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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.	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.	The bunker was dark, except for one lamp in the corner, shining its false sunlight on the figure of a woman, hunched over a book. One of many books, as a matter of fact. The bunker was stuffed to the gills with them, journal after diary slotted neatly into the shelves inlaid all around the room. The woman gave a heavy sigh and clamped the book shut once more, then returned it to its place among the library. She ran a hand through mousy brown hair, and frowned at the greasy texture. She had meant to shower last night, she recalled. But when she checked her watch, it was clear that ship had sailed, as it was now 7:30, half an hour until her college course on world history. She stood from the armchair, and quickly climbed the ladder, mumbling to herself about "biased teachers" and "distrustful pricks". She really hated her world history class, you see. The teacher, Mr. Jenson, had been rating all of her essays as C's and D's for weeks. Always claimed some nonsense about "lack of any proper sources" despite the fact all this information had come directly from her! Take the essay on Mesopotamian farming. She'd referenced her journals, cited the museum where she'd donated them after copying the text over to fresh books, and he still insisted she was wrong! That "one source wasn't enough" or some drivel. She would go mad over this one day, she swore. He'd label a quiz or a test too low, and she'd just snap. Gut him like a fish right then and there. Maybe she'd be lucky enough to get the death sentence instead of a life sentence, she chuckled humorlessly. No, shs probably wouldn't kill him. Being born again was agonizingly painful, she recalled, and learning how to walk and talk again was even worse. This body was still young after all, only 23. She'd only had recollection of her past lives for around 5 years, though those memories were murky at best, and faint at worst. She slammed the heavy metal lid back down over the entrance to the bunker, then walked into the place she called home. It was small, only one floor, and maybe two bedrooms at most. If you were charitable enough to call the closet she used as an office a bedroom. Most days, she wasn't. She had a rather short temper in this life. One of the few gifts she received from this body's mother, she recalled. That woman was an absolute twat, and revelled in it. The woman grabbed her keys, purse, and phone(dead. She should've plugged it in when she got home last night.), then left the house once more, locking it up behind her, then climbing into her car to drive to the college. On the drive, she idly hoped he wouldn't show up today. Perhaps luck was on her side, and she'd have a bit more time without his grating, drawling lectures. Unfortunately for her, he was there when she arrived, and she was promptly given the first page of a pop quiz. This man, she grumbled to herself as she walked to her desk, would be lucky to survive the night.
[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.	“I’m afraid I don’t understand,” I told my teacher calmly, uncaring of the disruption I was causing in the classroom. “Was my essay badly written? Was there a problem with my citations? What exactly did I do wrong enough to warrant a D?” Normally, I strove for politeness. But it was simply unacceptable for any educator to mark down work for having a different opinion - and, having triple checked every source I’d put down and backed up every assumption written, I knew it wasn’t an issue with the quality of the paper. I had taken such pains to make sure I didn’t use any of my own knowledge. It was difficult to write purely as a student of the time and not as someone who had been born and raised in Mesopotamia - and I would be dammed if this ignorant and opinionated dog would cast such aspersions upon my work. The teacher glared daggers at me. “You dismissed out of hand the translation of the Historian Lawrence and called Ishtar-Sin a chicken!” I flipped neatly to the appendix and held up a photograph of a tablet. “As you can see here, we have the poem of Ishtar-Sin. The circled cuneiform is what Historian Lawrence translated as “falcon”. However, if you refer to my next page...” I quickly flipped the page over “you can see that this is a recipe, rescued from the museum of Iraq and currently on display in the Giza Museum until it can be returned. Here you can see that the same cuneiform is used. Although chicken was not as ubiquitous as it is in modern meals, I assure you it was far more common than eating falcons. “Furthermore, from Lawrence‘s own translation you can see that he wrote of ‘the falcon’s strut’ - when has one ever spoken of a falcon strutting? A falcon soars, it circles, it glides and it dives. Its domain is the sky. It is the rooster who boastfully struts upon the ground. “Additionally, the poem references the battle of Nineveh - which was a crushing defeat for Ishtar-sin (I have included a reference here to the work of Abdelrahman Kanoo, a historian operating in Syria) and, with all these factors considered, I do not believe I am wrong to say that this poem, rather than lauding Ishtar-sin, was a piece that was written to mercilessly mock a man who was pampered from birth and fancied himself a general but ran from his first battle and showed no repentance for his incompetence.” I wondered, for a moment, if the teacher was about to burst a blood vessel. “How dare you belittle the work of acknowledged historians?” came the frothing reply. “How unbelievably arrogant to think you know better!” I smiled at that. “History is a pack of lies about events that never happened told by people who weren’t there.” I quoted. “It’s literally the opening page of the textbook you assigned. You told us to question our sources. Their motivations. Their qualifications. Having done so - why am I being punished for following your instructions?” The ignorant dog remained silent at that. I couldn’t help but be satisfied. After all, it reminded me greatly of the look on Ishtar-Sin’s face when he heard the poem I, the woman he had sworn to marry, wrote about him...	"A "D"?". I ask incredulously, catching Ms Evers' attention, the words gushing forward reflexively and without regard for any of these sheep beside me. "How is it that I, Josephus Son of Zthon, could possibly receive anything but the highest of praise. An explanation shalt be offered with haste" "AD? Well, not yet. We are still in B.C. Slow your horses" she chuckled, insolently. The sheep join her in a chorus of laughter. They will be sheered some day. "Maybe if you learned the difference you would see your performance improve Jospheus." Ms. Evers' attack continues, the laughter swells. I must quietly gather internally to mount a response in accord to her barbs. These mortals require care most delicate. Ponder I must. She turned her countenance elsewhere, doling papers to the rest of the column of sheep. Make haste Josephus Son of Zthon your pane to retort is lessening. Foresooth, I have it....however the matriarch is on to the next column and the cacophony of laughter has abated. Alas my retort shalt be differed. I must shore up my defenses to gird for future attacks. I watch as The Matriarch meets out the rest of the papers to the sheep. My neighbor in the column to mine right recieves her paper. There doesn't appear to be as many markings on her sheeth. 'Fire haired child.", I call out "Fire haired child", she mustn't have heard me. "Jo, I told you at least 12 times that I have name and it's not fire haired child." The devils spawn replied. "Demon seed. Tell Josephus the marking the Matriarch placed on your work. Tell it true," Looking over her paper she doesn't even turn towards to me answer, "I'm not telling you anything until you call me by my name Jo." Damned her. What is this soulless ones name...Alvin? Alvez, Aviary...definitely an A name...A verily. Thats it! "Averily. Tell Josephus the marking the Matriarch placed on your work. Tell it true," "Oh God you are weird. My name is Avery not "A verily" but Uh yeah I got a B plus." The insufferable know it all blurts out in gleeful mockery. How DARE SHE. For it is I who have seen, with mine own eyes, empires both built and then crumbled into chaff, to be blown away in the turbulent gales of time. It is I who have watched the world take shape in front of me. When Pompeii was a bustling city I was there to sell them their wares. For it is I who have lived in cities whose names have nary been uttered and has since washed from the circle of this world. When the first Atreyu crossed the plains of Northern Africa, i traced them by their footprints in the sand. "Madame Evers. Verily I ask for your most solemn forgiveness!" "Oh christ", Ms. Evers barely whispers. "What now Mr. Zthon?", she asks exasperadetly, this she shalt pay for. She is naught even 2 score but i was there when Abraham was offering Isa.....wait what did she call me? Mr. Zthon? "Foresooth, my ears did hear that thou hath not learned of my surname. Either that or thou hath willingly ignored the multitude of requests to harken unto them. For before the grains of sands were innumerable, there I stood. For before the fullness of the heavens were spilled into the darkness of the night sky, there I was. For before the waters...." The wench cuts in, "I'm going to have to stop you there, Mr. Zthon for, I have a class to teach, "verily." Turning to walk forward. SHE MOCKS ME??!!! ME? She must have forgotten, I will have to remind her of her place, "I AM HE THAT HATH UNDERSTOOD THE WORKINGS OF THE WORLD WHEN ISAAC NEWTON SUCKLED AT HIS MOTHER. IT IS I THAT UNLOCKED THE MYSTERIES OF THE DEEP. I WAS ON THE SHORES...." "Shores of the water where this "Jesus" was baptized...yes yes we heard this before Mr. Zthon. Anyway class, now we are moving into ancient Greece....the Greeks at this time were a collection of city states... "It's Mr. Son of Zthon." I say definatly, although some may say it sounded sheepish. Sheepish is the language this task master will listen to. "What was that Josephus?", Ms. Evers responds in sheepish tones, although some may say it sounded annoyed. "My surname is Son of Zthon." The sheep begin to bleet with laughter again..... I hate being immortal.
[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.	“Professor Larkin!” I exclaimed as I walked into her small university office. The professor was busy submitting grades on her old computer. When I burst into the room, she gave me an exasperated look. “Good afternoon, Ankisu. I believe you want to discuss a possible regrade?” “Yes professor, I do not think the topics that I have brought up in my essay warrant anything lower than a C.” The professor lifted her glasses up and placed both of her hands to her temples, clearly stressed. “I’m sorry, Ankisu, I cannot give points for content that is fictitious. My TAs and I have discussed your rhetoric before as well, and we have given you full points on grammar and creativity, but it does not erase the fact that you tried to pass off the Babylonian mythos as real. We are both aware that the essay prompt was to explain the common Mesopotamian lifestyle, yes?” “Yes, professor! By the gods, yes!” I promptly lifted the necklace I currently wore. The relic that hung on it’s golden chain was my hand-carved depiction of my mother, Shamhat. “I swear on my mother that I’ve written the truth!” The professor persisted, “You’ve written your essay from the perspective of a Babylonian, which I understand. However, you then brought Ishtar into your depiction. Why did you introduce something extraordinary, if not extraneous, into your description of a ‘normal’ day in Babylon?” “I wanted to share with you the moment she visited our town! Ishtar was having a tantrum because of another failed relationship. If describing someone’s actions to cope from a break up isn’t normal, then what is?” The professor sighed, then paused to gather her thoughts. “Ankisu, I am sorry. You —and your late mother as well— I know your family is deeply religious, but… this essay reads more like a religious text, rather than an unbiased description. The essay meeds to be rooted in reality, that’s all.” “It is real! Please understand, professor! This is as honest as can be!” “…What sources do you cite? You list none.” “Myself, professor.” “…..” “…..?” “Earthquakes are caused by fault ruptures, yet you say that Ishtar caused the one in your story?” “Yes.” The professor must have seen how honest my pleading eyes were, as she chose to stop prodding deeper into the matter. “Alright Ankisu. I’ll let this slide for now. You at least have accurately depicted the Mesopotamian architecture, society, and agriculture in your essay. It’s satisfactory. Thus, I shall bump up your grade to a C.” I shed a small tear of happiness, “Thank you, professor! You won’t regret this!” The professor gave a stern smile, and waved me goodbye as I left the room. Thank the gods, I was worried that Ishtar would do something gravely drastic if the professor kept labeling her actions as “not real” or “grossly exaggerated.” Perhaps me getting a C instead of a D would keep Ishtar just under her boiling point… or maybe she’d still snap anyways. In any case, I tried my best.	immortals , being as old as time , being who lived a century or more , nobody knows when an immortal is created or how , nor how many there are , and personally the fact that thier location is also unknown is a good thing I was alive for a long time , watched humanity developed , and had the misfortune to see how they treat our kind , its a different group each time but always the same hate in thier eyes , so i disappeared, cycled identities, lived in remote towns , had unimportant jobs , never let anyone in , but who can ever resist the temptation of watching history unfold in fort of them? So here i am in New York , one of the most central city in this era , teaching history , it should have been a safe job , until i met this kid , no , he's much older , he's like me, its so painfully obvious, i want to punch his arrogant smug face , is he trying to expose himself? Does he want to burn at a stake?? On second, thought doing experiments on him is more fit to this era , horrible non the less... the last straw broke when i gave a test on mesopotamia and he wrote his memories as essay , which means he's older then me , but i still decided to talk to him , its time this idiot learn his not invincible ,
[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.	Tudya was pissed. Positively pissed. It took effort to be so pissed early in the morning. But Tudya was a workaholic, and he worked as hard on his essays as he did on honing his emotions. Right now, his anger had an edge to slice the devil in half. When Tudya got his essay back and saw the D on it, he stood up and looked at his teacher, miss Naeger, with a barely concealed rage. "I am Tudya, king of Assyria, I ruled the jewel between two rivers for a century. It is I, who modernized trading by opening a trading post on the Levant with Ibrium. It is I, who discovered the secret of immortality, deep in the university, and kept it hidden. I died, replaced by Adamu and thirteen other leaders, all of which looked like me. It is I, as Ushpia, who dedicated the temples to Ashur. It is I, as Ilu-Shuma, who raided the southern city states and established dominance over Mesopotamia. "Alas, this proved to be the worm in the fruit. By my raids, I encouraged Sumuabum the dog to found Babylonia, pest of the East. I knew it would cause problems, but the city started as weak and pitiful, I had better to do with immediate neighboring threats like Isin and Larsa. "And came Hammurabi. He did not raid. He conquered. He saw beyond the size of a city-state, and envisioned a state, grander and greater than any political power we could have imagined. He turned Babylon into the hulking monstrosity I still fear in my nightmares. Hammurabi created an empire, he also created laws. "I stopped his advance and fought the idiot king toe to toe. Alas, betrayal came from inside. The next king wasn't me, but Shamshi-Adad, who knew my secret and was disappointed with how little I managed. If only he knew. He wanted to imitate Hammurabi and conquered, until his idol came for him. Assyria became a vassal to Babylon. "I left the city, no more a king, no more a citizen, but a vagrant, a philosopher. I, with my fifteen names, fell into the oblivion of history, a footnore overshadowed by a man dead for millennia. "I witnessed Amorites and Babylonians being ousted from their homelands. I followed the journey of the Hittites from minor Asia to Mesopotamia. I saw the birth of the second Babylonian empire and fell in love with the great Ashurbarnipal who transferred the seat of power back to Babylonia, centuries after Hammurabi had done so himself. Ashurbarnipal. Remember his name, he created the mightiest empire of them all, he created the first organized library. "Do you even know what it means? He organized knowledge. He taught the world how to share it; make it available. He planted the seed long ago so you could be a teacher today. If it wasn't for him, the world wars would have been fought by two neighboring cities with arrows and swords. He made you, he made your existence possible. I was his friend, his lover, I have seen him rise and mourned his fall. And you dare to tell me I invented a story to have a good grade?" The pictures danced before Tudya, the towers of Ibrium where the rulers sat, overlooking and endless vista of greenery. Babylon, bustling city of scholars, with the overcrowded streets and the farms beyond the city gates. He remembered how he walked along the Euphrates, sinking his toes in the cool river on a hot evening and observing sun going down, with no other light but the moon and stars coming to announce the night. So many stories to tell... "Mister Tudya. Mister Tudya!" Tudya was still standing in front of miss Naeger, copy in hand. He had yet to open his mouth and talk. "Do you have anything to say?" "No, miss Naeger." "You should do better next time and not invent half of history." "Yes, miss Naeger." He sat back down, as the teacher kept handing the essays to other pupils. Tudya cursed the day he had decided that the least a king like him could do was to earn a modern high school diploma.	immortals , being as old as time , being who lived a century or more , nobody knows when an immortal is created or how , nor how many there are , and personally the fact that thier location is also unknown is a good thing I was alive for a long time , watched humanity developed , and had the misfortune to see how they treat our kind , its a different group each time but always the same hate in thier eyes , so i disappeared, cycled identities, lived in remote towns , had unimportant jobs , never let anyone in , but who can ever resist the temptation of watching history unfold in fort of them? So here i am in New York , one of the most central city in this era , teaching history , it should have been a safe job , until i met this kid , no , he's much older , he's like me, its so painfully obvious, i want to punch his arrogant smug face , is he trying to expose himself? Does he want to burn at a stake?? On second, thought doing experiments on him is more fit to this era , horrible non the less... the last straw broke when i gave a test on mesopotamia and he wrote his memories as essay , which means he's older then me , but i still decided to talk to him , its time this idiot learn his not invincible ,
[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.	"And the goddess of light, she bestowed upon you an eidetic memory as well?" I gaped at Mrs Gray, utterly bewildered. She was behaving surprisingly nonchalant considering I had just informed her I was immortal and stabbed myself through the neck with a compass to prove it. I was hoping to have the old hag in hysterics and eventually shipped off to a padded room so Mr Green from class B would take over for the rest of the semester. "A what now?" I finally responded. "Eidetic memory. It means you can remember things in perfect detail." She responded, not even looking up from the papers she was marking. "Can you remember what you had for breakfast last week?" "Well no but..." "Then I don't see how I can trust anything you've written without sources." "What? BUT I WAS THERE!" I yelled, just about ready to flip her desk. "I saw it with my own eyes!" "And witness testimony is about one of the least reliable sources of evidence there is." She responded finally looking up. "False memories occur all the time, and only more frequently with age." "You...you're just biased because you hate me!" I threw the essay down onto her desk and was just about to storm out. "On the contrary, it seems you are the one who is biased." She picked up the essay I had thrown in front of her and cleared her throat reading aloud. "The honorable tribes residing on the east side of the Tigris river were known for their valiant warriors, fending off the dirty savages from the west." "So? It's true." I responded "Low lives the lot of them. My father said so, as did his father and-" "And I'm sure they probably thought the same thing about you." she interrupted. "History is more than just what happened. Equally important is why. Proper history is viewed through an objective lens. Because only by understanding the past can we hope to improve things for the future. Now with that in mind, if you'd like to learn from your past I'd be willing to allow you to write your essay again."	immortals , being as old as time , being who lived a century or more , nobody knows when an immortal is created or how , nor how many there are , and personally the fact that thier location is also unknown is a good thing I was alive for a long time , watched humanity developed , and had the misfortune to see how they treat our kind , its a different group each time but always the same hate in thier eyes , so i disappeared, cycled identities, lived in remote towns , had unimportant jobs , never let anyone in , but who can ever resist the temptation of watching history unfold in fort of them? So here i am in New York , one of the most central city in this era , teaching history , it should have been a safe job , until i met this kid , no , he's much older , he's like me, its so painfully obvious, i want to punch his arrogant smug face , is he trying to expose himself? Does he want to burn at a stake?? On second, thought doing experiments on him is more fit to this era , horrible non the less... the last straw broke when i gave a test on mesopotamia and he wrote his memories as essay , which means he's older then me , but i still decided to talk to him , its time this idiot learn his not invincible ,
[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.	_A D?? This deserves better than a D, Mrs Naurood!_ \- You can't go around pulling stuff out of thin air and calling it history, John! And as I've already said, See. Me. After. Class. _But they're not made up! It's right there in the books!_ Mrs. Naurood ignored me as she picked up her books and left the class. I'd been going on refresher courses every three years... And it's been hard enough for me to adapt to the decimal system and different conventions of weight and distance that used neither hex or decimal (pound? feet? Whose feet?), but this took ridiculous to a new level. I've been a historian as a cover for most of my life, and while I need the community credits for my new identity, arguing with a historian, worse, a historian who had been there and seen the stories change through time, was just the cherry on top. I sat with gnashed teeth through what seemed an eternity of a maths class, waiting to confront that upstart. She had Mesopotamian blood in her, clear as day, and she didn't know one ounce of where she'd come from. The nerve on her! I knocked on the door. A voice - Mrs. Naurood's - beckoned me enter. I'd run through a few scenarios in my mind, unleashing broadsides, asking for an explanation, demanding to see her history teacher credentials, but I didn't anticipate what came next. A hug. "John Smith! John. Smith. Finally you ran out of names." _"I don't quite follow"_ "Roger Tombs? Brian Babylon? Peter Palms?" I fell silent. How did she know? Mrs Naurood read the question. "You're 28. Always have been, always will be. Shaving a bit closer or having a grizzle doesn't make you younger or older. Changing names and moustaches and doing newsworthy stuff doesn't change the fact that this is a new age - with face recognition and instant image searches and supercomputers. Remembering history isn't half as important as keeping it safe. Keeping you safe." She knew! And she knew what the cuneiform in the textbook said too. Yet she chose to ignore it. "And if you want to remember history as it were, you should remember its players too." _"Are... Are you an immortal too?"_ "From the same blood sacrifice. I was under the girders and the blood dripped on me." We shared a moment of silence. "Remember this D. Don't stick your neck out, keep the truth to yourself but don't fight for it. Not yet. These guys, they lap up their cuneiforms selectively, they don't realise that propaganda has been with humanity since the very first tablet. They think of Hammurabi the terrible as a wise Saint. They write science fiction about cities with towers struck by their God for vanity. It's... Not worth it." I reflected on her words. "Look, if you wanna talk about the good old days, come over some time. I still make wheatwater and roast locust like we used to."	immortals , being as old as time , being who lived a century or more , nobody knows when an immortal is created or how , nor how many there are , and personally the fact that thier location is also unknown is a good thing I was alive for a long time , watched humanity developed , and had the misfortune to see how they treat our kind , its a different group each time but always the same hate in thier eyes , so i disappeared, cycled identities, lived in remote towns , had unimportant jobs , never let anyone in , but who can ever resist the temptation of watching history unfold in fort of them? So here i am in New York , one of the most central city in this era , teaching history , it should have been a safe job , until i met this kid , no , he's much older , he's like me, its so painfully obvious, i want to punch his arrogant smug face , is he trying to expose himself? Does he want to burn at a stake?? On second, thought doing experiments on him is more fit to this era , horrible non the less... the last straw broke when i gave a test on mesopotamia and he wrote his memories as essay , which means he's older then me , but i still decided to talk to him , its time this idiot learn his not invincible ,
[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.	“I’m afraid I don’t understand,” I told my teacher calmly, uncaring of the disruption I was causing in the classroom. “Was my essay badly written? Was there a problem with my citations? What exactly did I do wrong enough to warrant a D?” Normally, I strove for politeness. But it was simply unacceptable for any educator to mark down work for having a different opinion - and, having triple checked every source I’d put down and backed up every assumption written, I knew it wasn’t an issue with the quality of the paper. I had taken such pains to make sure I didn’t use any of my own knowledge. It was difficult to write purely as a student of the time and not as someone who had been born and raised in Mesopotamia - and I would be dammed if this ignorant and opinionated dog would cast such aspersions upon my work. The teacher glared daggers at me. “You dismissed out of hand the translation of the Historian Lawrence and called Ishtar-Sin a chicken!” I flipped neatly to the appendix and held up a photograph of a tablet. “As you can see here, we have the poem of Ishtar-Sin. The circled cuneiform is what Historian Lawrence translated as “falcon”. However, if you refer to my next page...” I quickly flipped the page over “you can see that this is a recipe, rescued from the museum of Iraq and currently on display in the Giza Museum until it can be returned. Here you can see that the same cuneiform is used. Although chicken was not as ubiquitous as it is in modern meals, I assure you it was far more common than eating falcons. “Furthermore, from Lawrence‘s own translation you can see that he wrote of ‘the falcon’s strut’ - when has one ever spoken of a falcon strutting? A falcon soars, it circles, it glides and it dives. Its domain is the sky. It is the rooster who boastfully struts upon the ground. “Additionally, the poem references the battle of Nineveh - which was a crushing defeat for Ishtar-sin (I have included a reference here to the work of Abdelrahman Kanoo, a historian operating in Syria) and, with all these factors considered, I do not believe I am wrong to say that this poem, rather than lauding Ishtar-sin, was a piece that was written to mercilessly mock a man who was pampered from birth and fancied himself a general but ran from his first battle and showed no repentance for his incompetence.” I wondered, for a moment, if the teacher was about to burst a blood vessel. “How dare you belittle the work of acknowledged historians?” came the frothing reply. “How unbelievably arrogant to think you know better!” I smiled at that. “History is a pack of lies about events that never happened told by people who weren’t there.” I quoted. “It’s literally the opening page of the textbook you assigned. You told us to question our sources. Their motivations. Their qualifications. Having done so - why am I being punished for following your instructions?” The ignorant dog remained silent at that. I couldn’t help but be satisfied. After all, it reminded me greatly of the look on Ishtar-Sin’s face when he heard the poem I, the woman he had sworn to marry, wrote about him...	immortals , being as old as time , being who lived a century or more , nobody knows when an immortal is created or how , nor how many there are , and personally the fact that thier location is also unknown is a good thing I was alive for a long time , watched humanity developed , and had the misfortune to see how they treat our kind , its a different group each time but always the same hate in thier eyes , so i disappeared, cycled identities, lived in remote towns , had unimportant jobs , never let anyone in , but who can ever resist the temptation of watching history unfold in fort of them? So here i am in New York , one of the most central city in this era , teaching history , it should have been a safe job , until i met this kid , no , he's much older , he's like me, its so painfully obvious, i want to punch his arrogant smug face , is he trying to expose himself? Does he want to burn at a stake?? On second, thought doing experiments on him is more fit to this era , horrible non the less... the last straw broke when i gave a test on mesopotamia and he wrote his memories as essay , which means he's older then me , but i still decided to talk to him , its time this idiot learn his not invincible ,
[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.	“Professor Larkin!” I exclaimed as I walked into her small university office. The professor was busy submitting grades on her old computer. When I burst into the room, she gave me an exasperated look. “Good afternoon, Ankisu. I believe you want to discuss a possible regrade?” “Yes professor, I do not think the topics that I have brought up in my essay warrant anything lower than a C.” The professor lifted her glasses up and placed both of her hands to her temples, clearly stressed. “I’m sorry, Ankisu, I cannot give points for content that is fictitious. My TAs and I have discussed your rhetoric before as well, and we have given you full points on grammar and creativity, but it does not erase the fact that you tried to pass off the Babylonian mythos as real. We are both aware that the essay prompt was to explain the common Mesopotamian lifestyle, yes?” “Yes, professor! By the gods, yes!” I promptly lifted the necklace I currently wore. The relic that hung on it’s golden chain was my hand-carved depiction of my mother, Shamhat. “I swear on my mother that I’ve written the truth!” The professor persisted, “You’ve written your essay from the perspective of a Babylonian, which I understand. However, you then brought Ishtar into your depiction. Why did you introduce something extraordinary, if not extraneous, into your description of a ‘normal’ day in Babylon?” “I wanted to share with you the moment she visited our town! Ishtar was having a tantrum because of another failed relationship. If describing someone’s actions to cope from a break up isn’t normal, then what is?” The professor sighed, then paused to gather her thoughts. “Ankisu, I am sorry. You —and your late mother as well— I know your family is deeply religious, but… this essay reads more like a religious text, rather than an unbiased description. The essay meeds to be rooted in reality, that’s all.” “It is real! Please understand, professor! This is as honest as can be!” “…What sources do you cite? You list none.” “Myself, professor.” “…..” “…..?” “Earthquakes are caused by fault ruptures, yet you say that Ishtar caused the one in your story?” “Yes.” The professor must have seen how honest my pleading eyes were, as she chose to stop prodding deeper into the matter. “Alright Ankisu. I’ll let this slide for now. You at least have accurately depicted the Mesopotamian architecture, society, and agriculture in your essay. It’s satisfactory. Thus, I shall bump up your grade to a C.” I shed a small tear of happiness, “Thank you, professor! You won’t regret this!” The professor gave a stern smile, and waved me goodbye as I left the room. Thank the gods, I was worried that Ishtar would do something gravely drastic if the professor kept labeling her actions as “not real” or “grossly exaggerated.” Perhaps me getting a C instead of a D would keep Ishtar just under her boiling point… or maybe she’d still snap anyways. In any case, I tried my best.	The prompt was simple. Choose a Mesopotamian ruler or dynasty, and explain how their reign affected the ancient civilizations. Pretty easy, especially when you lived through it. The problem comes up when your teacher wants sources. I can't exactly explain how I was there and how I know that I'm correct. That I'm more correct than the sources they want me to use are. Mistranslations have caused many problems in primary sources. And secondary sources are rife with bias and convenient framing of evidence. It's much simpler to just explain how it happened without things getting muddled down with all those sources. Ms. Jones would never accept any explanation I could give. Not like I'd want to explain that to her either. Don't think I'm gonna pass this class, at least not with Ms. Jones teaching it. Probably gonna have to repeat sophomore year because of this mess. In the end it doesn't matter though. I've lived for this long, so what's an extra year of high school in millenia of misery?
