The walls of nearby buildings began dripping human blood. Every light was extinguished. The eye was upon the world.
Deathpants collapsed, gibbering to himself, tearing at his now empty eyesockets with both hands, leaving deep gashes in his ruined face. His skin began to wriggle, as though filled with a thousand maggots. He burst into flames, and as he combusted, his peeling face began to grin with the faint cobwebs of disintegrated musculature.
And he began to sing the song.
"Dainty cute girl, flashy fun girl, Pretty Girl Z!
Here to vanquish friend and foe,
So kick back, relax, enjoy the show,
She's here for justice, she's here for truth,
She lights the sky, protects the youth,
Pretty-pretty-pretty girl,
Pretty-pretty-pretty girl,
Pretty-pretty-pretty girl,
Pretty Girl Z! Yeah!"
As the last exclamation left his black, ruined skull, the eye closed, and the unearthly creature beat its wings once, soundlessly, and rose into the sky. The rift was sealed, and the end of all things was averted once more. But only with a terrible cost. A human sacrifice was made. And the day was saved.
Thanks to Pretty Girl Z.
"...hey, orphan kid? Could you let me out of this stupid pants cage thing? It's nailed shut or something..."
"...orphan kid?"
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Stress. Anguish. So much to do and so little time. That was life as a student during a pandemic. Whoever said online learning was easy was lying. Like many of my peers, my mental health dropped during the pandemic and life felt pretty bleak.
So when we heard of yet another threat to the world and life as we knew it, I just knew I had to... turn off the news, roll over and fall back asleep.
Of course, Dr. Crastin just had to go all out with the light and laser show. Honestly, I don't know what he wants, or even how he has the motivation to follow through with his plans in the middle of a pandemic?! I'll probably have to ask him sometime when he's you know, not trying to take over the world or something.
And what is up with his pyrotechnic display?? Literally he could've done this in the earlier in the day or at least in the evening. His neighbors must hate him. I have an exam in the morning and I'm not letting some half-rate 'supervillain' be the reason I fail this class.
Rolling my eyes, I pulled on my special suit and facial paraphernalia. Perhaps I can get back to bed within the hour and rest. It wasn't hard to find him, he decided to terrorize the Math building. Hmm. Maybe if he'd gone for physics, I wouldn't have had to bother...
Shaking those thoughts from my mind, I focused on the task at hand. My arrival at the scene was quickly noticed by his cronies and they stared at me with displeasure and fury.
Turning to face the enemy, I opened my mouth to address him, "Dr. Crastin, this is the last straw! "
He regarded me for the first time, face red and swollen with anger, "It's *Professor*, you imbecile!" he spat out, "and I don't even know who you are!"
Right, Prof. Crastin. I rolled my eyes, " and I don't care, dude! Why are you doing this at 2 am on a week night? And don't hit me with the 'crime doesn't sleep' I know you're napping in the comfort of your tower in the daytime!"
I'm not generally an angry person, but I'd had a rough few days, it being finals week and all, and this guy showing up right before my last final really was the straw that broke the camel's back. My rage and frustration only feeding my powers.
I saw Crastin and his evil buddies grimace from my words, each sentence had them moving several paces away from me, but I was far from done. Realization gleamed in his eyes. One of them tried to aim her freeze ray at me, but she couldn't look in my direction long enough to take aim.
"and why do you have to come bother us on finals week? This is the one time we ask anyone to not bother us, we're going hours, sometimes days without food or sleep, not much time to spend on anything else, *Professor*. Now I'm all cranky -"
"STOP! Please, we can't take this anymore" Prof Crastin's lackey yelled at me
I guess I didn't get to finish my rant then!
"We surrender!" he exclaimed, "Just, like, take a shower, dude!"
"Yeah! That's not healthy, it's no way to live!" another added.
By this time, most of the evildoers had retreated into their ship, leaving Prof. Crastin a few seconds away.
"You win this time, Skunkelor!" he declared with a smirk, "I'll see you in a month. Good luck on finals!"
Gosh, I really wish he'd picked the physics building instead.
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[WP] You're a magical girl (or boy) who wants to fight evil, but your transformation sequence is so horrifying that all villains just surrender when you show up.
|
"Buwahaha! Pretty Girl Z, you have fallen into my diabolical trap!", exclaimed Deathpants. "My sinister cage made ENTIRELY of pants woven with Infinity Z, your only weakness, will make you helpless as I rob this small child's lemonade stand!"
"You fiend!" shouted Pretty Girl Z, clenching both delicate, pink nail polished hands into fists with a very dramatic sound. "Unhand that orphan child lemonade salesman this very instant, or I will be forced to unleash my true power upon you!"
The small child behind the lemonade stand frowned, as though reminded of his missing parents, as he watched the legendary Pretty Girl Z square off against the diabolical Deathpants with a tear down one cheek.
As everyone knows, Pretty Girl Z had been saving the day here in Outerwear City for years, defeating every clothing-related supervillain that dared to rear their ugly head, and she did it with grace, charm, and a cute giggle that made all the boys swoon.
Pretty Girl Z had become a staple of the rather unfortunately named city, and her broad straw hat, silver hoop earrings, relatable yellow sundress, brown purse and summer sandals had become known as symbols of justice far and wide.
Today was just another day in Outerwear City, even if you were a poor, lemonade-selling orphan, because if you were in danger from some rando 45-year old dad with no weekend plans, a roll of duct tape, and a garage full of spare clothing from the thrift store, you could count on Pretty Girl Z showing up and saving the day.
How, you might ask? Because, when she was little, Pretty Girl Z was bitten by a radioactive Instagram influencer, giving her the power to transform! The orphan pulled out his umbrella, knowing full well what was about to happen to Deathpants, and he closed his eyes tight, as it began.
Deathpants's eyes widened, and he exclaimed, "No! Umm... p-p-please don't... I was only joking, Pretty Girl Z! I'm your biggest fan! Please!"
But it was too late. Overhead, the skies began to darken ominously. A chill wind howled through the treetops, and lightning began to flash. The temperature dipped, and Deathpants began to run. He knew it would be futile, just like all the others, but he had to try. Melinda. The kids. God, what was he doing? He needed to get the hell out of here, before-
The sky began to crack open, as reality over the man's head began to shatter, revealing the primordial abyss beyond the boundaries of existence. The wind picked up speed, and lightning crashed again and again. The sunny day had gone blacker than night. There was no sound but the screaming of the wind, no light but the metronome pulse of lightning.
No sight but the abyss.
The yawning chasm into immateriality split further, and from it snaked a tentacle larger than the moon. It was followed by unnatural gibbous wings like a bat that swooped across the sky from horizon to horizon. And then the eye opened.
The terrible eye.
It shone with a red light that pierced other, weaker eyes. It punctured souls. The walls of nearby buildings began dripping human blood. Every light was extinguished. The eye was upon the world.
Deathpants collapsed, gibbering to himself, tearing at his now empty eyesockets with both hands, leaving deep gashes in his ruined face. His skin began to wriggle, as though filled with a thousand maggots. He burst into flames, and as he combusted, his peeling face began to grin with the faint cobwebs of disintegrated musculature.
And he began to sing the song.
"Dainty cute girl, flashy fun girl, Pretty Girl Z!
Here to vanquish friend and foe,
So kick back, relax, enjoy the show,
She's here for justice, she's here for truth,
She lights the sky, protects the youth,
Pretty-pretty-pretty girl,
Pretty-pretty-pretty girl,
Pretty-pretty-pretty girl,
Pretty Girl Z! Yeah!"
As the last exclamation left his black, ruined skull, the eye closed, and the unearthly creature beat its wings once, soundlessly, and rose into the sky. The rift was sealed, and the end of all things was averted once more. But only with a terrible cost. A human sacrifice was made. And the day was saved.
Thanks to Pretty Girl Z.
"...hey, orphan kid? Could you let me out of this stupid pants cage thing? It's nailed shut or something..."
"...orphan kid?"
|
Dr. Destroy the World stood on top of his death robot, one foot perched on the EMP cannon on the top of its spherical body. Below him, hunched over at the feet of the robot, as if begging for mercy, was the President of the United States. She had been the most powerful woman in the world mere hours ago, now reduced to a scared, panicked mess.
&#x200B;
A few meters away from here were the various ministers and security forces who accompanied her at all times. The Doctor proclaimed, "Run for your lives wretched humans, flee from the wrath of your superior ruler! Your cities will crumble and your armies will fall before my might! You will all rue the day you doubted the Great Dr. Destroy th-"
"Hey jackass!" I shouted. He glanced towards me. He looked annoyed.
"How dare you ruin my speech you blockhead!" He barked. "Now I will end you as punishment for your insolence!"
Cannons sprouted up from the sides of the robot. "Oh no you don't" I whispered under my breath. The cannon primed its laser and fired. I dashed under a piano and watched as it was reduced to atoms inches from my face. I parkoured up the various decorations on the walls until I had an angle on the hinges of the robot, its only weak point.
"There you are you little shit." I mumbled as I aimed my specially made photon blaster at it. The robot tried to maneuver away but it was too late. I pulled the trigger and the 3 ton giant machine of death crumpled like a tin can taking the Doctor with it. I told the politicos to get out as fast as they can, and they obliged with gusto. I
ran to the location of the robot's unfortunate demise, to see its maker getting up onto his feet, a huge gash visible on his face.
"Very well then. You have left me with no choice." He drew a wicked looking blade seemingly out of nowhere, and moved into an offensive stance. "You ready?" He asked.
I rolled my eyes, took out my blaster, and shot him in the leg.
He winced in pain, and crumpled onto the ground faster than a tin can.
"YOU BITCH" he bellowed in incandescent rage. He talked into his wrist watch, "CALLING ALL ROBOTS. HELP ME!"
I cracked my knuckles. "Oh... you do *not* want to do that"
"And why pray tell?" he managed to blurt out as he scrambled to his feet. Impressive, after how I had punched a hole 2 cm in diameter through his left shin.
"Because..." I started, "**Of This**" The voice was different this time. Deeper, rougher, like someone was scraping a piece of metal to produce speech.
His eyes grew wide in terror.
I would've smiled, but my mouth was rapidly being replaced by a 7-sided beak. Almost a foot and a half in length, with serrations carved into the beak itself. My instinct to smile translated into me opening my maw, revealing row upon row of razor sharp teeth.
My spine expanded into bony protrusions, and the change spread to my back, which tanned into stony leather, as fiery wings sprouted from my shoulder blades. My arms were replaced with a multitude of tentacles with sharp looking claws at the tips. One of these reached towards his face and he screamed, "STOP! PLEASE STOP! I'LL DO ANYTHING."
"Thats what I like to hear" As I stepped forward to handcuff him, he recoiled away from me, understandably. I *was* an eldritch monster.
I left him outside for the cops to deal with, and dashed to my favourite deli after changing in a restroom. Transforming had drained away much of my energy so I was starving. I often wished that I wouldn't have to resort to demon mode so often, but such was the job. But as i bit into my baconator all those thoughts vanished and were replaced by the satisfaction of a job well done.
&#x200B;
PS - Im really sorry for the ending, I'm really rubbish at writing them and i never have any good ideas on how to construct a satisfying conclusion.
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[WP] You're a magical girl (or boy) who wants to fight evil, but your transformation sequence is so horrifying that all villains just surrender when you show up.
|
You would think that anyone with powers like mine would turn into a villain.
To be honest, the thought had certainly crossed my mind. In spite of everything, though, it felt right to help people instead of hurting them.
But watching the people I was saving run from me screaming in horror made it difficult sometimes.
I guess that came with the territory of being the Queen of Bones.
I was a late bloomer, superpower-wise. My older sister got her super strength at 15 like most heroes, and my older brother got his super speed at 15 too. Our mother sobbed for hours when they got their powers; she felt lucky to not have powers herself, and she didn’t want us to join our father and grandmother before him as heroic sacrifices.
That was why I didn’t try harder to find out if I had any powers after my 15th birthday. My mother seemed so relieved when she realized that I hid my own disappointment.
If it hadn’t been for that one fateful day soon after I turned 16, I might not have found out at all.
It was a normal day of basketball practice, but Sheila, our starting center, was in a bad mood. She normally set bone-crushing screens, but she had never literally done that before.
I didn’t notice her until I ran into her. She lowered her shoulder and drove me to the ground.
I felt like I’d been hit by a truck. I could actually hear my ribs breaking as she hit me, but hitting the ground was worse. I landed hard on the small of my back and felt my lowest vertebra shatter. I heard my friend Emma screaming in the distance.
*ANNA! Anna, get up! Please, please get up.*
I panicked, fearing the worst. It was one thing to be the only kid in the family without powers, but being paralyzed on top of that?
I still have trouble describing what happened next, even now. I didn’t really feel any part of my body, but it felt like I could reach out with my mind to my broken bones.
*Heal*
It was somewhere between a command and a prayer, but it worked. I felt my ribs piecing themselves back together, felt my spine regrowing, and felt the rest of my bones growing stronger.
*ANNA!*
Emma’s scream was different this time. When I had first hit the ground, she sounded terrified for me.
Now, she sounded as if she was terrified OF me.
I opened my eyes, and stood up. Sheila’s face was pale. The rest of the gym
stared at me in shocked silence. There was a grim sense of foreboding in the air.
“Y-y-your chest,” Sheila finally managed.
I looked down.
And I screamed.
My ribs had certainly been healed, but I had failed to notice them piercing through my skin. They had wrapped themselves around my chest like a suit of armor.
I kept screaming. Emma was the only one who was willing to approach me, and she finally managed to calm me down enough to get me out of the gym.
The rest of that day was blur. Emma took me to the superpower testing site, and I learned the awful truth—I could morph my skeleton at will, and exert my powers on any bones around me. The poor tester’s pink finger found that out the hard way.
The worst part was my mother’s reaction. She didn’t cry; she just moaned for a moment before screaming and passing out. My brother came back from Newfoundland in a couple of seconds and brought her back home, but the damage was done.
I tried to go back to school after the incident, but that just made things worse. Emma still walked to and from classes with me, and did her best to try to make me feel normal. Sheila, who had never been that close to me before, suddenly decided that she owed it to me to be my friend now. I shooed her away for the first few days, but she was persistent. After a week of people running away from me and whispering behind my back, I decided to let her be nice to me.
My older sister Isabelle moved back into the house, at least temporarily. My older brother Alex would run home at least once a day to check up on me; it was sweet of him, even if it was only a 15-second detour from wherever he had been.
My mother tried to act as if I didn’t exist. It had been bad enough to lose her last child to the world of superhumans, but losing me to a power like this…
I quit school after the second week following the incident. It wasn’t uncommon for superheroes to drop
out and get GED’s anyway; Alex had dropped out within days of getting his powers.
Even with Isabelle back at home, those next few months were miserably lonely. Emma would still stop by after practice with quesadillas from our favorite food truck, and Sheila called to check in on me every morning. Honestly, I might have turned to villainy without them; after all, what was the point of trying to be a hero if you would be a hated outcast anyway?
One day, Isabelle knocked on my door. It was early in the morning, but like many nights I had been completely unable to sleep.
“Wake up, Anna.”
I groaned, trying to pretend that I hadn’t been awake.
“Wuz happ’nin,” I mumbled sleepily.
“Meteor Man is attacking our old high school. I gave Alex a call, but we need your help.”
If it had been anywhere else, I probably would have stayed in bed.
But if he attacked the school…
*Sheila. EMMA.*
I leapt out of bed and threw on the costume my sister had made for me. It was simple enough—white leotard, white cape, black gloves and boots, with a black *B* emblazoned on my chest. Still, I trembled as I put it on for the first time.
I crept down the stairs with Isabelle, taking one last glance at my mother’s bedroom door and the poster of my father hanging next to it.
*The Comet* was written in bold orange letters, with an image of my father just below lit up by the flames that surrounded him and his brilliant smile. I never knew him as well as my older siblings did, but I always remembered his smile.
Despite all of the horrors that my powers had brought down on me, that poster still gave me hope.
Alex met us at the door. He didn’t quite have Isabelle’s super strength, but he was still strong enough to lift both of us over his shoulder. He winked at me, picked up Isabelle, and darted away. Three seconds later, he came back for me.
We arrived at the scene to find the villain standing atop a hovering rock engulfed in flame.
When Alex put me down next to Isabelle, Meteor Man began to laugh.
“So! The Comet’s kids have come to take me down! Oh, I will be so glad to destroy the whelps of that upstart!”
He leered down, giving me final proof that I could never be a villain; I could never match the pure hatred that he radiated.
“You know,” he continued, “my greatest regret in my life is that The Viper killed your father before I could. I will have to settle for ending his family line instead!”
“Oh, if only your mother could see you now.”
I snapped. It was bad enough that my mother treated me like I didn’t exist anymore, but for him to speak that way about her…
I stopped trying to hold back my powers. I stretched out all of my bones and let my rib cage grow out over my chest. I extended my finger bones and sharpened them into talons. Then, I reached out with my mind and felt Meteor Man’s skeleton. I turned his ribs inward, pushing them towards his heart…
“STOP!!! Stop, I yield, please, I beg you, I yield, I yield…”
I stared at him. Meteor Man looked small and pathetic as he quivered on his little chunk of rock. There were red stains blooming on his chest, and there was a growing colorless stain between his legs.
“You will leave this town and never return,” I said. I almost surprised myself; I didn’t know that I could speak with that much authority.
“Y-yes, yes, O great Queen of Bones.”
I smirked. “Queen of Bones. I like that.”
It was the first time that I had embraced who I was.
He re-lit his meteor and turned to fly away on it.
“One last thing,” I yelled.
He turned around, clutching at his chest.
“Y-yes, Your Majesty?”
I barely held back my laughter as I stared at the sniveling coward.
“If I ever hear that you have even MENTIONED The Comet again, I will kill you. Slowly. I will expand your skull inward, until-“
“I won’t! I promise. Please, just don’t…”
“Go,” I commanded, and he dutifully fled.
I stood and watched him go. My sense of authority faded away with him, leaving behind a crippling terror as I shrank my bones back to normal size. I could not face my siblings. If they abandoned me like my mother had…
“Anna?” Isabelle’s voice was filled with worry.
“I-I-“
“You,” Alex said, and I waited for the worst.
“You are so AWESOME!” Alex whooped with delight.
“W-what?”
I turned to face him—just in time for him to sprint up and wrap me in his arms.
“Glad you’re on our side,” he said, playfully ruffling my hair at light-speed. “I’ve been fighting that guy for months now, and you show up, and all of a sudden, BAM! Goodbye, Meteor Guy!”
He spoke in the same rapid-fire way that he had even before his body could catch up with his words. I looked over at Isabelle. I expected a look of fear, but she was beaming with pride.
“Well done, Queen of Bones. I guess I’ll have to add a Q to that B on your chest.”
In spite of myself, I felt my eyes filling with tears.
“You…you aren’t afraid of me?”
“Of course not!” Alex laughed. “Why would I be afraid of some girl who’s scared of horses?”
“That’s not fair!” I pouted. “You try being bitten by a horse and see how you like it!”
Alex chuckled in response, but Isabelle looked over at me with tears in her eyes despite her smile.
“You’re our baby sister, dummy,” she said. “We’ll always love you.”
I shoved Alex away and ran over to give her a hug. After a short while buried in her shoulder, I felt cried out, in a good way for once.
I looked up at the undamaged school, and spotted Sheila near the entrance with a brilliant smile and a thumbs-up. Emma was right next to her, a thin grin on her face. Then, her face scrunched up with worry.
*Are you OK?* she mouthed, and I grinned back at her.
For the first time in a long time, I felt like I was.
__________________
If you liked this, check out my subreddit! r/NicodemusLux
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There are powers in this universe that we cannot even begin to comprehend, that dwarves us utterly. Like the brief sandcastle of a child, so small and easily washed away by the infinite waves, compared to a Dyson Sphere, enormous, complex and unspeakably powerful. Yet some of them are briefly amused by humanity, briefly interested in our survival. But they cannot easily care for us, and if they tried to interfere directly, their sheer presence would crush our minds and burn our world. So they do something different. They pluck a small cosmic speck of their tremendous eternity, and fashion it into an Emissary.
And the Emissary can interact with us. Through it, humans can make deals, becoming filled with great power, to become young and powerful heroes. Often they are called the Magical Children. For no adult can make a deal, as only the changing, growing body of a human child can adapt to the magical forces infused into them. And the only true physical change that comes after the tender years of childhood, is the decay of aging and death. While the nature of each power and the Emissary which serves them is different, across all who are given the power there is one constant. The Transformation.
Some merely change clothes and gain access to powerful magical weaponry. Some become idealised versions of the adults they will grow up to be one day. Some even change species entirely, magical werewolf boys and girls are not uncommon, especially in the Alpine regions, and the colder parts of the world. And then there are outliers. Those who have a bizarre and strange transformation, and dark, unsettling powers. Yet all who accept the deal are accepted into the Magical Children and their various clubs.
Except me.
I was very young when I found my Emissary, the source from which I would draw my power. I was running away. The forces of the dark Nihil Hivers were attacking the small town where I was born. Our town wasn't important in the grand scheme of things, we were just unlucky that their cultists had chosen us as sacrifices to further their desire to birth the Human Hivemind. I ran to the beach, I don't know what I was thinking, for they'd find me easily there. But I found something, a small crevice, a tiny cave, in which I could hide. Yet as I crawled in there, it kept stretching on forever. It was so dark, but there was a small, tiny, insignificant light at the end of the tunnel.
Curious, and hoping it was someone else who had survived, I kept crawling until the small tunnel became a vast and enormous chamber. The light had shone from an Emissary. It looked decayed, ancient, and Holding aloft a black obsidian dagger. It spoke to me, in my mind. Promised that if I took the dagger, I could make a deal. Become powerful enough to save my family, my hometown, or to have my revenge. The price is the same for all, servitude in life and death. In desperation, and in the naïve hope of joining the ranks of the Magical Children, I took up the dagger. And swore myself to something older than ancient. Older than the universe. Something that could crush reality itself with a mere thought.
But it was power. So I took it and returned to fight. But my transformation was all I needed. Only once. The Hivecultists had already taken the lives of everyone I knew, but they did not succeed in forcing all of humanity to combine mentally, becoming one eternally screaming entity. As I plunged the black obsidian dagger into my heart, the transformation began. Most are not pleasant to look at. The lights are too bright, the music is too loud, the body morphing is often considered unpleasant by many. But I was wreathed in the darkness of pre-existence. I was remade in primordial waters which had been drawn from springs in universes that have been uncreated by the march of entropy. The sight of such a rearrangement of bones, flesh, and parts I could not even begin to understand. I still don't, and I tried to transform in front of a mirror once, resulting in me passing out after a few brief seconds of screaming. And where other Magical Children are accompanied by music, usually the closest translation of their benefactor's true name into terms that would not kill you instantly, the sound coming from my transformation was the dirge of reality. The bleak understanding of eternity seen through eyes belonging to something that measured itself not in years, but in realities it had seen through translated into music.
Nothing else was needed. What I became after the transformation, was not the champion of some eldritch god. Not the servant of the fey. Not imbued with moonpower, or a draconic soul. I became an ending. And the cultists died, one and all. The plants died. The animals died. For a few years after that event, in the ruins of my hometown, scientists remarked that even microbiological life had ended. It was so bad that when the Magical Children arrived on the scene, they desperately tried to slay me, thinking me some kind of ultimate demon, or perhaps the Human Hivemind made manifest. Was difficult to explain what had happened, I was still a child, scared, crying, in the body of a monstrous entity after all. Still, after holding back a small army of Magical Children, I managed to get them to understand.
There is a video, taken by one of the cultists before he died. Of my transformation. An army of editors, many of whom gave their lives to make it watchable, managed to make it viewable. Even this heavily edited version is prone to causing cardiac arrest in weak-willed people. For a few years, all that was needed to make demons, cultists, rogue eldritch spawn, and other evil entities flee in terror, was that I flashed that black dagger. A few braver and more powerful enemies tried to steel themselves, to bluff me. But when they saw that blade touching my flesh, saw a small trickle of blood running down my chest, they would inevitably flee in terror or surrender. Thousands of evil warlocks, demons, and other evils are bound now in prisons. They preferred to be stripped of their power, and spend their lives in prison, rather than facing me, seeing my transformation.
Yet even though this was good, as I prevented many tragedies from happening, I felt empty. I ensured that what happened to my home would not happen to others, but I was so alone. None of the others who had accepted deals, wished to work with me, none of their clubs would accept me. The rumours about me, the stories told of what I'd made a deal with, kept everyone away. Loneliest child on the planet, and the most powerful to boot too. Eventually, I withdrew entirely. Spoke so little, I might even have forgotten how to. But something kept me going. The fire inside. No weak child, with a base and dull heart, a boring and common soul, could ever make a deal. The power comes into the body through the soul and mind, into the body. If your mind is dense as lead and your soul is coloured institutional beige, you'd burn to ashes trying to transform.
So I turned to the vast archives, which are kept by those Magical Children that grow up. And through my childhood I read all I could, learned everything possible about Magic, about Emissaries, about the Powers. In those archives with books listing the Emissaries, texts about the entities which grants us powers, knowledge about ancient things, I became obsessed with something. Speaking to an entity has only happened thrice. And those were not the strongest. Yet I still sought out those texts, using my reputation to let me gain access to the most forbidden of tomes.
I will seek out my Benefactor. And I will force it to speak with me. I will find a way to use this power I have been given, to save humanity. After all, the price for our power is servitude in perpetuity. How many desperate children have given themselves over to powers that will keep our souls forever? How many of those eldritch things can be trusted? After all, most of the foes that we, the Magical Children, face are merely those of us who have been given orders directly through their Emissary that make them into monsters, or cause great destruction to our world.
The powers might care for us. But that doesn't mean that they can understand that we wish to pick our own fate. They do not know what is best for us. They might think that it would be better if we evolved into a hiveminded insectile race. Or if we all served under one total and complete ruler. But I think, that what is best for us, is to choose for ourselves. And if my horrifying Benefactor can give me such power, to prevent the constant fighting between Magical Children, freeing our souls from the Powers, and set humanity on an independent cause, then it is worth going to my Benefactor and asking for it directly.
[/r/ApocalypseOwl](https://www.reddit.com/r/ApocalypseOwl/)
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[WP] You see ghosts daily, always attached to people. Some are malevolent, others benevolent and some indifferent. Today, you are shocked to see a young man being followed by hundreds of ghosts, all wearing faces of anticipation, Curiosity gets the better of you.
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I see Abraham Lincoln and George Washington on a daily basis. On some days they say hello. On others, they pass through me, almost as if they see me, but decide not to respond.
Living in Washington D.C. has its perks, especially with my "power", if you can even call it that. When I was young I told my parents about this "power". They immediately took me to the best psychiatrists and psychologists in town. It wasn't until I told my father exactly how my grandfather had died two weeks before we received the report when my parents stopped taking me to the doctors and told me to never speak about the "power" again.
Anyways, my parents both work in a huge white building, where apparently the President of our nation lives. Whenever I go visit them, which is outside of these huge gates from which you can see tens of men in suits, the "power" is at its most. I've seen Teddy Roosevelt riding a horse, Abe Lincoln talking to his wife, and surprisingly Alexander Hamilton singing.
But the past few weeks have been interesting. Apparently, there's going to be a new President. Someone by the name of John Kennedy, I believe. I saw him once. A tall, sharp man. Good looking and articulate. "We need more leaders like him", my father says often.
I saw him one day when I was waiting for my parents outside of the huge white building. He was surrounded by men in black suits, though I could see he was talking to a pretty woman, who he kissed on the cheek. I assumed that was his wife or girlfriend. Suddenly, I saw many presidents floating around him. Others started floating around him too. He didn't seem to notice and kept on walking. Some had hats with an elephant on them and others with donkeys. These two groups seemed like they were split, and I could see an intense argument arising.
I knew I had to do something. I ran up to the future president, but only before being quickly apprehended by the men in suits. I screamed at him: "Sir! Sir! Are you alright! You might be in danger!". I was being pulled away by one of the men when the future president asked him to stop. He looked down at me and said, "Son, you are the future of our nation." He smiled at me and winked. He then continued to walk into the big white building where my parents worked. I will never forget this day.
*60 years have passed since this moment.*
I still walk near the White House every day. I still see Abraham Lincoln and George Washington. They sometimes say hi, and sometimes they don't. But the highlight of my day is when I walk past the same gates I did 60 years ago, and I hear "Son, you are the future of our nation".
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It was one of those nights that one could really feel the absence of the moon. Dark and grim. Chilling winds flowing by. Light cold drizzles hitting my face.
As I stop, sit on a bench and remove my jacket from the bag, I see something really unnatural.
I mean unnatural even to me.
There were huge numbers of ghosts following a young kid! Really mysterious!
Okay! I have soo many questions!
What's going on?!
Why are soo many ghosts following this poor young kid?
Why does the boy seem soo agitated?
Where is the boy even going?
Urghh! And I don't even have anyone to share these thoughts with! I guess this is the worst part of being a Bridger.
Oh! By the way, a "bridger" is basically a person who is able to view and connect different realms of reality. There are different types of bridgers with different connecting abilities.
I am a Bridger between the remembered dead and the living. They call my type as the Fausmas, basically cause well, we have a wide range of vision spectrum.
The ghosts do not know about us, unless we directly try to interact with them. I like to keep my low profile, just interact with some that I trust. Just don't want any unnecessary attention. Then, they keep coming behind me asking to help their loved ones, hurt their hated ones, etc. The usual.
Anyway! Okay now it is really getting weird! There are literally hundreds of ghosts that have gathered here and are walking behind this young lad! I finish wearing my jacket and put my bag back on, I start walking slowly behind the crowd.
I need to also make sure that I don't seem suspicious to the ghosts or the boy as I follow him.
What the hell is really going on?! Just as my clueless ass looks around. My biggest nightmare just happened to occur!
It is was Lyon, a really loud one that I had talked to before. He just caught a glimpse of me!
He yells, "Hey it's the Antoria Fausma! The god's have mercy upon us!"
My anxiety just goes off the roof with that. I just walk in my usual path acting as if I didnt hear that from Lyon or see anything weird. Usually at times like these, I just make it up to concentrate on one thing, and now I just keep my eyes glued to my shoes.
Dumb Lyon understands that he just messed up.
"Oh sorry guys, I thought he was the Bridger! My bad!"
He gets a lot of abuses from his fellow ghosts. But given the reputation of Lyon, I guess they also believed that he might have just mistook. A good thing for me!
So as I slightly raise my head now and stare at him seriously, he points to an alley behind.
I enter the ally and light a cigarette up.
"Lyon! You just had me fucked right there! This is the reason why I don't involve you in things man! Fucking hell!"
Lyon shrinks down with his big eyes out.
"Okay Lyon fine. But you better not forget the rules that I have told you before!"
Lyon was just a kid. He was murdered at a young age of 12.Hence, I have a soft corner for him.
He suddenly starts blurting out words as quick as possible,
"Brother! We are all in grave danger! (Takes in a deep breath)
It all started with Leo. Leo being as malevolent as ever, always hung by Baskerville. It was the place where he was killed. I hate Leo. He just is the worst! Doesn't have any sense. I hate him!"
As I blow smoke out, "Lyon!! What about that kid? Where does this all add up?!"
"Sorry sorry, yes. Now, after his death, he took it upon himself to haunt the entire family of Drigins. Drigins were the good ones there. This Leo and all his disciples tortured all their families. It is just saddening to see how they did it. Okay, so this kid you see there, he is the son of Mark Drigin!"
I just hold my breath tight. My eyes pop out. My heartbeat goes up.
"Wait Lyon! Is that kid there Kalcifur Drigin!"
Oh no! This was what the elder bridgers were talking about! The prophecy of AntharAthma!
I drop my cigarette down. Both hands on my head. My eyes goes left right thinking of multiple possibilities at once.
Suddenly, I check my jacket and run out to the street. I put my hands in a pocket and remove the frequency jolter. As I click the button, all of the ghosts turn to me.
"Look there!! Lyon was right! He really is the Fausma!" Yells one of the ghost.
Lyon was shocked to see what I just did. Everyone will know who I am now. He just couldn't understand. Why would I do such a thing?
I take my pull over down, raise my head up with the jolter in my arms.
"All of you need to stop!" In a rough deep voice, not too loud.
"Only I have the answer!"
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[WP] You see ghosts daily, always attached to people. Some are malevolent, others benevolent and some indifferent. Today, you are shocked to see a young man being followed by hundreds of ghosts, all wearing faces of anticipation, Curiosity gets the better of you.
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Many had one, some had more. I had none, but this woman, a crore.
"Excuse me?" the woman asked with no small amount of hostility. "Is that supposed to be a joke?"
"No, not at all. I'm sorry," I said, backing into the intersection pole below its merciless red hand forcing this interaction to go on.
"Then why on Earth would you say 'a lot of ghosts following her' talking about me?" The woman looked tired but determined to have the answer I didn't dare give. "Do I even know you?"
"No. I was just singing a song to myself," I lie. "I really didn't mean to offend."
The light finally deemed the time arrived. I focused on the walking white figure till I was across the street, not looking back to see if I was believed. The woman herself began walking the other way and I caught unwilling sight of her parade again, ghosts behind her packed so close I couldn't tell if they numbered in the hundreds or the thousands. Arms reached out with stretched fingers as she walked forming a halo of fingers around her, almost touching but not quite.
In a little less than three years from then, I discovered what the ghosts following a person meant. When I had to catch myself with all the stories of my father to start with was not is, tagging on 'used to be's or 'back when's. He was here still, behind me, reaching. He was a constant presence in my life the last few years as I cared for him near every hour of the day and now he lingered just as close.
I once guessed the ghosts followed their killer but there were far too many for that. The woman with the sabaoth of followers wasn't a mass murderer after all. She was just a tired caregiver.
The ghosts follow who cared for them most in their final moments, reaching out like moths to that light of kindness. I wonder if that tired woman was a doctor or a nurse to have so many in her train. I wish I could see her again, apologize and thank her for all she's done.
Maybe I will. She does stand out, after all.
/r/surinical
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The ghosts came down the mountain in silvered scores, following a boy who should have been old enough to know better. Even if he could see them he'd have felt their cold. The grass shriveled with the passage, morning dew turned to frost, turned to a sheet or ice. The world melted for miles behind them, as the dawn rose.
I dropped my bucket, milk spilling out to soak the ground, and I ran to get my master.
"Master Corrin, Master Corrin!" I yelled, sprinting through the shadowed streets and ivy clad byways of Renneaux, a town of some 800 souls living and 100 souls dead. "Master Corrin!"
"Stupid girl!" One woman shouted, leaning out her open window. She looked around, caught the unseasonal chill in the air and the fear in my voice, and slammed the window shut. I could still feel them approaching like a great, frozen wave.
When I found him, Master Corrin was still drunk. He lay across a sawhorse filthy and stinking of last night's wine, whispering knotty poems to his sunrise.
"Silvered scores of servants slip,
Into the lonesome town
And the air grows pale, and the living frail
Where dead man's hope abounds"
"Master Corrin! There are ghosts coming down from the mountain! Hundreds of them, thousands of them!"
"I know," he whispered.
I had not been prepared for "I know."
"Lost lands, lost loves, lost skies above,
On Aeleth's distant shores
The colonists came and Renneaux town was named
On the land that all life had abjured"
Master Corrin, the old, goatish drunkard who ruled our town, fell heavily to his hands and knees in the sawdust. I pulled him to his feet, brushing wood shavings from his long, gray beard, and he stilled me, taking my hands in his.
"Addie," he said, bleary eyed, still very drunk, "I had hoped this day would not come. Our forefathers should not have settled the lost continent."
The lost continent. Aeleth. The long, jutting spit of land that reached out from the unexplored reaches of the western oceans like a crones arthritic finger. The lands from which all humans had come, had retreated from. The lands my own grandfather had brought us back to.
Master Corrin grew quiet and solemn, and for a moment he looked almost sober if not for the bitter scent of the wine. "Addie, what did they look like?"
I told him. I told him of the unkempt hordes of silvered savages. Of the tattered buckskins and knotted hair. Of the golden torcs and spears tipped by sharpened stones. Of the nobles, so refined they seemed almost modern, who had refused to give up their estates when Aeleth fell.
And I told him of the boy leading them. Handsome, dark haired, emerald eyed, lips like an invitation to a curse. A boy I hadn't recognized in a town where I recognized them all.
Master Corrin was quiet a long time. Village ghosts swept into courtyard, their frightened warnings dying on their lips when they saw us.
"Master Corrin, what are we to do?" I asked, terrified even more by his silence than by the ghosts I'd seen.
"The lost ghosts of the continent, and the lost boy who leads them," he whispered. And then, sadly, he turned his eyes to me.
"Addie," Master Corrin said, "do you think you can make a boy fall in love?"
r/TurningtoWords
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[WP] As the Village Seer, you peer into the mystical to give the villagers sage wisdom from beyond. The problem is, you're not magical, you're just smart and you live in an exceptionally dumb village.
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*"Elder Jaconi-"*
"I'M BUSY! LEAVE ME ALONE!"
Ever since Forinshire broke rock with that damn silver mine things had been going downhill for little Abesville. First it was the constant smoke from the charcoal kilns, choking the lungs as rouge winds carried it into Abesville. Then came the dying of the fish. Year after year there was less to catch and the village came to rely more on the oat and rye. Then came the decline as everyone, even the naturally gifted, slowly became...*dumber*.
*"Elder Jaconius, it's really important."*
He just wanted to read.
"Uggh. What did you bring me?"
It was standard that someone bring a gift in exchange for a communion. Before the villagers were good about this sort of thing as they brought not just his favorites, but staple foods to last him. Although that too had been in decline.
*"We brought you these."*
The young couple, a boy and his pregnant wife, presented the old man with a shallow basket of...well, it looked like they just plucked random weeds.
"And what is this supposed to be?"
*"Flours, for your bread."*
He was about to lose his mind.
"Those are *flowers*. F. L. O. W. E. R. Not *flour* as in crushed grains you daf-"
He stopped himself. 'No, no, Jaconius, be above that. Guide the lord's flock.'
"Whatever, fine, what is it you seek guidance on."
The boy spoke.
*"You sees, i've been plauged by the ills in the mornings. Coughing up my breads on beer from the night before just liken my wife whens we concepted. I fear I may be pregnant as well."*
....
'Jaconius be kind.' He told himself. 'Be strong and gui-'
"You dirt brained imbaciles! Have you ever seen a pregnant man? Did you think about this AT ALL before coming here to waste my time with whatever daft thought crosses your empty skulls? I swearith if I only knew of thee I would should mock the Lord as an IDIOT if thy was created to his image! GET OUT!"
With his command the couple fled, leaving their basket of weeds.
Jaconius cooled himself, this had gotten out of hand. He blamed again that damn silver mine upstream. There had to be some foul presence brought on by that mine. He had just yet to find a name for the daemon.
He decided to ponder these thoughts at the spring where he got all his water. Unlike the rest of the town he didnt drink from the river. He never had.
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Random Farmer: "Oh Seer of the Great Gods, my crops will not grow, there has been no rain for the past month! What do the Great Gods say?"
Me: \*wakes up from napping with three bottles of vodka surrounding me\* "heEH??? oh! just put it near the river, man, not too hard."
Random Farmer: "yes yes yes! i shall follow your oh so wise advice! thank you Wise One!"
Me: "yea, sure mate."
\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_
That winter.
Random Lady: "Oh Seer of the Great Gods! My child is purple and practically frozen! They started changing colors in the fields last night! We only let them out for a small amount of hours and they had already fainted!"
Me: \*lounges in couch next to a roaring fire\* "Last night? You mean they were out in the snow with no extra clothing at NIGHT?"
Random Lady: "is that bad?"
Me: "YES! Your child is experiencing the effects of hypothermia! Bring 'em near the fire."
Random Lady: "Hypothermia?"
Me: "errrr how do i explain this to you, the Great Gods of Night and Day, John and Marc, get angered during the colder months, attempting to freeze people and essentially kill them. They start with making them change color, turning their blood to ice until they reach the heart. But you see, John, the God of Night, is even more ruthless then Marc, meaning that the best idea is to keep near a roaring fire to avoid falling into his grasps. Understand?"
Random Lady: "Yes i do Wise One, i will be sure to heed your words."
Me: "mhm, now come try and warm your child to reverse the effects."
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[WP] As the Village Seer, you peer into the mystical to give the villagers sage wisdom from beyond. The problem is, you're not magical, you're just smart and you live in an exceptionally dumb village.
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"Don't marry Klaus, Johanna."
The girl peered over her steaming mug of tea at me, big blue eyes full of wonder. "You haven't even touched the cards yet!"
"I don't have to. See this?" I pushed the parchment toward her, the one I had been copying all afternoon from my own records. In large, clear script, I had written the name KARL BAUER. From there, on either side, were written two women's names. I read them off to the girl: SOFIA BAUER on the left, LENA MUELLER on the right.
"Lena: but that's my mama!"
"Right. And do you remember Klaus' mother's name?"
"We don't talk about his mama when we're together," she said, blushing.
"Sofia, Johanna. Her name was Sofia Bauer." I pointed to the vertical line extending from Sofia's name, ending in Klaus'.
She stared at me again, eyes empty as a summer sky. "About the cards? I wanted to see how many children we'll have."
I sighed; turned over a card. "Your past is represented by the Six of Cups. This card represents childhood memories. Incidentally, do you remember the first time you met Klaus?"
"I was young." Johanna closed her eyes, obviously savoring the memory. "He came over to our house to talk to my papa. Maybe about potatoes or something? I had never seen eyes so blue."
*Looked in a mirror lately?* I desperately wanted to ask, but snarkiness got me nowhere with these people. Instead, I turned over the next card. "Your present is represented by the Eight of Swords. See how the lady in the card is blindfolded? She's missing some crucial information that could really help her in making a decision."
I paused, staring deeply at Johanna, then repeated: "*Really helpful information.*"
"I guess it's good that I came to see you, then?"
"Johanna."
"Yes?"
"Klaus is your half-brother."
"Which half?"
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It was 3:15 p.m. Charles was late, but that was unsurprising. He'd made a reputation for being late, as of late. He'd already consulted me twice on time keeping- he'd better have a good excuse.
As the designated "village seer", I was a busy person. My appointment book was always full of consultations. This was something I've always kinda done, even as a kid- though back then, I only charged a nickle for my advice. The times, prices, and my branding have changed, but oh, they still keep coming. I've saved up a nice nest egg, enough to leave this town if I wanted, but I doubt I'd be able to do what I do anywhere else. And after all, how would anyone get along without me here?
A voice broke through my thoughts.
"Hey, Luce!!!" A familiar figure strode up my walk at an easy pace. He could *at least* walk a little faster.
I huffed. "You're late again. You've got 5 minutes. C'mere and have a seat." Charles sighed and sat down on the bench next to me. Gosh, the fool walked out of the house with his shirt on backwards again. Something must really be weighing on him. Maybe I should be nicer to him. "Now, what's on your mind? What can I, the Village Seer, do for you today?"
"W-e-e-ell....."
I sighed impatiently. "Spit it out, Charlie. I don't have all day." He looked at me sheepishly and said, "O wise Village Seer........"
I leaned in in anticipation. "Uh.....I've asked you this before, but.....how do I not be late?"
Something in me snapped. All hope of patience was gone. I think he saw it, because he went pale. "YOU BLOCKHEAD!!! I swear, some things NEVER change!! I've told you twice already, go buy a watch! Here!!!" I unfastened mine, and tossed it at him. He looked up at me with a stupid, dumbfounded look that I was all too familiar with. "But Lucy, this is yours!"
"I am aware of that, Charlie!! But I'm tired of you wasting my time. Now, go forth, in newfound wisdom yadda yadda ya, blah blah blah, you owe me $150 today."
"$150?! But I only bought a $100 time slot!"
I tossed my hair and scoffed, "The extra $50 is for the watch. I have to go buy a new one now. Now get, my next appointment is soon." He grumbled as he got up. "See you next time, Luce." I rolled my eyes and said, "Anytime, Charlie. But the next time I see you, you better be on time!"
Yes, life as the Village Seer could be frustrating.
But at least it paid well.
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[WP] As the Village Seer, you peer into the mystical to give the villagers sage wisdom from beyond. The problem is, you're not magical, you're just smart and you live in an exceptionally dumb village.
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Alaria settled into her chair, pulled a loose strand of hair back behind her pointed ear, and waited. Ever since she had moved from her home in Pestera to this tiny farming village where Elves were something of a minority, almost everyone around her had looked at her with... something... in their eyes. It was suspicion at first, and not unexpected given how rare her kind seemed to be in this part of the continent, but that gave way to awe when she had helped get rid of an ailment that had taken one of the local farms.
Freja had been speaking about it for the past few days at that point: her husband Bjorn and their two boys had worked the family field without stopping for the past two weeks and in that time had suffered crippling headaches, exceptional tiredness and had even complained that their heads felt light, and if they fell much worse then the work would not be completed before the end of the eighth month. Alaria had told her to prevent them from working for a day and ensure they each drank as much water as they could, and then to make sure they kept drinking water as often as they were able to prevent this from happening again. The village at first shouted poor Freja down for taking such unusual advice from a stranger, but this turned to genuine awe and reverent respect for Alaria when the magic solution she had given their neighbour worked so well.
Alaria rubbed her temples irritably at the memory. The "miracle" cure she had given Freja was little more than making sure her family weren't dehydrating and were resting from the heat of the summer sun. She wondered if all Humans were this foolish for a time, until she remembered there were many Humans in Pestera as well, and none of them would have been so stupid as to go full days without so much as a drop of water while the sun was at its hottest. She had come here with the intention of working as a healer and, while in some ways she was doing exactly that, it was hard to tend to genuine needs when so many of the villagers needed her words of divine wisdom to answer everything from why the mayor's cart wouldn't move (the axles had not seen a drop of grease since the thing was assembled) to why old man Baldur's prize bulls wouldn't produce any offspring (the fact they were both bulls didn't help in that regard). She had now been in the village for just short of five years, and she wondered if in that time she could have spend a few months working out why the population all seemed so supremely inept, or if indeed there was a cause, but when she spend every day beset by their inane questions, any thoughts of an attempt to help them were put aside in favour of her attempts to help them.
As if on cue Loras, one of Freja and Bjorn's sons, pushed open the deceptively heavy oak door and bowed low to Alaria. "Great Sage," he began, "My father has sent me with a pressing question."
"Let me guess," Alaria cut the boy off, "He wants to know why the eggs he was going to collect this morning have all been replaced with tiny chickens?"
Loras gasped audibly. "How did you know?"
Alaria pinched the bridge of her nose. It was going to be another long day.
EDIT: fixed a minor typo
|
“So like I said sir, we bought the chickens from the market over a year ago now, and we still haven’t had any chicks. We’re thankful for the eggs, don’t get me wrong, but what we really want is a good hatch of chicks to grow our flock. Please sir, can you consult with the gods and see if there’s anything we can do to please them, and if they can help make these chickens fertile?” the man said, hunched over, looking down at the table with a sad look on his face.
“Can you tell me a bit more about these chickens? How many many roosters are in your flock?” I asked, already knowing the answer.
“Well sir, we have 10 hens at the moment, no roosters,” the man said. “My wife and I thought, ‘Why bother with something that won’t give us any eggs?’ so we bought as many hens as we could afford.”
I wish I was surprised by this level of ignorance, but this wasn’t even the most slow-witted inhabitant of Farthington that I’ve encountered so far.
“You’re a shrewd businessman as well as a skilled farmer, Mr. Hamel. Let me consult with the gods and see if there’s anything I can do to help.” I said as I shook up my “mystical seeing cubes”, otherwise known as dice, and rolled them on the table.
As they settled into place, I looked at them thoughtfully, furrowed my brow, and contemplated for a moment, “I see, I see. Very interesting. Well, Mr. Hamel, the gods have heard your pleas and through their benevolence I can offer you a solution to your problem. First, I’ll need two pieces of silver as an offering to the gods for generously hearing your pleas. Then, they require that you go to the market and buy a rooster so that you can...uhm...balance out your flock’s...energy. And lastly, they’ll require a sacrifice of 2-dozen eggs each week through the standard fertility ritual. You are familiar with the ritual, right Mr. Hamel?”
“Well, actually, uh, no sir. I’ve never heard of this ritual before.”
“Oh, that could be problematic... Ah! I have an idea! If you deliver the 2-dozen eggs to me each Sunday morning I can do the ritual for you. It’s quite an ordeal, taking several hours to complete, but for another silver piece I think I can make time in my schedule.”
“Really? You’d do that for me? Well thank you so much Mr. Bawdry! So that’s two silver pieces for your payment, two more for the offering to the gods, plus another for doing the ritual, which makes...six silver pieces. Plus I’ll add in an extra one for your trouble, to make it an even seven.” Mr. Hamel said smiling, as he dropped the pieces of silver on the table and shook my hand.
It continued to surprise me that no matter how much silver I took from the inhabitants of Farthington, another villager always had more that they were ready to part with. Of course business has been a bit slow since Mr. Jameson arrived in the village. Although his advertising was different, claiming to be the “smartest man in the world”, the product we were selling was the same. And he was much better at it.
His seeds, growth tonics, and weed and pest neutralizers have been quite devastating for business. Villagers pay huge sums of money for his farming supplies that he developed in his “laboratory”, grow the most enormous crops of corn, beans, and wheat you’ve ever seen, and have no silver left for my services.
If I want to keep making my living in this village, I need to get in on the action. I need to know what’s in those tonics. Which is exactly what I plan to do as soon as I’m finished with this dimwit, with the key that I had swiped earlier that day from Mr. Jameson.
“Thanks again, Mr. Bawdry!” Mr. Hamel said as we stepped out of my home into the night darkness.
“Oh, no need to thank me. Just thank the gods.” I said smiling as I shook his hand and bid him farewell. Once he was out of sight, I wasted no time making my way towards Jameson’s laboratory.
As I neared the outside of Jameson’s property, I took a quick look around to make sure no one was nearby, and ducked into the trees on the edge of his property to make my way towards the laboratory.
Jameson had purchased a large barn from one of the villagers and converted that into his laboratory. The main change that he had made to the barn’s exterior, aside from ensuring that all entrances could be securely locked and boarding up all the windows, was on the roof. He had spent many days up there when he first moved in, and when any of the villagers asked what he was doing he kept mostly quiet about it, telling them he was making “improvements”. I couldn’t figure out what the improvements were from a distance. The only difference that I could see was there were now tens of large black rectangles up there that shined in the sunlight.
I heard a low humming as I got up to the door of his laboratory. The sound was similar to the wind blowing through a forest of large pine trees, only this was much more rhythmic.
As I opened the door, I couldn’t really make sense of what I saw. The first thing I noticed was what appeared to be several large windows that were behind a desk that Jameson had put in his lab, but rather than showing outside into the darkness, the windows were giving off a bright light and displayed text that kept constantly being added and changed on the window. Next to the desk was a very large metal box, taller than me, with small lights on it that kept blinking orange and green, and wires that connected both to the windows as well as went across the floor to the other side of the laboratory. On the opposite wall there were hundreds of large bags and strange containers with writing on them, saying things like “Roundup Ready Corn”, “Nitrogen Fertilizer”, and “Roundup Concentrate”.
I looked back to the large box on the opposite wall and began following the other set of wires down the edge of the laboratory. It didn’t take me long to make out what they were connected to, even in the mostly darkness of the laboratory. It appeared to be a large, circular platform that rose about 4 feet off the ground. On eight points around the platform were about 10-foot tall metal posts, with large cylinders mounted on the top pointing towards the middle of the platform. There was a small set of stairs that led up to the platform. I took a few steps up to the top of the steps, and as I looked to my left I noticed another one of the windows, but this one was just mounted onto a small pedestal. And rather than displaying a screen of constantly changing text, this window just displayed seven numbers, “14-6-2021”.
I started making my way around the platform to see if there were other windows, or if I could make out any of the other items that were all over the barn, but after a few steps the humming began to get louder.
As the humming continued to grow to a dull roar, I noticed that the cylinders on top of the posts around the large platform began to light up, and the window mounted above the pedestal changed to read “TRANSPORTATION SEQUENCE INITIATED”. Not wanting to find out what any of this meant, I quickly stepped down from the platform and made my way towards the exit.
While I started opening the door, I noticed the noise return to the low hum that I heard when I initially entered. Letting my curiosity get the best of me, I turned back around to look towards the platform on the far side of the laboratory.
Mr. Jameson is standing in the middle of the platform.
I think it’s time for me to move my operation to a new village.
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[WP] As the Village Seer, you peer into the mystical to give the villagers sage wisdom from beyond. The problem is, you're not magical, you're just smart and you live in an exceptionally dumb village.
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"O Great Seer, I fear that my wife no longer loves me!"
"Here, drink this potion of love. I guarantee that you will no longer have a problem."
"O Great Seer, you are so wise! Thank you!"
---
"O Great Seer, why do my crops fail to grow?"
"Here, take this elixir of growth."
"And pour it on my crops, O Great Seer?"
"Oh, gods, no. Drink it."
"And how will that help?"
"Do you not trust your seer?"
"Of course I do, O Great Seer."
"Then drink it. Your worries will be no more."
---
"O Great Seer... I... uh..."
"Yes?"
"I don't really have a problem, great seer. The crops are growing well, and my relationship with my wife is better than ever."
"As expected. These sorts of things really just work themselves out. I can't control the weather. Or love."
"What?
"Oh, I mean, good! Please leave your offerings and leave, then."
"Yes, but O Great Seer, is it possible to obtain another potion?"
"For?"
"Uh... pain! So much pain! Everywhere! In my whole body! Argh, my brain!"
"I don't think you have enough brains for it to hurt."
"I'm sorry, O Great Seer, what did you say?"
"Sure. Take this... salve of salvation. Drink it."
"And this will make me feel good? I mean, better? Free from pain?"
"Absolutely."
---
"O Great Seer."
"Mm?"
"What is this magical liquid you've given me? It tastes the same, and yet every time, something magical happens! All my worries are gone!"
"That's why the gods call it a solution, buddy."
"Can I have more?"
"And what ails you?"
"... My heavy wallet after selling my crops, O Great Seer."
"Take as many bottles as you want, dear."
---
r/dexdrafts
|
“Your husband says you should cook me a large pot of stew tonight,” said Rubin as the dry leaves crumbled from his hand. “Yes, it’s clear. See how the wind blows them to the left? Mutton and carrot stew.”
”It’s my last sheep.”
”It’s what your husband wants.”
The old lady swallowed. “Tell him I will.“
Rubin leaned back on his chair, shaded by the wide rattan porch. The comfiest chair and widest porch in all the village. “You know better than that. I can’t talk back to them. I can only read the signs.“
“Of course. Thank you for doing this.” The old lady limped back towards her hut, ready to prepare the feast.
Rubin had found it much easier to tell people what to do through a third person — a dead person — than doing so directly. People were more willing to listen to the dead. Especially those they loved. But of course, Rubin knew better. The wind whipped the last crumbs of the broken leaves into the air, almost dust at this point. Dust like the dead, Rubin thought. And dust doesn’t tend to communicate.
“You shouldn’t do that,” said a voice.
A young girl stood near, wiry and lanky with long black hair. She reminded Rubin of a magpie. Probably after all the shiny things in his home — the gifts he’d received for all his help.
“What do you want?” he said. “Want your future read?”
”You’re lying to them.”
He recognised her now. Alina‘s fourth daughter. She must have been twelve or thirteen. He supposed he must have seen her about the village before — at feasts, at funerals, certainly. But he didn’t remember. He didn’t tend to notice people besides himself. People here weren’t worth looking at.
”Lying about what?” he said lazily.
”Speaking to her dead husband. You can speak to him about as well as I can speak to the birds.”
That magpie probably could speak to birds, he thought. But instead he just waved a hand at her, then lazed back in his chair, closing his eyes.
He was woken some time later by a man with a wooden cup of cool water. “For you,” said the man.
“Thank you,” said Rubin. He took a refreshing sip, noticing from the corner of his eyes that the magpie girl was still there, same position.
“Please,” said the man. “My family needs your help again.”
”Oh? Let me guess. Is the spirit back?”
”Yes!” said the man, wide-eyed. “Last night, after we all went to sleep, it pulled up all our parsnips. We replanted this morning but who knows if they’ll live. We don’t know what we’ve done to anger it.”
Rubin considered. “Perhaps we can trade something. Your homemade ale for a protection spell?”
”That will stop the spirit?”
”Oh yes. It’ll stop it dead.“
The man nodded, “Then I’ll return later with all my ale.”
Once he left, the girl stepped forward. “Why are you doing this to them?”
”Doing what?” asked Rubin.
”There’s no spirit. Spirits don’t do go around pulling up vegetables.”
”Then what’s doing it?”
The girl thought. “Well, it could be an animal. But an animal would eat some of the food, not just uproot it.”
Smart, thought Rubin. Smarter than most in the village.
”And beside, you wouldn’t necessarily be able to control a wild animal that comes and uproots them. But if you‘re able to make this stop... then the only conclusion is that you’re the spirit. That you went there last night and caused the trouble.”
”That’s a serious accusation.”
”Do you deny it?”
”Of course!” Lying wasn’t a problem for Rubin. Lying was how he lived such a luxurious life. The girl being onto one of his schemes wasn’t an issue; she had no proof, and he’d stop once he had the ale anyway.
The man was back, pushing a wheelbarrow towards Rubin. A sack and been laid over the bottles to keep them cool, just as Rubin had shown the man long ago. Shadow and shade for cool drink. He heard the clatter of the bottles beneath and his mouth became moist.
“Than you,” said Rubin. ”I’ll carry out the ritual shortly. But know that no crops will be disturbed tonight.”
The man nodded, smiled, then hurried home.
The girl grunted. “There’s no one else here. And no one would believe me if I told them. You’re loved and respected and I just cause trouble.”
“What’s your point?”
”My point is that there is no need to lie to me. For once in your life, you can be honest.“
He was readying to lie again, to defend himself. But... No one else was around. And she did have a point — no one would listen to her. “I do it because I can,” he said.
“You do it because you can,” she repeated, as if underlining his words. “But there are many things you could do because you can. You could be kind and help people, because you can.”
”We all exist singularly,” said Rubin. “Our life is our life.“
”You think because you’re smarter it’s fair.”
”I think because I’m better that it’s fair.” He grinned. It felt good to tell someone. For anyone to know how smart he was. “If these people want to believe spirits rampage their gardens, that dead people can talk to them, then they’re fools and deserve whatever happens to them.”
“And you don’t care that all that ale took months to brew? That the vegetables you killed will mean their family goes hungry?“
”Care?” he said. “Not in the *slightest*.”
The bottles in the wheelbarrow began to shake. He could he hear them clinking. Was the sun causing them to—
The sack stood up! All by itself. What...
It took Rubin a second to notice the pale legs beneath it.
The woman — Kasana, the village leader — threw off the sack. Two bottles lay by her feet. Kasana stared at Rubin. “So the girl was right. About all of it.”
Rubin tried to think of an excuse, but his voice had been stolen. The magpie! It’s pecked at this throat and stolen his tongue.
”This is grave,” said Kasana. “Very grave.”
&#x200B;
\*\*\*
Three months had passed since Rubin had been caught. He crumbled the leaves from his hand and let them rustle in the wind.
“Does he say anything?” asked the old lady.
”Yes,” said Rubin. “He says... This is the last time he can contact you, but don’t be sad. He’s very proud of you. Says he loves you dearly. That he wants you to enjoy your life, until you see each other again.”
The lady began to shake. Tears rolled down her wrinkled face.
Rubin watched her slowly leave. Back to her home with a dozen lambs. He’d have bought her more, if more had been available.
”How do you feel, Rubin,’ asked the magpie-like girl. She often sat with him now. They both liked quiet company. “After your last ever reading?”
They sat on stools outside Rubin’s small, modest hut. His previous house was now a place of medicine and of care. Where old and sick could sit on the porch and enjoy the shade and view without a worry in the world.
”Good,” he said. ”I feel good.” And he did. He had barely a possession left in the world and it felt wonderful. It was strange, but everything he’d gathered, everything he’d hoarded, had been like bandages over a wound he’d forgotten was there. It took until he had nothing left for him to see it again and to realise how injured he was. He’d been hurt as a child when his parents had passed away. Punishing others for lives he could never have... He’d really been punishing himself all that time.
But now... Now it was like he had a family again. He made people happy, and they made him happy. He‘d thought he’d been happy before, but now he knew it’d been a bitter taste in his mouth all that time.
“Thank you,” Rubin said. “For the second chance.”
“They‘re not stupid, you know? They never were.”
”I know. They’re just honest. It’s why I was able to trick them. Not because I was smart, but because I could.”
The girl nodded.
The old woman came back a while later. She had a mug of ale in one hand and a bowl of stew in the other. “For you,” she said to Rubin.
Rubin looked at the magpie girl. She was watching him with such keen eyes. If he’d ever had a daughter, he’d have been very proud for her to have been like this girl.
Rubin stepped off his stool and beckoned the lady to sit there. “Please. You eat and drink and enjoy. It would mean a lot to me.”
|
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[WP] As the Village Seer, you peer into the mystical to give the villagers sage wisdom from beyond. The problem is, you're not magical, you're just smart and you live in an exceptionally dumb village.
|
"Mytical seer. We have brought a dead goat to offer you as a sacrifice." The Village chieftain calls to you.
"Oh. Hmm. Okay. Sure a dead goat. Can you just do like some bread or maybe honey wine next time? Literally, honey wine is the only good thing we have here. But thanks for the goat." You say, convinced that you will throw the dead goat into a nearby ravine as soon as the village idiots are gone.
"Seer, we ask you upon the eve of battle. Will we be victorious tomorrow? We will take our ten strongest sons and march upon the high walled city where thousands of soldiers await us." The Chieftan says.
"What? no. Don't do that. You're definitely not going to win that." You say, without knowing what walled city he's talking about.
The Chieftain scoffs at you. "You are no Seer. I will show you. I will lead the charge tomorrow with the ten others." He leaves and takes the dead goat with him.
"I would strongly suggest not doing that." You call as he leaves.
The next day would go down in the history of your village as one of the greatest tragedies ever to befall them. Stories tell that all eleven of your villages warriors directly charged a very high stone wall hurling insults and threatening to murder all of the inhabitants of the city of over one hundred thousand. After a puzzled compliment of guards on the wall realized that the warriors were neither going to scale the wall or leave, they sort of just ignored the village warriors. Sadly, one by one they all climbed high enough on the wall that when they did slip, they plunged to their death. There were no survivors. The walled city did not maintain any written history of the event, and it largely went unnoticed by the population.
With the Chieftain dead, leadership would usually transfer to the Chieftain's son, but he too died at the attack on the wall. The Chieftain's wife, "the Chieftess" became the leader.
One week later, see came to visit you in your Seer's hut. She was wearing all black and mourning her lost family. She brought a dead goat with her.
"Oh, Seer. Why did they not listen? I have lost all whom I love. Take this dead goat as an offering. Tell me Seer, what do I do now that we are lost?" The Chieftess said through tears.
"Okay, umm. So, I told the last guy. I mean your husband. I mean he was your husband but now he's dead." You stumbled over your words. She began to sob and wail after you reminded her of her dead husband. "BUT..." You save yourself from further embarrassment. "He is in a better place now."
"You can see that?" She asks.
"Oh, yeah he's in a really long hut in the sky drinking honey wine and eating chicken. There's no goat. He's got bread, vegetables, chicken, pie. He's got the whole deal. You will meet him in the afterlife."
"I want to meet him now." She says.
"Oh um, no you can't. But you will later. Anyway, so that gets me to the point that I told the last guy not to bring these goats. The honey wine is really better for me."
"Seer, tell me how did you know that our army would fall in tragedy?"
"Kinda... I mean, I guessed. But the honey wine gives me these powers so more of that, please. Just lots of that. Keep that one coming."
"Seer, how should I lead my people? What must I do?"
"Okay, thing number one. Stop killing all of your goats. I feel like I keep telling you all this and you just keep doing it. Second, let's get a lot more honey bees and farm a LOT of honey." You suggest.
From then on, the Chieftess listened to your every word and took your counsel. They followed your advice to the letter, except for of course your request to stop bringing goats. They kept doing that and you sort of just gave up and stopped protesting. Eventually, you became an A+ goat chef and the village grew into an epi-center for a thriving honey wine trade. You spent the rest of your days full of goat and honey wine, while overseeing a thriving trade alliance with the walled city. They provided tools, protection, and gold in exchange for honey wine and stewed goat.
|
“Your husband says you should cook me a large pot of stew tonight,” said Rubin as the dry leaves crumbled from his hand. “Yes, it’s clear. See how the wind blows them to the left? Mutton and carrot stew.”
”It’s my last sheep.”
”It’s what your husband wants.”
The old lady swallowed. “Tell him I will.“
Rubin leaned back on his chair, shaded by the wide rattan porch. The comfiest chair and widest porch in all the village. “You know better than that. I can’t talk back to them. I can only read the signs.“
“Of course. Thank you for doing this.” The old lady limped back towards her hut, ready to prepare the feast.
Rubin had found it much easier to tell people what to do through a third person — a dead person — than doing so directly. People were more willing to listen to the dead. Especially those they loved. But of course, Rubin knew better. The wind whipped the last crumbs of the broken leaves into the air, almost dust at this point. Dust like the dead, Rubin thought. And dust doesn’t tend to communicate.
“You shouldn’t do that,” said a voice.
A young girl stood near, wiry and lanky with long black hair. She reminded Rubin of a magpie. Probably after all the shiny things in his home — the gifts he’d received for all his help.
“What do you want?” he said. “Want your future read?”
”You’re lying to them.”
He recognised her now. Alina‘s fourth daughter. She must have been twelve or thirteen. He supposed he must have seen her about the village before — at feasts, at funerals, certainly. But he didn’t remember. He didn’t tend to notice people besides himself. People here weren’t worth looking at.
”Lying about what?” he said lazily.
”Speaking to her dead husband. You can speak to him about as well as I can speak to the birds.”
That magpie probably could speak to birds, he thought. But instead he just waved a hand at her, then lazed back in his chair, closing his eyes.
He was woken some time later by a man with a wooden cup of cool water. “For you,” said the man.
“Thank you,” said Rubin. He took a refreshing sip, noticing from the corner of his eyes that the magpie girl was still there, same position.
“Please,” said the man. “My family needs your help again.”
”Oh? Let me guess. Is the spirit back?”
”Yes!” said the man, wide-eyed. “Last night, after we all went to sleep, it pulled up all our parsnips. We replanted this morning but who knows if they’ll live. We don’t know what we’ve done to anger it.”
Rubin considered. “Perhaps we can trade something. Your homemade ale for a protection spell?”
”That will stop the spirit?”
”Oh yes. It’ll stop it dead.“
The man nodded, “Then I’ll return later with all my ale.”
Once he left, the girl stepped forward. “Why are you doing this to them?”
”Doing what?” asked Rubin.
”There’s no spirit. Spirits don’t do go around pulling up vegetables.”