[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.	Tudya was pissed. Positively pissed. It took effort to be so pissed early in the morning. But Tudya was a workaholic, and he worked as hard on his essays as he did on honing his emotions. Right now, his anger had an edge to slice the devil in half. When Tudya got his essay back and saw the D on it, he stood up and looked at his teacher, miss Naeger, with a barely concealed rage. "I am Tudya, king of Assyria, I ruled the jewel between two rivers for a century. It is I, who modernized trading by opening a trading post on the Levant with Ibrium. It is I, who discovered the secret of immortality, deep in the university, and kept it hidden. I died, replaced by Adamu and thirteen other leaders, all of which looked like me. It is I, as Ushpia, who dedicated the temples to Ashur. It is I, as Ilu-Shuma, who raided the southern city states and established dominance over Mesopotamia. "Alas, this proved to be the worm in the fruit. By my raids, I encouraged Sumuabum the dog to found Babylonia, pest of the East. I knew it would cause problems, but the city started as weak and pitiful, I had better to do with immediate neighboring threats like Isin and Larsa. "And came Hammurabi. He did not raid. He conquered. He saw beyond the size of a city-state, and envisioned a state, grander and greater than any political power we could have imagined. He turned Babylon into the hulking monstrosity I still fear in my nightmares. Hammurabi created an empire, he also created laws. "I stopped his advance and fought the idiot king toe to toe. Alas, betrayal came from inside. The next king wasn't me, but Shamshi-Adad, who knew my secret and was disappointed with how little I managed. If only he knew. He wanted to imitate Hammurabi and conquered, until his idol came for him. Assyria became a vassal to Babylon. "I left the city, no more a king, no more a citizen, but a vagrant, a philosopher. I, with my fifteen names, fell into the oblivion of history, a footnore overshadowed by a man dead for millennia. "I witnessed Amorites and Babylonians being ousted from their homelands. I followed the journey of the Hittites from minor Asia to Mesopotamia. I saw the birth of the second Babylonian empire and fell in love with the great Ashurbarnipal who transferred the seat of power back to Babylonia, centuries after Hammurabi had done so himself. Ashurbarnipal. Remember his name, he created the mightiest empire of them all, he created the first organized library. "Do you even know what it means? He organized knowledge. He taught the world how to share it; make it available. He planted the seed long ago so you could be a teacher today. If it wasn't for him, the world wars would have been fought by two neighboring cities with arrows and swords. He made you, he made your existence possible. I was his friend, his lover, I have seen him rise and mourned his fall. And you dare to tell me I invented a story to have a good grade?" The pictures danced before Tudya, the towers of Ibrium where the rulers sat, overlooking and endless vista of greenery. Babylon, bustling city of scholars, with the overcrowded streets and the farms beyond the city gates. He remembered how he walked along the Euphrates, sinking his toes in the cool river on a hot evening and observing sun going down, with no other light but the moon and stars coming to announce the night. So many stories to tell... "Mister Tudya. Mister Tudya!" Tudya was still standing in front of miss Naeger, copy in hand. He had yet to open his mouth and talk. "Do you have anything to say?" "No, miss Naeger." "You should do better next time and not invent half of history." "Yes, miss Naeger." He sat back down, as the teacher kept handing the essays to other pupils. Tudya cursed the day he had decided that the least a king like him could do was to earn a modern high school diploma.	The prompt was simple. Choose a Mesopotamian ruler or dynasty, and explain how their reign affected the ancient civilizations. Pretty easy, especially when you lived through it. The problem comes up when your teacher wants sources. I can't exactly explain how I was there and how I know that I'm correct. That I'm more correct than the sources they want me to use are. Mistranslations have caused many problems in primary sources. And secondary sources are rife with bias and convenient framing of evidence. It's much simpler to just explain how it happened without things getting muddled down with all those sources. Ms. Jones would never accept any explanation I could give. Not like I'd want to explain that to her either. Don't think I'm gonna pass this class, at least not with Ms. Jones teaching it. Probably gonna have to repeat sophomore year because of this mess. In the end it doesn't matter though. I've lived for this long, so what's an extra year of high school in millenia of misery?
[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.	"And the goddess of light, she bestowed upon you an eidetic memory as well?" I gaped at Mrs Gray, utterly bewildered. She was behaving surprisingly nonchalant considering I had just informed her I was immortal and stabbed myself through the neck with a compass to prove it. I was hoping to have the old hag in hysterics and eventually shipped off to a padded room so Mr Green from class B would take over for the rest of the semester. "A what now?" I finally responded. "Eidetic memory. It means you can remember things in perfect detail." She responded, not even looking up from the papers she was marking. "Can you remember what you had for breakfast last week?" "Well no but..." "Then I don't see how I can trust anything you've written without sources." "What? BUT I WAS THERE!" I yelled, just about ready to flip her desk. "I saw it with my own eyes!" "And witness testimony is about one of the least reliable sources of evidence there is." She responded finally looking up. "False memories occur all the time, and only more frequently with age." "You...you're just biased because you hate me!" I threw the essay down onto her desk and was just about to storm out. "On the contrary, it seems you are the one who is biased." She picked up the essay I had thrown in front of her and cleared her throat reading aloud. "The honorable tribes residing on the east side of the Tigris river were known for their valiant warriors, fending off the dirty savages from the west." "So? It's true." I responded "Low lives the lot of them. My father said so, as did his father and-" "And I'm sure they probably thought the same thing about you." she interrupted. "History is more than just what happened. Equally important is why. Proper history is viewed through an objective lens. Because only by understanding the past can we hope to improve things for the future. Now with that in mind, if you'd like to learn from your past I'd be willing to allow you to write your essay again."	The prompt was simple. Choose a Mesopotamian ruler or dynasty, and explain how their reign affected the ancient civilizations. Pretty easy, especially when you lived through it. The problem comes up when your teacher wants sources. I can't exactly explain how I was there and how I know that I'm correct. That I'm more correct than the sources they want me to use are. Mistranslations have caused many problems in primary sources. And secondary sources are rife with bias and convenient framing of evidence. It's much simpler to just explain how it happened without things getting muddled down with all those sources. Ms. Jones would never accept any explanation I could give. Not like I'd want to explain that to her either. Don't think I'm gonna pass this class, at least not with Ms. Jones teaching it. Probably gonna have to repeat sophomore year because of this mess. In the end it doesn't matter though. I've lived for this long, so what's an extra year of high school in millenia of misery?
[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.	_A D?? This deserves better than a D, Mrs Naurood!_ \- You can't go around pulling stuff out of thin air and calling it history, John! And as I've already said, See. Me. After. Class. _But they're not made up! It's right there in the books!_ Mrs. Naurood ignored me as she picked up her books and left the class. I'd been going on refresher courses every three years... And it's been hard enough for me to adapt to the decimal system and different conventions of weight and distance that used neither hex or decimal (pound? feet? Whose feet?), but this took ridiculous to a new level. I've been a historian as a cover for most of my life, and while I need the community credits for my new identity, arguing with a historian, worse, a historian who had been there and seen the stories change through time, was just the cherry on top. I sat with gnashed teeth through what seemed an eternity of a maths class, waiting to confront that upstart. She had Mesopotamian blood in her, clear as day, and she didn't know one ounce of where she'd come from. The nerve on her! I knocked on the door. A voice - Mrs. Naurood's - beckoned me enter. I'd run through a few scenarios in my mind, unleashing broadsides, asking for an explanation, demanding to see her history teacher credentials, but I didn't anticipate what came next. A hug. "John Smith! John. Smith. Finally you ran out of names." _"I don't quite follow"_ "Roger Tombs? Brian Babylon? Peter Palms?" I fell silent. How did she know? Mrs Naurood read the question. "You're 28. Always have been, always will be. Shaving a bit closer or having a grizzle doesn't make you younger or older. Changing names and moustaches and doing newsworthy stuff doesn't change the fact that this is a new age - with face recognition and instant image searches and supercomputers. Remembering history isn't half as important as keeping it safe. Keeping you safe." She knew! And she knew what the cuneiform in the textbook said too. Yet she chose to ignore it. "And if you want to remember history as it were, you should remember its players too." _"Are... Are you an immortal too?"_ "From the same blood sacrifice. I was under the girders and the blood dripped on me." We shared a moment of silence. "Remember this D. Don't stick your neck out, keep the truth to yourself but don't fight for it. Not yet. These guys, they lap up their cuneiforms selectively, they don't realise that propaganda has been with humanity since the very first tablet. They think of Hammurabi the terrible as a wise Saint. They write science fiction about cities with towers struck by their God for vanity. It's... Not worth it." I reflected on her words. "Look, if you wanna talk about the good old days, come over some time. I still make wheatwater and roast locust like we used to."	The prompt was simple. Choose a Mesopotamian ruler or dynasty, and explain how their reign affected the ancient civilizations. Pretty easy, especially when you lived through it. The problem comes up when your teacher wants sources. I can't exactly explain how I was there and how I know that I'm correct. That I'm more correct than the sources they want me to use are. Mistranslations have caused many problems in primary sources. And secondary sources are rife with bias and convenient framing of evidence. It's much simpler to just explain how it happened without things getting muddled down with all those sources. Ms. Jones would never accept any explanation I could give. Not like I'd want to explain that to her either. Don't think I'm gonna pass this class, at least not with Ms. Jones teaching it. Probably gonna have to repeat sophomore year because of this mess. In the end it doesn't matter though. I've lived for this long, so what's an extra year of high school in millenia of misery?
[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.	Immortality gets rather boring after multiple centuries waiting for humans to develop new technology. The rapid development humans have experienced in the last few years has kept me entertained very well, suffice to say; as long as they don't blow each other up and make everything boring again, life has been rather flush with excitement. Unfortunately, it's also been rather flush with aggravation. I decided to enroll myself in a school to see what children today are learning about history, times I was alive in, just to see how accurate they were. I was actually impressed, given the limited available artifacts to study. They got most of it down, including making fun of that rotten bastard Ea-Nasir. I'm still angry, a few millenia later. A quiz on ancient Mesopotamia was handed out today, where we had to write an essay on what daily life was like in Mesopotamia. Having been blessed with a photographic memory (and also actually having been there) I wrote what I would consider a beautiful piece on a daily routine; waking up, preparing for work, taking in the sights on the way, et cetera. It was a pleasant era, I must admit. It came as no surprise when the essay returned with an F and a "See me after class!" note. I don't think the teacher liked me anyway; she always assumed that I had been lying, whenever I corrected her on something she got wrong. I was only trying to help, after all, but her sour attitude certainly made it harder than it had to be. This isn't the first time this had happened, and to be honest I was getting rather sick of it at this point. I am tired of being treated like a moron when I know more than she ever will. I must teach her a lesson. Murder is easy, of course, but it never really works, that I have learned. Perhaps I'll put her in my shoes of that day, and see what she thinks of my essay when she comes back to the present. The one thing I know for sure is that Mrs. Smith is... what was that word they used? Ah, yes. A bitch.	The prompt was simple. Choose a Mesopotamian ruler or dynasty, and explain how their reign affected the ancient civilizations. Pretty easy, especially when you lived through it. The problem comes up when your teacher wants sources. I can't exactly explain how I was there and how I know that I'm correct. That I'm more correct than the sources they want me to use are. Mistranslations have caused many problems in primary sources. And secondary sources are rife with bias and convenient framing of evidence. It's much simpler to just explain how it happened without things getting muddled down with all those sources. Ms. Jones would never accept any explanation I could give. Not like I'd want to explain that to her either. Don't think I'm gonna pass this class, at least not with Ms. Jones teaching it. Probably gonna have to repeat sophomore year because of this mess. In the end it doesn't matter though. I've lived for this long, so what's an extra year of high school in millenia of misery?
[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.	“I’m afraid I don’t understand,” I told my teacher calmly, uncaring of the disruption I was causing in the classroom. “Was my essay badly written? Was there a problem with my citations? What exactly did I do wrong enough to warrant a D?” Normally, I strove for politeness. But it was simply unacceptable for any educator to mark down work for having a different opinion - and, having triple checked every source I’d put down and backed up every assumption written, I knew it wasn’t an issue with the quality of the paper. I had taken such pains to make sure I didn’t use any of my own knowledge. It was difficult to write purely as a student of the time and not as someone who had been born and raised in Mesopotamia - and I would be dammed if this ignorant and opinionated dog would cast such aspersions upon my work. The teacher glared daggers at me. “You dismissed out of hand the translation of the Historian Lawrence and called Ishtar-Sin a chicken!” I flipped neatly to the appendix and held up a photograph of a tablet. “As you can see here, we have the poem of Ishtar-Sin. The circled cuneiform is what Historian Lawrence translated as “falcon”. However, if you refer to my next page...” I quickly flipped the page over “you can see that this is a recipe, rescued from the museum of Iraq and currently on display in the Giza Museum until it can be returned. Here you can see that the same cuneiform is used. Although chicken was not as ubiquitous as it is in modern meals, I assure you it was far more common than eating falcons. “Furthermore, from Lawrence‘s own translation you can see that he wrote of ‘the falcon’s strut’ - when has one ever spoken of a falcon strutting? A falcon soars, it circles, it glides and it dives. Its domain is the sky. It is the rooster who boastfully struts upon the ground. “Additionally, the poem references the battle of Nineveh - which was a crushing defeat for Ishtar-sin (I have included a reference here to the work of Abdelrahman Kanoo, a historian operating in Syria) and, with all these factors considered, I do not believe I am wrong to say that this poem, rather than lauding Ishtar-sin, was a piece that was written to mercilessly mock a man who was pampered from birth and fancied himself a general but ran from his first battle and showed no repentance for his incompetence.” I wondered, for a moment, if the teacher was about to burst a blood vessel. “How dare you belittle the work of acknowledged historians?” came the frothing reply. “How unbelievably arrogant to think you know better!” I smiled at that. “History is a pack of lies about events that never happened told by people who weren’t there.” I quoted. “It’s literally the opening page of the textbook you assigned. You told us to question our sources. Their motivations. Their qualifications. Having done so - why am I being punished for following your instructions?” The ignorant dog remained silent at that. I couldn’t help but be satisfied. After all, it reminded me greatly of the look on Ishtar-Sin’s face when he heard the poem I, the woman he had sworn to marry, wrote about him...	The prompt was simple. Choose a Mesopotamian ruler or dynasty, and explain how their reign affected the ancient civilizations. Pretty easy, especially when you lived through it. The problem comes up when your teacher wants sources. I can't exactly explain how I was there and how I know that I'm correct. That I'm more correct than the sources they want me to use are. Mistranslations have caused many problems in primary sources. And secondary sources are rife with bias and convenient framing of evidence. It's much simpler to just explain how it happened without things getting muddled down with all those sources. Ms. Jones would never accept any explanation I could give. Not like I'd want to explain that to her either. Don't think I'm gonna pass this class, at least not with Ms. Jones teaching it. Probably gonna have to repeat sophomore year because of this mess. In the end it doesn't matter though. I've lived for this long, so what's an extra year of high school in millenia of misery?
[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.	_A D?? This deserves better than a D, Mrs Naurood!_ \- You can't go around pulling stuff out of thin air and calling it history, John! And as I've already said, See. Me. After. Class. _But they're not made up! It's right there in the books!_ Mrs. Naurood ignored me as she picked up her books and left the class. I'd been going on refresher courses every three years... And it's been hard enough for me to adapt to the decimal system and different conventions of weight and distance that used neither hex or decimal (pound? feet? Whose feet?), but this took ridiculous to a new level. I've been a historian as a cover for most of my life, and while I need the community credits for my new identity, arguing with a historian, worse, a historian who had been there and seen the stories change through time, was just the cherry on top. I sat with gnashed teeth through what seemed an eternity of a maths class, waiting to confront that upstart. She had Mesopotamian blood in her, clear as day, and she didn't know one ounce of where she'd come from. The nerve on her! I knocked on the door. A voice - Mrs. Naurood's - beckoned me enter. I'd run through a few scenarios in my mind, unleashing broadsides, asking for an explanation, demanding to see her history teacher credentials, but I didn't anticipate what came next. A hug. "John Smith! John. Smith. Finally you ran out of names." _"I don't quite follow"_ "Roger Tombs? Brian Babylon? Peter Palms?" I fell silent. How did she know? Mrs Naurood read the question. "You're 28. Always have been, always will be. Shaving a bit closer or having a grizzle doesn't make you younger or older. Changing names and moustaches and doing newsworthy stuff doesn't change the fact that this is a new age - with face recognition and instant image searches and supercomputers. Remembering history isn't half as important as keeping it safe. Keeping you safe." She knew! And she knew what the cuneiform in the textbook said too. Yet she chose to ignore it. "And if you want to remember history as it were, you should remember its players too." _"Are... Are you an immortal too?"_ "From the same blood sacrifice. I was under the girders and the blood dripped on me." We shared a moment of silence. "Remember this D. Don't stick your neck out, keep the truth to yourself but don't fight for it. Not yet. These guys, they lap up their cuneiforms selectively, they don't realise that propaganda has been with humanity since the very first tablet. They think of Hammurabi the terrible as a wise Saint. They write science fiction about cities with towers struck by their God for vanity. It's... Not worth it." I reflected on her words. "Look, if you wanna talk about the good old days, come over some time. I still make wheatwater and roast locust like we used to."	“Professor Larkin!” I exclaimed as I walked into her small university office. The professor was busy submitting grades on her old computer. When I burst into the room, she gave me an exasperated look. “Good afternoon, Ankisu. I believe you want to discuss a possible regrade?” “Yes professor, I do not think the topics that I have brought up in my essay warrant anything lower than a C.” The professor lifted her glasses up and placed both of her hands to her temples, clearly stressed. “I’m sorry, Ankisu, I cannot give points for content that is fictitious. My TAs and I have discussed your rhetoric before as well, and we have given you full points on grammar and creativity, but it does not erase the fact that you tried to pass off the Babylonian mythos as real. We are both aware that the essay prompt was to explain the common Mesopotamian lifestyle, yes?” “Yes, professor! By the gods, yes!” I promptly lifted the necklace I currently wore. The relic that hung on it’s golden chain was my hand-carved depiction of my mother, Shamhat. “I swear on my mother that I’ve written the truth!” The professor persisted, “You’ve written your essay from the perspective of a Babylonian, which I understand. However, you then brought Ishtar into your depiction. Why did you introduce something extraordinary, if not extraneous, into your description of a ‘normal’ day in Babylon?” “I wanted to share with you the moment she visited our town! Ishtar was having a tantrum because of another failed relationship. If describing someone’s actions to cope from a break up isn’t normal, then what is?” The professor sighed, then paused to gather her thoughts. “Ankisu, I am sorry. You —and your late mother as well— I know your family is deeply religious, but… this essay reads more like a religious text, rather than an unbiased description. The essay meeds to be rooted in reality, that’s all.” “It is real! Please understand, professor! This is as honest as can be!” “…What sources do you cite? You list none.” “Myself, professor.” “…..” “…..?” “Earthquakes are caused by fault ruptures, yet you say that Ishtar caused the one in your story?” “Yes.” The professor must have seen how honest my pleading eyes were, as she chose to stop prodding deeper into the matter. “Alright Ankisu. I’ll let this slide for now. You at least have accurately depicted the Mesopotamian architecture, society, and agriculture in your essay. It’s satisfactory. Thus, I shall bump up your grade to a C.” I shed a small tear of happiness, “Thank you, professor! You won’t regret this!” The professor gave a stern smile, and waved me goodbye as I left the room. Thank the gods, I was worried that Ishtar would do something gravely drastic if the professor kept labeling her actions as “not real” or “grossly exaggerated.” Perhaps me getting a C instead of a D would keep Ishtar just under her boiling point… or maybe she’d still snap anyways. In any case, I tried my best.
[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.	“I’m afraid I don’t understand,” I told my teacher calmly, uncaring of the disruption I was causing in the classroom. “Was my essay badly written? Was there a problem with my citations? What exactly did I do wrong enough to warrant a D?” Normally, I strove for politeness. But it was simply unacceptable for any educator to mark down work for having a different opinion - and, having triple checked every source I’d put down and backed up every assumption written, I knew it wasn’t an issue with the quality of the paper. I had taken such pains to make sure I didn’t use any of my own knowledge. It was difficult to write purely as a student of the time and not as someone who had been born and raised in Mesopotamia - and I would be dammed if this ignorant and opinionated dog would cast such aspersions upon my work. The teacher glared daggers at me. “You dismissed out of hand the translation of the Historian Lawrence and called Ishtar-Sin a chicken!” I flipped neatly to the appendix and held up a photograph of a tablet. “As you can see here, we have the poem of Ishtar-Sin. The circled cuneiform is what Historian Lawrence translated as “falcon”. However, if you refer to my next page...” I quickly flipped the page over “you can see that this is a recipe, rescued from the museum of Iraq and currently on display in the Giza Museum until it can be returned. Here you can see that the same cuneiform is used. Although chicken was not as ubiquitous as it is in modern meals, I assure you it was far more common than eating falcons. “Furthermore, from Lawrence‘s own translation you can see that he wrote of ‘the falcon’s strut’ - when has one ever spoken of a falcon strutting? A falcon soars, it circles, it glides and it dives. Its domain is the sky. It is the rooster who boastfully struts upon the ground. “Additionally, the poem references the battle of Nineveh - which was a crushing defeat for Ishtar-sin (I have included a reference here to the work of Abdelrahman Kanoo, a historian operating in Syria) and, with all these factors considered, I do not believe I am wrong to say that this poem, rather than lauding Ishtar-sin, was a piece that was written to mercilessly mock a man who was pampered from birth and fancied himself a general but ran from his first battle and showed no repentance for his incompetence.” I wondered, for a moment, if the teacher was about to burst a blood vessel. “How dare you belittle the work of acknowledged historians?” came the frothing reply. “How unbelievably arrogant to think you know better!” I smiled at that. “History is a pack of lies about events that never happened told by people who weren’t there.” I quoted. “It’s literally the opening page of the textbook you assigned. You told us to question our sources. Their motivations. Their qualifications. Having done so - why am I being punished for following your instructions?” The ignorant dog remained silent at that. I couldn’t help but be satisfied. After all, it reminded me greatly of the look on Ishtar-Sin’s face when he heard the poem I, the woman he had sworn to marry, wrote about him...	“Professor Larkin!” I exclaimed as I walked into her small university office. The professor was busy submitting grades on her old computer. When I burst into the room, she gave me an exasperated look. “Good afternoon, Ankisu. I believe you want to discuss a possible regrade?” “Yes professor, I do not think the topics that I have brought up in my essay warrant anything lower than a C.” The professor lifted her glasses up and placed both of her hands to her temples, clearly stressed. “I’m sorry, Ankisu, I cannot give points for content that is fictitious. My TAs and I have discussed your rhetoric before as well, and we have given you full points on grammar and creativity, but it does not erase the fact that you tried to pass off the Babylonian mythos as real. We are both aware that the essay prompt was to explain the common Mesopotamian lifestyle, yes?” “Yes, professor! By the gods, yes!” I promptly lifted the necklace I currently wore. The relic that hung on it’s golden chain was my hand-carved depiction of my mother, Shamhat. “I swear on my mother that I’ve written the truth!” The professor persisted, “You’ve written your essay from the perspective of a Babylonian, which I understand. However, you then brought Ishtar into your depiction. Why did you introduce something extraordinary, if not extraneous, into your description of a ‘normal’ day in Babylon?” “I wanted to share with you the moment she visited our town! Ishtar was having a tantrum because of another failed relationship. If describing someone’s actions to cope from a break up isn’t normal, then what is?” The professor sighed, then paused to gather her thoughts. “Ankisu, I am sorry. You —and your late mother as well— I know your family is deeply religious, but… this essay reads more like a religious text, rather than an unbiased description. The essay meeds to be rooted in reality, that’s all.” “It is real! Please understand, professor! This is as honest as can be!” “…What sources do you cite? You list none.” “Myself, professor.” “…..” “…..?” “Earthquakes are caused by fault ruptures, yet you say that Ishtar caused the one in your story?” “Yes.” The professor must have seen how honest my pleading eyes were, as she chose to stop prodding deeper into the matter. “Alright Ankisu. I’ll let this slide for now. You at least have accurately depicted the Mesopotamian architecture, society, and agriculture in your essay. It’s satisfactory. Thus, I shall bump up your grade to a C.” I shed a small tear of happiness, “Thank you, professor! You won’t regret this!” The professor gave a stern smile, and waved me goodbye as I left the room. Thank the gods, I was worried that Ishtar would do something gravely drastic if the professor kept labeling her actions as “not real” or “grossly exaggerated.” Perhaps me getting a C instead of a D would keep Ishtar just under her boiling point… or maybe she’d still snap anyways. In any case, I tried my best.