”Then what’s doing it?”
The girl thought. “Well, it could be an animal. But an animal would eat some of the food, not just uproot it.”
Smart, thought Rubin. Smarter than most in the village.
”And beside, you wouldn’t necessarily be able to control a wild animal that comes and uproots them. But if you‘re able to make this stop... then the only conclusion is that you’re the spirit. That you went there last night and caused the trouble.”
”That’s a serious accusation.”
”Do you deny it?”
”Of course!” Lying wasn’t a problem for Rubin. Lying was how he lived such a luxurious life. The girl being onto one of his schemes wasn’t an issue; she had no proof, and he’d stop once he had the ale anyway.
The man was back, pushing a wheelbarrow towards Rubin. A sack and been laid over the bottles to keep them cool, just as Rubin had shown the man long ago. Shadow and shade for cool drink. He heard the clatter of the bottles beneath and his mouth became moist.
“Than you,” said Rubin. ”I’ll carry out the ritual shortly. But know that no crops will be disturbed tonight.”
The man nodded, smiled, then hurried home.
The girl grunted. “There’s no one else here. And no one would believe me if I told them. You’re loved and respected and I just cause trouble.”
“What’s your point?”
”My point is that there is no need to lie to me. For once in your life, you can be honest.“
He was readying to lie again, to defend himself. But... No one else was around. And she did have a point — no one would listen to her. “I do it because I can,” he said.
“You do it because you can,” she repeated, as if underlining his words. “But there are many things you could do because you can. You could be kind and help people, because you can.”
”We all exist singularly,” said Rubin. “Our life is our life.“
”You think because you’re smarter it’s fair.”
”I think because I’m better that it’s fair.” He grinned. It felt good to tell someone. For anyone to know how smart he was. “If these people want to believe spirits rampage their gardens, that dead people can talk to them, then they’re fools and deserve whatever happens to them.”
“And you don’t care that all that ale took months to brew? That the vegetables you killed will mean their family goes hungry?“
”Care?” he said. “Not in the *slightest*.”
The bottles in the wheelbarrow began to shake. He could he hear them clinking. Was the sun causing them to—
The sack stood up! All by itself. What...
It took Rubin a second to notice the pale legs beneath it.
The woman — Kasana, the village leader — threw off the sack. Two bottles lay by her feet. Kasana stared at Rubin. “So the girl was right. About all of it.”
Rubin tried to think of an excuse, but his voice had been stolen. The magpie! It’s pecked at this throat and stolen his tongue.
”This is grave,” said Kasana. “Very grave.”
&#x200B;
\*\*\*
Three months had passed since Rubin had been caught. He crumbled the leaves from his hand and let them rustle in the wind.
“Does he say anything?” asked the old lady.
”Yes,” said Rubin. “He says... This is the last time he can contact you, but don’t be sad. He’s very proud of you. Says he loves you dearly. That he wants you to enjoy your life, until you see each other again.”
The lady began to shake. Tears rolled down her wrinkled face.
Rubin watched her slowly leave. Back to her home with a dozen lambs. He’d have bought her more, if more had been available.
”How do you feel, Rubin,’ asked the magpie-like girl. She often sat with him now. They both liked quiet company. “After your last ever reading?”
They sat on stools outside Rubin’s small, modest hut. His previous house was now a place of medicine and of care. Where old and sick could sit on the porch and enjoy the shade and view without a worry in the world.
”Good,” he said. ”I feel good.” And he did. He had barely a possession left in the world and it felt wonderful. It was strange, but everything he’d gathered, everything he’d hoarded, had been like bandages over a wound he’d forgotten was there. It took until he had nothing left for him to see it again and to realise how injured he was. He’d been hurt as a child when his parents had passed away. Punishing others for lives he could never have... He’d really been punishing himself all that time.
But now... Now it was like he had a family again. He made people happy, and they made him happy. He‘d thought he’d been happy before, but now he knew it’d been a bitter taste in his mouth all that time.
“Thank you,” Rubin said. “For the second chance.”
“They‘re not stupid, you know? They never were.”
”I know. They’re just honest. It’s why I was able to trick them. Not because I was smart, but because I could.”
The girl nodded.
The old woman came back a while later. She had a mug of ale in one hand and a bowl of stew in the other. “For you,” she said to Rubin.
Rubin looked at the magpie girl. She was watching him with such keen eyes. If he’d ever had a daughter, he’d have been very proud for her to have been like this girl.
Rubin stepped off his stool and beckoned the lady to sit there. “Please. You eat and drink and enjoy. It would mean a lot to me.”
|
|
[WP] As the Village Seer, you peer into the mystical to give the villagers sage wisdom from beyond. The problem is, you're not magical, you're just smart and you live in an exceptionally dumb village.
|
I did not choose to be here, I was chosen. Placed upon this land to bless all that passes.
Doing The Great One’s work, forced to deal with the smallest of issues to the greatest of them. I have become the center of this village, the lighting rod that grounds everyone.
“O’ Wise One! Whatever shall I do about this predicament?” I hear. They never stop. They never consider me; they just want what I can give.
I’ve become used to it now, taking these requests without comment, receiving meager rewards for my ample services.
Another day, another question. The same questions I hear, again and again, the same questions that require no knowledge, no skill to solve.
The alarm rings, I rise from my slumber. Those eight hours were the best eight hours: the nagging, the constant noise, the mental torture that I must endure all ceasing to exist. But the time for relishing my sleep was over, I must return to my duties.
Shouting was already coming from my window. I slip my hand between the curtains, creating an opening just wide enough for me to peer through. The sunlight blinded me, its sudden heat slapping me in the face.
Hundreds of people gathered beneath my second-story apartment, shouting for me to come and serve them.
I sigh; this is just another day for a person of my stature. Throwing off my pajamas, I open my wardrobe to grab my uniform, a bright sky blue shirt that signaled who I was.
I felt the scratchy fabric slide over my skin, the soft interior of my shoe as I slipped my feet in, and the shifting of my hair as I placed my hat onto my head.
More shouting from the window. I peer out of the window again, taking a closer look at the people gathered. They were holding printers, office phones, laptops, and keyboards.
I swung the window open, turning their muffled shouting into audible speech.
“Please, why does my printer not print?”
“O’ Wise One, how do I connect to the internet?”
“Help! This phone cannot call!”
I shut the window, returning their voices from speech to muffled shouting.
I was almost done dressing; The final piece was sitting on top of my nightstand.
“The Great One: Tech support and more!” The badge read. I pinned it onto my shirt and headed out the door.
____
Thanks for reading!
|
“Your husband says you should cook me a large pot of stew tonight,” said Rubin as the dry leaves crumbled from his hand. “Yes, it’s clear. See how the wind blows them to the left? Mutton and carrot stew.”
”It’s my last sheep.”
”It’s what your husband wants.”
The old lady swallowed. “Tell him I will.“
Rubin leaned back on his chair, shaded by the wide rattan porch. The comfiest chair and widest porch in all the village. “You know better than that. I can’t talk back to them. I can only read the signs.“
“Of course. Thank you for doing this.” The old lady limped back towards her hut, ready to prepare the feast.
Rubin had found it much easier to tell people what to do through a third person — a dead person — than doing so directly. People were more willing to listen to the dead. Especially those they loved. But of course, Rubin knew better. The wind whipped the last crumbs of the broken leaves into the air, almost dust at this point. Dust like the dead, Rubin thought. And dust doesn’t tend to communicate.
“You shouldn’t do that,” said a voice.
A young girl stood near, wiry and lanky with long black hair. She reminded Rubin of a magpie. Probably after all the shiny things in his home — the gifts he’d received for all his help.
“What do you want?” he said. “Want your future read?”
”You’re lying to them.”
He recognised her now. Alina‘s fourth daughter. She must have been twelve or thirteen. He supposed he must have seen her about the village before — at feasts, at funerals, certainly. But he didn’t remember. He didn’t tend to notice people besides himself. People here weren’t worth looking at.
”Lying about what?” he said lazily.
”Speaking to her dead husband. You can speak to him about as well as I can speak to the birds.”
That magpie probably could speak to birds, he thought. But instead he just waved a hand at her, then lazed back in his chair, closing his eyes.
He was woken some time later by a man with a wooden cup of cool water. “For you,” said the man.
“Thank you,” said Rubin. He took a refreshing sip, noticing from the corner of his eyes that the magpie girl was still there, same position.
“Please,” said the man. “My family needs your help again.”
”Oh? Let me guess. Is the spirit back?”
”Yes!” said the man, wide-eyed. “Last night, after we all went to sleep, it pulled up all our parsnips. We replanted this morning but who knows if they’ll live. We don’t know what we’ve done to anger it.”
Rubin considered. “Perhaps we can trade something. Your homemade ale for a protection spell?”
”That will stop the spirit?”
”Oh yes. It’ll stop it dead.“
The man nodded, “Then I’ll return later with all my ale.”
Once he left, the girl stepped forward. “Why are you doing this to them?”
”Doing what?” asked Rubin.
”There’s no spirit. Spirits don’t do go around pulling up vegetables.”
”Then what’s doing it?”
The girl thought. “Well, it could be an animal. But an animal would eat some of the food, not just uproot it.”
Smart, thought Rubin. Smarter than most in the village.
”And beside, you wouldn’t necessarily be able to control a wild animal that comes and uproots them. But if you‘re able to make this stop... then the only conclusion is that you’re the spirit. That you went there last night and caused the trouble.”
”That’s a serious accusation.”
”Do you deny it?”
”Of course!” Lying wasn’t a problem for Rubin. Lying was how he lived such a luxurious life. The girl being onto one of his schemes wasn’t an issue; she had no proof, and he’d stop once he had the ale anyway.
The man was back, pushing a wheelbarrow towards Rubin. A sack and been laid over the bottles to keep them cool, just as Rubin had shown the man long ago. Shadow and shade for cool drink. He heard the clatter of the bottles beneath and his mouth became moist.
“Than you,” said Rubin. ”I’ll carry out the ritual shortly. But know that no crops will be disturbed tonight.”
The man nodded, smiled, then hurried home.
The girl grunted. “There’s no one else here. And no one would believe me if I told them. You’re loved and respected and I just cause trouble.”
“What’s your point?”
”My point is that there is no need to lie to me. For once in your life, you can be honest.“
He was readying to lie again, to defend himself. But... No one else was around. And she did have a point — no one would listen to her. “I do it because I can,” he said.
“You do it because you can,” she repeated, as if underlining his words. “But there are many things you could do because you can. You could be kind and help people, because you can.”
”We all exist singularly,” said Rubin. “Our life is our life.“
”You think because you’re smarter it’s fair.”
”I think because I’m better that it’s fair.” He grinned. It felt good to tell someone. For anyone to know how smart he was. “If these people want to believe spirits rampage their gardens, that dead people can talk to them, then they’re fools and deserve whatever happens to them.”
“And you don’t care that all that ale took months to brew? That the vegetables you killed will mean their family goes hungry?“
”Care?” he said. “Not in the *slightest*.”
The bottles in the wheelbarrow began to shake. He could he hear them clinking. Was the sun causing them to—
The sack stood up! All by itself. What...
It took Rubin a second to notice the pale legs beneath it.
The woman — Kasana, the village leader — threw off the sack. Two bottles lay by her feet. Kasana stared at Rubin. “So the girl was right. About all of it.”
Rubin tried to think of an excuse, but his voice had been stolen. The magpie! It’s pecked at this throat and stolen his tongue.
”This is grave,” said Kasana. “Very grave.”
&#x200B;
\*\*\*
Three months had passed since Rubin had been caught. He crumbled the leaves from his hand and let them rustle in the wind.
“Does he say anything?” asked the old lady.
”Yes,” said Rubin. “He says... This is the last time he can contact you, but don’t be sad. He’s very proud of you. Says he loves you dearly. That he wants you to enjoy your life, until you see each other again.”
The lady began to shake. Tears rolled down her wrinkled face.
Rubin watched her slowly leave. Back to her home with a dozen lambs. He’d have bought her more, if more had been available.
”How do you feel, Rubin,’ asked the magpie-like girl. She often sat with him now. They both liked quiet company. “After your last ever reading?”
They sat on stools outside Rubin’s small, modest hut. His previous house was now a place of medicine and of care. Where old and sick could sit on the porch and enjoy the shade and view without a worry in the world.
”Good,” he said. ”I feel good.” And he did. He had barely a possession left in the world and it felt wonderful. It was strange, but everything he’d gathered, everything he’d hoarded, had been like bandages over a wound he’d forgotten was there. It took until he had nothing left for him to see it again and to realise how injured he was. He’d been hurt as a child when his parents had passed away. Punishing others for lives he could never have... He’d really been punishing himself all that time.
But now... Now it was like he had a family again. He made people happy, and they made him happy. He‘d thought he’d been happy before, but now he knew it’d been a bitter taste in his mouth all that time.
“Thank you,” Rubin said. “For the second chance.”
“They‘re not stupid, you know? They never were.”
”I know. They’re just honest. It’s why I was able to trick them. Not because I was smart, but because I could.”
The girl nodded.
The old woman came back a while later. She had a mug of ale in one hand and a bowl of stew in the other. “For you,” she said to Rubin.
Rubin looked at the magpie girl. She was watching him with such keen eyes. If he’d ever had a daughter, he’d have been very proud for her to have been like this girl.
Rubin stepped off his stool and beckoned the lady to sit there. “Please. You eat and drink and enjoy. It would mean a lot to me.”
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[WP] As the Village Seer, you peer into the mystical to give the villagers sage wisdom from beyond. The problem is, you're not magical, you're just smart and you live in an exceptionally dumb village.
|
"Mytical seer. We have brought a dead goat to offer you as a sacrifice." The Village chieftain calls to you.
"Oh. Hmm. Okay. Sure a dead goat. Can you just do like some bread or maybe honey wine next time? Literally, honey wine is the only good thing we have here. But thanks for the goat." You say, convinced that you will throw the dead goat into a nearby ravine as soon as the village idiots are gone.
"Seer, we ask you upon the eve of battle. Will we be victorious tomorrow? We will take our ten strongest sons and march upon the high walled city where thousands of soldiers await us." The Chieftan says.
"What? no. Don't do that. You're definitely not going to win that." You say, without knowing what walled city he's talking about.
The Chieftain scoffs at you. "You are no Seer. I will show you. I will lead the charge tomorrow with the ten others." He leaves and takes the dead goat with him.
"I would strongly suggest not doing that." You call as he leaves.
The next day would go down in the history of your village as one of the greatest tragedies ever to befall them. Stories tell that all eleven of your villages warriors directly charged a very high stone wall hurling insults and threatening to murder all of the inhabitants of the city of over one hundred thousand. After a puzzled compliment of guards on the wall realized that the warriors were neither going to scale the wall or leave, they sort of just ignored the village warriors. Sadly, one by one they all climbed high enough on the wall that when they did slip, they plunged to their death. There were no survivors. The walled city did not maintain any written history of the event, and it largely went unnoticed by the population.
With the Chieftain dead, leadership would usually transfer to the Chieftain's son, but he too died at the attack on the wall. The Chieftain's wife, "the Chieftess" became the leader.
One week later, see came to visit you in your Seer's hut. She was wearing all black and mourning her lost family. She brought a dead goat with her.
"Oh, Seer. Why did they not listen? I have lost all whom I love. Take this dead goat as an offering. Tell me Seer, what do I do now that we are lost?" The Chieftess said through tears.
"Okay, umm. So, I told the last guy. I mean your husband. I mean he was your husband but now he's dead." You stumbled over your words. She began to sob and wail after you reminded her of her dead husband. "BUT..." You save yourself from further embarrassment. "He is in a better place now."
"You can see that?" She asks.
"Oh, yeah he's in a really long hut in the sky drinking honey wine and eating chicken. There's no goat. He's got bread, vegetables, chicken, pie. He's got the whole deal. You will meet him in the afterlife."
"I want to meet him now." She says.
"Oh um, no you can't. But you will later. Anyway, so that gets me to the point that I told the last guy not to bring these goats. The honey wine is really better for me."
"Seer, tell me how did you know that our army would fall in tragedy?"
"Kinda... I mean, I guessed. But the honey wine gives me these powers so more of that, please. Just lots of that. Keep that one coming."
"Seer, how should I lead my people? What must I do?"
"Okay, thing number one. Stop killing all of your goats. I feel like I keep telling you all this and you just keep doing it. Second, let's get a lot more honey bees and farm a LOT of honey." You suggest.
From then on, the Chieftess listened to your every word and took your counsel. They followed your advice to the letter, except for of course your request to stop bringing goats. They kept doing that and you sort of just gave up and stopped protesting. Eventually, you became an A+ goat chef and the village grew into an epi-center for a thriving honey wine trade. You spent the rest of your days full of goat and honey wine, while overseeing a thriving trade alliance with the walled city. They provided tools, protection, and gold in exchange for honey wine and stewed goat.
|
"O Great Seer, I fear that my wife no longer loves me!"
"Here, drink this potion of love. I guarantee that you will no longer have a problem."
"O Great Seer, you are so wise! Thank you!"
---
"O Great Seer, why do my crops fail to grow?"
"Here, take this elixir of growth."
"And pour it on my crops, O Great Seer?"
"Oh, gods, no. Drink it."
"And how will that help?"
"Do you not trust your seer?"
"Of course I do, O Great Seer."
"Then drink it. Your worries will be no more."
---
"O Great Seer... I... uh..."
"Yes?"
"I don't really have a problem, great seer. The crops are growing well, and my relationship with my wife is better than ever."
"As expected. These sorts of things really just work themselves out. I can't control the weather. Or love."
"What?
"Oh, I mean, good! Please leave your offerings and leave, then."
"Yes, but O Great Seer, is it possible to obtain another potion?"
"For?"
"Uh... pain! So much pain! Everywhere! In my whole body! Argh, my brain!"
"I don't think you have enough brains for it to hurt."
"I'm sorry, O Great Seer, what did you say?"
"Sure. Take this... salve of salvation. Drink it."
"And this will make me feel good? I mean, better? Free from pain?"
"Absolutely."
---
"O Great Seer."
"Mm?"
"What is this magical liquid you've given me? It tastes the same, and yet every time, something magical happens! All my worries are gone!"
"That's why the gods call it a solution, buddy."
"Can I have more?"
"And what ails you?"
"... My heavy wallet after selling my crops, O Great Seer."
"Take as many bottles as you want, dear."
---
r/dexdrafts
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|
[WP] As the Village Seer, you peer into the mystical to give the villagers sage wisdom from beyond. The problem is, you're not magical, you're just smart and you live in an exceptionally dumb village.
|
I did not choose to be here, I was chosen. Placed upon this land to bless all that passes.
Doing The Great One’s work, forced to deal with the smallest of issues to the greatest of them. I have become the center of this village, the lighting rod that grounds everyone.
“O’ Wise One! Whatever shall I do about this predicament?” I hear. They never stop. They never consider me; they just want what I can give.
I’ve become used to it now, taking these requests without comment, receiving meager rewards for my ample services.
Another day, another question. The same questions I hear, again and again, the same questions that require no knowledge, no skill to solve.
The alarm rings, I rise from my slumber. Those eight hours were the best eight hours: the nagging, the constant noise, the mental torture that I must endure all ceasing to exist. But the time for relishing my sleep was over, I must return to my duties.
Shouting was already coming from my window. I slip my hand between the curtains, creating an opening just wide enough for me to peer through. The sunlight blinded me, its sudden heat slapping me in the face.
Hundreds of people gathered beneath my second-story apartment, shouting for me to come and serve them.
I sigh; this is just another day for a person of my stature. Throwing off my pajamas, I open my wardrobe to grab my uniform, a bright sky blue shirt that signaled who I was.
I felt the scratchy fabric slide over my skin, the soft interior of my shoe as I slipped my feet in, and the shifting of my hair as I placed my hat onto my head.
More shouting from the window. I peer out of the window again, taking a closer look at the people gathered. They were holding printers, office phones, laptops, and keyboards.
I swung the window open, turning their muffled shouting into audible speech.
“Please, why does my printer not print?”
“O’ Wise One, how do I connect to the internet?”
“Help! This phone cannot call!”
I shut the window, returning their voices from speech to muffled shouting.
I was almost done dressing; The final piece was sitting on top of my nightstand.
“The Great One: Tech support and more!” The badge read. I pinned it onto my shirt and headed out the door.
____
Thanks for reading!
|
"O Great Seer, I fear that my wife no longer loves me!"
"Here, drink this potion of love. I guarantee that you will no longer have a problem."
"O Great Seer, you are so wise! Thank you!"
---
"O Great Seer, why do my crops fail to grow?"
"Here, take this elixir of growth."
"And pour it on my crops, O Great Seer?"
"Oh, gods, no. Drink it."
"And how will that help?"
"Do you not trust your seer?"
"Of course I do, O Great Seer."
"Then drink it. Your worries will be no more."
---
"O Great Seer... I... uh..."
"Yes?"
"I don't really have a problem, great seer. The crops are growing well, and my relationship with my wife is better than ever."
"As expected. These sorts of things really just work themselves out. I can't control the weather. Or love."
"What?
"Oh, I mean, good! Please leave your offerings and leave, then."
"Yes, but O Great Seer, is it possible to obtain another potion?"
"For?"
"Uh... pain! So much pain! Everywhere! In my whole body! Argh, my brain!"
"I don't think you have enough brains for it to hurt."
"I'm sorry, O Great Seer, what did you say?"
"Sure. Take this... salve of salvation. Drink it."
"And this will make me feel good? I mean, better? Free from pain?"
"Absolutely."
---
"O Great Seer."
"Mm?"
"What is this magical liquid you've given me? It tastes the same, and yet every time, something magical happens! All my worries are gone!"
"That's why the gods call it a solution, buddy."
"Can I have more?"
"And what ails you?"
"... My heavy wallet after selling my crops, O Great Seer."
"Take as many bottles as you want, dear."
---
r/dexdrafts
|
|
[WP] As the Village Seer, you peer into the mystical to give the villagers sage wisdom from beyond. The problem is, you're not magical, you're just smart and you live in an exceptionally dumb village.
|
I did not choose to be here, I was chosen. Placed upon this land to bless all that passes.
Doing The Great One’s work, forced to deal with the smallest of issues to the greatest of them. I have become the center of this village, the lighting rod that grounds everyone.
“O’ Wise One! Whatever shall I do about this predicament?” I hear. They never stop. They never consider me; they just want what I can give.
I’ve become used to it now, taking these requests without comment, receiving meager rewards for my ample services.
Another day, another question. The same questions I hear, again and again, the same questions that require no knowledge, no skill to solve.
The alarm rings, I rise from my slumber. Those eight hours were the best eight hours: the nagging, the constant noise, the mental torture that I must endure all ceasing to exist. But the time for relishing my sleep was over, I must return to my duties.
Shouting was already coming from my window. I slip my hand between the curtains, creating an opening just wide enough for me to peer through. The sunlight blinded me, its sudden heat slapping me in the face.
Hundreds of people gathered beneath my second-story apartment, shouting for me to come and serve them.
I sigh; this is just another day for a person of my stature. Throwing off my pajamas, I open my wardrobe to grab my uniform, a bright sky blue shirt that signaled who I was.
I felt the scratchy fabric slide over my skin, the soft interior of my shoe as I slipped my feet in, and the shifting of my hair as I placed my hat onto my head.
More shouting from the window. I peer out of the window again, taking a closer look at the people gathered. They were holding printers, office phones, laptops, and keyboards.
I swung the window open, turning their muffled shouting into audible speech.
“Please, why does my printer not print?”
“O’ Wise One, how do I connect to the internet?”
“Help! This phone cannot call!”
I shut the window, returning their voices from speech to muffled shouting.
I was almost done dressing; The final piece was sitting on top of my nightstand.
“The Great One: Tech support and more!” The badge read. I pinned it onto my shirt and headed out the door.
____
Thanks for reading!
|
"Mytical seer. We have brought a dead goat to offer you as a sacrifice." The Village chieftain calls to you.
"Oh. Hmm. Okay. Sure a dead goat. Can you just do like some bread or maybe honey wine next time? Literally, honey wine is the only good thing we have here. But thanks for the goat." You say, convinced that you will throw the dead goat into a nearby ravine as soon as the village idiots are gone.
"Seer, we ask you upon the eve of battle. Will we be victorious tomorrow? We will take our ten strongest sons and march upon the high walled city where thousands of soldiers await us." The Chieftan says.
"What? no. Don't do that. You're definitely not going to win that." You say, without knowing what walled city he's talking about.
The Chieftain scoffs at you. "You are no Seer. I will show you. I will lead the charge tomorrow with the ten others." He leaves and takes the dead goat with him.
"I would strongly suggest not doing that." You call as he leaves.
The next day would go down in the history of your village as one of the greatest tragedies ever to befall them. Stories tell that all eleven of your villages warriors directly charged a very high stone wall hurling insults and threatening to murder all of the inhabitants of the city of over one hundred thousand. After a puzzled compliment of guards on the wall realized that the warriors were neither going to scale the wall or leave, they sort of just ignored the village warriors. Sadly, one by one they all climbed high enough on the wall that when they did slip, they plunged to their death. There were no survivors. The walled city did not maintain any written history of the event, and it largely went unnoticed by the population.
With the Chieftain dead, leadership would usually transfer to the Chieftain's son, but he too died at the attack on the wall. The Chieftain's wife, "the Chieftess" became the leader.
One week later, see came to visit you in your Seer's hut. She was wearing all black and mourning her lost family. She brought a dead goat with her.
"Oh, Seer. Why did they not listen? I have lost all whom I love. Take this dead goat as an offering. Tell me Seer, what do I do now that we are lost?" The Chieftess said through tears.
"Okay, umm. So, I told the last guy. I mean your husband. I mean he was your husband but now he's dead." You stumbled over your words. She began to sob and wail after you reminded her of her dead husband. "BUT..." You save yourself from further embarrassment. "He is in a better place now."
"You can see that?" She asks.
"Oh, yeah he's in a really long hut in the sky drinking honey wine and eating chicken. There's no goat. He's got bread, vegetables, chicken, pie. He's got the whole deal. You will meet him in the afterlife."
"I want to meet him now." She says.
"Oh um, no you can't. But you will later. Anyway, so that gets me to the point that I told the last guy not to bring these goats. The honey wine is really better for me."
"Seer, tell me how did you know that our army would fall in tragedy?"
"Kinda... I mean, I guessed. But the honey wine gives me these powers so more of that, please. Just lots of that. Keep that one coming."
"Seer, how should I lead my people? What must I do?"
"Okay, thing number one. Stop killing all of your goats. I feel like I keep telling you all this and you just keep doing it. Second, let's get a lot more honey bees and farm a LOT of honey." You suggest.
From then on, the Chieftess listened to your every word and took your counsel. They followed your advice to the letter, except for of course your request to stop bringing goats. They kept doing that and you sort of just gave up and stopped protesting. Eventually, you became an A+ goat chef and the village grew into an epi-center for a thriving honey wine trade. You spent the rest of your days full of goat and honey wine, while overseeing a thriving trade alliance with the walled city. They provided tools, protection, and gold in exchange for honey wine and stewed goat.
|
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[WP] As the Village Seer, you peer into the mystical to give the villagers sage wisdom from beyond. The problem is, you're not magical, you're just smart and you live in an exceptionally dumb village.
|
It was meant to be a joke. I pretended to lean into the cosmic realm just to tell a stupid farmer that he needed hens if he wished to get eggs, not roosters. I never expected one sarcastic joke to land me in the town’s most prized position. The village Seer, one of the greatest positions a person could have. You held more power than the mayor in most villages, sure the mayor made all the rules, but if a Seer questioned a rule, the rule would be hastily overturned unless that mayor wished to lose their head.
“What is it now? This is the fourth time this week. What other problems could you have?” I stared at Bob and Sally, a baking couple that were getting on my nerves. They were lovely at first, but their regular visits were growing exhausting.
“Grand Seer, we wish to ask something of you. We require your knowledge from beyond this mystical realm and-“ Before Bob could finish, I raised a finger, shushing him.
“Have you seen the line outside, Bob? Skip to the problem.”
“Sorry, Grand Seer. We were just wondering if we should make chocolate or vanilla cakes this week. Would you look into the magical realm and tell us?” Sally continued on with the request, both of them leaving me dumbfounded.
“You waited in line just to ask about what flavor of cake you should make this week?”
“If it isn’t too much trouble. It just saves us a lot of time thinking.” Bob said, the couple staring at me, awaiting my answer.
“Not like you do a lot of that, anyway.” I mumbled beneath my breath, placing my hands beside my head, making a strange woodoo, woodoo sound with my lips. “The magical realm or whatever says you should make vanilla.”
“Splendid, I can’t wait. Let’s go make the best vanilla cakes this village has ever seen.” Sally hooked her arm around her husbands as the two left to bake their goods, allowing me a moment to slump into my seat before the next person entered.
The curtain pushed open, revealing the mayor, once again troubled over some stupid politics. I tilted my head to the side, staring at a bit of wood on the wall that had peeled, finding that more interesting than whatever Mr. Harold had to say.
“Oh, dear Markus, I request your aid as my Seer. My son fell ill after touching a blue and white plant outside of the village boundaries. Shall we burn down the neighboring village in response to this? It must be a poisoning attempt, ask the spirits or whoever you talk to.” The mayor’s chubby pink cheeks wobbled with barely contained anger. Wanting a swift answer, I continued to nod along, half listening.
“Mm. A plant outside, I see, that’s not a big deal just get some blueberries and a few cups of, wait, what was this about burning down the neighboring village? ARE YOU INSANE?” The stupidity of it all broke me from my dull trance. “That has nothing to do with the other village. Your son merely touched an Iga blue plant, it causes a rash and a mild-to-moderate temperature. If you give him some blueberries mixed with oranges, it should help clear it up. He mainly needs rest. Why would you even think about burning down a village?”
“Because it had to be them, my dear boy would never pass the boundary on his own. They must have lured him over and got him to touch it. In all due respect Markus, I don’t want your advice, I want the advice of someone smarter, ask the spirits.”
I could barely contain my anger, grinding my teeth as he insulted me, claiming I was worthless without these fake readings. “One moment.” Woodoo, woodoo. I continued my fake noises before stopping. “The spirits say to mix blueberries and oranges. They also want you to spend your afternoon acting like a chicken.”
“They do? I don’t know if I see the logic in that, but the spirits are wise. How lucky are you that the spirits chose an idiot like you to talk through? All you did was read before the spirits found you. What smart person reads? Real brains come from laying out in the sun and experiencing life.”
“Ah, yes. How right you are mayor.” I said, giving him a fake smile. “Don’t forget to flap your arms too.”
“Come now Markus, I’m not an idiot.” He said, waving his arms back and forth as he left the room. “Cluck Cluck, bring me some Clucking blueberries and oranges. Cluck, cluck.” I could hear his clucks softening until he was out of earshot.
“I should have left to go be a scholar in the capital like I intended.” I sighed, leaning against my desk, hoping the rest of the afternoon would pass quickly. At least the mayor added some life to the day. “Next.”
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(If you enjoyed this feel free to check out my subreddit /r/Sadnesslaughs where I'll be posting more of my writing.)
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A graveyard of straw huts, laid to rest under a mountain of mud, stretched out before the Seer at the bottom of a hill. Old women wept over the destroyed homes, picking bits of their lives from the wreckage.
"Oh, great Seer," one of the village warriors fell to his knees, pounding the earth with his fists. "What evil has befallen our village? What have we done to drive the spirits to such destruction?"
"Well," the Seer said, half under his breath as he rubbed his stubby chin. "You harvested the hillside clean of brush and shrub, and the heavy rain last night probably loosened the earth and caused the slide." Seriously. It happens nearly ever year.
The mourning villagers returned confused, almost hostile stares, and the Seer sighed before falling into the usual cadence. "Oh. OH! My dear people! You know not the true destruction of these lands! For through the spirit plain I have seen the past. I have witnessed a gruesome, terrible battle that took place on these lands. A wave of barbaric men flowed down the hillside, slaughtering an ancient village once erect in this very location. Cursed! This hillside is cursed beyond redemption! For whomever makes this ground his home will forever be marauded by the memory of those warriors in... the... urm... Mud!"
An old woman shyly chimed in, "The mud—"
"THE MUD!" The Seer threw his hands wildly about. "This mud, stained with the blood of barbarians and innocents, soil forever soiled! Do not build at the bottom of this hill again! Build uh... over there!" he pointed back towards the rest of the village, a safe distance away from the inevitable mudslides to come.
The people rejoiced, and the warriors seemed especially pleased that this knowledge from beyond involved a good-old-fashion massacre. This was the Seer's cue, and he made a quick escape back towards his hut.
His quarters sat at the peak of a small incline at the rear of the village, under the roof of a great tree, and shared with an old man that refused to move out when the Seer arrived at the village last spring. It was the perfect location for a hut; shaded well by the tree's endless branches, resting upon solid, root reinforced earth, and far enough from the other villagers that it seemed like a pilgrimage to any resident that wished to come speak with the Seer. If any of the villagers asked, he chose the spot because the tree recommended it.
At first, the only real downside to his new home was the old man; however, in time, he found that the geezer was the only sane person this side of the world. His company brought with it conversation. Which was good, because the tree didn't say much.
"Solved the mystery of loose dirt, have you?" The old man teased as the Seer trudged in. He sat on a wide stump a younger man had hauled up the hill for them, hunched over a square board resting on a bumpy wooden table. The board was home to a variety of trinkets of the earth: pebbles, sticks, shells, and a few pinecones.
As the Seer collapsed into his cot, he considered the old man and the board. "You still haven't moved?!"
"You cannot hurry wisdom," the old man smiled.
"I may not, but death will surely take you before wisdom prompts you to make your move."
Unfazed, the man continued strafing the board with his gaze, as if memorizing the position of every rock and speck of dirt present. "So, I take it you've lead the people to a logical, reasonable conclusion as to why their homes have been destroyed?"
The Seer tossed over to face the wall of the hut, curling up into a ball and mumbling, "Angry ancient mud barbarians..."
"That's not bad. I'm sure the men loved it."
"How can you do it?" the Seer swung back over the cot, watching the old man watch the board. "You know why the mud slides down hills, why the plains flood and the forests come ablaze with the heat. You can see the answers, so how can you sit here and let them live in ignorance?"
"We do not see the answers. We see the *problems*."
Knowing he was about to be lectured, the Seer moaned and curled back into the fetal position.
"The lack of roots on the hillside mixed with heavy rain is the problem. Problems are everywhere, in every facet of this world, but most people don't want to acknowledge them. They want the answers—"
"But we have the answers!" the Seer interrupted, rolling over on his side. "Build here, not there. Do not overhunt the land. Stop taking so much without giving back to the soil."
"Yes, those are answers, but the people do not want them from *you*," the old man lifted his hand, touching a rock on the board as if to move. The Seer held his breath, but the geezer retracted his fingers before continuing. "They want them from *beyond*. From the gods or ghosts or from angry ancient mud barbarians."
"But why? Why can't they see that they're in control?"
"Because," the old man whispered. "To them, being in control is infinitely more terrifying. They wish to live in the womb of things beyond their comprehension. It's warm in there. An ignorant blaze. Life on the outside can be cold, as you well know."
Finally, and as casually as though he'd considered it for just a few moments, the old man moved a pinecone from one end of the board to the other. "God's dead."
The Seer stood up, studying the board before moaning, "I'll be outside talking to the tree."
____
**/r/BeagleTales**
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[WP] As the Village Seer, you peer into the mystical to give the villagers sage wisdom from beyond. The problem is, you're not magical, you're just smart and you live in an exceptionally dumb village.
|
I did not choose to be here, I was chosen. Placed upon this land to bless all that passes.
Doing The Great One’s work, forced to deal with the smallest of issues to the greatest of them. I have become the center of this village, the lighting rod that grounds everyone.
“O’ Wise One! Whatever shall I do about this predicament?” I hear. They never stop. They never consider me; they just want what I can give.
I’ve become used to it now, taking these requests without comment, receiving meager rewards for my ample services.
Another day, another question. The same questions I hear, again and again, the same questions that require no knowledge, no skill to solve.
The alarm rings, I rise from my slumber. Those eight hours were the best eight hours: the nagging, the constant noise, the mental torture that I must endure all ceasing to exist. But the time for relishing my sleep was over, I must return to my duties.
Shouting was already coming from my window. I slip my hand between the curtains, creating an opening just wide enough for me to peer through. The sunlight blinded me, its sudden heat slapping me in the face.
Hundreds of people gathered beneath my second-story apartment, shouting for me to come and serve them.
I sigh; this is just another day for a person of my stature. Throwing off my pajamas, I open my wardrobe to grab my uniform, a bright sky blue shirt that signaled who I was.
I felt the scratchy fabric slide over my skin, the soft interior of my shoe as I slipped my feet in, and the shifting of my hair as I placed my hat onto my head.
More shouting from the window. I peer out of the window again, taking a closer look at the people gathered. They were holding printers, office phones, laptops, and keyboards.
I swung the window open, turning their muffled shouting into audible speech.
“Please, why does my printer not print?”
“O’ Wise One, how do I connect to the internet?”
“Help! This phone cannot call!”
I shut the window, returning their voices from speech to muffled shouting.
I was almost done dressing; The final piece was sitting on top of my nightstand.
“The Great One: Tech support and more!” The badge read. I pinned it onto my shirt and headed out the door.
____
Thanks for reading!
|
A graveyard of straw huts, laid to rest under a mountain of mud, stretched out before the Seer at the bottom of a hill. Old women wept over the destroyed homes, picking bits of their lives from the wreckage.
"Oh, great Seer," one of the village warriors fell to his knees, pounding the earth with his fists. "What evil has befallen our village? What have we done to drive the spirits to such destruction?"
"Well," the Seer said, half under his breath as he rubbed his stubby chin. "You harvested the hillside clean of brush and shrub, and the heavy rain last night probably loosened the earth and caused the slide." Seriously. It happens nearly ever year.
The mourning villagers returned confused, almost hostile stares, and the Seer sighed before falling into the usual cadence. "Oh. OH! My dear people! You know not the true destruction of these lands! For through the spirit plain I have seen the past. I have witnessed a gruesome, terrible battle that took place on these lands. A wave of barbaric men flowed down the hillside, slaughtering an ancient village once erect in this very location. Cursed! This hillside is cursed beyond redemption! For whomever makes this ground his home will forever be marauded by the memory of those warriors in... the... urm... Mud!"
An old woman shyly chimed in, "The mud—"
"THE MUD!" The Seer threw his hands wildly about. "This mud, stained with the blood of barbarians and innocents, soil forever soiled! Do not build at the bottom of this hill again! Build uh... over there!" he pointed back towards the rest of the village, a safe distance away from the inevitable mudslides to come.
The people rejoiced, and the warriors seemed especially pleased that this knowledge from beyond involved a good-old-fashion massacre. This was the Seer's cue, and he made a quick escape back towards his hut.
His quarters sat at the peak of a small incline at the rear of the village, under the roof of a great tree, and shared with an old man that refused to move out when the Seer arrived at the village last spring. It was the perfect location for a hut; shaded well by the tree's endless branches, resting upon solid, root reinforced earth, and far enough from the other villagers that it seemed like a pilgrimage to any resident that wished to come speak with the Seer. If any of the villagers asked, he chose the spot because the tree recommended it.
At first, the only real downside to his new home was the old man; however, in time, he found that the geezer was the only sane person this side of the world. His company brought with it conversation. Which was good, because the tree didn't say much.
"Solved the mystery of loose dirt, have you?" The old man teased as the Seer trudged in. He sat on a wide stump a younger man had hauled up the hill for them, hunched over a square board resting on a bumpy wooden table. The board was home to a variety of trinkets of the earth: pebbles, sticks, shells, and a few pinecones.
As the Seer collapsed into his cot, he considered the old man and the board. "You still haven't moved?!"
"You cannot hurry wisdom," the old man smiled.
"I may not, but death will surely take you before wisdom prompts you to make your move."
Unfazed, the man continued strafing the board with his gaze, as if memorizing the position of every rock and speck of dirt present. "So, I take it you've lead the people to a logical, reasonable conclusion as to why their homes have been destroyed?"
The Seer tossed over to face the wall of the hut, curling up into a ball and mumbling, "Angry ancient mud barbarians..."
"That's not bad. I'm sure the men loved it."
"How can you do it?" the Seer swung back over the cot, watching the old man watch the board. "You know why the mud slides down hills, why the plains flood and the forests come ablaze with the heat. You can see the answers, so how can you sit here and let them live in ignorance?"
"We do not see the answers. We see the *problems*."
Knowing he was about to be lectured, the Seer moaned and curled back into the fetal position.
"The lack of roots on the hillside mixed with heavy rain is the problem. Problems are everywhere, in every facet of this world, but most people don't want to acknowledge them. They want the answers—"
"But we have the answers!" the Seer interrupted, rolling over on his side. "Build here, not there. Do not overhunt the land. Stop taking so much without giving back to the soil."
"Yes, those are answers, but the people do not want them from *you*," the old man lifted his hand, touching a rock on the board as if to move. The Seer held his breath, but the geezer retracted his fingers before continuing. "They want them from *beyond*. From the gods or ghosts or from angry ancient mud barbarians."
"But why? Why can't they see that they're in control?"
"Because," the old man whispered. "To them, being in control is infinitely more terrifying. They wish to live in the womb of things beyond their comprehension. It's warm in there. An ignorant blaze. Life on the outside can be cold, as you well know."
Finally, and as casually as though he'd considered it for just a few moments, the old man moved a pinecone from one end of the board to the other. "God's dead."
The Seer stood up, studying the board before moaning, "I'll be outside talking to the tree."
____
**/r/BeagleTales**
|
|
[WP] As the Village Seer, you peer into the mystical to give the villagers sage wisdom from beyond. The problem is, you're not magical, you're just smart and you live in an exceptionally dumb village.
|
I did not choose to be here, I was chosen. Placed upon this land to bless all that passes.
Doing The Great One’s work, forced to deal with the smallest of issues to the greatest of them. I have become the center of this village, the lighting rod that grounds everyone.
“O’ Wise One! Whatever shall I do about this predicament?” I hear. They never stop. They never consider me; they just want what I can give.
I’ve become used to it now, taking these requests without comment, receiving meager rewards for my ample services.
Another day, another question. The same questions I hear, again and again, the same questions that require no knowledge, no skill to solve.
The alarm rings, I rise from my slumber. Those eight hours were the best eight hours: the nagging, the constant noise, the mental torture that I must endure all ceasing to exist. But the time for relishing my sleep was over, I must return to my duties.
Shouting was already coming from my window. I slip my hand between the curtains, creating an opening just wide enough for me to peer through. The sunlight blinded me, its sudden heat slapping me in the face.
Hundreds of people gathered beneath my second-story apartment, shouting for me to come and serve them.
I sigh; this is just another day for a person of my stature. Throwing off my pajamas, I open my wardrobe to grab my uniform, a bright sky blue shirt that signaled who I was.
I felt the scratchy fabric slide over my skin, the soft interior of my shoe as I slipped my feet in, and the shifting of my hair as I placed my hat onto my head.
More shouting from the window. I peer out of the window again, taking a closer look at the people gathered. They were holding printers, office phones, laptops, and keyboards.
I swung the window open, turning their muffled shouting into audible speech.
“Please, why does my printer not print?”
“O’ Wise One, how do I connect to the internet?”
“Help! This phone cannot call!”
I shut the window, returning their voices from speech to muffled shouting.
I was almost done dressing; The final piece was sitting on top of my nightstand.
“The Great One: Tech support and more!” The badge read. I pinned it onto my shirt and headed out the door.
____
Thanks for reading!
|
It was meant to be a joke. I pretended to lean into the cosmic realm just to tell a stupid farmer that he needed hens if he wished to get eggs, not roosters. I never expected one sarcastic joke to land me in the town’s most prized position. The village Seer, one of the greatest positions a person could have. You held more power than the mayor in most villages, sure the mayor made all the rules, but if a Seer questioned a rule, the rule would be hastily overturned unless that mayor wished to lose their head.
“What is it now? This is the fourth time this week. What other problems could you have?” I stared at Bob and Sally, a baking couple that were getting on my nerves. They were lovely at first, but their regular visits were growing exhausting.
“Grand Seer, we wish to ask something of you. We require your knowledge from beyond this mystical realm and-“ Before Bob could finish, I raised a finger, shushing him.
“Have you seen the line outside, Bob? Skip to the problem.”
“Sorry, Grand Seer. We were just wondering if we should make chocolate or vanilla cakes this week. Would you look into the magical realm and tell us?” Sally continued on with the request, both of them leaving me dumbfounded.
“You waited in line just to ask about what flavor of cake you should make this week?”
“If it isn’t too much trouble. It just saves us a lot of time thinking.” Bob said, the couple staring at me, awaiting my answer.
“Not like you do a lot of that, anyway.” I mumbled beneath my breath, placing my hands beside my head, making a strange woodoo, woodoo sound with my lips. “The magical realm or whatever says you should make vanilla.”
“Splendid, I can’t wait. Let’s go make the best vanilla cakes this village has ever seen.” Sally hooked her arm around her husbands as the two left to bake their goods, allowing me a moment to slump into my seat before the next person entered.
The curtain pushed open, revealing the mayor, once again troubled over some stupid politics. I tilted my head to the side, staring at a bit of wood on the wall that had peeled, finding that more interesting than whatever Mr. Harold had to say.
“Oh, dear Markus, I request your aid as my Seer. My son fell ill after touching a blue and white plant outside of the village boundaries. Shall we burn down the neighboring village in response to this? It must be a poisoning attempt, ask the spirits or whoever you talk to.” The mayor’s chubby pink cheeks wobbled with barely contained anger. Wanting a swift answer, I continued to nod along, half listening.
“Mm. A plant outside, I see, that’s not a big deal just get some blueberries and a few cups of, wait, what was this about burning down the neighboring village? ARE YOU INSANE?” The stupidity of it all broke me from my dull trance. “That has nothing to do with the other village. Your son merely touched an Iga blue plant, it causes a rash and a mild-to-moderate temperature. If you give him some blueberries mixed with oranges, it should help clear it up. He mainly needs rest. Why would you even think about burning down a village?”
“Because it had to be them, my dear boy would never pass the boundary on his own. They must have lured him over and got him to touch it. In all due respect Markus, I don’t want your advice, I want the advice of someone smarter, ask the spirits.”
I could barely contain my anger, grinding my teeth as he insulted me, claiming I was worthless without these fake readings. “One moment.” Woodoo, woodoo. I continued my fake noises before stopping. “The spirits say to mix blueberries and oranges. They also want you to spend your afternoon acting like a chicken.”
“They do? I don’t know if I see the logic in that, but the spirits are wise. How lucky are you that the spirits chose an idiot like you to talk through? All you did was read before the spirits found you. What smart person reads? Real brains come from laying out in the sun and experiencing life.”
“Ah, yes. How right you are mayor.” I said, giving him a fake smile. “Don’t forget to flap your arms too.”
“Come now Markus, I’m not an idiot.” He said, waving his arms back and forth as he left the room. “Cluck Cluck, bring me some Clucking blueberries and oranges. Cluck, cluck.” I could hear his clucks softening until he was out of earshot.
“I should have left to go be a scholar in the capital like I intended.” I sighed, leaning against my desk, hoping the rest of the afternoon would pass quickly. At least the mayor added some life to the day. “Next.”
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(If you enjoyed this feel free to check out my subreddit /r/Sadnesslaughs where I'll be posting more of my writing.)
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[WP] Lycanthropes only transform when 100% of their planet’s moons are full. Callisto III, which has seven moons with varying cycles, has become a haven for this reason. However, nobody realized that each moon increases the intensity, and the moons have just aligned.
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Time stopped. Oh, how that moment seemed to last forever, that moment of wonder. They all felt it, every single one of them stopping in their tracks with their eyes to the heavens.
Seven celestial orbs, perfectly aligned. All of them full. This had been the very first time their people had witnessed such an occurrence in all of the seven years they had resided here and it would be an event that would plague all of humankind- no, all Lycans for generations to come. It’s ironic. They believed themselves to have renounced their humanity in exchange for freedom, but they had no idea of the torment they would unleash and would be unleashed onto them.
However, at that moment that felt like an eternity, they could all feel what was coming. And before the Lycans could express their terror, confusion and discomfort, the change had already begun taking place. It should not be so scary as it was the Lycanthrope way: being forcefully shifted between forms underneath the full moon. It only took a minute, not long enough to cause you any pain unless you’re an inexperienced pup or resisted the change. The animal inside would claw its way out, but with time and practice, it was always possible to control it. Resonate with it. Under one moon, their curse was a power that they could masterfully wield while maintaining their humanity, their awareness.
Callisto III, with its seven orbiting moons, would offer no such kindness.
On Earth, a Lycan’s rage served as a means to connect with and utilize the creature inside- the moon amplifying that rage into power. Sometimes the beast’s anger would prove too much and it wins the struggle for dominance, but the hostility induced by the moons of Callisto III was unprecedented. It could only be described as pure wrath.
Negative emotions erupted within every Lycan on the planet in that second that it was too late. The scents of rage and fear immediately grew thick in the air as the beasts forced themselves out of their powerless and ignorant hosts. It was spontaneous: animalistic snarls and breaking bones accompanied by explosions of fur and fangs, snapping and crushing and growling. All at once, the Lycans’ bodies detonated and the curse took over.
The dark contents of the Lycan’s hearts were not the only things that were augmented, but their wolven forms as well. To contain all of that power, what were originally anthropomorphic wolf-men or unusually large dogs was instantly evolved into mishappen canine monsters the size of fire trucks. Bipedal, quadripedal- the forms were still distinctive to every individual, but to call them werewolves now seems...incorrect. Fearsome creatures with hides so thick they were impervious to most forms of damage, deadly claws that could tear through stone like paper. A race of predators with unmatched lethality and an insatiable thirst for devastation.
And with no one else around to suffer their brutality, the Lycanthropes of Callisto III would slaughter each other until each moon continued their journey around the planet.
[My first time posting on here, I really like the prompt and the stories you guys posted]
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The First Change is never pleasant. The disease tears through our bones. It transforms who we are to something more feral. It sends our senses and instincts into a frenzy that can only be animalistic. The discovery of Calliso III brought great fortune to the lycanthropes. It meant that the First Change could be the only one.
The discomfort of discovering the disease was temporary. There were seven moons on Callisto III, and for decades their lunar phases never found full alignment. I went to great effort to bring all my people to Callisto III. This protected my people. At least until the night of the Second First Change.
On that fateful night, all the lunar phases fell into sync. They fell into sync three hours before they were to reach the peak of their phase. The full moon.
Three hours was not enough time to prepare my people. They fell into a whirlwind of activity as they tried to prepare. It was not enough time.
As the three hours blew by, many of my people had prepared themselves by spreading out amongst the forests on Callisto III. The Change came quickly and most of them were struck by fear that they might harm some of their pack.
The phases became full.
Nothing could have prepared me for the pain I felt as the seven moons went full at the same moment. It seared through my nerves and molded every single one of my bones. I felt all of my thoughts fade into the background. My desire to protect my people disappeared.
I was overcome by a singular drive. Find as many of my brethren as I could. Challenge every single one of them, so that the Alpha might be found.
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[WP] Lycanthropes only transform when 100% of their planet’s moons are full. Callisto III, which has seven moons with varying cycles, has become a haven for this reason. However, nobody realized that each moon increases the intensity, and the moons have just aligned.
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Dear Diary
Tomorrow is Alignment Day.
As is custom on the eve, we huddle up with hot chocolate and turn up the news, listening to the stone-faced news reader go through the astronomy behind alignment and 8 precautions for the millionth time. In an hour, we'll then take our sleep tabs, head to the basement, set the silver timed door locks, apply moonscreen lotion on each others' faces, and take turns at scary stories till we fall asleep. We'll then wake up day after tomorrow and celebrate Life Day.
That's the theory. It's overkill. Last Alignment Day, we invited Roger over and saw the celestial jackpot using silver mirrors before heading to sleep. I've seen a few people in their silverine overalls slip out for their daily jog - but for an event that occurs once in 12 and odd years I think wasting precious silverine on stupid clothes is overkill.
It's been ages since we've seen the Lycan versions of anybody around - very few people morph spontaneously - and fewer still can't afford the emergency silverine injection kits. At least, the last time one made the news was an idiot mum last Alignment that held up her baby to the window purely out of curiosity and got mauled half to death.
Aunt Beth is visiting us for Alignment and Life and has promised to take me and Stella out for dinner. Stella's four years younger and has just hit her angsty emo thirteen phase, where she draws whiskers and fangs on everything, so it's not fun to be around her. Though Aunt Beth does say when I'm done being a teenager I'll love my sister again.
Anyway, sleep awaits.
(end of recording)
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The First Change is never pleasant. The disease tears through our bones. It transforms who we are to something more feral. It sends our senses and instincts into a frenzy that can only be animalistic. The discovery of Calliso III brought great fortune to the lycanthropes. It meant that the First Change could be the only one.
The discomfort of discovering the disease was temporary. There were seven moons on Callisto III, and for decades their lunar phases never found full alignment. I went to great effort to bring all my people to Callisto III. This protected my people. At least until the night of the Second First Change.
On that fateful night, all the lunar phases fell into sync. They fell into sync three hours before they were to reach the peak of their phase. The full moon.
Three hours was not enough time to prepare my people. They fell into a whirlwind of activity as they tried to prepare. It was not enough time.
As the three hours blew by, many of my people had prepared themselves by spreading out amongst the forests on Callisto III. The Change came quickly and most of them were struck by fear that they might harm some of their pack.
The phases became full.
Nothing could have prepared me for the pain I felt as the seven moons went full at the same moment. It seared through my nerves and molded every single one of my bones. I felt all of my thoughts fade into the background. My desire to protect my people disappeared.
I was overcome by a singular drive. Find as many of my brethren as I could. Challenge every single one of them, so that the Alpha might be found.
|
|
[WP] Lycanthropes only transform when 100% of their planet’s moons are full. Callisto III, which has seven moons with varying cycles, has become a haven for this reason. However, nobody realized that each moon increases the intensity, and the moons have just aligned.
|
Time stopped. Oh, how that moment seemed to last forever, that moment of wonder. They all felt it, every single one of them stopping in their tracks with their eyes to the heavens.
Seven celestial orbs, perfectly aligned. All of them full. This had been the very first time their people had witnessed such an occurrence in all of the seven years they had resided here and it would be an event that would plague all of humankind- no, all Lycans for generations to come. It’s ironic. They believed themselves to have renounced their humanity in exchange for freedom, but they had no idea of the torment they would unleash and would be unleashed onto them.
However, at that moment that felt like an eternity, they could all feel what was coming. And before the Lycans could express their terror, confusion and discomfort, the change had already begun taking place. It should not be so scary as it was the Lycanthrope way: being forcefully shifted between forms underneath the full moon. It only took a minute, not long enough to cause you any pain unless you’re an inexperienced pup or resisted the change. The animal inside would claw its way out, but with time and practice, it was always possible to control it. Resonate with it. Under one moon, their curse was a power that they could masterfully wield while maintaining their humanity, their awareness.
Callisto III, with its seven orbiting moons, would offer no such kindness.
On Earth, a Lycan’s rage served as a means to connect with and utilize the creature inside- the moon amplifying that rage into power. Sometimes the beast’s anger would prove too much and it wins the struggle for dominance, but the hostility induced by the moons of Callisto III was unprecedented. It could only be described as pure wrath.
Negative emotions erupted within every Lycan on the planet in that second that it was too late. The scents of rage and fear immediately grew thick in the air as the beasts forced themselves out of their powerless and ignorant hosts. It was spontaneous: animalistic snarls and breaking bones accompanied by explosions of fur and fangs, snapping and crushing and growling. All at once, the Lycans’ bodies detonated and the curse took over.
The dark contents of the Lycan’s hearts were not the only things that were augmented, but their wolven forms as well. To contain all of that power, what were originally anthropomorphic wolf-men or unusually large dogs was instantly evolved into mishappen canine monsters the size of fire trucks. Bipedal, quadripedal- the forms were still distinctive to every individual, but to call them werewolves now seems...incorrect. Fearsome creatures with hides so thick they were impervious to most forms of damage, deadly claws that could tear through stone like paper. A race of predators with unmatched lethality and an insatiable thirst for devastation.
And with no one else around to suffer their brutality, the Lycanthropes of Callisto III would slaughter each other until each moon continued their journey around the planet.
[My first time posting on here, I really like the prompt and the stories you guys posted]
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Oso’s Chronicle, 2281
Thought I’d write while I can. Hope someone peeps this.
It was about 260 years ago that space popping began. It was the late 2020’s. That decade tote-totes was bonzo sick loser, and so like the cromulent have-haves started thumbing for other planets. Mars fell first, then Titan, then the race was on - goal to suck hork a planet, slap make some atmosphere or domes, and lure gullib schmuckers to buy. Big prob awful – companies would dive in, throw billions at loose spheres, and proudly show off these and hope a ducky ton of peeps buy in. Some did awesomizers. Most made bank line. A few got zip, bust, kablooie. The titana-execs slunk home, tail thru legs. So to speak.
It was about 75 years ago that those of the home sod were bogglized to find lycanthropy - long a subject of lore and dankosity – was real. Actual, documented, truth, fer sher. The big-breeches of our home sod had no blink if it had been around the whole time and suddenly the number of Lycanitics increased, or if something re-activated hidden… genomes? DNA? RNA? I’m no smerticle scientist obvs, I’m sure one of them noggin-knockers would be able to spout enough nonsense lex to explain their theory. It didn’t matter, nobody knew why their dear sweetly auntie suddenly grew fangs or claws or what have you. On home sod, it was devastating. There was just one moon, see. When it was full, it was all over for the Lycanitics. Roar, slash, bite, ravage, you get the picture.
This threw ol’ Terra for a dipper. Ultra-churches were calling for the extermination of the “demon scuzzes” with their brainscrubbed llama-goers bleating the chorus, the gov’t was pondosing full-moon jails with silver bars, when a group of peeples came forth with – awemazingly – a good, solid idea. Somehow the communitilats called “furries” brained out that if a place has more than one moon, the effect was snuffed. You know, like, instead of being the death-claw murder beast, you become the lion-shaped wierdie.
It took longer than you’d think for the gov’t to add 1 and 1 and arriveling with 3. One of the gonzo bust livo-spheres was called Callisto III. One of the far-outs, cold, dark. Some drippy corp called Apple – bonzo dumbo name, heh? Thought it’d be the ultimate space-out zone. Threw a few extendo-domes out there, flew goblets of wads down the hopperhole making room for hundreds. Ended going ass-up, nobody wanted to dive Callisto when Ganymede had sand avalanche skiiboarding and perpetual hedonism laws. It sat cold and dark until Earth figured out they could flushdump their undesirees there. Seven moons. Small moons, but still, they were in a cycle where there was always a moon out – always – but never more than three.
The gov’t lists it as Callisto III, peeps totes shake it as Furry. Anyone transing into any animal gets packlocked on the next transpote. I woke one morning on the transpote – don’t remember turning into a bear, apparently I ralphed a lot of val stuff before they tranqstabbed me and rockered me to Furry. Been here a couple ten-circles now, most everyone’s some sorta Lycanitic, gators and tigers and of course wolves. A few other ursanthropes here – bonzo dumb name, not my shake, but we’re friendly. Furry’s medium dope, there’s a few animal-sheeping humans who spent the wad to live among Lycanitics.
The prob is, ‘bout half a ten-circle ago, all communication from old sod stopped. Nobody knows why, and the one thing you can’t hork on Furry is a thumb lift back to Earth. Can’t even cob a transpote. Deliberatelike. No new Lycanitics either. Double prob – tonight things go heyna-shaped. Noffense to the hyenas. We’ve grokked for least six ten-circles that tonight all seven moons will be up.. SEVEN! Never more than three before!, but the promulated solution never appeared. Four moons are disploring right now. I can feel them, even though I can’t peep them. Five and six are ascendorating this very second as I tap. I'm feeling confuzzled somewhat, ha. All I can blood about is.. uh.. losing sanity. Some are bread slash happy carouse in the rage square, foolio bonzos. Feed. Some have break rage cage locked, do not think kill it will help. Stronger, losing can’t must break rage feed kill blood
(These documents were preserved by the denizens of Callisto III. We re-established contact with them more than 80 years after the Great War of 2276. The night of the seven moons was a bloodbath, but many of the strongest survived, including the one renamed Oso. We have resumed sending what they call Lycantics up. One note – the next seven moon night is in six months.)
|
|
[WP] Lycanthropes only transform when 100% of their planet’s moons are full. Callisto III, which has seven moons with varying cycles, has become a haven for this reason. However, nobody realized that each moon increases the intensity, and the moons have just aligned.
|
For the first time in a long time, I was afraid.
As lycanthropes, our animalistic power often got the better of us, whether we liked it or not. When the majority of our kind lived on Earth, we were known as a nuisance. People often were hurt on those nights, but no one was ever killed. We always had some semblance of control after all.
Still, no one really liked us. We could tell they wanted to get rid of us as soon as possible.
It wasn’t until some scientists discovered the inner workings of our biology that a solution became apparent. All of the moons of a planet had to be full for a transformation to occur. The solution? Find a new planet.
And so we did.
Callisto III was supposed to be our safe haven. What are the chances that seven very different moons all became full at once?
Unlikely, but not impossible.
I lay in my bed that night. One of the seven moons shining in through my open window. A light breeze swirled through the room causing a chill to shoot through my body. I pulled the wool blanket up to my nose, but nothing seemed to stave off the blasted cold.
How I wished at that moment that I could take on my animal form.
*Be careful what you wish for.*
A low voice echoed in my head. Not a moment later, an agonizing pain shot through my entire body from my head to my toes.
My hands grabbed my head as a burning pain slowly crescendoed inside. It consumed any other thoughts that dared to appear.
When I felt pin pricks start to scatter across my skin, I knew what was happening. The transformation never felt right, but this felt utterly terrible.
My mind scrambled to regain control of my body. The smell of blood tainted the air as my fingernails dug into my palms and my top teeth clamped against my bottom lip.
*Give in to it.*
That damned voice boomed in my mind.
“No,” I managed to strangle out through the pain. Everything in me knew this was wrong.
But that didn’t stop it.
Grey fur spread like a wildfire across my skin. My body cracked and groaned as it rearranged itself and grew bigger. Dagger-like claws sprouted from my fingertips while my teeth sharpened into deadly points.
By the time the agony subsided, I was gone. I watched like a spectator as my body rose to its feet. Glowing red eyes surveyed the room before landing on the open window.
Outside, howls mixed with terrified screams filled the air. A sadistic smirk spread across my face. I could only watch helplessly as my body leapt through the window to the town below.
My own screams joined the chorus of the helpless victims.
No one was safe.
|
Oso’s Chronicle, 2281
Thought I’d write while I can. Hope someone peeps this.
It was about 260 years ago that space popping began. It was the late 2020’s. That decade tote-totes was bonzo sick loser, and so like the cromulent have-haves started thumbing for other planets. Mars fell first, then Titan, then the race was on - goal to suck hork a planet, slap make some atmosphere or domes, and lure gullib schmuckers to buy. Big prob awful – companies would dive in, throw billions at loose spheres, and proudly show off these and hope a ducky ton of peeps buy in. Some did awesomizers. Most made bank line. A few got zip, bust, kablooie. The titana-execs slunk home, tail thru legs. So to speak.
It was about 75 years ago that those of the home sod were bogglized to find lycanthropy - long a subject of lore and dankosity – was real. Actual, documented, truth, fer sher. The big-breeches of our home sod had no blink if it had been around the whole time and suddenly the number of Lycanitics increased, or if something re-activated hidden… genomes? DNA? RNA? I’m no smerticle scientist obvs, I’m sure one of them noggin-knockers would be able to spout enough nonsense lex to explain their theory. It didn’t matter, nobody knew why their dear sweetly auntie suddenly grew fangs or claws or what have you. On home sod, it was devastating. There was just one moon, see. When it was full, it was all over for the Lycanitics. Roar, slash, bite, ravage, you get the picture.
This threw ol’ Terra for a dipper. Ultra-churches were calling for the extermination of the “demon scuzzes” with their brainscrubbed llama-goers bleating the chorus, the gov’t was pondosing full-moon jails with silver bars, when a group of peeples came forth with – awemazingly – a good, solid idea. Somehow the communitilats called “furries” brained out that if a place has more than one moon, the effect was snuffed. You know, like, instead of being the death-claw murder beast, you become the lion-shaped wierdie.
It took longer than you’d think for the gov’t to add 1 and 1 and arriveling with 3. One of the gonzo bust livo-spheres was called Callisto III. One of the far-outs, cold, dark. Some drippy corp called Apple – bonzo dumbo name, heh? Thought it’d be the ultimate space-out zone. Threw a few extendo-domes out there, flew goblets of wads down the hopperhole making room for hundreds. Ended going ass-up, nobody wanted to dive Callisto when Ganymede had sand avalanche skiiboarding and perpetual hedonism laws. It sat cold and dark until Earth figured out they could flushdump their undesirees there. Seven moons. Small moons, but still, they were in a cycle where there was always a moon out – always – but never more than three.
The gov’t lists it as Callisto III, peeps totes shake it as Furry. Anyone transing into any animal gets packlocked on the next transpote. I woke one morning on the transpote – don’t remember turning into a bear, apparently I ralphed a lot of val stuff before they tranqstabbed me and rockered me to Furry. Been here a couple ten-circles now, most everyone’s some sorta Lycanitic, gators and tigers and of course wolves. A few other ursanthropes here – bonzo dumb name, not my shake, but we’re friendly. Furry’s medium dope, there’s a few animal-sheeping humans who spent the wad to live among Lycanitics.
The prob is, ‘bout half a ten-circle ago, all communication from old sod stopped. Nobody knows why, and the one thing you can’t hork on Furry is a thumb lift back to Earth. Can’t even cob a transpote. Deliberatelike. No new Lycanitics either. Double prob – tonight things go heyna-shaped. Noffense to the hyenas. We’ve grokked for least six ten-circles that tonight all seven moons will be up.. SEVEN! Never more than three before!, but the promulated solution never appeared. Four moons are disploring right now. I can feel them, even though I can’t peep them. Five and six are ascendorating this very second as I tap. I'm feeling confuzzled somewhat, ha. All I can blood about is.. uh.. losing sanity. Some are bread slash happy carouse in the rage square, foolio bonzos. Feed. Some have break rage cage locked, do not think kill it will help. Stronger, losing can’t must break rage feed kill blood
(These documents were preserved by the denizens of Callisto III. We re-established contact with them more than 80 years after the Great War of 2276. The night of the seven moons was a bloodbath, but many of the strongest survived, including the one renamed Oso. We have resumed sending what they call Lycantics up. One note – the next seven moon night is in six months.)
|
|
[WP] Lycanthropes only transform when 100% of their planet’s moons are full. Callisto III, which has seven moons with varying cycles, has become a haven for this reason. However, nobody realized that each moon increases the intensity, and the moons have just aligned.
|
Dear Diary
Tomorrow is Alignment Day.