[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.	"And the goddess of light, she bestowed upon you an eidetic memory as well?" I gaped at Mrs Gray, utterly bewildered. She was behaving surprisingly nonchalant considering I had just informed her I was immortal and stabbed myself through the neck with a compass to prove it. I was hoping to have the old hag in hysterics and eventually shipped off to a padded room so Mr Green from class B would take over for the rest of the semester. "A what now?" I finally responded. "Eidetic memory. It means you can remember things in perfect detail." She responded, not even looking up from the papers she was marking. "Can you remember what you had for breakfast last week?" "Well no but..." "Then I don't see how I can trust anything you've written without sources." "What? BUT I WAS THERE!" I yelled, just about ready to flip her desk. "I saw it with my own eyes!" "And witness testimony is about one of the least reliable sources of evidence there is." She responded finally looking up. "False memories occur all the time, and only more frequently with age." "You...you're just biased because you hate me!" I threw the essay down onto her desk and was just about to storm out. "On the contrary, it seems you are the one who is biased." She picked up the essay I had thrown in front of her and cleared her throat reading aloud. "The honorable tribes residing on the east side of the Tigris river were known for their valiant warriors, fending off the dirty savages from the west." "So? It's true." I responded "Low lives the lot of them. My father said so, as did his father and-" "And I'm sure they probably thought the same thing about you." she interrupted. "History is more than just what happened. Equally important is why. Proper history is viewed through an objective lens. Because only by understanding the past can we hope to improve things for the future. Now with that in mind, if you'd like to learn from your past I'd be willing to allow you to write your essay again."	Tudya was pissed. Positively pissed. It took effort to be so pissed early in the morning. But Tudya was a workaholic, and he worked as hard on his essays as he did on honing his emotions. Right now, his anger had an edge to slice the devil in half. When Tudya got his essay back and saw the D on it, he stood up and looked at his teacher, miss Naeger, with a barely concealed rage. "I am Tudya, king of Assyria, I ruled the jewel between two rivers for a century. It is I, who modernized trading by opening a trading post on the Levant with Ibrium. It is I, who discovered the secret of immortality, deep in the university, and kept it hidden. I died, replaced by Adamu and thirteen other leaders, all of which looked like me. It is I, as Ushpia, who dedicated the temples to Ashur. It is I, as Ilu-Shuma, who raided the southern city states and established dominance over Mesopotamia. "Alas, this proved to be the worm in the fruit. By my raids, I encouraged Sumuabum the dog to found Babylonia, pest of the East. I knew it would cause problems, but the city started as weak and pitiful, I had better to do with immediate neighboring threats like Isin and Larsa. "And came Hammurabi. He did not raid. He conquered. He saw beyond the size of a city-state, and envisioned a state, grander and greater than any political power we could have imagined. He turned Babylon into the hulking monstrosity I still fear in my nightmares. Hammurabi created an empire, he also created laws. "I stopped his advance and fought the idiot king toe to toe. Alas, betrayal came from inside. The next king wasn't me, but Shamshi-Adad, who knew my secret and was disappointed with how little I managed. If only he knew. He wanted to imitate Hammurabi and conquered, until his idol came for him. Assyria became a vassal to Babylon. "I left the city, no more a king, no more a citizen, but a vagrant, a philosopher. I, with my fifteen names, fell into the oblivion of history, a footnore overshadowed by a man dead for millennia. "I witnessed Amorites and Babylonians being ousted from their homelands. I followed the journey of the Hittites from minor Asia to Mesopotamia. I saw the birth of the second Babylonian empire and fell in love with the great Ashurbarnipal who transferred the seat of power back to Babylonia, centuries after Hammurabi had done so himself. Ashurbarnipal. Remember his name, he created the mightiest empire of them all, he created the first organized library. "Do you even know what it means? He organized knowledge. He taught the world how to share it; make it available. He planted the seed long ago so you could be a teacher today. If it wasn't for him, the world wars would have been fought by two neighboring cities with arrows and swords. He made you, he made your existence possible. I was his friend, his lover, I have seen him rise and mourned his fall. And you dare to tell me I invented a story to have a good grade?" The pictures danced before Tudya, the towers of Ibrium where the rulers sat, overlooking and endless vista of greenery. Babylon, bustling city of scholars, with the overcrowded streets and the farms beyond the city gates. He remembered how he walked along the Euphrates, sinking his toes in the cool river on a hot evening and observing sun going down, with no other light but the moon and stars coming to announce the night. So many stories to tell... "Mister Tudya. Mister Tudya!" Tudya was still standing in front of miss Naeger, copy in hand. He had yet to open his mouth and talk. "Do you have anything to say?" "No, miss Naeger." "You should do better next time and not invent half of history." "Yes, miss Naeger." He sat back down, as the teacher kept handing the essays to other pupils. Tudya cursed the day he had decided that the least a king like him could do was to earn a modern high school diploma.
[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.	_A D?? This deserves better than a D, Mrs Naurood!_ \- You can't go around pulling stuff out of thin air and calling it history, John! And as I've already said, See. Me. After. Class. _But they're not made up! It's right there in the books!_ Mrs. Naurood ignored me as she picked up her books and left the class. I'd been going on refresher courses every three years... And it's been hard enough for me to adapt to the decimal system and different conventions of weight and distance that used neither hex or decimal (pound? feet? Whose feet?), but this took ridiculous to a new level. I've been a historian as a cover for most of my life, and while I need the community credits for my new identity, arguing with a historian, worse, a historian who had been there and seen the stories change through time, was just the cherry on top. I sat with gnashed teeth through what seemed an eternity of a maths class, waiting to confront that upstart. She had Mesopotamian blood in her, clear as day, and she didn't know one ounce of where she'd come from. The nerve on her! I knocked on the door. A voice - Mrs. Naurood's - beckoned me enter. I'd run through a few scenarios in my mind, unleashing broadsides, asking for an explanation, demanding to see her history teacher credentials, but I didn't anticipate what came next. A hug. "John Smith! John. Smith. Finally you ran out of names." _"I don't quite follow"_ "Roger Tombs? Brian Babylon? Peter Palms?" I fell silent. How did she know? Mrs Naurood read the question. "You're 28. Always have been, always will be. Shaving a bit closer or having a grizzle doesn't make you younger or older. Changing names and moustaches and doing newsworthy stuff doesn't change the fact that this is a new age - with face recognition and instant image searches and supercomputers. Remembering history isn't half as important as keeping it safe. Keeping you safe." She knew! And she knew what the cuneiform in the textbook said too. Yet she chose to ignore it. "And if you want to remember history as it were, you should remember its players too." _"Are... Are you an immortal too?"_ "From the same blood sacrifice. I was under the girders and the blood dripped on me." We shared a moment of silence. "Remember this D. Don't stick your neck out, keep the truth to yourself but don't fight for it. Not yet. These guys, they lap up their cuneiforms selectively, they don't realise that propaganda has been with humanity since the very first tablet. They think of Hammurabi the terrible as a wise Saint. They write science fiction about cities with towers struck by their God for vanity. It's... Not worth it." I reflected on her words. "Look, if you wanna talk about the good old days, come over some time. I still make wheatwater and roast locust like we used to."	Tudya was pissed. Positively pissed. It took effort to be so pissed early in the morning. But Tudya was a workaholic, and he worked as hard on his essays as he did on honing his emotions. Right now, his anger had an edge to slice the devil in half. When Tudya got his essay back and saw the D on it, he stood up and looked at his teacher, miss Naeger, with a barely concealed rage. "I am Tudya, king of Assyria, I ruled the jewel between two rivers for a century. It is I, who modernized trading by opening a trading post on the Levant with Ibrium. It is I, who discovered the secret of immortality, deep in the university, and kept it hidden. I died, replaced by Adamu and thirteen other leaders, all of which looked like me. It is I, as Ushpia, who dedicated the temples to Ashur. It is I, as Ilu-Shuma, who raided the southern city states and established dominance over Mesopotamia. "Alas, this proved to be the worm in the fruit. By my raids, I encouraged Sumuabum the dog to found Babylonia, pest of the East. I knew it would cause problems, but the city started as weak and pitiful, I had better to do with immediate neighboring threats like Isin and Larsa. "And came Hammurabi. He did not raid. He conquered. He saw beyond the size of a city-state, and envisioned a state, grander and greater than any political power we could have imagined. He turned Babylon into the hulking monstrosity I still fear in my nightmares. Hammurabi created an empire, he also created laws. "I stopped his advance and fought the idiot king toe to toe. Alas, betrayal came from inside. The next king wasn't me, but Shamshi-Adad, who knew my secret and was disappointed with how little I managed. If only he knew. He wanted to imitate Hammurabi and conquered, until his idol came for him. Assyria became a vassal to Babylon. "I left the city, no more a king, no more a citizen, but a vagrant, a philosopher. I, with my fifteen names, fell into the oblivion of history, a footnore overshadowed by a man dead for millennia. "I witnessed Amorites and Babylonians being ousted from their homelands. I followed the journey of the Hittites from minor Asia to Mesopotamia. I saw the birth of the second Babylonian empire and fell in love with the great Ashurbarnipal who transferred the seat of power back to Babylonia, centuries after Hammurabi had done so himself. Ashurbarnipal. Remember his name, he created the mightiest empire of them all, he created the first organized library. "Do you even know what it means? He organized knowledge. He taught the world how to share it; make it available. He planted the seed long ago so you could be a teacher today. If it wasn't for him, the world wars would have been fought by two neighboring cities with arrows and swords. He made you, he made your existence possible. I was his friend, his lover, I have seen him rise and mourned his fall. And you dare to tell me I invented a story to have a good grade?" The pictures danced before Tudya, the towers of Ibrium where the rulers sat, overlooking and endless vista of greenery. Babylon, bustling city of scholars, with the overcrowded streets and the farms beyond the city gates. He remembered how he walked along the Euphrates, sinking his toes in the cool river on a hot evening and observing sun going down, with no other light but the moon and stars coming to announce the night. So many stories to tell... "Mister Tudya. Mister Tudya!" Tudya was still standing in front of miss Naeger, copy in hand. He had yet to open his mouth and talk. "Do you have anything to say?" "No, miss Naeger." "You should do better next time and not invent half of history." "Yes, miss Naeger." He sat back down, as the teacher kept handing the essays to other pupils. Tudya cursed the day he had decided that the least a king like him could do was to earn a modern high school diploma.
[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.	“I’m afraid I don’t understand,” I told my teacher calmly, uncaring of the disruption I was causing in the classroom. “Was my essay badly written? Was there a problem with my citations? What exactly did I do wrong enough to warrant a D?” Normally, I strove for politeness. But it was simply unacceptable for any educator to mark down work for having a different opinion - and, having triple checked every source I’d put down and backed up every assumption written, I knew it wasn’t an issue with the quality of the paper. I had taken such pains to make sure I didn’t use any of my own knowledge. It was difficult to write purely as a student of the time and not as someone who had been born and raised in Mesopotamia - and I would be dammed if this ignorant and opinionated dog would cast such aspersions upon my work. The teacher glared daggers at me. “You dismissed out of hand the translation of the Historian Lawrence and called Ishtar-Sin a chicken!” I flipped neatly to the appendix and held up a photograph of a tablet. “As you can see here, we have the poem of Ishtar-Sin. The circled cuneiform is what Historian Lawrence translated as “falcon”. However, if you refer to my next page...” I quickly flipped the page over “you can see that this is a recipe, rescued from the museum of Iraq and currently on display in the Giza Museum until it can be returned. Here you can see that the same cuneiform is used. Although chicken was not as ubiquitous as it is in modern meals, I assure you it was far more common than eating falcons. “Furthermore, from Lawrence‘s own translation you can see that he wrote of ‘the falcon’s strut’ - when has one ever spoken of a falcon strutting? A falcon soars, it circles, it glides and it dives. Its domain is the sky. It is the rooster who boastfully struts upon the ground. “Additionally, the poem references the battle of Nineveh - which was a crushing defeat for Ishtar-sin (I have included a reference here to the work of Abdelrahman Kanoo, a historian operating in Syria) and, with all these factors considered, I do not believe I am wrong to say that this poem, rather than lauding Ishtar-sin, was a piece that was written to mercilessly mock a man who was pampered from birth and fancied himself a general but ran from his first battle and showed no repentance for his incompetence.” I wondered, for a moment, if the teacher was about to burst a blood vessel. “How dare you belittle the work of acknowledged historians?” came the frothing reply. “How unbelievably arrogant to think you know better!” I smiled at that. “History is a pack of lies about events that never happened told by people who weren’t there.” I quoted. “It’s literally the opening page of the textbook you assigned. You told us to question our sources. Their motivations. Their qualifications. Having done so - why am I being punished for following your instructions?” The ignorant dog remained silent at that. I couldn’t help but be satisfied. After all, it reminded me greatly of the look on Ishtar-Sin’s face when he heard the poem I, the woman he had sworn to marry, wrote about him...	Tudya was pissed. Positively pissed. It took effort to be so pissed early in the morning. But Tudya was a workaholic, and he worked as hard on his essays as he did on honing his emotions. Right now, his anger had an edge to slice the devil in half. When Tudya got his essay back and saw the D on it, he stood up and looked at his teacher, miss Naeger, with a barely concealed rage. "I am Tudya, king of Assyria, I ruled the jewel between two rivers for a century. It is I, who modernized trading by opening a trading post on the Levant with Ibrium. It is I, who discovered the secret of immortality, deep in the university, and kept it hidden. I died, replaced by Adamu and thirteen other leaders, all of which looked like me. It is I, as Ushpia, who dedicated the temples to Ashur. It is I, as Ilu-Shuma, who raided the southern city states and established dominance over Mesopotamia. "Alas, this proved to be the worm in the fruit. By my raids, I encouraged Sumuabum the dog to found Babylonia, pest of the East. I knew it would cause problems, but the city started as weak and pitiful, I had better to do with immediate neighboring threats like Isin and Larsa. "And came Hammurabi. He did not raid. He conquered. He saw beyond the size of a city-state, and envisioned a state, grander and greater than any political power we could have imagined. He turned Babylon into the hulking monstrosity I still fear in my nightmares. Hammurabi created an empire, he also created laws. "I stopped his advance and fought the idiot king toe to toe. Alas, betrayal came from inside. The next king wasn't me, but Shamshi-Adad, who knew my secret and was disappointed with how little I managed. If only he knew. He wanted to imitate Hammurabi and conquered, until his idol came for him. Assyria became a vassal to Babylon. "I left the city, no more a king, no more a citizen, but a vagrant, a philosopher. I, with my fifteen names, fell into the oblivion of history, a footnore overshadowed by a man dead for millennia. "I witnessed Amorites and Babylonians being ousted from their homelands. I followed the journey of the Hittites from minor Asia to Mesopotamia. I saw the birth of the second Babylonian empire and fell in love with the great Ashurbarnipal who transferred the seat of power back to Babylonia, centuries after Hammurabi had done so himself. Ashurbarnipal. Remember his name, he created the mightiest empire of them all, he created the first organized library. "Do you even know what it means? He organized knowledge. He taught the world how to share it; make it available. He planted the seed long ago so you could be a teacher today. If it wasn't for him, the world wars would have been fought by two neighboring cities with arrows and swords. He made you, he made your existence possible. I was his friend, his lover, I have seen him rise and mourned his fall. And you dare to tell me I invented a story to have a good grade?" The pictures danced before Tudya, the towers of Ibrium where the rulers sat, overlooking and endless vista of greenery. Babylon, bustling city of scholars, with the overcrowded streets and the farms beyond the city gates. He remembered how he walked along the Euphrates, sinking his toes in the cool river on a hot evening and observing sun going down, with no other light but the moon and stars coming to announce the night. So many stories to tell... "Mister Tudya. Mister Tudya!" Tudya was still standing in front of miss Naeger, copy in hand. He had yet to open his mouth and talk. "Do you have anything to say?" "No, miss Naeger." "You should do better next time and not invent half of history." "Yes, miss Naeger." He sat back down, as the teacher kept handing the essays to other pupils. Tudya cursed the day he had decided that the least a king like him could do was to earn a modern high school diploma.
[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.	_A D?? This deserves better than a D, Mrs Naurood!_ \- You can't go around pulling stuff out of thin air and calling it history, John! And as I've already said, See. Me. After. Class. _But they're not made up! It's right there in the books!_ Mrs. Naurood ignored me as she picked up her books and left the class. I'd been going on refresher courses every three years... And it's been hard enough for me to adapt to the decimal system and different conventions of weight and distance that used neither hex or decimal (pound? feet? Whose feet?), but this took ridiculous to a new level. I've been a historian as a cover for most of my life, and while I need the community credits for my new identity, arguing with a historian, worse, a historian who had been there and seen the stories change through time, was just the cherry on top. I sat with gnashed teeth through what seemed an eternity of a maths class, waiting to confront that upstart. She had Mesopotamian blood in her, clear as day, and she didn't know one ounce of where she'd come from. The nerve on her! I knocked on the door. A voice - Mrs. Naurood's - beckoned me enter. I'd run through a few scenarios in my mind, unleashing broadsides, asking for an explanation, demanding to see her history teacher credentials, but I didn't anticipate what came next. A hug. "John Smith! John. Smith. Finally you ran out of names." _"I don't quite follow"_ "Roger Tombs? Brian Babylon? Peter Palms?" I fell silent. How did she know? Mrs Naurood read the question. "You're 28. Always have been, always will be. Shaving a bit closer or having a grizzle doesn't make you younger or older. Changing names and moustaches and doing newsworthy stuff doesn't change the fact that this is a new age - with face recognition and instant image searches and supercomputers. Remembering history isn't half as important as keeping it safe. Keeping you safe." She knew! And she knew what the cuneiform in the textbook said too. Yet she chose to ignore it. "And if you want to remember history as it were, you should remember its players too." _"Are... Are you an immortal too?"_ "From the same blood sacrifice. I was under the girders and the blood dripped on me." We shared a moment of silence. "Remember this D. Don't stick your neck out, keep the truth to yourself but don't fight for it. Not yet. These guys, they lap up their cuneiforms selectively, they don't realise that propaganda has been with humanity since the very first tablet. They think of Hammurabi the terrible as a wise Saint. They write science fiction about cities with towers struck by their God for vanity. It's... Not worth it." I reflected on her words. "Look, if you wanna talk about the good old days, come over some time. I still make wheatwater and roast locust like we used to."	"And the goddess of light, she bestowed upon you an eidetic memory as well?" I gaped at Mrs Gray, utterly bewildered. She was behaving surprisingly nonchalant considering I had just informed her I was immortal and stabbed myself through the neck with a compass to prove it. I was hoping to have the old hag in hysterics and eventually shipped off to a padded room so Mr Green from class B would take over for the rest of the semester. "A what now?" I finally responded. "Eidetic memory. It means you can remember things in perfect detail." She responded, not even looking up from the papers she was marking. "Can you remember what you had for breakfast last week?" "Well no but..." "Then I don't see how I can trust anything you've written without sources." "What? BUT I WAS THERE!" I yelled, just about ready to flip her desk. "I saw it with my own eyes!" "And witness testimony is about one of the least reliable sources of evidence there is." She responded finally looking up. "False memories occur all the time, and only more frequently with age." "You...you're just biased because you hate me!" I threw the essay down onto her desk and was just about to storm out. "On the contrary, it seems you are the one who is biased." She picked up the essay I had thrown in front of her and cleared her throat reading aloud. "The honorable tribes residing on the east side of the Tigris river were known for their valiant warriors, fending off the dirty savages from the west." "So? It's true." I responded "Low lives the lot of them. My father said so, as did his father and-" "And I'm sure they probably thought the same thing about you." she interrupted. "History is more than just what happened. Equally important is why. Proper history is viewed through an objective lens. Because only by understanding the past can we hope to improve things for the future. Now with that in mind, if you'd like to learn from your past I'd be willing to allow you to write your essay again."
[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.	“I’m afraid I don’t understand,” I told my teacher calmly, uncaring of the disruption I was causing in the classroom. “Was my essay badly written? Was there a problem with my citations? What exactly did I do wrong enough to warrant a D?” Normally, I strove for politeness. But it was simply unacceptable for any educator to mark down work for having a different opinion - and, having triple checked every source I’d put down and backed up every assumption written, I knew it wasn’t an issue with the quality of the paper. I had taken such pains to make sure I didn’t use any of my own knowledge. It was difficult to write purely as a student of the time and not as someone who had been born and raised in Mesopotamia - and I would be dammed if this ignorant and opinionated dog would cast such aspersions upon my work. The teacher glared daggers at me. “You dismissed out of hand the translation of the Historian Lawrence and called Ishtar-Sin a chicken!” I flipped neatly to the appendix and held up a photograph of a tablet. “As you can see here, we have the poem of Ishtar-Sin. The circled cuneiform is what Historian Lawrence translated as “falcon”. However, if you refer to my next page...” I quickly flipped the page over “you can see that this is a recipe, rescued from the museum of Iraq and currently on display in the Giza Museum until it can be returned. Here you can see that the same cuneiform is used. Although chicken was not as ubiquitous as it is in modern meals, I assure you it was far more common than eating falcons. “Furthermore, from Lawrence‘s own translation you can see that he wrote of ‘the falcon’s strut’ - when has one ever spoken of a falcon strutting? A falcon soars, it circles, it glides and it dives. Its domain is the sky. It is the rooster who boastfully struts upon the ground. “Additionally, the poem references the battle of Nineveh - which was a crushing defeat for Ishtar-sin (I have included a reference here to the work of Abdelrahman Kanoo, a historian operating in Syria) and, with all these factors considered, I do not believe I am wrong to say that this poem, rather than lauding Ishtar-sin, was a piece that was written to mercilessly mock a man who was pampered from birth and fancied himself a general but ran from his first battle and showed no repentance for his incompetence.” I wondered, for a moment, if the teacher was about to burst a blood vessel. “How dare you belittle the work of acknowledged historians?” came the frothing reply. “How unbelievably arrogant to think you know better!” I smiled at that. “History is a pack of lies about events that never happened told by people who weren’t there.” I quoted. “It’s literally the opening page of the textbook you assigned. You told us to question our sources. Their motivations. Their qualifications. Having done so - why am I being punished for following your instructions?” The ignorant dog remained silent at that. I couldn’t help but be satisfied. After all, it reminded me greatly of the look on Ishtar-Sin’s face when he heard the poem I, the woman he had sworn to marry, wrote about him...	"And the goddess of light, she bestowed upon you an eidetic memory as well?" I gaped at Mrs Gray, utterly bewildered. She was behaving surprisingly nonchalant considering I had just informed her I was immortal and stabbed myself through the neck with a compass to prove it. I was hoping to have the old hag in hysterics and eventually shipped off to a padded room so Mr Green from class B would take over for the rest of the semester. "A what now?" I finally responded. "Eidetic memory. It means you can remember things in perfect detail." She responded, not even looking up from the papers she was marking. "Can you remember what you had for breakfast last week?" "Well no but..." "Then I don't see how I can trust anything you've written without sources." "What? BUT I WAS THERE!" I yelled, just about ready to flip her desk. "I saw it with my own eyes!" "And witness testimony is about one of the least reliable sources of evidence there is." She responded finally looking up. "False memories occur all the time, and only more frequently with age." "You...you're just biased because you hate me!" I threw the essay down onto her desk and was just about to storm out. "On the contrary, it seems you are the one who is biased." She picked up the essay I had thrown in front of her and cleared her throat reading aloud. "The honorable tribes residing on the east side of the Tigris river were known for their valiant warriors, fending off the dirty savages from the west." "So? It's true." I responded "Low lives the lot of them. My father said so, as did his father and-" "And I'm sure they probably thought the same thing about you." she interrupted. "History is more than just what happened. Equally important is why. Proper history is viewed through an objective lens. Because only by understanding the past can we hope to improve things for the future. Now with that in mind, if you'd like to learn from your past I'd be willing to allow you to write your essay again."
[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.	“I’m afraid I don’t understand,” I told my teacher calmly, uncaring of the disruption I was causing in the classroom. “Was my essay badly written? Was there a problem with my citations? What exactly did I do wrong enough to warrant a D?” Normally, I strove for politeness. But it was simply unacceptable for any educator to mark down work for having a different opinion - and, having triple checked every source I’d put down and backed up every assumption written, I knew it wasn’t an issue with the quality of the paper. I had taken such pains to make sure I didn’t use any of my own knowledge. It was difficult to write purely as a student of the time and not as someone who had been born and raised in Mesopotamia - and I would be dammed if this ignorant and opinionated dog would cast such aspersions upon my work. The teacher glared daggers at me. “You dismissed out of hand the translation of the Historian Lawrence and called Ishtar-Sin a chicken!” I flipped neatly to the appendix and held up a photograph of a tablet. “As you can see here, we have the poem of Ishtar-Sin. The circled cuneiform is what Historian Lawrence translated as “falcon”. However, if you refer to my next page...” I quickly flipped the page over “you can see that this is a recipe, rescued from the museum of Iraq and currently on display in the Giza Museum until it can be returned. Here you can see that the same cuneiform is used. Although chicken was not as ubiquitous as it is in modern meals, I assure you it was far more common than eating falcons. “Furthermore, from Lawrence‘s own translation you can see that he wrote of ‘the falcon’s strut’ - when has one ever spoken of a falcon strutting? A falcon soars, it circles, it glides and it dives. Its domain is the sky. It is the rooster who boastfully struts upon the ground. “Additionally, the poem references the battle of Nineveh - which was a crushing defeat for Ishtar-sin (I have included a reference here to the work of Abdelrahman Kanoo, a historian operating in Syria) and, with all these factors considered, I do not believe I am wrong to say that this poem, rather than lauding Ishtar-sin, was a piece that was written to mercilessly mock a man who was pampered from birth and fancied himself a general but ran from his first battle and showed no repentance for his incompetence.” I wondered, for a moment, if the teacher was about to burst a blood vessel. “How dare you belittle the work of acknowledged historians?” came the frothing reply. “How unbelievably arrogant to think you know better!” I smiled at that. “History is a pack of lies about events that never happened told by people who weren’t there.” I quoted. “It’s literally the opening page of the textbook you assigned. You told us to question our sources. Their motivations. Their qualifications. Having done so - why am I being punished for following your instructions?” The ignorant dog remained silent at that. I couldn’t help but be satisfied. After all, it reminded me greatly of the look on Ishtar-Sin’s face when he heard the poem I, the woman he had sworn to marry, wrote about him...	_A D?? This deserves better than a D, Mrs Naurood!_ \- You can't go around pulling stuff out of thin air and calling it history, John! And as I've already said, See. Me. After. Class. _But they're not made up! It's right there in the books!_ Mrs. Naurood ignored me as she picked up her books and left the class. I'd been going on refresher courses every three years... And it's been hard enough for me to adapt to the decimal system and different conventions of weight and distance that used neither hex or decimal (pound? feet? Whose feet?), but this took ridiculous to a new level. I've been a historian as a cover for most of my life, and while I need the community credits for my new identity, arguing with a historian, worse, a historian who had been there and seen the stories change through time, was just the cherry on top. I sat with gnashed teeth through what seemed an eternity of a maths class, waiting to confront that upstart. She had Mesopotamian blood in her, clear as day, and she didn't know one ounce of where she'd come from. The nerve on her! I knocked on the door. A voice - Mrs. Naurood's - beckoned me enter. I'd run through a few scenarios in my mind, unleashing broadsides, asking for an explanation, demanding to see her history teacher credentials, but I didn't anticipate what came next. A hug. "John Smith! John. Smith. Finally you ran out of names." _"I don't quite follow"_ "Roger Tombs? Brian Babylon? Peter Palms?" I fell silent. How did she know? Mrs Naurood read the question. "You're 28. Always have been, always will be. Shaving a bit closer or having a grizzle doesn't make you younger or older. Changing names and moustaches and doing newsworthy stuff doesn't change the fact that this is a new age - with face recognition and instant image searches and supercomputers. Remembering history isn't half as important as keeping it safe. Keeping you safe." She knew! And she knew what the cuneiform in the textbook said too. Yet she chose to ignore it. "And if you want to remember history as it were, you should remember its players too." _"Are... Are you an immortal too?"_ "From the same blood sacrifice. I was under the girders and the blood dripped on me." We shared a moment of silence. "Remember this D. Don't stick your neck out, keep the truth to yourself but don't fight for it. Not yet. These guys, they lap up their cuneiforms selectively, they don't realise that propaganda has been with humanity since the very first tablet. They think of Hammurabi the terrible as a wise Saint. They write science fiction about cities with towers struck by their God for vanity. It's... Not worth it." I reflected on her words. "Look, if you wanna talk about the good old days, come over some time. I still make wheatwater and roast locust like we used to."