As is custom on the eve, we huddle up with hot chocolate and turn up the news, listening to the stone-faced news reader go through the astronomy behind alignment and 8 precautions for the millionth time. In an hour, we'll then take our sleep tabs, head to the basement, set the silver timed door locks, apply moonscreen lotion on each others' faces, and take turns at scary stories till we fall asleep. We'll then wake up day after tomorrow and celebrate Life Day.
That's the theory. It's overkill. Last Alignment Day, we invited Roger over and saw the celestial jackpot using silver mirrors before heading to sleep. I've seen a few people in their silverine overalls slip out for their daily jog - but for an event that occurs once in 12 and odd years I think wasting precious silverine on stupid clothes is overkill.
It's been ages since we've seen the Lycan versions of anybody around - very few people morph spontaneously - and fewer still can't afford the emergency silverine injection kits. At least, the last time one made the news was an idiot mum last Alignment that held up her baby to the window purely out of curiosity and got mauled half to death.
Aunt Beth is visiting us for Alignment and Life and has promised to take me and Stella out for dinner. Stella's four years younger and has just hit her angsty emo thirteen phase, where she draws whiskers and fangs on everything, so it's not fun to be around her. Though Aunt Beth does say when I'm done being a teenager I'll love my sister again.
Anyway, sleep awaits.
(end of recording)
|
Oso’s Chronicle, 2281
Thought I’d write while I can. Hope someone peeps this.
It was about 260 years ago that space popping began. It was the late 2020’s. That decade tote-totes was bonzo sick loser, and so like the cromulent have-haves started thumbing for other planets. Mars fell first, then Titan, then the race was on - goal to suck hork a planet, slap make some atmosphere or domes, and lure gullib schmuckers to buy. Big prob awful – companies would dive in, throw billions at loose spheres, and proudly show off these and hope a ducky ton of peeps buy in. Some did awesomizers. Most made bank line. A few got zip, bust, kablooie. The titana-execs slunk home, tail thru legs. So to speak.
It was about 75 years ago that those of the home sod were bogglized to find lycanthropy - long a subject of lore and dankosity – was real. Actual, documented, truth, fer sher. The big-breeches of our home sod had no blink if it had been around the whole time and suddenly the number of Lycanitics increased, or if something re-activated hidden… genomes? DNA? RNA? I’m no smerticle scientist obvs, I’m sure one of them noggin-knockers would be able to spout enough nonsense lex to explain their theory. It didn’t matter, nobody knew why their dear sweetly auntie suddenly grew fangs or claws or what have you. On home sod, it was devastating. There was just one moon, see. When it was full, it was all over for the Lycanitics. Roar, slash, bite, ravage, you get the picture.
This threw ol’ Terra for a dipper. Ultra-churches were calling for the extermination of the “demon scuzzes” with their brainscrubbed llama-goers bleating the chorus, the gov’t was pondosing full-moon jails with silver bars, when a group of peeples came forth with – awemazingly – a good, solid idea. Somehow the communitilats called “furries” brained out that if a place has more than one moon, the effect was snuffed. You know, like, instead of being the death-claw murder beast, you become the lion-shaped wierdie.
It took longer than you’d think for the gov’t to add 1 and 1 and arriveling with 3. One of the gonzo bust livo-spheres was called Callisto III. One of the far-outs, cold, dark. Some drippy corp called Apple – bonzo dumbo name, heh? Thought it’d be the ultimate space-out zone. Threw a few extendo-domes out there, flew goblets of wads down the hopperhole making room for hundreds. Ended going ass-up, nobody wanted to dive Callisto when Ganymede had sand avalanche skiiboarding and perpetual hedonism laws. It sat cold and dark until Earth figured out they could flushdump their undesirees there. Seven moons. Small moons, but still, they were in a cycle where there was always a moon out – always – but never more than three.
The gov’t lists it as Callisto III, peeps totes shake it as Furry. Anyone transing into any animal gets packlocked on the next transpote. I woke one morning on the transpote – don’t remember turning into a bear, apparently I ralphed a lot of val stuff before they tranqstabbed me and rockered me to Furry. Been here a couple ten-circles now, most everyone’s some sorta Lycanitic, gators and tigers and of course wolves. A few other ursanthropes here – bonzo dumb name, not my shake, but we’re friendly. Furry’s medium dope, there’s a few animal-sheeping humans who spent the wad to live among Lycanitics.
The prob is, ‘bout half a ten-circle ago, all communication from old sod stopped. Nobody knows why, and the one thing you can’t hork on Furry is a thumb lift back to Earth. Can’t even cob a transpote. Deliberatelike. No new Lycanitics either. Double prob – tonight things go heyna-shaped. Noffense to the hyenas. We’ve grokked for least six ten-circles that tonight all seven moons will be up.. SEVEN! Never more than three before!, but the promulated solution never appeared. Four moons are disploring right now. I can feel them, even though I can’t peep them. Five and six are ascendorating this very second as I tap. I'm feeling confuzzled somewhat, ha. All I can blood about is.. uh.. losing sanity. Some are bread slash happy carouse in the rage square, foolio bonzos. Feed. Some have break rage cage locked, do not think kill it will help. Stronger, losing can’t must break rage feed kill blood
(These documents were preserved by the denizens of Callisto III. We re-established contact with them more than 80 years after the Great War of 2276. The night of the seven moons was a bloodbath, but many of the strongest survived, including the one renamed Oso. We have resumed sending what they call Lycantics up. One note – the next seven moon night is in six months.)
|
|
[WP] Lycanthropes only transform when 100% of their planet’s moons are full. Callisto III, which has seven moons with varying cycles, has become a haven for this reason. However, nobody realized that each moon increases the intensity, and the moons have just aligned.
|
Dear Diary
Tomorrow is Alignment Day.
As is custom on the eve, we huddle up with hot chocolate and turn up the news, listening to the stone-faced news reader go through the astronomy behind alignment and 8 precautions for the millionth time. In an hour, we'll then take our sleep tabs, head to the basement, set the silver timed door locks, apply moonscreen lotion on each others' faces, and take turns at scary stories till we fall asleep. We'll then wake up day after tomorrow and celebrate Life Day.
That's the theory. It's overkill. Last Alignment Day, we invited Roger over and saw the celestial jackpot using silver mirrors before heading to sleep. I've seen a few people in their silverine overalls slip out for their daily jog - but for an event that occurs once in 12 and odd years I think wasting precious silverine on stupid clothes is overkill.
It's been ages since we've seen the Lycan versions of anybody around - very few people morph spontaneously - and fewer still can't afford the emergency silverine injection kits. At least, the last time one made the news was an idiot mum last Alignment that held up her baby to the window purely out of curiosity and got mauled half to death.
Aunt Beth is visiting us for Alignment and Life and has promised to take me and Stella out for dinner. Stella's four years younger and has just hit her angsty emo thirteen phase, where she draws whiskers and fangs on everything, so it's not fun to be around her. Though Aunt Beth does say when I'm done being a teenager I'll love my sister again.
Anyway, sleep awaits.
(end of recording)
|
For the first time in a long time, I was afraid.
As lycanthropes, our animalistic power often got the better of us, whether we liked it or not. When the majority of our kind lived on Earth, we were known as a nuisance. People often were hurt on those nights, but no one was ever killed. We always had some semblance of control after all.
Still, no one really liked us. We could tell they wanted to get rid of us as soon as possible.
It wasn’t until some scientists discovered the inner workings of our biology that a solution became apparent. All of the moons of a planet had to be full for a transformation to occur. The solution? Find a new planet.
And so we did.
Callisto III was supposed to be our safe haven. What are the chances that seven very different moons all became full at once?
Unlikely, but not impossible.
I lay in my bed that night. One of the seven moons shining in through my open window. A light breeze swirled through the room causing a chill to shoot through my body. I pulled the wool blanket up to my nose, but nothing seemed to stave off the blasted cold.
How I wished at that moment that I could take on my animal form.
*Be careful what you wish for.*
A low voice echoed in my head. Not a moment later, an agonizing pain shot through my entire body from my head to my toes.
My hands grabbed my head as a burning pain slowly crescendoed inside. It consumed any other thoughts that dared to appear.
When I felt pin pricks start to scatter across my skin, I knew what was happening. The transformation never felt right, but this felt utterly terrible.
My mind scrambled to regain control of my body. The smell of blood tainted the air as my fingernails dug into my palms and my top teeth clamped against my bottom lip.
*Give in to it.*
That damned voice boomed in my mind.
“No,” I managed to strangle out through the pain. Everything in me knew this was wrong.
But that didn’t stop it.
Grey fur spread like a wildfire across my skin. My body cracked and groaned as it rearranged itself and grew bigger. Dagger-like claws sprouted from my fingertips while my teeth sharpened into deadly points.
By the time the agony subsided, I was gone. I watched like a spectator as my body rose to its feet. Glowing red eyes surveyed the room before landing on the open window.
Outside, howls mixed with terrified screams filled the air. A sadistic smirk spread across my face. I could only watch helplessly as my body leapt through the window to the town below.
My own screams joined the chorus of the helpless victims.
No one was safe.
|
|
[WP] You run a small, magical bookstore. If it has a name, you have it... Until a request comes in for a book that you cannot find.
|
The ding as someone walked in broke the monotony of an otherwise quiet Tuesday afternoon.
"Good evening, welcome to--"
Quinn was rarely caught off guard. But as long as he had run The Bookstore, he had never seen a seven foot tall woman with such breathtakingly pale skin wearing a black sari before.
"*Monsieur*? Are you okay?"
Quinn blinked, then glanced up at the camera right above the register. He knew that this visit was going to come up in his annual review, but he was determined to do the best he could to power through. "You're... French? I'm sorry, that doesn't matter. Welcome to The Bookstore. What can I help you with?"
The lady's smile made it clear that she was used to having that kind of impact one people.
"I'm looking for... an unusual book. I'm told you may have a copy."
Quinn inwardly sighed with relief; whatever this woman might look like, at the end of the day, providing people with what they needed was what he was best at. He glanced down at the monitor, clearing his last search, and then looked up and--
"**--Mŏ̷͍̮͇̭̜͋̄̇͝t̸̙̂̒**"
**===============**
The ding as someone walked in broke the monotony of an otherwise quiet Tuesday afternoon.
"Good evening, welcome to--"
Quinn was rarely caught off guard. But as long as he had run The Bookstore, he had never seen a seven foot tall woman with such beautifully dark skin wearing a white sari before.
"Yo. You good?"
Quinn blinked, then glanced up at the camera right above the register. He knew that this visit was going to come up in his annual review, but he was determined to do the best he could to power through. "You're... from New York City? I'm sorry, that doesn't matter. Welcome to The Bookstore. What can I help you with?"
The lady's smile made it clear that she was used to having that kind of impact one people.
"I'm looking for... an unusual book. I'm told you may have a copy."
Quinn inwardly sighed with relief, and then stopped. Something was wrong. He stared at the woman and...
"Ma'am? Do I know you?"
The smile disappeared from her face as if it had never been there. "You... remember me?"
"No, but..." Quinn found himself at a loss for words. "I don't know you. You're a total stranger. If I had met you before, I would remember. I just don't understand why I feel this way. What's going on? Who are you?"
The woman reached into thin air and her fingers *moved* and all of a sudden, there was a card in her hand. "My name is... well. Being able to remember me is no mean feat, but hearing my name is going to cause a lot more problems than it will solve. Call me Jesse."
Quinn looked at the card, then looked at the woman again. "Is this a joke? This card doesn't say anything..."
Jesse's smile returned. "You're right. The card doesn't say anything. It says *everything*. Well, almost everything. That's where you come in."
Quinn had only been half-paying attention to Jesse; somehow, the business card she had handed him was a kaleidoscope of every sound he had ever heard, every book he had ever read, everything he had ever known or forgotten and remembered. Quinn abruptly looked away from the card, realizing that Jesse had been talking the entire time.
"... because when you've been doing this for as long as I have, you start to run into problems that other people don't really experience--"
"What... what do you want from me, Jesse? Why do I feel like I know you?"
Jesse sighed. "I was wondering when we'd get to this part. We're going to have to do this fast. How many times do you think we've met?"
Quinn was nonplussed. "How... how many times? I don't understand. We've never-- but I guess we must have--"
Quinn stopped abruptly. Someone was standing... no, this was impossible. Someone was standing *inside* of where Jesse was. The black sari and the white sari were swirling in and out of existence on top of each, somehow both existing at the same time. All of a sudden, Quinn felt like his head was going to explode. This was too much. He couldn't understand. He thought he could hear Jesse speaking, but it sounded like it was coming from a thousand miles away.
"... I'm so fucking tired of linear time, hold on Quinn, just hold on--"
**===============**
The ding as someone walked in broke the monotony of an otherwise quiet Tuesday afternoon.
"Good evening, welcome to--"
The man/woman/cat/dog/llama?/dragon/angel/demon/alien who had just walked in held up a hand, stopping Quinn in mid-sentence. "No. No, no, no. I have done this 134,624 times. I no longer have time to explain. Your linear time... there are limits on how many times I may manipulate it without being noticed. You have a book, and I must have it. It is called **L̵̲̳̯͐ë̸̹́̎ ̴͚̤̲̋̓̽̈́͜͝D̸̪̰̱̒̈̂͝e̷̗̖̹͐̾r̵̺͇̫̳͘n̶̞͎̉̌̂ĩ̶̥͙̘̩̩̿e̷̘̞̘̪̾r̴̢͔̻̔̕͠ ̵̗̦̎̈̓M̷̘̱̻̑́̄̏͠o̶̢͎̳̰̦͂̄t̵͈͇͛̚**. We are not supposed to intervene, but you have every book in the multiverse. I do not know why such a thing has been allowed, but these decisions are not mine to make or understand. Now you will find that book for me, because no copies of it should exist. I am the only one who should even know, but somehow, the knowledge has been stolen from me and placed in this... *book*. You will find it. You will give it to me."
Quinn was backed up hard against the back wall. Whoever... whatever was in front of him, it kept changing appearances before he could settle down. "What... what are you? What the fuck is going on? Why are you changing? Are you going to kill me? Are you... are you Jesse?!"
"I didn't think this was possible. There are only a handful of you in the multiverse. There are only a handful who can Remember."
"Remember what?" Quinn pleaded. This was too much. He knew that sometimes people asked for books with weird titles, but this was far beyond anything he had ever imagined. He had seen Jesse's faces move, could perceive all of the words, but the title of the book just made static appear in his mind.
Before Quinn could react, Jesse reached out and Quinn felt... something beyond words. "What did you do to me?!"
Jesse's appearance had stopped shifting. Jesse was... blue. And *small*. The entity standing on his desk was no more than three feet tall. Its eyes were jet black, and the body seemed like nothing so much as a blue Ken doll. "If you are one who can Remember, then you do not need the blocks. You might even be able to understand. I need you to find me **L̵̲̳̯͐ë̸̹́̎ ̴͚̤̲̋̓̽̈́͜͝D̸̪̰̱̒̈̂͝e̷̗̖̹͐̾r̵̺͇̫̳͘n̶̞͎̉̌̂ĩ̶̥͙̘̩̩̿e̷̘̞̘̪̾r̴̢͔̻̔̕͠ ̵̗̦̎̈̓M̷̘̱̻̑́̄̏͠o̶̢͎̳̰̦͂̄t̵͈͇͛̚**.
Quinn... heard everything and nothing, all at once. It was chaos. It should have been incomprehensible, but it wasn't. "I... I understood. Let me... let me look for it." He had no idea how he was going to search for the book, but his fingers were typing on their own. As he typed, the keyboard... expanded. Characters, glyphs beyond his wildest imagination were appearing and disappearing as he searched and queried and investigated and mind-melded with databases that had never existed and would never exist and--
"I'm sorry, Jesse. We don't have it."
Jesse froze. "Search again," he commanded.
Quinn noticed absently that he was weeping. "Jesse, I just searched impossible things. I know things that... can't be. But the book you're asking for? We don't have it."
Jesse was slowly turning a darker and darker blue. "Well, WHERE IS IT?!" he screamed, and Quinn groaned as his brain turned purple and his eyes began to melt and -- and it was over.
Jesse was standing on his desk again, his blue shade back to normal. He seemed to be speaking to someone that Quinn couldn't perceive.
"Wait. Wait wait *wait*. We don't have it, but it's been... lent out? We don't lend books out, how did this even happen? I can tell you who borrowed it." *Please let that enough*, Quinn thought desperately. He didn't know how much more of this he could take.
Jesse stared at him, his eyes slowly turning a blue that matched his skin color. "Who has it?"
Quinn looked and felt the beginnings of a migraine as he stared at the name. "I don't know how to say this, but just... here. Look." Quinn turned the monitor around to show the information to Jesse.
In a moment, Jesse turned jet black and his eyes turned completely white.
"The multiverse is *fucked*."
|
"Green Eggs and Ham? Ma'am, I'm afraid you must tell me the name of a real book if you want me to find it. I'm so sorry." I looked at the woman in confusion.
"What do you mean? It's Green Eggs and Ham! How have you not heard of it?" the woman glared at me, exasperated. "It's by Dr. Seuss!"
"That would be why, ma'am. If you're looking for an academic journal written by a doctor, I'm afraid we don't offer those here. Our library currently does not have an online archive of info, though we *are* working it. I'm so sorry." I gave a polite smile, hoping this woman would just leave. Sadly, she didn't.
"Sir, I'm not sure if you're pranking me, but Dr. Seuss is not an *actual* doctor. It's simply a pen name."
"Well then, I'm sure you can find his literature somewhere else. I apologize for the inconvenience." I gave a polite nod, and smiled as brightly as I could.
"No, you've got me pissed now. How do you not know Dr. Seuss! His rhyming kids books! How are you a *librarian* and don't know of god damn *DR SEUSS*?! It's a damn tragedy, I swear! Kids these days..." she turned around, and looked around the relatively small library. "Do you have a kids section here? I'd like to take a look at it."
"Yes we do, ma'am. It's the shelf row furthest on the left, labeled 'Young Readers'. We have many stories for young readers there." I looked over the woman, just to make sure I wasn't mistaking her for someone she wasn't. She had was wearing blank white top, with some sort of band on the back, and tight fitting jeans. Her handbag was a sort of stylized mix of pink and blue.
"Well, you librarian, I would like you to show me *what* children's books you have, if you don't have things like Green Eggs and Ham. It would be very...*enlightening*, if you could do that for me." she emphasized the word with hints of sarcasm, as if she knew better about magical books then one who had been studying wizard literature for 40 years.
"Alright, ma'am. I'll show you some of my favorites." I walked down towards the children's aisle, where I picked out a few small, short, easy readers that I particularly liked. They were old- I'd been raised on a few of them myself- but they were still relevant to young wizards, and especially helpful in seeing what people at the time thought about magic. I handed a few of them over to the woman, who gawked, seemingly in insult, at what I gave her.
"*Babbitty Rabbity*? *The Tale of the Unicorn's Wand*? *The Legend of Merlin*? What are these dumb books? Who in their right mind would let children read about this... garbage? This is seriously the best you have? No classics? No Magic Treehouse? None of that *actual* children's literature? What is this odd library anyways? Why are all your customers in weird hats? I'm sorry, I must be leaving. You're going to get an awful review on yelp about this, sir!"
It was at that moment that I'd realized the kind of trouble I was in.
"Ma'am, I'm sorry, but I must show you these books in the back. I believe I have forgotten about them." I begged the woman. I didn't want to have to use force to KO her.
She stopped at the door, and paused in thought. "Alrighty, but if this is bad, I will tell all of my facebook friends about this, and they will never come to this place again. Hear me?"
"Yes ma'am. Now, if you could follow me." I led her to the back of the shop, and showed her the back rack of books. They were nothing special, but I needed her here.
"Hey, these books are nothing spe-" as she was speaking, I gave a subtle flick of my wrist, my wand taken out of my pocket, and she collapsed on the floor. The sleeping charm was perfect.
"I didn't want to do this... It's never fun." I looked down at her, and gave a circular flick of the wrist.
"Obliviate."
The memory pooped out of her head like a charm. It was brand new, so it didn't have any possibility of getting stuck in there. I picked her up with a simple "Wingardium Leviosa" and brought her to out very back room, where I called out to the other staff member, Johnny.
"Johnny, I got another one that needs memory reworking! Muggle! Could you get her?"
"Yep! Gimme a minute!"
With that, I looked back at the people in the store, all unconcerned with the muggle that had just been put to sleep and made to forget it all, and returned to the front desk to check out a customer who had been waiting.
All would be alright with the magical world.
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[WP] You run a small, magical bookstore. If it has a name, you have it... Until a request comes in for a book that you cannot find.
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The ding as someone walked in broke the monotony of an otherwise quiet Tuesday afternoon.
"Good evening, welcome to--"
Quinn was rarely caught off guard. But as long as he had run The Bookstore, he had never seen a seven foot tall woman with such breathtakingly pale skin wearing a black sari before.
"*Monsieur*? Are you okay?"
Quinn blinked, then glanced up at the camera right above the register. He knew that this visit was going to come up in his annual review, but he was determined to do the best he could to power through. "You're... French? I'm sorry, that doesn't matter. Welcome to The Bookstore. What can I help you with?"
The lady's smile made it clear that she was used to having that kind of impact one people.
"I'm looking for... an unusual book. I'm told you may have a copy."
Quinn inwardly sighed with relief; whatever this woman might look like, at the end of the day, providing people with what they needed was what he was best at. He glanced down at the monitor, clearing his last search, and then looked up and--
"**--Mŏ̷͍̮͇̭̜͋̄̇͝t̸̙̂̒**"
**===============**
The ding as someone walked in broke the monotony of an otherwise quiet Tuesday afternoon.
"Good evening, welcome to--"
Quinn was rarely caught off guard. But as long as he had run The Bookstore, he had never seen a seven foot tall woman with such beautifully dark skin wearing a white sari before.
"Yo. You good?"
Quinn blinked, then glanced up at the camera right above the register. He knew that this visit was going to come up in his annual review, but he was determined to do the best he could to power through. "You're... from New York City? I'm sorry, that doesn't matter. Welcome to The Bookstore. What can I help you with?"
The lady's smile made it clear that she was used to having that kind of impact one people.
"I'm looking for... an unusual book. I'm told you may have a copy."
Quinn inwardly sighed with relief, and then stopped. Something was wrong. He stared at the woman and...
"Ma'am? Do I know you?"
The smile disappeared from her face as if it had never been there. "You... remember me?"
"No, but..." Quinn found himself at a loss for words. "I don't know you. You're a total stranger. If I had met you before, I would remember. I just don't understand why I feel this way. What's going on? Who are you?"
The woman reached into thin air and her fingers *moved* and all of a sudden, there was a card in her hand. "My name is... well. Being able to remember me is no mean feat, but hearing my name is going to cause a lot more problems than it will solve. Call me Jesse."
Quinn looked at the card, then looked at the woman again. "Is this a joke? This card doesn't say anything..."
Jesse's smile returned. "You're right. The card doesn't say anything. It says *everything*. Well, almost everything. That's where you come in."
Quinn had only been half-paying attention to Jesse; somehow, the business card she had handed him was a kaleidoscope of every sound he had ever heard, every book he had ever read, everything he had ever known or forgotten and remembered. Quinn abruptly looked away from the card, realizing that Jesse had been talking the entire time.
"... because when you've been doing this for as long as I have, you start to run into problems that other people don't really experience--"
"What... what do you want from me, Jesse? Why do I feel like I know you?"
Jesse sighed. "I was wondering when we'd get to this part. We're going to have to do this fast. How many times do you think we've met?"
Quinn was nonplussed. "How... how many times? I don't understand. We've never-- but I guess we must have--"
Quinn stopped abruptly. Someone was standing... no, this was impossible. Someone was standing *inside* of where Jesse was. The black sari and the white sari were swirling in and out of existence on top of each, somehow both existing at the same time. All of a sudden, Quinn felt like his head was going to explode. This was too much. He couldn't understand. He thought he could hear Jesse speaking, but it sounded like it was coming from a thousand miles away.
"... I'm so fucking tired of linear time, hold on Quinn, just hold on--"
**===============**
The ding as someone walked in broke the monotony of an otherwise quiet Tuesday afternoon.
"Good evening, welcome to--"
The man/woman/cat/dog/llama?/dragon/angel/demon/alien who had just walked in held up a hand, stopping Quinn in mid-sentence. "No. No, no, no. I have done this 134,624 times. I no longer have time to explain. Your linear time... there are limits on how many times I may manipulate it without being noticed. You have a book, and I must have it. It is called **L̵̲̳̯͐ë̸̹́̎ ̴͚̤̲̋̓̽̈́͜͝D̸̪̰̱̒̈̂͝e̷̗̖̹͐̾r̵̺͇̫̳͘n̶̞͎̉̌̂ĩ̶̥͙̘̩̩̿e̷̘̞̘̪̾r̴̢͔̻̔̕͠ ̵̗̦̎̈̓M̷̘̱̻̑́̄̏͠o̶̢͎̳̰̦͂̄t̵͈͇͛̚**. We are not supposed to intervene, but you have every book in the multiverse. I do not know why such a thing has been allowed, but these decisions are not mine to make or understand. Now you will find that book for me, because no copies of it should exist. I am the only one who should even know, but somehow, the knowledge has been stolen from me and placed in this... *book*. You will find it. You will give it to me."
Quinn was backed up hard against the back wall. Whoever... whatever was in front of him, it kept changing appearances before he could settle down. "What... what are you? What the fuck is going on? Why are you changing? Are you going to kill me? Are you... are you Jesse?!"
"I didn't think this was possible. There are only a handful of you in the multiverse. There are only a handful who can Remember."
"Remember what?" Quinn pleaded. This was too much. He knew that sometimes people asked for books with weird titles, but this was far beyond anything he had ever imagined. He had seen Jesse's faces move, could perceive all of the words, but the title of the book just made static appear in his mind.
Before Quinn could react, Jesse reached out and Quinn felt... something beyond words. "What did you do to me?!"
Jesse's appearance had stopped shifting. Jesse was... blue. And *small*. The entity standing on his desk was no more than three feet tall. Its eyes were jet black, and the body seemed like nothing so much as a blue Ken doll. "If you are one who can Remember, then you do not need the blocks. You might even be able to understand. I need you to find me **L̵̲̳̯͐ë̸̹́̎ ̴͚̤̲̋̓̽̈́͜͝D̸̪̰̱̒̈̂͝e̷̗̖̹͐̾r̵̺͇̫̳͘n̶̞͎̉̌̂ĩ̶̥͙̘̩̩̿e̷̘̞̘̪̾r̴̢͔̻̔̕͠ ̵̗̦̎̈̓M̷̘̱̻̑́̄̏͠o̶̢͎̳̰̦͂̄t̵͈͇͛̚**.
Quinn... heard everything and nothing, all at once. It was chaos. It should have been incomprehensible, but it wasn't. "I... I understood. Let me... let me look for it." He had no idea how he was going to search for the book, but his fingers were typing on their own. As he typed, the keyboard... expanded. Characters, glyphs beyond his wildest imagination were appearing and disappearing as he searched and queried and investigated and mind-melded with databases that had never existed and would never exist and--
"I'm sorry, Jesse. We don't have it."
Jesse froze. "Search again," he commanded.
Quinn noticed absently that he was weeping. "Jesse, I just searched impossible things. I know things that... can't be. But the book you're asking for? We don't have it."
Jesse was slowly turning a darker and darker blue. "Well, WHERE IS IT?!" he screamed, and Quinn groaned as his brain turned purple and his eyes began to melt and -- and it was over.
Jesse was standing on his desk again, his blue shade back to normal. He seemed to be speaking to someone that Quinn couldn't perceive.
"Wait. Wait wait *wait*. We don't have it, but it's been... lent out? We don't lend books out, how did this even happen? I can tell you who borrowed it." *Please let that enough*, Quinn thought desperately. He didn't know how much more of this he could take.
Jesse stared at him, his eyes slowly turning a blue that matched his skin color. "Who has it?"
Quinn looked and felt the beginnings of a migraine as he stared at the name. "I don't know how to say this, but just... here. Look." Quinn turned the monitor around to show the information to Jesse.
In a moment, Jesse turned jet black and his eyes turned completely white.
"The multiverse is *fucked*."
|
"I have worked here since before the city was built, before the towers of steel and glass lined the streets, when this was little more than a shanty town, as opposed to the metroplex it has become in the last century, but I love it here, my little place of heaven, this bookstore. My job, my home, my life, and my precious wonderful clients.. oh.. the names I could drop, who have come though my doors looking or this or that, how happy I have made their lives, many have come to gift me for my efforts, in money, valuables, and referrals.. and so too now, you have come, and I assure you, if it exists, I have it.. oh.. in the back.. somewhere."
I can see the wealth upon her, money in the form of diamonds and gold dangle from her body, she is wearing more around her ears then some people will make in a year, and even others in their whole lifetime, and to her, I see, they are not even her best earrings, in fact, for all the wealth on her person, she looks, I hate to say it, dressed down.
She takes a overly dramatic breath like they all do, like they are going to stump me or stonewall me, and though the legion of people that have come to my store looking for this, or that, and in some cases, even one of a kind manuscripts, I have it.. I always have it.. for a price, and this lady, looks like the kind of client that will have the money to pay it.
"Inkheart.. there I said it" her lip trembles as the words come out like saying the title tore her own soul out, and for all I know, she looks like she may have.
I run my hands across the oaken counter that has been made smooth as glass from eons of use, "no" I say back to her.
She nods, I can see the tears filling her eyes as she turns to leave the store, and pauses before she exits "Why, don't you have it?" her head is down, I can see she is fighting for this one, she is looking for an answer, not so much a direct book to buy.
"Oh, it exists, in the back somewhere, it's just not for sale" I say, and I see her body relax like a world of burden has been lifted from her and she leaves the shop.
No.. No.. I could never sell that book, a book with a trapped silver tongue in it, is far too dangerous to leave this little shop, but, it seems that knowing it is still around, is enough for her.. perhaps, she lost someone into the book.. what do I know about that, all I know, is one thing, that book is not for sale.
&#x200B;
Edit: Spelling and Grammar.
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[WP] The Dark Arts are fair: for a terrible, personal price, they offer raw power. And lots of it. Self-centered villains typically renege on the contract and thus their powers fail them at a crucial moment. Now, for the first time, the heroes face someone who paid in full. The powers are all theirs
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Fools. Every one of them.
I don't like using that word. It makes me sound conceited. But in this particular circumstance, it just seems apt.
I've heard about what became of others who traversed the same path I did. In their arrogance, they believed they could defy the laws that governed the very magic they wielded. And in the end, their arrogance was their undoing.
I have no intention whatsoever to suffer a similar demise. At least, not until my work is finished.
Which is why it baffles me to no end that these fools who think themselves heroes cannot conceive that I am prepared to pay whatever price is demanded of me in exchange for the power I now wield.
"I ask you again: what is your purpose?"
He only gasps in response, desperately trying to catch his breath through all the pain that now courses through him. The rest of his companions are hardly in better condition: by now they're either laying on the floor, broken, or they are making a stain on my walls.
I grab him by his hair and lift his head, staring him dead in the eyes. He only stares back in silence, clearly seething in hatred. If looks could kill...
"Answer my question or I will break another of your bones."
He does not seem fazed by my threat, so I deliver upon it. With but a snap of my fingers, another rib fractures. He twitches in response.
"Perhaps I should break your spine instead. Maybe then you will take me seriously."
He gasps repeatedly, his breath raspy. After a few moments, he finally deigns to speak:
"We're here... to save the world."
"From what?"
"From... you."
"I see. The Alliance sent you, didn't they?"
He says nothing. He only nods in response. Clearly he's in too much pain to string too many words together.
"Do you know where we are right now?"
In confusion, he shakes his head.
"This land was once known as the Kingdom of Valantir. And upon this very spot once stood the castle of its King. It wasn't a particularly prosperous country, you see, and eventually a civil war erupted. The rest of the world watched as this country burned and did nothing. Tell me, where was the Alliance when Valantir was collapsing?"
He almost seems puzzled by my words.
"Long story short, they eventually showed up after the war ended. But only because they did not like the winner."
His eyes widen in response. Apparently he's smart enough to begin to understand where I'm going.
"When the Alliance struck, it was the final nail in Valantir's coffin. Its people either fled or died. The Alliance reaped the spoils of their victory and walked away. Now this place is but a wasteland."
Growing tired of holding his head, I drop him. His face hits the floor and he groans in pain as I turn around and walk away a few steps.
"Do you know what they did next?"
I turn around to look at him. With a bit of struggle, he manages to raise his face once more.
"In order to hide their crime, they declared this a cursed land and struck its name from the annals of history. They called their invasion a "holy crusade". In order to preserve their standing with the people, they made sure that no one came here, and that no one came out alive. When Valantir's people needed a hero to save them, the Alliance spit on their faces and danced upon their graves."
I move near him once more.
"Tell me: where were you when they needed saving?"
He can't even mutter an attempt at a response.
"How is a world saved if its people are not? Hm? How is the world at peace when the peace is built upon a foundation of lies and greed?"
I take a moment to sense my surroundings. Some of the other so-called heroes are still alive. Good.
"Now, while you mull that over for a bit, I believe you said before that you and your friends could never lose to someone who has given in to darkness. That I was alone and you were not."
I lean in closer.
"It's *because* I am alone that I have nothing left to lose."
I clap my hands together. A rumbling begins to echo through the walls.
"And soon, neither will you."
Dark hands conjured from thin air begin to sprout from the walls and the floor, grabbing those that were still alive. They begin to scream in pain as their souls are forcibly extracted from their bodies. The one laying before me looks back in horror and struggles to rise to his feet. I snap my fingers and his legs break. His screams join the cacophony as it reaches its crescendo. I close my eyes and tune out the noise as I concentrate to make sure not one soul goes to waste.
When the screaming stops, I open my eyes and see that he's the only one still alive. Tears run down his face as he glares at me, in disbelief that someone like me could even exist.
"I am almost tempted to send you home, to have you remember your failure for the rest of your days."
I conjure a sword in my hand.
"But no. I'll just give you a quick death and be done with it."
I raise my sword upon his back and aim for his heart.
"Wait!"
I hold my hand. If he has any last words, I hope they are memorable.
"This power you wield... Surely you know its price?"
His words catch me off-guard. Why would he ask me that?
"If you continue like this, the Dark Gods will devour your soul after you die! It's not too late for you!"
I take a moment to ponder his words. My answer comes out as naturally as if I had rehearsed it a million times.
"I'm counting on it."
I pierce his heart and watch as his life fades away.
The sword vanishes from my hand as I move to sit upon my throne.
As I rest, I wonder what he intended when he uttered those words. Was he desperately trying to instill fear in me? Or was he attempting to save my soul?
As if such a thing mattered at this point.
After five hundred years, I'm finally getting close. A million souls or two and I would reach my goal. I committed to my task long ago; it's too late to back down now.
I clap my hands once more. The corpses rise to their feet and slowly start to leave the room. Those bodies too broken or dismembered to serve as foot soldiers are warped away to the dungeon, to be forged into a flesh golem.
But not his corpse. I snap my fingers and it spontaneously burns in black fire.
As his remains burn, I take a small locket from one of my pockets. Opening it, I stare at the aging picture of my wife.
If I did regret anything, it was that I would not be able to meet her or our children when my work was done. My soul would have another destination, this I knew well.
The world took them from me, along with everything else, and so I will destroy it. And if my own soul must serve as the final catalyst, then so be it.
May a new world rise from its ashes when I'm gone. Hopefully, a better one.
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Well here we are, I have read stories, and legends and read history books all about simple villian craving grand objectives. But usually they try to cheat the deal, I mean really what dark sorcerer wants to end the world but excludes himself? Madness.
That won't be me, see the last time 2 kingdoms decided to go to war, their army's and so called hero's decide on a small little town as the theater of combat. They released calvary, volleys of arrows and grand magic without so much of a warning. 10 people out of a village of 57 survived that day, 6 of those managed to escape the battleground alive. And here we are, hiding in the ruins of some hunter shack trying to decide what to do.
We decided, both kingdoms will be destroyed, in exchange for the power to crush armies I will die the moment the last citizen is struck down, and my fellow escapees? They are the down payment, our humble hamlet merely the first to fall and burn.
As I write this I am hunting down the last survivors, both kingdoms armies have long since been turned to dust, their hero's scattered and beaten, and the smart ones have renounced their citizenship not that it will save them.
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[WP] The Dark Arts are fair: for a terrible, personal price, they offer raw power. And lots of it. Self-centered villains typically renege on the contract and thus their powers fail them at a crucial moment. Now, for the first time, the heroes face someone who paid in full. The powers are all theirs
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"The Will is in the Blood"
The words echo through the stone halls of the keep, drifting back to me over the heads of the so-called "heroes" guarding the decrepit old man sitting on his obsidian throne. Solemn nostalgia fills me, a brief flash as I am reminded of the first time I had heard those words. Her soft voice sweet on my ears, her warm eyes holding my heart on a late summer night. The reason for all of this.
The sound of steel being released from it's leather home pulls me back into the now, and the rage sets in as I continue.
"It's the first lesson taught and much like Maleficarum itself, the most misunderstood. It governs every ritual, every spell cast. Assurance of the purity of the wielder's intent".
I can see the weight of the situation slowly dawn in their eyes. Fear mixed with confusion. They are right to be afraid.
"Most believe that it means power comes from blood but that's only the half of it. It also means the blood you use must come from someone with the same intent as the spell. If you wish to destroy, the blood must wish it so."
My knife leaps from my belt as the Duke roars commands to the heroes. They scramble to kill me, but I am too far away. The blade cuts deep, my lifeblood flowing freely from my left wrist. It would be why I would succeed where so many other mad warlocks bleeding peasants dry against their will had failed. My time was going to run short soon, but they still won't reach me in time.
I kneel and my right hand becomes a frantic flurry, an alabaster brush painting their cruel deaths in a shock of vermilion. I had practiced the necessary runes for months prior and I transcribe them as easily as different man might breathe. An arrow buries itself in my shoulder. A feeble attempt that only hastens the inevitable.
More paint for the canvas.
With a final flourish I complete the casting sigil and place my hand in the center. Memory once again swallows me as I begin chanting the incantation.
The missive from the Duke, begging for aid. My wife, draining herself within an inch of her life to save his daughter only to be burned at the stake for "witchcraft" when it wasn't enough.
Fuel for my intent.
As the final syllables leave my tongue, I lock eyes with the Duke. I want him to know. I don't look away, not even as his own blood boils the skin from his bones.
His heroes meet the same fate, but I never get the chance to see it. As I bleed my last, my eyes find my wife, leading the darkness to embrace me.
The Will is in the Blood.
|
Well here we are, I have read stories, and legends and read history books all about simple villian craving grand objectives. But usually they try to cheat the deal, I mean really what dark sorcerer wants to end the world but excludes himself? Madness.
That won't be me, see the last time 2 kingdoms decided to go to war, their army's and so called hero's decide on a small little town as the theater of combat. They released calvary, volleys of arrows and grand magic without so much of a warning. 10 people out of a village of 57 survived that day, 6 of those managed to escape the battleground alive. And here we are, hiding in the ruins of some hunter shack trying to decide what to do.
We decided, both kingdoms will be destroyed, in exchange for the power to crush armies I will die the moment the last citizen is struck down, and my fellow escapees? They are the down payment, our humble hamlet merely the first to fall and burn.
As I write this I am hunting down the last survivors, both kingdoms armies have long since been turned to dust, their hero's scattered and beaten, and the smart ones have renounced their citizenship not that it will save them.
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[WP] The Dark Arts are fair: for a terrible, personal price, they offer raw power. And lots of it. Self-centered villains typically renege on the contract and thus their powers fail them at a crucial moment. Now, for the first time, the heroes face someone who paid in full. The powers are all theirs
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Wars in centuries past had been fought by witchcraft and mystical prowess. A flow of mana or aether or whatever magic hoo ha they called it would give them strength, but no one ever wanted to give it up. So when I was finally confronted by Ashlock, the contract master, I knew that i couldn’t skimp on the payment. Usually this entails figments of ones being, such as a hand, an eye, parts of the soul, or otherwise. But all these things could be circumvented through magic, so I gave up the one thing that could never be gotten back.
“Ashlock! I offer you my total ability to control the mystics around me!” I cried into the void.
“My power over darkness is great, but you can grant me more, so take my mystical abilities in exchange for greater power!”
A spark ignited in the air in front of me. From that spark, a blaze of black fire engulfed me. It wasn’t hot though, more like cold ribbons, brushing lightly against me. But as the fire burned, I could feel my magic powers fading. I crumpled, not realizing how much I actually relied on my powers. I was breathless, crippled, and blind. All of my senses were removed, and I felt like a husk.
But I was alive. I was still conscious, and thinking. Yes… thinking. I could imagine new ways of moving. Imagine… imagining ideas. Ideas that could create and destroy. Ideas that would change war all together. I couldn’t move, but my mind was abuzz with thoughts. My trade had been complete, my magic was gone, but now I understood more. I had gained wisdom.
My muscles had atrophied from years of relying on magic. Had I really just been been levitating everywhere? Now that I think of it, I had made hundreds of mistakes in my life. I made enemies of the citadel. I had burned many good relationships. I had misused my many years trying to acquire as much power as possible. My only good choice was giving up that power. My mind was free, and the thoughts that clouded my vision were gone. But I was stuck. My body lay broken. There was no way out of- Yes there was. My voice still worked, and Ashlock was still there…
“Ashlock…” I whispered, with a throat that felt full of broken glass.
“My arm… I offer my arm in trade for the ability to walk.”
…
No response.
Perhaps he only permitted one trade per individual. Or maybe he had simply left. I couldn’t just sit and wait though, I needed to-
In that moment, I felt my left arm burning in agony. I would’ve cried in pain, but in actuality I was relieved. I knew that once the pain was gone, I would be able to leave this wretched place.
That same black fire wrapped itself around my arm. I watched in agony as it burned away, not even bones remaining. I had never experienced such pain before, but it was completely bearable, since I knew the end result would be life. What I did not expect, was that the flames spread all over my body. What seemed to be the ash from my burned arm, was layering itself on every other muscle and joint in my body. It was a strange feeling, having your muscles grow faster than ever before, but it was definitely a welcome one. My legs could move once again, my other arm could push and grab, my body was no longer broken… save for the missing limb.
As I collected myself, and slowly walked out of the cave, I thought of ways to get back my arm, replacements for such a thing as precious as ones own being. But I reminded myself that those before me had fallen because they had tried to circumvent the payment, so I simply accepted my loss, and went on my way.
As I arrived at my tower, I realized it too had been stripped of its magic. I suppose it makes sense, I did imbue it with my essence when I had magic. But now I needed to transform it into something new. Something I could work with. A large space where I could tinker with my ideas. So I renovated. Removed everything mystical, which was actually a lot more than I thought. Did I really need an enchanted chamber pot?
The next few months I spent in solitude. Fabricating my ideas, and building my new power. This world was too reliant on magic, I learned that from my own experience. So perhaps if I could become immune, I could have zero resistance…
*two years later*
The furnaces billowing, the machines whirring, and the automatons working. My legion of perfection was nigh ready. The wisdom was the greatest gift ever, for my unending battalion would be completely unmatched. Each soldier was designed, birthed in a pod, and compleated into a mechanical masterpiece. I had harnessed the fundamental aspects of reality, and could bend them to my desires. No magic power could stop me, and no magic power was necessary. Everything worked on science and physics. Nothing could take my power away, as there was nothing to take in the first place. My power came from my knowledge, and my legions would walk over the world. As the warriors opposed me, there was nothing they could do.
“CRONUS! THESE THINGS ARE TOO POWERFUL! WE NEED TO RETREAT!” Shouted a green robed wizard in the crowd. Perhaps in his hometown, he was an incredibly powerful force, but his vines could do no harm to my war machines, as they chopped through his barriers as though they were never there.
“NO! WE CANT LET THEM REACH THE PALACE, WE MUCH STOP THEM! THEY HAVE TO HAVE A WEAKNESS!” Except they didn’t. Their efforts were in vain. Nothing they could do would stop me. The time wizard could only slow them, but not stop them. I saw now what a fool I was
to rely on such pitiful powers in the first place.
Nothing could stop them, and describing the resistance would be pointless, since no damage was ever made. Just one of my dreadnoughts would be enough to topple an empire, I had thousands. Those who proclaimed themselves as gods would be reduced to gnats.
None even come close to opposing my mechanical men. And should the day come where magic does surpass me, just know I haven’t even come close to my true potential.
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Well here we are, I have read stories, and legends and read history books all about simple villian craving grand objectives. But usually they try to cheat the deal, I mean really what dark sorcerer wants to end the world but excludes himself? Madness.
That won't be me, see the last time 2 kingdoms decided to go to war, their army's and so called hero's decide on a small little town as the theater of combat. They released calvary, volleys of arrows and grand magic without so much of a warning. 10 people out of a village of 57 survived that day, 6 of those managed to escape the battleground alive. And here we are, hiding in the ruins of some hunter shack trying to decide what to do.
We decided, both kingdoms will be destroyed, in exchange for the power to crush armies I will die the moment the last citizen is struck down, and my fellow escapees? They are the down payment, our humble hamlet merely the first to fall and burn.
As I write this I am hunting down the last survivors, both kingdoms armies have long since been turned to dust, their hero's scattered and beaten, and the smart ones have renounced their citizenship not that it will save them.
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[WP] The Dark Arts are fair: for a terrible, personal price, they offer raw power. And lots of it. Self-centered villains typically renege on the contract and thus their powers fail them at a crucial moment. Now, for the first time, the heroes face someone who paid in full. The powers are all theirs
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Fools. Every one of them.
I don't like using that word. It makes me sound conceited. But in this particular circumstance, it just seems apt.
I've heard about what became of others who traversed the same path I did. In their arrogance, they believed they could defy the laws that governed the very magic they wielded. And in the end, their arrogance was their undoing.
I have no intention whatsoever to suffer a similar demise. At least, not until my work is finished.
Which is why it baffles me to no end that these fools who think themselves heroes cannot conceive that I am prepared to pay whatever price is demanded of me in exchange for the power I now wield.
"I ask you again: what is your purpose?"
He only gasps in response, desperately trying to catch his breath through all the pain that now courses through him. The rest of his companions are hardly in better condition: by now they're either laying on the floor, broken, or they are making a stain on my walls.
I grab him by his hair and lift his head, staring him dead in the eyes. He only stares back in silence, clearly seething in hatred. If looks could kill...
"Answer my question or I will break another of your bones."
He does not seem fazed by my threat, so I deliver upon it. With but a snap of my fingers, another rib fractures. He twitches in response.
"Perhaps I should break your spine instead. Maybe then you will take me seriously."
He gasps repeatedly, his breath raspy. After a few moments, he finally deigns to speak:
"We're here... to save the world."
"From what?"
"From... you."
"I see. The Alliance sent you, didn't they?"
He says nothing. He only nods in response. Clearly he's in too much pain to string too many words together.
"Do you know where we are right now?"
In confusion, he shakes his head.
"This land was once known as the Kingdom of Valantir. And upon this very spot once stood the castle of its King. It wasn't a particularly prosperous country, you see, and eventually a civil war erupted. The rest of the world watched as this country burned and did nothing. Tell me, where was the Alliance when Valantir was collapsing?"
He almost seems puzzled by my words.
"Long story short, they eventually showed up after the war ended. But only because they did not like the winner."
His eyes widen in response. Apparently he's smart enough to begin to understand where I'm going.
"When the Alliance struck, it was the final nail in Valantir's coffin. Its people either fled or died. The Alliance reaped the spoils of their victory and walked away. Now this place is but a wasteland."
Growing tired of holding his head, I drop him. His face hits the floor and he groans in pain as I turn around and walk away a few steps.
"Do you know what they did next?"
I turn around to look at him. With a bit of struggle, he manages to raise his face once more.
"In order to hide their crime, they declared this a cursed land and struck its name from the annals of history. They called their invasion a "holy crusade". In order to preserve their standing with the people, they made sure that no one came here, and that no one came out alive. When Valantir's people needed a hero to save them, the Alliance spit on their faces and danced upon their graves."
I move near him once more.
"Tell me: where were you when they needed saving?"
He can't even mutter an attempt at a response.
"How is a world saved if its people are not? Hm? How is the world at peace when the peace is built upon a foundation of lies and greed?"
I take a moment to sense my surroundings. Some of the other so-called heroes are still alive. Good.
"Now, while you mull that over for a bit, I believe you said before that you and your friends could never lose to someone who has given in to darkness. That I was alone and you were not."
I lean in closer.
"It's *because* I am alone that I have nothing left to lose."
I clap my hands together. A rumbling begins to echo through the walls.
"And soon, neither will you."
Dark hands conjured from thin air begin to sprout from the walls and the floor, grabbing those that were still alive. They begin to scream in pain as their souls are forcibly extracted from their bodies. The one laying before me looks back in horror and struggles to rise to his feet. I snap my fingers and his legs break. His screams join the cacophony as it reaches its crescendo. I close my eyes and tune out the noise as I concentrate to make sure not one soul goes to waste.
When the screaming stops, I open my eyes and see that he's the only one still alive. Tears run down his face as he glares at me, in disbelief that someone like me could even exist.
"I am almost tempted to send you home, to have you remember your failure for the rest of your days."
I conjure a sword in my hand.
"But no. I'll just give you a quick death and be done with it."
I raise my sword upon his back and aim for his heart.
"Wait!"
I hold my hand. If he has any last words, I hope they are memorable.
"This power you wield... Surely you know its price?"
His words catch me off-guard. Why would he ask me that?
"If you continue like this, the Dark Gods will devour your soul after you die! It's not too late for you!"
I take a moment to ponder his words. My answer comes out as naturally as if I had rehearsed it a million times.
"I'm counting on it."
I pierce his heart and watch as his life fades away.
The sword vanishes from my hand as I move to sit upon my throne.
As I rest, I wonder what he intended when he uttered those words. Was he desperately trying to instill fear in me? Or was he attempting to save my soul?
As if such a thing mattered at this point.
After five hundred years, I'm finally getting close. A million souls or two and I would reach my goal. I committed to my task long ago; it's too late to back down now.
I clap my hands once more. The corpses rise to their feet and slowly start to leave the room. Those bodies too broken or dismembered to serve as foot soldiers are warped away to the dungeon, to be forged into a flesh golem.
But not his corpse. I snap my fingers and it spontaneously burns in black fire.
As his remains burn, I take a small locket from one of my pockets. Opening it, I stare at the aging picture of my wife.
If I did regret anything, it was that I would not be able to meet her or our children when my work was done. My soul would have another destination, this I knew well.
The world took them from me, along with everything else, and so I will destroy it. And if my own soul must serve as the final catalyst, then so be it.
May a new world rise from its ashes when I'm gone. Hopefully, a better one.
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Tick tock, tick tock. Eyeing the frozen heroes, Bhalren took a long sip from a still warm cup of tea. It was annoying, really, having heroes bust down your doors on a monthly basis. They were imported Italian Maple! Sure they splintered and exploded spectacularly when Manga Man used his super human strength, or when Ion destablized the molecular bonds for easier destruction, but turning back time, even localized, was harder than stopping it. Standing at full height as he placed his mug in the well worn ring dent on his desk, he fixed his ebony silk suit before speaking.
"Time and time, and *time* again, you heroes do not do as I ask. Do you have any idea how expensive a set of doors that large costs? The logistics it takes?" He began to pace from his desk, to the frozen heroes, and back to his desk as he continued speaking. "I live here on the 69th floor, for easier access for you heroes, and to lessen the collateral damage you *would* have incurred had I taken to the ground floor, or heavens forbid I take a page out of Mole Man's book, and live under ground." He waited for a response, before taking a deep breath in and out, remembering the situation. "Right. Seeing how you all basically have no choice, I will give you a choice. We are going to do this again. And I cannot stress this enough. Use the doors. *Properly.*" He spoke stern, as he sat back in his chair.
Making an entrance is always important, but Bhalren knew that making a presence was more important. He wanted them to appreciate the sight behind him, how the setting sun shone through the ceiling high glass, and the mass of the sun being focused through the ornate carving at the top of his chair. Then again, none of the heroes did appreciate anything he had. With slow counter clockwise rotations of an index fingers, the heroes reversed their motions to just outside the door, the splinters of the dark stained wood slowly reconstituting itself back into a complete set of doors once again. There was a knock, the acoustics of the room assisted Bhalren in speaking "Come in!" As the door opened enough for a person to walk in, a flash of color streaked past, but Bhalren saw him. The look on Hypersonic's face was very memorable, especially when holding him frozen in time, mid evisceration. He sought to commemorate this moment with a picture, as he restated to the stubborn heroes "I said come in. Don't bother fighting, lets be civil shall we?" *Camera shutter click*
The heroes did their best to hide their reactions, but it wasn't possible. "Release our friend, you Fiend." Demanded Ion. Bhalren thought out loud how cute Ion looked in his spandex, trying to be tough and demanding in front of his friends. He knew The Mystic was reading his thoughts, he allowed her to. "Have a seat, heroes. You didn't bust down my doors again, so I will release your friend in good health, if you just sit down." And they did. With the press of a button, the ceiling tall shutter came down a blocked out direct sunlight from behind him. The discordant screams of Hypersonic having time reversed to before his harm was music to Bhalren's ears, but a deal is a deal. "There you go, one friend in good health. Now, what exactly are you here for. I am a busy person, and while I have all the time in the world, it does not mean I will callously waste it." He sat back into his chair, sipping tea from his mug that didn't decrease in level. Ion spoke up, the self centered little snot. "We demand to know how you're giving power to these new villains. It's almost as if every time we defeat one and lock him away, another takes his place. We know you're behind it!" He punctuated with a forceful fist slamming on the arm chair. The air hung with a slight pause, before Bhalren began "Right, well first off, I know it has been a rather difficult back and forth between us. Even more so since the city learned I hung up the ol' metaphorical mask and cape to make the city better through my own means. Thank you for recognizing my power and status now, but I must insist, I am not granting them power." He took one more sip from his mug of tea, letting out under his breath "Never gets old, but enough of this" and taps the mug and places it back in the well worn ring.
"Bulls-" was all Ion could get out, now frozen mid sentence, mid threatening stance. Another photo taken, his face was ridiculous! "Enough from you." Bhalren said, casting glances to the rest of the heroes. Hypersonic, The Mystic, Manufactory, they all recoiled in fear, he could smell it. With a clap of his hands, Ion disappeared in an instant. "I'm not sure, should I use Ion's face, or Hypersonic's face as my new PC background? Decisions decisions...that aside, I will state again. I did not give them power. If I did so, I would be weakening myself. Do you all really think I want more of *me* running around? Gods no." He relaxed back in his chair, steepling his fingers. The Mystic finally spoke up. "But aren't you their god or something?" An innocent question that required Bhalren to restrain his almost instant knee jerk reaction. "No, I am not a God. I am not any form of heavenly or hellish host. To do so would to blaspheme and invoke trouble at my doorstep. Do you remember that up and coming villain? The one known as Matteus? Funny famous last words, was it not?" He remembered that scene vividly, almost replaying the event in his head, but Bhalren had guests, he had no time to reminisce. With a deep sigh, he pulled from the hidden door of his desk a tray of orange slices. "Here, you will need these. To explain what you all came here for, the contract is legally binding. There are rules, stipulations, intricacies, certain liabilities one must absolutely follow. These new villains see me, and they want what I have. Dranyu-thr'ekk uses me as a very tantalizing example to lure in new candidates. It's why you lot and the motley crew around the world seem to beat them time and time again. They don't have the guts to pay in full." Bhalren sensed their nervous systems pulsed with fear, a delicious feeling he could never tire of.
No reply came from them, only now sullen nods of acknowledgment. At this, Bhalren pulled out and rolled across the table a full orange. "Well, if nothing else, I do believe we are done here. Make sure Ion eats the orange, rind and all. You all feel dizzy, do you not? Imagine how he's feeling right now. Speaking of whom..." Bhalren snapped his fingers. "I had almost forgotten to unpause him. I hope you all have an interesting day." The heroes stood up, and walked out the door, closing it behind them. As the sun had set, a figure stood up from the column of shadow the shutter cast. "Having fun?" asked the figure playfully. He snickered a bit, he was in fact having fun. "Very much so. Sometimes I forget that such matters are now beneath me, and yet I find more enjoyment utilizing what I have if I'm at the very forefront." Bhalren now folded his fingers together, looking wistfully at a now empty and cold mug. "I will be watching, through the shadows. You are my favorite after all. How do you your mortals say? Poster Child?" The inquisitive smile hung, the room almost turning and tilting. "Yes, that sounds about right for their colloquialisms." Bhalren returned, finding that the figure was no longer there. But he knew. Taking a moment for himself, he looked at the masterfully carved Italian maple doors, and the quality of his similar material desk. "I wonder what else I should have made from that wood... Ooooh but I am *not* looking forward to what will happen five days from now...it's always the little things..." Bhalren trailed off as the sounds of the city began to overtake the silence.
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[WP] The Dark Arts are fair: for a terrible, personal price, they offer raw power. And lots of it. Self-centered villains typically renege on the contract and thus their powers fail them at a crucial moment. Now, for the first time, the heroes face someone who paid in full. The powers are all theirs
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"The Will is in the Blood"
The words echo through the stone halls of the keep, drifting back to me over the heads of the so-called "heroes" guarding the decrepit old man sitting on his obsidian throne. Solemn nostalgia fills me, a brief flash as I am reminded of the first time I had heard those words. Her soft voice sweet on my ears, her warm eyes holding my heart on a late summer night. The reason for all of this.
The sound of steel being released from it's leather home pulls me back into the now, and the rage sets in as I continue.
"It's the first lesson taught and much like Maleficarum itself, the most misunderstood. It governs every ritual, every spell cast. Assurance of the purity of the wielder's intent".
I can see the weight of the situation slowly dawn in their eyes. Fear mixed with confusion. They are right to be afraid.
"Most believe that it means power comes from blood but that's only the half of it. It also means the blood you use must come from someone with the same intent as the spell. If you wish to destroy, the blood must wish it so."
My knife leaps from my belt as the Duke roars commands to the heroes. They scramble to kill me, but I am too far away. The blade cuts deep, my lifeblood flowing freely from my left wrist. It would be why I would succeed where so many other mad warlocks bleeding peasants dry against their will had failed. My time was going to run short soon, but they still won't reach me in time.
I kneel and my right hand becomes a frantic flurry, an alabaster brush painting their cruel deaths in a shock of vermilion. I had practiced the necessary runes for months prior and I transcribe them as easily as different man might breathe. An arrow buries itself in my shoulder. A feeble attempt that only hastens the inevitable.
More paint for the canvas.
With a final flourish I complete the casting sigil and place my hand in the center. Memory once again swallows me as I begin chanting the incantation.
The missive from the Duke, begging for aid. My wife, draining herself within an inch of her life to save his daughter only to be burned at the stake for "witchcraft" when it wasn't enough.
Fuel for my intent.
As the final syllables leave my tongue, I lock eyes with the Duke. I want him to know. I don't look away, not even as his own blood boils the skin from his bones.
His heroes meet the same fate, but I never get the chance to see it. As I bleed my last, my eyes find my wife, leading the darkness to embrace me.
The Will is in the Blood.
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Tick tock, tick tock. Eyeing the frozen heroes, Bhalren took a long sip from a still warm cup of tea. It was annoying, really, having heroes bust down your doors on a monthly basis. They were imported Italian Maple! Sure they splintered and exploded spectacularly when Manga Man used his super human strength, or when Ion destablized the molecular bonds for easier destruction, but turning back time, even localized, was harder than stopping it. Standing at full height as he placed his mug in the well worn ring dent on his desk, he fixed his ebony silk suit before speaking.
"Time and time, and *time* again, you heroes do not do as I ask. Do you have any idea how expensive a set of doors that large costs? The logistics it takes?" He began to pace from his desk, to the frozen heroes, and back to his desk as he continued speaking. "I live here on the 69th floor, for easier access for you heroes, and to lessen the collateral damage you *would* have incurred had I taken to the ground floor, or heavens forbid I take a page out of Mole Man's book, and live under ground." He waited for a response, before taking a deep breath in and out, remembering the situation. "Right. Seeing how you all basically have no choice, I will give you a choice. We are going to do this again. And I cannot stress this enough. Use the doors. *Properly.*" He spoke stern, as he sat back in his chair.
Making an entrance is always important, but Bhalren knew that making a presence was more important. He wanted them to appreciate the sight behind him, how the setting sun shone through the ceiling high glass, and the mass of the sun being focused through the ornate carving at the top of his chair. Then again, none of the heroes did appreciate anything he had. With slow counter clockwise rotations of an index fingers, the heroes reversed their motions to just outside the door, the splinters of the dark stained wood slowly reconstituting itself back into a complete set of doors once again. There was a knock, the acoustics of the room assisted Bhalren in speaking "Come in!" As the door opened enough for a person to walk in, a flash of color streaked past, but Bhalren saw him. The look on Hypersonic's face was very memorable, especially when holding him frozen in time, mid evisceration. He sought to commemorate this moment with a picture, as he restated to the stubborn heroes "I said come in. Don't bother fighting, lets be civil shall we?" *Camera shutter click*
The heroes did their best to hide their reactions, but it wasn't possible. "Release our friend, you Fiend." Demanded Ion. Bhalren thought out loud how cute Ion looked in his spandex, trying to be tough and demanding in front of his friends. He knew The Mystic was reading his thoughts, he allowed her to. "Have a seat, heroes. You didn't bust down my doors again, so I will release your friend in good health, if you just sit down." And they did. With the press of a button, the ceiling tall shutter came down a blocked out direct sunlight from behind him. The discordant screams of Hypersonic having time reversed to before his harm was music to Bhalren's ears, but a deal is a deal. "There you go, one friend in good health. Now, what exactly are you here for. I am a busy person, and while I have all the time in the world, it does not mean I will callously waste it." He sat back into his chair, sipping tea from his mug that didn't decrease in level. Ion spoke up, the self centered little snot. "We demand to know how you're giving power to these new villains. It's almost as if every time we defeat one and lock him away, another takes his place. We know you're behind it!" He punctuated with a forceful fist slamming on the arm chair. The air hung with a slight pause, before Bhalren began "Right, well first off, I know it has been a rather difficult back and forth between us. Even more so since the city learned I hung up the ol' metaphorical mask and cape to make the city better through my own means. Thank you for recognizing my power and status now, but I must insist, I am not granting them power." He took one more sip from his mug of tea, letting out under his breath "Never gets old, but enough of this" and taps the mug and places it back in the well worn ring.
"Bulls-" was all Ion could get out, now frozen mid sentence, mid threatening stance. Another photo taken, his face was ridiculous! "Enough from you." Bhalren said, casting glances to the rest of the heroes. Hypersonic, The Mystic, Manufactory, they all recoiled in fear, he could smell it. With a clap of his hands, Ion disappeared in an instant. "I'm not sure, should I use Ion's face, or Hypersonic's face as my new PC background? Decisions decisions...that aside, I will state again. I did not give them power. If I did so, I would be weakening myself. Do you all really think I want more of *me* running around? Gods no." He relaxed back in his chair, steepling his fingers. The Mystic finally spoke up. "But aren't you their god or something?" An innocent question that required Bhalren to restrain his almost instant knee jerk reaction. "No, I am not a God. I am not any form of heavenly or hellish host. To do so would to blaspheme and invoke trouble at my doorstep. Do you remember that up and coming villain? The one known as Matteus? Funny famous last words, was it not?" He remembered that scene vividly, almost replaying the event in his head, but Bhalren had guests, he had no time to reminisce. With a deep sigh, he pulled from the hidden door of his desk a tray of orange slices. "Here, you will need these. To explain what you all came here for, the contract is legally binding. There are rules, stipulations, intricacies, certain liabilities one must absolutely follow. These new villains see me, and they want what I have. Dranyu-thr'ekk uses me as a very tantalizing example to lure in new candidates. It's why you lot and the motley crew around the world seem to beat them time and time again. They don't have the guts to pay in full." Bhalren sensed their nervous systems pulsed with fear, a delicious feeling he could never tire of.
No reply came from them, only now sullen nods of acknowledgment. At this, Bhalren pulled out and rolled across the table a full orange. "Well, if nothing else, I do believe we are done here. Make sure Ion eats the orange, rind and all. You all feel dizzy, do you not? Imagine how he's feeling right now. Speaking of whom..." Bhalren snapped his fingers. "I had almost forgotten to unpause him. I hope you all have an interesting day." The heroes stood up, and walked out the door, closing it behind them. As the sun had set, a figure stood up from the column of shadow the shutter cast. "Having fun?" asked the figure playfully. He snickered a bit, he was in fact having fun. "Very much so. Sometimes I forget that such matters are now beneath me, and yet I find more enjoyment utilizing what I have if I'm at the very forefront." Bhalren now folded his fingers together, looking wistfully at a now empty and cold mug. "I will be watching, through the shadows. You are my favorite after all. How do you your mortals say? Poster Child?" The inquisitive smile hung, the room almost turning and tilting. "Yes, that sounds about right for their colloquialisms." Bhalren returned, finding that the figure was no longer there. But he knew. Taking a moment for himself, he looked at the masterfully carved Italian maple doors, and the quality of his similar material desk. "I wonder what else I should have made from that wood... Ooooh but I am *not* looking forward to what will happen five days from now...it's always the little things..." Bhalren trailed off as the sounds of the city began to overtake the silence.
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[WP] The Dark Arts are fair: for a terrible, personal price, they offer raw power. And lots of it. Self-centered villains typically renege on the contract and thus their powers fail them at a crucial moment. Now, for the first time, the heroes face someone who paid in full. The powers are all theirs
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Wars in centuries past had been fought by witchcraft and mystical prowess. A flow of mana or aether or whatever magic hoo ha they called it would give them strength, but no one ever wanted to give it up. So when I was finally confronted by Ashlock, the contract master, I knew that i couldn’t skimp on the payment. Usually this entails figments of ones being, such as a hand, an eye, parts of the soul, or otherwise. But all these things could be circumvented through magic, so I gave up the one thing that could never be gotten back.
“Ashlock! I offer you my total ability to control the mystics around me!” I cried into the void.
“My power over darkness is great, but you can grant me more, so take my mystical abilities in exchange for greater power!”
A spark ignited in the air in front of me. From that spark, a blaze of black fire engulfed me. It wasn’t hot though, more like cold ribbons, brushing lightly against me. But as the fire burned, I could feel my magic powers fading. I crumpled, not realizing how much I actually relied on my powers. I was breathless, crippled, and blind. All of my senses were removed, and I felt like a husk.
But I was alive. I was still conscious, and thinking. Yes… thinking. I could imagine new ways of moving. Imagine… imagining ideas. Ideas that could create and destroy. Ideas that would change war all together. I couldn’t move, but my mind was abuzz with thoughts. My trade had been complete, my magic was gone, but now I understood more. I had gained wisdom.
My muscles had atrophied from years of relying on magic. Had I really just been been levitating everywhere? Now that I think of it, I had made hundreds of mistakes in my life. I made enemies of the citadel. I had burned many good relationships. I had misused my many years trying to acquire as much power as possible. My only good choice was giving up that power. My mind was free, and the thoughts that clouded my vision were gone. But I was stuck. My body lay broken. There was no way out of- Yes there was. My voice still worked, and Ashlock was still there…
“Ashlock…” I whispered, with a throat that felt full of broken glass.
“My arm… I offer my arm in trade for the ability to walk.”
…
No response.
Perhaps he only permitted one trade per individual. Or maybe he had simply left. I couldn’t just sit and wait though, I needed to-
In that moment, I felt my left arm burning in agony. I would’ve cried in pain, but in actuality I was relieved. I knew that once the pain was gone, I would be able to leave this wretched place.
That same black fire wrapped itself around my arm. I watched in agony as it burned away, not even bones remaining. I had never experienced such pain before, but it was completely bearable, since I knew the end result would be life. What I did not expect, was that the flames spread all over my body. What seemed to be the ash from my burned arm, was layering itself on every other muscle and joint in my body. It was a strange feeling, having your muscles grow faster than ever before, but it was definitely a welcome one. My legs could move once again, my other arm could push and grab, my body was no longer broken… save for the missing limb.
As I collected myself, and slowly walked out of the cave, I thought of ways to get back my arm, replacements for such a thing as precious as ones own being. But I reminded myself that those before me had fallen because they had tried to circumvent the payment, so I simply accepted my loss, and went on my way.
As I arrived at my tower, I realized it too had been stripped of its magic. I suppose it makes sense, I did imbue it with my essence when I had magic. But now I needed to transform it into something new. Something I could work with. A large space where I could tinker with my ideas. So I renovated. Removed everything mystical, which was actually a lot more than I thought. Did I really need an enchanted chamber pot?
The next few months I spent in solitude. Fabricating my ideas, and building my new power. This world was too reliant on magic, I learned that from my own experience. So perhaps if I could become immune, I could have zero resistance…
*two years later*
The furnaces billowing, the machines whirring, and the automatons working. My legion of perfection was nigh ready. The wisdom was the greatest gift ever, for my unending battalion would be completely unmatched. Each soldier was designed, birthed in a pod, and compleated into a mechanical masterpiece. I had harnessed the fundamental aspects of reality, and could bend them to my desires. No magic power could stop me, and no magic power was necessary. Everything worked on science and physics. Nothing could take my power away, as there was nothing to take in the first place. My power came from my knowledge, and my legions would walk over the world. As the warriors opposed me, there was nothing they could do.
“CRONUS! THESE THINGS ARE TOO POWERFUL! WE NEED TO RETREAT!” Shouted a green robed wizard in the crowd. Perhaps in his hometown, he was an incredibly powerful force, but his vines could do no harm to my war machines, as they chopped through his barriers as though they were never there.
“NO! WE CANT LET THEM REACH THE PALACE, WE MUCH STOP THEM! THEY HAVE TO HAVE A WEAKNESS!” Except they didn’t. Their efforts were in vain. Nothing they could do would stop me. The time wizard could only slow them, but not stop them. I saw now what a fool I was
to rely on such pitiful powers in the first place.
Nothing could stop them, and describing the resistance would be pointless, since no damage was ever made. Just one of my dreadnoughts would be enough to topple an empire, I had thousands. Those who proclaimed themselves as gods would be reduced to gnats.
None even come close to opposing my mechanical men. And should the day come where magic does surpass me, just know I haven’t even come close to my true potential.
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Tick tock, tick tock. Eyeing the frozen heroes, Bhalren took a long sip from a still warm cup of tea. It was annoying, really, having heroes bust down your doors on a monthly basis. They were imported Italian Maple! Sure they splintered and exploded spectacularly when Manga Man used his super human strength, or when Ion destablized the molecular bonds for easier destruction, but turning back time, even localized, was harder than stopping it. Standing at full height as he placed his mug in the well worn ring dent on his desk, he fixed his ebony silk suit before speaking.
"Time and time, and *time* again, you heroes do not do as I ask. Do you have any idea how expensive a set of doors that large costs? The logistics it takes?" He began to pace from his desk, to the frozen heroes, and back to his desk as he continued speaking. "I live here on the 69th floor, for easier access for you heroes, and to lessen the collateral damage you *would* have incurred had I taken to the ground floor, or heavens forbid I take a page out of Mole Man's book, and live under ground." He waited for a response, before taking a deep breath in and out, remembering the situation. "Right. Seeing how you all basically have no choice, I will give you a choice. We are going to do this again. And I cannot stress this enough. Use the doors. *Properly.*" He spoke stern, as he sat back in his chair.
Making an entrance is always important, but Bhalren knew that making a presence was more important. He wanted them to appreciate the sight behind him, how the setting sun shone through the ceiling high glass, and the mass of the sun being focused through the ornate carving at the top of his chair. Then again, none of the heroes did appreciate anything he had. With slow counter clockwise rotations of an index fingers, the heroes reversed their motions to just outside the door, the splinters of the dark stained wood slowly reconstituting itself back into a complete set of doors once again. There was a knock, the acoustics of the room assisted Bhalren in speaking "Come in!" As the door opened enough for a person to walk in, a flash of color streaked past, but Bhalren saw him. The look on Hypersonic's face was very memorable, especially when holding him frozen in time, mid evisceration. He sought to commemorate this moment with a picture, as he restated to the stubborn heroes "I said come in. Don't bother fighting, lets be civil shall we?" *Camera shutter click*
The heroes did their best to hide their reactions, but it wasn't possible. "Release our friend, you Fiend." Demanded Ion. Bhalren thought out loud how cute Ion looked in his spandex, trying to be tough and demanding in front of his friends. He knew The Mystic was reading his thoughts, he allowed her to. "Have a seat, heroes. You didn't bust down my doors again, so I will release your friend in good health, if you just sit down." And they did. With the press of a button, the ceiling tall shutter came down a blocked out direct sunlight from behind him. The discordant screams of Hypersonic having time reversed to before his harm was music to Bhalren's ears, but a deal is a deal. "There you go, one friend in good health. Now, what exactly are you here for. I am a busy person, and while I have all the time in the world, it does not mean I will callously waste it." He sat back into his chair, sipping tea from his mug that didn't decrease in level. Ion spoke up, the self centered little snot. "We demand to know how you're giving power to these new villains. It's almost as if every time we defeat one and lock him away, another takes his place. We know you're behind it!" He punctuated with a forceful fist slamming on the arm chair. The air hung with a slight pause, before Bhalren began "Right, well first off, I know it has been a rather difficult back and forth between us. Even more so since the city learned I hung up the ol' metaphorical mask and cape to make the city better through my own means. Thank you for recognizing my power and status now, but I must insist, I am not granting them power." He took one more sip from his mug of tea, letting out under his breath "Never gets old, but enough of this" and taps the mug and places it back in the well worn ring.
"Bulls-" was all Ion could get out, now frozen mid sentence, mid threatening stance. Another photo taken, his face was ridiculous! "Enough from you." Bhalren said, casting glances to the rest of the heroes. Hypersonic, The Mystic, Manufactory, they all recoiled in fear, he could smell it. With a clap of his hands, Ion disappeared in an instant. "I'm not sure, should I use Ion's face, or Hypersonic's face as my new PC background? Decisions decisions...that aside, I will state again. I did not give them power. If I did so, I would be weakening myself. Do you all really think I want more of *me* running around? Gods no." He relaxed back in his chair, steepling his fingers. The Mystic finally spoke up. "But aren't you their god or something?" An innocent question that required Bhalren to restrain his almost instant knee jerk reaction. "No, I am not a God. I am not any form of heavenly or hellish host. To do so would to blaspheme and invoke trouble at my doorstep. Do you remember that up and coming villain? The one known as Matteus? Funny famous last words, was it not?" He remembered that scene vividly, almost replaying the event in his head, but Bhalren had guests, he had no time to reminisce. With a deep sigh, he pulled from the hidden door of his desk a tray of orange slices. "Here, you will need these. To explain what you all came here for, the contract is legally binding. There are rules, stipulations, intricacies, certain liabilities one must absolutely follow. These new villains see me, and they want what I have. Dranyu-thr'ekk uses me as a very tantalizing example to lure in new candidates. It's why you lot and the motley crew around the world seem to beat them time and time again. They don't have the guts to pay in full." Bhalren sensed their nervous systems pulsed with fear, a delicious feeling he could never tire of.
No reply came from them, only now sullen nods of acknowledgment. At this, Bhalren pulled out and rolled across the table a full orange. "Well, if nothing else, I do believe we are done here. Make sure Ion eats the orange, rind and all. You all feel dizzy, do you not? Imagine how he's feeling right now. Speaking of whom..." Bhalren snapped his fingers. "I had almost forgotten to unpause him. I hope you all have an interesting day." The heroes stood up, and walked out the door, closing it behind them. As the sun had set, a figure stood up from the column of shadow the shutter cast. "Having fun?" asked the figure playfully. He snickered a bit, he was in fact having fun. "Very much so. Sometimes I forget that such matters are now beneath me, and yet I find more enjoyment utilizing what I have if I'm at the very forefront." Bhalren now folded his fingers together, looking wistfully at a now empty and cold mug. "I will be watching, through the shadows. You are my favorite after all. How do you your mortals say? Poster Child?" The inquisitive smile hung, the room almost turning and tilting. "Yes, that sounds about right for their colloquialisms." Bhalren returned, finding that the figure was no longer there. But he knew. Taking a moment for himself, he looked at the masterfully carved Italian maple doors, and the quality of his similar material desk. "I wonder what else I should have made from that wood... Ooooh but I am *not* looking forward to what will happen five days from now...it's always the little things..." Bhalren trailed off as the sounds of the city began to overtake the silence.
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[WP] The Dark Arts are fair: for a terrible, personal price, they offer raw power. And lots of it. Self-centered villains typically renege on the contract and thus their powers fail them at a crucial moment. Now, for the first time, the heroes face someone who paid in full. The powers are all theirs
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Fools. Every one of them.
I don't like using that word. It makes me sound conceited. But in this particular circumstance, it just seems apt.
I've heard about what became of others who traversed the same path I did. In their arrogance, they believed they could defy the laws that governed the very magic they wielded. And in the end, their arrogance was their undoing.
I have no intention whatsoever to suffer a similar demise. At least, not until my work is finished.
Which is why it baffles me to no end that these fools who think themselves heroes cannot conceive that I am prepared to pay whatever price is demanded of me in exchange for the power I now wield.
"I ask you again: what is your purpose?"
He only gasps in response, desperately trying to catch his breath through all the pain that now courses through him. The rest of his companions are hardly in better condition: by now they're either laying on the floor, broken, or they are making a stain on my walls.
I grab him by his hair and lift his head, staring him dead in the eyes. He only stares back in silence, clearly seething in hatred. If looks could kill...
"Answer my question or I will break another of your bones."
He does not seem fazed by my threat, so I deliver upon it. With but a snap of my fingers, another rib fractures. He twitches in response.
"Perhaps I should break your spine instead. Maybe then you will take me seriously."
He gasps repeatedly, his breath raspy. After a few moments, he finally deigns to speak:
"We're here... to save the world."
"From what?"
"From... you."
"I see. The Alliance sent you, didn't they?"
He says nothing. He only nods in response. Clearly he's in too much pain to string too many words together.
"Do you know where we are right now?"
In confusion, he shakes his head.
"This land was once known as the Kingdom of Valantir. And upon this very spot once stood the castle of its King. It wasn't a particularly prosperous country, you see, and eventually a civil war erupted. The rest of the world watched as this country burned and did nothing. Tell me, where was the Alliance when Valantir was collapsing?"
He almost seems puzzled by my words.
"Long story short, they eventually showed up after the war ended. But only because they did not like the winner."
His eyes widen in response. Apparently he's smart enough to begin to understand where I'm going.
"When the Alliance struck, it was the final nail in Valantir's coffin. Its people either fled or died. The Alliance reaped the spoils of their victory and walked away. Now this place is but a wasteland."
Growing tired of holding his head, I drop him. His face hits the floor and he groans in pain as I turn around and walk away a few steps.
"Do you know what they did next?"
I turn around to look at him. With a bit of struggle, he manages to raise his face once more.
"In order to hide their crime, they declared this a cursed land and struck its name from the annals of history. They called their invasion a "holy crusade". In order to preserve their standing with the people, they made sure that no one came here, and that no one came out alive. When Valantir's people needed a hero to save them, the Alliance spit on their faces and danced upon their graves."
I move near him once more.
"Tell me: where were you when they needed saving?"
He can't even mutter an attempt at a response.
"How is a world saved if its people are not? Hm? How is the world at peace when the peace is built upon a foundation of lies and greed?"
I take a moment to sense my surroundings. Some of the other so-called heroes are still alive. Good.
"Now, while you mull that over for a bit, I believe you said before that you and your friends could never lose to someone who has given in to darkness. That I was alone and you were not."
I lean in closer.
"It's *because* I am alone that I have nothing left to lose."
I clap my hands together. A rumbling begins to echo through the walls.
"And soon, neither will you."
Dark hands conjured from thin air begin to sprout from the walls and the floor, grabbing those that were still alive. They begin to scream in pain as their souls are forcibly extracted from their bodies. The one laying before me looks back in horror and struggles to rise to his feet. I snap my fingers and his legs break. His screams join the cacophony as it reaches its crescendo. I close my eyes and tune out the noise as I concentrate to make sure not one soul goes to waste.
When the screaming stops, I open my eyes and see that he's the only one still alive. Tears run down his face as he glares at me, in disbelief that someone like me could even exist.
"I am almost tempted to send you home, to have you remember your failure for the rest of your days."
I conjure a sword in my hand.
"But no. I'll just give you a quick death and be done with it."
I raise my sword upon his back and aim for his heart.
"Wait!"
I hold my hand. If he has any last words, I hope they are memorable.
"This power you wield... Surely you know its price?"
His words catch me off-guard. Why would he ask me that?
"If you continue like this, the Dark Gods will devour your soul after you die! It's not too late for you!"
I take a moment to ponder his words. My answer comes out as naturally as if I had rehearsed it a million times.
"I'm counting on it."
I pierce his heart and watch as his life fades away.
The sword vanishes from my hand as I move to sit upon my throne.
As I rest, I wonder what he intended when he uttered those words. Was he desperately trying to instill fear in me? Or was he attempting to save my soul?
As if such a thing mattered at this point.
After five hundred years, I'm finally getting close. A million souls or two and I would reach my goal. I committed to my task long ago; it's too late to back down now.
I clap my hands once more. The corpses rise to their feet and slowly start to leave the room. Those bodies too broken or dismembered to serve as foot soldiers are warped away to the dungeon, to be forged into a flesh golem.
But not his corpse. I snap my fingers and it spontaneously burns in black fire.
As his remains burn, I take a small locket from one of my pockets. Opening it, I stare at the aging picture of my wife.
If I did regret anything, it was that I would not be able to meet her or our children when my work was done. My soul would have another destination, this I knew well.
The world took them from me, along with everything else, and so I will destroy it. And if my own soul must serve as the final catalyst, then so be it.
May a new world rise from its ashes when I'm gone. Hopefully, a better one.
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The paladin struggles in your grip, light of his eyes wavering as your fingers close around his throat. You take the time to examine his armor before ending him. The order of Benirith doesn't seem to know the meaning of subtlety. The silver plated armor is inlaid with gold, holy symbols engraved onto its surface. The chest plate almost seems more decorative than practical.
"Release him, monster!" You hear a voice ring out through the grand hall you are standing in. Turning your head you see an elf, bow readied in her hand and an arrow knocked, aimed at your head. A heavily armored dwarf, and what appears to be a half dragon priestess immediately enter behind her. The rest of the party caught up much quicker than you had thought.
"Ahhh, I was hoping to be done with him before you arrived, but I guess I'll deal with you all at once." Suddenly you feel intense heat radiating from the paladin, attempting to free himself in a last, futile effort. "I should tell you that the light of Benirith won't help you, but....what use is there advising a dead man?"
With those words, you snap the neck of the paladin with a single stroke. The light he was radiating immediately fades, as does the glow of his eyes. You hear gasps of shock, along with the unmistakable sound of an arrow being loosed. You easily avoid it, and drop the corpse of the paladin to the ground. "Now, where were we?" In a blink, you are behind the elf, arm swinging in a decapitating chop, but you underestimated her speed. She narrowly avoids the fatal blow, suffering only a gash to the back of her neck.
"You're quicker than I thought. Had you been even a second slower, you would have surely died." You casually wipe the blood off your hand, "but ill be sure to be faster next time."
"There won't be a next time, beast!" The gruff voice of the dwarf cries out as he charges forward, a great axe swinging for your head. Despite his armor and the weapon's size, he's surprisingly fast. You easily avoid his swings, and out of the corner of your eye you see the priestess heal the wound of the elf, light pouring from her hand and closing the gash.
"Tch, now I cant have that." You hit the axe as it comes swinging again, shattering the blade, and you deliver another blow directly to the chest of the surprised dwarf, denting the armor like its paper. He spits up blood as he flies into a stone pillar. You turn towards the elf and priestess. "This has been enjoyable, an excellent test of my new abilities. But I was hoping for a group much stronger." You walk towards the pair, noticing the priestess seems....distracted.
"Aylea....run back to the city, you have to warn everyone." The priestess steps in front of the elf as she talks.
"What? No! You can't win by yourself against this...thing!"
"We will all die if we stay! At least this way you can warn someone and prepare!
Suddenly you hear the gruff voice of the dwarf "Agh, she's right lass. Someone needs to warn them about evil like this. Her and I will buy ya time to escape." You turn to see the dwarf pulling a sword out of the sheath at his side, and discarding the now useless chest plate he wore, revealing chainmail underneath. He wipes the blood from his mouth before taking up a position behind you. "Grom's beard.....I havent taken a hit like that in awhile" You hear him mutter under his breath. You laugh, overjoyed that the first blow didn't kill him.
"Splendid! Maybe I'm up for a fight after all, as a reward for surviving that little punch, ill give you a secret. My power comes from a God, much like yours does priestess. Mine, however, is fickle. You should know him well, Kritza is well known in the church.
The priestess falls to her knees, disbelief in her eyes. Her arms shaking.
"No....impossible, Kritza is....
"A fallen? Yes, he is. And you know that their price for power is high. Unlike other servents of him, I was eager to pay the price. You should have heard their screams, im sure their blood is still soaking into the soil, there was so much of it when I was finished." Suddenly you hear boots on the stone floor rushing at you from behind.
"Monster! I'll pierce your heart, and put an end to your madness!" The dwarf sprints at you, blade poised to strike. You don't even make the effort to dodge. You feel the cold steel pierce you, the metal digging into you deeper and deeper, until it pierces through your chest.
"You assume I have a heart to begin with, dwarf." You spin around, and before he can react, you run your arm through his chest and out his back, fingers extended like a blade. You feel him go limp around your arm, but as you turn to pull your arm out, you feel an iron grasp around it. Shocked, you turn to see the dwarf clenching your arm, and an explosive in his other hand. Your eyes widen in shock, but before you can react it detonates and all you see is white.
Dazed, you feel yourself fall to one knee, and the trickle of blood falling from your nose. The powers granted to you make you exceptionally strong, but you are far from invincible. If someone or something is strong enough it can falter you. And a Dwarven grenade at point-blank range is more than enough to do so.
"Aylea....go...NOW!" The last word from the priestess sounded more like a guttural roar than a spoken word, and you look up to see her suddenly growing in size. Her robe tears away, revealing her skin quickly being covered by scales. Her pupils become narrow and cat-like, and she drops to all fours, her hands becoming more like clawed feet. Finally, massive, majestic wings sprout from her back, and before you know it you and the elf are before a massive, emerald green dragon, her eyes glowing with a burning fury.
"Ahhh, so the half dragon sheds her mortality. I've always envied that ability, to release all that stored power must be exhilarating!" You spread your arms, and dark magic pours over them, your muscles bulge, and your eyes glow with power. "But you are not the only one with hidden power." The dragon roars, and her tail whips around to strike you, you grab it, skidding with the force. When you stop, you pull, sending her flying towards you and grab her head. The fury of her eyes falters, replaced with fear. "I think you actually broke a rib or two with that hit, ill have to respond in kind."
With that you launch an uppercut, sending her head flying back, without hesitation you jump upward, faster than she can follow, and launch another blow downward, sending her head crashing into the floor, causing a small crater with the impact. She falls to the floor, her legs giving out from the impact. You land on her back, between her wings. "Impressive, most creatures would have outright died from those 2 hits, but you're merely dazed. I dont think I'll kill you....I have something much more interesting planned....but first..."
You grasp a wing in each hand, and with your increased might, pull and wrench them from her back, blood spraying the hall and soaking your body. The dragon roars in agony as you jump from her back, and she begins to shrink. Before long the priestess is back to her original form, but different. Gone Are the mortal features, the human eyes and soft skin. Instead she resembles more a bipedal dragon, with a feminine form.
You look up and see the elf is already gone, no doubt to warn the council of what transpired here. You aren't concerned, all will fall in the end. You throw the dragon wings to the side, and walk to the priestess, and look down at her. "Your ally has abandoned you to your fate it seems. What good are allies that don't protect there own? What good are gods that don't answer prayers?" The priestess's now draconian eyes widen. "I can restore your wings for you, return you to your full strength and more....but you must do something." Before she can respond you plunge a hand into her chest, grasping her draconian heart. "Forsake the gods, give yourself to Kritza, become his apostle, and you will have your strength returned ten-fold."
She closes her eyes, and manages to utter a single sentence.
"Help me....please." Thats all you needed to hear. You focus, and pour magic into her. You feel her tense, and gasp. Her green scales dull, before darkening to an ebony sheen. Her fiery eyes quickly snuff out and turn an icy, cold blue. Finally, the magic engulfs her wings and consumes them, before regrowing them on her back. They are now jet black, the webbing wispy and ethereal.
You pull your hand from her chest, the wound quickly closing and stand up. She lays still for a moment, before her eyes open and she also rises.
"So....how do you feel?" She looks over her body and wings, before wrapping them around her. They dissolve and form a simple, ornate robe. It leaves much of her scaly skin bare, only covering her torso area. "Your wings are now pure magic, able to shape themselves to your need. And they are nearly impervious, no one will be ripping them off you." She glares at you as you say that, and you laugh. "Now, follow me. There is much to do."
You pause as you pass the corpse of the paladin, undamaged from the fight. "How would you like to test you're new abilities, draconess? Focus on that corpse there, and reanimate it." She looks towards her former ally, her tail flicks in agitation.
"My name is Areth." She looks at you and growls, cold eyes glowing.
"Apologies, Areth. Now, focus on the corpse." She turns back, eyeing her fallen comrade, before closing her eyes and raising her hand. Necromantic magic pours over the corpse, and a sickening crack echos through the hall as its neck rights itself. The paladins eyes shoot open, but where there was light is now a dark abyss. His skin grows gaunt, and pale. His once magnificent armor growing decrepit and dark. He rises, silently standing before Areth. You're impressed. "Marvelous! A death knight! He will be very useful in the coming days! Now, come, there is much to do if we wish to be prepared."
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[WP] The Dark Arts are fair: for a terrible, personal price, they offer raw power. And lots of it. Self-centered villains typically renege on the contract and thus their powers fail them at a crucial moment. Now, for the first time, the heroes face someone who paid in full. The powers are all theirs
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"The Will is in the Blood"
The words echo through the stone halls of the keep, drifting back to me over the heads of the so-called "heroes" guarding the decrepit old man sitting on his obsidian throne. Solemn nostalgia fills me, a brief flash as I am reminded of the first time I had heard those words. Her soft voice sweet on my ears, her warm eyes holding my heart on a late summer night. The reason for all of this.
The sound of steel being released from it's leather home pulls me back into the now, and the rage sets in as I continue.
"It's the first lesson taught and much like Maleficarum itself, the most misunderstood. It governs every ritual, every spell cast. Assurance of the purity of the wielder's intent".
I can see the weight of the situation slowly dawn in their eyes. Fear mixed with confusion. They are right to be afraid.
"Most believe that it means power comes from blood but that's only the half of it. It also means the blood you use must come from someone with the same intent as the spell. If you wish to destroy, the blood must wish it so."
My knife leaps from my belt as the Duke roars commands to the heroes. They scramble to kill me, but I am too far away. The blade cuts deep, my lifeblood flowing freely from my left wrist. It would be why I would succeed where so many other mad warlocks bleeding peasants dry against their will had failed. My time was going to run short soon, but they still won't reach me in time.
I kneel and my right hand becomes a frantic flurry, an alabaster brush painting their cruel deaths in a shock of vermilion. I had practiced the necessary runes for months prior and I transcribe them as easily as different man might breathe. An arrow buries itself in my shoulder. A feeble attempt that only hastens the inevitable.
More paint for the canvas.
With a final flourish I complete the casting sigil and place my hand in the center. Memory once again swallows me as I begin chanting the incantation.
The missive from the Duke, begging for aid. My wife, draining herself within an inch of her life to save his daughter only to be burned at the stake for "witchcraft" when it wasn't enough.
Fuel for my intent.
As the final syllables leave my tongue, I lock eyes with the Duke. I want him to know. I don't look away, not even as his own blood boils the skin from his bones.
His heroes meet the same fate, but I never get the chance to see it. As I bleed my last, my eyes find my wife, leading the darkness to embrace me.
The Will is in the Blood.
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The paladin struggles in your grip, light of his eyes wavering as your fingers close around his throat. You take the time to examine his armor before ending him. The order of Benirith doesn't seem to know the meaning of subtlety. The silver plated armor is inlaid with gold, holy symbols engraved onto its surface. The chest plate almost seems more decorative than practical.
"Release him, monster!" You hear a voice ring out through the grand hall you are standing in. Turning your head you see an elf, bow readied in her hand and an arrow knocked, aimed at your head. A heavily armored dwarf, and what appears to be a half dragon priestess immediately enter behind her. The rest of the party caught up much quicker than you had thought.
"Ahhh, I was hoping to be done with him before you arrived, but I guess I'll deal with you all at once." Suddenly you feel intense heat radiating from the paladin, attempting to free himself in a last, futile effort. "I should tell you that the light of Benirith won't help you, but....what use is there advising a dead man?"
With those words, you snap the neck of the paladin with a single stroke. The light he was radiating immediately fades, as does the glow of his eyes. You hear gasps of shock, along with the unmistakable sound of an arrow being loosed. You easily avoid it, and drop the corpse of the paladin to the ground. "Now, where were we?" In a blink, you are behind the elf, arm swinging in a decapitating chop, but you underestimated her speed. She narrowly avoids the fatal blow, suffering only a gash to the back of her neck.
"You're quicker than I thought. Had you been even a second slower, you would have surely died." You casually wipe the blood off your hand, "but ill be sure to be faster next time."
"There won't be a next time, beast!" The gruff voice of the dwarf cries out as he charges forward, a great axe swinging for your head. Despite his armor and the weapon's size, he's surprisingly fast. You easily avoid his swings, and out of the corner of your eye you see the priestess heal the wound of the elf, light pouring from her hand and closing the gash.
"Tch, now I cant have that." You hit the axe as it comes swinging again, shattering the blade, and you deliver another blow directly to the chest of the surprised dwarf, denting the armor like its paper. He spits up blood as he flies into a stone pillar. You turn towards the elf and priestess. "This has been enjoyable, an excellent test of my new abilities. But I was hoping for a group much stronger." You walk towards the pair, noticing the priestess seems....distracted.
"Aylea....run back to the city, you have to warn everyone." The priestess steps in front of the elf as she talks.
"What? No! You can't win by yourself against this...thing!"
"We will all die if we stay! At least this way you can warn someone and prepare!
Suddenly you hear the gruff voice of the dwarf "Agh, she's right lass. Someone needs to warn them about evil like this. Her and I will buy ya time to escape." You turn to see the dwarf pulling a sword out of the sheath at his side, and discarding the now useless chest plate he wore, revealing chainmail underneath. He wipes the blood from his mouth before taking up a position behind you. "Grom's beard.....I havent taken a hit like that in awhile" You hear him mutter under his breath. You laugh, overjoyed that the first blow didn't kill him.
"Splendid! Maybe I'm up for a fight after all, as a reward for surviving that little punch, ill give you a secret. My power comes from a God, much like yours does priestess. Mine, however, is fickle. You should know him well, Kritza is well known in the church.
The priestess falls to her knees, disbelief in her eyes. Her arms shaking.
"No....impossible, Kritza is....
"A fallen? Yes, he is. And you know that their price for power is high. Unlike other servents of him, I was eager to pay the price. You should have heard their screams, im sure their blood is still soaking into the soil, there was so much of it when I was finished." Suddenly you hear boots on the stone floor rushing at you from behind.
"Monster! I'll pierce your heart, and put an end to your madness!" The dwarf sprints at you, blade poised to strike. You don't even make the effort to dodge. You feel the cold steel pierce you, the metal digging into you deeper and deeper, until it pierces through your chest.
"You assume I have a heart to begin with, dwarf." You spin around, and before he can react, you run your arm through his chest and out his back, fingers extended like a blade. You feel him go limp around your arm, but as you turn to pull your arm out, you feel an iron grasp around it. Shocked, you turn to see the dwarf clenching your arm, and an explosive in his other hand. Your eyes widen in shock, but before you can react it detonates and all you see is white.
Dazed, you feel yourself fall to one knee, and the trickle of blood falling from your nose. The powers granted to you make you exceptionally strong, but you are far from invincible. If someone or something is strong enough it can falter you. And a Dwarven grenade at point-blank range is more than enough to do so.
"Aylea....go...NOW!" The last word from the priestess sounded more like a guttural roar than a spoken word, and you look up to see her suddenly growing in size. Her robe tears away, revealing her skin quickly being covered by scales. Her pupils become narrow and cat-like, and she drops to all fours, her hands becoming more like clawed feet. Finally, massive, majestic wings sprout from her back, and before you know it you and the elf are before a massive, emerald green dragon, her eyes glowing with a burning fury.
"Ahhh, so the half dragon sheds her mortality. I've always envied that ability, to release all that stored power must be exhilarating!" You spread your arms, and dark magic pours over them, your muscles bulge, and your eyes glow with power. "But you are not the only one with hidden power." The dragon roars, and her tail whips around to strike you, you grab it, skidding with the force. When you stop, you pull, sending her flying towards you and grab her head. The fury of her eyes falters, replaced with fear. "I think you actually broke a rib or two with that hit, ill have to respond in kind."
With that you launch an uppercut, sending her head flying back, without hesitation you jump upward, faster than she can follow, and launch another blow downward, sending her head crashing into the floor, causing a small crater with the impact. She falls to the floor, her legs giving out from the impact. You land on her back, between her wings. "Impressive, most creatures would have outright died from those 2 hits, but you're merely dazed. I dont think I'll kill you....I have something much more interesting planned....but first..."
You grasp a wing in each hand, and with your increased might, pull and wrench them from her back, blood spraying the hall and soaking your body. The dragon roars in agony as you jump from her back, and she begins to shrink. Before long the priestess is back to her original form, but different. Gone Are the mortal features, the human eyes and soft skin. Instead she resembles more a bipedal dragon, with a feminine form.
You look up and see the elf is already gone, no doubt to warn the council of what transpired here. You aren't concerned, all will fall in the end. You throw the dragon wings to the side, and walk to the priestess, and look down at her. "Your ally has abandoned you to your fate it seems. What good are allies that don't protect there own? What good are gods that don't answer prayers?" The priestess's now draconian eyes widen. "I can restore your wings for you, return you to your full strength and more....but you must do something." Before she can respond you plunge a hand into her chest, grasping her draconian heart. "Forsake the gods, give yourself to Kritza, become his apostle, and you will have your strength returned ten-fold."
She closes her eyes, and manages to utter a single sentence.
"Help me....please." Thats all you needed to hear. You focus, and pour magic into her. You feel her tense, and gasp. Her green scales dull, before darkening to an ebony sheen. Her fiery eyes quickly snuff out and turn an icy, cold blue. Finally, the magic engulfs her wings and consumes them, before regrowing them on her back. They are now jet black, the webbing wispy and ethereal.
You pull your hand from her chest, the wound quickly closing and stand up. She lays still for a moment, before her eyes open and she also rises.
"So....how do you feel?" She looks over her body and wings, before wrapping them around her. They dissolve and form a simple, ornate robe. It leaves much of her scaly skin bare, only covering her torso area. "Your wings are now pure magic, able to shape themselves to your need. And they are nearly impervious, no one will be ripping them off you." She glares at you as you say that, and you laugh. "Now, follow me. There is much to do."
You pause as you pass the corpse of the paladin, undamaged from the fight. "How would you like to test you're new abilities, draconess? Focus on that corpse there, and reanimate it." She looks towards her former ally, her tail flicks in agitation.
"My name is Areth." She looks at you and growls, cold eyes glowing.
"Apologies, Areth. Now, focus on the corpse." She turns back, eyeing her fallen comrade, before closing her eyes and raising her hand. Necromantic magic pours over the corpse, and a sickening crack echos through the hall as its neck rights itself. The paladins eyes shoot open, but where there was light is now a dark abyss. His skin grows gaunt, and pale. His once magnificent armor growing decrepit and dark. He rises, silently standing before Areth. You're impressed. "Marvelous! A death knight! He will be very useful in the coming days! Now, come, there is much to do if we wish to be prepared."
|
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[WP] The Dark Arts are fair: for a terrible, personal price, they offer raw power. And lots of it. Self-centered villains typically renege on the contract and thus their powers fail them at a crucial moment. Now, for the first time, the heroes face someone who paid in full. The powers are all theirs
|
Wars in centuries past had been fought by witchcraft and mystical prowess. A flow of mana or aether or whatever magic hoo ha they called it would give them strength, but no one ever wanted to give it up. So when I was finally confronted by Ashlock, the contract master, I knew that i couldn’t skimp on the payment. Usually this entails figments of ones being, such as a hand, an eye, parts of the soul, or otherwise. But all these things could be circumvented through magic, so I gave up the one thing that could never be gotten back.
“Ashlock! I offer you my total ability to control the mystics around me!” I cried into the void.
“My power over darkness is great, but you can grant me more, so take my mystical abilities in exchange for greater power!”
A spark ignited in the air in front of me. From that spark, a blaze of black fire engulfed me. It wasn’t hot though, more like cold ribbons, brushing lightly against me. But as the fire burned, I could feel my magic powers fading. I crumpled, not realizing how much I actually relied on my powers. I was breathless, crippled, and blind. All of my senses were removed, and I felt like a husk.
But I was alive. I was still conscious, and thinking. Yes… thinking. I could imagine new ways of moving. Imagine… imagining ideas. Ideas that could create and destroy. Ideas that would change war all together. I couldn’t move, but my mind was abuzz with thoughts. My trade had been complete, my magic was gone, but now I understood more. I had gained wisdom.
My muscles had atrophied from years of relying on magic. Had I really just been been levitating everywhere? Now that I think of it, I had made hundreds of mistakes in my life. I made enemies of the citadel. I had burned many good relationships. I had misused my many years trying to acquire as much power as possible. My only good choice was giving up that power. My mind was free, and the thoughts that clouded my vision were gone. But I was stuck. My body lay broken. There was no way out of- Yes there was. My voice still worked, and Ashlock was still there…
“Ashlock…” I whispered, with a throat that felt full of broken glass.
“My arm… I offer my arm in trade for the ability to walk.”
…
No response.
Perhaps he only permitted one trade per individual. Or maybe he had simply left. I couldn’t just sit and wait though, I needed to-
In that moment, I felt my left arm burning in agony. I would’ve cried in pain, but in actuality I was relieved. I knew that once the pain was gone, I would be able to leave this wretched place.
That same black fire wrapped itself around my arm. I watched in agony as it burned away, not even bones remaining. I had never experienced such pain before, but it was completely bearable, since I knew the end result would be life. What I did not expect, was that the flames spread all over my body. What seemed to be the ash from my burned arm, was layering itself on every other muscle and joint in my body. It was a strange feeling, having your muscles grow faster than ever before, but it was definitely a welcome one. My legs could move once again, my other arm could push and grab, my body was no longer broken… save for the missing limb.
As I collected myself, and slowly walked out of the cave, I thought of ways to get back my arm, replacements for such a thing as precious as ones own being. But I reminded myself that those before me had fallen because they had tried to circumvent the payment, so I simply accepted my loss, and went on my way.
As I arrived at my tower, I realized it too had been stripped of its magic. I suppose it makes sense, I did imbue it with my essence when I had magic. But now I needed to transform it into something new. Something I could work with. A large space where I could tinker with my ideas. So I renovated. Removed everything mystical, which was actually a lot more than I thought. Did I really need an enchanted chamber pot?
The next few months I spent in solitude. Fabricating my ideas, and building my new power. This world was too reliant on magic, I learned that from my own experience. So perhaps if I could become immune, I could have zero resistance…
*two years later*
The furnaces billowing, the machines whirring, and the automatons working. My legion of perfection was nigh ready. The wisdom was the greatest gift ever, for my unending battalion would be completely unmatched. Each soldier was designed, birthed in a pod, and compleated into a mechanical masterpiece. I had harnessed the fundamental aspects of reality, and could bend them to my desires. No magic power could stop me, and no magic power was necessary. Everything worked on science and physics. Nothing could take my power away, as there was nothing to take in the first place. My power came from my knowledge, and my legions would walk over the world. As the warriors opposed me, there was nothing they could do.
“CRONUS! THESE THINGS ARE TOO POWERFUL! WE NEED TO RETREAT!” Shouted a green robed wizard in the crowd. Perhaps in his hometown, he was an incredibly powerful force, but his vines could do no harm to my war machines, as they chopped through his barriers as though they were never there.
“NO! WE CANT LET THEM REACH THE PALACE, WE MUCH STOP THEM! THEY HAVE TO HAVE A WEAKNESS!” Except they didn’t. Their efforts were in vain. Nothing they could do would stop me. The time wizard could only slow them, but not stop them. I saw now what a fool I was
to rely on such pitiful powers in the first place.
Nothing could stop them, and describing the resistance would be pointless, since no damage was ever made. Just one of my dreadnoughts would be enough to topple an empire, I had thousands. Those who proclaimed themselves as gods would be reduced to gnats.
None even come close to opposing my mechanical men. And should the day come where magic does surpass me, just know I haven’t even come close to my true potential.
|
The paladin struggles in your grip, light of his eyes wavering as your fingers close around his throat. You take the time to examine his armor before ending him. The order of Benirith doesn't seem to know the meaning of subtlety. The silver plated armor is inlaid with gold, holy symbols engraved onto its surface. The chest plate almost seems more decorative than practical.
"Release him, monster!" You hear a voice ring out through the grand hall you are standing in. Turning your head you see an elf, bow readied in her hand and an arrow knocked, aimed at your head. A heavily armored dwarf, and what appears to be a half dragon priestess immediately enter behind her. The rest of the party caught up much quicker than you had thought.
"Ahhh, I was hoping to be done with him before you arrived, but I guess I'll deal with you all at once." Suddenly you feel intense heat radiating from the paladin, attempting to free himself in a last, futile effort. "I should tell you that the light of Benirith won't help you, but....what use is there advising a dead man?"
With those words, you snap the neck of the paladin with a single stroke. The light he was radiating immediately fades, as does the glow of his eyes. You hear gasps of shock, along with the unmistakable sound of an arrow being loosed. You easily avoid it, and drop the corpse of the paladin to the ground. "Now, where were we?" In a blink, you are behind the elf, arm swinging in a decapitating chop, but you underestimated her speed. She narrowly avoids the fatal blow, suffering only a gash to the back of her neck.
"You're quicker than I thought. Had you been even a second slower, you would have surely died." You casually wipe the blood off your hand, "but ill be sure to be faster next time."
"There won't be a next time, beast!" The gruff voice of the dwarf cries out as he charges forward, a great axe swinging for your head. Despite his armor and the weapon's size, he's surprisingly fast. You easily avoid his swings, and out of the corner of your eye you see the priestess heal the wound of the elf, light pouring from her hand and closing the gash.
"Tch, now I cant have that." You hit the axe as it comes swinging again, shattering the blade, and you deliver another blow directly to the chest of the surprised dwarf, denting the armor like its paper. He spits up blood as he flies into a stone pillar. You turn towards the elf and priestess. "This has been enjoyable, an excellent test of my new abilities. But I was hoping for a group much stronger." You walk towards the pair, noticing the priestess seems....distracted.
"Aylea....run back to the city, you have to warn everyone." The priestess steps in front of the elf as she talks.
"What? No! You can't win by yourself against this...thing!"
"We will all die if we stay! At least this way you can warn someone and prepare!
Suddenly you hear the gruff voice of the dwarf "Agh, she's right lass. Someone needs to warn them about evil like this. Her and I will buy ya time to escape." You turn to see the dwarf pulling a sword out of the sheath at his side, and discarding the now useless chest plate he wore, revealing chainmail underneath. He wipes the blood from his mouth before taking up a position behind you. "Grom's beard.....I havent taken a hit like that in awhile" You hear him mutter under his breath. You laugh, overjoyed that the first blow didn't kill him.
"Splendid! Maybe I'm up for a fight after all, as a reward for surviving that little punch, ill give you a secret. My power comes from a God, much like yours does priestess. Mine, however, is fickle. You should know him well, Kritza is well known in the church.
The priestess falls to her knees, disbelief in her eyes. Her arms shaking.
"No....impossible, Kritza is....
"A fallen? Yes, he is. And you know that their price for power is high. Unlike other servents of him, I was eager to pay the price. You should have heard their screams, im sure their blood is still soaking into the soil, there was so much of it when I was finished." Suddenly you hear boots on the stone floor rushing at you from behind.
"Monster! I'll pierce your heart, and put an end to your madness!" The dwarf sprints at you, blade poised to strike. You don't even make the effort to dodge. You feel the cold steel pierce you, the metal digging into you deeper and deeper, until it pierces through your chest.
"You assume I have a heart to begin with, dwarf." You spin around, and before he can react, you run your arm through his chest and out his back, fingers extended like a blade. You feel him go limp around your arm, but as you turn to pull your arm out, you feel an iron grasp around it. Shocked, you turn to see the dwarf clenching your arm, and an explosive in his other hand. Your eyes widen in shock, but before you can react it detonates and all you see is white.
Dazed, you feel yourself fall to one knee, and the trickle of blood falling from your nose. The powers granted to you make you exceptionally strong, but you are far from invincible. If someone or something is strong enough it can falter you. And a Dwarven grenade at point-blank range is more than enough to do so.
"Aylea....go...NOW!" The last word from the priestess sounded more like a guttural roar than a spoken word, and you look up to see her suddenly growing in size. Her robe tears away, revealing her skin quickly being covered by scales. Her pupils become narrow and cat-like, and she drops to all fours, her hands becoming more like clawed feet. Finally, massive, majestic wings sprout from her back, and before you know it you and the elf are before a massive, emerald green dragon, her eyes glowing with a burning fury.
"Ahhh, so the half dragon sheds her mortality. I've always envied that ability, to release all that stored power must be exhilarating!" You spread your arms, and dark magic pours over them, your muscles bulge, and your eyes glow with power. "But you are not the only one with hidden power." The dragon roars, and her tail whips around to strike you, you grab it, skidding with the force. When you stop, you pull, sending her flying towards you and grab her head. The fury of her eyes falters, replaced with fear. "I think you actually broke a rib or two with that hit, ill have to respond in kind."
With that you launch an uppercut, sending her head flying back, without hesitation you jump upward, faster than she can follow, and launch another blow downward, sending her head crashing into the floor, causing a small crater with the impact. She falls to the floor, her legs giving out from the impact. You land on her back, between her wings. "Impressive, most creatures would have outright died from those 2 hits, but you're merely dazed. I dont think I'll kill you....I have something much more interesting planned....but first..."
You grasp a wing in each hand, and with your increased might, pull and wrench them from her back, blood spraying the hall and soaking your body. The dragon roars in agony as you jump from her back, and she begins to shrink. Before long the priestess is back to her original form, but different. Gone Are the mortal features, the human eyes and soft skin. Instead she resembles more a bipedal dragon, with a feminine form.
You look up and see the elf is already gone, no doubt to warn the council of what transpired here. You aren't concerned, all will fall in the end. You throw the dragon wings to the side, and walk to the priestess, and look down at her. "Your ally has abandoned you to your fate it seems. What good are allies that don't protect there own? What good are gods that don't answer prayers?" The priestess's now draconian eyes widen. "I can restore your wings for you, return you to your full strength and more....but you must do something." Before she can respond you plunge a hand into her chest, grasping her draconian heart. "Forsake the gods, give yourself to Kritza, become his apostle, and you will have your strength returned ten-fold."
She closes her eyes, and manages to utter a single sentence.
"Help me....please." Thats all you needed to hear. You focus, and pour magic into her. You feel her tense, and gasp. Her green scales dull, before darkening to an ebony sheen. Her fiery eyes quickly snuff out and turn an icy, cold blue. Finally, the magic engulfs her wings and consumes them, before regrowing them on her back. They are now jet black, the webbing wispy and ethereal.
You pull your hand from her chest, the wound quickly closing and stand up. She lays still for a moment, before her eyes open and she also rises.
"So....how do you feel?" She looks over her body and wings, before wrapping them around her. They dissolve and form a simple, ornate robe. It leaves much of her scaly skin bare, only covering her torso area. "Your wings are now pure magic, able to shape themselves to your need. And they are nearly impervious, no one will be ripping them off you." She glares at you as you say that, and you laugh. "Now, follow me. There is much to do."
You pause as you pass the corpse of the paladin, undamaged from the fight. "How would you like to test you're new abilities, draconess? Focus on that corpse there, and reanimate it." She looks towards her former ally, her tail flicks in agitation.
"My name is Areth." She looks at you and growls, cold eyes glowing.
"Apologies, Areth. Now, focus on the corpse." She turns back, eyeing her fallen comrade, before closing her eyes and raising her hand. Necromantic magic pours over the corpse, and a sickening crack echos through the hall as its neck rights itself. The paladins eyes shoot open, but where there was light is now a dark abyss. His skin grows gaunt, and pale. His once magnificent armor growing decrepit and dark. He rises, silently standing before Areth. You're impressed. "Marvelous! A death knight! He will be very useful in the coming days! Now, come, there is much to do if we wish to be prepared."
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[WP] The Dark Arts are fair: for a terrible, personal price, they offer raw power. And lots of it. Self-centered villains typically renege on the contract and thus their powers fail them at a crucial moment. Now, for the first time, the heroes face someone who paid in full. The powers are all theirs
|
>*To use the Darkest Magic,*
>
>*You must pay a price.*
>
>*If you control fire,*
>
>*Your mother dies in ice.*
>
>*And don't you dare*
>
>*Turn cold and aloof,*
>
>*Renege on your promise*
>
>*And your powers will go poof!*
It was a nursery rhyme, something children would sing to the thumping of their feet on the ground as they jumped rope, not quite understanding the lyrics and messing up the words. However, they were true.
To use dark magic, there was always a price. Power for leverage, power for souls, power for anything personal that would be a sufficient price for that power. No matter what the price was, if was one that few were willing to pay, and even fewer were willing to pay permanently.
Kronos, a dark lord who controlled time, was beaten by the heroes known as the Cosmic Three because his price was too high for him to pay. What the price was, we don't know, but during the final battle between him and his enemies, his powers failed. He was taken into custody.
Draken, a prospective dark lord, had given up on his powers because he'd have to lose his horde of trophies and treasures. He was also taken into custody by the Cosmic Three. He lost his horde anyway.
Then, because this always happens with hero teams, the Cosmic Three broke up. It wasn't so much 'breaking up' as expelling one of their members. Nightquake and Moonflame, they tossed Silverbolt from their trifecta of power.
Silverbolt had been growing anxious for a while, saying that they as a team were causing too much damage, and that they needed to take an active role in government to mitigate the damage they had caused; or, rather, the damage that Nightquake and Moonflame had caused. People with power over earthquakes and unquenchable fire respectively tended to cause a lot of damage in a metropolitan area such as Lunapolis.
Nightquake and Moonflame had taken offense to this, especially when it came out the by the numbers, damage to the city and casualties were on average more likely to be caused by Nightquake and Moonflame than any villain.
So they expelled Silverbolt.
And Silverbolt was filled by a cold anger that would freeze the roughest of seas in their place.
So he decided to seek the power that Nightquake and Moonflame would not. He searched tomes and interrogated villains, running so fast he phased through walls and avoided any security.
In the end, he came to the Dark Arts, like everyone always did.
And when the dark asked what he wanted, he said that he wanted the power to take down the heroes who caused more damage than any villain had.
And the dark gave him that power, and took its price.
So Silverbolt lured his old friends to an abandoned farmhouse kilometers away from any civilization, and they came to see him. He'd said it was an old supervillain lair that was full of traps.
He tried poisoning their tea, but that didn't work. He didn't expect it to.
He tried to phase through their bodies and then solidify, causing major internal damage, but that didn't work. He didn't expect it to.
He tried using regular weapons, poison spikes and arrow traps, but that didn't work. He didn't expect it to.
So finally, he tried using the gift the dark had given him.
Silverbolt started when Moonflame dragged him into a side room without Nightquake noticing. He placed his finger on her forehead and filled her mind with the vision of the farmhouse in flames, Nightquake and himself screaming in agony. Silverbolt left her in that room, incapacitated for the time being.
Silverbolt found Nightquake exploring the basement, full of jars of formaldehyde and toxic green light.
Silverbolt offered Nightquake candy laced with fast-acting and incredibly lethal poison. Nightquake could never resist candy.
And then Moonflame came in. She started arguing with Nightquake over the lair, and what to do with it, and other things. It was clear she was looking for a fight. Silverbolt just leaned against the walls with his arms crossed and hummed.
Then Moonflame tried to set Nightquake on fire. A twister of bright white flames surrounded Nightquake as he screamed for help from Silverbolt. Silverbolt ran up and tapped Moonflame on the throat.
Immediately, the flames burned out as Moonflame fell to her knees, coughing. She wheezed and wheezed, coughing up bits of black sludge while Nightquake stood frozen in the middle of the burn marks on the floor. Eventually, she fell over sideways.
Nightquake checked her pulse. Moonflame was dead. He screamed at Silverbolt, asking what did you do and why he did it.
Silverbolt started singing softly, the same song he was humming earlier.
*"To use the darkest magic, / You must pay a price..."*
Nightquake started to back away, eyes wide. Silverbolt was behind him in an instant. Nightquake froze in place.
*"...If you control fire, / Your mother dies in ice..."*
Nightquake couldn't move at all. he was trapped, his friend was dead, and he'd been betrayed. Ice started to crawl up his feet, moving fast. Silverbolt watched the panic impassively.
"I'm going to die," Nightquake muttered, a quiet but unavoidable realization.
Silverbolt smiled and nodded, not saying a word.
*"...And don't you dare / Turn, cold and aloof..."*
"Why have you done this," Nightquake whispered. His voice started to grow louder and louder until it was almost a scream, "why?! Why is this the proper response to being sent away, we didn't want or need you but we weren't cruel about it-"
Silverbolt put up a hand to stop him, and stalked closer to Nightquake. The ice was now up to Nightquake's waist and still moving upward.
"You were my friends," Silverbolt snarled, "and you left me over a statistic. You didn't consider my viewpoint. You didn't try and change. You just tossed me out at the first real sign of dissent."
Nightquake closed his mouth and gulped as the ice crept up his chest.
"What was your price?" he asked.
Silverbolt bared his teeth in a way too hostile to be a smile. "The love I had for my friends, Nightquake and Moonflame."
Nightquake's eyes widened as the ice encased him completely.
Silverbolt did not renege on his promise. He didn't think he ever would.
|
Pain……….
All I feel is pain. Raging, screeching pain that flares like a the deep fires of the Keep, burns inside me. However, long have the rage lost its direction, only memories of ashen souls and rattling chains in the mist of the night stands.
The night The Legion Of Light came to our fortress, for we are but a race of Dark Mages, keen to our arts , yet peace we desire in hearts. Yet, did they pay heed to us? As the screams of children and women painted the walls red in agony, The Legion march forth.
In her desperation, Her Highness summoned the nexus if Death, along with my help as the magus.
Woe to me,
Woe to me,
As death chose me as his herald as My Queen was slaughtered right before my eyes.
Now here I am, on the Whirlwind fields, my mind restored to sanity, as I ripped apart shred by shred, both body and soul, of that Imperial scout , fuelling my Curse of Vengeance , reawakening my Mark of Fury.
6 champions have they sent , 12 Legions burned to ash with the Fires Of Necros, while 6 remained in my Chains of Fahrlang, unable to die, unable to live, only tortures coursing through as their minds are shattered with the dark.
I sold my soul, my mind, for the agony that prevails all mortal comprehension. For the first time in 500 hundred years, I smiled ear to ear, my screeching laugh echoed across the valley.
For tonight, the Empire shall not see another Dawn
|
|
[WP] The Dark Arts are fair: for a terrible, personal price, they offer raw power. And lots of it. Self-centered villains typically renege on the contract and thus their powers fail them at a crucial moment. Now, for the first time, the heroes face someone who paid in full. The powers are all theirs
|
Wars in centuries past had been fought by witchcraft and mystical prowess. A flow of mana or aether or whatever magic hoo ha they called it would give them strength, but no one ever wanted to give it up. So when I was finally confronted by Ashlock, the contract master, I knew that i couldn’t skimp on the payment. Usually this entails figments of ones being, such as a hand, an eye, parts of the soul, or otherwise. But all these things could be circumvented through magic, so I gave up the one thing that could never be gotten back.
“Ashlock! I offer you my total ability to control the mystics around me!” I cried into the void.
“My power over darkness is great, but you can grant me more, so take my mystical abilities in exchange for greater power!”
A spark ignited in the air in front of me. From that spark, a blaze of black fire engulfed me. It wasn’t hot though, more like cold ribbons, brushing lightly against me. But as the fire burned, I could feel my magic powers fading. I crumpled, not realizing how much I actually relied on my powers. I was breathless, crippled, and blind. All of my senses were removed, and I felt like a husk.
But I was alive. I was still conscious, and thinking. Yes… thinking. I could imagine new ways of moving. Imagine… imagining ideas. Ideas that could create and destroy. Ideas that would change war all together. I couldn’t move, but my mind was abuzz with thoughts. My trade had been complete, my magic was gone, but now I understood more. I had gained wisdom.
My muscles had atrophied from years of relying on magic. Had I really just been been levitating everywhere? Now that I think of it, I had made hundreds of mistakes in my life. I made enemies of the citadel. I had burned many good relationships. I had misused my many years trying to acquire as much power as possible. My only good choice was giving up that power. My mind was free, and the thoughts that clouded my vision were gone. But I was stuck. My body lay broken. There was no way out of- Yes there was. My voice still worked, and Ashlock was still there…
“Ashlock…” I whispered, with a throat that felt full of broken glass.
“My arm… I offer my arm in trade for the ability to walk.”
…
No response.
Perhaps he only permitted one trade per individual. Or maybe he had simply left. I couldn’t just sit and wait though, I needed to-
In that moment, I felt my left arm burning in agony. I would’ve cried in pain, but in actuality I was relieved. I knew that once the pain was gone, I would be able to leave this wretched place.
That same black fire wrapped itself around my arm. I watched in agony as it burned away, not even bones remaining. I had never experienced such pain before, but it was completely bearable, since I knew the end result would be life. What I did not expect, was that the flames spread all over my body. What seemed to be the ash from my burned arm, was layering itself on every other muscle and joint in my body. It was a strange feeling, having your muscles grow faster than ever before, but it was definitely a welcome one. My legs could move once again, my other arm could push and grab, my body was no longer broken… save for the missing limb.
As I collected myself, and slowly walked out of the cave, I thought of ways to get back my arm, replacements for such a thing as precious as ones own being. But I reminded myself that those before me had fallen because they had tried to circumvent the payment, so I simply accepted my loss, and went on my way.
As I arrived at my tower, I realized it too had been stripped of its magic. I suppose it makes sense, I did imbue it with my essence when I had magic. But now I needed to transform it into something new. Something I could work with. A large space where I could tinker with my ideas. So I renovated. Removed everything mystical, which was actually a lot more than I thought. Did I really need an enchanted chamber pot?
The next few months I spent in solitude. Fabricating my ideas, and building my new power. This world was too reliant on magic, I learned that from my own experience. So perhaps if I could become immune, I could have zero resistance…
*two years later*
The furnaces billowing, the machines whirring, and the automatons working. My legion of perfection was nigh ready. The wisdom was the greatest gift ever, for my unending battalion would be completely unmatched. Each soldier was designed, birthed in a pod, and compleated into a mechanical masterpiece. I had harnessed the fundamental aspects of reality, and could bend them to my desires. No magic power could stop me, and no magic power was necessary. Everything worked on science and physics. Nothing could take my power away, as there was nothing to take in the first place. My power came from my knowledge, and my legions would walk over the world. As the warriors opposed me, there was nothing they could do.
“CRONUS! THESE THINGS ARE TOO POWERFUL! WE NEED TO RETREAT!” Shouted a green robed wizard in the crowd. Perhaps in his hometown, he was an incredibly powerful force, but his vines could do no harm to my war machines, as they chopped through his barriers as though they were never there.
“NO! WE CANT LET THEM REACH THE PALACE, WE MUCH STOP THEM! THEY HAVE TO HAVE A WEAKNESS!” Except they didn’t. Their efforts were in vain. Nothing they could do would stop me. The time wizard could only slow them, but not stop them. I saw now what a fool I was
to rely on such pitiful powers in the first place.
Nothing could stop them, and describing the resistance would be pointless, since no damage was ever made. Just one of my dreadnoughts would be enough to topple an empire, I had thousands. Those who proclaimed themselves as gods would be reduced to gnats.
None even come close to opposing my mechanical men. And should the day come where magic does surpass me, just know I haven’t even come close to my true potential.
|
Pain……….
All I feel is pain. Raging, screeching pain that flares like a the deep fires of the Keep, burns inside me. However, long have the rage lost its direction, only memories of ashen souls and rattling chains in the mist of the night stands.
The night The Legion Of Light came to our fortress, for we are but a race of Dark Mages, keen to our arts , yet peace we desire in hearts. Yet, did they pay heed to us? As the screams of children and women painted the walls red in agony, The Legion march forth.
In her desperation, Her Highness summoned the nexus if Death, along with my help as the magus.
Woe to me,
Woe to me,
As death chose me as his herald as My Queen was slaughtered right before my eyes.
Now here I am, on the Whirlwind fields, my mind restored to sanity, as I ripped apart shred by shred, both body and soul, of that Imperial scout , fuelling my Curse of Vengeance , reawakening my Mark of Fury.
6 champions have they sent , 12 Legions burned to ash with the Fires Of Necros, while 6 remained in my Chains of Fahrlang, unable to die, unable to live, only tortures coursing through as their minds are shattered with the dark.
I sold my soul, my mind, for the agony that prevails all mortal comprehension. For the first time in 500 hundred years, I smiled ear to ear, my screeching laugh echoed across the valley.
For tonight, the Empire shall not see another Dawn
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[WP] The Dark Arts are fair: for a terrible, personal price, they offer raw power. And lots of it. Self-centered villains typically renege on the contract and thus their powers fail them at a crucial moment. Now, for the first time, the heroes face someone who paid in full. The powers are all theirs
|
Wars in centuries past had been fought by witchcraft and mystical prowess. A flow of mana or aether or whatever magic hoo ha they called it would give them strength, but no one ever wanted to give it up. So when I was finally confronted by Ashlock, the contract master, I knew that i couldn’t skimp on the payment. Usually this entails figments of ones being, such as a hand, an eye, parts of the soul, or otherwise. But all these things could be circumvented through magic, so I gave up the one thing that could never be gotten back.
“Ashlock! I offer you my total ability to control the mystics around me!” I cried into the void.
“My power over darkness is great, but you can grant me more, so take my mystical abilities in exchange for greater power!”
A spark ignited in the air in front of me. From that spark, a blaze of black fire engulfed me. It wasn’t hot though, more like cold ribbons, brushing lightly against me. But as the fire burned, I could feel my magic powers fading. I crumpled, not realizing how much I actually relied on my powers. I was breathless, crippled, and blind. All of my senses were removed, and I felt like a husk.
But I was alive. I was still conscious, and thinking. Yes… thinking. I could imagine new ways of moving. Imagine… imagining ideas. Ideas that could create and destroy. Ideas that would change war all together. I couldn’t move, but my mind was abuzz with thoughts. My trade had been complete, my magic was gone, but now I understood more. I had gained wisdom.
My muscles had atrophied from years of relying on magic. Had I really just been been levitating everywhere? Now that I think of it, I had made hundreds of mistakes in my life. I made enemies of the citadel. I had burned many good relationships. I had misused my many years trying to acquire as much power as possible. My only good choice was giving up that power. My mind was free, and the thoughts that clouded my vision were gone. But I was stuck. My body lay broken. There was no way out of- Yes there was. My voice still worked, and Ashlock was still there…
“Ashlock…” I whispered, with a throat that felt full of broken glass.
“My arm… I offer my arm in trade for the ability to walk.”
…
No response.
Perhaps he only permitted one trade per individual. Or maybe he had simply left. I couldn’t just sit and wait though, I needed to-
In that moment, I felt my left arm burning in agony. I would’ve cried in pain, but in actuality I was relieved. I knew that once the pain was gone, I would be able to leave this wretched place.
That same black fire wrapped itself around my arm. I watched in agony as it burned away, not even bones remaining. I had never experienced such pain before, but it was completely bearable, since I knew the end result would be life. What I did not expect, was that the flames spread all over my body. What seemed to be the ash from my burned arm, was layering itself on every other muscle and joint in my body. It was a strange feeling, having your muscles grow faster than ever before, but it was definitely a welcome one. My legs could move once again, my other arm could push and grab, my body was no longer broken… save for the missing limb.
As I collected myself, and slowly walked out of the cave, I thought of ways to get back my arm, replacements for such a thing as precious as ones own being. But I reminded myself that those before me had fallen because they had tried to circumvent the payment, so I simply accepted my loss, and went on my way.
As I arrived at my tower, I realized it too had been stripped of its magic. I suppose it makes sense, I did imbue it with my essence when I had magic. But now I needed to transform it into something new. Something I could work with. A large space where I could tinker with my ideas. So I renovated. Removed everything mystical, which was actually a lot more than I thought. Did I really need an enchanted chamber pot?
The next few months I spent in solitude. Fabricating my ideas, and building my new power. This world was too reliant on magic, I learned that from my own experience. So perhaps if I could become immune, I could have zero resistance…
*two years later*
The furnaces billowing, the machines whirring, and the automatons working. My legion of perfection was nigh ready. The wisdom was the greatest gift ever, for my unending battalion would be completely unmatched. Each soldier was designed, birthed in a pod, and compleated into a mechanical masterpiece. I had harnessed the fundamental aspects of reality, and could bend them to my desires. No magic power could stop me, and no magic power was necessary. Everything worked on science and physics. Nothing could take my power away, as there was nothing to take in the first place. My power came from my knowledge, and my legions would walk over the world. As the warriors opposed me, there was nothing they could do.
“CRONUS! THESE THINGS ARE TOO POWERFUL! WE NEED TO RETREAT!” Shouted a green robed wizard in the crowd. Perhaps in his hometown, he was an incredibly powerful force, but his vines could do no harm to my war machines, as they chopped through his barriers as though they were never there.
“NO! WE CANT LET THEM REACH THE PALACE, WE MUCH STOP THEM! THEY HAVE TO HAVE A WEAKNESS!” Except they didn’t. Their efforts were in vain. Nothing they could do would stop me. The time wizard could only slow them, but not stop them. I saw now what a fool I was
to rely on such pitiful powers in the first place.
Nothing could stop them, and describing the resistance would be pointless, since no damage was ever made. Just one of my dreadnoughts would be enough to topple an empire, I had thousands. Those who proclaimed themselves as gods would be reduced to gnats.
None even come close to opposing my mechanical men. And should the day come where magic does surpass me, just know I haven’t even come close to my true potential.
|
Fools. Every one of them.
I don't like using that word. It makes me sound conceited. But in this particular circumstance, it just seems apt.
I've heard about what became of others who traversed the same path I did. In their arrogance, they believed they could defy the laws that governed the very magic they wielded. And in the end, their arrogance was their undoing.
I have no intention whatsoever to suffer a similar demise. At least, not until my work is finished.
Which is why it baffles me to no end that these fools who think themselves heroes cannot conceive that I am prepared to pay whatever price is demanded of me in exchange for the power I now wield.
"I ask you again: what is your purpose?"
He only gasps in response, desperately trying to catch his breath through all the pain that now courses through him. The rest of his companions are hardly in better condition: by now they're either laying on the floor, broken, or they are making a stain on my walls.
I grab him by his hair and lift his head, staring him dead in the eyes. He only stares back in silence, clearly seething in hatred. If looks could kill...
"Answer my question or I will break another of your bones."
He does not seem fazed by my threat, so I deliver upon it. With but a snap of my fingers, another rib fractures. He twitches in response.
"Perhaps I should break your spine instead. Maybe then you will take me seriously."
He gasps repeatedly, his breath raspy. After a few moments, he finally deigns to speak:
"We're here... to save the world."
"From what?"
"From... you."
"I see. The Alliance sent you, didn't they?"
He says nothing. He only nods in response. Clearly he's in too much pain to string too many words together.
"Do you know where we are right now?"
In confusion, he shakes his head.
"This land was once known as the Kingdom of Valantir. And upon this very spot once stood the castle of its King. It wasn't a particularly prosperous country, you see, and eventually a civil war erupted. The rest of the world watched as this country burned and did nothing. Tell me, where was the Alliance when Valantir was collapsing?"
He almost seems puzzled by my words.
"Long story short, they eventually showed up after the war ended. But only because they did not like the winner."
His eyes widen in response. Apparently he's smart enough to begin to understand where I'm going.
"When the Alliance struck, it was the final nail in Valantir's coffin. Its people either fled or died. The Alliance reaped the spoils of their victory and walked away. Now this place is but a wasteland."
Growing tired of holding his head, I drop him. His face hits the floor and he groans in pain as I turn around and walk away a few steps.
"Do you know what they did next?"
I turn around to look at him. With a bit of struggle, he manages to raise his face once more.
"In order to hide their crime, they declared this a cursed land and struck its name from the annals of history. They called their invasion a "holy crusade". In order to preserve their standing with the people, they made sure that no one came here, and that no one came out alive. When Valantir's people needed a hero to save them, the Alliance spit on their faces and danced upon their graves."
I move near him once more.
"Tell me: where were you when they needed saving?"
He can't even mutter an attempt at a response.
"How is a world saved if its people are not? Hm? How is the world at peace when the peace is built upon a foundation of lies and greed?"