[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.	“I’m afraid I don’t understand,” I told my teacher calmly, uncaring of the disruption I was causing in the classroom. “Was my essay badly written? Was there a problem with my citations? What exactly did I do wrong enough to warrant a D?” Normally, I strove for politeness. But it was simply unacceptable for any educator to mark down work for having a different opinion - and, having triple checked every source I’d put down and backed up every assumption written, I knew it wasn’t an issue with the quality of the paper. I had taken such pains to make sure I didn’t use any of my own knowledge. It was difficult to write purely as a student of the time and not as someone who had been born and raised in Mesopotamia - and I would be dammed if this ignorant and opinionated dog would cast such aspersions upon my work. The teacher glared daggers at me. “You dismissed out of hand the translation of the Historian Lawrence and called Ishtar-Sin a chicken!” I flipped neatly to the appendix and held up a photograph of a tablet. “As you can see here, we have the poem of Ishtar-Sin. The circled cuneiform is what Historian Lawrence translated as “falcon”. However, if you refer to my next page...” I quickly flipped the page over “you can see that this is a recipe, rescued from the museum of Iraq and currently on display in the Giza Museum until it can be returned. Here you can see that the same cuneiform is used. Although chicken was not as ubiquitous as it is in modern meals, I assure you it was far more common than eating falcons. “Furthermore, from Lawrence‘s own translation you can see that he wrote of ‘the falcon’s strut’ - when has one ever spoken of a falcon strutting? A falcon soars, it circles, it glides and it dives. Its domain is the sky. It is the rooster who boastfully struts upon the ground. “Additionally, the poem references the battle of Nineveh - which was a crushing defeat for Ishtar-sin (I have included a reference here to the work of Abdelrahman Kanoo, a historian operating in Syria) and, with all these factors considered, I do not believe I am wrong to say that this poem, rather than lauding Ishtar-sin, was a piece that was written to mercilessly mock a man who was pampered from birth and fancied himself a general but ran from his first battle and showed no repentance for his incompetence.” I wondered, for a moment, if the teacher was about to burst a blood vessel. “How dare you belittle the work of acknowledged historians?” came the frothing reply. “How unbelievably arrogant to think you know better!” I smiled at that. “History is a pack of lies about events that never happened told by people who weren’t there.” I quoted. “It’s literally the opening page of the textbook you assigned. You told us to question our sources. Their motivations. Their qualifications. Having done so - why am I being punished for following your instructions?” The ignorant dog remained silent at that. I couldn’t help but be satisfied. After all, it reminded me greatly of the look on Ishtar-Sin’s face when he heard the poem I, the woman he had sworn to marry, wrote about him...	Immortality gets rather boring after multiple centuries waiting for humans to develop new technology. The rapid development humans have experienced in the last few years has kept me entertained very well, suffice to say; as long as they don't blow each other up and make everything boring again, life has been rather flush with excitement. Unfortunately, it's also been rather flush with aggravation. I decided to enroll myself in a school to see what children today are learning about history, times I was alive in, just to see how accurate they were. I was actually impressed, given the limited available artifacts to study. They got most of it down, including making fun of that rotten bastard Ea-Nasir. I'm still angry, a few millenia later. A quiz on ancient Mesopotamia was handed out today, where we had to write an essay on what daily life was like in Mesopotamia. Having been blessed with a photographic memory (and also actually having been there) I wrote what I would consider a beautiful piece on a daily routine; waking up, preparing for work, taking in the sights on the way, et cetera. It was a pleasant era, I must admit. It came as no surprise when the essay returned with an F and a "See me after class!" note. I don't think the teacher liked me anyway; she always assumed that I had been lying, whenever I corrected her on something she got wrong. I was only trying to help, after all, but her sour attitude certainly made it harder than it had to be. This isn't the first time this had happened, and to be honest I was getting rather sick of it at this point. I am tired of being treated like a moron when I know more than she ever will. I must teach her a lesson. Murder is easy, of course, but it never really works, that I have learned. Perhaps I'll put her in my shoes of that day, and see what she thinks of my essay when she comes back to the present. The one thing I know for sure is that Mrs. Smith is... what was that word they used? Ah, yes. A bitch.
[WP] You must convince the evil warlord not to open a portal to your world. Not because their army might conquer it, but because the army back home might conquer this realm.	"No, seriously your dark lordship, you really don't understand the terrors you might unleash if you do this. Nothing in this world can compare." Behind me, the portal was gathering power. I mean, I thought it was - It wasn't like I really understood this magic/science bullshit they had going on here. I was pretty sure the building noise, like the sound of nails on a chalkboard, meant the thing was gaining power though. It was the same sound that I'd been trying to find the source of when I found the smaller rift they'd been making for their scouting force and stumbled through it. Apparently I'd come through before it was stable, and that had killed a bunch of their magicians and collapsed the thing. They'd been struggling to get it open again for the last fortnight. BE SILENT! WE WILL NOT COUNTENCE YOUR LIES ANY LONGER, THOMAS, SMITH OF GOLD. The Dark Lord (or was it the Dread Lord? Every one of the big honchos in this army had some sobriquet like that, and I couldn't tell them apart because they all wore hulking suits of armor with a plethora of spikes) let its will snap against mine. My left eyelid started twitching, entirely outside of my control. Definitely Dark, then. Dread's mind always made the back of my knee itch. LOOK UPON THESE LANDS, REVITALIZED BY THE POWERS YOUR PASSAGE ALLOWED TO SEEP IN. WE SHALL NOT BE DENIED THESE RESOURCES. WHATEVER CHAMPIONS YOUR WORLD HAS GATHERED, WE WILL DESTROY THEM, AND LAY CLAIM TO... *why are you laughing?* "Look, I get it." I wheezed a bit, as I pulled myself under control. "We've had droughts and the like on the other side. Resource shortages suck, and," I gestured at the greenery that had blossomed and overrun the city over the last few days. Tall tufts of grass had forced their way up between the cobblestones of the square leading to the portal. "You want this." I sighed. "But my world won't cede things to you after a brief contest of champions. Heck, they won't even array champions against you. We don't really have those, and the army will take days or weeks to respond. We do have monsters, though. Monsters like you have never imagined. And when they see a place like this... well, they won't be able to keep themselves from laying waste to it." WE KNOW MONSTERS. WE CONQUER AND TAME THEM TO MAKE OUR HORDES. BEHOLD THE BLACK BEAST OF THE OUTER VOID, WITH A THOUSAND MOUTHS AND GNASHING TEETH. BEHOLD THE FLENSED LADY, WHO DWELLS IN MIRRORS AND NONE MAY ESCAPE. BEHOLD THE BANDERSNATCH... He droned on like that, pointing out each of the many terrible creatures that made up his army, and crowded the square. They were fearsome, and my mind quailed from the looking at them. "What lies beyond that gateway is worse. It is not content with defeating others - when your army has been scattered by it, it will lay terrible bindings upon you, from which neither you, nor any of this world, nor any who come after you, shall ever escape." He is stalling, my lord. The portal is ready to open on your command. The Fallen Advisor was an unctuous bastard. His mind just dripped smarm every time he spoke nearby. I wasn't going to regret it if he got destroyed. "Think of your people, man. Please. Don't do this. There has to be a different way. A better way." I was begging and, I didn't mind doing it. OPEN IT! The portal coalesced, all orange and grey light. The army took a breath, preparing to voice their war cry, and I edged backwards, knowing what was to come. Sadly, the cage I'd been thrust into kept me from fleeing. "AHEM, MR. GOLDSMITH? It's Karen, your HOA president. Per Article 5, subsection 17, paragraph 942 of the revised HOA regulations, interdimensional portals require Board approval before their construction, and must be in the approved shades of lavender, aquamarine, pearl, or taupe. Acceptable noises for generation may be light bells, or that oriental thing that goes bonk, but must be constrained to the hours between 9am and 9pm. I have a list of your violations, fines, and remediation measures ready for you..." There was the snapping of a tape measure, so quick that many of the army flinched, reminded of the snicker-snack of vorpal blades. In flinching, they missed their only chance to get a word in edgewise, and sealed their doom. There was a great intake of breath. "LAWNS MUST BE KEPT BETWEEN ONE AND ONE AND A QUARTER INCHES IN HEIGHT, AND COMPOSED ENTIRELY OF KENTUCKY BLUE GRASS!" She had seized one of the many winged horrors by an ear, and hauled it out of the sky, as she bellowed in it's face. "FETCH ME THIS CITY'S MANAGER!"	Stonewood sat, looking at this pathetic excuse of a warlord. He's seen his ilk try and fail as much as they succeed. But this one plays out just like his counterpart: strung up and used a chew toy by almost everyone. Everyone except for the Secretary's. "You know, I'm not the strongest where I come from. To some, I'm an equal; others someone worthy of being looked up to. The rest couldn't even pay a fraction of a nano-second of my existence. But the Commander? He's someone who everyone, and I mean EVERYONE, knows not to spar with." Stonewood says with a flat, bored tone. "Pah, I think I can manage." Warlord Panket spat, walking towards the portal. "That's a bad idea. The Secretary's are bored enough as it is, and they need a chew toy." Stonewood smirks, trying not to laugh. Last time they had a chew toy, the head Secretary felt so bad she had to kill him. "Oh, must be a welcoming party! Goody me!" Panket says, laughing as he set one foot into the portal. "Again, a bad idea. The City of Greying Silver won't be welcoming lot." Stonewood says, bored again. Once Panket goes through, he looked at his watch, counting how long it'll take for Panket to try crawling back out. Ten seconds. Twenty. Thirty. Forty-five seco---Panket comes crawling out screaming and manages to clear the portal. Problem is, a hand has grasped his ankle. "Aw, come on, sugar, come play with us! We've been so bored!" Says a blonde haired woman in a near-southern accent. "No no no no no no no! Please, no!" Panket screams as he's picked up by the blonde, who is standing around seven foot tall, whereas Panket is a meager five foot tall and scrawny. "LET. ME. GO!" "Bethany, make sure you don't have to much fun. I've had to clean up after last time." Stonewood says in annoyance. "Aw, you are no fun, sugar! We haven't had any assignments in ages!" She fake pouted, dangling a screeching Panket back through the portal. "Good grief, now the rest is stuck with me!" Stonewood looks back at the frozen and bewildered army, a crazed look washing across his face as he stands up, the Geiger-counters in the City starts clicking like crazy and a few had circuits blow from massive as the radiation spikes from Stonewood as the portal closes.
[WP] You must convince the evil warlord not to open a portal to your world. Not because their army might conquer it, but because the army back home might conquer this realm.	"Yes, yes, I understand. Your armies are legion, your weapons pussient and dire, and nothing shall stop the glorious march of your empire. The reaping of my home-world - solipsistic pile of degeneracy that it is - would be the work of an afternoon if it came to a fight. But you miss my point, your Menace." The being in front of me was, in the eyes of it's subjects, divine will incarnate. So mighty was it considered, that no bodyguards were present, lest the implication of need create blasphemy. The anthropologist in me was fascinated that, breasts and womb aside - and assuming the latter hadn't been replaced by a power source for yet more weaponry - it's gender was Power. It did not bear, it did not sire, it took, and by taking, rose, until it'd reached it's current position at the apex of a society that breathed conquest and worshiped mass-murder. It towered above me, even sitting. A 5-meter sculpture of perfected muscle, reinforced bone and armor composites, it was a carbon-black God of War, and I had been tasked with preserving it's existance. "Then speak quickly, merchant, for your empty blatherings try my patience." I'd known, going in, that ingratitude would be expected. But the temerity of it was a tad galled. "Then let me contrast our worlds: your predecessors sharpened themselves against one another, generation after generation, in an arms race that started with swords against aketon, to guns against fiberplate, to beam-lances against moly-carapace. Your opponents may wield terrible armaments, and grand defenses, but your men bear arms that make them invincible and unstoppable. Is this not true? A tungsten smile split what I presumed was it's face, but considering the culture, the front of it's skull might just be classed as a social combat weapons port. "To so describe the Trial of Steel in such pithy terms before it's greatest acolyte is either the first sign of mettle you've shown do far, or an insult for which I will devour your liver. Finish, before my hunger resolves your fate." I knew damn well that it's digestive system had been replaced with a coil-gun array, so the threat was a bit hollow. But formalities had to be observed, I supposed. "Of course, Triumphant. In a parallel manner, my people waged a different, but no less desperate race: louder market criers against illiteracy, brighter billboards against shortening attention spans, tailored ads against jaded tastes, memetic imperative worms against eigenvector-checked gestalt polymerase. "While the discernment of the markets, and the pull of the seller's pitches grow on every world, by every moment, my home is an evolutionary orgy of needs and appeals. "And therein lays the poison that would see everything you've built laid to waste: your world has mastered the ability to force your will upon others, with your men bearing irresistible armaments in righteous cause. Yet, you still depend upon men to carry those arms." The Power was not stupid. It was also displeased. I hurried along: the pleasure of shooting the messenger was considered a diplomatic gift among these people. "Your soldier will arrive, clad in fury and will leave, dressed in the finest of discount fashion. Your weapons will be borne with purpose to my world, but within minutes, will in turn bear absolute necessary accessories that no modern weapons owner should do without. Your invasion will open, cracking the sky, and then immediately cease, after cracking it's bank account and several thousand credit limits. In short, Vanquisher, your armor may stop any munition, but your spam filters are woeful, and your arms may level continents, but on my world, all customers are our subjects, and any who enter the Market becomes a customer." It's face wasn't built for vivid expression. But the absence of emotion was clear. Fear had been surgically excised from the Power, so it felt nothing. But all it was feeling was nothing, and in great amounts. "We will not harm you or your men in any way, Queller, we want only peace and trade. If your men set foot on my world to engage it the trade of arms, then they will be greeted warmly, and treated as valuable customers. We will be happy to lease them back to you, of course, and at entirely reasonable rates." The Power was, of course, unconquered. It'd remain so, so long as it picked it's battles. "What kind of herald are you, who bears no threats of violence, while promising annihilation?" "Oh! No, your Indomitability, I grasp the miscommunication. I am not a diplomat at all, my pardons for the mixup." "No emissary? Then what are you?" "An environmentalist. My company specializes in greenwashing brand images. Preservation of endangered cultures tests quite well with our focus groups, you see."	Stonewood sat, looking at this pathetic excuse of a warlord. He's seen his ilk try and fail as much as they succeed. But this one plays out just like his counterpart: strung up and used a chew toy by almost everyone. Everyone except for the Secretary's. "You know, I'm not the strongest where I come from. To some, I'm an equal; others someone worthy of being looked up to. The rest couldn't even pay a fraction of a nano-second of my existence. But the Commander? He's someone who everyone, and I mean EVERYONE, knows not to spar with." Stonewood says with a flat, bored tone. "Pah, I think I can manage." Warlord Panket spat, walking towards the portal. "That's a bad idea. The Secretary's are bored enough as it is, and they need a chew toy." Stonewood smirks, trying not to laugh. Last time they had a chew toy, the head Secretary felt so bad she had to kill him. "Oh, must be a welcoming party! Goody me!" Panket says, laughing as he set one foot into the portal. "Again, a bad idea. The City of Greying Silver won't be welcoming lot." Stonewood says, bored again. Once Panket goes through, he looked at his watch, counting how long it'll take for Panket to try crawling back out. Ten seconds. Twenty. Thirty. Forty-five seco---Panket comes crawling out screaming and manages to clear the portal. Problem is, a hand has grasped his ankle. "Aw, come on, sugar, come play with us! We've been so bored!" Says a blonde haired woman in a near-southern accent. "No no no no no no no! Please, no!" Panket screams as he's picked up by the blonde, who is standing around seven foot tall, whereas Panket is a meager five foot tall and scrawny. "LET. ME. GO!" "Bethany, make sure you don't have to much fun. I've had to clean up after last time." Stonewood says in annoyance. "Aw, you are no fun, sugar! We haven't had any assignments in ages!" She fake pouted, dangling a screeching Panket back through the portal. "Good grief, now the rest is stuck with me!" Stonewood looks back at the frozen and bewildered army, a crazed look washing across his face as he stands up, the Geiger-counters in the City starts clicking like crazy and a few had circuits blow from massive as the radiation spikes from Stonewood as the portal closes.
[WP] You must convince the evil warlord not to open a portal to your world. Not because their army might conquer it, but because the army back home might conquer this realm.	I woke up in a humid dungeon lit by flickering candles, shackled to a wall, suspended above the cold stone floor. The last thing I remembered was a purple, rune-encrusted portal and a pair of gnarled green hands, with the roughness of tree bark, dragging me out of the barracks. The creak of door hinges interrupted my musings, and the candles on the walls suddenly flared to a respectable level of light. What seemed to be a person walked in, with bark for skin and pine needles for hair. “Skinless one, my name is Garflax the conqueror. We have acquired you for your military expertise, so we may conquer your world.” The tree person crossed its arms and tapped its foot on the stone floor lightly, awaiting a response. “Give me a life of luxury and we have a deal, I never wanted to be an army guy. Could you let me down real quick so we can talk normally?” Garflax strode over, their bark covered feet scraping the ground. “Why of course.” Once I was let down properly and got a second to stretch my legs, I started asking the logistical questions. “So what kind of troop count are we working with, what fire power? How fast can you guys wipe out a city?” Garflax raised an eyebrow in indignation. “Our kingdom has over 20,000 foot soldiers and hundreds of mages. We can decimate a city of thousands in mere days, calling upon great rains, lightning, and fire! No army can stand against us.” I groaned and pinched my forehead with my thumb and pointer finger, trying to understand the hubris here. “Look, how many people does this world have. Like in total, not just your army.” Garflax snorted condescendingly, causing some sawdust to fall onto my prisoner’s rags. “Millions of people, all of them trained in spear and bow combat. We have thousands more mages.” I slowly shook my head. “Garflax, could you take us back to my world? Look for a gun shop in a place called Florida.”	Stonewood sat, looking at this pathetic excuse of a warlord. He's seen his ilk try and fail as much as they succeed. But this one plays out just like his counterpart: strung up and used a chew toy by almost everyone. Everyone except for the Secretary's. "You know, I'm not the strongest where I come from. To some, I'm an equal; others someone worthy of being looked up to. The rest couldn't even pay a fraction of a nano-second of my existence. But the Commander? He's someone who everyone, and I mean EVERYONE, knows not to spar with." Stonewood says with a flat, bored tone. "Pah, I think I can manage." Warlord Panket spat, walking towards the portal. "That's a bad idea. The Secretary's are bored enough as it is, and they need a chew toy." Stonewood smirks, trying not to laugh. Last time they had a chew toy, the head Secretary felt so bad she had to kill him. "Oh, must be a welcoming party! Goody me!" Panket says, laughing as he set one foot into the portal. "Again, a bad idea. The City of Greying Silver won't be welcoming lot." Stonewood says, bored again. Once Panket goes through, he looked at his watch, counting how long it'll take for Panket to try crawling back out. Ten seconds. Twenty. Thirty. Forty-five seco---Panket comes crawling out screaming and manages to clear the portal. Problem is, a hand has grasped his ankle. "Aw, come on, sugar, come play with us! We've been so bored!" Says a blonde haired woman in a near-southern accent. "No no no no no no no! Please, no!" Panket screams as he's picked up by the blonde, who is standing around seven foot tall, whereas Panket is a meager five foot tall and scrawny. "LET. ME. GO!" "Bethany, make sure you don't have to much fun. I've had to clean up after last time." Stonewood says in annoyance. "Aw, you are no fun, sugar! We haven't had any assignments in ages!" She fake pouted, dangling a screeching Panket back through the portal. "Good grief, now the rest is stuck with me!" Stonewood looks back at the frozen and bewildered army, a crazed look washing across his face as he stands up, the Geiger-counters in the City starts clicking like crazy and a few had circuits blow from massive as the radiation spikes from Stonewood as the portal closes.
[WP] You must convince the evil warlord not to open a portal to your world. Not because their army might conquer it, but because the army back home might conquer this realm.	"Another world of puny humans, shall fall before us, just like this one. Another glorious battle awaits us!" The army before the demonic being cheered in exalation. "Except you are missing a tiny, but important detail, though?" One of the captured heroes interjected. "Hah, it will be no matter. But sure, if you would mind, what oh so great, problem shall await us in your home world?" The demonic lord sneered, speaking in dripping sarcasm. "You know", the girl said, whilst slight turning her head to side and looking upwards as if trying to remember something, "The humans of this world were fairly peacefull. Sure they couldn't get a grip and unite against you, but they weren't tearing each other apart either." "So what?! Even if they had united, in the end it would have all been futile against our might! Did you think? Did you honestly believe, that we came here with all our might? We came to enjoy the thrill of battle! To train our young! And yet most of our strongest went on bored, so to leave the young ones a fight." The girl shuckeled; "I know. That is why THIS, is a really bad idea." For the first time in millenia the face, of the demon looked stumped. "And why would that be?" Still thinking nothing of the human heroes, he walked closer to their cages, which oversaw the giant ritual to bring them to their next world. "What would make these humans any different, than these here?" He laughed. "Because they do not enjoy battle,.. but relish in slaughter." The girl said with a vacant stare. "Man of that world has shed the blood of one another for millenia upon millenia. Turning the river black of rotten blood and bloated corpses. Building pyramids and thrones of skulls from their own kind to sit upon. Built weapons that are not meant to kill the men infront of him, but annihalte cities, so that noone shall rise against them." The girl exhaled as if exhausted. "Where fields once grew they turned it into mud and maggot writhing corpses. Turned the sky black of ash from man and animal alike. Turned the ground into poison so not even the worms that feast opon their enemys body might find nourishment from it." Looking upon the altar which was meant to upon altar, the girl gave a saddened stare. "Ours is not a world for battle. It does not forge warriors, but monsters. An endless meat-grinder. Devouring all and everyone." The girl paused. "Your kind will not find the joy you seek there." He could not sense a lie. He couldn't. But. Why? What that human said, made no sense. Yet he would have felt it, if she had lied. So he ignored it. Atfer all, he had seen many enenies before deluding himself into their own greatness. Only for his kin to let them feel the fall back to reality. He grinned. "Open the portal!" Once more the girl sighed and the massive army below her marched. Hundreds of thousands of them. And yet she knew, none would return. Sure they might have some success in first few days. After all none would suspect a sudden invasion in the middle of their territory... but no matter how much a being could strengthen themselves, no matter how new magic was to her world. How did hundreds of years in learing the sword measure up to poison gas and mashine gun fire. In the end, what could a sword weilding, slightly magically enhanced demon do against nuclear weaponry and orbital bombardment? The only possbile answer, was die.	Stonewood sat, looking at this pathetic excuse of a warlord. He's seen his ilk try and fail as much as they succeed. But this one plays out just like his counterpart: strung up and used a chew toy by almost everyone. Everyone except for the Secretary's. "You know, I'm not the strongest where I come from. To some, I'm an equal; others someone worthy of being looked up to. The rest couldn't even pay a fraction of a nano-second of my existence. But the Commander? He's someone who everyone, and I mean EVERYONE, knows not to spar with." Stonewood says with a flat, bored tone. "Pah, I think I can manage." Warlord Panket spat, walking towards the portal. "That's a bad idea. The Secretary's are bored enough as it is, and they need a chew toy." Stonewood smirks, trying not to laugh. Last time they had a chew toy, the head Secretary felt so bad she had to kill him. "Oh, must be a welcoming party! Goody me!" Panket says, laughing as he set one foot into the portal. "Again, a bad idea. The City of Greying Silver won't be welcoming lot." Stonewood says, bored again. Once Panket goes through, he looked at his watch, counting how long it'll take for Panket to try crawling back out. Ten seconds. Twenty. Thirty. Forty-five seco---Panket comes crawling out screaming and manages to clear the portal. Problem is, a hand has grasped his ankle. "Aw, come on, sugar, come play with us! We've been so bored!" Says a blonde haired woman in a near-southern accent. "No no no no no no no! Please, no!" Panket screams as he's picked up by the blonde, who is standing around seven foot tall, whereas Panket is a meager five foot tall and scrawny. "LET. ME. GO!" "Bethany, make sure you don't have to much fun. I've had to clean up after last time." Stonewood says in annoyance. "Aw, you are no fun, sugar! We haven't had any assignments in ages!" She fake pouted, dangling a screeching Panket back through the portal. "Good grief, now the rest is stuck with me!" Stonewood looks back at the frozen and bewildered army, a crazed look washing across his face as he stands up, the Geiger-counters in the City starts clicking like crazy and a few had circuits blow from massive as the radiation spikes from Stonewood as the portal closes.
[WP] You must convince the evil warlord not to open a portal to your world. Not because their army might conquer it, but because the army back home might conquer this realm.	I woke up in a humid dungeon lit by flickering candles, shackled to a wall, suspended above the cold stone floor. The last thing I remembered was a purple, rune-encrusted portal and a pair of gnarled green hands, with the roughness of tree bark, dragging me out of the barracks. The creak of door hinges interrupted my musings, and the candles on the walls suddenly flared to a respectable level of light. What seemed to be a person walked in, with bark for skin and pine needles for hair. “Skinless one, my name is Garflax the conqueror. We have acquired you for your military expertise, so we may conquer your world.” The tree person crossed its arms and tapped its foot on the stone floor lightly, awaiting a response. “Give me a life of luxury and we have a deal, I never wanted to be an army guy. Could you let me down real quick so we can talk normally?” Garflax strode over, their bark covered feet scraping the ground. “Why of course.” Once I was let down properly and got a second to stretch my legs, I started asking the logistical questions. “So what kind of troop count are we working with, what fire power? How fast can you guys wipe out a city?” Garflax raised an eyebrow in indignation. “Our kingdom has over 20,000 foot soldiers and hundreds of mages. We can decimate a city of thousands in mere days, calling upon great rains, lightning, and fire! No army can stand against us.” I groaned and pinched my forehead with my thumb and pointer finger, trying to understand the hubris here. “Look, how many people does this world have. Like in total, not just your army.” Garflax snorted condescendingly, causing some sawdust to fall onto my prisoner’s rags. “Millions of people, all of them trained in spear and bow combat. We have thousands more mages.” I slowly shook my head. “Garflax, could you take us back to my world? Look for a gun shop in a place called Florida.”	"No, seriously your dark lordship, you really don't understand the terrors you might unleash if you do this. Nothing in this world can compare." Behind me, the portal was gathering power. I mean, I thought it was - It wasn't like I really understood this magic/science bullshit they had going on here. I was pretty sure the building noise, like the sound of nails on a chalkboard, meant the thing was gaining power though. It was the same sound that I'd been trying to find the source of when I found the smaller rift they'd been making for their scouting force and stumbled through it. Apparently I'd come through before it was stable, and that had killed a bunch of their magicians and collapsed the thing. They'd been struggling to get it open again for the last fortnight. BE SILENT! WE WILL NOT COUNTENCE YOUR LIES ANY LONGER, THOMAS, SMITH OF GOLD. The Dark Lord (or was it the Dread Lord? Every one of the big honchos in this army had some sobriquet like that, and I couldn't tell them apart because they all wore hulking suits of armor with a plethora of spikes) let its will snap against mine. My left eyelid started twitching, entirely outside of my control. Definitely Dark, then. Dread's mind always made the back of my knee itch. LOOK UPON THESE LANDS, REVITALIZED BY THE POWERS YOUR PASSAGE ALLOWED TO SEEP IN. WE SHALL NOT BE DENIED THESE RESOURCES. WHATEVER CHAMPIONS YOUR WORLD HAS GATHERED, WE WILL DESTROY THEM, AND LAY CLAIM TO... *why are you laughing?* "Look, I get it." I wheezed a bit, as I pulled myself under control. "We've had droughts and the like on the other side. Resource shortages suck, and," I gestured at the greenery that had blossomed and overrun the city over the last few days. Tall tufts of grass had forced their way up between the cobblestones of the square leading to the portal. "You want this." I sighed. "But my world won't cede things to you after a brief contest of champions. Heck, they won't even array champions against you. We don't really have those, and the army will take days or weeks to respond. We do have monsters, though. Monsters like you have never imagined. And when they see a place like this... well, they won't be able to keep themselves from laying waste to it." WE KNOW MONSTERS. WE CONQUER AND TAME THEM TO MAKE OUR HORDES. BEHOLD THE BLACK BEAST OF THE OUTER VOID, WITH A THOUSAND MOUTHS AND GNASHING TEETH. BEHOLD THE FLENSED LADY, WHO DWELLS IN MIRRORS AND NONE MAY ESCAPE. BEHOLD THE BANDERSNATCH... He droned on like that, pointing out each of the many terrible creatures that made up his army, and crowded the square. They were fearsome, and my mind quailed from the looking at them. "What lies beyond that gateway is worse. It is not content with defeating others - when your army has been scattered by it, it will lay terrible bindings upon you, from which neither you, nor any of this world, nor any who come after you, shall ever escape." He is stalling, my lord. The portal is ready to open on your command. The Fallen Advisor was an unctuous bastard. His mind just dripped smarm every time he spoke nearby. I wasn't going to regret it if he got destroyed. "Think of your people, man. Please. Don't do this. There has to be a different way. A better way." I was begging and, I didn't mind doing it. OPEN IT! The portal coalesced, all orange and grey light. The army took a breath, preparing to voice their war cry, and I edged backwards, knowing what was to come. Sadly, the cage I'd been thrust into kept me from fleeing. "AHEM, MR. GOLDSMITH? It's Karen, your HOA president. Per Article 5, subsection 17, paragraph 942 of the revised HOA regulations, interdimensional portals require Board approval before their construction, and must be in the approved shades of lavender, aquamarine, pearl, or taupe. Acceptable noises for generation may be light bells, or that oriental thing that goes bonk, but must be constrained to the hours between 9am and 9pm. I have a list of your violations, fines, and remediation measures ready for you..." There was the snapping of a tape measure, so quick that many of the army flinched, reminded of the snicker-snack of vorpal blades. In flinching, they missed their only chance to get a word in edgewise, and sealed their doom. There was a great intake of breath. "LAWNS MUST BE KEPT BETWEEN ONE AND ONE AND A QUARTER INCHES IN HEIGHT, AND COMPOSED ENTIRELY OF KENTUCKY BLUE GRASS!" She had seized one of the many winged horrors by an ear, and hauled it out of the sky, as she bellowed in it's face. "FETCH ME THIS CITY'S MANAGER!"