I take a moment to sense my surroundings. Some of the other so-called heroes are still alive. Good.
"Now, while you mull that over for a bit, I believe you said before that you and your friends could never lose to someone who has given in to darkness. That I was alone and you were not."
I lean in closer.
"It's *because* I am alone that I have nothing left to lose."
I clap my hands together. A rumbling begins to echo through the walls.
"And soon, neither will you."
Dark hands conjured from thin air begin to sprout from the walls and the floor, grabbing those that were still alive. They begin to scream in pain as their souls are forcibly extracted from their bodies. The one laying before me looks back in horror and struggles to rise to his feet. I snap my fingers and his legs break. His screams join the cacophony as it reaches its crescendo. I close my eyes and tune out the noise as I concentrate to make sure not one soul goes to waste.
When the screaming stops, I open my eyes and see that he's the only one still alive. Tears run down his face as he glares at me, in disbelief that someone like me could even exist.
"I am almost tempted to send you home, to have you remember your failure for the rest of your days."
I conjure a sword in my hand.
"But no. I'll just give you a quick death and be done with it."
I raise my sword upon his back and aim for his heart.
"Wait!"
I hold my hand. If he has any last words, I hope they are memorable.
"This power you wield... Surely you know its price?"
His words catch me off-guard. Why would he ask me that?
"If you continue like this, the Dark Gods will devour your soul after you die! It's not too late for you!"
I take a moment to ponder his words. My answer comes out as naturally as if I had rehearsed it a million times.
"I'm counting on it."
I pierce his heart and watch as his life fades away.
The sword vanishes from my hand as I move to sit upon my throne.
As I rest, I wonder what he intended when he uttered those words. Was he desperately trying to instill fear in me? Or was he attempting to save my soul?
As if such a thing mattered at this point.
After five hundred years, I'm finally getting close. A million souls or two and I would reach my goal. I committed to my task long ago; it's too late to back down now.
I clap my hands once more. The corpses rise to their feet and slowly start to leave the room. Those bodies too broken or dismembered to serve as foot soldiers are warped away to the dungeon, to be forged into a flesh golem.
But not his corpse. I snap my fingers and it spontaneously burns in black fire.
As his remains burn, I take a small locket from one of my pockets. Opening it, I stare at the aging picture of my wife.
If I did regret anything, it was that I would not be able to meet her or our children when my work was done. My soul would have another destination, this I knew well.
The world took them from me, along with everything else, and so I will destroy it. And if my own soul must serve as the final catalyst, then so be it.
May a new world rise from its ashes when I'm gone. Hopefully, a better one.
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[WP] The Dark Arts are fair: for a terrible, personal price, they offer raw power. And lots of it. Self-centered villains typically renege on the contract and thus their powers fail them at a crucial moment. Now, for the first time, the heroes face someone who paid in full. The powers are all theirs
|
Everyone knows two things about the Patchwork King:
That he is always beaten.
And that he always returns.
For generations, we have fought him. When he was a lonesome steppe wizard who built his tower on the hill above the 96'th nexus, Nicaou of the Wooden Sword killed him, as his workings threatened the shire of Gamla.
When he rose, bearing the Mantle and Seal of the Red Reaver's Court, followed by a legion of the Red Reaver's Own, and set out to conquer the River Kingdoms, he was once more struck down, as the Wooden Sword's descendant ventured out with his Nine-And-One. But in the battle, Nicaou's line was ended, the Wooden Sword spirited below, and his Nine-And-One scattered to the winds, doomed to wander in despair and senslesness, because the Red Reaver's curse is the rot of love and familial bonds.
Yet we thought he was gone, because we did not realize that the ending of Nicaou's line was the price the man who would be the Patchwork King had promised for his Seal and Mantle. The Red Reaver was well pleased, for the line of Nicaou was his foil and constant thorn, and thus, the man walked long in the Land Beneath, seeking forgotten things, and scouring the refuse of long gone gods and forgotten civilizations, protected, or at the least, not hunted, for he still bore that Seal and Mantle, and in his hand, he held The Wooden Sword.
And when he found there The Still Dying God, forever drawing its last breath, he found in it yet another patron, and he took in his hand the least of the many pins which protruded from that cursed flesh, and wielding it as a spear and firebrand in his right hand, and the Wooden Sword in his left hand, he rose once more to where men lived, and he set a miasma upon the lands, which called the dead from the earth and also people of strange and secret faiths, who had long worked ceremony and sacrifice in hidden places.
This time, there were no heroes, for the time of heroes had ended, and a time of building had begun. The Red Reaver was forgotten, as was the line of Nicaou. But we swiftly came to once more know the man who would be The Patchwork King.
And we, now a building people, built tools of war and tools for building tools of war, and we fought in the hundred ways a people fights, against that horde of the dead and the worshipers of death.
And we were victorious. After years of struggle and thousands dead, we burned them from the last of their strongholds, and from the air, we reduced the stronghold of their master, the first such strike in history. The cult was gone, silenced, and not a one remembered the name of the Still Dying God.
And thus, the gods death was complete, and it was gone even from the Land Below. And for keeping his word to The Still Dying God to burn out the last twisted remnants of the gods cult, the man who would be The Patchwork King was rewarded in the very last sigh of the gods age-long deathrattle, and was once more resurrected into the Land Below, not only with the Mantle and Seal of the Reaver and the Wooden Sword, and the Least Pin that pierced a god, he also held the knowledge of a building people turned to total war.
But you have heard the rest, as it is not such ancient history. There are those among us who have lived through much of it.
How he came to hold the Remorseless Heart. The Final Rope. The Luminous Green Glass. The Shard Of Living Bone.
The Knowing Of Not-Light, and The Knowing Of Nuclear Fission.
Piece by piece taken. Deal by deal honored. Death by death conquered. A patchwork of power, a sliver of every dark master, unknowable fiend, and stranger from the stars a desperate mind could reach and serve. The Patchwork King is now a power all its own.
To look upon The Patchwork King cannot be done. To understand his goal cannot be done. And we know not that we can win this time. We grew strong in the fear of him, but when last he came, he made the world you see before you. A world of change and ruin and terror and wonder and stagnation, all at once. That we can now live is all a miracle. All that struggle turned to mere survival in this senseless world, every brilliant mind and desperate effort.
This knowledge is a power. And thus, we have a final thread of a shred of hope.
We have reached out, into The Land Below, and we have offered him a Deal. The Knowing Of Impossible Life, in exchange for peace now and forever.
After all, everyone knows three things about The Patchwork King.
That he is always beaten.
That he always returns.
And that he always honors his deals.
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There are powers beyond the fumbling and uncoordinated hands of mortals, the great Sovereigns and Regents of the stars that watch, bemused, as the brief and fine motes of will and desire knock and jostle against eachother, calling out in their small voices for the aid of their gods, and their demons, and their monsters.
As simple as it is, to give power to a mote, as simple as to brush dust from one’s arm to the mites upon the soil and the grass, it is only the most capricious and mercurial of the ones that sit in the stars that do so unprompted. No, power comes to those who speak up, in their small voices, and say “Bestow unto me.”
There are the Regents that fashion mortals into their instruments, for they see no other reason to give power to such things. Simply exerting themselves upon the lower world, proving the points of their own existence. How mortals *revere* ones such as these.
But then, there are the more callous. Perhaps they were the same, in history, but now they are the contemporary uncaring, needing to prove no point, but find the spectacle of what a mortal might do with power so *very* entertaining. Then again, they do not give it out unduly. They will ask for proof, that their agents will do something at the very least interesting. And for this, they demand a price.
The price itself rarely matters. Money, land, souls, some trite token of perceived value, although there are some that remain consistent. It is the mortal greed, though, the mortal *need* to have and not give away, that always makes the most spectacular occasions. These more jaded and dwelling Sovereigns, even the Monsters that become them, they undoubtedly know they are being made rubes, and so they rig their favours, limit their power, and laugh in grim sardonicism as their agents play the unwitting fool, who scales upon the tower and is brought to ruin.
But my ruin has not come yet, even as the horizon stretches out so very far from this tower upon which I stand. I am the fool, there is no doubt about that, but how very entertaining I must be, for those my adversaries have called my dark masters, that my power flows like wine, that their boons keep steadily onward. I suppose it’s that none have given so much, have never surrendered so greatly to their price.
Even the most insidious of appeasers to the Star-Court that had come before me *balked* at such a thing like *humanity* to be the price of power.
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[WP] The Dark Arts are fair: for a terrible, personal price, they offer raw power. And lots of it. Self-centered villains typically renege on the contract and thus their powers fail them at a crucial moment. Now, for the first time, the heroes face someone who paid in full. The powers are all theirs
|
I simply wanted to help everyone. Like a surgeon, removing a cancer that could not be dealt with any other way. Of course, to remove a cancer this metastatized, one needs superhuman skills.
The world's first clue was when a few of the worst politicians died. On their bodies, in a script that anyone could understand, was a catalogue of their worst behaviors, a list of who helped them, and a simple phrase. "I will find you out. Do better."
Religious leaders, kings, despots, presidents. Those who wielded their wealth and power only for themselves, not for those around them. There was outrage, of course. Some was simply that of those so tied into the power system that an attack on it was considered an attack on them. Over a hundred nations banded together to hunt me down. I was like air.
Then a few others, who agreed with my intentions, but not with my methods, started searching. These few understood my methods, they had met... Others like me. But those others were not like me. They either did it for their own wealth, or like some foolish dark knight who would rather kill a few prisoners than fix the problems that put them in such desperation in the first place. And while their deals had been for similar skill sets, they went for something more flamboyant. Control of the victim for a few seconds before death. Forcing the victim to feel all the pain they had inflicted. Leaving behind visible ghosts, forced to wander until they apologized to all their still living victims and meant it. I had gone for something simple. "They died because of their actions, these are the actions."
As I understand it, they spent almost a year tracking down demonic entities until they found the one I had signed a pact with. There are lesser deals you can make, for simply some information. The demons don't really care once they've made a deal. To be fair, they're not demons as most understand them. They're simply... Entities bound by deals. Almost all magical powers come from such entities. Those associated with death are... more dangerous to deal with.
So I watched, on monitors, as these modern day paladins came to end my reign of terror. Mainly against the rich and powerful, but still, I empathized with them. I even opened every door, disabled the security to deal with one of the nation's enforcement agencies getting lucky. Warily, they came to where I was. I will admit, their gasps of horror and pity gave me a small amount of amusement. With a few subvocalizations, my chair was aimed so I could see them with my own eyes, such as they were now. And I laughed. The pain, by now, was something I was quite used to.
"What, you've never seen a condemned soul before?" After the first month, my limbs had stopped working, after the second they had finally turned to ash. Fortunately, my deal had included a certain amount of funds. "You cannot do anything to my body that has not already happened. Hell came to me, first metaphorically, then literally." One of them vomited. "I let you in because none of you were guilty of anything truly heinous. Some cheating, lying, unintentionally hurting someone else. The worst any of you have done, is simply not enough. And I do not fault you for mere human failures. I would have to condemn myself first. Be glad I was calmed down by the time Phlegethon came to me. Otherwise I might just have called him to flood the world."
The leader of the heroes, a man known by the name Zadaq, looked at me. "The killing has to stop."
I smiled. "I agree. I have just finished the last bits of surgery. My body won't last much longer. The files I have are at your disposal. The password is 'fifty just people'. Spaced, lowercase. The chaos I have started needs direction, I give it to you. Revolution needs builders, not just destroyers. Honestly, I'm surprised you weren't onto me in the first few days. I had told you there would be more."
Phlegethon is a river, and also a god, or a demon. It can give you vengeance or violence, but it also punishes it. "Just remember. I chose to suffer eternal torment for this. I thought my sacrifice was worth it. Make this place a better world."
Zadaq went to say more, but my torso, long since ash, finally collapsed, and my head was aflame. I remember laughing and screaming. It is all I have left. That, and the laments of others. "I did not kill them myself!" "All I did was prevent medical care!" "I did everything for God!" That last bit is hilarious. I don't know if their god exists, but I'm pretty sure he said "What you do to the least of these, you do to me." Their god may be the only one who has taken on more suffering in a good cause than I have.
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There are powers beyond the fumbling and uncoordinated hands of mortals, the great Sovereigns and Regents of the stars that watch, bemused, as the brief and fine motes of will and desire knock and jostle against eachother, calling out in their small voices for the aid of their gods, and their demons, and their monsters.
As simple as it is, to give power to a mote, as simple as to brush dust from one’s arm to the mites upon the soil and the grass, it is only the most capricious and mercurial of the ones that sit in the stars that do so unprompted. No, power comes to those who speak up, in their small voices, and say “Bestow unto me.”
There are the Regents that fashion mortals into their instruments, for they see no other reason to give power to such things. Simply exerting themselves upon the lower world, proving the points of their own existence. How mortals *revere* ones such as these.
But then, there are the more callous. Perhaps they were the same, in history, but now they are the contemporary uncaring, needing to prove no point, but find the spectacle of what a mortal might do with power so *very* entertaining. Then again, they do not give it out unduly. They will ask for proof, that their agents will do something at the very least interesting. And for this, they demand a price.
The price itself rarely matters. Money, land, souls, some trite token of perceived value, although there are some that remain consistent. It is the mortal greed, though, the mortal *need* to have and not give away, that always makes the most spectacular occasions. These more jaded and dwelling Sovereigns, even the Monsters that become them, they undoubtedly know they are being made rubes, and so they rig their favours, limit their power, and laugh in grim sardonicism as their agents play the unwitting fool, who scales upon the tower and is brought to ruin.
But my ruin has not come yet, even as the horizon stretches out so very far from this tower upon which I stand. I am the fool, there is no doubt about that, but how very entertaining I must be, for those my adversaries have called my dark masters, that my power flows like wine, that their boons keep steadily onward. I suppose it’s that none have given so much, have never surrendered so greatly to their price.
Even the most insidious of appeasers to the Star-Court that had come before me *balked* at such a thing like *humanity* to be the price of power.
|
|
[WP] The Dark Arts are fair: for a terrible, personal price, they offer raw power. And lots of it. Self-centered villains typically renege on the contract and thus their powers fail them at a crucial moment. Now, for the first time, the heroes face someone who paid in full. The powers are all theirs
|
Everyone knows two things about the Patchwork King:
That he is always beaten.
And that he always returns.
For generations, we have fought him. When he was a lonesome steppe wizard who built his tower on the hill above the 96'th nexus, Nicaou of the Wooden Sword killed him, as his workings threatened the shire of Gamla.
When he rose, bearing the Mantle and Seal of the Red Reaver's Court, followed by a legion of the Red Reaver's Own, and set out to conquer the River Kingdoms, he was once more struck down, as the Wooden Sword's descendant ventured out with his Nine-And-One. But in the battle, Nicaou's line was ended, the Wooden Sword spirited below, and his Nine-And-One scattered to the winds, doomed to wander in despair and senslesness, because the Red Reaver's curse is the rot of love and familial bonds.
Yet we thought he was gone, because we did not realize that the ending of Nicaou's line was the price the man who would be the Patchwork King had promised for his Seal and Mantle. The Red Reaver was well pleased, for the line of Nicaou was his foil and constant thorn, and thus, the man walked long in the Land Beneath, seeking forgotten things, and scouring the refuse of long gone gods and forgotten civilizations, protected, or at the least, not hunted, for he still bore that Seal and Mantle, and in his hand, he held The Wooden Sword.
And when he found there The Still Dying God, forever drawing its last breath, he found in it yet another patron, and he took in his hand the least of the many pins which protruded from that cursed flesh, and wielding it as a spear and firebrand in his right hand, and the Wooden Sword in his left hand, he rose once more to where men lived, and he set a miasma upon the lands, which called the dead from the earth and also people of strange and secret faiths, who had long worked ceremony and sacrifice in hidden places.
This time, there were no heroes, for the time of heroes had ended, and a time of building had begun. The Red Reaver was forgotten, as was the line of Nicaou. But we swiftly came to once more know the man who would be The Patchwork King.
And we, now a building people, built tools of war and tools for building tools of war, and we fought in the hundred ways a people fights, against that horde of the dead and the worshipers of death.
And we were victorious. After years of struggle and thousands dead, we burned them from the last of their strongholds, and from the air, we reduced the stronghold of their master, the first such strike in history. The cult was gone, silenced, and not a one remembered the name of the Still Dying God.
And thus, the gods death was complete, and it was gone even from the Land Below. And for keeping his word to The Still Dying God to burn out the last twisted remnants of the gods cult, the man who would be The Patchwork King was rewarded in the very last sigh of the gods age-long deathrattle, and was once more resurrected into the Land Below, not only with the Mantle and Seal of the Reaver and the Wooden Sword, and the Least Pin that pierced a god, he also held the knowledge of a building people turned to total war.
But you have heard the rest, as it is not such ancient history. There are those among us who have lived through much of it.
How he came to hold the Remorseless Heart. The Final Rope. The Luminous Green Glass. The Shard Of Living Bone.
The Knowing Of Not-Light, and The Knowing Of Nuclear Fission.
Piece by piece taken. Deal by deal honored. Death by death conquered. A patchwork of power, a sliver of every dark master, unknowable fiend, and stranger from the stars a desperate mind could reach and serve. The Patchwork King is now a power all its own.
To look upon The Patchwork King cannot be done. To understand his goal cannot be done. And we know not that we can win this time. We grew strong in the fear of him, but when last he came, he made the world you see before you. A world of change and ruin and terror and wonder and stagnation, all at once. That we can now live is all a miracle. All that struggle turned to mere survival in this senseless world, every brilliant mind and desperate effort.
This knowledge is a power. And thus, we have a final thread of a shred of hope.
We have reached out, into The Land Below, and we have offered him a Deal. The Knowing Of Impossible Life, in exchange for peace now and forever.
After all, everyone knows three things about The Patchwork King.
That he is always beaten.
That he always returns.
And that he always honors his deals.
|
As I killed the last of the heroes I laughed. It was an accident.
I had found the old book because I thought Darcy would enjoy it. We could laugh about it together. I decided to go home early to show her. While walking, I thumbed through the book.
At first I thought the words were in some foreign script, but I blinked and realized they were just very ornate old English, hard for most to read but I'd done my thesis on Chaucer.
*unlimited power we will grant, for the life of the one you love most, but serve us you will in hate and darkness.*
Silly, ridiculous, who would accept that deal anyway?
I was in such a hurry to show Darcy my find, I didn't even notice my best friend's car parked out front. I did notice the noises coming from the bedroom though. I grabbed the desk lamp, an ugly metal thing, and just kept hitting both of them. Then I noticed the book, laying on the floor where I dropped it, was open, the letters glowing.
|
|
[WP] The Dark Arts are fair: for a terrible, personal price, they offer raw power. And lots of it. Self-centered villains typically renege on the contract and thus their powers fail them at a crucial moment. Now, for the first time, the heroes face someone who paid in full. The powers are all theirs
|
I simply wanted to help everyone. Like a surgeon, removing a cancer that could not be dealt with any other way. Of course, to remove a cancer this metastatized, one needs superhuman skills.
The world's first clue was when a few of the worst politicians died. On their bodies, in a script that anyone could understand, was a catalogue of their worst behaviors, a list of who helped them, and a simple phrase. "I will find you out. Do better."
Religious leaders, kings, despots, presidents. Those who wielded their wealth and power only for themselves, not for those around them. There was outrage, of course. Some was simply that of those so tied into the power system that an attack on it was considered an attack on them. Over a hundred nations banded together to hunt me down. I was like air.
Then a few others, who agreed with my intentions, but not with my methods, started searching. These few understood my methods, they had met... Others like me. But those others were not like me. They either did it for their own wealth, or like some foolish dark knight who would rather kill a few prisoners than fix the problems that put them in such desperation in the first place. And while their deals had been for similar skill sets, they went for something more flamboyant. Control of the victim for a few seconds before death. Forcing the victim to feel all the pain they had inflicted. Leaving behind visible ghosts, forced to wander until they apologized to all their still living victims and meant it. I had gone for something simple. "They died because of their actions, these are the actions."
As I understand it, they spent almost a year tracking down demonic entities until they found the one I had signed a pact with. There are lesser deals you can make, for simply some information. The demons don't really care once they've made a deal. To be fair, they're not demons as most understand them. They're simply... Entities bound by deals. Almost all magical powers come from such entities. Those associated with death are... more dangerous to deal with.
So I watched, on monitors, as these modern day paladins came to end my reign of terror. Mainly against the rich and powerful, but still, I empathized with them. I even opened every door, disabled the security to deal with one of the nation's enforcement agencies getting lucky. Warily, they came to where I was. I will admit, their gasps of horror and pity gave me a small amount of amusement. With a few subvocalizations, my chair was aimed so I could see them with my own eyes, such as they were now. And I laughed. The pain, by now, was something I was quite used to.
"What, you've never seen a condemned soul before?" After the first month, my limbs had stopped working, after the second they had finally turned to ash. Fortunately, my deal had included a certain amount of funds. "You cannot do anything to my body that has not already happened. Hell came to me, first metaphorically, then literally." One of them vomited. "I let you in because none of you were guilty of anything truly heinous. Some cheating, lying, unintentionally hurting someone else. The worst any of you have done, is simply not enough. And I do not fault you for mere human failures. I would have to condemn myself first. Be glad I was calmed down by the time Phlegethon came to me. Otherwise I might just have called him to flood the world."
The leader of the heroes, a man known by the name Zadaq, looked at me. "The killing has to stop."
I smiled. "I agree. I have just finished the last bits of surgery. My body won't last much longer. The files I have are at your disposal. The password is 'fifty just people'. Spaced, lowercase. The chaos I have started needs direction, I give it to you. Revolution needs builders, not just destroyers. Honestly, I'm surprised you weren't onto me in the first few days. I had told you there would be more."
Phlegethon is a river, and also a god, or a demon. It can give you vengeance or violence, but it also punishes it. "Just remember. I chose to suffer eternal torment for this. I thought my sacrifice was worth it. Make this place a better world."
Zadaq went to say more, but my torso, long since ash, finally collapsed, and my head was aflame. I remember laughing and screaming. It is all I have left. That, and the laments of others. "I did not kill them myself!" "All I did was prevent medical care!" "I did everything for God!" That last bit is hilarious. I don't know if their god exists, but I'm pretty sure he said "What you do to the least of these, you do to me." Their god may be the only one who has taken on more suffering in a good cause than I have.
|
As I killed the last of the heroes I laughed. It was an accident.
I had found the old book because I thought Darcy would enjoy it. We could laugh about it together. I decided to go home early to show her. While walking, I thumbed through the book.
At first I thought the words were in some foreign script, but I blinked and realized they were just very ornate old English, hard for most to read but I'd done my thesis on Chaucer.
*unlimited power we will grant, for the life of the one you love most, but serve us you will in hate and darkness.*
Silly, ridiculous, who would accept that deal anyway?
I was in such a hurry to show Darcy my find, I didn't even notice my best friend's car parked out front. I did notice the noises coming from the bedroom though. I grabbed the desk lamp, an ugly metal thing, and just kept hitting both of them. Then I noticed the book, laying on the floor where I dropped it, was open, the letters glowing.
|
|
[WP] The Dark Arts are fair: for a terrible, personal price, they offer raw power. And lots of it. Self-centered villains typically renege on the contract and thus their powers fail them at a crucial moment. Now, for the first time, the heroes face someone who paid in full. The powers are all theirs
|
When I was younger, I could never understand the villainy of greed. The villains I read about were motivated by many reasons and philosophies. Rage, lust, pride, these were the reasons that compelled me to love the villains of the story. Standing alone among the common motivations of evil was greed. He did all this for money? She tore the world apart for treasure? I laughed at these villains in the stories I read. Surely the villain who found her strength in her anger or pride was the best villain.
Then I grew older. I know better now.
Money is power made manifest. To have power over someone else was always a testy business throughout history. Usually, the threat of violence would keep people in line. But money is better than a mere threat, it’s a promise of hope for a better tomorrow. Everything and everyone has a price. Even the most stalwart hero needs to eat lest their hunger devours their mind and morals whole.
The last one who tried to destroy me was a principled man. Pious as he was persistent, he pursued me from kingdom to kingdom, reminding me incessantly of his promise to kill me. It was cute, like a child reminding their parents of her excitement for the upcoming festival. But all good things must come to an end.
The hero’s quest had exhausted his wealth as an adventurer. Even on his last legs, his faith was strong. He truly believed that I was a monster and dangerous to the innocent he had sworn to protect so long ago. His convictions at least were admirable, but he was desperate, fueled only by faith and his remaining rations. Only one of those I could take, and only one was required.
My plan were set into motion, propelled by the Dark Arts I had purchased as a youth. I bought the cities food supplies and entrusted their safekeeping with my Friends Below. Now, the great city of Haman would share in the hero’s suffering and desperation. Their stomachs would sing in harmony on those dirty streets beneath my hotel window. Riots started. People cried out, unable to feed their children and elderly. Rumors of cannibalism started on the second day and were violently realized on the fourth day of artificial famine. I bought the desperation of these innocent souls, and I would certainly be happy to sell their relief.
Necessity is the mother of invention, and necessity, like everything, has a price.
It cost over 300 innocent souls to fall to the hero before he found me. Bleeding, ragged, about to break, I let him spend his final breaths to tell me how I would never succeed in the end. How I was doomed to fail, if not by his blade, then by another after him. I spent the brief time to ponder who would come after him as the mob ripped him limb for limb. Their suffering was immediately ended that very day. Now that they were no longer hungry, their minds could beyond their stomach to greater aspirations. Of course, I did not feed them enough to sustain all of them. It cost time and money, but eventually, I bought the death of the cities’ royalty for a few carts of food. I rebuilt Hamam into a meritocracy, where the capable and clever eat in decadence and the hungry scheme to take it all away from them. In the end, I had bought a city for a few days of food. My soul is forfeit upon my death. But I know now that the my teacher of the Dark Arts was foolish and short-sighted. For now I know the ultimate truth that binds us all together:
“Everyone and everything has a price.”
Even eternal life can be paid for. It is of great cost, more than any one man can pay. More cities will need purchasing before I am ready to pay in full for my sovereignty from Death.
I used to think greed was foolish. I know better now.
|
As I killed the last of the heroes I laughed. It was an accident.
I had found the old book because I thought Darcy would enjoy it. We could laugh about it together. I decided to go home early to show her. While walking, I thumbed through the book.
At first I thought the words were in some foreign script, but I blinked and realized they were just very ornate old English, hard for most to read but I'd done my thesis on Chaucer.
*unlimited power we will grant, for the life of the one you love most, but serve us you will in hate and darkness.*
Silly, ridiculous, who would accept that deal anyway?
I was in such a hurry to show Darcy my find, I didn't even notice my best friend's car parked out front. I did notice the noises coming from the bedroom though. I grabbed the desk lamp, an ugly metal thing, and just kept hitting both of them. Then I noticed the book, laying on the floor where I dropped it, was open, the letters glowing.
|
|
[WP] The Dark Arts are fair: for a terrible, personal price, they offer raw power. And lots of it. Self-centered villains typically renege on the contract and thus their powers fail them at a crucial moment. Now, for the first time, the heroes face someone who paid in full. The powers are all theirs
|
I simply wanted to help everyone. Like a surgeon, removing a cancer that could not be dealt with any other way. Of course, to remove a cancer this metastatized, one needs superhuman skills.
The world's first clue was when a few of the worst politicians died. On their bodies, in a script that anyone could understand, was a catalogue of their worst behaviors, a list of who helped them, and a simple phrase. "I will find you out. Do better."
Religious leaders, kings, despots, presidents. Those who wielded their wealth and power only for themselves, not for those around them. There was outrage, of course. Some was simply that of those so tied into the power system that an attack on it was considered an attack on them. Over a hundred nations banded together to hunt me down. I was like air.
Then a few others, who agreed with my intentions, but not with my methods, started searching. These few understood my methods, they had met... Others like me. But those others were not like me. They either did it for their own wealth, or like some foolish dark knight who would rather kill a few prisoners than fix the problems that put them in such desperation in the first place. And while their deals had been for similar skill sets, they went for something more flamboyant. Control of the victim for a few seconds before death. Forcing the victim to feel all the pain they had inflicted. Leaving behind visible ghosts, forced to wander until they apologized to all their still living victims and meant it. I had gone for something simple. "They died because of their actions, these are the actions."
As I understand it, they spent almost a year tracking down demonic entities until they found the one I had signed a pact with. There are lesser deals you can make, for simply some information. The demons don't really care once they've made a deal. To be fair, they're not demons as most understand them. They're simply... Entities bound by deals. Almost all magical powers come from such entities. Those associated with death are... more dangerous to deal with.
So I watched, on monitors, as these modern day paladins came to end my reign of terror. Mainly against the rich and powerful, but still, I empathized with them. I even opened every door, disabled the security to deal with one of the nation's enforcement agencies getting lucky. Warily, they came to where I was. I will admit, their gasps of horror and pity gave me a small amount of amusement. With a few subvocalizations, my chair was aimed so I could see them with my own eyes, such as they were now. And I laughed. The pain, by now, was something I was quite used to.
"What, you've never seen a condemned soul before?" After the first month, my limbs had stopped working, after the second they had finally turned to ash. Fortunately, my deal had included a certain amount of funds. "You cannot do anything to my body that has not already happened. Hell came to me, first metaphorically, then literally." One of them vomited. "I let you in because none of you were guilty of anything truly heinous. Some cheating, lying, unintentionally hurting someone else. The worst any of you have done, is simply not enough. And I do not fault you for mere human failures. I would have to condemn myself first. Be glad I was calmed down by the time Phlegethon came to me. Otherwise I might just have called him to flood the world."
The leader of the heroes, a man known by the name Zadaq, looked at me. "The killing has to stop."
I smiled. "I agree. I have just finished the last bits of surgery. My body won't last much longer. The files I have are at your disposal. The password is 'fifty just people'. Spaced, lowercase. The chaos I have started needs direction, I give it to you. Revolution needs builders, not just destroyers. Honestly, I'm surprised you weren't onto me in the first few days. I had told you there would be more."
Phlegethon is a river, and also a god, or a demon. It can give you vengeance or violence, but it also punishes it. "Just remember. I chose to suffer eternal torment for this. I thought my sacrifice was worth it. Make this place a better world."
Zadaq went to say more, but my torso, long since ash, finally collapsed, and my head was aflame. I remember laughing and screaming. It is all I have left. That, and the laments of others. "I did not kill them myself!" "All I did was prevent medical care!" "I did everything for God!" That last bit is hilarious. I don't know if their god exists, but I'm pretty sure he said "What you do to the least of these, you do to me." Their god may be the only one who has taken on more suffering in a good cause than I have.
|
How much would someone pay for power? For some, not a lot.
For others, it was as far as the human limit would allow.
But each and every single one of them could not deliver. Sure, some paid half, some even paid 99% of the balance.
But nobody paid in full.
Until now.
Reduced to a former husk of himself, he was done. Done with the world, done with life. He’d gotten all he had out of it. There was only one reason he lived, one reason that would become his life.
He sought them out relentlessly; they could not run or hide fast enough. Each and every single one of them knew that their days were numbered.
His predecessors could not carry out their last act, their grand finale, their master plan.
But he would.
Most paid in installments. An accident to a family member here, a stroke of bad luck there, or even just a daily annoyance. But they could never follow through. They could not finish the remaining 1%, the last hurdle.
But he was different. His balance was wiped out in a single instant. No time to reconsider, no time to second guess himself. It’d happen so fast, even he couldn’t control it. It was practically prepaid.
And what was his price?
His dog, along with his Ford Mustang.
His name was John Wick, and he’d just lost everything.
____
This was a lot shorter than what I normally write, but I had fun nonetheless!
|
|
[WP] The Dark Arts are fair: for a terrible, personal price, they offer raw power. And lots of it. Self-centered villains typically renege on the contract and thus their powers fail them at a crucial moment. Now, for the first time, the heroes face someone who paid in full. The powers are all theirs
|
When I was younger, I could never understand the villainy of greed. The villains I read about were motivated by many reasons and philosophies. Rage, lust, pride, these were the reasons that compelled me to love the villains of the story. Standing alone among the common motivations of evil was greed. He did all this for money? She tore the world apart for treasure? I laughed at these villains in the stories I read. Surely the villain who found her strength in her anger or pride was the best villain.
Then I grew older. I know better now.
Money is power made manifest. To have power over someone else was always a testy business throughout history. Usually, the threat of violence would keep people in line. But money is better than a mere threat, it’s a promise of hope for a better tomorrow. Everything and everyone has a price. Even the most stalwart hero needs to eat lest their hunger devours their mind and morals whole.
The last one who tried to destroy me was a principled man. Pious as he was persistent, he pursued me from kingdom to kingdom, reminding me incessantly of his promise to kill me. It was cute, like a child reminding their parents of her excitement for the upcoming festival. But all good things must come to an end.
The hero’s quest had exhausted his wealth as an adventurer. Even on his last legs, his faith was strong. He truly believed that I was a monster and dangerous to the innocent he had sworn to protect so long ago. His convictions at least were admirable, but he was desperate, fueled only by faith and his remaining rations. Only one of those I could take, and only one was required.
My plan were set into motion, propelled by the Dark Arts I had purchased as a youth. I bought the cities food supplies and entrusted their safekeeping with my Friends Below. Now, the great city of Haman would share in the hero’s suffering and desperation. Their stomachs would sing in harmony on those dirty streets beneath my hotel window. Riots started. People cried out, unable to feed their children and elderly. Rumors of cannibalism started on the second day and were violently realized on the fourth day of artificial famine. I bought the desperation of these innocent souls, and I would certainly be happy to sell their relief.
Necessity is the mother of invention, and necessity, like everything, has a price.
It cost over 300 innocent souls to fall to the hero before he found me. Bleeding, ragged, about to break, I let him spend his final breaths to tell me how I would never succeed in the end. How I was doomed to fail, if not by his blade, then by another after him. I spent the brief time to ponder who would come after him as the mob ripped him limb for limb. Their suffering was immediately ended that very day. Now that they were no longer hungry, their minds could beyond their stomach to greater aspirations. Of course, I did not feed them enough to sustain all of them. It cost time and money, but eventually, I bought the death of the cities’ royalty for a few carts of food. I rebuilt Hamam into a meritocracy, where the capable and clever eat in decadence and the hungry scheme to take it all away from them. In the end, I had bought a city for a few days of food. My soul is forfeit upon my death. But I know now that the my teacher of the Dark Arts was foolish and short-sighted. For now I know the ultimate truth that binds us all together:
“Everyone and everything has a price.”
Even eternal life can be paid for. It is of great cost, more than any one man can pay. More cities will need purchasing before I am ready to pay in full for my sovereignty from Death.
I used to think greed was foolish. I know better now.
|
How much would someone pay for power? For some, not a lot.
For others, it was as far as the human limit would allow.
But each and every single one of them could not deliver. Sure, some paid half, some even paid 99% of the balance.
But nobody paid in full.
Until now.
Reduced to a former husk of himself, he was done. Done with the world, done with life. He’d gotten all he had out of it. There was only one reason he lived, one reason that would become his life.
He sought them out relentlessly; they could not run or hide fast enough. Each and every single one of them knew that their days were numbered.
His predecessors could not carry out their last act, their grand finale, their master plan.
But he would.
Most paid in installments. An accident to a family member here, a stroke of bad luck there, or even just a daily annoyance. But they could never follow through. They could not finish the remaining 1%, the last hurdle.
But he was different. His balance was wiped out in a single instant. No time to reconsider, no time to second guess himself. It’d happen so fast, even he couldn’t control it. It was practically prepaid.
And what was his price?
His dog, along with his Ford Mustang.
His name was John Wick, and he’d just lost everything.
____
This was a lot shorter than what I normally write, but I had fun nonetheless!
|
|
[WP] The Dark Arts are fair: for a terrible, personal price, they offer raw power. And lots of it. Self-centered villains typically renege on the contract and thus their powers fail them at a crucial moment. Now, for the first time, the heroes face someone who paid in full. The powers are all theirs
|
When I was younger, I could never understand the villainy of greed. The villains I read about were motivated by many reasons and philosophies. Rage, lust, pride, these were the reasons that compelled me to love the villains of the story. Standing alone among the common motivations of evil was greed. He did all this for money? She tore the world apart for treasure? I laughed at these villains in the stories I read. Surely the villain who found her strength in her anger or pride was the best villain.
Then I grew older. I know better now.
Money is power made manifest. To have power over someone else was always a testy business throughout history. Usually, the threat of violence would keep people in line. But money is better than a mere threat, it’s a promise of hope for a better tomorrow. Everything and everyone has a price. Even the most stalwart hero needs to eat lest their hunger devours their mind and morals whole.
The last one who tried to destroy me was a principled man. Pious as he was persistent, he pursued me from kingdom to kingdom, reminding me incessantly of his promise to kill me. It was cute, like a child reminding their parents of her excitement for the upcoming festival. But all good things must come to an end.
The hero’s quest had exhausted his wealth as an adventurer. Even on his last legs, his faith was strong. He truly believed that I was a monster and dangerous to the innocent he had sworn to protect so long ago. His convictions at least were admirable, but he was desperate, fueled only by faith and his remaining rations. Only one of those I could take, and only one was required.
My plan were set into motion, propelled by the Dark Arts I had purchased as a youth. I bought the cities food supplies and entrusted their safekeeping with my Friends Below. Now, the great city of Haman would share in the hero’s suffering and desperation. Their stomachs would sing in harmony on those dirty streets beneath my hotel window. Riots started. People cried out, unable to feed their children and elderly. Rumors of cannibalism started on the second day and were violently realized on the fourth day of artificial famine. I bought the desperation of these innocent souls, and I would certainly be happy to sell their relief.
Necessity is the mother of invention, and necessity, like everything, has a price.
It cost over 300 innocent souls to fall to the hero before he found me. Bleeding, ragged, about to break, I let him spend his final breaths to tell me how I would never succeed in the end. How I was doomed to fail, if not by his blade, then by another after him. I spent the brief time to ponder who would come after him as the mob ripped him limb for limb. Their suffering was immediately ended that very day. Now that they were no longer hungry, their minds could beyond their stomach to greater aspirations. Of course, I did not feed them enough to sustain all of them. It cost time and money, but eventually, I bought the death of the cities’ royalty for a few carts of food. I rebuilt Hamam into a meritocracy, where the capable and clever eat in decadence and the hungry scheme to take it all away from them. In the end, I had bought a city for a few days of food. My soul is forfeit upon my death. But I know now that the my teacher of the Dark Arts was foolish and short-sighted. For now I know the ultimate truth that binds us all together:
“Everyone and everything has a price.”
Even eternal life can be paid for. It is of great cost, more than any one man can pay. More cities will need purchasing before I am ready to pay in full for my sovereignty from Death.
I used to think greed was foolish. I know better now.
|
"Grandpa!!! Tell me the story about the big bad monster again! You have to tell it or I won't go to sleep!"
"Good grief, I don't know where she gets this from. Honey, grandpa spent all day traveling just to see you, and got you all sorts of presents. I'm sure he's very tired, and needs to get some rest."
"Ohoho, that's alright. I'd be happy to tell her the story again, let's just tuck you in alright? You sure you don't want to hear a different story this time? I just got you two new books, and I can help you understand any complicated words."
"NO NO NO. Plus one of them is in French again, and I'm still learning it!"
"Fine fine, we'll read that one some other time. Now, long long ago when the earth was still full of magic there was a small and frail boy, who was constantly bullied by others. The townspeople would shout and scream at him during the day, as he was forced to steal food just to survive. At night he was hurt by his parents, as he was used to take out all of their frustrations and fears. The only thing he had was his little sister, whom he loved and tried to protect with all his heart. They made it through each day supporting each other, and would do anything for each other."
"Just like when uncle comes over to help with the taxes stuff, right?!"
"Yes, just like that. They were always looking out for one another, but as children there was only so much they could do. One night the boy returned home to see his sister crying on the floor, missing her two front teeth. The mom was very bad, and had hit her very hard. The boy was enraged and tried to fight back, but was beaten himself and thrown outside.
Late that night, when even the moon was asleep, a devil appeared before the boy. It promised him immense strength, unlimit-"
"What does immense mean again?"
"It means lots of, a huuuuuuge big amount. He would be the strongest in the world, understand? He was promised strength, lots of stamina to never get tired, could fly through the air, and all sorts of other powers. However, nothing in this world is ever free. As payment, he would lose something very important, and be forever changed. Desperate and alone, he agreed with a drop of blood, before fainting. The demon then snuck into their home and woke up his sister, and told her of the deal made with her brother. His sister wanted to grant her brother's wish, and so she agreed to give up her soul in exchange for the powers."
"Will demons want my soul too? What can I get for mine?"
"You're too young to learn about jobs yet, just enjoy your youth, got it? When the boy woke up the next morning, he was full of power and had enormous wings. He barged into his home, but when he learned that he had lost his sister in exchange he was broken. He was incredibly sad, confused, and had been abandoned by the one person he had."
"But she didn't abandon him, she did it to grant him his wish, right?"
"That's right, she had done it with all the kindness in the world, but the boy was unable to understand this. He lashed out and attacked anyone he could find. He cracked great holes into the ground, terrorized the seas, and roamed the skies searching for what he had lost.
The various leaders of the world were helpless to stop him, for his power was just too great. They could only do so much alone, and realizing what was at stake they decided to band together. Nations who were warring against each other for centuries put aside their differences and fought together for the sake of their future. Together their heroes could protect the weak and helpless, and work for a cause greater than themselves.
Now this is the scary part, I'm warning you in advance this time."
"It's okay, I've got Mrs. Daisy here with me. I'm not afraid, promise."
"The heroes from all the nations gathered together, but the demon was far more powerful than they could have ever anticipated. His screams were so loud they could be heard from across the ocean, and their fight lasted for over 10 days. The demon would never tire because he had no mother to give him a bedtime, but the heroes were being worn out.
The group was hurt badly, and many were put in a very long sleep. The last hero remaining had lost both her helmet and right arm, but gave one final heroic strike. The swing split the storm clouds, and the demon saw in her the same qualities he had desired before his transformation. She was willing to sacrifice everything for her friends, for her family, and for the sake of thousands of others who may never even know her name. He wavered, and in the next instant he was slain. The heroes returned home, and lived happily ever after."
"And what happened to the demon? Did he get to see his sister in the end?"
"I'm not sure sweetie, but I think he finally understood the gift that he was given, and was able to properly say thank you to her before he went away."
"Did I get that gift too? I don't remember opening anything like that."
"Of course you did. It's something that we give you every morning and night, at every meal we have together, every note we send, and with every story we share."
"Ehehe, thanks grandpa. Love you, goodnight"
|
|
[WP] Colony ships have been leaving weekly for awhile. The streets around your home are looking more empty. You don't qualify for the colony ships. You will always be one of the left behind.
|
A deep breath in, and a deep, smoke-laden breath out. How many times had he performed this ritual, seated on the balcony of his apartment and smoking a coffin nail? Countless times, he knew... more times than he cared to remember.
This time, though... this time was different. After all, today was the day the colony ships would leave.
...it was ironic, in a cruel, twisted way. Humanity had ruined the planet, and were now fleeing to a more hospitable one-no doubt to immediately render it inhospitable. The rich folk on the shuttles would see to that, he knew. Anything to make a profit was acceptable to them. Even destroying worlds.
He took another drag of his cigarette, watching the rockets soar into the man-made wormholes high in the sky. He'd made his application to join the colonists, of course. Even if the next planet was probably going to suffer the same fate as this one, there was a sliver of hope that humanity would do better. But of course, fate had other ideas. He had been denied. And now here he was, stuck on a world that the rich had killed with the handful of others that had arbitrarily been denied...
He sighed and gazed over the cityscape. It had been beautiful, once. In his youth at least... now it was nothing more than an abandoned concrete jungle, rows upon rows of the same identical skyscrapers stretching out for miles beneath a glaring sun. It was eerie in a way he had never thought possible... no sound, no activity, no life, nothing. Just him and whoever else was left...
One last drag of his cigarette before he tossed it over the side of his balcony. Who was going to care? There was nobody for it to hit, and besides, all the surveillance drones were inactive anyway.
The man felt like raging. Screaming. Venting his anger and frustrations at the universe. He was supposed to have a brighter future. His generation was meant to fix things, to set them right. And fate had stolen that from him and left him to die on a dead, overheated planet.
But he didn't. Instead, he merely sat and watched as the rockets lifted off to whatever lush planet the astrologists had discovered on the other side of the galaxy so that humanity could have a second chance.
...on the bright side, he didn't have to go into work anymore.
|
There are stages to loss, even if it was a loss of something you never could have had in the first place. The promotion of the colonies has been ticking up for ages- it was billboards for a while, then online ads and broadcasts as the effort ramped up. Like everyone else, I'd gone to the pop-up colonization office in my local strip-mall (they'd filled one of the vacancies that had been left by a colonist who shut down their shop), and filled out the forms, done the tests.
It was all so exciting; the idea of a fresh new world; like a pristine jewel in your mind, just waiting to be made real. I wondered what kind of life I'd start, what skills I'd turn out to need, and if making friends would be easy with all of us starting out new. Unfortunately, that pristine jewel was smashed to pieces and replaced with a dark desperation when the official came back in with my test results.
"You have been disqualified" was the most pertinent phrase of what came next; there was an explanation that I barely heard, and a sheaf of paper explaining why, along with a doctor discussing it "if you'll look at this diagram, you'll notice what a normal spinal column looks like... good, now compare to the spinal column in this one and you'll notice that the space around the spinal cord is smaller and that's where we must have a certain amount of expansion ... the neurosuspension filaments have a certain tolerance... something something stroke something something permanently disabled something something we're very sorry but you simply can't ever go".
I still remember what I felt like, leaving the colonization office that day. It was as if I'd been in a car wreck, a drowning, and a tornado simultaneously; I couldn't put my feet in the right places and didn't know what to make of the world. The hope that had flared bright in my heart that morning was so uplifting that when it was brutally extinguished by my test results I could hardly breathe for having fallen so quickly. The office gave me the number of a free counseling service ("the first 2 calls are free!") and recommended I wait a couple of days before making any decisions. All I wanted at that moment was to lay down somewhere quiet and disappear.
\~\~\~\~
But I didn't disappear, in spite of making it home and laying down. I continued my existence, albeit in a daze for weeks afterwards. It was a Friday when I was digging through my drawer and discovered the card with the number for the counseling service again; I had been in a funk so deep that even that seemed like a good idea at the time. The guy who answered was easily the most laid-back, understanding and capable therapist I'd ever dealt with (or my funk was that deep). After talking for a while, he suggested I join up with a local group session- they're free also, it seems- for people like me who were stuck on this miserable ball while everyone else in humanity goes off to explore new worlds.
So it was that I found myself sitting in a session next to Skippy. I mean, he goes by Skippy, but his real name is Pete Salazar. Personally I think he got the nickname because of a love of peanut butter sandwiches, but he claims it's because he wanted to be immortalized in the phrase "Damn skippy". Either way, he's a weird duck, but affable and seemingly interested in hanging out with me, which isn't something a lot of people want to do with someone in as deep of a funk as I'd been. I blame him for the life I started leading; the path I walked down and couldn't seem to come back from.
\~\~\~\~
It was a simple thing, at first. We were sitting outside a store in a mostly abandoned strip mall, not doing anything in particular. Skippy wanted to go get a snack, and I pointed out that we had something close to no money at all between us. He made a joke about rubbing nickels together, but I didn't know what nickels were and it went over my head. He started to explain about physical money, "you'd carry it around and it would jingle in your pocket...", but got tired of it when I still didn't get it.
It was at that point that Skippy looked at me and said "So what if we don't have money? We just take what we want. What's the worst they can do to us? Strand us on the planet while it burns up, right? We're already stuck here anyways, so we might as well make the most of it."
With that, he hopped up, walked in the store, grabbed a soda and a candy bar, and came back out.
I heard the shop clerk shouting, but Skippy just walked on, as if it was no big deal, and I realized... it kind of wasn't. There really aren't worse punishments than being stuck on an overheated planet while everyone you've ever known gets to leave. So I followed his example, and walked back out with my soda and bag of chips as if I owned the place. The shop clerk shouted at me too, but it wasn't as loud; as if he knew that it didn't really matter what he did, because we were untouchable.
Untouchable. The word has new meaning now; I can go anywhere, do anything, take what I want and the consequences can't possibly be worse than what I've already got in life. Skippy had revealed to me a truth that couldn't be rescinded- we were beyond the law, beyond consequences. The reality was that while everyone was leaving, they'd made us kings in this place, for as long as we could carry on.
In the distance, another colony ship lifted off.
\~\~\~\~
I went a little crazy after that; I don't remember all of the stuff I did because I started getting really high almost right away ("Why save my brain cells if they're just going to bake on this dustball?", I said to Skippy once after a hit), but eventually it was too much even for Skippy. I'd broken in to a classic car museum and stolen an ancient 2011 Dodge Charger r/T (finding the petroleum for it wasn't as hard as you'd think- the museum keeps a stock of it for maintenance purposes, so I just filled the trunk with cans), and he watched me making a fool of myself trying to drive it in a straight line, up to the point I crashed it in to some trash cans.
"Yeah, I'm gonna bail, man. It's been fun." he said.
"What? Bail, what do you mean?"
"I can't hang out with you anymore, man; you're taking this stuff too far."
I said "Well, la-de-dah, you and your high horse" he'd explained horses to me also, but I still wasn't sure they weren't four-legged robots, like the police dogs, just taller "you can't leave me! We're in this stuff together; you leave and I'll just tell the colonial security where to find you- they'll lock you up or worse, and then you'll be in even deeper crap than this."
"Dude, I can't stay. You're gonna get yourself or someone else killed and I'm not hanging around for it."
I took a long look at Skippy; my best friend since finding out I wasn't going to be a colonist, and then I pulled the gun out and shot him right between the eyes.
"Now how are you going to leave, eh? You can't, that's right. Damn Skippy. Nobody's going to leave me ever again!"
\~\~\~\~
I was still hanging out with the corpse 3 days later when ColSec found me. There had been a report of gunshots, but they have bigger things to deal with, keeping people off the launching platforms, so I wasn't a priority until I drove the Charger up to the platform fence and sat around chatting with Skippy about how pretty the ships were. The knock on the window announcing the officer about sent me in to orbit right then, and she was surprisingly understanding about my need to hang out with my friend in peace, at least until another 5 cops pulled up and dragged me out of the car.
I wonder if Skippy saw the stars.
|
|
[WP] Colony ships have been leaving weekly for awhile. The streets around your home are looking more empty. You don't qualify for the colony ships. You will always be one of the left behind.
|
"Another launch," my friend whispered to me, as I watched the sky.
The ships were beautiful to see as they rose slowly into the dawn. Their rockets exploded into fireworks as they left the atmosphere, reflecting sparks onto the ponderous metal curves of the spacebound vessels. One by one they struggled heavily up, rising like ovoid silver moons until they shrank away to nothing.
"Yes," I answered, gazing hungrily upwards.
Aboard the ships, folks would be packed tightly into multiple flight decks, strapped in for takeoff, nervous and excited. They would fly away from this ghost planet, leaving the ruinous Earth behind for the glittering novelty of the Mars colonies. My soul ached to go with them.
My friend followed as I walked across the roof toward the access door.
"You know," my friend said to me as we walked together down the stairs, "You could go too. You could leave me behind."
I glanced out a window as we descended. I could just see the pink sky beneath the silver flank of a rising colony ship framed in the rectangular opening.
'I would never," I told them, looking away.
"It wouldn't be that hard," my friend mused. "The doctors told you that you could go. I just...can't go with you."
"We've been together all my life," I argued. "I don't *want* to leave you."
My friend was silent awhile. I finished stalking down the last staircase and crossed the building's lobby to the street door.
My friend continued to protest. "You could *be* someone on Mars. There's nothing left here."
I shrugged. "Who, though?" I asked. "I just want to be me. Here. With you."
"I'm nothing, though," my friend sighed. "I'm holding you back."
I blinked as tears stung my eyes. My heart twisted. The ascending ships were so beautiful. What if I could be on board? Mars was a bustling frontier. What might I accomplish, given the opportunity to leave the all but abandoned Earth? Swallowing, I turned to face my friend. "Are you sure?"
They smiled at me, their familiar, comforting smile. "Yes, I am. It is time for you to go."
My heart dropped and leaped at once. My throat closed.
My friend reached out and touched my shoulder. "Do it," they told me, gently.
The bottle of pills the doctors had given me were still in my pocket. I shook one into my hand and stared at it for a moment. It was small, round, and white. It looked as innocuous as aspirin. It would take my friend from me forever. I shut my eyes tightly and swallowed the pill dry. Then I squared my shoulders and walked away down the street, toward the station.
The bottle in my hand rattled as I walked. The label caught the sun.
*Take one tablet daily,* the label read, *for symptoms of schizophrenia.*
|
There are stages to loss, even if it was a loss of something you never could have had in the first place. The promotion of the colonies has been ticking up for ages- it was billboards for a while, then online ads and broadcasts as the effort ramped up. Like everyone else, I'd gone to the pop-up colonization office in my local strip-mall (they'd filled one of the vacancies that had been left by a colonist who shut down their shop), and filled out the forms, done the tests.
It was all so exciting; the idea of a fresh new world; like a pristine jewel in your mind, just waiting to be made real. I wondered what kind of life I'd start, what skills I'd turn out to need, and if making friends would be easy with all of us starting out new. Unfortunately, that pristine jewel was smashed to pieces and replaced with a dark desperation when the official came back in with my test results.
"You have been disqualified" was the most pertinent phrase of what came next; there was an explanation that I barely heard, and a sheaf of paper explaining why, along with a doctor discussing it "if you'll look at this diagram, you'll notice what a normal spinal column looks like... good, now compare to the spinal column in this one and you'll notice that the space around the spinal cord is smaller and that's where we must have a certain amount of expansion ... the neurosuspension filaments have a certain tolerance... something something stroke something something permanently disabled something something we're very sorry but you simply can't ever go".
I still remember what I felt like, leaving the colonization office that day. It was as if I'd been in a car wreck, a drowning, and a tornado simultaneously; I couldn't put my feet in the right places and didn't know what to make of the world. The hope that had flared bright in my heart that morning was so uplifting that when it was brutally extinguished by my test results I could hardly breathe for having fallen so quickly. The office gave me the number of a free counseling service ("the first 2 calls are free!") and recommended I wait a couple of days before making any decisions. All I wanted at that moment was to lay down somewhere quiet and disappear.
\~\~\~\~
But I didn't disappear, in spite of making it home and laying down. I continued my existence, albeit in a daze for weeks afterwards. It was a Friday when I was digging through my drawer and discovered the card with the number for the counseling service again; I had been in a funk so deep that even that seemed like a good idea at the time. The guy who answered was easily the most laid-back, understanding and capable therapist I'd ever dealt with (or my funk was that deep). After talking for a while, he suggested I join up with a local group session- they're free also, it seems- for people like me who were stuck on this miserable ball while everyone else in humanity goes off to explore new worlds.
So it was that I found myself sitting in a session next to Skippy. I mean, he goes by Skippy, but his real name is Pete Salazar. Personally I think he got the nickname because of a love of peanut butter sandwiches, but he claims it's because he wanted to be immortalized in the phrase "Damn skippy". Either way, he's a weird duck, but affable and seemingly interested in hanging out with me, which isn't something a lot of people want to do with someone in as deep of a funk as I'd been. I blame him for the life I started leading; the path I walked down and couldn't seem to come back from.
\~\~\~\~
It was a simple thing, at first. We were sitting outside a store in a mostly abandoned strip mall, not doing anything in particular. Skippy wanted to go get a snack, and I pointed out that we had something close to no money at all between us. He made a joke about rubbing nickels together, but I didn't know what nickels were and it went over my head. He started to explain about physical money, "you'd carry it around and it would jingle in your pocket...", but got tired of it when I still didn't get it.
It was at that point that Skippy looked at me and said "So what if we don't have money? We just take what we want. What's the worst they can do to us? Strand us on the planet while it burns up, right? We're already stuck here anyways, so we might as well make the most of it."
With that, he hopped up, walked in the store, grabbed a soda and a candy bar, and came back out.
I heard the shop clerk shouting, but Skippy just walked on, as if it was no big deal, and I realized... it kind of wasn't. There really aren't worse punishments than being stuck on an overheated planet while everyone you've ever known gets to leave. So I followed his example, and walked back out with my soda and bag of chips as if I owned the place. The shop clerk shouted at me too, but it wasn't as loud; as if he knew that it didn't really matter what he did, because we were untouchable.
Untouchable. The word has new meaning now; I can go anywhere, do anything, take what I want and the consequences can't possibly be worse than what I've already got in life. Skippy had revealed to me a truth that couldn't be rescinded- we were beyond the law, beyond consequences. The reality was that while everyone was leaving, they'd made us kings in this place, for as long as we could carry on.
In the distance, another colony ship lifted off.
\~\~\~\~
I went a little crazy after that; I don't remember all of the stuff I did because I started getting really high almost right away ("Why save my brain cells if they're just going to bake on this dustball?", I said to Skippy once after a hit), but eventually it was too much even for Skippy. I'd broken in to a classic car museum and stolen an ancient 2011 Dodge Charger r/T (finding the petroleum for it wasn't as hard as you'd think- the museum keeps a stock of it for maintenance purposes, so I just filled the trunk with cans), and he watched me making a fool of myself trying to drive it in a straight line, up to the point I crashed it in to some trash cans.
"Yeah, I'm gonna bail, man. It's been fun." he said.
"What? Bail, what do you mean?"
"I can't hang out with you anymore, man; you're taking this stuff too far."
I said "Well, la-de-dah, you and your high horse" he'd explained horses to me also, but I still wasn't sure they weren't four-legged robots, like the police dogs, just taller "you can't leave me! We're in this stuff together; you leave and I'll just tell the colonial security where to find you- they'll lock you up or worse, and then you'll be in even deeper crap than this."
"Dude, I can't stay. You're gonna get yourself or someone else killed and I'm not hanging around for it."
I took a long look at Skippy; my best friend since finding out I wasn't going to be a colonist, and then I pulled the gun out and shot him right between the eyes.
"Now how are you going to leave, eh? You can't, that's right. Damn Skippy. Nobody's going to leave me ever again!"
\~\~\~\~
I was still hanging out with the corpse 3 days later when ColSec found me. There had been a report of gunshots, but they have bigger things to deal with, keeping people off the launching platforms, so I wasn't a priority until I drove the Charger up to the platform fence and sat around chatting with Skippy about how pretty the ships were. The knock on the window announcing the officer about sent me in to orbit right then, and she was surprisingly understanding about my need to hang out with my friend in peace, at least until another 5 cops pulled up and dragged me out of the car.
I wonder if Skippy saw the stars.
|
|
[WP] Colony ships have been leaving weekly for awhile. The streets around your home are looking more empty. You don't qualify for the colony ships. You will always be one of the left behind.
|
A deep breath in, and a deep, smoke-laden breath out. How many times had he performed this ritual, seated on the balcony of his apartment and smoking a coffin nail? Countless times, he knew... more times than he cared to remember.
This time, though... this time was different. After all, today was the day the colony ships would leave.
...it was ironic, in a cruel, twisted way. Humanity had ruined the planet, and were now fleeing to a more hospitable one-no doubt to immediately render it inhospitable. The rich folk on the shuttles would see to that, he knew. Anything to make a profit was acceptable to them. Even destroying worlds.
He took another drag of his cigarette, watching the rockets soar into the man-made wormholes high in the sky. He'd made his application to join the colonists, of course. Even if the next planet was probably going to suffer the same fate as this one, there was a sliver of hope that humanity would do better. But of course, fate had other ideas. He had been denied. And now here he was, stuck on a world that the rich had killed with the handful of others that had arbitrarily been denied...
He sighed and gazed over the cityscape. It had been beautiful, once. In his youth at least... now it was nothing more than an abandoned concrete jungle, rows upon rows of the same identical skyscrapers stretching out for miles beneath a glaring sun. It was eerie in a way he had never thought possible... no sound, no activity, no life, nothing. Just him and whoever else was left...
One last drag of his cigarette before he tossed it over the side of his balcony. Who was going to care? There was nobody for it to hit, and besides, all the surveillance drones were inactive anyway.
The man felt like raging. Screaming. Venting his anger and frustrations at the universe. He was supposed to have a brighter future. His generation was meant to fix things, to set them right. And fate had stolen that from him and left him to die on a dead, overheated planet.
But he didn't. Instead, he merely sat and watched as the rockets lifted off to whatever lush planet the astrologists had discovered on the other side of the galaxy so that humanity could have a second chance.
...on the bright side, he didn't have to go into work anymore.
|
Everyone on my street had gone; taken their tickets to the docks and boarded. Destination: A Better Place. I remained here on my own, apparently not good enough to take the journey, apparently the dregs of humanity. Why me? What's so flawed about my personality? What's wrong with me?
Those thoughts had bubbled to the surface of my internal monologue throughout the course of the last few weeks, barely suppressed. I tried to drown them. Tried to push them away with meaningless tasks and 'hobbies'. They'd quieten for a while, but they were always there lurking below the surface. Carnivorous predators in muddied waters, feeding on the good thoughts and nibbling away at my resolve.
Lately I'd taken to sitting outside on my front porch, naked and exposed. Exposed to a world where there was no more judgement, no more prying eyes and gossip. A world where I could be myself.
Every so often a car would drive by, loaded to the brim with happy family members and the essential possessions that they were allowed to take. They'd stare at me knowingly, *The Left Behind*, is what they'd think. Someone not good enough to receive a boarding pass, a person unqualified by the strict set of rules, the system of meaningless merit that somehow made you qualified to leave this forsaken realm and start anew.
They had made the plans over the last decade to ensure the survival of humanity. Seventy five percent of the population would receive once in a lifetime tickets; the opportunity to travel to a land with fresh soil, clean air and water, and brimming with potential. Colony Ships. Earth had just enough resources remaining to build them, and technology had advanced just enough to suspend seven and a half million people per ship. *Those amongst us who have proven to be exemplary and outstanding will be granted this opportunity*, the initial broadcast had advertised. Years later it would be truncated *Be Exemplary. Be Outstanding. Be Chosen.* The advertisements filling the streets, our papers, our televisions and always, always, occupying our minds now read *Be Chosen*.
The evacuation was almost at eighty percent completion, my suburb had practically all been accepted. Now and then I'd take my dogs for a walk and pass by another of The Left Behind, another forgotten soul sitting on their front porch, naked before the world. No judgement would pass between us, no disdain for one another or ill-will, only an odd sort of empathy - a shared feeling and understanding of our situation. We'd lock eyes for a brief moment, and share that emotion, but then it would pass and we would continue on with our lives. It was still too soon to try and pick up the pieces, rebuild the community.
At ninety percent evacuation small positives would occasionally make themselves apparent. The remaining governing bodies had managed to reduce congestion on the roads, and public transport was now more efficient. The bus ride to my local markets was effectively halved, quartered if there was no one to pick up. The produce in the stalls seemed fresher, and there was more variety. I was able to purchase goods that would sometimes be out of stock for months, or imported from so far away that the quality had deteriorated. "Conciliatory" grocery vouchers had been distributed amongst those of The Left Behind, at the time it had felt like a token gesture, but now I was regularly returning home with baskets teeming with fresh greens and boutique snacks. Sometimes, just sometimes, the air would feel a little fresher - just a tad more crisp when I took a deep breath.
Within the last few weeks, or so, a community effort had been made to condense and rehome the remaining population. Volunteers banded together to command fleets of moving trucks, committees were formed to assign homes to people, and the possessions that had been left behind were sorted through and distributed amongst households and community owned distribution centers. We were left behind in a world of plenty.
As the last colony ship departed it was broadcast on all of the remaining television networks, the caption: *To those doing humanity its greatest favour: Farewell.*
|
|
[WP] Colony ships have been leaving weekly for awhile. The streets around your home are looking more empty. You don't qualify for the colony ships. You will always be one of the left behind.
|
"Another launch," my friend whispered to me, as I watched the sky.
The ships were beautiful to see as they rose slowly into the dawn. Their rockets exploded into fireworks as they left the atmosphere, reflecting sparks onto the ponderous metal curves of the spacebound vessels. One by one they struggled heavily up, rising like ovoid silver moons until they shrank away to nothing.
"Yes," I answered, gazing hungrily upwards.
Aboard the ships, folks would be packed tightly into multiple flight decks, strapped in for takeoff, nervous and excited. They would fly away from this ghost planet, leaving the ruinous Earth behind for the glittering novelty of the Mars colonies. My soul ached to go with them.
My friend followed as I walked across the roof toward the access door.
"You know," my friend said to me as we walked together down the stairs, "You could go too. You could leave me behind."
I glanced out a window as we descended. I could just see the pink sky beneath the silver flank of a rising colony ship framed in the rectangular opening.
'I would never," I told them, looking away.
"It wouldn't be that hard," my friend mused. "The doctors told you that you could go. I just...can't go with you."
"We've been together all my life," I argued. "I don't *want* to leave you."
My friend was silent awhile. I finished stalking down the last staircase and crossed the building's lobby to the street door.
My friend continued to protest. "You could *be* someone on Mars. There's nothing left here."
I shrugged. "Who, though?" I asked. "I just want to be me. Here. With you."
"I'm nothing, though," my friend sighed. "I'm holding you back."
I blinked as tears stung my eyes. My heart twisted. The ascending ships were so beautiful. What if I could be on board? Mars was a bustling frontier. What might I accomplish, given the opportunity to leave the all but abandoned Earth? Swallowing, I turned to face my friend. "Are you sure?"
They smiled at me, their familiar, comforting smile. "Yes, I am. It is time for you to go."
My heart dropped and leaped at once. My throat closed.
My friend reached out and touched my shoulder. "Do it," they told me, gently.
The bottle of pills the doctors had given me were still in my pocket. I shook one into my hand and stared at it for a moment. It was small, round, and white. It looked as innocuous as aspirin. It would take my friend from me forever. I shut my eyes tightly and swallowed the pill dry. Then I squared my shoulders and walked away down the street, toward the station.
The bottle in my hand rattled as I walked. The label caught the sun.
*Take one tablet daily,* the label read, *for symptoms of schizophrenia.*
|
Everyone on my street had gone; taken their tickets to the docks and boarded. Destination: A Better Place. I remained here on my own, apparently not good enough to take the journey, apparently the dregs of humanity. Why me? What's so flawed about my personality? What's wrong with me?
Those thoughts had bubbled to the surface of my internal monologue throughout the course of the last few weeks, barely suppressed. I tried to drown them. Tried to push them away with meaningless tasks and 'hobbies'. They'd quieten for a while, but they were always there lurking below the surface. Carnivorous predators in muddied waters, feeding on the good thoughts and nibbling away at my resolve.
Lately I'd taken to sitting outside on my front porch, naked and exposed. Exposed to a world where there was no more judgement, no more prying eyes and gossip. A world where I could be myself.
Every so often a car would drive by, loaded to the brim with happy family members and the essential possessions that they were allowed to take. They'd stare at me knowingly, *The Left Behind*, is what they'd think. Someone not good enough to receive a boarding pass, a person unqualified by the strict set of rules, the system of meaningless merit that somehow made you qualified to leave this forsaken realm and start anew.
They had made the plans over the last decade to ensure the survival of humanity. Seventy five percent of the population would receive once in a lifetime tickets; the opportunity to travel to a land with fresh soil, clean air and water, and brimming with potential. Colony Ships. Earth had just enough resources remaining to build them, and technology had advanced just enough to suspend seven and a half million people per ship. *Those amongst us who have proven to be exemplary and outstanding will be granted this opportunity*, the initial broadcast had advertised. Years later it would be truncated *Be Exemplary. Be Outstanding. Be Chosen.* The advertisements filling the streets, our papers, our televisions and always, always, occupying our minds now read *Be Chosen*.
The evacuation was almost at eighty percent completion, my suburb had practically all been accepted. Now and then I'd take my dogs for a walk and pass by another of The Left Behind, another forgotten soul sitting on their front porch, naked before the world. No judgement would pass between us, no disdain for one another or ill-will, only an odd sort of empathy - a shared feeling and understanding of our situation. We'd lock eyes for a brief moment, and share that emotion, but then it would pass and we would continue on with our lives. It was still too soon to try and pick up the pieces, rebuild the community.
At ninety percent evacuation small positives would occasionally make themselves apparent. The remaining governing bodies had managed to reduce congestion on the roads, and public transport was now more efficient. The bus ride to my local markets was effectively halved, quartered if there was no one to pick up. The produce in the stalls seemed fresher, and there was more variety. I was able to purchase goods that would sometimes be out of stock for months, or imported from so far away that the quality had deteriorated. "Conciliatory" grocery vouchers had been distributed amongst those of The Left Behind, at the time it had felt like a token gesture, but now I was regularly returning home with baskets teeming with fresh greens and boutique snacks. Sometimes, just sometimes, the air would feel a little fresher - just a tad more crisp when I took a deep breath.
Within the last few weeks, or so, a community effort had been made to condense and rehome the remaining population. Volunteers banded together to command fleets of moving trucks, committees were formed to assign homes to people, and the possessions that had been left behind were sorted through and distributed amongst households and community owned distribution centers. We were left behind in a world of plenty.
As the last colony ship departed it was broadcast on all of the remaining television networks, the caption: *To those doing humanity its greatest favour: Farewell.*
|
|
[WP] Colony ships have been leaving weekly for awhile. The streets around your home are looking more empty. You don't qualify for the colony ships. You will always be one of the left behind.
|
A deep breath in, and a deep, smoke-laden breath out. How many times had he performed this ritual, seated on the balcony of his apartment and smoking a coffin nail? Countless times, he knew... more times than he cared to remember.
This time, though... this time was different. After all, today was the day the colony ships would leave.
...it was ironic, in a cruel, twisted way. Humanity had ruined the planet, and were now fleeing to a more hospitable one-no doubt to immediately render it inhospitable. The rich folk on the shuttles would see to that, he knew. Anything to make a profit was acceptable to them. Even destroying worlds.
He took another drag of his cigarette, watching the rockets soar into the man-made wormholes high in the sky. He'd made his application to join the colonists, of course. Even if the next planet was probably going to suffer the same fate as this one, there was a sliver of hope that humanity would do better. But of course, fate had other ideas. He had been denied. And now here he was, stuck on a world that the rich had killed with the handful of others that had arbitrarily been denied...
He sighed and gazed over the cityscape. It had been beautiful, once. In his youth at least... now it was nothing more than an abandoned concrete jungle, rows upon rows of the same identical skyscrapers stretching out for miles beneath a glaring sun. It was eerie in a way he had never thought possible... no sound, no activity, no life, nothing. Just him and whoever else was left...
One last drag of his cigarette before he tossed it over the side of his balcony. Who was going to care? There was nobody for it to hit, and besides, all the surveillance drones were inactive anyway.
The man felt like raging. Screaming. Venting his anger and frustrations at the universe. He was supposed to have a brighter future. His generation was meant to fix things, to set them right. And fate had stolen that from him and left him to die on a dead, overheated planet.
But he didn't. Instead, he merely sat and watched as the rockets lifted off to whatever lush planet the astrologists had discovered on the other side of the galaxy so that humanity could have a second chance.
...on the bright side, he didn't have to go into work anymore.
|
I couldn't help but cry as I watch the final shuttle take off, as the only light in my life left this godforsaken ball of dust for the last time. Jasmine, my only child, had begged the administrators to let me join. After all, the new world would need bonafide heroes to help establish a new home, after we had destroyed our own.
She had lied, cheated, hacked and made both indirect and direct threats. I resisted the urge to smile as I thought about her telling the Executive Board what she would do to their Ark's Database if they didn't let me join. But in the end, even I knew there would be no place for me in their new world.
I would be the example on the new world. Like Hitler, Stalin, and Mao ,the name Devi would be tainted. A monster that history would condem, at least from humanity's new home in New Eden. I did what had to be done to ensure our species survived. My daughters life depended on it.
I resisted the urge to wipe my face as my head slowly tilted up, watch the shuttle rise then disappear in the distance. Every news channel in the world would be showing my face right now. While millions of families had sacrificed, they all needed to know that even I shared their pain.
A small green light in my peripheral vision blinked and went red. My aide stepped up, holding a wet rag as I turned away from the viewing platform.
" Brodcast is over, launch is being called a bittersweet succes. They will dock in about four hours. Departure for the Ark is approved for noon Eastern tomorrow."
"Thanks, Alan." I wiped my face with the rag, glancing at the guards towards the back of the platform, before handing it back to him. I walked towards the stairs, motioning to the guards.
"Rusev, Josef, any family on board?"
I stopped at the top of the stairs, looking at both of them.
The tall Russian nodded slowly.
"Sister, biologist, loaded up a few weeks ago." He answered.
"Josef?"
I looked at the Israeli, seeing the pain behind his eyes. He was new to my detail, one of the last survivors of the final days of the war. A chill went down my spine as I thought about what had happened to his former home.
"Cousin, engineer. Loaded up a month ago. She was always the luckiest in our family"
"Thank you, both of you, for you sacrifice. May destiny smile on them and comfort your hearts."
"Fuck destiny" They answered. "We have work to do, Ma'am."
I couldn't help but smile, my motto had galvanized billions. My aide stepped up behind me, communication pad in hand.
"Madame, the President is waiting for us. And the fleet is standing by for orders."
I sighed, knowing there was still a war to win, and a world to rebuild.
"Very well, remind him that surrender is unconditional. If he tries to argue again, level D.C. No more games. It may be empty, but they will pay for their resistance. Order the fleet to begin relief efforts further inland. I want food in the belly of every survivor by the end of month"
My aide nodded, and the two guards took position behind me. I took the first steps down the stairs towards the waiting helicopter. As I walked, I looked around the spaceport, my home for the last six months. I would hate this place for the rest of my life, even as I turned it into a shrine for those who were leaving. The streets were empty, with small groups beginning the decommissioning. I galvanized myself as my heart wept. For even in my grief, with a dying world around me, I had work to do.
|
|
[WP] Colony ships have been leaving weekly for awhile. The streets around your home are looking more empty. You don't qualify for the colony ships. You will always be one of the left behind.
|
"Another launch," my friend whispered to me, as I watched the sky.
The ships were beautiful to see as they rose slowly into the dawn. Their rockets exploded into fireworks as they left the atmosphere, reflecting sparks onto the ponderous metal curves of the spacebound vessels. One by one they struggled heavily up, rising like ovoid silver moons until they shrank away to nothing.
"Yes," I answered, gazing hungrily upwards.
Aboard the ships, folks would be packed tightly into multiple flight decks, strapped in for takeoff, nervous and excited. They would fly away from this ghost planet, leaving the ruinous Earth behind for the glittering novelty of the Mars colonies. My soul ached to go with them.
My friend followed as I walked across the roof toward the access door.
"You know," my friend said to me as we walked together down the stairs, "You could go too. You could leave me behind."
I glanced out a window as we descended. I could just see the pink sky beneath the silver flank of a rising colony ship framed in the rectangular opening.
'I would never," I told them, looking away.
"It wouldn't be that hard," my friend mused. "The doctors told you that you could go. I just...can't go with you."
"We've been together all my life," I argued. "I don't *want* to leave you."
My friend was silent awhile. I finished stalking down the last staircase and crossed the building's lobby to the street door.
My friend continued to protest. "You could *be* someone on Mars. There's nothing left here."
I shrugged. "Who, though?" I asked. "I just want to be me. Here. With you."
"I'm nothing, though," my friend sighed. "I'm holding you back."
I blinked as tears stung my eyes. My heart twisted. The ascending ships were so beautiful. What if I could be on board? Mars was a bustling frontier. What might I accomplish, given the opportunity to leave the all but abandoned Earth? Swallowing, I turned to face my friend. "Are you sure?"
They smiled at me, their familiar, comforting smile. "Yes, I am. It is time for you to go."
My heart dropped and leaped at once. My throat closed.
My friend reached out and touched my shoulder. "Do it," they told me, gently.
The bottle of pills the doctors had given me were still in my pocket. I shook one into my hand and stared at it for a moment. It was small, round, and white. It looked as innocuous as aspirin. It would take my friend from me forever. I shut my eyes tightly and swallowed the pill dry. Then I squared my shoulders and walked away down the street, toward the station.
The bottle in my hand rattled as I walked. The label caught the sun.
*Take one tablet daily,* the label read, *for symptoms of schizophrenia.*
|
I couldn't help but cry as I watch the final shuttle take off, as the only light in my life left this godforsaken ball of dust for the last time. Jasmine, my only child, had begged the administrators to let me join. After all, the new world would need bonafide heroes to help establish a new home, after we had destroyed our own.
She had lied, cheated, hacked and made both indirect and direct threats. I resisted the urge to smile as I thought about her telling the Executive Board what she would do to their Ark's Database if they didn't let me join. But in the end, even I knew there would be no place for me in their new world.
I would be the example on the new world. Like Hitler, Stalin, and Mao ,the name Devi would be tainted. A monster that history would condem, at least from humanity's new home in New Eden. I did what had to be done to ensure our species survived. My daughters life depended on it.
I resisted the urge to wipe my face as my head slowly tilted up, watch the shuttle rise then disappear in the distance. Every news channel in the world would be showing my face right now. While millions of families had sacrificed, they all needed to know that even I shared their pain.
A small green light in my peripheral vision blinked and went red. My aide stepped up, holding a wet rag as I turned away from the viewing platform.
" Brodcast is over, launch is being called a bittersweet succes. They will dock in about four hours. Departure for the Ark is approved for noon Eastern tomorrow."
"Thanks, Alan." I wiped my face with the rag, glancing at the guards towards the back of the platform, before handing it back to him. I walked towards the stairs, motioning to the guards.
"Rusev, Josef, any family on board?"
I stopped at the top of the stairs, looking at both of them.
The tall Russian nodded slowly.
"Sister, biologist, loaded up a few weeks ago." He answered.
"Josef?"
I looked at the Israeli, seeing the pain behind his eyes. He was new to my detail, one of the last survivors of the final days of the war. A chill went down my spine as I thought about what had happened to his former home.
"Cousin, engineer. Loaded up a month ago. She was always the luckiest in our family"
"Thank you, both of you, for you sacrifice. May destiny smile on them and comfort your hearts."
"Fuck destiny" They answered. "We have work to do, Ma'am."
I couldn't help but smile, my motto had galvanized billions. My aide stepped up behind me, communication pad in hand.
"Madame, the President is waiting for us. And the fleet is standing by for orders."
I sighed, knowing there was still a war to win, and a world to rebuild.
"Very well, remind him that surrender is unconditional. If he tries to argue again, level D.C. No more games. It may be empty, but they will pay for their resistance. Order the fleet to begin relief efforts further inland. I want food in the belly of every survivor by the end of month"
My aide nodded, and the two guards took position behind me. I took the first steps down the stairs towards the waiting helicopter. As I walked, I looked around the spaceport, my home for the last six months. I would hate this place for the rest of my life, even as I turned it into a shrine for those who were leaving. The streets were empty, with small groups beginning the decommissioning. I galvanized myself as my heart wept. For even in my grief, with a dying world around me, I had work to do.
|
|
[WP] Colony ships have been leaving weekly for awhile. The streets around your home are looking more empty. You don't qualify for the colony ships. You will always be one of the left behind.
|
"Another launch," my friend whispered to me, as I watched the sky.
The ships were beautiful to see as they rose slowly into the dawn. Their rockets exploded into fireworks as they left the atmosphere, reflecting sparks onto the ponderous metal curves of the spacebound vessels. One by one they struggled heavily up, rising like ovoid silver moons until they shrank away to nothing.
"Yes," I answered, gazing hungrily upwards.
Aboard the ships, folks would be packed tightly into multiple flight decks, strapped in for takeoff, nervous and excited. They would fly away from this ghost planet, leaving the ruinous Earth behind for the glittering novelty of the Mars colonies. My soul ached to go with them.
My friend followed as I walked across the roof toward the access door.
"You know," my friend said to me as we walked together down the stairs, "You could go too. You could leave me behind."
I glanced out a window as we descended. I could just see the pink sky beneath the silver flank of a rising colony ship framed in the rectangular opening.
'I would never," I told them, looking away.
"It wouldn't be that hard," my friend mused. "The doctors told you that you could go. I just...can't go with you."
"We've been together all my life," I argued. "I don't *want* to leave you."
My friend was silent awhile. I finished stalking down the last staircase and crossed the building's lobby to the street door.
My friend continued to protest. "You could *be* someone on Mars. There's nothing left here."
I shrugged. "Who, though?" I asked. "I just want to be me. Here. With you."
"I'm nothing, though," my friend sighed. "I'm holding you back."
I blinked as tears stung my eyes. My heart twisted. The ascending ships were so beautiful. What if I could be on board? Mars was a bustling frontier. What might I accomplish, given the opportunity to leave the all but abandoned Earth? Swallowing, I turned to face my friend. "Are you sure?"
They smiled at me, their familiar, comforting smile. "Yes, I am. It is time for you to go."
My heart dropped and leaped at once. My throat closed.
My friend reached out and touched my shoulder. "Do it," they told me, gently.
The bottle of pills the doctors had given me were still in my pocket. I shook one into my hand and stared at it for a moment. It was small, round, and white. It looked as innocuous as aspirin. It would take my friend from me forever. I shut my eyes tightly and swallowed the pill dry. Then I squared my shoulders and walked away down the street, toward the station.
The bottle in my hand rattled as I walked. The label caught the sun.
*Take one tablet daily,* the label read, *for symptoms of schizophrenia.*
|
They sat on the porch watching the neighbors pack their car for the trip. With one leg over the other they lounged on the folding chair in the shade, elevated enough to look over the hedge and follow the trips from the house to the car and back for more.
”That’s a lot you’re taking with you,” they said cheerfully, crosswords puzzle abandoned on the garden table beside them as soon as the front door of the neighboring house opened.
”What?” the father said out of breath, hurrying until then. ”Oh, yeah.” He looked back at the car by the curb, front turned to them as he stood on the middle of the garden pavement. ”Yeah, gotta bring the essentials.”
”If you want, I’ve got a few cans of these nearing their expiration date,” they tapped the red and white can beside the newspaper on the table, smiling. ”It could help the children feel better about leaving.”
”Thank you, we’ll think about it,” the mother said as she hurried past her husband. ”Check on them,” she said through clenched teeth to her husband and stopped to smalltalk herself.
”Do you- Do you have a date?”
”Not yet,” they said amused and shrugged. ”I’ll get it soon.”
”I hope you do. I’ve heard it’s wonderful up there,” she said, hands on her hips as she took a little break from packing the car for the trip. ”The view, the food, the stores- They’re really treating us well.”
”Looking forward to it,” they said and watched her leave to go inside once more.
They stood and went to their kitchen, patting the picnic basket on the table with ready-made sandwiches and a sand cake with a glass of homemade chocolate spread to make it less dry. The cool cans of soda stood on top of the braided lid.
”Soon,” they said after a while of zoning out, picking up the basket and bringing it outside to stand by their car.
The family exited, the daughter holding their little dog in her arms, and the two boys engrossed in handheld video games. The father looked back, checking he’d locked the door, and the mother herded the children towards the curb.
”Oh, you didn’t have to,” the mother gushed, taking the basket and making it fit among the mess of their trunk and backseat. ”Thank you.”
”Thank you a lot,” her husband said cheerfully, smiling at them as if he was very grateful.
”You’ve been so kind to me as neighbors,” they said, hugging them both with a friendly smile and waving at the kids. ”Have a safe trip and remember to write me a postcard when you get there.”
”Sure, a postcard,” he said, looking at his phone awkwardly. ”Oop, look at the time, we gotta go before we miss it.”
They waved them off, watching another family pass from further down the street, and sighed at how empty the neighborhood was becoming now that everyone was evacuating.
\- - -
”I’m sorry, but you can’t enter the shuttle,” the attendant said remorsefully as she blocked their entrance into the spacecraft, a polite expression on her face.
”Why not?” the mother asked, confused and slightly worried as she put her hands on her children’s shoulders.
”Well,” the attendant said. ”First of all, you brought your dog. Dogs are prohibited due to oxygen and hygiene requirements,” she explained and gestured at it still happily sitting in the girl’s arms.
”Second, you brought food which is also prohibited, as it could contain contaminates and endanger the rest of the crew and passengers on your flight. I’m afraid you’ll have to wait at the back of the line for breaking the rules, we will try to refile your application forms and process them as quickly as possible.”
”That bitch,” the father hissed, catching on to what their neighbor had done.
|
|
[WP] Colony ships have been leaving weekly for awhile. The streets around your home are looking more empty. You don't qualify for the colony ships. You will always be one of the left behind.
|
"Another launch," my friend whispered to me, as I watched the sky.
The ships were beautiful to see as they rose slowly into the dawn. Their rockets exploded into fireworks as they left the atmosphere, reflecting sparks onto the ponderous metal curves of the spacebound vessels. One by one they struggled heavily up, rising like ovoid silver moons until they shrank away to nothing.
"Yes," I answered, gazing hungrily upwards.
Aboard the ships, folks would be packed tightly into multiple flight decks, strapped in for takeoff, nervous and excited. They would fly away from this ghost planet, leaving the ruinous Earth behind for the glittering novelty of the Mars colonies. My soul ached to go with them.
My friend followed as I walked across the roof toward the access door.
"You know," my friend said to me as we walked together down the stairs, "You could go too. You could leave me behind."
I glanced out a window as we descended. I could just see the pink sky beneath the silver flank of a rising colony ship framed in the rectangular opening.
'I would never," I told them, looking away.
"It wouldn't be that hard," my friend mused. "The doctors told you that you could go. I just...can't go with you."
"We've been together all my life," I argued. "I don't *want* to leave you."
My friend was silent awhile. I finished stalking down the last staircase and crossed the building's lobby to the street door.
My friend continued to protest. "You could *be* someone on Mars. There's nothing left here."
I shrugged. "Who, though?" I asked. "I just want to be me. Here. With you."
"I'm nothing, though," my friend sighed. "I'm holding you back."
I blinked as tears stung my eyes. My heart twisted. The ascending ships were so beautiful. What if I could be on board? Mars was a bustling frontier. What might I accomplish, given the opportunity to leave the all but abandoned Earth? Swallowing, I turned to face my friend. "Are you sure?"
They smiled at me, their familiar, comforting smile. "Yes, I am. It is time for you to go."
My heart dropped and leaped at once. My throat closed.
My friend reached out and touched my shoulder. "Do it," they told me, gently.
The bottle of pills the doctors had given me were still in my pocket. I shook one into my hand and stared at it for a moment. It was small, round, and white. It looked as innocuous as aspirin. It would take my friend from me forever. I shut my eyes tightly and swallowed the pill dry. Then I squared my shoulders and walked away down the street, toward the station.
The bottle in my hand rattled as I walked. The label caught the sun.
*Take one tablet daily,* the label read, *for symptoms of schizophrenia.*
|
Bitter. The reused coffee grounds, the unseasoned vegetables, and my loneliness. All just bitter. I wipe my mouth with the back of my hand and grimace at the feeling of grains of sand scraping against my skin as I move. I don’t have enough water left to bathe, so I’m gonna have to make the trek to town stinking to high heaven.
I should’ve gone yesterday, or the day before. But one of the hab seals in the south corner was punctured—they were built to withstand winds of up to 450mph, not the impact of a thousand razor-sharp flintrocks traveling at speed—so if I wanted my garden to not be a wasteland of radioactive ash, that had to take priority. Stupid fucking miners. First they poison my well with their runoff sludge and now they destroy my hab with shrapnel from their blasting. I might as well just pack up and move. Not that there’s anywhere safer, really. Going into town to get water is only an hour-long trip, and that’s more dangerous than living right next to the mines. Those crazy shitheads who didn’t make the cut have really embraced the chaos of an empty world. Well, hell. Maybe they’re right to. Maybe I’m the crazy one for trying to act like nothing’s changed.
I lace my boots as tight as I can without hurting, then pull my galoshes over them. The environmental suit is cumbersome, but going anywhere without it is suicidal. Honestly, I was surprised they even left me one. They called it “a last, kind gesture.” As if the absolute least they could do should be viewed as some kind of philanthropic magnanimity. They left us down here to die, alone and choking on poisoned air, but hey! At least it’ll be a slow death.
Fuckers.
I take one last, deep breath of what passes for fresh air these days as I seal my helmet before my own stench is the only thing I can smell. I double check the tape around my wrists, turn on the display, and let the suit itself reassure me that everything is airtight and ready for travel. A cursory glance at my satellite feed tells me the winds have died down to a humble 60mph. Hopefully there are no flying shards of metal or rock ready to eviscerate me and my suit before I can get to the rover.
“Alright,” I sigh, because at this point seeming crazy by talking to myself is literally nowhere on my list of things to give a shit about, “let’s get this show on the road.”
|
|
[WP] Colony ships have been leaving weekly for awhile. The streets around your home are looking more empty. You don't qualify for the colony ships. You will always be one of the left behind.
|
"Another launch," my friend whispered to me, as I watched the sky.
The ships were beautiful to see as they rose slowly into the dawn. Their rockets exploded into fireworks as they left the atmosphere, reflecting sparks onto the ponderous metal curves of the spacebound vessels. One by one they struggled heavily up, rising like ovoid silver moons until they shrank away to nothing.
"Yes," I answered, gazing hungrily upwards.
Aboard the ships, folks would be packed tightly into multiple flight decks, strapped in for takeoff, nervous and excited. They would fly away from this ghost planet, leaving the ruinous Earth behind for the glittering novelty of the Mars colonies. My soul ached to go with them.
My friend followed as I walked across the roof toward the access door.
"You know," my friend said to me as we walked together down the stairs, "You could go too. You could leave me behind."
I glanced out a window as we descended. I could just see the pink sky beneath the silver flank of a rising colony ship framed in the rectangular opening.
'I would never," I told them, looking away.
"It wouldn't be that hard," my friend mused. "The doctors told you that you could go. I just...can't go with you."
"We've been together all my life," I argued. "I don't *want* to leave you."
My friend was silent awhile. I finished stalking down the last staircase and crossed the building's lobby to the street door.
My friend continued to protest. "You could *be* someone on Mars. There's nothing left here."
I shrugged. "Who, though?" I asked. "I just want to be me. Here. With you."
"I'm nothing, though," my friend sighed. "I'm holding you back."
I blinked as tears stung my eyes. My heart twisted. The ascending ships were so beautiful. What if I could be on board? Mars was a bustling frontier. What might I accomplish, given the opportunity to leave the all but abandoned Earth? Swallowing, I turned to face my friend. "Are you sure?"
They smiled at me, their familiar, comforting smile. "Yes, I am. It is time for you to go."
My heart dropped and leaped at once. My throat closed.
My friend reached out and touched my shoulder. "Do it," they told me, gently.
The bottle of pills the doctors had given me were still in my pocket. I shook one into my hand and stared at it for a moment. It was small, round, and white. It looked as innocuous as aspirin. It would take my friend from me forever. I shut my eyes tightly and swallowed the pill dry. Then I squared my shoulders and walked away down the street, toward the station.
The bottle in my hand rattled as I walked. The label caught the sun.
*Take one tablet daily,* the label read, *for symptoms of schizophrenia.*
|
The colony ships seem to be leaving faster and faster nowadays, desperate to flee the planet that their passengers raped into oblivion over thousands of years. Most of the overcrowded populace called those ships the scintillating last hope for humanity when the plans first went into motion a few years back. They, however, might have been biased since they were all among the chosen ones granted the honor of passage to a new planet. On the other hand, there were others that were part of the ones left behind. These were the people deemed so unimportant to the cause of preservation, most through no fault that they could control, that they could not book passage onto the ships no matter what they tried. Most of these poor souls had every right to be angry at the hand that they were dealt, or go completely off the deep end in their own depression. Then, there were the very rare few who felt nothing but relief... nay, even happiness at the sight of hollow buildings and empty streets. This is how that story goes...
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Twilight had just started to fall on the cracked and empty streets of Prescott, Arizona; the sunset turning the already dingy brown sky an unsightly shade of muddy orange streaked with crimson. A couple sits side-by-side on their front porch and watches as a harsh white light erupts from the ground several miles away and up into the clouds, signaling the departure of the very last colony ship: TRA-MRS-411. These two hadn't really even wanted to go through the application process, and yet it was mandatory for every citizen on Earth, so they weren't at all surprised when they had gotten the sappy, copy-and-paste rejection letter from the American government months after all the poking and prodding, and the miles of paperwork. They could have explained as much and just been done with it in far less painful ways than the medical examinations, the psychology tests, I.Q tests, and everything else involved. The man had been born sterile, and so was not a viable breedable subject for the new colonies, and his wife had been discovered to have PCOS, a very annoying medical condition that made it nearly impossible for her to even become pregnant, let alone keep the baby to full term. There had been many people who had offered their condolences to the pair: family and friends that seemed to hold their own lives above the friendships they had shared since they too had left this couple behind.
As the lights of the ship vanish into the dark purplish clouds, the man sighs and sweeps his hand through his grey-streaked black hair before setting his odd yellow eyes on his redheaded wife seated next to him. He was far from being old despite the grey hair peppering through the black, having only just celebrated his forty-first birthday a few weeks back. His wife of the last nineteen years looks over at him after sensing his gaze, her emerald eyes crinkling at the corners as she smiles gently at him and giving his hand a squeeze. He levels a crooked smile her way and stretches his legs out before starting to laugh almost maniacally, nearly upending his chair in the process. His wife snorts and untangles her hand from his to give his right arm a playful swat as he continues to laugh. "What has gotten into you now you madman?" She asks in the most serious tone that she could manage, though it was ruined by one of her adorable giggles. He wheezes as he tries to catch his breath, slapping his left knee with the palm of his hand as he sits up a little straighter and gasps out one last chuckle. "I'm sorry Babe, it's just that I couldn't be happier at this moment... we're finally free."
Any other person would have thought him absolutely insane for viewing the abandonment of him and his wife on a dying planet as anything amusing or freeing for that matter. His wife, however, gives him a rueful smile before standing and stretching her arms above her head and letting gravity pull them back down as the muscles in her arms relax a little. "That's true Hon... it may not be the Apocalypse we had always wanted, but it still is the end of days for those of us left behind by those... perfect people. We finally have the Earth to ourselves and all the time we want to rove around and explore it all." As if driven by a shock of purpose, the male stands so suddenly that he knocks his white plastic lawn chair onto the dusty ground and chuckles darkly. "Let's get going then! This Apocolypse isn't going to rule itself my little Phoenix!" His wife snorts and dissolves into a fit of giggling before standing up and sighing gently as she pats his cheek. "Sure thing, are you going to make me call you King Geiger now?" He frowns disapprovingly at her and she shrugs before picking up the compound bow and sheath of arrows that had been set on a small glass table on their porch. "Hey now, you made the first joke Love, don't get angy at me. I'll grab the kids and you start up the Raid-mobile okay?"
He mutters something at her before holstering his favorite machete and walks off the porch towards a desert camo Subaru Baja that would be right at home in one of the classic movies from back in their day called Mad Max. The redhead watches her husband grumble his way towards the car and smiles to herself before whistling loudly as she shoulders the bow and quiver of arrows. Three dogs round the corner, tongues lolling from their mouths as they bound towards their human, all three of them lightly colored and look vaguely border-collie mixed with something much larger and wilder. She treats them to some pieces of jerky before setting out towards the car with the trio gamboling and cavorting about behind her. She approaches the car and pecks her husband on the cheek before letting the dogs into the bed of the Baja, pulling on a respirator in the process. She shuts the bed up and swings into the passenger seat to already find her husband gripping the wheel in a white-knuckle grip and grinning excitedly out of the windshield, She smiles and shuts the door before patting his leg and flinging her other arm out of the open window as she tilts her head back and enjoys the feeling of her life's problems winging their way into the void. "Let's do this." Her husband growls out before he hits the accelerator and they peel out of their driveway and onto the road that leads to the rest of their lives.
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[WP] Colony ships have been leaving weekly for awhile. The streets around your home are looking more empty. You don't qualify for the colony ships. You will always be one of the left behind.
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This little ball of soil and water was the birthplace of humanity however due to our utter incompetence we ruined it not just for ourselves but also for our children. The Ministry for Asteroid and Planetary Settlement or MAPS which was formed when the United Nations of Earth had done a lottery system to decide who were allowed to leave to visit this brave new world that was supposedly teaming with new flora and fauna. There were however a few prerequisites,
1. You must be healthy enough to start astronauts training
2. You must work or be trained in one of the colony's new roles they needed
3. Your genetic screening must come back as clear for space travel.
4. You couldn't have a life limiting condition as more than likely you wouldn't survive the take-off
So I had passed all of these bar the genetic test for space travel as I had an allergy to one of the suspended animation fluids we used. So a term was coined and as such I became one of the "Lost Generation" and as my neighbours were sent those red striped letters and the trucks arrived to deliver the boxes for the limited onboard space I began to wonder what this new world would look like and if I might ever join them.
I found one of those letters once and nearly decided to try my luck but then I thought about what would happen to people who were ahead of me and behind me and to the people who were waiting.
I put the letter in the post box and last I heard that family left and just abandoned there home and the remains to the growing emptiness of this barren world. Most of my friends had left and my dad and mum had to regularly head into the nearby city to get what supplied we couldn't grow or recycle.
My children would have to fight for their lives to feed and survive whilst the others got to live scot free on this new world and I'm not going to beat around the bush it pissed me off but with my job being as critical as it was I could have done any number of things to cripple those asses but I knew that it wouldn't be good for me if that happened.
As it happens I wasn't the only one left behind as I found out on that last Friday of the launch of the UNES Newcastle as its light blue thrusters lifted it up into the air and then as it was just outside of the atmosphere it made the first of its high intensity burns followed by deploying its heat sinks and solar panels.
I wanted to follow but from the messages we received back I'm very glad I didn't go as it turns out the planet wasn't suitable so every ship had to return and then when they arrived back some 25 years later they found the planet had healed from all the actions they had caused and that we had built a better life and put defences in orbit to stop them coming back.
When the UNES New York came within the safe zone and refused to stop we blasted it down much to our joy they all came to a sudden stop and then we began the process of allowing the refugees back onto terra
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The left behind.
That is what we were called, when we realized that earth was lost.
The soil had grown toxic, leaving the plants poisonous, and the animals dead. The air had grown thin, and what water was left was about as far from drinkable as it gets. For humans at least.
Or had it always been that way? It's so hard to remember what it was looks so long ago, so your records are probably more accurate.
Either way, it wasn't until long after you guys had left that we realized what was actually happening. When the ozone layer and the greenhouse gases both started fading at the same time, we got curious. The few scientists left seemed pretty sure that both things happening at the same time wasn't random, and that it probably shouldn't result in a temperature drop.
What was the ozone layer for anyways? How do you expect to feel the warmth of your star when your planet blocks most of it?
I digress - they knew these chemicals has to be going somewhere, and it wasn't until they realized a new airborne virus had made the rounds only a few years prior that someone thought to sample air bacteria.
Pretty big was our shock when we find out they had completely different DNA. Like, it like and acted like DNA, but used different molecules or something - look, it did the same job, we just didn't know how or where it came from. We still don't know when it got here, to be honest.
Yep, big surprise huh? A creature that looks hilariously like a fallout deathclaw, claiming to be one of your left behinds, talking about alien terraforming. At least we don't age anymore, but the chronic depression kinda sucks.
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[WP] Colony ships have been leaving weekly for awhile. The streets around your home are looking more empty. You don't qualify for the colony ships. You will always be one of the left behind.
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My alarm didn't go off until well after the giant stacks of spinning rings had already passed the moon. Figures, it's what I get for setting it for 6pm instead of 6am. For sublight ships it shouldn't have been that big a deal, but unfortunately my calendar was also set for 6pm, Tuesday, one *month* late. It's nothing new, I'm used to being left behind. I've been left behind my entire life.
And, like most of my experiences with being left behind, it's pretty cool for a while. See, no one ever *really* believed we'd manage to fit all of humanity comfortably onto the generation ships with enough room to spare, but god damn they managed it. 8 ships, 1 billion per ship, enough room on each to house an additional 2 billion, with the tech to feed em all and keep the lights on for thousands of years. It truly was the pinnacle of human ingenuity, and incredible we managed to pull it off so quickly, seems like just yesterday we landed on the moon, and not even a lifetime later we are headed for the stars.
So, I had pretty much the whole planet to myself. Most people didn't even bother to lock up, we weren't supposed to come back after all, and we couldn't take most of this junk with us. With hyper advanced in station public transit, no cars or planes were brought, and with the capability to synthesize practically any material with stuff harvested in space, no one brought any stuff either. Hell even the militaries pretty much had to leave everything, any weapons strong enough to damage the station couldn't, for obvious reasons, couldn't be brought.
So, the world was my oyster. I could go wherever I wanted, do whatever I wanted, and that was pretty sweet for about three months. After that, I'd kind of used up my opportunities. I'd traveled as far as I could (didn't know how to fly or sail, so I couldn't just leave), and all the fresh food at the grocery stores had spoiled by now, so it was down to preserved and frozen stuff.
That was when something strange happened, the Skrell arrived. To think, aliens finally make first contact with earth *after* we had left en masse. I stayed hidden, I had no desire to play ambassador, or worse, get snapped up by alien archaeologists or biologists for study. That's when I noticed something strange, the started moving in. Slowly at first, but then wave after wave flooded into cities, cleaning them up and repurposing structures for their use. I even saw, what I believe to be, protestors.
It was actually one of these xeno-rights activist groups that first contacted me to explain the situation. See, habitable planets are actually incredibly rare, and terraforming so difficult as to not be practical. Invasions were also very very costly, and ran the risk of ruining the planet itself in the process, so the skrell found an ingenious method for colonization: they convinced people to leave.
They started off early in a species's development, feeding into their culture the drive for exploration. Then, they take measures to encourage pollution. Once media developed, they would subtly influence it to make the race more comfortable with space and space travel, aiming to glorify the hardships found in the stars. The final phase was to spur a new technological revolution, not giving FTL, but slowly seeding the tech needed for generation ships, much like the ones we built. By the time the ships were finished there's not a soul left on the planet who isn't ready to leave it. Culturally, environmentally, and personally, everyone *wanted* to go to space. Then, the skrell move in, a habitable world full of tech they helped design ready and waiting for them.
Doesn't take long for them to convert our structures and infrastructure to something compatible with their own, and cleaning up environmental carbon and microplastics is no trouble at all compared to terraforming a new world from scratch.
The xeno-rights activists have been protesting this practice for millennia. Apparently the cultural warfare used by the skrell is so effective, this is pretty much the first time anyone has been left behind alive.
When I asked about my people, I got a lot of uncomfortable looks and skrell-shrugs. The systems targeted by the generation ships do in fact have planets in the habitable zones of their stars, but none of them support life. And, with how hard terraforming is, humanity has it's work cut out for them.
Essentially, we bought into the biggest scam in the galaxy, we've been robbed of our very planet. But there's one thing these skrell didn't take into account, me.
*Removing the last line cause now that I'm fully awake I agree with a few of the comments. You can see it below if you like.*
>!My name Is Kevin McCallister, and I'm going to make these skrell regret leaving me home alone.!<
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The shadows on his face seem like another world onto themselves. Another dimension. Leaves whip past him as he stands glaring at me in the middle of a street with no name. Or perhaps it has a name; to him. But not to me. Streets have no need of names anymore, now that there are no more people. Not besides he and I. Not since the ships left. The ones that didn't take me on account of my ingrown toenail. I asked him once, early on in this existence as it has come to be, why he got left. Said his dick was too big. Guess he didn't feel like answering. Or maybe his point was it doesn't matter anyway. All that matters is that there are two of us left, but there can only be one: the last one. The last man on Earth. A title that is without accolade by its very definition. But one we each desperately desire. I'd asked him his reason once. He didn't answer that, either. Doesn't matter now, I suppose.
I raise the revolver. See his Glock go up in unison. A shot rings out. Or is it two?
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[WP] Colony ships have been leaving weekly for awhile. The streets around your home are looking more empty. You don't qualify for the colony ships. You will always be one of the left behind.
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I probably wouldn't get in, but I decided to try anyways. Never hurts to try, right?
Walking up to the giant lines around our space ports I queued up for a brand new Universe Explorer type colony ship. You could almost smell the desperation on people as they hurried along to get off this rock before the sun went super nova.
I shuffled along with the masses of so called humanity until I got to the front of the line. I walked up the scanner and held my breath, that maybe this time would be different. Hope is a stubborn creature that will try to fly even in the face of impossibility.
"unauthorized" monotoned the computer as a red light flashed on. A guard quickly approached me.
"sir, we can't let you on the ship our scanner shows you're genetically unmodified and you don't have a ticket. The rules say no organics allowed."
"you know we were all considered humans once upon a time?"
His eyes flashed red as his threat detection program activated and he scanned over my body looking to make sure I didn't have any weapons of massive destruction hidden on my body. His threat level scan finding nothing he relaxed slightly that I was just another dumb organic trying to sneak onboard.
"We have tens of billions of people on Earth and we only have room for the best genes, the best cyber modifications and the best of us. Sorry, no organics allowed. " The guard fingered the weapon by his side.
I noticed this and sighed. I had watched the videos of a few organics being reduced to ashes for trying to force their way on. It seemed the end was coming for humanity, but I sure wasn't going to go out on someone else's terms so I stepped back and began the walk back home.
I could have taken a hover pad or the hyper loop, but I wanted a long walk through a empty city. I tapped on my world wide Cyber net and I noticed a private message from an unknown sender with privacy settings on.
I clicked it on and saw a video of myself from someone else's viewpoint. The video of me talking to the guard from another passerby in line.
"oh great, is this another cyber god coming to mock me for my humanity?" I thought to myself, yet I didn't click the video off. Soon the video shifted to a persons private thought message.
"I was in line and I saw your struggle. I know a lot of organics don't trust the cyber and genetically modified. They say we're no longer human, that we left our humanity behind with each new genetic modification and cyber enhancement. That we don't care about things like emotions and only follow the cold logic of progress. It is true the majority of my godlike brethren seem to regard organics as evolutionary backwards people there are a few of us who are old enough to remember how simple acts of kindness could once change a person's day instead of relying on the dopamine injections provided by our modifications.
Here's a private passcode that will get you into the human project. I only have enough bandwidth to hide this small message, but a friend of mine from before the times of godlike people is working on what he calls the Human Project."
The message ended and a map of where this human project was popped up on my feed. Is this guy just joking around with me? This must be a joke. The map showed the destination as the Winchester pub. There was an old meme about the apocalypse and grabbing a pint and waiting for this all to blow over.
Half expecting to get pranked I decided to head over there. What's the worst that could happen? I enjoy an ice cold beer as I wait for the world to end? Not a bad way to end things so I walked over to learn about the human project.
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The shadows on his face seem like another world onto themselves. Another dimension. Leaves whip past him as he stands glaring at me in the middle of a street with no name. Or perhaps it has a name; to him. But not to me. Streets have no need of names anymore, now that there are no more people. Not besides he and I. Not since the ships left. The ones that didn't take me on account of my ingrown toenail. I asked him once, early on in this existence as it has come to be, why he got left. Said his dick was too big. Guess he didn't feel like answering. Or maybe his point was it doesn't matter anyway. All that matters is that there are two of us left, but there can only be one: the last one. The last man on Earth. A title that is without accolade by its very definition. But one we each desperately desire. I'd asked him his reason once. He didn't answer that, either. Doesn't matter now, I suppose.
I raise the revolver. See his Glock go up in unison. A shot rings out. Or is it two?
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[WP] Colony ships have been leaving weekly for awhile. The streets around your home are looking more empty. You don't qualify for the colony ships. You will always be one of the left behind.
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When I was young, it was "sending people to Mars" that was the big news, the action plan of the future, still a theory but someday to be reality. Then scientists made an incredible breakthrough towards the Unified Theory, a common element, or rather subatomic particle, that reconciled string theory and relativity. That breakthrough allowed us to harness the power of gravity wells to slingshot ourselves to near light-speed. Of course, special processes had to be invented to protect the human body from the intense gravitational effects, but advances in animated suspension tech quickly fixed that.
When I was young, the other news was our planet dying. Massive climate change swept the globe, perpetrated largely by corporations both resisting regulation and telling the population that it was their fault for leaving the lights on and using plastic straws. Gaslighting the population into ignoring them palming checks into the hands of the politicians that should have regulated them. When the tech was safe to leave for brighter horizons, the richest of us "jumped ship" immediately. But to those of us who retained the ability to empathize, we felt like our mother was dying, and we didn't want to leave.
Soon it was clear that it was too late to save her. Her body was falling apart, attacking itself and all of us organisms that shared a symbiotic relationship with her. There were the Noah class colony ships that carried away the plants and animals we hadn't already broken to start them somewhere new. The people that remained started fleeing, in such large numbers that they set up a lottery system to determine who got on each ship.
The final stages of Earth's life came suddenly. No food left, no clean water, winds and the seas and the mountains and the ice crumbling and raging and falling into ruin. These would have to be the last ships.
I was never eligible to go to begin with. I was disabled. Anxiety, depression, chronic pain, trauma. They used the fact that I had once been on SSI to exclude me. It wasn't a medical concern; they cleared others who had the same diagnoses but no history of government benefits. I was used to it by then - lose my benefits if I got married (even without combining income), if I went to school, if I saved up for a car and used it for anything other than driving to medical appointments, if I had more than two thousand dollars in savings and checking combined... it felt sometimes like they didn't want me to recover.
So when the ships were leaving, the love of my life was accepted and my application was rejected. She told me she had to stay. I had promised that I would hold on until the moment after her dying breath, so she wouldn't ever have ro grieve me.
I told her to go.
I watched as the ship took off, rumbling the ground with smoke until it soared with a comet's tail of beautiful flame. I knew my love would be safe, but my heart ached for her as tears streamed down my face, watching the last ship leave and knowing she would have to live the rest of her life, maybe 50 years if she lived to be 90. I knew from the feeling in my own heart that she or I would never know how to feel truly whole again leaving the other like that. We would heal, but there would always be a painful scar.
My heart jumped into my throat as I heard a familiar voice behind me. I wanted to be angry, but I couldn't. I turned to see the face that even with my face blindness I could never forget; the person I loved with all my heart.
I knew I had to be selfish for being glad we'd face the end together. I knew I should be grieving for her losing the last hope she had. But I was just relieved that neither of us would be alone.
As the sky, sea, and earth grew dark or broke apart, was I wrong for being glad I could reach for her hand and face it not alone? Was I wrong to release that guilt, look into her eyes, and hold her, as everything fell away into the dark?
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I lower the camera and let it hang by my side before sitting down to look at the long trail of exhaust leading upwards until it disappeared into the endless, cloudless blue. That was another 15,000 or so people on their way somewhere I could never follow. Growing up there had been few things so near and dear to me as space, the chaos of the stars and the imposed order of our constellations, the rocket engines so powerful that not even an entire world trying it’s best could hold them back, the infinite possibilities…
Earth had stopped trying its best a long time ago, the possibilities here were gone, everything had been explored and exploited before I’d even been born. Growing up my family had subsisted on the cultured meat and soy-based analogues of other, better foods, drank water that had probably been run through more people kidneys than were left here, and worked hard to maintain a good social score and bring in enough credits to feed us while I played in the light of a dying sun or, when our communication network was stable enough, studied star charts online while a history documentary played in the background.
And then times got harder, my father stole to keep my us fed, and in an instant our credit score was reset and we were down to one provider. I wasn’t able to play beneath the darkening sphere anymore. I went to work at 13, loading dry soil into containers to be shipped away, while some 90 million miles away teams were doing the same with our star to keep the FTL drives of the colony ships fueled.
We don’t have much time now, harvesting operations have stopped, the crews, all trained and valuable workers, have been sent far away to take from other galaxies while we sit and stare at the countdown in the corner of everything.
They say we have a year at best, but maybe if I get the right shot, produce the right product goods, I can buy back my family’s credit. Get my father out of the freeze, pay for a special transport for the three of us, swim amongst the stars in search of a future…
I run a hand along my century-old camera, clean and new once upon a time but now made entirely of spare parts, with a heavy heart and try to quiet the screaming I feel inside. It still uses digital storage, not quantum like everything made in the past 50-years does, it’s just as dead as the sun is, but neither of them will admit it.
I take a moment to trace the graceful arc of exhaust, already dissipating now, with my finger, then turn to make my way home. I have editing to do.
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[WP] Colony ships have been leaving weekly for awhile. The streets around your home are looking more empty. You don't qualify for the colony ships. You will always be one of the left behind.
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For as long as I was born, a great majority of people mocked the notion of leaving Earth. Only fools and the privileged cared about such things. It never even occurred to me they may have been jealous. Maybe that's why they always laughed at my dream of flying through the stars.
Mars had suffered through constant revolutions after breaking away from the Terra Alliance seventy years prior, and the situation only grew dimmer beyond the asteroid belt, where several moons of Jupiter had monarchies and dictatorships terrorizing their people. Space stations and asteroid colonies fell into anarchy all the time, with little that could be done to help them. Anyone with a proper head on their shoulders should know better than to ignore those horrors.
Being born on Earth was a gift. It wasn't perfect, but nothing ever was. The polluted skies and boiling seas were bad, sure, but they were nothing when compared to what waited outside. Throwing away mediocre stability for an unproven fantasy would only end in tragedy.
And yet, despite this uncertainty, new territories were being established every week, all with the hope that they could grow something better than what they came from. Little by little, I saw people quietly leave my town until barely anyone remained. It shouldn't have surprised me that those who had been most vocal about loving Earth abandoned it the second they could.
I told myself I stayed by choice, helping my aging parents with their bills, all while resenting them for keeping me earthbound. They had always criticized their other family members for leaving, and I couldn't bear to do the same. Having their child become the embodiment of what they loathed would've been the ultimate betrayal. By the time they died, I was already considered too old to join a colony ship.
Nothing prevented me from applying, though. Most candidates had to be young due to logistical reasons. Even with all the advancements in cryogenic sleep, keeping someone alive for that long still required a considerable amount of resources. I just wasn't valuable enough to be worth the effort.
My piloting skill was the only thing that could conceivably get me out. I tried my best during the try-outs, thinking my experience would give me an edge, but the younger pilots were simply faster and more daring than me, an attitude which was precisely what the colony organizers were looking for. It took me a few years of constant failure to actually realize this, something that only sent me further down a depressive spiral.
I ruined several intimate relationships during that time. Some of them even told me to give up, only to go on and leave the planet. It felt like a cosmic joke. Every time I started improving my situation, something would happen to further set me back on the path. Eventually I ignored everyone in my life just to focus on this goal.
The next try-out period needed to be my last. I trained harder than ever, piloting shuttles on some of the most difficult routes on the planet, until I was confident nothing would stop me.
And then I crashed on the first test.
It wasn't really my fault. The shuttle's landing propulsors simply malfunctioned at the worst possible time. I only woke up from the coma a few days later. At that point, it was already too late for me. The colony ship left me behind yet again. Even if it hadn't, my wounds had caused permanent nerve damage on my wrists, making it impossible to pilot a high-speed shuttle ever again. The doctors and nurses worried more about my mental health than my injuries. I barely spoke to anyone while I recovered. The only reason I learned to pilot hovercraft was because it was the closest I could feel to being in space. Now that it had been taken away from me, I couldn't see myself alive for much longer.
One of the colony organizers, an important lady who worked for a corporate conglomerate, visited me in the hospital on the day I was going to be discharged. She expressed apologies for the accident and mentioned her organization would take care of my financial burdens for a while. I didn't care. If anything, this just meant I'd be stuck on Earth forever. The lady then said:
"I have something to ask... if you don't mind me prying."
"Sure," I mumbled.
"I've arranged a lot of these tryouts for over a decade, and I've seen you at quite a few of them. Enough that I could recognize you from time to time throughout the years. I always wondered why you were there, not in a dismissive way, of course, but more in what made you that persistent. You already had an established career here. More than that, people way younger than you would often give up after one attempt and never try again. There must have been something pushing you, right?"
"I... I don't even know anymore."
"Really?"
"Well, it started as a dream, then I wanted to prove everyone wrong, and then I just couldn't live with myself without giving it my all. Was it contrarianism? A need to escape my reality? Does it even matter? The saddest part is... I was only happy with myself when I was trying. Now that I'm staying behind, I can't help but see it as a waste of time."
"I wouldn't say that. A lesser pilot would've died in that crash. Very few people possess the wherewithal to react that quickly. You even avoided hitting anyone. If you hadn't been injured, I would've chosen you on the spot."
I sighed.
"Sorry," said the lady, "I didn't mean to make you feel worse. That said, I do have a proposal for you, if you're interested in a different job."
"I'm not sure if you heard the news, but I can't fly anymore. The dream's dead."
"Sure, you can't pilot high-speed shuttle craft, but that doesn't mean you can't commandeer a ship."
I raised an eyebrow.
"Someone has to be captain of the colony vessel." The lady looked away. "But you probably won't live much longer after arriving. Most experienced pilots refuse the offer, but we need someone who can get it to its destination in one piece, and I can't think of anyone better than you. It's alright if you're not interested; the sacrifice is great but-"
"No," I interrupted, welling up with tears, "I'll do it."
The lady widened her eyes. "Are you sure you don't wish to think it over?"
"It... really isn't a hard choice for me. There's probably at least one person on that ship who dreamt the same thing as me. If I can enable it for them... If the dream can live through that person... then I'll live happily just by flying towards the horizon."
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>If you enjoyed this, you can check out my other responses over at /r/WeirdEmoKidStories. Thanks for reading!
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You might think this is a tale of sorrow. It certainly seems like one. All the signs point that way, the images like that from an apocalypse: desolate buildings, people gathered around bonfires in the middle of the night, children looking up at the stars, watching the last of the smoke trails dissipate through the air.
We are the Left Behind. For one reason or another, we didn't qualify to board one of the colony ships. Our lives weren't valuable enough to be worth saving. To think about it that way makes my insides squirm, and I want to go smashing windows like the rest of them.
But I don't. I understand.
We ruined this planet together, as a collective. Large organizations buried science and governments looked the other way, but we let them do it. We stood by and watched, like people gathered around a stabbed man, watching him bleed to death but too tired, too apathetic, too ignorant to do anything about it. When the whole world's with you, standing shoulder to shoulder against disaster, who are you even supposed to call?
I don't know. I wish now that we'd done better, but it's too little too late. The heat waves started decades ago; the sea levels rose year-by-year. My head would spin off my neck if I tried to recall every little sign, every horrible headline, every month of suffering but no action.
The colony ships came fast, though. Once it became apparent that it wasn't going to stop, the world kicked into high gear. We built dozens of them, massive metal paradises sent like lightning into the black. That's something I'm proud of, even if I didn't get to take part.
I'm walking down the street of my childhood home as I write this. The sun's just fallen below the horizon. I wish you could see it, how the ruins look streaked with fading fire, how the stillness is everywhere. With how quiet it is, you'd think it was meant to be this way. That this was inevitable. That this was the plan.
What *was* the plan? To keep climbing with our ears covered? The thought seems ridiculous now.
I step through the door of my old house. Run my fingers over the chipped paint. Duck my head into the kitchen, the living room, the bedroom turned abandoned workout center. Everything looks dead. It should be sad, but really its serene. Knowing what I do, I'm glad no one's sitting at the kitchen table. I'm overjoyed that it's empty, actually, because they all got to leave.
I gave up my spot on the colony ship so my little sister could survive. Maybe it's selfish, but I want you to think I was one of the good ones.
Leaving the neighborhood behind before it fossilizes me as well, I walk toward the bonfire. Not too far, now—I can see the light and hear the chatter as soon as I'm down the street. It's a horrible smell—smoke and cooked meat and sweat—but God it's a comfort these days.
Before I join the festivities, I'm going to leave this note. I'll put it under a rock. That seems like the safest place. But before I depart, let me tell you what we're going to do.
We're going to dance.
We're going to sing.
We're going to get annoyed at each other and smile the whole time.
We're going to talk about the past.
We're going to laugh.
We're going to fall asleep looking at the stars, watching the emptiness that we're a part of. But we're going to be content with that because we know the ground would rather claim a soul still fighting, always fighting, to be alive.
|
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[WP] Colony ships have been leaving weekly for awhile. The streets around your home are looking more empty. You don't qualify for the colony ships. You will always be one of the left behind.
|
The oil reserves had ran dry 90 years ago, long before I was born. The damage that they had caused remained. The planet was dying, so people started to leave. Mars was always a hotspot, “Become one of the first to live on a planet once red now green!”, a true planet B. We branched out, colonised the Moon, then Phobos. They say Mars will launch missions to Venus soon, they’ll have floating cities above the surface.
Very few people weren’t given the means to become a colonist. I’m one of the few. The corporations didn’t discriminate based on ability, race, gender, sexual orientation. If you could hold a shovel you were away. They did discriminate based on health.
I had a congenital heart condition. Leaving the Earth’s gravity would kill me. Nothing on earth could cure me. I was stuck here. Every day, a neighbour would leave my apartment block. Every week the news would speak of towns being empty, of cities populations deteriorating. I had a large flat for cheap and high paying job thanks to this. But I couldn’t share it with anyone.
My friends had left a long time ago. Seeing them off was difficult, sure, but it wasn’t heartbreaking. They were happy, as I would be here. I was happy until my family left last week. And it was the hardest thing I have ever done.
My five year old didn’t understand why daddy couldn’t come with him. Since he could talk he’d been obsessed with the moon above him. Wanting to go there, live there. Look down at Earth. He was going to share it with mummy and daddy. He would talk away about all the things we could do together, show me the videos of life up there on the projector. I would nod, smile. My wife and I would cry ourselves to sleep knowing that one day he was going to have to go up there without me. Knowing he wouldn’t understand why daddy couldn’t come too.
We made the decision in the summer of last year, the temperature hit 40°C for the first time ever in the UK. Trying to keep him from seeing the statistics, the footage of people dying of thirst, heat exhaustion, suffocation… It was Sisyphean, every time he switched on the projector to see the Lunar colonies he saw death. I didn’t want to bring my child up in this world. And I knew letting time slip away to make this decision was only going to make it harder.
I can’t forget his face. Or my wife’s. Seeing them go was the hardest thing I have ever done. I still go into his room sometimes, look at the half done Lego sets and scribbled drawings. Sometimes I call out to him and ask him questions, get him talking. I break down every time.
He will grow up and my wife will grow old being pioneers of humanity’s golden age. And I’ll die scorched and alone on a fading rock. Looking up at something that seems so close I can touch it. Like I can touch them.
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You might think this is a tale of sorrow. It certainly seems like one. All the signs point that way, the images like that from an apocalypse: desolate buildings, people gathered around bonfires in the middle of the night, children looking up at the stars, watching the last of the smoke trails dissipate through the air.
We are the Left Behind. For one reason or another, we didn't qualify to board one of the colony ships. Our lives weren't valuable enough to be worth saving. To think about it that way makes my insides squirm, and I want to go smashing windows like the rest of them.
But I don't. I understand.
We ruined this planet together, as a collective. Large organizations buried science and governments looked the other way, but we let them do it. We stood by and watched, like people gathered around a stabbed man, watching him bleed to death but too tired, too apathetic, too ignorant to do anything about it. When the whole world's with you, standing shoulder to shoulder against disaster, who are you even supposed to call?
I don't know. I wish now that we'd done better, but it's too little too late. The heat waves started decades ago; the sea levels rose year-by-year. My head would spin off my neck if I tried to recall every little sign, every horrible headline, every month of suffering but no action.
The colony ships came fast, though. Once it became apparent that it wasn't going to stop, the world kicked into high gear. We built dozens of them, massive metal paradises sent like lightning into the black. That's something I'm proud of, even if I didn't get to take part.
I'm walking down the street of my childhood home as I write this. The sun's just fallen below the horizon. I wish you could see it, how the ruins look streaked with fading fire, how the stillness is everywhere. With how quiet it is, you'd think it was meant to be this way. That this was inevitable. That this was the plan.
What *was* the plan? To keep climbing with our ears covered? The thought seems ridiculous now.
I step through the door of my old house. Run my fingers over the chipped paint. Duck my head into the kitchen, the living room, the bedroom turned abandoned workout center. Everything looks dead. It should be sad, but really its serene. Knowing what I do, I'm glad no one's sitting at the kitchen table. I'm overjoyed that it's empty, actually, because they all got to leave.
I gave up my spot on the colony ship so my little sister could survive. Maybe it's selfish, but I want you to think I was one of the good ones.
Leaving the neighborhood behind before it fossilizes me as well, I walk toward the bonfire. Not too far, now—I can see the light and hear the chatter as soon as I'm down the street. It's a horrible smell—smoke and cooked meat and sweat—but God it's a comfort these days.
Before I join the festivities, I'm going to leave this note. I'll put it under a rock. That seems like the safest place. But before I depart, let me tell you what we're going to do.
We're going to dance.
We're going to sing.
We're going to get annoyed at each other and smile the whole time.
We're going to talk about the past.
We're going to laugh.
We're going to fall asleep looking at the stars, watching the emptiness that we're a part of. But we're going to be content with that because we know the ground would rather claim a soul still fighting, always fighting, to be alive.
|
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[WP] Colony ships have been leaving weekly for awhile. The streets around your home are looking more empty. You don't qualify for the colony ships. You will always be one of the left behind.
|
The oil reserves had ran dry 90 years ago, long before I was born. The damage that they had caused remained. The planet was dying, so people started to leave. Mars was always a hotspot, “Become one of the first to live on a planet once red now green!”, a true planet B. We branched out, colonised the Moon, then Phobos. They say Mars will launch missions to Venus soon, they’ll have floating cities above the surface.
Very few people weren’t given the means to become a colonist. I’m one of the few. The corporations didn’t discriminate based on ability, race, gender, sexual orientation. If you could hold a shovel you were away. They did discriminate based on health.
I had a congenital heart condition. Leaving the Earth’s gravity would kill me. Nothing on earth could cure me. I was stuck here. Every day, a neighbour would leave my apartment block. Every week the news would speak of towns being empty, of cities populations deteriorating. I had a large flat for cheap and high paying job thanks to this. But I couldn’t share it with anyone.
My friends had left a long time ago. Seeing them off was difficult, sure, but it wasn’t heartbreaking. They were happy, as I would be here. I was happy until my family left last week. And it was the hardest thing I have ever done.
My five year old didn’t understand why daddy couldn’t come with him. Since he could talk he’d been obsessed with the moon above him. Wanting to go there, live there. Look down at Earth. He was going to share it with mummy and daddy. He would talk away about all the things we could do together, show me the videos of life up there on the projector. I would nod, smile. My wife and I would cry ourselves to sleep knowing that one day he was going to have to go up there without me. Knowing he wouldn’t understand why daddy couldn’t come too.
We made the decision in the summer of last year, the temperature hit 40°C for the first time ever in the UK. Trying to keep him from seeing the statistics, the footage of people dying of thirst, heat exhaustion, suffocation… It was Sisyphean, every time he switched on the projector to see the Lunar colonies he saw death. I didn’t want to bring my child up in this world. And I knew letting time slip away to make this decision was only going to make it harder.
I can’t forget his face. Or my wife’s. Seeing them go was the hardest thing I have ever done. I still go into his room sometimes, look at the half done Lego sets and scribbled drawings. Sometimes I call out to him and ask him questions, get him talking. I break down every time.
He will grow up and my wife will grow old being pioneers of humanity’s golden age. And I’ll die scorched and alone on a fading rock. Looking up at something that seems so close I can touch it. Like I can touch them.
|
Juliet and I sat on a broken park bench and watched the southern sky.
Though distant, the cone was sufficiently bright to bathe us and the park around us in a subtle blue hue that banished the deeper shadows.
The fiery cone belonged to the Hougoumont, final colony ship of five hundred to launch itself into space and traverse the long dark between here and the colony worlds of Ultima Thule, and Juliet and I sat to watch it go.
My face was grim, but I kept it twisted into a forlorn smile. The ship represented a hope of sorts; the potential for a brand new life, a new home, a new start for both humanity and it’s explorers. The past is littered with such trips, and many great things and places came of them, including our own home.
I had to bite back the thought that many great tragedies also came from them.
I would have given anything to be aboard it. Better still, traded any of my possessions to change it’s manifest. Lord knows I had tried.
We were being left behind by our son who was aboard the Hougoumont, selected when so many others had not been. It was a good thing. It was.
I knew I would never lay eyes on my boy again and the hardships ahead were not few for either him or us. Whatever the pain he had a chance there; and it was better than those who were not selected.
I squeezed Juliet’s shoulders as the blue glow faded, and she let out a low, mournful sob. The sound wrenched at my heart, threatened to crush it and the brittle iron that guarded it, for I heard the note of her heart breaking in that sound..
Whatever troubles this world had held, and they were many, it had been ours together. With Grayson now departing that was no longer the case, and the world felt horrifically empty without him.
I pulled Juliet tight, pressing her head to my chest and taking comfort in the familiar scent of her brown hair, I held her as she sobbed for her son who had been spared death on this planet, but who had been sentenced to transport to a new, unfamiliar and unknown world full of cruel dangers. And my heart broke.
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[WP] Colony ships have been leaving weekly for awhile. The streets around your home are looking more empty. You don't qualify for the colony ships. You will always be one of the left behind.
|
I sat out on the sidewalk that day. The last ship would be leaving in a few minutes, and I could see it over the rooftops from there. The streets were empty, quiet, the only sound the distant thundering of speakers from the launchpad, reduced to barely a whisper by the time it reached me.
You'd think I'd be mad.
When it was discovered that we could make use of the universal folds to reach more habitable places, when we realized we could not save the Earth, I'd been assigned to develop sustainable gardens that could be used to not only feed passengers but seed the new planet, survive it's subtly different environment. I'd always liked plants, enjoyed their stillness, their diversity, their lack of judgment. They didn't mind if it took me longer than most people to till their soil so long as I did it delicately, didn't call me useless if I took a few extra minutes of effort to get their water to them. I'd become an expert in botany, and was the obvious choice to piece together that corner of the logistical nightmare.
I did a pretty good job too. Played with chemistry, adjusted air and water efficiency, developed ways to keep plants healthier with even less soil, and much more sulfur. My gardens were perfect. Beautiful.
My favorite strawberries didn't know I wasn't going to be one of the humans allowed to escape this dying world with them, and didn't think I deserved to be left behind.
I leaned back in my wheelchair, trying to be comfortable. No amount of cooling pipes in the cushioned back and seat stopped it from being hideously burning hot out during the day. Still, it was better than being inside, missing it all. The Earth's corruption had already taken enough from me, taken the stability of my DNA, the functional use of both legs and one arm, stopped one of my eyes from blinking on it's own… I wasn't going to let it take this from me too.
A neighbor I'd never spoken to more than once came outside as well, a few houses down. An older man, potbellied and busy, we'd simply never had a reason to chat. He caught me staring, and walked over, plopping down to sit in the grass by my side.
"Didn't you work on those things?" He asked, voice gruff and smoke torn.
I nodded,"Yes. I developed their botanical preservation system."
"Why aren't you on there?"
"My condition is genetic. They deemed me an unfit candidate for transfer."
His voice came out half angry, half defeated,"That's fucked, you know that? Bullshit too, they could absolutely use a young scientist like you, even if you can't pop out kids."
I smiled placidly, shrugging,"I know."
Silence stretched a minute before I asked him,"Why are you still here? You're under the age limit."
He was quiet a minute, before pointing down the road,"You ever see Janna, the Chinese lady who lived down there? She had two young kids, great kids, real polite, always came over while I worked on my yard to talk my ear off. One of 'em didn't pass their genetic test. Those monsters wanted her to leave one of her babies behind because he had some gene for poor eyesight or some shit. So I gave Jenna my card."
I processed that a minute, the blunt normalcy in his voice.
"That's a very beautiful thing to do Mr. Dawdson."
He let out a snort of a laugh,"Heh, didn't know you knew my name. And it's nothing. I'm just some geezer. Drank too much, lost my wife, only had one kid and she died fighting the fires… That little boy deserved it way more than I did. He's got a family who needs him, and a life to live."
We both quieted down as the earth-shaking roar came echoing down the suburban streets. We watched as the last ship, the last colony of human life to escape our burning world took off and roared out into the sky.
We sat a long time in silence. It was Dawdson who broke it.
"Why'd you let them make you stay?"
"This is home. My cat and my garden are the only living things that have truly never judged me, and they need me."
He nodded, sighing before standing.
"Well, Miss Scientist. Guess it's both our home forever now. I'm cooking bacon and pancakes for dinner. You're welcome to come over and have some, I still got the ramps I had installed for Clara before we knew she wasn't coming back."
I smiled, doing a check to make sure my chairs controller hadn't stalled out in the heat.
"I'd like that. I'd like that very much."
|
Juliet and I sat on a broken park bench and watched the southern sky.
Though distant, the cone was sufficiently bright to bathe us and the park around us in a subtle blue hue that banished the deeper shadows.
The fiery cone belonged to the Hougoumont, final colony ship of five hundred to launch itself into space and traverse the long dark between here and the colony worlds of Ultima Thule, and Juliet and I sat to watch it go.
My face was grim, but I kept it twisted into a forlorn smile. The ship represented a hope of sorts; the potential for a brand new life, a new home, a new start for both humanity and it’s explorers. The past is littered with such trips, and many great things and places came of them, including our own home.
I had to bite back the thought that many great tragedies also came from them.
I would have given anything to be aboard it. Better still, traded any of my possessions to change it’s manifest. Lord knows I had tried.
We were being left behind by our son who was aboard the Hougoumont, selected when so many others had not been. It was a good thing. It was.
I knew I would never lay eyes on my boy again and the hardships ahead were not few for either him or us. Whatever the pain he had a chance there; and it was better than those who were not selected.