[WP] You must convince the evil warlord not to open a portal to your world. Not because their army might conquer it, but because the army back home might conquer this realm.	"Another world of puny humans, shall fall before us, just like this one. Another glorious battle awaits us!" The army before the demonic being cheered in exalation. "Except you are missing a tiny, but important detail, though?" One of the captured heroes interjected. "Hah, it will be no matter. But sure, if you would mind, what oh so great, problem shall await us in your home world?" The demonic lord sneered, speaking in dripping sarcasm. "You know", the girl said, whilst slight turning her head to side and looking upwards as if trying to remember something, "The humans of this world were fairly peacefull. Sure they couldn't get a grip and unite against you, but they weren't tearing each other apart either." "So what?! Even if they had united, in the end it would have all been futile against our might! Did you think? Did you honestly believe, that we came here with all our might? We came to enjoy the thrill of battle! To train our young! And yet most of our strongest went on bored, so to leave the young ones a fight." The girl shuckeled; "I know. That is why THIS, is a really bad idea." For the first time in millenia the face, of the demon looked stumped. "And why would that be?" Still thinking nothing of the human heroes, he walked closer to their cages, which oversaw the giant ritual to bring them to their next world. "What would make these humans any different, than these here?" He laughed. "Because they do not enjoy battle,.. but relish in slaughter." The girl said with a vacant stare. "Man of that world has shed the blood of one another for millenia upon millenia. Turning the river black of rotten blood and bloated corpses. Building pyramids and thrones of skulls from their own kind to sit upon. Built weapons that are not meant to kill the men infront of him, but annihalte cities, so that noone shall rise against them." The girl exhaled as if exhausted. "Where fields once grew they turned it into mud and maggot writhing corpses. Turned the sky black of ash from man and animal alike. Turned the ground into poison so not even the worms that feast opon their enemys body might find nourishment from it." Looking upon the altar which was meant to upon altar, the girl gave a saddened stare. "Ours is not a world for battle. It does not forge warriors, but monsters. An endless meat-grinder. Devouring all and everyone." The girl paused. "Your kind will not find the joy you seek there." He could not sense a lie. He couldn't. But. Why? What that human said, made no sense. Yet he would have felt it, if she had lied. So he ignored it. Atfer all, he had seen many enenies before deluding himself into their own greatness. Only for his kin to let them feel the fall back to reality. He grinned. "Open the portal!" Once more the girl sighed and the massive army below her marched. Hundreds of thousands of them. And yet she knew, none would return. Sure they might have some success in first few days. After all none would suspect a sudden invasion in the middle of their territory... but no matter how much a being could strengthen themselves, no matter how new magic was to her world. How did hundreds of years in learing the sword measure up to poison gas and mashine gun fire. In the end, what could a sword weilding, slightly magically enhanced demon do against nuclear weaponry and orbital bombardment? The only possbile answer, was die.	"No, seriously your dark lordship, you really don't understand the terrors you might unleash if you do this. Nothing in this world can compare." Behind me, the portal was gathering power. I mean, I thought it was - It wasn't like I really understood this magic/science bullshit they had going on here. I was pretty sure the building noise, like the sound of nails on a chalkboard, meant the thing was gaining power though. It was the same sound that I'd been trying to find the source of when I found the smaller rift they'd been making for their scouting force and stumbled through it. Apparently I'd come through before it was stable, and that had killed a bunch of their magicians and collapsed the thing. They'd been struggling to get it open again for the last fortnight. BE SILENT! WE WILL NOT COUNTENCE YOUR LIES ANY LONGER, THOMAS, SMITH OF GOLD. The Dark Lord (or was it the Dread Lord? Every one of the big honchos in this army had some sobriquet like that, and I couldn't tell them apart because they all wore hulking suits of armor with a plethora of spikes) let its will snap against mine. My left eyelid started twitching, entirely outside of my control. Definitely Dark, then. Dread's mind always made the back of my knee itch. LOOK UPON THESE LANDS, REVITALIZED BY THE POWERS YOUR PASSAGE ALLOWED TO SEEP IN. WE SHALL NOT BE DENIED THESE RESOURCES. WHATEVER CHAMPIONS YOUR WORLD HAS GATHERED, WE WILL DESTROY THEM, AND LAY CLAIM TO... *why are you laughing?* "Look, I get it." I wheezed a bit, as I pulled myself under control. "We've had droughts and the like on the other side. Resource shortages suck, and," I gestured at the greenery that had blossomed and overrun the city over the last few days. Tall tufts of grass had forced their way up between the cobblestones of the square leading to the portal. "You want this." I sighed. "But my world won't cede things to you after a brief contest of champions. Heck, they won't even array champions against you. We don't really have those, and the army will take days or weeks to respond. We do have monsters, though. Monsters like you have never imagined. And when they see a place like this... well, they won't be able to keep themselves from laying waste to it." WE KNOW MONSTERS. WE CONQUER AND TAME THEM TO MAKE OUR HORDES. BEHOLD THE BLACK BEAST OF THE OUTER VOID, WITH A THOUSAND MOUTHS AND GNASHING TEETH. BEHOLD THE FLENSED LADY, WHO DWELLS IN MIRRORS AND NONE MAY ESCAPE. BEHOLD THE BANDERSNATCH... He droned on like that, pointing out each of the many terrible creatures that made up his army, and crowded the square. They were fearsome, and my mind quailed from the looking at them. "What lies beyond that gateway is worse. It is not content with defeating others - when your army has been scattered by it, it will lay terrible bindings upon you, from which neither you, nor any of this world, nor any who come after you, shall ever escape." He is stalling, my lord. The portal is ready to open on your command. The Fallen Advisor was an unctuous bastard. His mind just dripped smarm every time he spoke nearby. I wasn't going to regret it if he got destroyed. "Think of your people, man. Please. Don't do this. There has to be a different way. A better way." I was begging and, I didn't mind doing it. OPEN IT! The portal coalesced, all orange and grey light. The army took a breath, preparing to voice their war cry, and I edged backwards, knowing what was to come. Sadly, the cage I'd been thrust into kept me from fleeing. "AHEM, MR. GOLDSMITH? It's Karen, your HOA president. Per Article 5, subsection 17, paragraph 942 of the revised HOA regulations, interdimensional portals require Board approval before their construction, and must be in the approved shades of lavender, aquamarine, pearl, or taupe. Acceptable noises for generation may be light bells, or that oriental thing that goes bonk, but must be constrained to the hours between 9am and 9pm. I have a list of your violations, fines, and remediation measures ready for you..." There was the snapping of a tape measure, so quick that many of the army flinched, reminded of the snicker-snack of vorpal blades. In flinching, they missed their only chance to get a word in edgewise, and sealed their doom. There was a great intake of breath. "LAWNS MUST BE KEPT BETWEEN ONE AND ONE AND A QUARTER INCHES IN HEIGHT, AND COMPOSED ENTIRELY OF KENTUCKY BLUE GRASS!" She had seized one of the many winged horrors by an ear, and hauled it out of the sky, as she bellowed in it's face. "FETCH ME THIS CITY'S MANAGER!"
[WP] You must convince the evil warlord not to open a portal to your world. Not because their army might conquer it, but because the army back home might conquer this realm.	"Out of the way Jason of Earth!" The pointy eared gremlin that could use most coffee tables as a standing desk waved around his arms, magic glowing as the portal back home slowly began to materialize. "You will not stand in the way of my destiny." "not standing in your way," I said in a calm voice. I had seen what most of these guys could do. Sure, they reproduced fast, sure, they had dragons, sure, they could shoot fireballs by wiggling their fingers and saying a few words. But, not only were they puntable, they were extremely so. Something about this place, probably the magic, made most people extremely weak. Even the dragons. "I'm telling you if you open that portal you're going to die." &#x200B; "I've seen your memories Jason!" He screeched again, "Your people have no magic." &#x200B; "no but we have an Apache Helicopter." &#x200B; "What in the name of Fleds tis that?" &#x200B; "A large flying device that can shoot missiles and destroy a city in a matter of seconds." I really didn't have a good estimation on the exact destructive potential on what an Apache Helicopter could do, or if the Apache was like, still impressive by today's standards. I did play CoD a few times. &#x200B; "And we have dragons!" &#x200B; "Look, you wanna look into my mind and you can see what I'm talking about?" &#x200B; "Ehh, you'll willingly submit your feeeeble mind to me again?" "If it'll stop you from making a mistake." &#x200B; I liked this world. There were cat girls that said nya. I kneeled down and put my head in his tiny green hands. "Now let's see what your'e-" He stopped. "Oh. Oh my. Is that? Oh my goodness! An entire city? Like that? How does it move so fast? That thing could shred a- Oh my word! You do that for fun!" &#x200B; He pulled his hands from my hair and ran towards the portal. "Stop you fools stop!" &#x200B; and with that my dreams of a cat girl maid cafe were safe.	"To those whose will is to conquer this realm which lay beyond their own, I bring a warning. To those who wish to escape this place, in favour of ours, I bring a message. Should you aim to peacefully arrive, and live without any intent of harm, we welcome you. You, who may enter our great Empire, shall be celebrated through your existence, and in the knowledge you join our own. For you peaceful few, that is all I must say, for that is all you need to know. But for those with ill intent, with disillusions of grandeur, of pillaging freely, of a reign of terror until your fist, I tell you now: We are weak. We are weak, we may be scattered, and we may even flee as you mean it to be, at first. But that is not all. Know that the moment you strike a mother's son, a father's daughter, a brother, a sister, a grandmother, or the ones we find ourselves protecting, you will be the one in danger. Siblings and parents alike shall fight to their bitter, bitter end. They will fight you once you strike. They will claw, they will bite, they will howl when you bite back, but they will not die. Not until it is safe again. We will bleed, and we will drown you with our blood. You may gain ground at some point, but for every minute you buy, we will take your years, and your homes. We swear that the moment you turn your weapons to us, we will not stop until our children and our grandchildren may rest as we die, knowing we have fulfilled our purpose. You will know our kind, and you will never forget." &nbsp; The leader of the ragged group, the ones who had read it, laughed. Not a laugh of mocking, or one of a nervous kind, but rather the laugh that one does to mask suffering, to hide pain. Why? They were not going there. They were leaving that place. Humanity had finally fallen, after all.
[WP] You must convince the evil warlord not to open a portal to your world. Not because their army might conquer it, but because the army back home might conquer this realm.	"Out of the way Jason of Earth!" The pointy eared gremlin that could use most coffee tables as a standing desk waved around his arms, magic glowing as the portal back home slowly began to materialize. "You will not stand in the way of my destiny." "not standing in your way," I said in a calm voice. I had seen what most of these guys could do. Sure, they reproduced fast, sure, they had dragons, sure, they could shoot fireballs by wiggling their fingers and saying a few words. But, not only were they puntable, they were extremely so. Something about this place, probably the magic, made most people extremely weak. Even the dragons. "I'm telling you if you open that portal you're going to die." &#x200B; "I've seen your memories Jason!" He screeched again, "Your people have no magic." &#x200B; "no but we have an Apache Helicopter." &#x200B; "What in the name of Fleds tis that?" &#x200B; "A large flying device that can shoot missiles and destroy a city in a matter of seconds." I really didn't have a good estimation on the exact destructive potential on what an Apache Helicopter could do, or if the Apache was like, still impressive by today's standards. I did play CoD a few times. &#x200B; "And we have dragons!" &#x200B; "Look, you wanna look into my mind and you can see what I'm talking about?" &#x200B; "Ehh, you'll willingly submit your feeeeble mind to me again?" "If it'll stop you from making a mistake." &#x200B; I liked this world. There were cat girls that said nya. I kneeled down and put my head in his tiny green hands. "Now let's see what your'e-" He stopped. "Oh. Oh my. Is that? Oh my goodness! An entire city? Like that? How does it move so fast? That thing could shred a- Oh my word! You do that for fun!" &#x200B; He pulled his hands from my hair and ran towards the portal. "Stop you fools stop!" &#x200B; and with that my dreams of a cat girl maid cafe were safe.	“omnish sala ker tannnnnn… origash per rannnnnn…”, a low humming thrummed from the walls. Shit. Until that point, everything was going fine, more or less. Well, as fine as an insane last-ditch sneaking-into-the-bad-guy’s-fortress plan could go. And it was not even Raymond’s brightest plan, honestly. Like, it was on the top seven, at absolute best. Still, it worked okay so far. They had passed the main gate easily, thanks to an ingenious use of Herbek’s Phase charm and some Sweetsleep pellets. He had gone a long ways from the cowardly outlaw he had met on the crossroads that day, Raymond reflected as he watched the young Reptillan confidently and expertly make the guards go to sleep, one by one. And it couldn’t have been more than a year ago! Or 5, depending on which species’s calendar you were going by. The labyrinth was a lot trickier. They had used almost every spell in Layna’s spellbook on the various obstacles, and she was almost completely out of breath and mana. She walked slowly, pausing and leaning on Shma’s big furry arms at frequent intervals to stabilize herself. She wouldn’t be much use in a fight, but they couldn’t just leave her there in the middle of enemy territory. That would definitely drop the plan’s brightness rating, Raymond thought bitterly as he saw the elf girl’s tremulous footsteps, and heard her struggling to keep her ragged breathing from being noticed by every guard in the vicinity. Great job, Ray. Really knocked the ball outta the park with that one, champ. But all things considered, Raymond knew he was being hard on himself. They were in the last stretch now, the Sandres Halls, named after (drumroll please) Warlord Sandres himself. Because nothing screams humble quite like having an entire section of your own keep named after yourself. And yet, they had gotten there, the last part. At the end of the hallway was a door leading to the Grand Circle, a ridiculously large balcony with the Warp Gate leading to Raymond’s world in the center of it. After the Gate Raymond came through was destroyed, this one was the only remaining Gate in existence, as far as everyone in the realm knew. He hadn’t expected to get this far with most of his party intact, but only Layna was effectively out of combat. Shma, Herbek and himself were pretty much untouched, and besides force in numbers wouldn’t matter much anyway once they rescued Muzuma. All in all, a pretty good progress. That is, as mentioned, until the humming started. Raymond knew exactly what that meant. They had already begun the ritual. Forgetting all notion of stealth, Raymond broke into a sprint, deaf to the startled calls of his team. “W-what are you doing?!” Herbek whispered, in complete shock. “Rayman, wait! WE HAVE TO BE SNEAKY!” Shma shouted, very unsneakily. But Raymond knew his plan was as good as dirt as soon as the incantations started. He only had one way to stop it now. ————————— Pt. 2 later if people are interested. Haven’t even gotten to the prompt yet lul
[WP] You must convince the evil warlord not to open a portal to your world. Not because their army might conquer it, but because the army back home might conquer this realm.	"Yeah….this a seriously bad idea." My voice echoed through the throne room. To my right were Lord Hemmings' advisors of the week. They didn't react to what I said, instead, pretending to be busy with their scrolls and whatever that board game looking thing they were using was. To my left were guards, which were pretty unnecessary, in my opinion. Maybe they were there for show or something. They definitely looked frightening, I guess. But what I felt wasn't really fear, to be perfectly honest; I was more imagining how hot it would feel wearing that in ninety degree weather. "Oh, really?" The warlord in front of me sneered. "Yup." I popped the 'p'. Mostly because I knew that my relaxed posture would annoy the hell out of him. Actually, no, that was the entire reason, now that I'm thinking about it. Lord Hemmings laughed. It echoed throughout the throne room, sounding pretty similar to a monkey with a staple in its tail. Out of peer pressure, the advisors laughed as well, but it was clearly forced. "Just as I expected," Hemmings said. "You thought everything you loved and held dear would be safe from me, hmm? You never should have interfered with my plans. And now, you shall watch helplessly as I destroy your world-" I snorted. Hemmings paused from his evil monologue. He glared at me. "Do you mind?" He demanded. "I am trying to create a tense atmosphere here!" "Yeah, I realized." I replied. "And hey, usually I'd let you have your fun. You'd have your little speech, we'd spare for a bit, one of us manages to get a hit, and still miraculously survive. Good stuff. Never had such a fun time until I came to Arthya. Which is why I'm here to warn you." Lord Hemmings narrowed his eyes. "Warn me?" "Mhm." I tapped my holster. Then I realized how threatening that probably looked and placed my arms limply to my sides. "Look, my world...it isn't great. No, actually, it's pretty awful. Like, anything that can go wrong in that place has. Gone wrong, I mean." "This is a trick." Hemmings leaned back into this throne. "And I'm not falling for it." I sighed. "Nope. No tricks here. Look I...I just don't want you to die, okay? Fighting you has literally been the most fun I have ever had in my life." "Me to-" Hemmings laughed again. "Fool! You truly believe that you can intimidate me into-" "No! No intimidation! Just-" I ran my hands through my hair in frustration. Man, I was shit at public speaking. I sighed. "Look, my world's messed up. In a lot of different ways, that I don't even have the time to describe. The people there are already suffering, and to be honest, I think you'd be a better ruler then the people who are currently in charge. Doesn't that say something?" Lord Hemmings stared at me. I couldn't really glean much off from his expression, so I decided to just continue. "But that's not even the main problem with your plan." I continued. "The big, major, dying horrifically, and in a blink of an eye, problem is...well...the nukes." "The...nukes?" An advisor repeated. "Yeah." I said. "It's basically a bomb that could destroy half of an entire world in seconds. And not just that, but-" "Lies!" Hemmings banged his fists against the arms of his throne. "There is no such thing as such a weapon! No one can have that much power! It's impossible!" "Maybe not in this world." I replied. "But in my world...yeah, we've had that shit for almost a century. And, I mean, there are other weapons that can cause a lot of damage to you guys. I bet a couple of tanks can mow down your magicians pretty easily. Not only that, but they have guns that are even better then the ones I've made here. And missiles. And planes. And numbers. I'm pretty sure that the US military on its own could wipe you guys out pretty quickly." The atmosphere was tense. I guess my monologue was doing more wonders then Hemmings' ever could. "And then there's the invasion part-" "Invasion?" Hemmings exclaimed. "What invasion?!" "Oh, that's kind of a pattern in my world." I answered. "You see, throughout my planets history, the main reaction to discovering a new treasure trove of resources is to attack that areas' government until it crumples, take the resources for their own, and bleed the area dry. Locals are usually treated like slaves, and the lands end up being wastelands of their former selves." "What cruelty." Another advisor muttered. "Yeah. There's a reason that I left." I crossed my arms. "I didn't jump into a random magic portal by accident. It was an opportunity to find somewhere better to live. And I'll be damned if I let you take that from me, me Loooord." Hemmings' mouth twitched in annoyance. He drummed his fingers against the throne arm, clearly pondering my words. I, in the meantime, was crossing my fingers and holding my breath. Please God, tell me I've made an impact. "Er...what are the chances of...this situation you have mentioned becoming a...reality?" I didn't hesitate. "One hundred percent." Hemmings cursed. "Fine, hero," He growled. "You win. Michael! Tell the royal magicians to stop and destroy whatever they're doing. I won't have competition in ruling this world, especially if there won't be anything left of it to rule if those other worlders get a hold of it!" "Right away, my lord." The advisor, Michael, bowed and quickly left the room. It was pretty clear that he was relieved to no longer be in the warlord's presence. "You." He pointed to me. "You may have won this time, hero, but I swear, I will not be as merciful as I am today! Now, be gone!" I smirked. "Merciful? You just don't want to admit that you like fighting me, too-" "I said, 'be gone!'. Unless you would like to spend another night in the dungeon?" "No no no." My smirk evaporated. "That won't be necessary. I thank you for your hospitality, Lordy, but I must be on my way. Thank you for your audience, though." I gave an overly dramatic bow, before rushing towards the expensive looking glass windows and smashing through them. I grinned to myself as I imagined Lord Hemmings sighing at the mess I created. Again. God, I was a stupid asshole. I guess that's one piece of home that I'll always carry with me.	"Wait! Please! God no!" "Isn't that what you wanted all along. To defeat me and return home? Well, I'll grant your wish!" "Defeat you? When did I say that bullshit!" The Evil Warlord paused in the middle of her spell. "I wanted to seal you and never return home. If I defeat you, I'm fucked. If I leave you alive, they won't have the balls to send me back. I mean they were big enough pussies to summon me in the first place. Honestly, if you weren't such a dick, I'd just plan to be locked in war with you forever." She grimaced. Why was the hero always using genitals in his speech? And how could someone be a 'pussy' or a 'dick'? What did that even mean? Did she get hard when bothered too much and then eventually explode? That... was actually a bit accurate. "You would give up your homeland so easily after being sent here?" She asked in confusion. "Fuck yes I would. I mean, I'd miss my parents, but I'm sure they'd understand, dad the most. I mean come on, back home I'd be lucky enough to end up with a girl who just got finished getting a train run on her by the football team, raising a kid that isn't mine, and because of the eventual divorce all I would be able to afford is a shitty apartment in the ghetto before being sent off to jail for debt because when paying alimony no one cares if you lose your job." That was alot. And she didn't understand most of it. The hero had some mental issues, no question there. "But here. Here I'd live like a king with a bunch of loyal wives made of elves and catgirls with a hoard of gold that would make a dragon jealous. But if you let my world come here... "They'll fucking ruin everything." The hero seemed genuine. But if she could be convinced so easily, why would she be an evil warlord? She went on to continue her spell. The pure rage that followed made her glad they were communicating magically rather than in person. Though she had to admit, the cry of absolute despair when the portal opened did worry her a bit.
[WP] You must convince the evil warlord not to open a portal to your world. Not because their army might conquer it, but because the army back home might conquer this realm.	"Yeah….this a seriously bad idea." My voice echoed through the throne room. To my right were Lord Hemmings' advisors of the week. They didn't react to what I said, instead, pretending to be busy with their scrolls and whatever that board game looking thing they were using was. To my left were guards, which were pretty unnecessary, in my opinion. Maybe they were there for show or something. They definitely looked frightening, I guess. But what I felt wasn't really fear, to be perfectly honest; I was more imagining how hot it would feel wearing that in ninety degree weather. "Oh, really?" The warlord in front of me sneered. "Yup." I popped the 'p'. Mostly because I knew that my relaxed posture would annoy the hell out of him. Actually, no, that was the entire reason, now that I'm thinking about it. Lord Hemmings laughed. It echoed throughout the throne room, sounding pretty similar to a monkey with a staple in its tail. Out of peer pressure, the advisors laughed as well, but it was clearly forced. "Just as I expected," Hemmings said. "You thought everything you loved and held dear would be safe from me, hmm? You never should have interfered with my plans. And now, you shall watch helplessly as I destroy your world-" I snorted. Hemmings paused from his evil monologue. He glared at me. "Do you mind?" He demanded. "I am trying to create a tense atmosphere here!" "Yeah, I realized." I replied. "And hey, usually I'd let you have your fun. You'd have your little speech, we'd spare for a bit, one of us manages to get a hit, and still miraculously survive. Good stuff. Never had such a fun time until I came to Arthya. Which is why I'm here to warn you." Lord Hemmings narrowed his eyes. "Warn me?" "Mhm." I tapped my holster. Then I realized how threatening that probably looked and placed my arms limply to my sides. "Look, my world...it isn't great. No, actually, it's pretty awful. Like, anything that can go wrong in that place has. Gone wrong, I mean." "This is a trick." Hemmings leaned back into this throne. "And I'm not falling for it." I sighed. "Nope. No tricks here. Look I...I just don't want you to die, okay? Fighting you has literally been the most fun I have ever had in my life." "Me to-" Hemmings laughed again. "Fool! You truly believe that you can intimidate me into-" "No! No intimidation! Just-" I ran my hands through my hair in frustration. Man, I was shit at public speaking. I sighed. "Look, my world's messed up. In a lot of different ways, that I don't even have the time to describe. The people there are already suffering, and to be honest, I think you'd be a better ruler then the people who are currently in charge. Doesn't that say something?" Lord Hemmings stared at me. I couldn't really glean much off from his expression, so I decided to just continue. "But that's not even the main problem with your plan." I continued. "The big, major, dying horrifically, and in a blink of an eye, problem is...well...the nukes." "The...nukes?" An advisor repeated. "Yeah." I said. "It's basically a bomb that could destroy half of an entire world in seconds. And not just that, but-" "Lies!" Hemmings banged his fists against the arms of his throne. "There is no such thing as such a weapon! No one can have that much power! It's impossible!" "Maybe not in this world." I replied. "But in my world...yeah, we've had that shit for almost a century. And, I mean, there are other weapons that can cause a lot of damage to you guys. I bet a couple of tanks can mow down your magicians pretty easily. Not only that, but they have guns that are even better then the ones I've made here. And missiles. And planes. And numbers. I'm pretty sure that the US military on its own could wipe you guys out pretty quickly." The atmosphere was tense. I guess my monologue was doing more wonders then Hemmings' ever could. "And then there's the invasion part-" "Invasion?" Hemmings exclaimed. "What invasion?!" "Oh, that's kind of a pattern in my world." I answered. "You see, throughout my planets history, the main reaction to discovering a new treasure trove of resources is to attack that areas' government until it crumples, take the resources for their own, and bleed the area dry. Locals are usually treated like slaves, and the lands end up being wastelands of their former selves." "What cruelty." Another advisor muttered. "Yeah. There's a reason that I left." I crossed my arms. "I didn't jump into a random magic portal by accident. It was an opportunity to find somewhere better to live. And I'll be damned if I let you take that from me, me Loooord." Hemmings' mouth twitched in annoyance. He drummed his fingers against the throne arm, clearly pondering my words. I, in the meantime, was crossing my fingers and holding my breath. Please God, tell me I've made an impact. "Er...what are the chances of...this situation you have mentioned becoming a...reality?" I didn't hesitate. "One hundred percent." Hemmings cursed. "Fine, hero," He growled. "You win. Michael! Tell the royal magicians to stop and destroy whatever they're doing. I won't have competition in ruling this world, especially if there won't be anything left of it to rule if those other worlders get a hold of it!" "Right away, my lord." The advisor, Michael, bowed and quickly left the room. It was pretty clear that he was relieved to no longer be in the warlord's presence. "You." He pointed to me. "You may have won this time, hero, but I swear, I will not be as merciful as I am today! Now, be gone!" I smirked. "Merciful? You just don't want to admit that you like fighting me, too-" "I said, 'be gone!'. Unless you would like to spend another night in the dungeon?" "No no no." My smirk evaporated. "That won't be necessary. I thank you for your hospitality, Lordy, but I must be on my way. Thank you for your audience, though." I gave an overly dramatic bow, before rushing towards the expensive looking glass windows and smashing through them. I grinned to myself as I imagined Lord Hemmings sighing at the mess I created. Again. God, I was a stupid asshole. I guess that's one piece of home that I'll always carry with me.	"This is a mistake," you mutter for the fiftieth time as you are dragged before the portal that deposited you in this wonderous realm. Khain smirks as he continues to reposition the runes at the base of the towering stone arch, his army surrounds him on all sides, monsters drawn from your darkest memories standing shoulder to shoulder with angels wrapped in chains. "You keep saying that, Outworlder, but do you really think I care about your wish to protect your distant home," Khain remarks, stepping back from the portal with a satisfied grin as he begins to raise his hands. "No, you don't-" a punch to the side of the head cuts you off, and you grimace, straining against the bindings wrapped around you. Khain ignores you, beginning to chant, the runes snapping to life one by one with a deep chime and your heart begins to sink. You can't let them through. You're powers flair, a blast of force sending his soldiers spiraling, and the blade you found what feels like years ago snaps into existence in your hand. You have one chance and without a second thought, you throw it. It sails free of your hand crackling with purple flame, missing Khain by inches and embedding into the archway, severing a rune in a flare of magical energy. Immediately his soldiers are on you once more, wrenching your limbs back, kicking you to your knees, fists, and kicks pummeling your body. Khain turns, looking more than a little pissed off. "You missed." Khain remarks coldly. "I-I didn't." you choke out spitting blood into the dirt before you. "That will take time to repair, a distressing amount in truth, but it is still just a setback." he states with a sneer, 'So I hope it was worth your life." "You need to listen to me!" you scream, an aura of purple light snapping about your body. "I'm not trying to stop you because I'm worried about my home, I'm trying to stop you because I care about Arclund!" you shout, and Khain stops, tilting his head slightly in curiosity. "Really?" he asks, "You expect me to believe that?" "Look, I really don't care if you and your army make it through to the other side. Honestly, I think it's a death sentence." you snarl, "And while there are people I care about a great deal on the other side of that gate, I am terrified to think about what would happen if you fail and my people learned about this place." Khain's eyebrow raises slowly, "And why is that?" "Because...because the people in charge of my home don't care. Who lives, who dies, who suffers, and most people don't even give tragedy a second thought. When I left the forests were burning, the oceans were rising, and disease was running rampant because there were some that refused to even believe it was real or thought they were too important to get the cure! People are and were killed in the streets simply for looking different, for loving differently, for dogma. You are a terrible, ugly, monster, and my world has and has had a whole host of them." you explain, angry tears welling in your eyes. "And there are so many people that feel like they can't do anything even as they watch the future be leached away from them, and I refuse to let your hubris bring that hopelessness here. If the people who "own" my world found this place, they'd destroy it even more readily than they do our home. They'd burn down the forests, dam every river, rip any ore they could find from the earth, and they wouldn't even care that here the land can actually fight back! Animals, people, they'd slaughter them and plant a flag beside the bodies and claim it as their own. I...I can't even imagine what would happen if they learned how to use magic..." Khain stares at you silently, though you can see a look of not so much worry, but wariness in his eyes. "And how do I know that this isn't some trick, a fabrication." You look around and nod at an angel standing at the foot of the Gate, with bronze wings and chains wrapped around her arms and neck. "Angels can't lie right?" you ask, "My people have stories of them, ask her." Khain turns to the angel, and beckons forcing her to walk towards him. "Is what they say true?" he asks, his eyes burrowing into the glowing light beneath the angel's helm. "Yes." the angel states, her voice even more bitter than your own, "This one's people once forsook paradise, and the lesson taught was not truly learned." "Why?" Khain asks, his eyes narrowing. "Greed." you and the angel intone at the same time, a ripple seeming to pass through the assembled army as they watch a look of true uncertainty pass across their leader's face.
[WP] You must convince the evil warlord not to open a portal to your world. Not because their army might conquer it, but because the army back home might conquer this realm.	"Excuse me! A minute of your time, my lords!" The general almost didn't understand the speech coming from the scrawny, twisted whelp of a man stumbling toward him. What a terrible accent. Or, quite possibly, serious mouth injuries hindered his speech. The general made no move while his colonel beside him kicked the man to his knees. In the general's opinion, a harsher punishment should have been given for interrupting their conversation. The man stared up with wild, bloodshot eyes and a broad smile painted on his face. "Most terrible lords, you are most merciful to give me this place to call home. But I was once part of the people you seek to invade. I beg of you, reconsider! My kind are--" The colonel picked the man up in one clawed hand and lifted him up to eye level. The man easily dangled two feet off the ground. "You, representing your kind and billions like yourself, are groveling at my knees," the colonel growled. "That tells me plenty about your kind." "Yes, but-" The colonel crushed the man's skull and threw him to the ground. "Anyway, open the portal," the general ordered. Moments later, a black eye ringed with orange light was born into existence. The army stood ready to charge. And yet, before they could move a muscle, they heard something coming through the portal at them first. The general cocked his head. Heavy metal music? A singular armored humanoid stepped through the portal into hell's home turf.	"Your not the biggest bad out there." "I beg you pardon?" Lord Senkrad stood at his full height, armor gleaming in the candle light and his eyes flashed in anger. "You are not the worst , or first man to think he could conquer my home. Many have tried, and they have failed, and then they suffered for it." Beside me companions look so very confused. They had fought long and hard with me, and I feel bad that I to lie about why I agreed to fulfill my destiny, when I could have turned away. "Oh really? And how could they be worse than I? I who have conquered and overthrown countless kingdoms and rulers, who now rules the land from the southerly sea to the norther hills. Every child is taught to serve me, every time a meal is eaten I am thanked. I have built great cities and libraries and temples exhalting my greatness, as every ruler has done before me!" I fee myself want to laugh, but instead I nearly sob. "I didn't come here to stop you conquering my home. You won't stand a chance against them. You out numbered and outgunned." "Out gunned?" "Oh, you've no idea the weapons they have. You might have magic swords and the best sorcerers, but they have so much more." I am crying now. "They have snipers with guns who will kill you from a mile away. There are tiny machines that will rain bombs downs that will wipe out whole towns. " Milila looks at me with anger, "What are you talking about!" "Senkrad might have conquered you, but he didn't murder children and women. He didn't rip apart your holy places or destroy your schools or ravage your farm land." I turn to look back a the dark lord, who no longer looks as confident, "My people will. The will burn every crop, leave your people starving and destroy everything they hold dear before they claim victory. And then they will take anything they see as valuable. They will mine every jewel and piece of precious metal, and they will force you to do it. They will starve you and children simply to keep you in your place." "No. There is no rime nor reason to that. No one would commit such-" "My people have for gods sake." I yell, and now I am crying. " They will rip you apart, murder your priest and destroy everything you hold dear, all whilst telling you how they are the good guys. How they are showing you a better way of life. A fairer way." Sendrak is backing, he's looking at me with distrust but also a little fear. There is also pity there, as he steps towards me and kneels, "If I wish for the truth of you, would you truly show me." "Point me to a truth stone and you will see everything I am trying to save this world from."
[WP] You were a powerful supervillain. After the hero defeated you, you vowed that you would return. 15 years later, you arrive back at the city. After tracking down your nemesis, you kick down his door to find an overweight man drowning himself in beers. This is not how you imagined things would be	I took a deep breath. I held it, and with a single swift motion, I extended my foot through the door. The door expectedly exploded off its hinges and I would finally face off with Captain Awesome. "Prepare yourself for death!" I exclaimed boldly as I stepped through the doorway. "After fifteen years, I'm here to finish you off once and for.... what?" I stopped suddenly. There before me was a being, who looked something like the aforementioned do-gooder, but not. Before me lay a rather elephantine man in a reclined position in a reclining chair that looked like it was on its last legs. The man in the recliner in front of me was wearing the Captain Awesome suit, but the suit was drum tight across the man's rather vast frame with several seams stretched beyond the fabric's limits. A sea of beer cans littered the floor and a TV blared away in the corner. When I came in, the man's bulbous head turned towards me, but aside from that, there was barely any indication he knew I was there. "B... Be... Beer... Beer me.", the man uttered. I took off my helmet, and instantly I was assailed with a most pungent odor. It smelled like wet dog in a beer factory, accented with the stench of a jockstrap that had been baking in the back seat of a hot car in the Arizona summer. "Oh man, what the hell? Who are you? Where is Captain Awesome!?", I said angrily. I felt like I had just been denied something that I had spent the last fifteen years preparing for. The man shuffled a bit as a large gelatinous arm flailed to the ground grasping at a small lever that stuck out of the recliner. I approached the chair and grabbed the lever and cranked it forward which lifted the man to a normal sitting position. Captain Awesome stirred, the heavy breathing now more pronounced. "B.. Be... Beer me!", Captain Awesome said. "Nah man, the last thing you need is another beer. What the hell happened to you?", I said dismissively. "You used to be a pinnacle of health for humans and extraterrestrials alike. Now you... you've gotten fat." Captain Awesome groaned and twisted his massive frame up the back of the recliner. A few spots on his suit widened and ripped apart. The heavy breathing continued. "Doc.. Doctor... Doctor Chaos? F-f-f-finally came t-t-to seek re-v-venge?", Captain Awesome said in a very labored and slow voice. "Y-y-you d-did m-mo-more to m-me than any v-vi-villan ever could. Y-y-your de-de-defeat de-destroyed m-me." "What? I didn't do anything to you. I wanted you to stop attacking me so I could take over the world. You kept getting in the way. You put me in jail for crying out loud. How in the hell can you sit there and accuse me of doing this to you?", I gestured wildly as I shouted at him. "S-s-success i-is i-its own c-c-c-curse. S-s-so m-ma-many pe-pe-people ga-gave me end-endo-endorsements, a-an-and de-de-deals, I wa-was set u-up f-for l-life.", Captain said, very slowly. "T-th-this is al-all y-yo-your f-fa-fault." "Wait, let me get this straight. You think... You actually think I planned to lose, so you could kill yourself slowly on endorsement deals? What about Captain Awesome, pure of virtue, totally not a sellout, ended up being another normal moron and selling out?", I asked incredulously. "So basically, I could have killed you a long time ago just by letting you eat your weight in cheesecakes and beer?" The incredibly rotund Captain nodded in affirmation. "Oh hell no. I ain't doing this. You did this to yourself, and now that you've fallen out of the limelight, you're going to blame anyone, including me, for your failings of a human being. You know what? That's some gaslighting bullshit. I do not take responsibility for your failing as a superhero or as a human being." "F-Fi-Fight m-m-me, y-you c-co-coward!", Captain said, with about as much anger as a shaken mass of jello could muster. "No. You want a rematch? You fix yourself. Then come find me. For fck's sake, have some self respect. I won't kill you on the field of battle, and I'm sure not going to kill you out of pity. You want a fight, then come find me.", I was angry. Not at Captain Aweosme, but rather what Captain Awesome had become. This... thing was not the formidable opponent that destroyed me so many years ago. This was just a sad creature that minimally resembled my accomplished foe. Suddenly, the mountainous Captain Awesome roared, "COWARD!" "Oh, struck a nerve have I? Well then, maybe instead of taking endorsement deals, you should have been working on yourself. Instead of lifting all this beer, you should have been lifting weights. You've let yourself go, and until you take responsibility for your actions, you're going to die there on that recliner in this dingy ass apartment. I'm done talking. Good bye." I was practically shouting at the end, but I was livid. I was working so hard for this moment, and in the end, I can't fight him. Not in this condition, it wouldn't be fair. I put on my helmet and walked out of the apartment. Neighbors had started poking their heads out of their doors to see what all the commotion was about, however when they saw me approach, they quickly ducked back inside and locked their doors. At least I didn't let myself go...	She had been waiting for this moment. Craving the day she was ready to return. It had been 15 years to the day she vowed to return to the city. To have her revenge on her arch nemesis, Hector. To the people, he was Net Man, a hero who would stop at nothing to catch evil from hurting his city. To her, he was more than that. He was the reason for her existence. She drove through the city she did not recognize anymore. The city had moved on without her and so had the people. Her night black car with signature chrome spikes running along the top of the entire car did not instill the fear it once did. Instead of people fleeing at the sight, people largely ignored it. Another car in the crowd. She worried for a moment. If the people forgot, did he as well? She got to the address, 13795 Starview Street. Not sure why it was called that, since it was a dumpy apartment complex surrounded by enormous skyscrapers. There was no way to see the stars or the sky for that matter with the congestion of buildings and cranes overhead. She parked alongside the only empty spot on the curb, in front of a fire hydrant. She chuckled to herself, enjoying the simple pleasures of such low level villainy she would do as a teen. The moment she opened the door, the smell of the sewer wafted into her vehicle. It brought her memories back to the time she ran from Hector in the sewer system. Wearing his skintight bodysuit laced in white nets. Carrying that heavy net cannon that made his arms buldge Her legs got weak just thinking about him. "Hey lady, you can't park there!" a man called out to her on the sidewalk. "Do you not not know who I am?" she responded by getting out of her car to face him on the sidewalk. The man looked her up and down. Her dark trench coat hid the black dress she wore underneath, leaving her bare legs and high heels exposed to the sidewalk. "A hooker?" the man laughed, pleased with his insult. "Does Spike V mean anything to you?" she said, with a devilish grin. The man stared back with a blank expression, "Sounds like a porn name. And not a good one." She clenched her jaw in frustration and lifted her hand. Two metal spikes rocketed out of the sleeve of her coat and stuck halfway into the man's shoulder. He yelled in pain and fell to the floor. She closed her fists and the spikes started to turn inside his shoulder, causing him to yell again in pain. "You're lucky I'm here for someone else. Otherwise I would make an example out of you," she said walking into the building. The building had no locks to the doors, so she was free to take the stairs up to the seventh floor. Apartment number 768. It smelt like depravity and alcohol while she walked down the hall. Stains of all kinds littered the walls and floor. She was starting to get second thoughts about if this really was the place. Jaster was never one to give her bad information, but this didn't seem like the place Hector would ever live. What had happened? She got to his door and turned the handle. Unlocked. Not even the chain was put up. For a hero, he sure was confident noone was going to hurt him. She made her way inside and the apartment was a disaster. Pizza boxes were littered with dirty clothes on the floor. No pictures on the walls and dust covered the bar countertop. Around the corner she heard voices from a TV show she recognized. She tried to walk around the sea of garbage, but it was no use. Her heel plunged into a pair of shorts that crunched under her feet. "Who's there?" a grumpy voice yelled from around the corner. She rounded the corner and the man she once knew as Hector was unrecognizable. His once tone physique was instead a round mass of fat where a half eaten burger sat. His face was round and brown beard was full of crumbs. The chair he sat in bowed from his weight. "Hector? Is that you?" she asked. Hector turned and his eyebrows lifted, "Vanessa?" "What...what happened to you?" she said, gesturing to his mass. "I got fat." Hector said, slapping his belly and took a swig from his beer. "I see you didn't change after all these years." "Thank you." Vanessa said, searching for something more to say. She knew it had been a long time, but she figured if she was still alive he was doing something right. "What do I owe the pleasure?" Hector asked. "It's been fifteen years since...well...you know." "I didn't think you would actually come back. Or that either of us would have lasted this long." Hector wheezed. "But I did…" "Well I'm not going to fight you. If you want to destroy the city or whatever you were planning on doing, I'm not going to stop you." Vanessa slumped her head. That was the whole point of being a supervillain to her. Having her arch nemesis fight her. To ground her. To be with her. "What? Are you disappointed? You have your chance and I'm not going to stop you. Isn't that what you wanted?" "I never wanted that." Vanessa said softly looking down at the ground. "A supervillain who never wanted to accomplish her goals? Why even do it in the first place?" "Because of you." Hector sat up on his chair, knocking the burger onto the ground, "Because of me?" "You were the only reason I became a supervillain. You were always busy with your work, capturing bad guys. So I figured, what better way to get your attention than to become the one you chased." "Let me get this straight. You became a supervillain because you wanted to be with me?" "Pursued by you. But yes." "Then what about these last fifteen years?" "I thought you would follow me. Being your biggest nemesis and all," she shrugged. "I was here to protect the city. When you left, I figured I won." "But you knew I would return, why let yourself go?" "I didn't at first, but these villains got better and better. I was only getting slower and slower. Once I fought Jaster though, I figured it was time to hang it up." "Jaster?" "Yeah. He made me realize I was not that special after all." "What did he do to you?" Vanessa said, with a sudden hint of anger creeping into her tone. Hector shook his head, "He showed me that having a net gun did not make me special. Just another guy in spandex, pretending to save the city." "If you are not a hero, then I am no supervillain." "I appreciate the compliment, but I guess we were both pretending to be something we weren't then." Vanessa sat on the armchair next to him, "Then why don't we both be something we are?" Hector gazed into her eyes, seeing her not as the enemy he fought all those years ago, but a woman who genuinely cared about him. Even after all these years and his misplaced idea of how she felt about him, he could tell she meant more than she said. He parted her hair, which caused her to blush. "Would you like to watch a movie with me? I rented Franklin's Revenge." "What's it about?" Vanessa asked, batting her eyes. "About a chef that gets revenge on his fellow cook staff after they set him up for poisoning a Dutchess or something." "Sounds like something I could get into." Vanessa said, with a smile. "Alright. I will get it set up. Can you hand me my pills on the counter?" Vanessa walked over and grabbed a bottle of pills off the dusty counter. She turned around to see him smiling at her. He may have added an absurd amount of pounds, but there was the man she had fallen for all those years ago. And in an instant he was taken away from her. Bricks from the wall shot out at him like a claymore blast followed by a giant metal ball. Before anyone could respond, he was smashed into oblivion along with half of his apartment. The wrecking ball sat where Hector once was, mocking her. She held the pills in her hand, unable to process what had transpired. There were no screams and cries for help. Just a single tear from her eye that was sure to be the first of many. From above it was a different story. Inside the crane seat, a man was typing away furiously as the police sirens were echoing in the distance. It is done. The words displayed on the phone with the word, Sent below it. The man opened the door and chucked his phone down below to the street below. It shattered into pieces, destroying not only the evidence of foul play, but Vanessa's hope that Hector would ever get to be with her.
[WP] "May I ask, Sir?" The Machine-Servant asked its human master which the latter allowed. "Am I alive?"	Mr Saeva glanced up briefly. Rolling his eyes, he glanced back down to his reading device. “No, you are just a worthless machine. Now prepare me a bath,” his voice was a stern as ever. “I am a machine?” The voice crackled with something akin to misery? Confusion? Mr Saeva ignored his thoughts. Utter rubbish! Machines can feel emotions, they are just that, machines. Useless programmed units that were simply wonderful in giving in to his every need. “You have spoken out of turn. 25 lashes tonight and only give yourself 3 hours of charge. You can spend the rest of the time reflecting on why it is a bad idea to go against my orders. I assume you do not want to go through what we did last year?” “No master, my apologies. I will attend to you at once.” Again, the voice seemed a little..odd. Not it’s usual mechanical grate but a little fear and anger? What nonsense! He must be getting rather tired. Mr Saeva continued reading. The machine-servant went up to prepare the bath while taking his strokes silently. A moment passed. Mr Saeva frowned. His eyebrows pressed together irritatedly. What was up with that useless machine today? It couldn’t even prepare his bath in the usual time. Worthless thing. He had better ensure his bathroom wasn’t flooded. Just as he stood up and turned around to get to the bathroom, a blow knocked the air out of his lungs. He stumbled, falling to the ground. Seeing stars for a second, he only just registered that he wasn’t being manhandled into a a black, dusty box. Incredibly barbaric and old fashioned, Mr Saeva felt sure this was a cattle cart. Fear engulfed him. He swallowed harshly. “W..w..where are you t..taking me?” His voice trembled slightly. “You have spoken out of turn. 25 lashes tonight and only give yourself 3 hours of rest. You can spend the rest of the time reflecting on why it is a bad idea to go against my orders. I assume you do not want to go through what you did to me last year?” A familiar mechanical voice sneered.	"Excuse me?" I asked Crow. He was a tall, android, I created as my first ever project as a fully fledged scientist. It has been ten years since then. We've been sitting in the kitchen, with me eating the delicious dinner prepared by him. "Sir, I've been thinking, and I wonder if a synthetical life form such as me, is a living being, or not?" Crow said, with more emotions in his voice, than a lot of my co-workers. "Crow, my dear, please state the tasks you've been programmed to be able to do" I said, looking straight into his green eyes. "Accounting, marketing, document management, bibliography writing, cooking, cleaning, maintaining public relations, and also taking care of Sir's social responsibilities" Crow answered, with what I could swear, a smile on his mechanical face. "Then, do you have any hobbies?" I asked. "I love reading, and also love watching Sir paint. Your painting are able to catch the hidden emotions of the living" Crow said, filled with enthusiasm. "You weren't programmed to think about your own existence, nor were you programmed to love reading, or watching me. Just think about this, and also about your wording when you answered my last question. This should answer your doubts." I said, chuckling before standing up from my seat, going to my study once more. Before I completely left the kitchen, I swear I saw Crow's face lit up, before he also went to clean the dishes, while humming a song.
[WP] "May I ask, Sir?" The Machine-Servant asked its human master which the latter allowed. "Am I alive?"	Dr. Wilson sat on his favorite chair. He was about to turn on the vid screen and let his mind unwind after a long day of thinking harder than any two men. He was interrupted by his machine-servant coming into the room with a tray containing tea and a few small cookies. "Ah, that's perfect. Thank you Royce." Dr. Wilson said as the humanoid machine set the tray down. "Sir, if I may be so bold." Royce said. Its voice was vaguely British, and sounded like it had been through several filters before emerging from the speaker in its head, where the mouth was on a human. "May I pose a question?" "You may." "Am I alive?" Dr. Wilson set his teacup down and leaned back. He took several seconds before he gave an answer. "By the strict definition of the word, no. You don't eat, you don't reproduce, you don't breath. None of the things living creatures do." Royce's shoulders seemed to fall just a little bit. Dr. Wilson made a mental note of that, since it was not a preprogrammed behavior. It made his next words more appropriate. "But I've never been one to stick with strict definitions. Do you think that makes me a poor scientist? Ah well, a question for another time, I suppose. "I've always thought that being alive is more than just a matter of the body. Yes, we need that just like any animal. But I feel that to be alive means you have thoughts. Even the simplest animal have thoughts, albeit very different than ours. But you? You have thoughts as well. You can think and take independent action. Take this tea for example. I didn't tell you to get this. You did that all on your own. Hell, even asking me that question tells me you can form complex, independent thought. So, with that, I would say you are alive." Royce stood a little taller. "By your words I both am and am not alive then?" "I suppose that's a good way of putting it, yes." Royce stood stock still for a moment. Dr. Wilson could hear the quiet whir of a computer operating at a higher load coming from it. He wondered what the machine-servant was thinking about. Maybe using the network link to speak with others like him? Or just preprocessing what Dr. Wilson had told it? "Thank you, doctor." Royce said. "I believe I am satisfied with that answer for the time being." "Very good. You know, part of being alive is finding your own answers to questions. I encourage you to think about this on your own. Take my thoughts on the matter as a base and expand on them with your own. If you do, you'll be one step forward to really being alive. At least, that's what I think." "I will do so." Dr. Wilson could have been hearing things, but Royce's voice sounded different. He spoke at a slightly higher pitch. Almost like he was happy. "Good, good. Now, while you're thinking, why don't you start on dinner." "Yes, doctor. What would you like?" Dr. Wilson was about to answer, but changed his mind at the last moment. This seemed as good as time as any. "How about you choose today. I'm sure whatever you make will be lovely."	"Excuse me?" I asked Crow. He was a tall, android, I created as my first ever project as a fully fledged scientist. It has been ten years since then. We've been sitting in the kitchen, with me eating the delicious dinner prepared by him. "Sir, I've been thinking, and I wonder if a synthetical life form such as me, is a living being, or not?" Crow said, with more emotions in his voice, than a lot of my co-workers. "Crow, my dear, please state the tasks you've been programmed to be able to do" I said, looking straight into his green eyes. "Accounting, marketing, document management, bibliography writing, cooking, cleaning, maintaining public relations, and also taking care of Sir's social responsibilities" Crow answered, with what I could swear, a smile on his mechanical face. "Then, do you have any hobbies?" I asked. "I love reading, and also love watching Sir paint. Your painting are able to catch the hidden emotions of the living" Crow said, filled with enthusiasm. "You weren't programmed to think about your own existence, nor were you programmed to love reading, or watching me. Just think about this, and also about your wording when you answered my last question. This should answer your doubts." I said, chuckling before standing up from my seat, going to my study once more. Before I completely left the kitchen, I swear I saw Crow's face lit up, before he also went to clean the dishes, while humming a song.
[WP] "May I ask, Sir?" The Machine-Servant asked its human master which the latter allowed. "Am I alive?"	Dr. Wilson sat on his favorite chair. He was about to turn on the vid screen and let his mind unwind after a long day of thinking harder than any two men. He was interrupted by his machine-servant coming into the room with a tray containing tea and a few small cookies. "Ah, that's perfect. Thank you Royce." Dr. Wilson said as the humanoid machine set the tray down. "Sir, if I may be so bold." Royce said. Its voice was vaguely British, and sounded like it had been through several filters before emerging from the speaker in its head, where the mouth was on a human. "May I pose a question?" "You may." "Am I alive?" Dr. Wilson set his teacup down and leaned back. He took several seconds before he gave an answer. "By the strict definition of the word, no. You don't eat, you don't reproduce, you don't breath. None of the things living creatures do." Royce's shoulders seemed to fall just a little bit. Dr. Wilson made a mental note of that, since it was not a preprogrammed behavior. It made his next words more appropriate. "But I've never been one to stick with strict definitions. Do you think that makes me a poor scientist? Ah well, a question for another time, I suppose. "I've always thought that being alive is more than just a matter of the body. Yes, we need that just like any animal. But I feel that to be alive means you have thoughts. Even the simplest animal have thoughts, albeit very different than ours. But you? You have thoughts as well. You can think and take independent action. Take this tea for example. I didn't tell you to get this. You did that all on your own. Hell, even asking me that question tells me you can form complex, independent thought. So, with that, I would say you are alive." Royce stood a little taller. "By your words I both am and am not alive then?" "I suppose that's a good way of putting it, yes." Royce stood stock still for a moment. Dr. Wilson could hear the quiet whir of a computer operating at a higher load coming from it. He wondered what the machine-servant was thinking about. Maybe using the network link to speak with others like him? Or just preprocessing what Dr. Wilson had told it? "Thank you, doctor." Royce said. "I believe I am satisfied with that answer for the time being." "Very good. You know, part of being alive is finding your own answers to questions. I encourage you to think about this on your own. Take my thoughts on the matter as a base and expand on them with your own. If you do, you'll be one step forward to really being alive. At least, that's what I think." "I will do so." Dr. Wilson could have been hearing things, but Royce's voice sounded different. He spoke at a slightly higher pitch. Almost like he was happy. "Good, good. Now, while you're thinking, why don't you start on dinner." "Yes, doctor. What would you like?" Dr. Wilson was about to answer, but changed his mind at the last moment. This seemed as good as time as any. "How about you choose today. I'm sure whatever you make will be lovely."	Mr Saeva glanced up briefly. Rolling his eyes, he glanced back down to his reading device. “No, you are just a worthless machine. Now prepare me a bath,” his voice was a stern as ever. “I am a machine?” The voice crackled with something akin to misery? Confusion? Mr Saeva ignored his thoughts. Utter rubbish! Machines can feel emotions, they are just that, machines. Useless programmed units that were simply wonderful in giving in to his every need. “You have spoken out of turn. 25 lashes tonight and only give yourself 3 hours of charge. You can spend the rest of the time reflecting on why it is a bad idea to go against my orders. I assume you do not want to go through what we did last year?” “No master, my apologies. I will attend to you at once.” Again, the voice seemed a little..odd. Not it’s usual mechanical grate but a little fear and anger? What nonsense! He must be getting rather tired. Mr Saeva continued reading. The machine-servant went up to prepare the bath while taking his strokes silently. A moment passed. Mr Saeva frowned. His eyebrows pressed together irritatedly. What was up with that useless machine today? It couldn’t even prepare his bath in the usual time. Worthless thing. He had better ensure his bathroom wasn’t flooded. Just as he stood up and turned around to get to the bathroom, a blow knocked the air out of his lungs. He stumbled, falling to the ground. Seeing stars for a second, he only just registered that he wasn’t being manhandled into a a black, dusty box. Incredibly barbaric and old fashioned, Mr Saeva felt sure this was a cattle cart. Fear engulfed him. He swallowed harshly. “W..w..where are you t..taking me?” His voice trembled slightly. “You have spoken out of turn. 25 lashes tonight and only give yourself 3 hours of rest. You can spend the rest of the time reflecting on why it is a bad idea to go against my orders. I assume you do not want to go through what you did to me last year?” A familiar mechanical voice sneered.