I squeezed Juliet’s shoulders as the blue glow faded, and she let out a low, mournful sob. The sound wrenched at my heart, threatened to crush it and the brittle iron that guarded it, for I heard the note of her heart breaking in that sound..
Whatever troubles this world had held, and they were many, it had been ours together. With Grayson now departing that was no longer the case, and the world felt horrifically empty without him.
I pulled Juliet tight, pressing her head to my chest and taking comfort in the familiar scent of her brown hair, I held her as she sobbed for her son who had been spared death on this planet, but who had been sentenced to transport to a new, unfamiliar and unknown world full of cruel dangers. And my heart broke.
|
|
[WP] Colony ships have been leaving weekly for awhile. The streets around your home are looking more empty. You don't qualify for the colony ships. You will always be one of the left behind.
|
The oil reserves had ran dry 90 years ago, long before I was born. The damage that they had caused remained. The planet was dying, so people started to leave. Mars was always a hotspot, “Become one of the first to live on a planet once red now green!”, a true planet B. We branched out, colonised the Moon, then Phobos. They say Mars will launch missions to Venus soon, they’ll have floating cities above the surface.
Very few people weren’t given the means to become a colonist. I’m one of the few. The corporations didn’t discriminate based on ability, race, gender, sexual orientation. If you could hold a shovel you were away. They did discriminate based on health.
I had a congenital heart condition. Leaving the Earth’s gravity would kill me. Nothing on earth could cure me. I was stuck here. Every day, a neighbour would leave my apartment block. Every week the news would speak of towns being empty, of cities populations deteriorating. I had a large flat for cheap and high paying job thanks to this. But I couldn’t share it with anyone.
My friends had left a long time ago. Seeing them off was difficult, sure, but it wasn’t heartbreaking. They were happy, as I would be here. I was happy until my family left last week. And it was the hardest thing I have ever done.
My five year old didn’t understand why daddy couldn’t come with him. Since he could talk he’d been obsessed with the moon above him. Wanting to go there, live there. Look down at Earth. He was going to share it with mummy and daddy. He would talk away about all the things we could do together, show me the videos of life up there on the projector. I would nod, smile. My wife and I would cry ourselves to sleep knowing that one day he was going to have to go up there without me. Knowing he wouldn’t understand why daddy couldn’t come too.
We made the decision in the summer of last year, the temperature hit 40°C for the first time ever in the UK. Trying to keep him from seeing the statistics, the footage of people dying of thirst, heat exhaustion, suffocation… It was Sisyphean, every time he switched on the projector to see the Lunar colonies he saw death. I didn’t want to bring my child up in this world. And I knew letting time slip away to make this decision was only going to make it harder.
I can’t forget his face. Or my wife’s. Seeing them go was the hardest thing I have ever done. I still go into his room sometimes, look at the half done Lego sets and scribbled drawings. Sometimes I call out to him and ask him questions, get him talking. I break down every time.
He will grow up and my wife will grow old being pioneers of humanity’s golden age. And I’ll die scorched and alone on a fading rock. Looking up at something that seems so close I can touch it. Like I can touch them.
|
When the Earth began to crack at the height of the Great Mistake, Henry Thomas Long put his family put his wife and son on a colony ship and waved goodbye. Then he rented a skimmer, packed their things, and lost himself in the wilds of the North American Preserve.
When the skimmer broke down and he could no longer carry all their things he took with him only a backpack of food, a book of poetry, and a family portrait. He traveled light through the NAP, Yeats at his side, declaiming poems to the stars by the flickering light of his fire. When he closed his eyes and recited from memory he could almost believe he was speaking to them, growing light years and relativistic years away on the journey between the old earth and the new.
It was not a good life.
Though in his youth Henry had flirted with the idea of the NAP, before flirting with a woman had turned to flirting with a family had turned to being a father and a husband, now that he had been those things it was difficult to turn back. Certainly he relished the experience, to stand on the peaks of a mountain, a valley pregnant with morning dew stretching out before him, a pristine sunrise on the horizon with a heard of mammoth braying their greetings to it. Certainly he relished in his chance meeting with one of the rogue Arnists who crafted the wilds of the North American Preserve to fit the North America that had been so long ago.
Henry spent a week with the bio-hacker, watching him breathe life into plants and coax long dead animals out of his cloning vats. They released a bald eagle out into the world together, and as it flew away the Arnist hummed an old tune about a star spangled banner that had not been seen in many years.
But the bio-hacker was not his wife and son, and though with his boots firmly upon the non-relativistic ground Henry still had years left before the Great Mistake ended the world, he moved on.
When it was alone it was easier to be truly alone. His mind never tried to compare an animal’s voice to a wife’s. Birdsong never sounded like his son, singing off key in all the moments he could.
When the Earth cracked again, Henry cracked with it.
He had been reciting Yeats less often of late, but when the earth shook below him and the tree he had climbed split and dropped him to the shaking ground, a poem sprang unbidden to his mind.
*Sailing to Byzantium.* It had been his father’s favorite poem, all about mortality and the end, and the hope that there could be more. As the animals stampeded around him, trumpeting their terror to the uncaring heavens, Henry whispered the part of the poem his father had loved so much.
*An aged man is but a paltry thing,*
*A tattered coat upon a stick, unless*
*Soul clap its hands and sing, and louder sing*
*For every tatter in its mortal dress,*
*Nor is there singing school but studying*
*Monuments of its own magnificence;*
*And therefore I have sailed the seas and come*
*To the holy city of Byzantium.*
&#x200B;
*O sages standing in God's holy fire*
*As in the gold mosaic of a wall,*
*Come from the holy fire, perne in a gyre,*
*And be the singing-masters of my soul.*
*Consume my heart away; sick with desire*
*And fastened to a dying animal*
*It knows not what it is; and gather me*
*Into the artifice of eternity.*
Fastened to a dying animal. Alone in the wilds of the NAP that had never felt more true. The Earth stopped shaking, the animals stopped stampeding, and Henry rose into a new world, unhinged.
The first sign was that he composed his own poetry. He had loved poetry in his youth, loved it still into early adulthood, but Henry never been brave enough to share it with anyone. Now Henry sang it to the stars, filled the nights with his words, dared the world to steal his voice from him like it had stolen his family.
The first night a pack of wolves came. Dire Wolves, the big, resurrected kind, and they circled his fire, listening. Henry had no weapon, he made no move to defend himself. Instead, he shouted lines about their eyes reflecting the firelight until they slunk away into the night and shouted about his own, reflecting nothing but fire for the longest year of his life.
Henry missed the rogue Arnist very badly. It had been the last time he spoke to someone, the last time he felt like Henry Thomas Long. Now he was a revenant in his own body, another preserved creature in the NAP, mindlessly awaiting the Great Mistake’s destruction.
It was in this mood that he found her.
A cottage limned in blue light, moonlight bouncing off solar panels, music slipping out through open windows. *Music.* Henry had forgotten what it was like, forgotten that instruments could twine and wail and waver like that.
In his previous life Henry would not have called it music. Pre-destructionist abstract had never been a genre he thought much of, but now that the destruction was no longer so pre, he thought he could see the beauty in it.
The cottage door opened, and she stepped out.
She was a crone. An aged, paltry thing, a tattered dress upon a stick, but to look at her Henry knew her for a singing-master of the kind Yeats had spoken of.
“Hello?” Henry tried to say. It came out rough and raw, a man who had not spoken save to scream, and whose tattered voice could no longer mold itself around a civil word.
She shut the door. Shut the window. Henry heard the whir of locks.
He waited outside, huddling beneath her cottage through the night and the rain, whispering his poems to the moon as she whispered back, lulling him to sleep.
“Why are you still here?” the crone said.
Her voice woke Henry from his sleep, the sun already high in the sky.
“Are you real?” Henry asked.
“Yes,” she said, simply.
“You’re the first person I’ve seen in two years,” Henry whispered.
“Try twenty,” the crone said.
And the earth cracked again, a third time, a final time according to all the predictions. Henry caught her before she could fall and they held other desperately, her natural wariness forgotten as the world threatened to end.
When the shaking stopped they stood, brushed themselves off, and she invited him inside for tea.
Henry had not had tea since he left civilization. It was a religious experience, his mind stumbled over a poem as he sipped.
“Why are you here?” the crone asked. “You aren’t an Arnist.”
“I’m not,” he admitted. “I’m just a man, alone. My family made it onto a ship, I didn’t.”
“Ah,” she said. “Ah.”
She poured him another cup of tea, cooked a breakfast of tubers and eggs, and asked, “What will you do when the Great Mistake takes us?”
“Wish I’d made more mistakes of my own,” Henry said.
She laughed. Henry had thought she would cackle like a witch, but it was a high, clear peal of laughter, almost girlish, and before he could stop it he was laughing too. Their laughter turned to tears over the tubers, and soon he held her wizened hands in his own.
“What will you do?” he asked.
“Regret all the mistakes I made for both of us,” she said.
“All the mistakes,” Henry echoed.
“All of them.”
He did not pry. The earth shook again, a sound like a yawn rising up to meet them. Plates fell, cups shattered, tea spilled across the floor. Henry mourned the loss of the tea.
“Is this the end?” Henry shouted over the gathering roar.
The old woman nodded, tears in her eyes.
“Do you want to hear a poem?” Henry said.
She nodded again.
Henry pulled out Yeats, *Sailing to Byzantium* already echoing through his head. She grabbed his hands, stilling him.
“One of yours!” she shouted. “I heard you last night!”
And at the earth shattering heights of the Great Mistake Henry Thomas Long smiled, and sung out his first poem meant for another soul to hear.
\--------------
If you enjoyed that I've got tons more over at r/TurningtoWords. Come check it out! I'd love to have you. Also, credit to Hyperion by Dan Simmons, I borrowed from his world heavily here.
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[WP] Colony ships have been leaving weekly for awhile. The streets around your home are looking more empty. You don't qualify for the colony ships. You will always be one of the left behind.
|
When the secret of Faster than Light travel was cracked, it was a time of joyous celebration. No longer would humanity be confined to this one solar system, to Earth and the struggling colonies on Mars and the moons of Jupiter. No more would be stuck on a planet that could no longer support the demands of an ever-increasing population.
Once the first FtL ships returned, bearing news of planets that were pristine and empty of sapient life, the Great Building began. Every nation on Earth scrambled to construct mighty colony ships in orbit, to carry their population to one or more of the newly discovered exoplanets. The British Commonwealth and the American Alliance were tied for first, having started work on theirs in anticipation, but the other great nations weren't far behind. They couldn't be: a decision had been made, and it was almost unanimous.
"Earth must have time to recover from the ravages of humanity," was the announcement. "To that end, humanity will take to the stars and set up its home elsewhere, on new soil where we will not repeat the mistakes of our ancestors. Earth will be designated a refuge, left untouched except by those in charge of reversing the past centuries of devastation to our environment."
For weeks on end the colony ships have been departing, bearing the flags of their owners. The crews making there and back again trips, to planets orbiting distant stars. The Commonwealth Colony Ships _Queen Elizabeth_ and _David Attenborough_ departed yesterday, all ten thousand berths filled. The CCS _Steve Irwin_ will follow them tomorrow, accompanied on its flight out of the system by the American Alliance Ship _Barack Obama_.
Derby is feeling very empty these days. The streets are quiet, no longer filled with the huffing of air conditioners and the deep throb of public air filtration systems. There's no need, only us Rejects left. The last few eligibles were taken to the orbital boarding stations several days ago.
It's weird though, being able to wander without having to watch for the silent e-cars gliding along the streets. I walked along the A52 yesterday, actually on the roadway, wondering what it used to be like when there were green fields between Derby and Nottingham.
They're talking about gathering us Rejects together, to make it easy to keep track of us. Taking us to one of Earth's more habitable zones, where the air is cleaner and cooler than the big megacities. That way they don't have to wait for us to die off before they start the regeneration.
I've volunteered to help with that though. I can't leave, after all, so I might as well be of use here. I've got plenty of life left in me. Most of us Rejects do. It's only a cruel trick of fate that's seen us left behind, a few hundred thousand out of the billions living on Earth. A simple quirk of biology, nothing more than an allergy to one of the chemicals used in the pre-FtL sedation procedure.
|
When the Earth began to crack at the height of the Great Mistake, Henry Thomas Long put his family put his wife and son on a colony ship and waved goodbye. Then he rented a skimmer, packed their things, and lost himself in the wilds of the North American Preserve.
When the skimmer broke down and he could no longer carry all their things he took with him only a backpack of food, a book of poetry, and a family portrait. He traveled light through the NAP, Yeats at his side, declaiming poems to the stars by the flickering light of his fire. When he closed his eyes and recited from memory he could almost believe he was speaking to them, growing light years and relativistic years away on the journey between the old earth and the new.
It was not a good life.
Though in his youth Henry had flirted with the idea of the NAP, before flirting with a woman had turned to flirting with a family had turned to being a father and a husband, now that he had been those things it was difficult to turn back. Certainly he relished the experience, to stand on the peaks of a mountain, a valley pregnant with morning dew stretching out before him, a pristine sunrise on the horizon with a heard of mammoth braying their greetings to it. Certainly he relished in his chance meeting with one of the rogue Arnists who crafted the wilds of the North American Preserve to fit the North America that had been so long ago.
Henry spent a week with the bio-hacker, watching him breathe life into plants and coax long dead animals out of his cloning vats. They released a bald eagle out into the world together, and as it flew away the Arnist hummed an old tune about a star spangled banner that had not been seen in many years.
But the bio-hacker was not his wife and son, and though with his boots firmly upon the non-relativistic ground Henry still had years left before the Great Mistake ended the world, he moved on.
When it was alone it was easier to be truly alone. His mind never tried to compare an animal’s voice to a wife’s. Birdsong never sounded like his son, singing off key in all the moments he could.
When the Earth cracked again, Henry cracked with it.
He had been reciting Yeats less often of late, but when the earth shook below him and the tree he had climbed split and dropped him to the shaking ground, a poem sprang unbidden to his mind.
*Sailing to Byzantium.* It had been his father’s favorite poem, all about mortality and the end, and the hope that there could be more. As the animals stampeded around him, trumpeting their terror to the uncaring heavens, Henry whispered the part of the poem his father had loved so much.
*An aged man is but a paltry thing,*
*A tattered coat upon a stick, unless*
*Soul clap its hands and sing, and louder sing*
*For every tatter in its mortal dress,*
*Nor is there singing school but studying*
*Monuments of its own magnificence;*
*And therefore I have sailed the seas and come*
*To the holy city of Byzantium.*
&#x200B;
*O sages standing in God's holy fire*
*As in the gold mosaic of a wall,*
*Come from the holy fire, perne in a gyre,*
*And be the singing-masters of my soul.*
*Consume my heart away; sick with desire*
*And fastened to a dying animal*
*It knows not what it is; and gather me*
*Into the artifice of eternity.*
Fastened to a dying animal. Alone in the wilds of the NAP that had never felt more true. The Earth stopped shaking, the animals stopped stampeding, and Henry rose into a new world, unhinged.
The first sign was that he composed his own poetry. He had loved poetry in his youth, loved it still into early adulthood, but Henry never been brave enough to share it with anyone. Now Henry sang it to the stars, filled the nights with his words, dared the world to steal his voice from him like it had stolen his family.
The first night a pack of wolves came. Dire Wolves, the big, resurrected kind, and they circled his fire, listening. Henry had no weapon, he made no move to defend himself. Instead, he shouted lines about their eyes reflecting the firelight until they slunk away into the night and shouted about his own, reflecting nothing but fire for the longest year of his life.
Henry missed the rogue Arnist very badly. It had been the last time he spoke to someone, the last time he felt like Henry Thomas Long. Now he was a revenant in his own body, another preserved creature in the NAP, mindlessly awaiting the Great Mistake’s destruction.
It was in this mood that he found her.
A cottage limned in blue light, moonlight bouncing off solar panels, music slipping out through open windows. *Music.* Henry had forgotten what it was like, forgotten that instruments could twine and wail and waver like that.
In his previous life Henry would not have called it music. Pre-destructionist abstract had never been a genre he thought much of, but now that the destruction was no longer so pre, he thought he could see the beauty in it.
The cottage door opened, and she stepped out.
She was a crone. An aged, paltry thing, a tattered dress upon a stick, but to look at her Henry knew her for a singing-master of the kind Yeats had spoken of.
“Hello?” Henry tried to say. It came out rough and raw, a man who had not spoken save to scream, and whose tattered voice could no longer mold itself around a civil word.
She shut the door. Shut the window. Henry heard the whir of locks.
He waited outside, huddling beneath her cottage through the night and the rain, whispering his poems to the moon as she whispered back, lulling him to sleep.
“Why are you still here?” the crone said.
Her voice woke Henry from his sleep, the sun already high in the sky.
“Are you real?” Henry asked.
“Yes,” she said, simply.
“You’re the first person I’ve seen in two years,” Henry whispered.
“Try twenty,” the crone said.
And the earth cracked again, a third time, a final time according to all the predictions. Henry caught her before she could fall and they held other desperately, her natural wariness forgotten as the world threatened to end.
When the shaking stopped they stood, brushed themselves off, and she invited him inside for tea.
Henry had not had tea since he left civilization. It was a religious experience, his mind stumbled over a poem as he sipped.
“Why are you here?” the crone asked. “You aren’t an Arnist.”
“I’m not,” he admitted. “I’m just a man, alone. My family made it onto a ship, I didn’t.”
“Ah,” she said. “Ah.”
She poured him another cup of tea, cooked a breakfast of tubers and eggs, and asked, “What will you do when the Great Mistake takes us?”
“Wish I’d made more mistakes of my own,” Henry said.
She laughed. Henry had thought she would cackle like a witch, but it was a high, clear peal of laughter, almost girlish, and before he could stop it he was laughing too. Their laughter turned to tears over the tubers, and soon he held her wizened hands in his own.
“What will you do?” he asked.
“Regret all the mistakes I made for both of us,” she said.
“All the mistakes,” Henry echoed.
“All of them.”
He did not pry. The earth shook again, a sound like a yawn rising up to meet them. Plates fell, cups shattered, tea spilled across the floor. Henry mourned the loss of the tea.
“Is this the end?” Henry shouted over the gathering roar.
The old woman nodded, tears in her eyes.
“Do you want to hear a poem?” Henry said.
She nodded again.
Henry pulled out Yeats, *Sailing to Byzantium* already echoing through his head. She grabbed his hands, stilling him.
“One of yours!” she shouted. “I heard you last night!”
And at the earth shattering heights of the Great Mistake Henry Thomas Long smiled, and sung out his first poem meant for another soul to hear.
\--------------
If you enjoyed that I've got tons more over at r/TurningtoWords. Come check it out! I'd love to have you. Also, credit to Hyperion by Dan Simmons, I borrowed from his world heavily here.
|
|
[WP] Colony ships have been leaving weekly for awhile. The streets around your home are looking more empty. You don't qualify for the colony ships. You will always be one of the left behind.
|
I make my daily walk through the empty streets. A ritual I must complete.
I avoid the monsters let loose when everyone left. I think I hear someone I recognize, but it's just Kat, a neighbor who was also left behind. I ignore her, she never has anything good to say.
I approach the depot, the big scary building where I saw them last. I sneak in past the giant pipes and pooling water, past the moving fans and under the gate.
This is where they last were, when the ship's took them away. My stomach aches with hunger, my feet hurt from walking on the hot road, but my heart aches more. I think about the last time I see them:
>"Don't worry. We just have to just for a little while. We'll be back I promise."
>Tears are in their eyes and I don't understand. I look at them and I don't understand. Of course they will be back, they always come back.
>"We can't fit you on the ship... That's what they said. It's only for the big people." And they start really crying now. Choking on tears and holding on to me.
>I try to reassure them. To tell them that it's ok, I'll be fine until they come back. They don't have to worry. But no words come out.
>Someone said something loud. A lot of other people are sad too. Or angry. Or have a lot of emotions. I don't care about them. "I love you. I'll miss you and oh my god it's not fair I love you." they say.
>I look at them and they know I love them. But I don't show it. I feel like something is wrong. Like I did something bad. What are they doing? Why are they going away? They should not be going. They should not be sad. They should stay and be happy. It would be good to stay. They will be happy if they stay and we are together.
>Now desperate, I stand up and wave like they showed me. Maybe if I show them how much I learned they will come back and they can be happy again. I shout at them. I want them to come back.
>the youngest tries to leave the line of people, but the oldest stops her. She turns to me and is crying more than I ever saw her. "No! You have to stay. We'll be back soon I -- I promise. You stay! Stay! Be a good boy. I know you are a good boy so stay! I love you. I love you -- stay! Good boy, that's a good boy. I love you. Bye!"
>She is pulled into the ship, and I stay. The ship moves up with a sound so loud it hurts my ears and light so bright it hurts my eyes and a smoke so strong it hurts my nose but I stay.
I put my head down because my heart is tired and let loose a sigh into the dust. The memory of them makes my heart feel good and I forget about my stomach. My tail swings left and the right, and then stops. And I stay.
|
When the Earth began to crack at the height of the Great Mistake, Henry Thomas Long put his family put his wife and son on a colony ship and waved goodbye. Then he rented a skimmer, packed their things, and lost himself in the wilds of the North American Preserve.
When the skimmer broke down and he could no longer carry all their things he took with him only a backpack of food, a book of poetry, and a family portrait. He traveled light through the NAP, Yeats at his side, declaiming poems to the stars by the flickering light of his fire. When he closed his eyes and recited from memory he could almost believe he was speaking to them, growing light years and relativistic years away on the journey between the old earth and the new.
It was not a good life.
Though in his youth Henry had flirted with the idea of the NAP, before flirting with a woman had turned to flirting with a family had turned to being a father and a husband, now that he had been those things it was difficult to turn back. Certainly he relished the experience, to stand on the peaks of a mountain, a valley pregnant with morning dew stretching out before him, a pristine sunrise on the horizon with a heard of mammoth braying their greetings to it. Certainly he relished in his chance meeting with one of the rogue Arnists who crafted the wilds of the North American Preserve to fit the North America that had been so long ago.
Henry spent a week with the bio-hacker, watching him breathe life into plants and coax long dead animals out of his cloning vats. They released a bald eagle out into the world together, and as it flew away the Arnist hummed an old tune about a star spangled banner that had not been seen in many years.
But the bio-hacker was not his wife and son, and though with his boots firmly upon the non-relativistic ground Henry still had years left before the Great Mistake ended the world, he moved on.
When it was alone it was easier to be truly alone. His mind never tried to compare an animal’s voice to a wife’s. Birdsong never sounded like his son, singing off key in all the moments he could.
When the Earth cracked again, Henry cracked with it.
He had been reciting Yeats less often of late, but when the earth shook below him and the tree he had climbed split and dropped him to the shaking ground, a poem sprang unbidden to his mind.
*Sailing to Byzantium.* It had been his father’s favorite poem, all about mortality and the end, and the hope that there could be more. As the animals stampeded around him, trumpeting their terror to the uncaring heavens, Henry whispered the part of the poem his father had loved so much.
*An aged man is but a paltry thing,*
*A tattered coat upon a stick, unless*
*Soul clap its hands and sing, and louder sing*
*For every tatter in its mortal dress,*
*Nor is there singing school but studying*
*Monuments of its own magnificence;*
*And therefore I have sailed the seas and come*
*To the holy city of Byzantium.*
&#x200B;
*O sages standing in God's holy fire*
*As in the gold mosaic of a wall,*
*Come from the holy fire, perne in a gyre,*
*And be the singing-masters of my soul.*
*Consume my heart away; sick with desire*
*And fastened to a dying animal*
*It knows not what it is; and gather me*
*Into the artifice of eternity.*
Fastened to a dying animal. Alone in the wilds of the NAP that had never felt more true. The Earth stopped shaking, the animals stopped stampeding, and Henry rose into a new world, unhinged.
The first sign was that he composed his own poetry. He had loved poetry in his youth, loved it still into early adulthood, but Henry never been brave enough to share it with anyone. Now Henry sang it to the stars, filled the nights with his words, dared the world to steal his voice from him like it had stolen his family.
The first night a pack of wolves came. Dire Wolves, the big, resurrected kind, and they circled his fire, listening. Henry had no weapon, he made no move to defend himself. Instead, he shouted lines about their eyes reflecting the firelight until they slunk away into the night and shouted about his own, reflecting nothing but fire for the longest year of his life.
Henry missed the rogue Arnist very badly. It had been the last time he spoke to someone, the last time he felt like Henry Thomas Long. Now he was a revenant in his own body, another preserved creature in the NAP, mindlessly awaiting the Great Mistake’s destruction.
It was in this mood that he found her.
A cottage limned in blue light, moonlight bouncing off solar panels, music slipping out through open windows. *Music.* Henry had forgotten what it was like, forgotten that instruments could twine and wail and waver like that.
In his previous life Henry would not have called it music. Pre-destructionist abstract had never been a genre he thought much of, but now that the destruction was no longer so pre, he thought he could see the beauty in it.
The cottage door opened, and she stepped out.
She was a crone. An aged, paltry thing, a tattered dress upon a stick, but to look at her Henry knew her for a singing-master of the kind Yeats had spoken of.
“Hello?” Henry tried to say. It came out rough and raw, a man who had not spoken save to scream, and whose tattered voice could no longer mold itself around a civil word.
She shut the door. Shut the window. Henry heard the whir of locks.
He waited outside, huddling beneath her cottage through the night and the rain, whispering his poems to the moon as she whispered back, lulling him to sleep.
“Why are you still here?” the crone said.
Her voice woke Henry from his sleep, the sun already high in the sky.
“Are you real?” Henry asked.
“Yes,” she said, simply.
“You’re the first person I’ve seen in two years,” Henry whispered.
“Try twenty,” the crone said.
And the earth cracked again, a third time, a final time according to all the predictions. Henry caught her before she could fall and they held other desperately, her natural wariness forgotten as the world threatened to end.
When the shaking stopped they stood, brushed themselves off, and she invited him inside for tea.
Henry had not had tea since he left civilization. It was a religious experience, his mind stumbled over a poem as he sipped.
“Why are you here?” the crone asked. “You aren’t an Arnist.”
“I’m not,” he admitted. “I’m just a man, alone. My family made it onto a ship, I didn’t.”
“Ah,” she said. “Ah.”
She poured him another cup of tea, cooked a breakfast of tubers and eggs, and asked, “What will you do when the Great Mistake takes us?”
“Wish I’d made more mistakes of my own,” Henry said.
She laughed. Henry had thought she would cackle like a witch, but it was a high, clear peal of laughter, almost girlish, and before he could stop it he was laughing too. Their laughter turned to tears over the tubers, and soon he held her wizened hands in his own.
“What will you do?” he asked.
“Regret all the mistakes I made for both of us,” she said.
“All the mistakes,” Henry echoed.
“All of them.”
He did not pry. The earth shook again, a sound like a yawn rising up to meet them. Plates fell, cups shattered, tea spilled across the floor. Henry mourned the loss of the tea.
“Is this the end?” Henry shouted over the gathering roar.
The old woman nodded, tears in her eyes.
“Do you want to hear a poem?” Henry said.
She nodded again.
Henry pulled out Yeats, *Sailing to Byzantium* already echoing through his head. She grabbed his hands, stilling him.
“One of yours!” she shouted. “I heard you last night!”
And at the earth shattering heights of the Great Mistake Henry Thomas Long smiled, and sung out his first poem meant for another soul to hear.
\--------------
If you enjoyed that I've got tons more over at r/TurningtoWords. Come check it out! I'd love to have you. Also, credit to Hyperion by Dan Simmons, I borrowed from his world heavily here.
|
|
[WP] Colony ships have been leaving weekly for awhile. The streets around your home are looking more empty. You don't qualify for the colony ships. You will always be one of the left behind.
|
You couldn't take a Ford-Mercedes on the colony ships.
You could take your children, all two of your spoiled brats that were allowed under the reproductive allowance. The Wilkins kids had shipped out the day before, and Lilian had watched them leave through the viewing port in the airlock to her habitation.
You could take a pet, if you had one, which the Wilkins's did because Pa said that Mr Wilkins was a big shot at the MUG, and could get the paperwork rubber stamped. When she was younger, and the Wilkins's little poodle had first come home. Lilian had once asked Pa if they could get a dog like the Wilkins's had, and Pa had looked so torn up that she'd never asked again and instead just stole puppy kisses from little Buster when nobody was supervising her cleaning work at the Wilkin's' habitation.
Pa said that you were allowed three cubic meters of baggage on the colony ships per person, or two for children under 12. When Lilian had asked how anyone could fill that much space, especially if you couldn't take your surface rover with you, Pa had laughed and said that every day when he was loading the cargo bays there was somebody trying to go over the limit. There was the man who was trying to take his whole hydroponic garden "just in case plants weren't growing outside yet", and the family who argued that each of their children needed the full three cubic meters because they had too many clothes (Lilian, who was wearing one of her two pairs of overalls, snorted in contempt), and the woman who wanted to bring her Ford-Mercedes surface rover anyway, because "it was the newest model".
"And the irony is," said Pa, as he tucked Lilian into the lower bunk, "that it wouldn't even be useful up there. You can't drive a rover down a highway."
But the Wilkins's had left their rover behind, and in a fit of unexpected magnanimity, Mr Wilkins had given the ignition code to Lilian on her last day working as their house maid. "It's got a few more decades left on it," he'd said, and echoing Pa's words, added, "Even if we did have space, rovers are for dead planets, not living ones."
But even dead planets needed caretakers, and Lilian had overheard one of the Wilkins kids saying at school that the "help" would need to stay behind just in case the Old World wasn't ready to support humans again, and began to deteriorate a second time. Just in case the humans that returned had to flee once again. "Not that such an eventuality is likely," Professor James had said, on his last day of teaching their class before taking his own place on a colony ship. "We now understand what our forebears did not - that a planet is a precious resource, once that must be safeguarded and not treated as a large garbage disposal."
The night after the Wilkins's had left, Lilian snuck over to their habitation, which was eleven times larger than the quarters that she shared with Pa. She didn't need to sneak, because she and Pa were now the only ones left in this habitat module, and in a few days they were to be consolidated into another location with others who'd been designated "mission critical staff" by MUG, while this module was left to be reclaimed by the dead red sands outside. But she snuck anyway, out of force of habit, and because it felt somehow naughty to be in the Wilkins's deserted quarters while they were on a colony ship thousands of miles up in space.
And mostly she snuck because little Tommy Wilkins owned a large telescope that was too big for his two cubic meters, and which was still set up in his bedroom. He'd let her look through it once, after she'd helped him with his history homework, and now she crept through the discarded belongings which lay scattered throughout the habitation and uncapped it.
She punched in a set of coordinates that she knew by heart, and as the server motors whirred she found herself looking at a sphere of blue and green and white. A living planet once again, after three centuries of remedial terraforming. Earth.
But not home. Home was here.
---
Back after a long hiatus. Old stories: [/r/jd_rallage](https://old.reddit.com/r/jd_rallage/)
|
When the Earth began to crack at the height of the Great Mistake, Henry Thomas Long put his family put his wife and son on a colony ship and waved goodbye. Then he rented a skimmer, packed their things, and lost himself in the wilds of the North American Preserve.
When the skimmer broke down and he could no longer carry all their things he took with him only a backpack of food, a book of poetry, and a family portrait. He traveled light through the NAP, Yeats at his side, declaiming poems to the stars by the flickering light of his fire. When he closed his eyes and recited from memory he could almost believe he was speaking to them, growing light years and relativistic years away on the journey between the old earth and the new.
It was not a good life.
Though in his youth Henry had flirted with the idea of the NAP, before flirting with a woman had turned to flirting with a family had turned to being a father and a husband, now that he had been those things it was difficult to turn back. Certainly he relished the experience, to stand on the peaks of a mountain, a valley pregnant with morning dew stretching out before him, a pristine sunrise on the horizon with a heard of mammoth braying their greetings to it. Certainly he relished in his chance meeting with one of the rogue Arnists who crafted the wilds of the North American Preserve to fit the North America that had been so long ago.
Henry spent a week with the bio-hacker, watching him breathe life into plants and coax long dead animals out of his cloning vats. They released a bald eagle out into the world together, and as it flew away the Arnist hummed an old tune about a star spangled banner that had not been seen in many years.
But the bio-hacker was not his wife and son, and though with his boots firmly upon the non-relativistic ground Henry still had years left before the Great Mistake ended the world, he moved on.
When it was alone it was easier to be truly alone. His mind never tried to compare an animal’s voice to a wife’s. Birdsong never sounded like his son, singing off key in all the moments he could.
When the Earth cracked again, Henry cracked with it.
He had been reciting Yeats less often of late, but when the earth shook below him and the tree he had climbed split and dropped him to the shaking ground, a poem sprang unbidden to his mind.
*Sailing to Byzantium.* It had been his father’s favorite poem, all about mortality and the end, and the hope that there could be more. As the animals stampeded around him, trumpeting their terror to the uncaring heavens, Henry whispered the part of the poem his father had loved so much.
*An aged man is but a paltry thing,*
*A tattered coat upon a stick, unless*
*Soul clap its hands and sing, and louder sing*
*For every tatter in its mortal dress,*
*Nor is there singing school but studying*
*Monuments of its own magnificence;*
*And therefore I have sailed the seas and come*
*To the holy city of Byzantium.*
&#x200B;
*O sages standing in God's holy fire*
*As in the gold mosaic of a wall,*
*Come from the holy fire, perne in a gyre,*
*And be the singing-masters of my soul.*
*Consume my heart away; sick with desire*
*And fastened to a dying animal*
*It knows not what it is; and gather me*
*Into the artifice of eternity.*
Fastened to a dying animal. Alone in the wilds of the NAP that had never felt more true. The Earth stopped shaking, the animals stopped stampeding, and Henry rose into a new world, unhinged.
The first sign was that he composed his own poetry. He had loved poetry in his youth, loved it still into early adulthood, but Henry never been brave enough to share it with anyone. Now Henry sang it to the stars, filled the nights with his words, dared the world to steal his voice from him like it had stolen his family.
The first night a pack of wolves came. Dire Wolves, the big, resurrected kind, and they circled his fire, listening. Henry had no weapon, he made no move to defend himself. Instead, he shouted lines about their eyes reflecting the firelight until they slunk away into the night and shouted about his own, reflecting nothing but fire for the longest year of his life.
Henry missed the rogue Arnist very badly. It had been the last time he spoke to someone, the last time he felt like Henry Thomas Long. Now he was a revenant in his own body, another preserved creature in the NAP, mindlessly awaiting the Great Mistake’s destruction.
It was in this mood that he found her.
A cottage limned in blue light, moonlight bouncing off solar panels, music slipping out through open windows. *Music.* Henry had forgotten what it was like, forgotten that instruments could twine and wail and waver like that.
In his previous life Henry would not have called it music. Pre-destructionist abstract had never been a genre he thought much of, but now that the destruction was no longer so pre, he thought he could see the beauty in it.
The cottage door opened, and she stepped out.
She was a crone. An aged, paltry thing, a tattered dress upon a stick, but to look at her Henry knew her for a singing-master of the kind Yeats had spoken of.
“Hello?” Henry tried to say. It came out rough and raw, a man who had not spoken save to scream, and whose tattered voice could no longer mold itself around a civil word.
She shut the door. Shut the window. Henry heard the whir of locks.
He waited outside, huddling beneath her cottage through the night and the rain, whispering his poems to the moon as she whispered back, lulling him to sleep.
“Why are you still here?” the crone said.
Her voice woke Henry from his sleep, the sun already high in the sky.
“Are you real?” Henry asked.
“Yes,” she said, simply.
“You’re the first person I’ve seen in two years,” Henry whispered.
“Try twenty,” the crone said.
And the earth cracked again, a third time, a final time according to all the predictions. Henry caught her before she could fall and they held other desperately, her natural wariness forgotten as the world threatened to end.
When the shaking stopped they stood, brushed themselves off, and she invited him inside for tea.
Henry had not had tea since he left civilization. It was a religious experience, his mind stumbled over a poem as he sipped.
“Why are you here?” the crone asked. “You aren’t an Arnist.”
“I’m not,” he admitted. “I’m just a man, alone. My family made it onto a ship, I didn’t.”
“Ah,” she said. “Ah.”
She poured him another cup of tea, cooked a breakfast of tubers and eggs, and asked, “What will you do when the Great Mistake takes us?”
“Wish I’d made more mistakes of my own,” Henry said.
She laughed. Henry had thought she would cackle like a witch, but it was a high, clear peal of laughter, almost girlish, and before he could stop it he was laughing too. Their laughter turned to tears over the tubers, and soon he held her wizened hands in his own.
“What will you do?” he asked.
“Regret all the mistakes I made for both of us,” she said.
“All the mistakes,” Henry echoed.
“All of them.”
He did not pry. The earth shook again, a sound like a yawn rising up to meet them. Plates fell, cups shattered, tea spilled across the floor. Henry mourned the loss of the tea.
“Is this the end?” Henry shouted over the gathering roar.
The old woman nodded, tears in her eyes.
“Do you want to hear a poem?” Henry said.
She nodded again.
Henry pulled out Yeats, *Sailing to Byzantium* already echoing through his head. She grabbed his hands, stilling him.
“One of yours!” she shouted. “I heard you last night!”
And at the earth shattering heights of the Great Mistake Henry Thomas Long smiled, and sung out his first poem meant for another soul to hear.
\--------------
If you enjoyed that I've got tons more over at r/TurningtoWords. Come check it out! I'd love to have you. Also, credit to Hyperion by Dan Simmons, I borrowed from his world heavily here.
|
|
[WP] Colony ships have been leaving weekly for awhile. The streets around your home are looking more empty. You don't qualify for the colony ships. You will always be one of the left behind.
|
I sat out on the sidewalk that day. The last ship would be leaving in a few minutes, and I could see it over the rooftops from there. The streets were empty, quiet, the only sound the distant thundering of speakers from the launchpad, reduced to barely a whisper by the time it reached me.
You'd think I'd be mad.
When it was discovered that we could make use of the universal folds to reach more habitable places, when we realized we could not save the Earth, I'd been assigned to develop sustainable gardens that could be used to not only feed passengers but seed the new planet, survive it's subtly different environment. I'd always liked plants, enjoyed their stillness, their diversity, their lack of judgment. They didn't mind if it took me longer than most people to till their soil so long as I did it delicately, didn't call me useless if I took a few extra minutes of effort to get their water to them. I'd become an expert in botany, and was the obvious choice to piece together that corner of the logistical nightmare.
I did a pretty good job too. Played with chemistry, adjusted air and water efficiency, developed ways to keep plants healthier with even less soil, and much more sulfur. My gardens were perfect. Beautiful.
My favorite strawberries didn't know I wasn't going to be one of the humans allowed to escape this dying world with them, and didn't think I deserved to be left behind.
I leaned back in my wheelchair, trying to be comfortable. No amount of cooling pipes in the cushioned back and seat stopped it from being hideously burning hot out during the day. Still, it was better than being inside, missing it all. The Earth's corruption had already taken enough from me, taken the stability of my DNA, the functional use of both legs and one arm, stopped one of my eyes from blinking on it's own… I wasn't going to let it take this from me too.
A neighbor I'd never spoken to more than once came outside as well, a few houses down. An older man, potbellied and busy, we'd simply never had a reason to chat. He caught me staring, and walked over, plopping down to sit in the grass by my side.
"Didn't you work on those things?" He asked, voice gruff and smoke torn.
I nodded,"Yes. I developed their botanical preservation system."
"Why aren't you on there?"
"My condition is genetic. They deemed me an unfit candidate for transfer."
His voice came out half angry, half defeated,"That's fucked, you know that? Bullshit too, they could absolutely use a young scientist like you, even if you can't pop out kids."
I smiled placidly, shrugging,"I know."
Silence stretched a minute before I asked him,"Why are you still here? You're under the age limit."
He was quiet a minute, before pointing down the road,"You ever see Janna, the Chinese lady who lived down there? She had two young kids, great kids, real polite, always came over while I worked on my yard to talk my ear off. One of 'em didn't pass their genetic test. Those monsters wanted her to leave one of her babies behind because he had some gene for poor eyesight or some shit. So I gave Jenna my card."
I processed that a minute, the blunt normalcy in his voice.
"That's a very beautiful thing to do Mr. Dawdson."
He let out a snort of a laugh,"Heh, didn't know you knew my name. And it's nothing. I'm just some geezer. Drank too much, lost my wife, only had one kid and she died fighting the fires… That little boy deserved it way more than I did. He's got a family who needs him, and a life to live."
We both quieted down as the earth-shaking roar came echoing down the suburban streets. We watched as the last ship, the last colony of human life to escape our burning world took off and roared out into the sky.
We sat a long time in silence. It was Dawdson who broke it.
"Why'd you let them make you stay?"
"This is home. My cat and my garden are the only living things that have truly never judged me, and they need me."
He nodded, sighing before standing.
"Well, Miss Scientist. Guess it's both our home forever now. I'm cooking bacon and pancakes for dinner. You're welcome to come over and have some, I still got the ramps I had installed for Clara before we knew she wasn't coming back."
I smiled, doing a check to make sure my chairs controller hadn't stalled out in the heat.
"I'd like that. I'd like that very much."
|
When the Earth began to crack at the height of the Great Mistake, Henry Thomas Long put his family put his wife and son on a colony ship and waved goodbye. Then he rented a skimmer, packed their things, and lost himself in the wilds of the North American Preserve.
When the skimmer broke down and he could no longer carry all their things he took with him only a backpack of food, a book of poetry, and a family portrait. He traveled light through the NAP, Yeats at his side, declaiming poems to the stars by the flickering light of his fire. When he closed his eyes and recited from memory he could almost believe he was speaking to them, growing light years and relativistic years away on the journey between the old earth and the new.
It was not a good life.
Though in his youth Henry had flirted with the idea of the NAP, before flirting with a woman had turned to flirting with a family had turned to being a father and a husband, now that he had been those things it was difficult to turn back. Certainly he relished the experience, to stand on the peaks of a mountain, a valley pregnant with morning dew stretching out before him, a pristine sunrise on the horizon with a heard of mammoth braying their greetings to it. Certainly he relished in his chance meeting with one of the rogue Arnists who crafted the wilds of the North American Preserve to fit the North America that had been so long ago.
Henry spent a week with the bio-hacker, watching him breathe life into plants and coax long dead animals out of his cloning vats. They released a bald eagle out into the world together, and as it flew away the Arnist hummed an old tune about a star spangled banner that had not been seen in many years.
But the bio-hacker was not his wife and son, and though with his boots firmly upon the non-relativistic ground Henry still had years left before the Great Mistake ended the world, he moved on.
When it was alone it was easier to be truly alone. His mind never tried to compare an animal’s voice to a wife’s. Birdsong never sounded like his son, singing off key in all the moments he could.
When the Earth cracked again, Henry cracked with it.
He had been reciting Yeats less often of late, but when the earth shook below him and the tree he had climbed split and dropped him to the shaking ground, a poem sprang unbidden to his mind.
*Sailing to Byzantium.* It had been his father’s favorite poem, all about mortality and the end, and the hope that there could be more. As the animals stampeded around him, trumpeting their terror to the uncaring heavens, Henry whispered the part of the poem his father had loved so much.
*An aged man is but a paltry thing,*
*A tattered coat upon a stick, unless*
*Soul clap its hands and sing, and louder sing*
*For every tatter in its mortal dress,*
*Nor is there singing school but studying*
*Monuments of its own magnificence;*
*And therefore I have sailed the seas and come*
*To the holy city of Byzantium.*
&#x200B;
*O sages standing in God's holy fire*
*As in the gold mosaic of a wall,*
*Come from the holy fire, perne in a gyre,*
*And be the singing-masters of my soul.*
*Consume my heart away; sick with desire*
*And fastened to a dying animal*
*It knows not what it is; and gather me*
*Into the artifice of eternity.*
Fastened to a dying animal. Alone in the wilds of the NAP that had never felt more true. The Earth stopped shaking, the animals stopped stampeding, and Henry rose into a new world, unhinged.
The first sign was that he composed his own poetry. He had loved poetry in his youth, loved it still into early adulthood, but Henry never been brave enough to share it with anyone. Now Henry sang it to the stars, filled the nights with his words, dared the world to steal his voice from him like it had stolen his family.
The first night a pack of wolves came. Dire Wolves, the big, resurrected kind, and they circled his fire, listening. Henry had no weapon, he made no move to defend himself. Instead, he shouted lines about their eyes reflecting the firelight until they slunk away into the night and shouted about his own, reflecting nothing but fire for the longest year of his life.
Henry missed the rogue Arnist very badly. It had been the last time he spoke to someone, the last time he felt like Henry Thomas Long. Now he was a revenant in his own body, another preserved creature in the NAP, mindlessly awaiting the Great Mistake’s destruction.
It was in this mood that he found her.
A cottage limned in blue light, moonlight bouncing off solar panels, music slipping out through open windows. *Music.* Henry had forgotten what it was like, forgotten that instruments could twine and wail and waver like that.
In his previous life Henry would not have called it music. Pre-destructionist abstract had never been a genre he thought much of, but now that the destruction was no longer so pre, he thought he could see the beauty in it.
The cottage door opened, and she stepped out.
She was a crone. An aged, paltry thing, a tattered dress upon a stick, but to look at her Henry knew her for a singing-master of the kind Yeats had spoken of.
“Hello?” Henry tried to say. It came out rough and raw, a man who had not spoken save to scream, and whose tattered voice could no longer mold itself around a civil word.
She shut the door. Shut the window. Henry heard the whir of locks.
He waited outside, huddling beneath her cottage through the night and the rain, whispering his poems to the moon as she whispered back, lulling him to sleep.
“Why are you still here?” the crone said.
Her voice woke Henry from his sleep, the sun already high in the sky.
“Are you real?” Henry asked.
“Yes,” she said, simply.
“You’re the first person I’ve seen in two years,” Henry whispered.
“Try twenty,” the crone said.
And the earth cracked again, a third time, a final time according to all the predictions. Henry caught her before she could fall and they held other desperately, her natural wariness forgotten as the world threatened to end.
When the shaking stopped they stood, brushed themselves off, and she invited him inside for tea.
Henry had not had tea since he left civilization. It was a religious experience, his mind stumbled over a poem as he sipped.
“Why are you here?” the crone asked. “You aren’t an Arnist.”
“I’m not,” he admitted. “I’m just a man, alone. My family made it onto a ship, I didn’t.”
“Ah,” she said. “Ah.”
She poured him another cup of tea, cooked a breakfast of tubers and eggs, and asked, “What will you do when the Great Mistake takes us?”
“Wish I’d made more mistakes of my own,” Henry said.
She laughed. Henry had thought she would cackle like a witch, but it was a high, clear peal of laughter, almost girlish, and before he could stop it he was laughing too. Their laughter turned to tears over the tubers, and soon he held her wizened hands in his own.
“What will you do?” he asked.
“Regret all the mistakes I made for both of us,” she said.
“All the mistakes,” Henry echoed.
“All of them.”
He did not pry. The earth shook again, a sound like a yawn rising up to meet them. Plates fell, cups shattered, tea spilled across the floor. Henry mourned the loss of the tea.
“Is this the end?” Henry shouted over the gathering roar.
The old woman nodded, tears in her eyes.
“Do you want to hear a poem?” Henry said.
She nodded again.
Henry pulled out Yeats, *Sailing to Byzantium* already echoing through his head. She grabbed his hands, stilling him.
“One of yours!” she shouted. “I heard you last night!”
And at the earth shattering heights of the Great Mistake Henry Thomas Long smiled, and sung out his first poem meant for another soul to hear.
\--------------
If you enjoyed that I've got tons more over at r/TurningtoWords. Come check it out! I'd love to have you. Also, credit to Hyperion by Dan Simmons, I borrowed from his world heavily here.
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|
[WP] Colony ships have been leaving weekly for awhile. The streets around your home are looking more empty. You don't qualify for the colony ships. You will always be one of the left behind.
|
You couldn't take a Ford-Mercedes on the colony ships.
You could take your children, all two of your spoiled brats that were allowed under the reproductive allowance. The Wilkins kids had shipped out the day before, and Lilian had watched them leave through the viewing port in the airlock to her habitation.
You could take a pet, if you had one, which the Wilkins's did because Pa said that Mr Wilkins was a big shot at the MUG, and could get the paperwork rubber stamped. When she was younger, and the Wilkins's little poodle had first come home. Lilian had once asked Pa if they could get a dog like the Wilkins's had, and Pa had looked so torn up that she'd never asked again and instead just stole puppy kisses from little Buster when nobody was supervising her cleaning work at the Wilkin's' habitation.
Pa said that you were allowed three cubic meters of baggage on the colony ships per person, or two for children under 12. When Lilian had asked how anyone could fill that much space, especially if you couldn't take your surface rover with you, Pa had laughed and said that every day when he was loading the cargo bays there was somebody trying to go over the limit. There was the man who was trying to take his whole hydroponic garden "just in case plants weren't growing outside yet", and the family who argued that each of their children needed the full three cubic meters because they had too many clothes (Lilian, who was wearing one of her two pairs of overalls, snorted in contempt), and the woman who wanted to bring her Ford-Mercedes surface rover anyway, because "it was the newest model".
"And the irony is," said Pa, as he tucked Lilian into the lower bunk, "that it wouldn't even be useful up there. You can't drive a rover down a highway."
But the Wilkins's had left their rover behind, and in a fit of unexpected magnanimity, Mr Wilkins had given the ignition code to Lilian on her last day working as their house maid. "It's got a few more decades left on it," he'd said, and echoing Pa's words, added, "Even if we did have space, rovers are for dead planets, not living ones."
But even dead planets needed caretakers, and Lilian had overheard one of the Wilkins kids saying at school that the "help" would need to stay behind just in case the Old World wasn't ready to support humans again, and began to deteriorate a second time. Just in case the humans that returned had to flee once again. "Not that such an eventuality is likely," Professor James had said, on his last day of teaching their class before taking his own place on a colony ship. "We now understand what our forebears did not - that a planet is a precious resource, once that must be safeguarded and not treated as a large garbage disposal."
The night after the Wilkins's had left, Lilian snuck over to their habitation, which was eleven times larger than the quarters that she shared with Pa. She didn't need to sneak, because she and Pa were now the only ones left in this habitat module, and in a few days they were to be consolidated into another location with others who'd been designated "mission critical staff" by MUG, while this module was left to be reclaimed by the dead red sands outside. But she snuck anyway, out of force of habit, and because it felt somehow naughty to be in the Wilkins's deserted quarters while they were on a colony ship thousands of miles up in space.
And mostly she snuck because little Tommy Wilkins owned a large telescope that was too big for his two cubic meters, and which was still set up in his bedroom. He'd let her look through it once, after she'd helped him with his history homework, and now she crept through the discarded belongings which lay scattered throughout the habitation and uncapped it.
She punched in a set of coordinates that she knew by heart, and as the server motors whirred she found herself looking at a sphere of blue and green and white. A living planet once again, after three centuries of remedial terraforming. Earth.
But not home. Home was here.
---
Back after a long hiatus. Old stories: [/r/jd_rallage](https://old.reddit.com/r/jd_rallage/)
|
When the secret of Faster than Light travel was cracked, it was a time of joyous celebration. No longer would humanity be confined to this one solar system, to Earth and the struggling colonies on Mars and the moons of Jupiter. No more would be stuck on a planet that could no longer support the demands of an ever-increasing population.
Once the first FtL ships returned, bearing news of planets that were pristine and empty of sapient life, the Great Building began. Every nation on Earth scrambled to construct mighty colony ships in orbit, to carry their population to one or more of the newly discovered exoplanets. The British Commonwealth and the American Alliance were tied for first, having started work on theirs in anticipation, but the other great nations weren't far behind. They couldn't be: a decision had been made, and it was almost unanimous.
"Earth must have time to recover from the ravages of humanity," was the announcement. "To that end, humanity will take to the stars and set up its home elsewhere, on new soil where we will not repeat the mistakes of our ancestors. Earth will be designated a refuge, left untouched except by those in charge of reversing the past centuries of devastation to our environment."
For weeks on end the colony ships have been departing, bearing the flags of their owners. The crews making there and back again trips, to planets orbiting distant stars. The Commonwealth Colony Ships _Queen Elizabeth_ and _David Attenborough_ departed yesterday, all ten thousand berths filled. The CCS _Steve Irwin_ will follow them tomorrow, accompanied on its flight out of the system by the American Alliance Ship _Barack Obama_.
Derby is feeling very empty these days. The streets are quiet, no longer filled with the huffing of air conditioners and the deep throb of public air filtration systems. There's no need, only us Rejects left. The last few eligibles were taken to the orbital boarding stations several days ago.
It's weird though, being able to wander without having to watch for the silent e-cars gliding along the streets. I walked along the A52 yesterday, actually on the roadway, wondering what it used to be like when there were green fields between Derby and Nottingham.
They're talking about gathering us Rejects together, to make it easy to keep track of us. Taking us to one of Earth's more habitable zones, where the air is cleaner and cooler than the big megacities. That way they don't have to wait for us to die off before they start the regeneration.
I've volunteered to help with that though. I can't leave, after all, so I might as well be of use here. I've got plenty of life left in me. Most of us Rejects do. It's only a cruel trick of fate that's seen us left behind, a few hundred thousand out of the billions living on Earth. A simple quirk of biology, nothing more than an allergy to one of the chemicals used in the pre-FtL sedation procedure.
|
|
[WP] Colony ships have been leaving weekly for awhile. The streets around your home are looking more empty. You don't qualify for the colony ships. You will always be one of the left behind.
|
I sat out on the sidewalk that day. The last ship would be leaving in a few minutes, and I could see it over the rooftops from there. The streets were empty, quiet, the only sound the distant thundering of speakers from the launchpad, reduced to barely a whisper by the time it reached me.
You'd think I'd be mad.
When it was discovered that we could make use of the universal folds to reach more habitable places, when we realized we could not save the Earth, I'd been assigned to develop sustainable gardens that could be used to not only feed passengers but seed the new planet, survive it's subtly different environment. I'd always liked plants, enjoyed their stillness, their diversity, their lack of judgment. They didn't mind if it took me longer than most people to till their soil so long as I did it delicately, didn't call me useless if I took a few extra minutes of effort to get their water to them. I'd become an expert in botany, and was the obvious choice to piece together that corner of the logistical nightmare.
I did a pretty good job too. Played with chemistry, adjusted air and water efficiency, developed ways to keep plants healthier with even less soil, and much more sulfur. My gardens were perfect. Beautiful.
My favorite strawberries didn't know I wasn't going to be one of the humans allowed to escape this dying world with them, and didn't think I deserved to be left behind.
I leaned back in my wheelchair, trying to be comfortable. No amount of cooling pipes in the cushioned back and seat stopped it from being hideously burning hot out during the day. Still, it was better than being inside, missing it all. The Earth's corruption had already taken enough from me, taken the stability of my DNA, the functional use of both legs and one arm, stopped one of my eyes from blinking on it's own… I wasn't going to let it take this from me too.
A neighbor I'd never spoken to more than once came outside as well, a few houses down. An older man, potbellied and busy, we'd simply never had a reason to chat. He caught me staring, and walked over, plopping down to sit in the grass by my side.
"Didn't you work on those things?" He asked, voice gruff and smoke torn.
I nodded,"Yes. I developed their botanical preservation system."
"Why aren't you on there?"
"My condition is genetic. They deemed me an unfit candidate for transfer."
His voice came out half angry, half defeated,"That's fucked, you know that? Bullshit too, they could absolutely use a young scientist like you, even if you can't pop out kids."
I smiled placidly, shrugging,"I know."
Silence stretched a minute before I asked him,"Why are you still here? You're under the age limit."
He was quiet a minute, before pointing down the road,"You ever see Janna, the Chinese lady who lived down there? She had two young kids, great kids, real polite, always came over while I worked on my yard to talk my ear off. One of 'em didn't pass their genetic test. Those monsters wanted her to leave one of her babies behind because he had some gene for poor eyesight or some shit. So I gave Jenna my card."
I processed that a minute, the blunt normalcy in his voice.
"That's a very beautiful thing to do Mr. Dawdson."
He let out a snort of a laugh,"Heh, didn't know you knew my name. And it's nothing. I'm just some geezer. Drank too much, lost my wife, only had one kid and she died fighting the fires… That little boy deserved it way more than I did. He's got a family who needs him, and a life to live."
We both quieted down as the earth-shaking roar came echoing down the suburban streets. We watched as the last ship, the last colony of human life to escape our burning world took off and roared out into the sky.
We sat a long time in silence. It was Dawdson who broke it.
"Why'd you let them make you stay?"
"This is home. My cat and my garden are the only living things that have truly never judged me, and they need me."
He nodded, sighing before standing.
"Well, Miss Scientist. Guess it's both our home forever now. I'm cooking bacon and pancakes for dinner. You're welcome to come over and have some, I still got the ramps I had installed for Clara before we knew she wasn't coming back."
I smiled, doing a check to make sure my chairs controller hadn't stalled out in the heat.
"I'd like that. I'd like that very much."
|
When the secret of Faster than Light travel was cracked, it was a time of joyous celebration. No longer would humanity be confined to this one solar system, to Earth and the struggling colonies on Mars and the moons of Jupiter. No more would be stuck on a planet that could no longer support the demands of an ever-increasing population.
Once the first FtL ships returned, bearing news of planets that were pristine and empty of sapient life, the Great Building began. Every nation on Earth scrambled to construct mighty colony ships in orbit, to carry their population to one or more of the newly discovered exoplanets. The British Commonwealth and the American Alliance were tied for first, having started work on theirs in anticipation, but the other great nations weren't far behind. They couldn't be: a decision had been made, and it was almost unanimous.
"Earth must have time to recover from the ravages of humanity," was the announcement. "To that end, humanity will take to the stars and set up its home elsewhere, on new soil where we will not repeat the mistakes of our ancestors. Earth will be designated a refuge, left untouched except by those in charge of reversing the past centuries of devastation to our environment."
For weeks on end the colony ships have been departing, bearing the flags of their owners. The crews making there and back again trips, to planets orbiting distant stars. The Commonwealth Colony Ships _Queen Elizabeth_ and _David Attenborough_ departed yesterday, all ten thousand berths filled. The CCS _Steve Irwin_ will follow them tomorrow, accompanied on its flight out of the system by the American Alliance Ship _Barack Obama_.
Derby is feeling very empty these days. The streets are quiet, no longer filled with the huffing of air conditioners and the deep throb of public air filtration systems. There's no need, only us Rejects left. The last few eligibles were taken to the orbital boarding stations several days ago.
It's weird though, being able to wander without having to watch for the silent e-cars gliding along the streets. I walked along the A52 yesterday, actually on the roadway, wondering what it used to be like when there were green fields between Derby and Nottingham.
They're talking about gathering us Rejects together, to make it easy to keep track of us. Taking us to one of Earth's more habitable zones, where the air is cleaner and cooler than the big megacities. That way they don't have to wait for us to die off before they start the regeneration.
I've volunteered to help with that though. I can't leave, after all, so I might as well be of use here. I've got plenty of life left in me. Most of us Rejects do. It's only a cruel trick of fate that's seen us left behind, a few hundred thousand out of the billions living on Earth. A simple quirk of biology, nothing more than an allergy to one of the chemicals used in the pre-FtL sedation procedure.
|
|
[WP] Colony ships have been leaving weekly for awhile. The streets around your home are looking more empty. You don't qualify for the colony ships. You will always be one of the left behind.
|
You couldn't take a Ford-Mercedes on the colony ships.
You could take your children, all two of your spoiled brats that were allowed under the reproductive allowance. The Wilkins kids had shipped out the day before, and Lilian had watched them leave through the viewing port in the airlock to her habitation.
You could take a pet, if you had one, which the Wilkins's did because Pa said that Mr Wilkins was a big shot at the MUG, and could get the paperwork rubber stamped. When she was younger, and the Wilkins's little poodle had first come home. Lilian had once asked Pa if they could get a dog like the Wilkins's had, and Pa had looked so torn up that she'd never asked again and instead just stole puppy kisses from little Buster when nobody was supervising her cleaning work at the Wilkin's' habitation.
Pa said that you were allowed three cubic meters of baggage on the colony ships per person, or two for children under 12. When Lilian had asked how anyone could fill that much space, especially if you couldn't take your surface rover with you, Pa had laughed and said that every day when he was loading the cargo bays there was somebody trying to go over the limit. There was the man who was trying to take his whole hydroponic garden "just in case plants weren't growing outside yet", and the family who argued that each of their children needed the full three cubic meters because they had too many clothes (Lilian, who was wearing one of her two pairs of overalls, snorted in contempt), and the woman who wanted to bring her Ford-Mercedes surface rover anyway, because "it was the newest model".
"And the irony is," said Pa, as he tucked Lilian into the lower bunk, "that it wouldn't even be useful up there. You can't drive a rover down a highway."
But the Wilkins's had left their rover behind, and in a fit of unexpected magnanimity, Mr Wilkins had given the ignition code to Lilian on her last day working as their house maid. "It's got a few more decades left on it," he'd said, and echoing Pa's words, added, "Even if we did have space, rovers are for dead planets, not living ones."
But even dead planets needed caretakers, and Lilian had overheard one of the Wilkins kids saying at school that the "help" would need to stay behind just in case the Old World wasn't ready to support humans again, and began to deteriorate a second time. Just in case the humans that returned had to flee once again. "Not that such an eventuality is likely," Professor James had said, on his last day of teaching their class before taking his own place on a colony ship. "We now understand what our forebears did not - that a planet is a precious resource, once that must be safeguarded and not treated as a large garbage disposal."
The night after the Wilkins's had left, Lilian snuck over to their habitation, which was eleven times larger than the quarters that she shared with Pa. She didn't need to sneak, because she and Pa were now the only ones left in this habitat module, and in a few days they were to be consolidated into another location with others who'd been designated "mission critical staff" by MUG, while this module was left to be reclaimed by the dead red sands outside. But she snuck anyway, out of force of habit, and because it felt somehow naughty to be in the Wilkins's deserted quarters while they were on a colony ship thousands of miles up in space.
And mostly she snuck because little Tommy Wilkins owned a large telescope that was too big for his two cubic meters, and which was still set up in his bedroom. He'd let her look through it once, after she'd helped him with his history homework, and now she crept through the discarded belongings which lay scattered throughout the habitation and uncapped it.
She punched in a set of coordinates that she knew by heart, and as the server motors whirred she found herself looking at a sphere of blue and green and white. A living planet once again, after three centuries of remedial terraforming. Earth.
But not home. Home was here.
---
Back after a long hiatus. Old stories: [/r/jd_rallage](https://old.reddit.com/r/jd_rallage/)
|
I make my daily walk through the empty streets. A ritual I must complete.
I avoid the monsters let loose when everyone left. I think I hear someone I recognize, but it's just Kat, a neighbor who was also left behind. I ignore her, she never has anything good to say.
I approach the depot, the big scary building where I saw them last. I sneak in past the giant pipes and pooling water, past the moving fans and under the gate.
This is where they last were, when the ship's took them away. My stomach aches with hunger, my feet hurt from walking on the hot road, but my heart aches more. I think about the last time I see them:
>"Don't worry. We just have to just for a little while. We'll be back I promise."
>Tears are in their eyes and I don't understand. I look at them and I don't understand. Of course they will be back, they always come back.
>"We can't fit you on the ship... That's what they said. It's only for the big people." And they start really crying now. Choking on tears and holding on to me.
>I try to reassure them. To tell them that it's ok, I'll be fine until they come back. They don't have to worry. But no words come out.
>Someone said something loud. A lot of other people are sad too. Or angry. Or have a lot of emotions. I don't care about them. "I love you. I'll miss you and oh my god it's not fair I love you." they say.
>I look at them and they know I love them. But I don't show it. I feel like something is wrong. Like I did something bad. What are they doing? Why are they going away? They should not be going. They should not be sad. They should stay and be happy. It would be good to stay. They will be happy if they stay and we are together.
>Now desperate, I stand up and wave like they showed me. Maybe if I show them how much I learned they will come back and they can be happy again. I shout at them. I want them to come back.
>the youngest tries to leave the line of people, but the oldest stops her. She turns to me and is crying more than I ever saw her. "No! You have to stay. We'll be back soon I -- I promise. You stay! Stay! Be a good boy. I know you are a good boy so stay! I love you. I love you -- stay! Good boy, that's a good boy. I love you. Bye!"
>She is pulled into the ship, and I stay. The ship moves up with a sound so loud it hurts my ears and light so bright it hurts my eyes and a smoke so strong it hurts my nose but I stay.
I put my head down because my heart is tired and let loose a sigh into the dust. The memory of them makes my heart feel good and I forget about my stomach. My tail swings left and the right, and then stops. And I stay.
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[WP] Colony ships have been leaving weekly for awhile. The streets around your home are looking more empty. You don't qualify for the colony ships. You will always be one of the left behind.
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I sat out on the sidewalk that day. The last ship would be leaving in a few minutes, and I could see it over the rooftops from there. The streets were empty, quiet, the only sound the distant thundering of speakers from the launchpad, reduced to barely a whisper by the time it reached me.
You'd think I'd be mad.
When it was discovered that we could make use of the universal folds to reach more habitable places, when we realized we could not save the Earth, I'd been assigned to develop sustainable gardens that could be used to not only feed passengers but seed the new planet, survive it's subtly different environment. I'd always liked plants, enjoyed their stillness, their diversity, their lack of judgment. They didn't mind if it took me longer than most people to till their soil so long as I did it delicately, didn't call me useless if I took a few extra minutes of effort to get their water to them. I'd become an expert in botany, and was the obvious choice to piece together that corner of the logistical nightmare.
I did a pretty good job too. Played with chemistry, adjusted air and water efficiency, developed ways to keep plants healthier with even less soil, and much more sulfur. My gardens were perfect. Beautiful.
My favorite strawberries didn't know I wasn't going to be one of the humans allowed to escape this dying world with them, and didn't think I deserved to be left behind.
I leaned back in my wheelchair, trying to be comfortable. No amount of cooling pipes in the cushioned back and seat stopped it from being hideously burning hot out during the day. Still, it was better than being inside, missing it all. The Earth's corruption had already taken enough from me, taken the stability of my DNA, the functional use of both legs and one arm, stopped one of my eyes from blinking on it's own… I wasn't going to let it take this from me too.
A neighbor I'd never spoken to more than once came outside as well, a few houses down. An older man, potbellied and busy, we'd simply never had a reason to chat. He caught me staring, and walked over, plopping down to sit in the grass by my side.
"Didn't you work on those things?" He asked, voice gruff and smoke torn.
I nodded,"Yes. I developed their botanical preservation system."
"Why aren't you on there?"
"My condition is genetic. They deemed me an unfit candidate for transfer."
His voice came out half angry, half defeated,"That's fucked, you know that? Bullshit too, they could absolutely use a young scientist like you, even if you can't pop out kids."
I smiled placidly, shrugging,"I know."