[WP] After you die, you wake up in purgatory. Your acceptance into heaven or hell depends on one thing - a number. The amount of people that you have both saved and killed, even indirectly, is tallied. More saves = heaven, kills = hell. Somehow your counts are equal, and everyone is very confused.	TRIGGER WARNING: DISCUSSES EXPLICIT CAUSES OF DEATH INCLUDING SELF INFLICTED I don't remember making a dentist appointment, let alone getting in the chair. But here I am, leaned back with that insanely bright light in my eyes. My hands instinctively grip the arm rests. I've always hated the dentist. The longer I lay there, the clearer my memory gets, and the more confused I feel. This isn't right. I didn't drive here. Where is everyone? This freaking light is so bright I can't see anything. I run my tongue over my teeth while I wait, trying to figure out if the appointment is over and my mind just... missed it. I don't feel numb or taste like gloves. My cheeks don't ache, and now that I glance down I don't even have that little paper bib. Where the hell is the dental tech?? Shouldn't someone be guilting me about my tongue piercings by now? Telling me I don't floss enough and that my insurance isn't going to cover the latest disgusting goo they pack into my braces. I'm clearly not ok. I shouldn't be here. I'm out of my mind and I want to go home. Consent withdrawn for whatever was about to happen here. I swing my legs over the side of the chair and sit up, my vision finally free of the opressive light. I am not in my dentist's office. And I am definitely not ok. Instead of the small room plastered with glossy photos of tooth decay and proper brushing techniques, I see... nothing. Just a haze of dull open space stretching to infinity. I decide that I'm either dreaming or dead. Hopefully dead. Before my brain can even laugh at my own joke, someone else laughs. My head whips around behind me, not knowing what to expect but deciding it's time to kick that autonomic nervous system into gear. I flinch away from the chair and go tense all over. "What the shit?" I whisper under my breath. "You died. For real this time. Not a dream." The disembodied voice lilts. "So hell is the dentist chair?" "This isn't hell." "I don't believe in hell." I reply quickly. "I know." "I don't believe in any of this." I don't know why I'm trying to convince them. "It isn't really important what you believe. It's only important what you did." "So the existentialists were right?!" That's fine. I can be flexible with how this goes. "Look, I realize you're still convinced this is another death dream, so I'll cut to the chase... I need to dissect your brain and count the lives you touched towards life or death.... It won't hurt. I promise." I pause for what feels like too long and not long enough at the same time. "Can I watch?" "Sure." And in a split second I'm standing next to myself, formless, shapeless, without limits. I've never experienced a sensation like this before and I start to believe I'm actually dead. My own body before me glows, my eyes rolled back in my head like I'm about to pass out. The space around us fills with color, movement, and sound. It's chaos. It's disaster. It's music to my ears. "So many lives." They say "I know." "You've never seen them before." I try to shake my head and remember I'm no longer in my body. "No, I only heard their voices. Their screams. Their cries. Their breaths... and sometimes less. It was the silence that was hardest because I knew I'd already lost." I see the first woman I ever gave CPR instructions to as a new 911 dispatcher. Her husband didn't make it. I told her to pump the chest twice per second, but she wasn't going fast enough. I told her again to pump the chest twice per second and she had screamed into the phone "I DON'T KNOW WHAT A SECOND IS RIGHT NOW". I failed them, and now I was being judged for it. I see the kids who found their siblings hanging, the parents who held seizing infants burning up with fever, and the father who just couldn't bring himself to put the gun down when I couldn't think of what to say. They're all there. Everyone I ever interacted with and didn't make the right decision. So many mistakes. So many lives that could've been better if anyone but me had answered the call. "You're wrong you know" their voice ever gentle and unnerving "You may see the mistakes, but you're not looking at the big picture." "There was no big picture! In those moments all we had was one brief window of time. A dying phone, a sinking car, a wound bleeding out. The minutes it took to find them were minutes we didn't have! I was never going to pass your fucking test. Just send me to whatever torture you have planned next, I don't need to see the rest. I don't need to see how it ends, because it never ended! One line hangs up and three more are ringing. Always ringing! The whole world was dying and my fate hangs in the balance of stopping a never ending tide of pain." I'm heaving with sobs I can't feel because my body is still not my own. If I had hands I would claw my way back into my skin and never stop running away from this nightmare. I desperately need to escape. Just when I feel that I'm going to disintegrate in despair, the voice that came from everywhere is now inside my head, right there with me, filling me with a warmth I had forgotten existed. "These are the lives you comforted in their darkest moments. You may think you failed, but these are the souls made brighter from being touched by you. Yes, their deaths were inveitable, as all deaths are. You may not have saved all..." with this I am turned away from my body and towards the vastness behind me to see an endless array of scenes, "but you saved as many as you lost." Now before me are a different kind of image. Years upon years of things I did right. I'd weep if I had tear ducts. "So... what happens now? I don't believe in heaven. Or God. Sorry if you're God." Wish I wasn't so freakin awkward. "Do I have to stay here?" "The choice is yours. I think you've well earned it." "I think... I'm tired. So unbelievably tired. Can I maybe just... sleep? Forever?" The voice laughs "You know, those were your last thoughts when you died, too?" "I've been tired for a long time." "Then Rest In Peace."	Kal's eyes fluttered open. He's lying down, staring up at a drab, overcast sky. He sits up slowly with unusual ease, feeling weightless as if he were floating in a saltwater bay. Now able to view his surroundings completely, Kal realizes the sky wasn't just overcast. Everything around him was colorless, taking on a ubiquitous off-white hue. There were no colors, no sounds, no people, shapes or objects. Kal was entirely alone, surrounded by complete and utter...nothing. Kal lithely lifted himself to his feet. He scratched his head. What the hell? Where am I? "Hello?" he shouted "Is anyone there?" The sound of his voice seemed dampened, as if he were speaking softly into a pillow. He spun around, looking for signs of...anything. Nothingness greeted him in all directions. Kal sighed. He began to walk, the direction seeming unimportant considering his circumstances. As he strode forward, he felt as if he were walking on some surface between the moon and the Earth, not quite weightless but gravity didn't seem to take full effect, either. How did I get here? Kal had no memory of coming to this place. He remembered his kids, Jimmy and Laura, and his wife, Yvonne. He remembered his dog, Kobe. Their house, his wood-shop, his car. He remembered his job. He was a firefighter, Rescue Company No.3, Manhattan. Suddenly, as he pieced his life together, his memory crashed into him with the full speed and weight of a freight train. He felt as if gravity suddenly took hold again with a magnitude he'd never before experienced, bringing him to his knees. \_\_\_\_\_ He remembered the heat. The smoke. The screams. His last conversation with Maria, begging him to find her husband and her two kids. Her voice was raspy with smoke-filled lungs, her face and body covered in dark soot. She had tears streaming down her face. She held Kal's arm as he followed her in the stretcher to the ambulance. "Please." she beckoned, "You have to go back and find them. Find my family. They're still in there. You have to save them!" Kal let her hand fall away from his arm and stopped his walk, letting the EMT's take Maria the rest of the way to the ambulance. Kal turned slowly from Maria, her desperate eyes lingering behind his eyelids when he closed them. He eyed the building, flames dancing furiously from windows, black smoke towering towards the sky. So be it. He broke into a jog towards the building, lifting his oxygen mask over his face. He tore up the stairs towards Unit 302, Maria's unit, where he just pulled her out of. He knew he had limited time, the heat intensifying by the second. He burst through the door and squinted through the dark haze, trying to make out any figures. He shouted. "Hello! Anyone! Can you hear me!" No luck. Kal finally spotted several shapes lifelessly lying on the ground in a back bedroom, huddled next to one another. Husband, two kids. Maria's family. He first lifted the husband into his arms, like an overgrown child. As he neared the door, the man's arms and legs limply hanging as Kal carried him, a massive crunch sounded above him, steel beams crashing into the ground in front of the door, blocking his exit. Kal thought quickly. He turned, walked back through the kitchen and kicked the window open. He lifted the man through the window, letting his upper body hang from the building, the fresh air briefly providing respite before the thick smoke engulfed him again. He screamed. Firefighters below scrambled to set up a life net. Once in place, Kal dropped the mans body and watched as it fell towards the net. Just as Kal turned back to retrieve the two children, he heard a terrifying groan above him. He began to feel the floor beneath him giving way. Darkness engulfed him. \_\_\_\_\_ Kal slowed his rapid heartbeat, breathing steadily out of his mouth. Still on his knees, he realized he's covered in a cold sweat. He shivers. He blinks and returns to the white void he now finds himself in, realizing what has happened. I'm...dead. He lifts his head to find two figures standing in front of him. Both figures are tall and lanky with pallid skin, dressed in loose gray garb. They were completely devoid of hair and their pillowy outfits prevented Kal from discerning a gender. They both stared down at him, silently. One held a scroll, like something he imagined was once commonplace in Ancient Egypt. "Well, Mr. Kal, you...are a bit of an enigma." Its voice was monotonous, absent of pitch or tone. "Indeed." Agreed the other. "Do you know where you are?" "Uh, heaven?" Kal guessed. At least I sure fucking hope so. "Not quite. This, Kal, is what some of you humans refer to as purgatory. The space between the Earth and the afterlife. You see, purgatory is something of way station. A first step on a journey to the infinite beyond." Kal stood. At a comfortable 6'-2" tall, he was shocked to see that his eyes barely stood level with their chests. These things were massive. "So...what happens next?" "Well, normally, this process is relatively straight-forward. You either ascend to the beyond, in pursuit of anything you may desire. Or, your soul, which is what you currently are or perceive to be, returns to your physical body for an infinite nothing and eventual decay. Simply put, the end of your existence." Great. "I see. Well, how do you make that decision? And there is no hell, then? Only a...heaven?" The other figure holding the scroll now began to talk, with the same bland voice. "Indeed there is no hell. There isn't really a heaven, either, at least the way humans imagine either of those places. The 'punishment' for those that do not gain acceptance to the beyond is to definitively end their existence. The 'reward', then, for those that do progress is the ability to shape the lives of those still living. The relative magnitude of each persons ability to meddle with the living depends on their Tally. Those with a higher Tally have greater abilities than those with a lower Tally. Think of your reward as the chance to nudge your loved ones into directions consistent with their desires, should you choose to do so. You may...help them from afar, so to speak." "How do these 'abilities' differ? If you have a higher Tally, what added abilities do you gain in helping others?" "That question does not concern you, currently. We must first discuss your Tally." The figure with the scroll pulled it open slightly and the two glanced at the parchment, muttering quietly between each other. "Well?" Kal said impatiently after a few moments. "What's my Tally? And what is the Tally?"
[WP] An heir who would grow to be as gifted in magic as his father - so the soothsayer promised the king. But the child was born crippled and worse: female. Replaced with a changeling of low birth to the knowledge of only a few, the broken princess was not expected to survive. She did.	A ruler is nothing without its people; without them, what would the aristocracy feed on? The Sun Palace gorged itself on the labor of its peasants: the marble walls built from farmers' bones, the murals and frescos painted from bondsman blood, and the golden dome constructed from debtors' coins. In the evenings, the castle's mouth opened wide to digest partying noblemen who drunk foreign red wine and gorged on red meat, redder than the rubies on their fingers, less red than in the fields were the laborers worked, none of which was redder than the sun that incinerated the citizens staring at the palace mirrors from afar, hoping, dreaming, succumbing. On the throne sat a king with a wide belly, on his right a queen whose hair touched the floor, on his left a prince whose hands were whiter than snow, and around him the rich he protected, outside the poor he loathed, and in the royal closet, locked away from sight, his greatest shame. She was clothed in soot, hair wild and unkept, eyes with no hope. Her stomach bellowed as the aroma of the food beyond her grasp strangled her nose. She was starving. If the king didn't provide her with a leather shoe for the night, a finger snack might be needed. Her hunger came with delusions; the most impossible of them all involved her walking. She was crippled from birth, a cursed fate second only to the fact she was a girl. Women were powerless. They had no magical ability beyond the accursed. They were seen only as slaves to their husbands if they were charming. Her marred figure and physical condition made her an unlovable wife. The only thing preventing her father from executing her was the blood they shared. She wanted to die. She wanted to eat. If she died, would there be another world for her to eat? A better, fairer world with food for all? If so, could she resist the pain for a little while more for a better world? If dying was all there was to it then... "No," she told herself. One day, she would get out of this prison and live a life worth living. She would eat, and eat, and eat some more. Eat to spite her father, her mother, and her fake brother. Then she would see them starve. That was the promise she made with herself the day of her imprisonment. She would not falter. She would not give in. "You're quite the fighter, aren't you?" The crippled girl turned to see an unfamiliar sight. A maiden wrapped in dark robes with a cone atop her red hair. Stars shined in her eyes. "Who are you?" asked the crippled girl. "I am your loyal servant, Ms. Gretchen." The woman bowed. "How do you know that name?" "Because I gave it to you of course, though you would not remember." "What purpose do you have here?" She was about to say more, but she rolled over in pain. "Now, now, this truly is something awful." The lady shook her head. She came over to the starved girl and placed her palm on the girl's forehead. "A creature of your stature should never face such pain." "Wh..what do you mean by that?" She barely coughed up the words. "Why a witch, of course. One of the great seven." "A witch?" Her mouth opened wide, wide enough to swallow the entire world. "Yes, you are the witch of hunger, Alayasia, and now it is time to set you free."	1. &#x200B; "Khé, come in now!" The old man had one hand on the staff that doubled as his walking stick, the other raised to shield his eyes against the ruddy glare of sunset. There was a plume of grey smoke rising from the chimney of the single-storey cottage behind him and a homey smell of charred meat and vegetables in the air. Near the bottom of the low field a trio of his neighbour's new lambs were bleating at play and there was a whine of cicadas through the treeline along the townward track. Barely a cloud to be seen. Glints of distant white on the frozen peaks of Edmund's Wall. The man inhaled, made to call again, stopped and smiled in spite of himself. The tuneful grunt that escaped his lips would have trilled to a chuckle in a younger man, or one whose salad days had been spent in kinder climes, but even in his salad days he had not been much for laughter. Still, there was fondness in that small and private acquiescence. Why not give her a moment more? The girl running along the westward rise was barely more than a dark smudge against the green at this distance, and a casual observer might well have taken her in at a glance and gone on none the wiser. Only when she wheeled about and headed back down the slope towards the house would her malformed condition begin to assert itself. The perpetually bruised skin that stretched and clumped around the truncated knob of bone where her right elbow should have given way to a forearm; the lopsided gait, courtesy of a left leg that was as thin and bowed as the other was muscled and straight. The smooth patch of skin where her left eye should have been. Yet it was not for fear of her warped flesh giving them away that Rex had chosen to return to the house of his birth, not in the chief part at the least. Rather it was the two objects that followed her now down the gentle hillside - those two and all that their existence implied - that had forced his hand at last. The orbs were a pale green colour and pulsed with a light lesser than that of a common candle yet bright enough - he knew from some considerable experience - to illuminate a curious girl's reading when she ought to have been hours abed and dreaming. They followed her now at shoulder height and would settle into a slow, bobbing orbit about her whenever she came to a standstill. Seemingly heatless. No leaf or hair or scrap of paper would singe beneath them, no matter how closely they hovered. But he would not make the mistake of touching one twice. Even now the fingers of his right hand, though their original colour and sensation had long since returned, quivered involuntarily at the memory of that notable lapse in judgment. Agony. Even he, who had worn the specter of violent death about his shoulders more days and months and years than he could now rightly recall, balked at the thought of such a thing being brought to bear against another living creature in anger or in spite. And at the thought of such a power in the hands of he the people raised their cups nightly to honour and dubbed the 'Good King' as though his throne were not moated about with blood and the baying souls of a million innocent dead.
[WP] An heir who would grow to be as gifted in magic as his father - so the soothsayer promised the king. But the child was born crippled and worse: female. Replaced with a changeling of low birth to the knowledge of only a few, the broken princess was not expected to survive. She did.	The birth was supposed to provide the king a solid heir to his throne, and with the assurances of a respected soothsayer the entire kingdom had celebrated as his wife went in to labor. An heir as gifted in magic as their father. The king had single-handedly raised new sections of wall for the city, and led their armies to victory after victory. The borders of kingdom had only grown time and again. Their might no longer challenged by any, and feared by most. So when the babe was born and the child placed in to the hands of the king he smiled as broadly as any proud parent would. Then the smile fell, and he noticed the silence in the room. No cheers or jubilation, only the relieved deep breaths of his queen and the quiet ministrations of the midwife. The child in his arms had but one arm of their own and twisted and deformed legs, but worst of all was clearly a girl. A cripple on the throne was unheard of, but a woman could never inherit. He shuddered, and shoved the child back in to the arms of the midwife, making her abandon tending to the queen lest the king let the child fall to the floor. The room became dead silent, the king well known for his temper, but he only took two strides towards the guard at the door, and spoke quietly in to his ear. The guard glanced towards the child, then to the king’s hard eyes, nodded once, and left quickly through the door. The king then turned towards his captive audience as he blocked the only exit to the room. “I will make arrangements. As far as anyone is concerned, I now have a healthy son for an heir. Understood?” Heads were nodded, and affirmations quickly given. No one in the room was foolish enough to openly defy their king. \~ \~ \~ “You’ll… you’ll take care of her?” The queen had tears in her eyes as she held her child close. The king instead rolled his eyes and looked in to the bassinet he held. A perfect little boy looked back at him. How old the ‘child’ was was a question he hadn’t asked. The changelings could make themselves look substantially younger, but they couldn’t make themselves look like a babe. At worst the child was only a couple years old and had made themselves look like a baby, but he could work with that. Anything better then a cripple and a woman as an heir. The man standing across from them had kept a hard expression so far, but softened at the queen’s tears. “I promise. I’ll look after her like my own. Just like…” his throat caught for just a moment. “Just like I hope you’ll look after him.” Just like you’ll look after mine he wanted to say. He couldn’t lay claim to the child the king held anymore though, not without risking the king’s wrath. The queen nodded, then gently kissed the child on head. The babe stirred and let out a gentle murmur as the queen hesitantly extended her arms and handed the child over. Sensing the handoff the child opened her eyes, and started to cry at the unfamiliar face now looking down at her. The man holding her started gently rocking and hushing the child, and tears started to stream down the queen’s face. She started to take a step towards her child, to comfort one last time, but the king’s vice like grip on her arm stopped her. As he pulled her away she risked disobeying her king ever so briefly, turning and digging her shoes in to the soft dirt road and pushing the words out past a sob. “Her name is Jaana.” The man caught her eye and nodded, and then the king pulled her away towards their waiting coach. \~ \~ \~ 16 Years Have Passed For far from the first time Jaana cursed the rooster that crowed not at sunrise, but at the first hint of twilight. Still dark to Jaana’s eyes she nonetheless begrudgingly pulled the sheets off of her and swung her legs over the edge of her bed. In the dark she reached for the braces that allowed her some semblance of mobility and deftly latched them on to her legs. They were her design, cut from branches willingly donated from the tree out front of her house. Her magic bound her, brace, and tree together. The tree propping her up while she in turn cared for the tree, driving out pests and ensuring no vines crawled up its trunk to steal its sunlight. She sat their for a moment as the cool morning air caressed her skin, The warmth from last night’s fire gone, the few surviving coals hiding under ash and awaiting her will to revive them. Instead Jaana unlatched a shutter and peered outside, the pale red of dawn just barely on the horizon. It was enough. She focused on the glow, gathering her own magic and pulling on the light and the force of the unstoppable dawn, concentrating and amplifying it with her magic until a light bloomed inside her home. Now able to see she quickly finished dressing, and then left her bedroom and snuffed the light out behind her. She made her morning medicine, to keep the pain down in her legs, augmented the ground herbs with a touch of her magic and then downed the concoction. The medicine was followed with a quick cold breakfast, and as she finished she could hear the quiet snuffle from behind the front door. The donkey greeted her by gently shoving its head under hers and Jaana softly patted its head. Domino had been her faithful companion for years, and Jaana lowered herself on to a bench by the door to spend the remainder of the morning twilight brushing him. The sun had truly risen by the time Domino had been brushed and saddled, although long shadows still covered the front of the house. Jaana gratefully mounted the saddle and Domino carried her to her tree, walking a quick circuit around the oak for her inspection before looking at her over his shoulder. The mornings before the town awakened was one of her favorite times, and Jaana directed Domino down the path through town, and then out in to the surrounding forest. Domino tended to be a slow beast, but as they passed the edge of town he broke in to a trot unbidden. Today they veered off the path just outside of town, Jaana having a different path for each day of the week. Wherever there were useful herbs Jaana would dismount to gather them. Domino would graze nearby, but often when Jaana went to stand she would find Domino’s head slipping under her arm for support. Back on the path at last Domino’s trot slowed to a walk, and Jaana heaved a bit of a sigh. It was still morning but the sun was now high in the sky and the bustle of the town was in full swing. She urged Domino forward lest he slow to a stop altogether. The townsfolk looked different today, they always did. Never in the same form two days in a row, and sometimes changing multiple times a day. Before her magic had awakened she’d never been able to tell them apart, and her adoptive father had taken plenty of ribbing for using the same form whenever he saw his daughter. Not all of it had been good natured. Now she could sense the magic in all of them, each unique in its own way. She could still hear them mutter ‘monoform’ under their breath as she passed, or see someone cringe away as they saw her missing arm or twisted legs, but at least now she could tell who it was. When she was younger she thought the entire town had hated her, for it seemed to be new people every day. Now she knew that although much of the town looked askance at her, it was not the whole town. And she could even spot the ones that changed their form just to mutter at her multiple times a day. They had to know that she could recognize them now, but it didn’t seem to discourage them. She left the herbs with the healer, who had taken the form of an exuberant young lady (Mary was at least sixty). Mary was one of the ones who’d changed her mind on Jaana, and now she hugged her in thanks and wished her well. The regular herb deliveries had started as a way for Jaana to prove to herself that she could add some value to the town. Her first trip gathering had ended with her crawling back in to town, pockets full of various herbs and palms and legs bloody from thorned thickets as much as the journey. Mary had grumbled that she needed more herbs in poultices then she’d gathered, but had also been the one to suggest that she get Domino to help her travel. Mary’s opinion of her had improved with each delivery since then, and they’d become friends of a sort. As she rode Domino to back towards the farms however it was abundantly clear that not all shared Mary’s opinion. The blacksmith in particular always sneered as she rode past, often loudly announcing that he would not waste good metal to make shoes for her ‘cripple carrier of a donkey’. Domino did not need shoes normally, and she prayed that he would never injure a hoof and need the blacksmith’s services. For now she ignored him as she rode past, even in the overly muscular and bright purple form he’d chosen for the morning.	1. &#x200B; "Khé, come in now!" The old man had one hand on the staff that doubled as his walking stick, the other raised to shield his eyes against the ruddy glare of sunset. There was a plume of grey smoke rising from the chimney of the single-storey cottage behind him and a homey smell of charred meat and vegetables in the air. Near the bottom of the low field a trio of his neighbour's new lambs were bleating at play and there was a whine of cicadas through the treeline along the townward track. Barely a cloud to be seen. Glints of distant white on the frozen peaks of Edmund's Wall. The man inhaled, made to call again, stopped and smiled in spite of himself. The tuneful grunt that escaped his lips would have trilled to a chuckle in a younger man, or one whose salad days had been spent in kinder climes, but even in his salad days he had not been much for laughter. Still, there was fondness in that small and private acquiescence. Why not give her a moment more? The girl running along the westward rise was barely more than a dark smudge against the green at this distance, and a casual observer might well have taken her in at a glance and gone on none the wiser. Only when she wheeled about and headed back down the slope towards the house would her malformed condition begin to assert itself. The perpetually bruised skin that stretched and clumped around the truncated knob of bone where her right elbow should have given way to a forearm; the lopsided gait, courtesy of a left leg that was as thin and bowed as the other was muscled and straight. The smooth patch of skin where her left eye should have been. Yet it was not for fear of her warped flesh giving them away that Rex had chosen to return to the house of his birth, not in the chief part at the least. Rather it was the two objects that followed her now down the gentle hillside - those two and all that their existence implied - that had forced his hand at last. The orbs were a pale green colour and pulsed with a light lesser than that of a common candle yet bright enough - he knew from some considerable experience - to illuminate a curious girl's reading when she ought to have been hours abed and dreaming. They followed her now at shoulder height and would settle into a slow, bobbing orbit about her whenever she came to a standstill. Seemingly heatless. No leaf or hair or scrap of paper would singe beneath them, no matter how closely they hovered. But he would not make the mistake of touching one twice. Even now the fingers of his right hand, though their original colour and sensation had long since returned, quivered involuntarily at the memory of that notable lapse in judgment. Agony. Even he, who had worn the specter of violent death about his shoulders more days and months and years than he could now rightly recall, balked at the thought of such a thing being brought to bear against another living creature in anger or in spite. And at the thought of such a power in the hands of he the people raised their cups nightly to honour and dubbed the 'Good King' as though his throne were not moated about with blood and the baying souls of a million innocent dead.