Silence stretched a minute before I asked him,"Why are you still here? You're under the age limit."
He was quiet a minute, before pointing down the road,"You ever see Janna, the Chinese lady who lived down there? She had two young kids, great kids, real polite, always came over while I worked on my yard to talk my ear off. One of 'em didn't pass their genetic test. Those monsters wanted her to leave one of her babies behind because he had some gene for poor eyesight or some shit. So I gave Jenna my card."
I processed that a minute, the blunt normalcy in his voice.
"That's a very beautiful thing to do Mr. Dawdson."
He let out a snort of a laugh,"Heh, didn't know you knew my name. And it's nothing. I'm just some geezer. Drank too much, lost my wife, only had one kid and she died fighting the fires… That little boy deserved it way more than I did. He's got a family who needs him, and a life to live."
We both quieted down as the earth-shaking roar came echoing down the suburban streets. We watched as the last ship, the last colony of human life to escape our burning world took off and roared out into the sky.
We sat a long time in silence. It was Dawdson who broke it.
"Why'd you let them make you stay?"
"This is home. My cat and my garden are the only living things that have truly never judged me, and they need me."
He nodded, sighing before standing.
"Well, Miss Scientist. Guess it's both our home forever now. I'm cooking bacon and pancakes for dinner. You're welcome to come over and have some, I still got the ramps I had installed for Clara before we knew she wasn't coming back."
I smiled, doing a check to make sure my chairs controller hadn't stalled out in the heat.
"I'd like that. I'd like that very much."
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I make my daily walk through the empty streets. A ritual I must complete.
I avoid the monsters let loose when everyone left. I think I hear someone I recognize, but it's just Kat, a neighbor who was also left behind. I ignore her, she never has anything good to say.
I approach the depot, the big scary building where I saw them last. I sneak in past the giant pipes and pooling water, past the moving fans and under the gate.
This is where they last were, when the ship's took them away. My stomach aches with hunger, my feet hurt from walking on the hot road, but my heart aches more. I think about the last time I see them:
>"Don't worry. We just have to just for a little while. We'll be back I promise."
>Tears are in their eyes and I don't understand. I look at them and I don't understand. Of course they will be back, they always come back.
>"We can't fit you on the ship... That's what they said. It's only for the big people." And they start really crying now. Choking on tears and holding on to me.
>I try to reassure them. To tell them that it's ok, I'll be fine until they come back. They don't have to worry. But no words come out.
>Someone said something loud. A lot of other people are sad too. Or angry. Or have a lot of emotions. I don't care about them. "I love you. I'll miss you and oh my god it's not fair I love you." they say.
>I look at them and they know I love them. But I don't show it. I feel like something is wrong. Like I did something bad. What are they doing? Why are they going away? They should not be going. They should not be sad. They should stay and be happy. It would be good to stay. They will be happy if they stay and we are together.
>Now desperate, I stand up and wave like they showed me. Maybe if I show them how much I learned they will come back and they can be happy again. I shout at them. I want them to come back.
>the youngest tries to leave the line of people, but the oldest stops her. She turns to me and is crying more than I ever saw her. "No! You have to stay. We'll be back soon I -- I promise. You stay! Stay! Be a good boy. I know you are a good boy so stay! I love you. I love you -- stay! Good boy, that's a good boy. I love you. Bye!"
>She is pulled into the ship, and I stay. The ship moves up with a sound so loud it hurts my ears and light so bright it hurts my eyes and a smoke so strong it hurts my nose but I stay.
I put my head down because my heart is tired and let loose a sigh into the dust. The memory of them makes my heart feel good and I forget about my stomach. My tail swings left and the right, and then stops. And I stay.
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[WP] Colony ships have been leaving weekly for awhile. The streets around your home are looking more empty. You don't qualify for the colony ships. You will always be one of the left behind.
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I sat out on the sidewalk that day. The last ship would be leaving in a few minutes, and I could see it over the rooftops from there. The streets were empty, quiet, the only sound the distant thundering of speakers from the launchpad, reduced to barely a whisper by the time it reached me.
You'd think I'd be mad.
When it was discovered that we could make use of the universal folds to reach more habitable places, when we realized we could not save the Earth, I'd been assigned to develop sustainable gardens that could be used to not only feed passengers but seed the new planet, survive it's subtly different environment. I'd always liked plants, enjoyed their stillness, their diversity, their lack of judgment. They didn't mind if it took me longer than most people to till their soil so long as I did it delicately, didn't call me useless if I took a few extra minutes of effort to get their water to them. I'd become an expert in botany, and was the obvious choice to piece together that corner of the logistical nightmare.
I did a pretty good job too. Played with chemistry, adjusted air and water efficiency, developed ways to keep plants healthier with even less soil, and much more sulfur. My gardens were perfect. Beautiful.
My favorite strawberries didn't know I wasn't going to be one of the humans allowed to escape this dying world with them, and didn't think I deserved to be left behind.
I leaned back in my wheelchair, trying to be comfortable. No amount of cooling pipes in the cushioned back and seat stopped it from being hideously burning hot out during the day. Still, it was better than being inside, missing it all. The Earth's corruption had already taken enough from me, taken the stability of my DNA, the functional use of both legs and one arm, stopped one of my eyes from blinking on it's own… I wasn't going to let it take this from me too.
A neighbor I'd never spoken to more than once came outside as well, a few houses down. An older man, potbellied and busy, we'd simply never had a reason to chat. He caught me staring, and walked over, plopping down to sit in the grass by my side.
"Didn't you work on those things?" He asked, voice gruff and smoke torn.
I nodded,"Yes. I developed their botanical preservation system."
"Why aren't you on there?"
"My condition is genetic. They deemed me an unfit candidate for transfer."
His voice came out half angry, half defeated,"That's fucked, you know that? Bullshit too, they could absolutely use a young scientist like you, even if you can't pop out kids."
I smiled placidly, shrugging,"I know."
Silence stretched a minute before I asked him,"Why are you still here? You're under the age limit."
He was quiet a minute, before pointing down the road,"You ever see Janna, the Chinese lady who lived down there? She had two young kids, great kids, real polite, always came over while I worked on my yard to talk my ear off. One of 'em didn't pass their genetic test. Those monsters wanted her to leave one of her babies behind because he had some gene for poor eyesight or some shit. So I gave Jenna my card."
I processed that a minute, the blunt normalcy in his voice.
"That's a very beautiful thing to do Mr. Dawdson."
He let out a snort of a laugh,"Heh, didn't know you knew my name. And it's nothing. I'm just some geezer. Drank too much, lost my wife, only had one kid and she died fighting the fires… That little boy deserved it way more than I did. He's got a family who needs him, and a life to live."
We both quieted down as the earth-shaking roar came echoing down the suburban streets. We watched as the last ship, the last colony of human life to escape our burning world took off and roared out into the sky.
We sat a long time in silence. It was Dawdson who broke it.
"Why'd you let them make you stay?"
"This is home. My cat and my garden are the only living things that have truly never judged me, and they need me."
He nodded, sighing before standing.
"Well, Miss Scientist. Guess it's both our home forever now. I'm cooking bacon and pancakes for dinner. You're welcome to come over and have some, I still got the ramps I had installed for Clara before we knew she wasn't coming back."
I smiled, doing a check to make sure my chairs controller hadn't stalled out in the heat.
"I'd like that. I'd like that very much."
|
You couldn't take a Ford-Mercedes on the colony ships.
You could take your children, all two of your spoiled brats that were allowed under the reproductive allowance. The Wilkins kids had shipped out the day before, and Lilian had watched them leave through the viewing port in the airlock to her habitation.
You could take a pet, if you had one, which the Wilkins's did because Pa said that Mr Wilkins was a big shot at the MUG, and could get the paperwork rubber stamped. When she was younger, and the Wilkins's little poodle had first come home. Lilian had once asked Pa if they could get a dog like the Wilkins's had, and Pa had looked so torn up that she'd never asked again and instead just stole puppy kisses from little Buster when nobody was supervising her cleaning work at the Wilkin's' habitation.
Pa said that you were allowed three cubic meters of baggage on the colony ships per person, or two for children under 12. When Lilian had asked how anyone could fill that much space, especially if you couldn't take your surface rover with you, Pa had laughed and said that every day when he was loading the cargo bays there was somebody trying to go over the limit. There was the man who was trying to take his whole hydroponic garden "just in case plants weren't growing outside yet", and the family who argued that each of their children needed the full three cubic meters because they had too many clothes (Lilian, who was wearing one of her two pairs of overalls, snorted in contempt), and the woman who wanted to bring her Ford-Mercedes surface rover anyway, because "it was the newest model".
"And the irony is," said Pa, as he tucked Lilian into the lower bunk, "that it wouldn't even be useful up there. You can't drive a rover down a highway."
But the Wilkins's had left their rover behind, and in a fit of unexpected magnanimity, Mr Wilkins had given the ignition code to Lilian on her last day working as their house maid. "It's got a few more decades left on it," he'd said, and echoing Pa's words, added, "Even if we did have space, rovers are for dead planets, not living ones."
But even dead planets needed caretakers, and Lilian had overheard one of the Wilkins kids saying at school that the "help" would need to stay behind just in case the Old World wasn't ready to support humans again, and began to deteriorate a second time. Just in case the humans that returned had to flee once again. "Not that such an eventuality is likely," Professor James had said, on his last day of teaching their class before taking his own place on a colony ship. "We now understand what our forebears did not - that a planet is a precious resource, once that must be safeguarded and not treated as a large garbage disposal."
The night after the Wilkins's had left, Lilian snuck over to their habitation, which was eleven times larger than the quarters that she shared with Pa. She didn't need to sneak, because she and Pa were now the only ones left in this habitat module, and in a few days they were to be consolidated into another location with others who'd been designated "mission critical staff" by MUG, while this module was left to be reclaimed by the dead red sands outside. But she snuck anyway, out of force of habit, and because it felt somehow naughty to be in the Wilkins's deserted quarters while they were on a colony ship thousands of miles up in space.
And mostly she snuck because little Tommy Wilkins owned a large telescope that was too big for his two cubic meters, and which was still set up in his bedroom. He'd let her look through it once, after she'd helped him with his history homework, and now she crept through the discarded belongings which lay scattered throughout the habitation and uncapped it.
She punched in a set of coordinates that she knew by heart, and as the server motors whirred she found herself looking at a sphere of blue and green and white. A living planet once again, after three centuries of remedial terraforming. Earth.
But not home. Home was here.
---
Back after a long hiatus. Old stories: [/r/jd_rallage](https://old.reddit.com/r/jd_rallage/)
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[WP] You are an undercover agent from the future, masquerading as an ancient scholar. Your job is to advance science the same amount the original scholar would have done. You also get to kill all the pesky time travellers that try to accelerate scientific progress by giving you "ideas".
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"Hey Da Vinci!" an excited voice calls from from the doorway. Da Vinci lets out an exasperated sigh. He had been trying to finish the drawing for what would later be primitive plans for a flying machine but the local nobility insisted that he spend his time doing paintings for them. As mind numbing and boring as that was, he had to endure it as part of his job acting in the place Da Vinci. Turns out some idiot agent screwed up a previous assignment and managed to get Da Vinci killed. The agent wanted to see Da Vinci's flying machine in action so apparently helped him build it and Da Vinci, being the excitable inventive guy he was, decided to test it by launching off a cliff. It ended about as well as one might imagine.
Last he heard, the agent that screwed up is now in charge of properly pacing pre-historic dung piles so later scientists find them in the right places.
The man that had called out to him rushed up to his table. "Da Vinci, I got something to show that will blow your mind! It will change humanity for the better! And you'll be rich beyond your imagination. "
Red flag. The agent playing the part of Da Vinci took a closer look at the man. At first glance anyone would take him as one of the many nameless nobles who spent the day gallivanting around the city. However, on closer inspection one would note that his clothing was artificial, the crest he carried matched no known noble house, that his teeth were perfectly straight and white, and most glaring, he had the edge of wrist mounted time terminal computer interface peeking out from under his left cuff.
Suddenly he feigned intense interest. "I have heard many such claims from young eager nobles such as yourself, and invariably they all had a highly inflated view of what they thought they had. I am quite busy, so unless you have something substantive to present I suggest you make your way to a local tavern where you can regale the wenches with your tales of genius."
The man smirked then pulled back the cuff of his left arm to reveal the terminal. The man then brought up the holographic interface. The agent played his part and expressed surprised shock at the device. "By God, what is this fantastic device!"
"It's a device with access to near unlimited knowledge! And I'm willing to share some of that knowledge with you.", the man replied.
"Oh, if what you say is true that would truly be wonderful! But... only a fool thinks that such gifts come for free," Da Vinci leaned over the table conspiratorially, "What is it that you want?"
The man in turn leaned over the table, "There is painting you made. No one knows the name but it is of a woman in field of flowers. Do you know it?"
"I do. So your price is that you want me to give you this painting?"
"No. I want you to put this painting into a sealed box with a few other minor trinkets, and then bury it at a specific location."
"You want me to bury a painting in a specific location? For what purpose?"
"That's not important. If you want what I have, that's all you need to do. Do we have an agreement?"
The agent pretended to think about the decision, looking from the device, to the man's face, to the closed and locked door off to the left. After a few moments the agent replied, "My curiosity has gotten the better of me. I shall do as you requested."
The man stood back and smiled. "Excellent! You won't be sorry! Do you know where the painting is at the moment?"
"Of course," the agent said with a smile. "I keep all of my works that haven't yet been delivered in there." He pointed to the locked door. The agent made as if to fumble around for the key, pulled it out a drawer and headed for the door. The man followed, practically skipping and grinning like an idiot.
When they made it to the door, the agent made an act of unlocking the door (it actually used bio-identification) and opened the door. The agent then stepped out of the way and motioned the man inside. The man stood in front of the doorway, "Huh, pretty dark in here. I light it up." The man went to use the lighting feature of his terminal when suddenly it powered down. He looked down, puzzled. Then his eyes widened as he turned to look at the fake Da Vinci. He was greeted by a powerful kick to the stomach that knocked him backward into the room and over the edge of a very deep hole that feed into a specialized dematerialize he installed at the bottom.
The agent reclosed and locked the door, then headed back to his desk and sat down with a sigh. That idiot was one of the dumber time criminals he's had to deal with. Never even noticed the specialized virus the agent was uploading to his terminal.
He tried to get back to his drawing, but his heart just wasn't in it anymore. He got up and made his over to the stairs to head down for some lunch and maybe a stiff drink. Sometimes this job can be a real drag, he thought as he stepped down the cool stairway. But hey, at least he's not the guy protecting Hitler.
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Not one of the 37 time travelers over the past 8 years expected what happened when they walked up to Socrates to give him a quick idea. That is in 2 ways of course, people like to think they are immortal when they have a power others don’t, they also like to think they are the only people who have invented time travel. Imagine the surprise on their face when this so called Socrates pulled out a revolver and blasted them in the head. They were wrong on both counts and were neither the first or last to invent time travel, simply some of the earliest. This so called Socrates recited his lines, he had been assigned to this after the intern at the time correctional office Jeff accidentally shot Socrates while eliminating a time traveler. He quietly mumbles “only two more years until I get to go home” as he reads the date and sends the device forward in time to the drop off.
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[WP] You are an undercover agent from the future, masquerading as an ancient scholar. Your job is to advance science the same amount the original scholar would have done. You also get to kill all the pesky time travellers that try to accelerate scientific progress by giving you "ideas".
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We passed a couple of plague carts on the way to the house where the witch lived. With trained ease, the guards split, a couple went into the alley behind the house to prevent escape, while the others took position next to the door. I knocked. Too trusting, as expected, she unlocked the door, and the guard kicked it open, smashing it against her face. Dazed, and blood streaming from a split lip, she offered no resistance when we invaded. It was only when we found the hidden trap door that she started imploring us to not touch anything, that she was only brewing medicine to help the sick.
Her laboratory was a sight to behold, an alchemist's wet dream from the story books. Bottles, beakers, blubbering liquids, the glasswares alone were worth a fortune. Smiling, and looking straight in the eyes of the witch, one of the guards raised his mailed fist to smash the diabolic contraptions.
"Stop!" I shouted. "Do you want to release her poisons and doom us all? Just extinguish all the fires, and then we seal this den of evil.
The guard hesitated for an instant, then followed my order. On the way out he punched the witch in the kidney when my back was turned to him while I was collecting her notes. He hadn't noticed the open makeup pocket mirror on her desk. I let it go. They were following orders, after all, and the punch would not leave any lasting damage. Physical, that is.
They brought her into my chambers in the evening clad only in her linen undergarments. I put her file away and looked at her. She was trembling faintly, a mix of fear and fury, ready to burst. Oh, I was going to enjoy this one.
"Sit."
She sat down, but not without eyeing the guard next to the door.
"He is deaf so this conversation will stay between us", I told her.
"Be glad he is here, or I would strangle you, you filthy pig!" she hissed.
"I know you could, but you won't. And I reckon that you will lie down on my bed willingly."
"In your dreams, rapist!"
"Now, you are Sabine, the witch, correct? Or more precisely, Sabine Mortenson, born January 25, 2083 in London, Ontario, in beautiful Canada. What brings you to 14th century Paris?"
I love it when I see the wheels turning in the heads of the time travelers as they figure out who I am.
"You are from Chronos?"
"The UN Office for the control and regulation of time travel, yes."
"But I didn't do anything bad, all I wanted was to help these people by bringing them antibiotics. They're dying by the hundreds every day, men, women, children! I have to do something!"
"Your motives are indeed noble, and saving a few lives won't branch the timeline too badly, it's amazing how robust history is. However, you have started to scale up and you were about to start teaching others. Not just medicine, also your impressive glass blowing skills. And we cannot have that."
"But think of how many lives could be saved, how many tragedies averted, if these people only had access to basic medicine!"
"Don't you think this hasn't been tried?" I stood up and turned to the window. It was raining. The fire crackled comfortably to the side. "As it turns out, injecting advanced technology into a society not ready for it is not a good idea. Usually, it boosts whowever is in power and leads to a society where the weak no longer have any chance to defend themselves. It's like Africa during colonization, or China in the twenties, only much, much worse. And you probably haven't been thinking about the changes the plague introduced - the renaissance wouldn't have been possible without the way the plague reset society. No, you time travelers rarely realize that our timeline, horrible though it may seem, is one of the best, if the best, there is. Take Hitler for example. All these attempts to assassinate Hitler! Do you know what would have happened, if somebody competent had replaced him at the helm of Germany? Somebody who would have managed to ally himself with the Sovjets, or worse, with the US? Or late in the war, one of the fanatics who would have committed national suicide, taking most of Europe with them?" I turned back to look her in the eyes. "Like it or not, the suffering in this world is less than the alternative. You think that all it takes is a bit of technology, when the problem is the people."
"So you say", she said after a pause. "But if this is so evident, and apparently well known, why is this not public knowledge?"
"Because if we talked about the early experiments and their outcomes, it wouldn't deter people like you, but only make them more convinced that they, in their infinite wisdom, would be able to do better. This way, everybody goes to the usual hotspots, and we have a much easier time keeping an eye on things. Would you like some brandy?"
We sat and drank in silence for a while. Then I pulled a scalpel from my drawer and started sharpening it.
"What are you going to do with me now?"
"You are certainly aware that you have violated international law, and that your transgression comes with severe penalties, right?"
She nodded, almost imperceptibly.
"There are two options. Option one: You return to your time, where you will be taken into custody, and spend a long amount of time in prison. To give the people here closure, we will perform a witch trial and drown you, and you will not float, but instead we set the timer to zap you back into the future as you are submerged. An excellent way to send women back to their own timeline. Still, impressive how many women have been traveling to the middle ages, no?", I added with a smile.
She didn't even react.
"Option two: You tearfully renounce your evil ways and join the order of the Carmelites here. Their apothecary sister has just succumbed to the plague, and you will do a great job, saving a lot of lives. We will review together how much of your knowledge you are allowed to share, and what you take to your grave eventually. There will never be large-scale fabrication of antibiotics, and your glass blowing knowledge will remain a secret within the order. Oh, and your modern make-up mirror stays here with me."
"Is there an option three?", she inquired eventually.
"We can burn you at the stake?", I said, not looking at her.
She shifted uncomfortably.
"Then I'll stay", she said eventually.
"You sure? Is there nothing and no one you miss back home? A delicious burger with fries and ketchup? Asian food? I can put in a good word for you, because really, you did come to do good, and I was able to stop you before it became too much."
"I am sure."
"I hoped you'd say that. Maybe, in time, you can take my post. You know, I can't go back anymore, either."
I rose with a sigh.
"Now to the unpleasant part of the evening." I motioned to the guard to leave the room. "The baron, whose place I took, was known for his brutal treatment of women, and I have a reputation to uphold. I'll cut you a few times with the scalpel to make you bleed without causing too much pain, and then we do a bit of acting where I crack the whip and you scream to satisfy the guards outside. If you're not a good actor, I have some acid distilled from vinegar that you can put on the cuts."
She was pale, but nodded, and rose when I pointed her to the door of my bedroom.
"This way, please, to lie down on my bed."
"Bastard", she muttered.
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Not one of the 37 time travelers over the past 8 years expected what happened when they walked up to Socrates to give him a quick idea. That is in 2 ways of course, people like to think they are immortal when they have a power others don’t, they also like to think they are the only people who have invented time travel. Imagine the surprise on their face when this so called Socrates pulled out a revolver and blasted them in the head. They were wrong on both counts and were neither the first or last to invent time travel, simply some of the earliest. This so called Socrates recited his lines, he had been assigned to this after the intern at the time correctional office Jeff accidentally shot Socrates while eliminating a time traveler. He quietly mumbles “only two more years until I get to go home” as he reads the date and sends the device forward in time to the drop off.
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[WP] You are an undercover agent from the future, masquerading as an ancient scholar. Your job is to advance science the same amount the original scholar would have done. You also get to kill all the pesky time travellers that try to accelerate scientific progress by giving you "ideas".
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The prisoner was humiliated, escorted inside the church like a cattle-- shackled and bounded. His name and reputation had been dragged over the mud for his unforgivable heresy against God and the church as whole.
Inside the office awaited cardinal Robert Bellarmine of the Catholic church-- the face and voice of the church against the lone heretic who had been brought before him.
"Leave us please, gentlemen", the cardinal waved the guards away.
The two opponents stood their grounds in bated breath, awaiting the guards to make themselves scarce before arguing in their secret quarrel.
"You must feel really proud of yourself, don't you?", the prisoner asked in disgust. "Parading in that silly robe, spouting nonsense about God and religion which you don't even believe in at all..."
Cardinal Bellarmine stood, despite what his elderly appearance showed his behavior was not of one. A man in disguise-- behind the masquerade was in actuality a devoted agent working against time breakers, those who go out of their way to change the course of the set timeline.
"Galileo please--", the cardinal unravel his disguise, revealing a much younger man dressed in modern suit. "Spare me your insult. This is but a means to an end, for a greater good"
Robert walked up to the still shackled Galileo Galilei, the renown astronomer though in reality, a time traveler in disguise-- the same as the masquerading cardinal though pursuing a different goal.
Robert raised a peculiar device to Galileo's forehead, with a click it undid Galileo's disguise as the medieval astronomer, revealing a much younger man.
"What I'm doing, old friend, IS for a greater good!", Galileo protested. "The sooner the world accepts heliocentricity, the faster scientific world would progress! You saw it yourself! You saw this event as the nexus of branching timelines, one being a world where peace was acquired through the means of science!"
Robert shook his head in disagreement. "Gal, perish that absurd idea in your head! The world and society must go as it's meant to be! It's not our place to change it the way we want it to be! We can't play god!"
Galileo couldn't help but laugh. "You've been meddling with these church people for far too long, Robert. We *can't* play god? We absolutely can and we must! What's the point then of having time machine if not to better the world, to achieve what we had growing up centuries earlier?"
Robert sighed, seeing his friend had been radicalized tremendously. It scared Robert, though he once shared the same sentiment, as he grew older, seeing what he saw working with the Time Bureau-- it greatly changed his stance.
"What of paradox, Gal? Hmm? Say I humor your idea, say I manage to convince the Pope and the rest of the church to accept your idea thus changing the course of human history...what of the paradox? You and I might not be born at all! You and I might not be back here in the 16th century, masquerading as these history figures to create such a world in the first place! Hmm? Answer me, Galileo! What of the paradox?", Robert asked in desperation, hoping his old friend would see the error of his way and change his mind.
Galileo was silent for moment, observing his old friend getting all worked up. It amused him, just like old time when they continually clashed in differing ideas-- though at the time it was but a debate, now the rest of time depended on it.
Galileo smirked before laughing uncontrollably. "For the greater good, Robert-- I will take that risk"
Robert sighed in defeat, shaking his head. Though he never wanted to do this, he must do what he must to protect all time. Long gone had the bright young academic known as Galileo Galilei. The man standing before him, ready to do whatever it takes to change the world according to his idea-- he was nothing but a heretic.
Robert switched his and Galileo's disguises back on as the old cardinal and the old astronomer. Taking his seat back behind the desk as one cardinal Robert Bellarmine, he called back the guards to make his judgment.
"Guards!", he called as the two soldiers entered the room. "You are hereby standing as witness to the prosecution of this heretic!"
"Galileo Galilei, so hereby I inquire in front of God as the voice of the church-- will you forego the idea of heliocentricity, to abstain completely from teaching or defending this doctrine and opinion or from discussing it, to abandon completely the opinion that the sun stands still at the center of the world and the earth moves, and henceforth not to hold, teach, or defend it in any way whatever, either orally or in writing?"
"No...", Galileo answered without hesitation. "I will not"
Cardinal Bellarmine leaned back, he hesitated but he continued.
"I hereby order a penalty of death under the accusation of heresy against God and the Catholic church. May God have mercy on your soul"
The guards escorted Galileo out, the astronomer was stoic, accepting of his fate, unwilling to even look his old friend in his eyes.
r/HangryWritey
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Not one of the 37 time travelers over the past 8 years expected what happened when they walked up to Socrates to give him a quick idea. That is in 2 ways of course, people like to think they are immortal when they have a power others don’t, they also like to think they are the only people who have invented time travel. Imagine the surprise on their face when this so called Socrates pulled out a revolver and blasted them in the head. They were wrong on both counts and were neither the first or last to invent time travel, simply some of the earliest. This so called Socrates recited his lines, he had been assigned to this after the intern at the time correctional office Jeff accidentally shot Socrates while eliminating a time traveler. He quietly mumbles “only two more years until I get to go home” as he reads the date and sends the device forward in time to the drop off.
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[WP] Aliens recognize humans as the historians of the universe. Despite their short-lived existence, they are the only species so obsessed with preserving statistics and physical records of the past, while other species are satisfied with recalling from memory.
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Alisha Tor, Lead Researcher, final observations:
We finally learned how to travel between the stars, and in doing so found ourselves painfully, heartbreakingly alone.
To be sure, the galaxy is vast and actually teeming with sentient life. But the Fermi paradox is finally solved: the reason no sentient beings had ever made contact with us is that no other sentient life has the faintest interest in the scientific method.
Additionally, communicating with the beings we have encountered is a universally frustrating affair. They know *nothing* about their worlds, and worse they refuse to update their often ridiculous oral traditions with even the most demonstrable and obvious of facts. They would rather believe that their little planets are the center of the universe and we are deities sent to test their resolve, than to even for a moment consider the possibility that their caveman ancestors didn't have the whole universe figured out before they learned to make *fire.*
*What a waste of space* the galaxy's inhabitants turned out to be.
My recommendation: We could really use the resources they are barely using in their self-assured lunacy (often literal moon worship), so I say give them the doomsday their cults unfailingly predict and long for. They long for their own termination, and we have the means and need for expansion to make better use of their planets than they have in millions of years of depressing stagnance.
Destroy their civilizations, then give them gods to worship in subservience as we build up colonies more worthy of sharing a Galaxy with us. Perhaps in time we can pull back the veil and teach them to think rationally.
For now, I urge the council to pull the trigger on project: Dominion
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“Perfect memory my ass.”
“Oh shut up, give me a minute.”
You roll your eyes. Jaedeth isn’t going to remember anything, and both of you know it. Why you even bothered going to them for your school project is beyond you at this point. For a guy that watches a ton of Memchamp, his attempts at a memory castle are about as successful as the last time any non human species tried to record history.
The Intergalactic Unity knows that’s a game no one can beat them at.
“Stars below, you’re gonna blow a vein. I’ll get the keys.”
They harumph and get up to follow you, as close as they’ll ever get to admitting defeat. Walking to the airlock, you pull out your phone and track a map to earth. Take a left at Andromeda, solar system is currently facing universal north, third to the Sun.
“Hey genius, you planning on bringing your computer there or what?”
“Oh no, I forgot it’s yrim, I totally *can’t rent a book* or anything.”
“If I have to hear more shit about return policies, you’re paying next months rent, you hear me?”
“By the-! Alright, I’ll bring my dammed laptop! Should I grab the charger to, Mr ‘renting books is for losers’?”
“Just get in the car!”
Queue several awkward minutes of light speed. How much longer until we stop turning every conversation into an argument neither of us can stand? Why did I think Jaedeth the joker would make a good roommate?
Is this relationship salvageable?
Next stop: Library of Alexandria.
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[WP] As you die an atheist, God stands before you, and asks why you didn’t adhere to his teachings. What do you say?
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"I honestly didn't know you existed. You have to admit that the idea of an all-knowing, all-powerful, invisible being who created the universe sounds pretty far-fetched."
"Still," God answered, "have I not made my presence known to the world? Had you never heard of me?"
"Well, of course I knew that some people believed in your existence, but then there are also people who believe vaccines cause autism when that has been disproven time and time again, so I have grown hesitant to just blindly follow others' beliefs.", I explained.
"Of course, I understand. Still, there would have been no harm in following my teachings even if it had turned out I did not exist."
"I disagree. I find your teachings to be overly strict and disproportionately harmful to certain groups of people."
"They are not. My teachings dictate that everyone should be treated with respect and compassion."
"Even those who would rather take a lover of their own gender, or who choose not to have a child?"
"Even those. They are worth just as much as anyone else, even if some people don't think so."
"Most of the ones who don't think so use you as an excuse.", I pointed out. "Plus if you really are as powerful and benevolent as they say, why is the world in such a bad state?"
"I have chosen a long time ago to not interfere with free will. Everything bad about the world is a consequence of choices, either directly or indirectly."
"Look, I'm all for letting people suffer the consequences of their own bad decisions, but it seems like most of the suffering people endure is from other people's choices. That doesn't seem very fair to me."
"I understand, but I can't change that without interfering with free will. Besides, other people misbehaving should not prevent you from following the path of virtue."
"I had no way of knowing which religion's definition of virtue was the correct one. There are many religions and many versions of each religion, and they all have their own way of defining what is virtuous or sinful. Most of which do not make sense. Why, for example, would eating pork be sinful? Or eating meat on Friday? Or masturbation?"
"I understand, my son. However, being confused about the meaning of virtue does not entitle you to reject it entirely."
"I didn't. I followed an idea of virtue my whole life. I just did not refer to it as virtue or sin, since those terms are usually reserved for religious contexts."
"Meaning that you define virtue outside of religion."
"Indeed, my idea of virtue has nothing to do with religion, and yet I suspect you will agree with it."
"What, then, is your idea of virtue?", God asked, though I'm sure He already knew the answer.
"To be nice to others. To treat others with respect even if I don't agree with them. To never choose to hurt another unless it is the only way to prevent more hurt. To never cause another to suffer. That is how I define virtue."
"Indeed, that sounds virtuous. But what of the activities that do not influence the suffering of others, like masturbation?"
"My idea of virtue does not apply to them. Since it has no consequences, whether or not I do it doesn't matter in the slightest."
"So even though you actively rejected my teachings, you did not live a life of sin?"
"Not to me, at least. But none of this is news to you, right?"
"Actually, it is. I'm not nearly as omniscient as they say I am. I can neither sense nor influence free will, or it would not truly be free. So I had no way of knowing why you chose to live the way you did unless you explained it to me. It seems I might not need to send Jesus back to Earth again for a while yet."
"Wait, you were going to do that if I wasn't virtuous?"
"Yes, I suspected the people would need someone to guide them back to the right path. I was wrong."
"Oh, in that case, I have sinned greatly. I am the greatest sinner who has ever lived and I deserve to burn in Hell for all eternity."
"Why do you say that? You have just finished explaining to me how you are not a sinner. Do you *want* to suffer?"
"If it means everyone else back on Earth will witness the second coming of Jesus and have their faith in the world rekindled, then yes, I am willing to suffer for all eternity. That is my idea of virtue."
God smiled upon me. "There is no more need to suffer. It would not be right to treat you like a sinner only for being virtuous. I will send Jesus over right away. Welcome to Heaven."
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"I didn't adhere to your teachings because I couldn't. No matter how hard I tried, I couldn't devote myself to them, so I abandoned them. I tried to believe in you, but I failed.".
God spoke, and I heard their voice, all-encompassing. "There are many people who tried. I respect your attempt, though you failed. I give you one chance. Eternal happiness if you accept me, and fire and brimstone if you don't.".
"Is hell really as bad as you say?".
I waited for an answer, anticipating a response. God thought for a second. "You will find out if you choose that path".
"You can't tell me?".
"I won't. It's up to you what happens now. Hell, or Heaven. The choice is yours".
"What happens if I refuse".
Again, God waited before they spoke. "There are many, many different variations to choose from. I chose you first because you are the truest variation. If you refuse, I will find a new variation, the second most accurate".
"What happens if they all refuse".
"That never happens. Now, I once again leave you with the choice. Salvation, or eternal Hell".
"You have not told me about Hell. Will you tell me about Heaven?".
"Again, that is for you to find out".
"I've made my choice. I choose salvation".
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[WP] As you die an atheist, God stands before you, and asks why you didn’t adhere to his teachings. What do you say?
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"I honestly didn't know you existed. You have to admit that the idea of an all-knowing, all-powerful, invisible being who created the universe sounds pretty far-fetched."
"Still," God answered, "have I not made my presence known to the world? Had you never heard of me?"
"Well, of course I knew that some people believed in your existence, but then there are also people who believe vaccines cause autism when that has been disproven time and time again, so I have grown hesitant to just blindly follow others' beliefs.", I explained.
"Of course, I understand. Still, there would have been no harm in following my teachings even if it had turned out I did not exist."
"I disagree. I find your teachings to be overly strict and disproportionately harmful to certain groups of people."
"They are not. My teachings dictate that everyone should be treated with respect and compassion."
"Even those who would rather take a lover of their own gender, or who choose not to have a child?"
"Even those. They are worth just as much as anyone else, even if some people don't think so."
"Most of the ones who don't think so use you as an excuse.", I pointed out. "Plus if you really are as powerful and benevolent as they say, why is the world in such a bad state?"
"I have chosen a long time ago to not interfere with free will. Everything bad about the world is a consequence of choices, either directly or indirectly."
"Look, I'm all for letting people suffer the consequences of their own bad decisions, but it seems like most of the suffering people endure is from other people's choices. That doesn't seem very fair to me."
"I understand, but I can't change that without interfering with free will. Besides, other people misbehaving should not prevent you from following the path of virtue."
"I had no way of knowing which religion's definition of virtue was the correct one. There are many religions and many versions of each religion, and they all have their own way of defining what is virtuous or sinful. Most of which do not make sense. Why, for example, would eating pork be sinful? Or eating meat on Friday? Or masturbation?"
"I understand, my son. However, being confused about the meaning of virtue does not entitle you to reject it entirely."
"I didn't. I followed an idea of virtue my whole life. I just did not refer to it as virtue or sin, since those terms are usually reserved for religious contexts."
"Meaning that you define virtue outside of religion."
"Indeed, my idea of virtue has nothing to do with religion, and yet I suspect you will agree with it."
"What, then, is your idea of virtue?", God asked, though I'm sure He already knew the answer.
"To be nice to others. To treat others with respect even if I don't agree with them. To never choose to hurt another unless it is the only way to prevent more hurt. To never cause another to suffer. That is how I define virtue."
"Indeed, that sounds virtuous. But what of the activities that do not influence the suffering of others, like masturbation?"
"My idea of virtue does not apply to them. Since it has no consequences, whether or not I do it doesn't matter in the slightest."
"So even though you actively rejected my teachings, you did not live a life of sin?"
"Not to me, at least. But none of this is news to you, right?"
"Actually, it is. I'm not nearly as omniscient as they say I am. I can neither sense nor influence free will, or it would not truly be free. So I had no way of knowing why you chose to live the way you did unless you explained it to me. It seems I might not need to send Jesus back to Earth again for a while yet."
"Wait, you were going to do that if I wasn't virtuous?"
"Yes, I suspected the people would need someone to guide them back to the right path. I was wrong."
"Oh, in that case, I have sinned greatly. I am the greatest sinner who has ever lived and I deserve to burn in Hell for all eternity."
"Why do you say that? You have just finished explaining to me how you are not a sinner. Do you *want* to suffer?"
"If it means everyone else back on Earth will witness the second coming of Jesus and have their faith in the world rekindled, then yes, I am willing to suffer for all eternity. That is my idea of virtue."
God smiled upon me. "There is no more need to suffer. It would not be right to treat you like a sinner only for being virtuous. I will send Jesus over right away. Welcome to Heaven."
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"It's a hell of a thing," the atheist said, "To be given free will and then be chastised for using it. My commitment to secular morality was just as good, and could arguably determined as better because I was good for the selfless sake of being good, while those motivated by faith have a selfish reason - to stay out of Hell and remain in someone's good graces."
God thought that that was a pretty good answer. After all, Fred Phelps wasn't allowed entry into the Kingdom of Heaven, despite tying his dubious morality to his alleged faith.
The atheist added, "It is peculiar to see you here, now. I thought that there would be nothing after the end. Does this mean that there is more to see and do after death?"
God replied, "You're welcome to join me, or this can be the end. You're free to choose, and I will not judge your decision."
The atheist needed some time to decide, and God had the time to wait.
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[WP] As you die an atheist, God stands before you, and asks why you didn’t adhere to his teachings. What do you say?
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*Bronyprime, my son, your apostasy saddens me. You had my books right there, yet you rejected my teachings. Why? What have I done that was so horrible that you turned away from me?*
At first, I didn't hear where the voice was coming from. It seemed to come from everywhere at once, and I was in pitch black darkness. The voice finally coalesced into a source, and a light emerged from the darkness.
"I honestly have no idea who you are. What books are you talking about?"
The light grew brighter at that point, and then the surrounding blackness disappeared as a peaceful meadow took its place. Bright flowers for miles, with some mountains further in the distance. A cool spring breeze blew by, and the bright point of light took a glowing humanoid form. No face or other features, yet.
*I am thy lord God, creator of all, and you have come before me because I want to understand you, to give you the chance to repent and come with me to Heaven.*
The voice seemed to come from that form, but I still mostly heard it in my head.
"I figured you were a god, but which one? There are literally thousands of gods worshipped at one point or another, each with his or her own preferred writings, and none of them with any shred of evidence that there is any validity to any of them. I don't have anything to repent over."
*My teachings are in my holy book. There is no god but me, and those who claim to worship other gods do so in folly. I am the Alpha, the Omega, the beginning and the end. I am the god that Abraham himself worshipped, and his offspring, and their offspring, so on and so forth to become my chosen people. I gave my teachings to my favored prophets, so that they could spread my word. You rejected these words, and I want to know why you would damn your soul so willingly.*
"If you are that god, then I refuse to worship you. You ask a father to kill his child as a sign of faith. If the writings done in your name are even 1% accurate, then you are a monster deserving of the deepest pits of your own hell. You give us free will, and then punish us for using that free will when you don't like the outcome. You play with our minds and hearts. If Exodus is to be believed, then what you did to the pharaoh is inexcusable! Moses demanded that he let the Hebrews go, and he agreed! On the first request, he agreed! You, in your 'infinite wisdom,' hardened the pharaoh's heart and changed his mind. In response to your own meddling, you caused a plague upon Egypt. Moses asked again for the freedom of the Hebrews, the pharaoh agreed to release them, and again you hardened his heart. You did this 10 times! You are shameful, vile, and a disgrace to what it means to be a god! Your writings specifically endorse slavery! You and your ass-backwards morality think it is OK to own people as property. Why anybody would worship you is beyond my understanding. You want me to repent to you?!? YOU NEED TO REPENT TO US!" I didn't realize I had been approaching him until I was face to face. Well, face to glow. "Maybe your writings would have been taken seriously if they were actually relevant or important. Maybe provide information that doesn't look like it was already the belief system of ancient sheep-herders. Give us *something* we could actually point to to validate you and your teachings as valid!"
I took a deep breath and stepped back.
"My actions in life are far superior to your teachings. People are people and not property. Women and men should not live in the inequality that your books promote. Just about the only overlap between us is that I did what I could to treat people with kindness and respect, help others when possible, and be a person that my kids respected. Joke's on you, though. Those basic tenets are part of just about every religion. You don't get to claim them for yourself. So, you and your teachings are 100% worthy of every rejection they get. You wanted to know why I rejected you? Look in a mirror and ask again."
Without waiting for a reply, I turn my back on the glowing form and walk away. I'm not sure where I was going, but I knew where I didn't want to be.
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I stared at the glowing being before me, pondering his question… and then snorted. “For a so-called omnipotent being, you’re dense.”
‘God’ tensed. “What?”
I snorted again, crossing my arms. “Your ‘teachings’? Out of all the things to ask an atheist, that’s what you nitpick?” I rolled my eyes. “So not the fact that most of your ‘followers’ are nutcases? Or horrible people who proclaim that you are against a person being gay or a woman taking power? Or maybe the fact that there are good people out there, who pray and pray for a miracle, only to lose *everything*, while bad people get whatever they want? Or maybe it’s the fact that most of your ‘followers’ don’t follow your teachings anyways, but still have a good life?” I glared at him. “I have a lot of reasons not to believe in you or your ‘teachings’. And even now I don’t. I’ll bet you’re nothing more than an illusion in my mind.”
“I know it seems harsh-”
“‘Harsh’?” I laughed, my voice devoid of any humour. “How about the fact that I lost my parents to a mugger, who still hasn’t been caught? Despite that I prayed every day, for five *years*? Or that my boyfriend got into a car accident, survived, but got amnesia? He *still* can’t remember me, or the last four years!” I glared hard. “How can I believe in the teachings of someone, who keeps letting horrible things happen to those just trying to get by?! What gives **you** the right to take my parents from me?! What gives ***you*** the right to take my first and only love from me?! What did I *ever* do to make you want to take **everything** from me?!?!”
I turned away, hugging myself as tears fell. “How can I follow the teachings of a being who claims to be good, yet is so cold…?”
I got no response from ‘God’ and just laughed. “Besides, it’s just not possible for an entire *solar system* to be created in a *week*, not counting the rest of the universe? It’s not possible to actually split a sea in half, or flood the entire world without evidence being left behind. And what about the dinosaurs? Can you explain their fossils? Or that the oldest rocks in the solar system are 4.6 billion years old, the oldest on Earth being 4.4?” I glared at his shining form, tears streaming down my face. “So, do you have answers? Or am I too much of an ‘ant’ for you to bother with anymore?”
I stared at him, waiting for a response, before huffing and walking off. “Screw you. I don’t need you to answer. You’re not real. But since I’m a ghost now, excuse me while I go find my parents who *you* murdered.”
With that, I left him behind, walking into the clouds. He wasn’t worth my time… ‘God’ wasn’t worth anyone’s time…
Because he wasn’t real.
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[WP] As you die an atheist, God stands before you, and asks why you didn’t adhere to his teachings. What do you say?
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As an atheist lay dying, God came to stand before him. With a great sadness lying beneath his words, He asked, "Why didn't you adhere to my teachings? Even now, as I stand before you, you reject my offer of eternal life."
The atheist managed to gasp out an answer between paroxyms of maniacal giggling. "There was no way to discern out of all the teachings which was the correct one. There are a myriad of forms of Christianity. And before Christianity there were others; Judaism and Hinduism, just to say a few. And eternal life. Will I not endure unspeakable suffering in Hell for all time?"
"I cannot argue that your points are valid. But, you could have chosen any path and found salvation." was the Lord's rebuttal. "Even now, as I stand before you, you know without any doubt that I exist. You still have time to ask for my forgiveness. But your derisive laughter says that this will not come to pass. My child I love you. Why do you still deny me."
One last utterance danced through his smiling lips as his eyes began to glaze. "For an omniscient being, you sure ask a lot of questions."
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I stared at the glowing being before me, pondering his question… and then snorted. “For a so-called omnipotent being, you’re dense.”
‘God’ tensed. “What?”
I snorted again, crossing my arms. “Your ‘teachings’? Out of all the things to ask an atheist, that’s what you nitpick?” I rolled my eyes. “So not the fact that most of your ‘followers’ are nutcases? Or horrible people who proclaim that you are against a person being gay or a woman taking power? Or maybe the fact that there are good people out there, who pray and pray for a miracle, only to lose *everything*, while bad people get whatever they want? Or maybe it’s the fact that most of your ‘followers’ don’t follow your teachings anyways, but still have a good life?” I glared at him. “I have a lot of reasons not to believe in you or your ‘teachings’. And even now I don’t. I’ll bet you’re nothing more than an illusion in my mind.”
“I know it seems harsh-”
“‘Harsh’?” I laughed, my voice devoid of any humour. “How about the fact that I lost my parents to a mugger, who still hasn’t been caught? Despite that I prayed every day, for five *years*? Or that my boyfriend got into a car accident, survived, but got amnesia? He *still* can’t remember me, or the last four years!” I glared hard. “How can I believe in the teachings of someone, who keeps letting horrible things happen to those just trying to get by?! What gives **you** the right to take my parents from me?! What gives ***you*** the right to take my first and only love from me?! What did I *ever* do to make you want to take **everything** from me?!?!”
I turned away, hugging myself as tears fell. “How can I follow the teachings of a being who claims to be good, yet is so cold…?”
I got no response from ‘God’ and just laughed. “Besides, it’s just not possible for an entire *solar system* to be created in a *week*, not counting the rest of the universe? It’s not possible to actually split a sea in half, or flood the entire world without evidence being left behind. And what about the dinosaurs? Can you explain their fossils? Or that the oldest rocks in the solar system are 4.6 billion years old, the oldest on Earth being 4.4?” I glared at his shining form, tears streaming down my face. “So, do you have answers? Or am I too much of an ‘ant’ for you to bother with anymore?”
I stared at him, waiting for a response, before huffing and walking off. “Screw you. I don’t need you to answer. You’re not real. But since I’m a ghost now, excuse me while I go find my parents who *you* murdered.”
With that, I left him behind, walking into the clouds. He wasn’t worth my time… ‘God’ wasn’t worth anyone’s time…
Because he wasn’t real.
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[WP] As you die an atheist, God stands before you, and asks why you didn’t adhere to his teachings. What do you say?
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As an atheist lay dying, God came to stand before him. With a great sadness lying beneath his words, He asked, "Why didn't you adhere to my teachings? Even now, as I stand before you, you reject my offer of eternal life."
The atheist managed to gasp out an answer between paroxyms of maniacal giggling. "There was no way to discern out of all the teachings which was the correct one. There are a myriad of forms of Christianity. And before Christianity there were others; Judaism and Hinduism, just to say a few. And eternal life. Will I not endure unspeakable suffering in Hell for all time?"
"I cannot argue that your points are valid. But, you could have chosen any path and found salvation." was the Lord's rebuttal. "Even now, as I stand before you, you know without any doubt that I exist. You still have time to ask for my forgiveness. But your derisive laughter says that this will not come to pass. My child I love you. Why do you still deny me."
One last utterance danced through his smiling lips as his eyes began to glaze. "For an omniscient being, you sure ask a lot of questions."
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*Bronyprime, my son, your apostasy saddens me. You had my books right there, yet you rejected my teachings. Why? What have I done that was so horrible that you turned away from me?*
At first, I didn't hear where the voice was coming from. It seemed to come from everywhere at once, and I was in pitch black darkness. The voice finally coalesced into a source, and a light emerged from the darkness.
"I honestly have no idea who you are. What books are you talking about?"
The light grew brighter at that point, and then the surrounding blackness disappeared as a peaceful meadow took its place. Bright flowers for miles, with some mountains further in the distance. A cool spring breeze blew by, and the bright point of light took a glowing humanoid form. No face or other features, yet.
*I am thy lord God, creator of all, and you have come before me because I want to understand you, to give you the chance to repent and come with me to Heaven.*
The voice seemed to come from that form, but I still mostly heard it in my head.
"I figured you were a god, but which one? There are literally thousands of gods worshipped at one point or another, each with his or her own preferred writings, and none of them with any shred of evidence that there is any validity to any of them. I don't have anything to repent over."
*My teachings are in my holy book. There is no god but me, and those who claim to worship other gods do so in folly. I am the Alpha, the Omega, the beginning and the end. I am the god that Abraham himself worshipped, and his offspring, and their offspring, so on and so forth to become my chosen people. I gave my teachings to my favored prophets, so that they could spread my word. You rejected these words, and I want to know why you would damn your soul so willingly.*
"If you are that god, then I refuse to worship you. You ask a father to kill his child as a sign of faith. If the writings done in your name are even 1% accurate, then you are a monster deserving of the deepest pits of your own hell. You give us free will, and then punish us for using that free will when you don't like the outcome. You play with our minds and hearts. If Exodus is to be believed, then what you did to the pharaoh is inexcusable! Moses demanded that he let the Hebrews go, and he agreed! On the first request, he agreed! You, in your 'infinite wisdom,' hardened the pharaoh's heart and changed his mind. In response to your own meddling, you caused a plague upon Egypt. Moses asked again for the freedom of the Hebrews, the pharaoh agreed to release them, and again you hardened his heart. You did this 10 times! You are shameful, vile, and a disgrace to what it means to be a god! Your writings specifically endorse slavery! You and your ass-backwards morality think it is OK to own people as property. Why anybody would worship you is beyond my understanding. You want me to repent to you?!? YOU NEED TO REPENT TO US!" I didn't realize I had been approaching him until I was face to face. Well, face to glow. "Maybe your writings would have been taken seriously if they were actually relevant or important. Maybe provide information that doesn't look like it was already the belief system of ancient sheep-herders. Give us *something* we could actually point to to validate you and your teachings as valid!"
I took a deep breath and stepped back.
"My actions in life are far superior to your teachings. People are people and not property. Women and men should not live in the inequality that your books promote. Just about the only overlap between us is that I did what I could to treat people with kindness and respect, help others when possible, and be a person that my kids respected. Joke's on you, though. Those basic tenets are part of just about every religion. You don't get to claim them for yourself. So, you and your teachings are 100% worthy of every rejection they get. You wanted to know why I rejected you? Look in a mirror and ask again."
Without waiting for a reply, I turn my back on the glowing form and walk away. I'm not sure where I was going, but I knew where I didn't want to be.
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[WP] “He sang.” Whimpered the man, tears streaming down his face as he huddled in the corner of the room. “He sang and the words ripped the world apart.”
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"He sang...", the man whimpered, huddling in the corner of the dark room with tears streaming down his face.
"He sang...and the words ripped the world apart", he eloquently summed up the situation.
One could only wonder what managed to reduce a grown man to a sobbing mess as he continued his teary breakdown, hiding his face behind his hands as it went redder by each uncontrollable sob.
On the opposite of the corner sat a glowing monitor. The screen froze to a still image, paused swiftly by the man as soon as he saw it, presumably of whatever had broke the man to such a humiliating mess.
What could be depicted in that still image?
A picture bearing an imagination so awful it conjurs up the the most terrorizing and mind-numbing horror? A great disturbing sight no sane man could ever hope to recover from?
No, it was not the image. "He sang", he said. Was it a horrifying sound of a scream which could only come from a living nightmare? Was it a cursed lullaby, once heard it incites madness to those who hear it? No...such thing could only ever exist on the realm of fiction.
Maybe it was both, both the image and the sound, combination of both stimulants to his senses that pushed him to his breaking point? At which point, where he had lost, there was nothing else to do but to accept the punishment of whatever it was that was depicted on the screen...
Slowly the man crawled back to his computer monitor, raising his trembling hand to the mouse as the cursor slowly being dragged to the close button. He must close it, he thought...
But then he stopped, he stared at the still image, and he contemplated...
Going back to the question "what could be depicted in that still image?", the answer was it was only a man. A man whom by any means was...normal. Quite out of fashion one might say, but then again he was known by such look.
The man started to giggle before breaking down to maniacal laughter, in contrast to his previous outburst of tears. He had accepted it, the punishment, for the out-of-fashion man had shown himself before him. He must continue, whether willingly or unwillingly, he must continue to watch him. That is the rule and he knew it.
The cursor moved again, pressing the button on the middle of the screen, resuming the video as the man in the image began to move again as he sang and danced to the song in the background. He could only appreciate the man at that point.
After all, the man would never give you up nor will he let you down. He would never run around, nor will he desert you.
r/HangryWritey
Edit: added a sentence
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"They said words held power, oh how very right they were. Yet how so very wrong they too would see they were.
It had all started with that damned rock, it's ancient granite surface marked by time, what remained covered in deep scratchy words. Words of power we would later come to realize. Words that would shake the earth.
At first we believed this power without limit, in time we would learn the truths of this first lie. The words were incomplete, thier syllables holding power beyond the comprehension of man, but alone they where fallible. That was to be the second truth, the words were made to be spoken, made to be sung, together made to be said. We in time came to fear speaking our word, so great was thier power some of our number would even refuse to speak at all lest the word slip free.
The third truth we found had been the most crippling of all, the words were not made for the lips of man. Elloise in our travels uncovered a second stone, one that pointed to the heavens, one that spoke of the great lie. With haste we - the holders of the words - made great haste to aquire a vessel capable of piercing the stars, of travelling to far systems and distant worlds.
It was upon this great journey we would discover the fourth and fifth truths. The words would bring eachother together, as we charted our couse across the stars - we who would in time become the great lie - found our path altered, the power we held being pulled ever closer to completion, to the other refuges of the Words. Just as this fourth truth laid itself bare, so too in time would we discover the fifth and final truth.
There are things out there older and darker than even the greatest evils of man kind. Things of teeth and claws and impossible, paradoxical form. Things that would seek to take our words, would silence the song of humanity. We tried to fight them, we used the words and yet, one by one we were consumed by that umbral tide, falling one by one. Till only two remained. Myself and Aiden. And the great Lie made itself clear. I lent my word to Aiden.
He sang- He sang and the words ripped the world apart... And it- it was beautiful.
If you have found this, then you too have found the word. Run. Run and never turn back, let this be the last time this word brings ruin to the universe... The last time they find the Words"
I watched that recording with horror, unable to take my eyes off of the figure. His form torn to shreds, thick black blood dribbling between the fingers of an ancient negative pressure suit. I'm a bloody salvager, I thought I'd struck gold with when I found it, a single data disk floating in a sealed cabin anchored to a chunk of rock the size of texas. A graveyard of ancient structures older still that the man I had just heard the last will and testament of.
Fear imediatly gripped me as the figure slumped to the ground and the recording came to an end. Hope. A word that should bring joy, one that felt like lead in my mind. I held Hope. And then I saw it, that thing from the corner of my eye, all shadows and gore and- and. Then it pounced.
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[WP] You’re a therapist for heroes. Villains are always going after you for information or to get rid of a heroes help, only to discover exactly why that’s a bad idea.
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Toxin hid his presence well. Only the most observant of people would be able to find him. He needed to be stealthy for this one. He was sure she was under observation, and protection. Too many heroes relied on Dr. Helen Aberanth for her not to have a near constant protection detail.
What initially worried him was how thin it was was. It had been child's play to gain access to her home, and was even easer to hide there. The woman herself seemed completely oblivious to any danger. Either was was confident in some hidden defender, or he was just that skilled. He chose to believe the latter.
The therapist was casually working in a small, well kept vegetable garden, humming along to music coming through her earphones. In other words, she was ripe for the taking. And then the heroes and their deepest secrets would be his.
He conjured a small amount of paralysis poison and shaped it into a needle. She would think it was just a mosquito until her entire body locked up. He let it fly towards the back of her exposed neck.
The dart hit something. Something that was not the woman. Rather, it seemed more like an invisible wall. Dr. Aberanth kept working, seemingly oblivious to the attack. Toxin tried again, opting for more poison, and putting more power into it.
"You know that's not going to work." Dr. Aberanth said suddenly.
Toxin faltered. Had she seen him? Maybe a result of whatever had stopped his attack? He looked around to make sure she was not talking to someone else. There was nobody else that he could see.
She stood and moved towards a small table with a glass of water on it that she drank deeply from.
"You might as well come out." She said. "I know you're there, Mr. Nevin."
Toxin's blood ran cold. How had she known his name? He kept it just as well protected as a hero would. She was no super, at least as far as he knew. So how?
He would find that out when she was in his grasp. He stood, emerging from the bushes. She seemed completely at ease, and sat in a small lawn chair that faced him.
"You know, normally when someone wants an appointment, they call my secretary." She said. "And home visits are not something I do."
"I'm not here for a shrink." Toxin said. "I'm here for you. For those secrets you've got locked in that pretty little head of yours. And now I don't have to kidnap you to get them."
"I see. And why would you want those secrets?"
"To vanquish my enemies. To know where best to strike and kill them when they're weakest."
She nodded slightly. "I see. And why would you feel the need to do that?"
"Because I..." Why did he want to kill heroes? He had never thought about that before. Did he really like killing people? Maybe it was just a result of his powers? After all, creating and controlling poisons was as close to a classic villain power as one could get. It had simply been a logical thing to do. "I...don't really..." A thought came to his mind. "Stop that, woman! I'm not here for a therapy session! From now on, you'll only talk when I ask you a question, got it?"
He emphasized his threat by creating a large ball of poison, which he shaped into a wicked curved blade. It hovered slowly closer to her, a few drops of green liquid oozing off it every now and then.
"A standard threat, aiming to gain control of a situation and exert control over others. Can you tell me why you feel the need to--"
"Shut up! I told you to be quiet!" He moved the toxic knife closer. "You will answer my questions, or you will die, understood?"
She sighed heavily. "I see. Perhaps it's the setting. My office is much better for these meetings. But I can see you won't be talking now. Perhaps later. In the meantime, I would rather not use violence, but..."
Her eyes began to glow with a pale blue light. Before he could register what he was seeing, Toxin felt a sharp headache form. It built up quickly, so quickly that soon felt like knives jabbing into his mind. He clutched his head, fell to his knees and screaming in pain.
Dr. Aberanth folded her arms in front of her. The door to her house opened on its own and several long bars of metal shot out. They wrapped around Toxin's writs and then jerked them roughly behind his back, bending and twisting to for two inch thick handcuffs. More bard curled into loops and shoved themselves into the ground around his feet, effectively pinning him tot he ground.
*Just to make you aware, I do offer my services to the local prison*. The voice radiated through his mind. It was not his though. It was hers. *Should you want to talk properly there. Perhaps discuss where your need for violence originates from? In the meantime, please do make yourself comfortable until the police arrive.*
With that, Dr. Aberanth stood and calmly walked into the house.
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The Good Doctor
“Are you comfortable ‘Decay’? Mr Decay? Or would you rather Thomas Hall?” asked a soft, gentle voice.
The costumed man named Decay squinted at the light above him, trying to regain focus. He wasn’t sure when he lost consciousness, or how the petite therapist gained control of the situation. He struggled and found himself restrained and gagged. Panic started to rise in him.
“Shh, shhh.” a voice cooed at him. It was both soothing and disturbing, made more so as she came into view. The woman, who he knew as Dr. Fatiha Mundi loomed over him, stroking the sides of his now unmasked face.
“Calm yourself Mr. Hall. It will be over soon. Not many of you villain types come to bother me anymore, but I guess you are part of a new crop, as they say, of super powered criminals.” lectured Dr. Mundi, adjusting her fancy reading glasses. “And perhaps another example must be made.”
Decay struggled against the restraints, grasping mentally for his power to accelerate entropy in objects, and found freedom and power missing. His panic escalated.
“Oh, you can’t use that nice little ability you have there. I removed it.” Thomas’ eyes grew wide as she raised a pair of forceps holding a wrinkled bit of bloody grey flesh. “This bit is part of your cerebellum, in folks with abilities, it grows exceptionally large.”
Doctor Mundi carefully organized something metal out of Decay’s sight. He could hear the soft “clink” and “clack” of instruments nearby. The doctor then presented a syringe.
“There are two places actually, that become more developed, in the frontal lobe and the cerebellum. You see, powers, regardless of source, need your mind to function, like the body’s control stick!” The Doctor broke into an easy stride of teaching, obviously very interested in her topic.
“So if I remove that bit of brain matter, like I did with you, you lose the ability to consciously control your powers.”
A warm, wet feeling spread across Thomas Hall’s legs as he listened. He became aware of a dull ache in his neck and discovered that his head was unable to turn or move meaningfully. Tears began to stream across his face.
“This, “ the woman waved a syringe, “ is a type of narcoanalysis sedative. People like to call it ‘truth serum’ but really, it just makes you sleepy and pliant. Also, it will help calm you down.” The doctor unceremoniously injected Decay. A leaden feeling washed over the super villain.
“I understand that you lead the ‘Primal Forces’, can you verify that?” Fatiha removed the gag over Decay’s face.
“Yes.” Decay responded.
“Thank you Mr. Hall. Also, please note your compliance will help prevent the need for further surgery. How many members are in your ‘Primal Forces’?”
“Five.”
“Does that include yourself?”
“Yes.”
“Do any others know you are here or of your mission?”
“Yes.”
“Who? I will need to schedule some appointments.”
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[WP] You're rather annoyed that your history teacher gave you a D on your essay about Mesopotamia. Not just because you're sure she doesn't like you, but also because - as an ancient being trying to adapt to modern society - YOU WERE THERE.
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"Teach, this is absurd. You may not know this, but I'm actually quite the expert on mesopotamia, in addition to a slew of other ancient cultures. In fact, you could almost say I lived there."
As soon as you say this, however, your teacher gently restacks the new assignments she's grading and looks at you from over the rim of her reading glasses. She seems understanding, yet her gaze at you is still somewhat petrifying; that's when you notice it. A look you've only ever seen in the mirror, but somehow even older. For a moment you could swear a strange pattern moving around her iris.
"I'm certain you're quite passionate," she responds, "but it's not enough to know the worlds secrets." She snatches your essay from out of your hands while you're still stunned and begins using her grading pen as a pointer. "First of all there's your formatting, it's all wrong. Your font size is too big, and it's even worse you used Comic Sans." A nervous chuckle escapes, but you swallow it back down. "You also forgot a title, put two spaces between every word, and didn't site you're sources. Oh and your grammar is atrocious; well, i suppose if we were writing old English it'd be passable but it is 600 years too late for that."
Your essay is passed back and you look from the essay and back to her, trying to choke out your surprise. "I...you...wait, there's no way. I've... I've never found-" but your teacher cuts you off.
"Get with the times. If you don't, they'll find us both. Strive for excellence and live in the moment. I'll give you a brief extension, but i want your edited and revised draft in by midnight or your grade stays." At a wave of your teacher's finger the classroom door opens, a simple trick but one you've had trouble performing the past few decades. "I'll see you in class Thursday. Don't be late"
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There was a white line around the room. You know those things they put on the walls. I didn’t know what they were for.
She whipped her hands around. Her mouth moved and flapped as well. I could see her flushed cheeks and amazing colour from it. She was soaking something up.
I thought about the many ways I could enjoy the bags that would form under her eyes if she was interrupted from the rapture of her receipt of attention; she was sure to think were bouts of admiration. Of course she did think that because she only payed attention to the front row. And of course, they were all sucked ups to help the lie.
The rooms hotter I thought. The rooms hotter and I’ve got stuff to do.
She needed them to lie to herself.
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[WP] You're rather annoyed that your history teacher gave you a D on your essay about Mesopotamia. Not just because you're sure she doesn't like you, but also because - as an ancient being trying to adapt to modern society - YOU WERE THERE.
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This was all done on my phone and in a hurry on lunch break. Not great but I had fun. Hope you enjoy it.
This was the last straw. I had gone through thousands of years. I had built empires, toppled kingdoms, erected great wonders and watched gods fall. I had met, loved, and taught great leaders, artists, craftsmen, philosophers and warriors. I had seen every inch of this world, the horrors in the abyssal depths that no human language can convey, great cavernous openings miles below the Earth's crust and the strange beings from above that had some unknown interest in Earth.
And I remembered it all. Every great and terrible second. Every instant of victory and loss. Every intimate moment with every lover and every death. Every child ever raised and every one taken from me. Every language, skill, craft and arkane ability I'd ever learned. The name of every demon I'd ever heard and the secrets of every God still alive. I knew the location of the fabled Garden of Eden and the location of the last Dragons. I knew where the scheming Nephilim made their nests and where the first Vampire was imprisoned.
I knew things that would rend the mortal mind to pieces and had shared a few with a poor man by the name of Lovecraft. I had created wonders that would be seen as magic by the modern world. I knew sciences that humanity had yet to even speculate about and I knew languages no human tongue could ever replicate. I had seen Atlantis rise and retreat beneath the waves before the Arctic froze over it. I was there when the first laws were written and I saw the first time someone learned they could grow crops.
All of that, and this woman. This arrogant, ignorant, petulant, BITCH gave me a D. Even went so far as to all but mock my so called "historical fanfiction" in front of dozens of my fellow students. Pinned it to the wall as an example of what NOT to do. Only giving me a D for "creativity". This little project to sate my curiosity about what the mortals knew of my ancient home had just become something more.
If this was the opinion of the "experts" of the day, if this was the sum total knowledge of humanity in regards to the past, then it was time to educate them. Starting with this... "teacher". Perhaps she should learn the lessons that Lovecraft did, and spend a few eternities with the eldritch beings tearing at her mind.
Or perhaps, it is time to once again rule. To awaken some of the elder gods and begin to collect on old debts. To rouse my followers and begin shuffling the pieces around the board. Yes... I think that's a better route. I am a... benevolent leader after all.
I rose from my seat before turning and smiling at the teacher. "I should thank you Mrs. Wright. You've single handedly ushered in a new Era in human history. Within 24 hours every nation on earth will be brought to heel. I, and my fictitious allies, will take our rightful place and correct the course of humanity once again. This time I'm thinking we might take new worlds to add to our domain. Anyway, see you soon."
And with that, in a flash of purple light and the screams of a trillion damned souls I vanished, to begin my plan.
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There was a white line around the room. You know those things they put on the walls. I didn’t know what they were for.
She whipped her hands around. Her mouth moved and flapped as well. I could see her flushed cheeks and amazing colour from it. She was soaking something up.
I thought about the many ways I could enjoy the bags that would form under her eyes if she was interrupted from the rapture of her receipt of attention; she was sure to think were bouts of admiration. Of course she did think that because she only payed attention to the front row. And of course, they were all sucked ups to help the lie.
The rooms hotter I thought. The rooms hotter and I’ve got stuff to do.
She needed them to lie to herself.
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