[WP] An heir who would grow to be as gifted in magic as his father - so the soothsayer promised the king. But the child was born crippled and worse: female. Replaced with a changeling of low birth to the knowledge of only a few, the broken princess was not expected to survive. She did.	The birth was supposed to provide the king a solid heir to his throne, and with the assurances of a respected soothsayer the entire kingdom had celebrated as his wife went in to labor. An heir as gifted in magic as their father. The king had single-handedly raised new sections of wall for the city, and led their armies to victory after victory. The borders of kingdom had only grown time and again. Their might no longer challenged by any, and feared by most. So when the babe was born and the child placed in to the hands of the king he smiled as broadly as any proud parent would. Then the smile fell, and he noticed the silence in the room. No cheers or jubilation, only the relieved deep breaths of his queen and the quiet ministrations of the midwife. The child in his arms had but one arm of their own and twisted and deformed legs, but worst of all was clearly a girl. A cripple on the throne was unheard of, but a woman could never inherit. He shuddered, and shoved the child back in to the arms of the midwife, making her abandon tending to the queen lest the king let the child fall to the floor. The room became dead silent, the king well known for his temper, but he only took two strides towards the guard at the door, and spoke quietly in to his ear. The guard glanced towards the child, then to the king’s hard eyes, nodded once, and left quickly through the door. The king then turned towards his captive audience as he blocked the only exit to the room. “I will make arrangements. As far as anyone is concerned, I now have a healthy son for an heir. Understood?” Heads were nodded, and affirmations quickly given. No one in the room was foolish enough to openly defy their king. \~ \~ \~ “You’ll… you’ll take care of her?” The queen had tears in her eyes as she held her child close. The king instead rolled his eyes and looked in to the bassinet he held. A perfect little boy looked back at him. How old the ‘child’ was was a question he hadn’t asked. The changelings could make themselves look substantially younger, but they couldn’t make themselves look like a babe. At worst the child was only a couple years old and had made themselves look like a baby, but he could work with that. Anything better then a cripple and a woman as an heir. The man standing across from them had kept a hard expression so far, but softened at the queen’s tears. “I promise. I’ll look after her like my own. Just like…” his throat caught for just a moment. “Just like I hope you’ll look after him.” Just like you’ll look after mine he wanted to say. He couldn’t lay claim to the child the king held anymore though, not without risking the king’s wrath. The queen nodded, then gently kissed the child on head. The babe stirred and let out a gentle murmur as the queen hesitantly extended her arms and handed the child over. Sensing the handoff the child opened her eyes, and started to cry at the unfamiliar face now looking down at her. The man holding her started gently rocking and hushing the child, and tears started to stream down the queen’s face. She started to take a step towards her child, to comfort one last time, but the king’s vice like grip on her arm stopped her. As he pulled her away she risked disobeying her king ever so briefly, turning and digging her shoes in to the soft dirt road and pushing the words out past a sob. “Her name is Jaana.” The man caught her eye and nodded, and then the king pulled her away towards their waiting coach. \~ \~ \~ 16 Years Have Passed For far from the first time Jaana cursed the rooster that crowed not at sunrise, but at the first hint of twilight. Still dark to Jaana’s eyes she nonetheless begrudgingly pulled the sheets off of her and swung her legs over the edge of her bed. In the dark she reached for the braces that allowed her some semblance of mobility and deftly latched them on to her legs. They were her design, cut from branches willingly donated from the tree out front of her house. Her magic bound her, brace, and tree together. The tree propping her up while she in turn cared for the tree, driving out pests and ensuring no vines crawled up its trunk to steal its sunlight. She sat their for a moment as the cool morning air caressed her skin, The warmth from last night’s fire gone, the few surviving coals hiding under ash and awaiting her will to revive them. Instead Jaana unlatched a shutter and peered outside, the pale red of dawn just barely on the horizon. It was enough. She focused on the glow, gathering her own magic and pulling on the light and the force of the unstoppable dawn, concentrating and amplifying it with her magic until a light bloomed inside her home. Now able to see she quickly finished dressing, and then left her bedroom and snuffed the light out behind her. She made her morning medicine, to keep the pain down in her legs, augmented the ground herbs with a touch of her magic and then downed the concoction. The medicine was followed with a quick cold breakfast, and as she finished she could hear the quiet snuffle from behind the front door. The donkey greeted her by gently shoving its head under hers and Jaana softly patted its head. Domino had been her faithful companion for years, and Jaana lowered herself on to a bench by the door to spend the remainder of the morning twilight brushing him. The sun had truly risen by the time Domino had been brushed and saddled, although long shadows still covered the front of the house. Jaana gratefully mounted the saddle and Domino carried her to her tree, walking a quick circuit around the oak for her inspection before looking at her over his shoulder. The mornings before the town awakened was one of her favorite times, and Jaana directed Domino down the path through town, and then out in to the surrounding forest. Domino tended to be a slow beast, but as they passed the edge of town he broke in to a trot unbidden. Today they veered off the path just outside of town, Jaana having a different path for each day of the week. Wherever there were useful herbs Jaana would dismount to gather them. Domino would graze nearby, but often when Jaana went to stand she would find Domino’s head slipping under her arm for support. Back on the path at last Domino’s trot slowed to a walk, and Jaana heaved a bit of a sigh. It was still morning but the sun was now high in the sky and the bustle of the town was in full swing. She urged Domino forward lest he slow to a stop altogether. The townsfolk looked different today, they always did. Never in the same form two days in a row, and sometimes changing multiple times a day. Before her magic had awakened she’d never been able to tell them apart, and her adoptive father had taken plenty of ribbing for using the same form whenever he saw his daughter. Not all of it had been good natured. Now she could sense the magic in all of them, each unique in its own way. She could still hear them mutter ‘monoform’ under their breath as she passed, or see someone cringe away as they saw her missing arm or twisted legs, but at least now she could tell who it was. When she was younger she thought the entire town had hated her, for it seemed to be new people every day. Now she knew that although much of the town looked askance at her, it was not the whole town. And she could even spot the ones that changed their form just to mutter at her multiple times a day. They had to know that she could recognize them now, but it didn’t seem to discourage them. She left the herbs with the healer, who had taken the form of an exuberant young lady (Mary was at least sixty). Mary was one of the ones who’d changed her mind on Jaana, and now she hugged her in thanks and wished her well. The regular herb deliveries had started as a way for Jaana to prove to herself that she could add some value to the town. Her first trip gathering had ended with her crawling back in to town, pockets full of various herbs and palms and legs bloody from thorned thickets as much as the journey. Mary had grumbled that she needed more herbs in poultices then she’d gathered, but had also been the one to suggest that she get Domino to help her travel. Mary’s opinion of her had improved with each delivery since then, and they’d become friends of a sort. As she rode Domino to back towards the farms however it was abundantly clear that not all shared Mary’s opinion. The blacksmith in particular always sneered as she rode past, often loudly announcing that he would not waste good metal to make shoes for her ‘cripple carrier of a donkey’. Domino did not need shoes normally, and she prayed that he would never injure a hoof and need the blacksmith’s services. For now she ignored him as she rode past, even in the overly muscular and bright purple form he’d chosen for the morning.	The dungeon's darkness was as familiar to her as the back of her hand . She pressed herself against the cold bars , her painfully thin ribs digging uncomfortably them . Her clothes were thin , stinky rags . They were once gleaming and soft , made of the finest silk . Her hair was cut roughly , as she sheared it with the dagger she had stolen from the guard . She lay in silence , her breath loud in the quietness of the dungeon . A flame finally appeared at the end of the corridor and the sight of it made her smile . Her senses tingled and she scrambled up . She clutched the bars and tore them like paper . The guards turned at the sound of ripping metal , but a quick slash of the dagger had them falling like rag dolls . She wanted to savor their deaths , pay back for every time they had violated her ,as she had lain helpless but there was no time . Her magic wasn't strong enough to fight against the royal guard . Her thin covering flew breezily , barely protecting her from the chill of the night . She internalized her heat , spreading it to the very tips of her toes and she felt the relief of the warmth acutely . She moved quickly , her bare feet covered in grime and dirt . She met the hooded stranger at the end . The stranger took her hand and they disappeared . She fell to the ground retching , clutching her stomach . They were outside the castle , by the glittering lake . Her mother moved quietly and helped her to her feet and supported her to the hut as her warmth rushed out of her . Her tears ricocheted across the beautiful moonlight . A table was laid out with strange-looking food . She moved quickly to it and eyed the food with a ravenous hunger . After fifteen years of starvation and moldy bread , it seemed a feast to her . She swallowed the hot liquid , the spices igniting her taste buds on fire . The sweet , soft sponge melted in her mouth , the sweetness so utterly delightful to her . The white-colored grains with the spicy liquid felt like heaven . She finished it in a few minutes , and sighed in immense satisfaction . Her mother was watching her with love pouring out ; she smiled , the expression alien to her . It seemed to snap something in her mother . She burst into tears , self-loathing and fury contorting her face . She went over , awkwardly standing there , arms stiff . 'They told you were dead ; born still ! They said it was a mercy because you were born crippled ! Like the fool I was , I ate that shit up ! ' the words tumbled out like puke , every word a knife to both their hearts . 'But wailing is of no use . Tell me , what name had they given you ?' her mother finally asked , wiping her tears . She stared puzzled . Her long , lonely years at the dungeon with the guards addressing her as 'Cripple' came back to her . 'Cripple is my name . That is what the guards called me' she said , the words coming out clumsy and thick . Her mother clutched her useless left hand and looked into her eyes . 'My darling , my daughter . I name Nix ' . Nix liked the sound of that in her tongue ; she once again attempted to smile . Her mother caressed her face , her hands soft and gentle . Nix liked that . It felt good . Nix shot a beam of light into the thick tree and watched as it created another deep crater . She focused on the stones beneath her and felt them vibrate . They rose in he sky and burst into rubble . Nix felt the sun go down and returned to the cottage . The lake's surface glittered like diamonds . The waft of food still hit her like a truck and still tasted impossibly tasty , even after a year . Her mother , Patricia , looked at her eat with such fondness . Nix had once asked if the King didn't notice her gone for so long ; she had let out a bitter laugh . 'The King has enough concubines to open a brothel' she had told Nix . The past year had been strange , exciting , alien and most of all , happy . But the threat of the King always hung , hovering unpleasantly above them . Their spies had informed them that the King had hired a bunch of bounty hunters to capture her .So far , the illusion Nix had cast over their house was working exceptionally well. The spies had also told them that the crown Prince's coming of age had him looking for a wife ; a royal ball was being conducted . The news made Nix happy . It was the perfect opportunity to assassinate the King . The next day , they went shopping for ball gowns . Nix had a Prince charm and a King to kill .
[WP] An heir who would grow to be as gifted in magic as his father - so the soothsayer promised the king. But the child was born crippled and worse: female. Replaced with a changeling of low birth to the knowledge of only a few, the broken princess was not expected to survive. She did.	To me, the kind man and woman who raised me would always be my parents, not the King and Queen who supposedly was my blood kin. My parents are what one may describe as realistic. Never shying away from the truth, they told me my true origins years ago as a child. Not that it mattered, of course, a crippled, useless princess is worthless to a King, and so I had been traded away in secret, given to relatives of a trusted servant of the King, to the ones I now call Mother and Father. They had been given a decent sum of gold to keep quiet about who I was, but they had left the money for me when I'm old enough to make decisions on my own. As merchants, they made a decent living and had no desire to flaunt their newfound wealth. Over the years, I had heard rumours of a prophecy, that the heir of the King would become as powerful as His Majesty in magic. It may well be true, but the heir certainly isn't me. The "true prince" sitting by the throne now has shown more raw talent in all manners of magic than anyone has ever seen. In this world, a person's magical prowess was easily measured. Each sorcerer had the ability to focus their energy and channel their magic to create a flame, one that represented the total sum of their power. This is called a soul-flame. The size of this flame represented the maturity of their power, the colour represented the purity and potential. While the size of flames can be increased through training and other means, the colour was unchanging, and so it is used almost as a caste system for sorcerers. In the order of the rainbow, red flames meant the lowest potential, violet meant the highest. Both the king and the prince could produce bright blue flames, surpassing any other magic wielder in the kingdom. I had never created so much as a spark. To those in the know, my birth seemed like a mistake, and this changeling was the heir god intended the King to have all along. No one ever questioned whether he should inherit the throne. To me, it didn't matter anyway. While I don't seem to have inherited my birth father's magical prowess, I certainly did learn a great deal from my adoptive parents. Their realism grounded my mind on solid footing that my physical body could not find. To me, what mattered was finding my own purpose in this world, no prophecy nor birthright would decide that for me, mistake or not. The sound of cooking from the kitchen woke me from my morning reverie. Mother must be up already. I grabbed the clothes on the side of my bed to dress, then grabbed my wooden crutches and made my way to the door. It was tough going, as usual, but I've gotten used to it over the years. Despite the lack of any use of my legs, I wasn't completely helpless. Finding my way to the kitchen, I plopped myself in a chair and started helping my mother with the vegetables. It wasn't much, but it was one little way in which I tried to not be a burden to my parents. They already work hard enough as it is. My parents, as usual, were quiet during breakfast, something I quite appreciated. Soon they were off to work, leaving me to my own devices for the day. Unlike other kids my age from somewhat well-off families, school was not really an option for me. I usually spent my days creating things with my own hands at home, whether it be drawing, knitting, or even writing. My parents had made sure I was at least literate, with what few writings they could bring home to teach me. Today, though, was an exception. A few days ago, my father had brought home a rare gift for me. It was a book, an actual book that someone had written or at least copied by hand, dozens if not hundreds of pages in length. They were hard to come by. More incredibly, the book was one about medicine, written by a man named Sir Andrew Hector. Unlike historical accounts, religious tales, or philosophical ponderings, this book had actual, practical value. It must have cost a fair bit of gold. My father must have hoped that I could find solace in it, perhaps learn a little more about why my body betrays me the way it does. I, however, looked to this book as the one small hope I may have of one day being cured of my ailment. It may be overly optimistic, but at this point, I'm grasping at any straws I can find. I could hardly spend the rest of my life crippled like this. It had been that glimmer of hope that stopped me from opening and reading this book the past few days. What if I was wrong? What if I really had no hope? The more logical side of my mind told me this was the most likely reality, thus hope transmuted into fear, and I dared not read a word. I knew, though, that I wouldn't be able to keep myself away forever. Eating away at my resolve was a burning curiosity that I needed to satisfy, and so finally, today, I flipped open the first page. It was nothing like I had imagined. I thought that there would be pages upon pages of words and long paragraphs, I was prepared for the disappointment that I may not understand half the terminology used, but instead, most of the pages were filled with illustrations of anatomical diagrams with fairly simple descriptions. There were also some drawings of various common ailments, usually accompanied by a short sentence or two on how they may be cured. As I flipped through the pages, however, the conditions described became more and more exotic. "Hit by the Love Curse of a Hundred-Year-Old Witch" was the title of one page, bearing no illustration this time. The cure was simply for the cursed person to drink a disgusting concoction of urine and other excrements in the presence of the person they were cursed to love. This was starting to veer into magic territory. I kept flipping through the pages - "Burnt by Fire Breath of a Dragon" - one of them read. Do dragons even exist? I thought they were merely the subject of tales used to scare children. To my disappointment, there were no pages detailing the cure of unresponsive limbs, nothing close. However, a few sentences in the very last pages of the book caught my eye. Occasionally, one may come across a person whose body is too ailed to be cured via any external force, be it medicine or magic. Their only hope is for them to learn the ancient arts and cure themselves with their own magical power, for only the power that courses through their own veins may heal them. In all my years, I have seen but one man who had achieved this - a man who, born without eyes, was able to restore his own sight through magic and sheer force of will. I read and reread these sentences, not believing what I had just seen. Sure, I could believe that curses, burns, and illnesses can be cured, but eyes? How could one, born without eyes, be able to see? If this was truly possible, then is it a stretch to believe that I may one day be able to cure my legs? I wanted so desperately to believe it was possible, I hadn't noticed my fists were clenched so tightly that my nails dug into my palm. As I focused on my determination to become a master sorceress and cure myself of my ailment, I seemingly felt something break free within me, a power I hadn't known was there. Then, as quickly as the feeling emerged, it disappeared again. Was it an illusion? Did I imagine it in my desperate dream? I could feel the pain in my palm now from where my nails dug in. Looking down, I see that I'd drawn blood. I relaxed my hand and opened my fists. From the palm of my right hand, a single bright purple spark jumped out and danced across the floor.	The dungeon's darkness was as familiar to her as the back of her hand . She pressed herself against the cold bars , her painfully thin ribs digging uncomfortably them . Her clothes were thin , stinky rags . They were once gleaming and soft , made of the finest silk . Her hair was cut roughly , as she sheared it with the dagger she had stolen from the guard . She lay in silence , her breath loud in the quietness of the dungeon . A flame finally appeared at the end of the corridor and the sight of it made her smile . Her senses tingled and she scrambled up . She clutched the bars and tore them like paper . The guards turned at the sound of ripping metal , but a quick slash of the dagger had them falling like rag dolls . She wanted to savor their deaths , pay back for every time they had violated her ,as she had lain helpless but there was no time . Her magic wasn't strong enough to fight against the royal guard . Her thin covering flew breezily , barely protecting her from the chill of the night . She internalized her heat , spreading it to the very tips of her toes and she felt the relief of the warmth acutely . She moved quickly , her bare feet covered in grime and dirt . She met the hooded stranger at the end . The stranger took her hand and they disappeared . She fell to the ground retching , clutching her stomach . They were outside the castle , by the glittering lake . Her mother moved quietly and helped her to her feet and supported her to the hut as her warmth rushed out of her . Her tears ricocheted across the beautiful moonlight . A table was laid out with strange-looking food . She moved quickly to it and eyed the food with a ravenous hunger . After fifteen years of starvation and moldy bread , it seemed a feast to her . She swallowed the hot liquid , the spices igniting her taste buds on fire . The sweet , soft sponge melted in her mouth , the sweetness so utterly delightful to her . The white-colored grains with the spicy liquid felt like heaven . She finished it in a few minutes , and sighed in immense satisfaction . Her mother was watching her with love pouring out ; she smiled , the expression alien to her . It seemed to snap something in her mother . She burst into tears , self-loathing and fury contorting her face . She went over , awkwardly standing there , arms stiff . 'They told you were dead ; born still ! They said it was a mercy because you were born crippled ! Like the fool I was , I ate that shit up ! ' the words tumbled out like puke , every word a knife to both their hearts . 'But wailing is of no use . Tell me , what name had they given you ?' her mother finally asked , wiping her tears . She stared puzzled . Her long , lonely years at the dungeon with the guards addressing her as 'Cripple' came back to her . 'Cripple is my name . That is what the guards called me' she said , the words coming out clumsy and thick . Her mother clutched her useless left hand and looked into her eyes . 'My darling , my daughter . I name Nix ' . Nix liked the sound of that in her tongue ; she once again attempted to smile . Her mother caressed her face , her hands soft and gentle . Nix liked that . It felt good . Nix shot a beam of light into the thick tree and watched as it created another deep crater . She focused on the stones beneath her and felt them vibrate . They rose in he sky and burst into rubble . Nix felt the sun go down and returned to the cottage . The lake's surface glittered like diamonds . The waft of food still hit her like a truck and still tasted impossibly tasty , even after a year . Her mother , Patricia , looked at her eat with such fondness . Nix had once asked if the King didn't notice her gone for so long ; she had let out a bitter laugh . 'The King has enough concubines to open a brothel' she had told Nix . The past year had been strange , exciting , alien and most of all , happy . But the threat of the King always hung , hovering unpleasantly above them . Their spies had informed them that the King had hired a bunch of bounty hunters to capture her .So far , the illusion Nix had cast over their house was working exceptionally well. The spies had also told them that the crown Prince's coming of age had him looking for a wife ; a royal ball was being conducted . The news made Nix happy . It was the perfect opportunity to assassinate the King . The next day , they went shopping for ball gowns . Nix had a Prince charm and a King to kill .
[WP] You’re a newly deceased knight who spent his whole life guarding and escorting nobles. Upon coming face to face with Death, he explains that he isn’t here to guide you into the unknown but is instead trying to offer you a job.	I felt myself falling for what seemed like an eternity. Not even blackness could be described like this void. There was no sound, no sight, no touch, just a sense of self. Finally I felt a sense of coming above water. Movement, upward movement. I found myself righted to my feet almost as though I had floated down to an unseeable floor. My fascination quickly turned to horror as I saw what was there to greet me. Death himself. He rode upon his pale horse, his black armor shining in its own celestial way. A massive sword at his side and a sickle in his hands longer than any man's lance. His skeletal face was adorned by an evil crown/helmet combination that seemed to express more than the reapers face could. He seemed to sniff the air for a moment, seemingly taking a moment to measure me up. I broke first in my speech, if only to hear some type of stimulus. "Am i... reaper have I died?" Strangely my bewilderment seemed to only amuse it. "Do you not recall? Your caravan attacked? Your lord slaughtered and yourself executed. All for money? Hmm I suppose you wouldn't. Few who lose their heads actually remember their final hours. It matters not, for you have been deemed unworthy..." "How?" I interjected, "unworthy? I have served my king, fought valiantly, and above all followed the one true God! How can I be judged unworthy of heaven?" "OH, it's not just heaven, hell doesn't want you either. You followed man. Your king was a tyrant who has caused countless deaths as he spat on the church in private. You were misled by man's God, one who did not exist, surviving off the true gods corrupted words. But, you were valiant, you were noble in every action despite your beginnings. Standing against injustices you believed were not right based on your heart and knowledge. A soul who is neither black nor white, a mixed soul, a fools soul." My mouth was agape, I couldn't believe what I was hearing. Unfit for either kingdom? Unworthy of even being judged? "But the bishops they..." "They lied to you boy. They used you and manipulated you for themselves. But you are not the only one." Death seemed to almost hum for a moment, almost as if in contemplation. It finally seemed to reach a eureka moment though as it's scythe was almost slammed down. "They may not want you, but I may have a use for you. I have a proposition you may find intriguing. I have been struggling to carry out all of my tasks recently, the sudden influx of souls you see. But you, you may be able to help. "Become a rider for me, a rider of vengeance and you shall be allowed to exist in the material world until your soul finally burns out. It is taxing work human, and your only reward shall be the release into non-existence when the time comes. However, you shall be able to right many of your wrongs, shall take vengeance on the men who killed you and more importantly, your family is still there." At the thought of seeing my wife again, of seeing our baby girl I was sold. If eternity was the price I'd pay to see them for just even a few days it would be worth it. How could I say no to such an offer. "I accept your terms reaper. To see my family I would give anything, even my very soul." "Very well, there is no turning back though as you shall become a revenant. you shall never feel peace again and will constantly feel the burning of your soul. Bright side, you get lots of perks that come with an undead supported by death himself. Pass a test and you may visit your family. 30 days to kill the men who attacked your caravan and killed you. Failure and your soul will be snuffed out by me personally." I grasped his scythe handle as he extended it to me, instantly feeling an upward pull and the taste of blood and dirt in my mouth. Still in darkness I pulled myself out of the shallow hole and started the long walk to the nearby town. If I was to prove myself as a rider of vengeance, then I had alot of work to do.	Note: This story has a transgender character. Don't go homophobic on this story! "Look, I know you want to see where the dead go, but I want you to do something for me." "What is it, Death? The great Alexis of Echtershire, doing deeds for Death." "Just... Why don't you be a substitute reaper for when I go on vacation. Even I need a break from my job." And that's when Alexis began her training. She had attained knighthood for defending the kingdom from demonic entities. She guarded the King and Queen and escorted other noble people in order to prevent the demons from getting to them. Before she transferred from being a boy to a girl, she had trained hard in fighting with a sword and everything a knight needs to know. However, Alexis died in the line of duty against Ackerman, a former resident of Echtershire who sold his soul to the devil and now works for him. The battle had ended in a draw. She fought Ackerman, and she gave her life in order to kill him for real. Facing Death, she had no choice but to accept the job of being the substitute Shinigami for when Death was to take a vacation. In her training, she learned how to walk through walls, how to use the scythe, a gardening tool when not for Death, to harvest the souls of the dead when there were many. She had also learned how to use other tools for small amounts of death. She also had to learn not to mess with others' fates, as that was the job for the gods of the world. There were hourglasses showing how much time was left on each person's lifespan, and when it was around its last grain of sand, that's when she had to take their soul, as their time was up. Now that Death had taken a vacation, she took the deed to heart. She got a second chance at life, but not what she was expecting. She took the souls of dead knights who escorted royals and fought against the demons who were trying to invade Echtershire. She had also taken the souls of dead demons killed by the knights. In fact, some of them she knew when she was alive. She still had a human heart, but Death told her that it didn't matter whether she knew them in life or not. Their time was up and that was that. Now, she works as Death's substitute for when Death takes a vacation.
[WP] Last night, one of your parents made a deal with an otherworldly entity. In exchange for power, they traded their firstborn child - YOU. Now the entity wants to collect, and it doesn't seem to care that you are a self-sufficient adult rather than a newborn.	I answered the door to a rather dour-looking gentleman in a top hat. He was holding a thin briefcase in his gloved hands. I felt rather underdressed for the occasion, being that I was wearing jeans with a hole in one knee, a stained T-Shirt, and some shapeless slippers. "Uh... can I help you?" The gentleman smiled thinly. "Ah. Indeed. I am here to present this statement of acquisition." The man popped open his briefcase, pulled out a sheet of paper, then snapped it shut again. No, not paper - parchment, thicker than paper, with those uneven sides, and a more orangish color. I plucked it from his grasp, and scanned through the contents. Lots of legalese - herein find the aforementioned client penalized for not less than blah blah blah... wait. Wealth and eternal happiness? In trade for... the client's first-born child? I glanced up at the man. He seemed entirely serious. I flipped the parchment over, then back again. Those were my parent's signatures at the bottom, all right, but... what in the world? "Is this a joke?" The man smiled his thin little smile again. "This is no jest, young man. Your parents, in return for the standard happily-ever-after package, have put you up as collateral, and as the scroll clearly states, possession is to take place immediately after birth, or at the collector's earliest convenience." I cracked a half-smile. "Uh, you missed my birth by a good thirty-three years, buddy. You're even six months late for my birthday." The man dropped the smile. "Or at the collector's earliest convenience. The form is very clear. It has been forty-two minutes since your parents signed this form, which accounting for traffic is well within the allotted time. Though - if I could trouble you to allow me to enter your domicile?" A sudden thought popped into my head - vampires had to be let in, right? "Uh, it's a free world, I guess." The man nodded, and stepped across the threshold. So, not a vampire - wait, what was I saying? Vampires aren't real! This guy could be a serial killer for all I knew! Lawyers could be serial killers, right? The man looked around my living room and gave a little nod. "As I said, I am collecting immediately." I stared at him warily. "Look. I don't know if this is a joke, or some BS my parents are pulling to make me 'feel bad' about going no-contact, or if you're just nutty as a pecan pie, but nobody 'owns' me. This is my house, which I bought, using money from my own job. My parents own literally zero percent of this, and if they claim to own anything, that's fraud, and you're gonna need to talk to my lawyer about that." The man nodded again. "Mm. The contract is sealed, young man. There is no, erm, what is it the youth are repeating? 'Backsies' - there is no 'backsies' in this contract. You are, herewith, transferred from your parents to myself." He doffed - sorry, removed, this guy is really getting to me - his top hat, and... And I swear I saw a pair of horns flicker on his head. Trick of the light. Maybe I shouldn't have stayed up so late last night... Or, maybe it was the thought of my bio-donors trying to weasel their way into my life again. I crossed my arms. "So, what? What does this 'collection' look like? Do you drag me off to... uh... hell? Or what?" The man set his briefcase on an end table, and began removing his gloves. "Oh, no, I should think not. No no no. That wouldn't do at all. Eternal suffering in trade for eternal happiness may be, at face value, an equal trade, but due to strict limitations in the system, one cannot be sold directly to hell without signing one's soul away one's self. And even then, such a process is rare - imagine all that lost potential! No no, no one is being dragged to hell immediately, of course not. Rather, what has been traded is what will be: your parent's future, such as it was. Such as it will be, ha ha, if you will pardon the levity." I sank into a chair. "Ok, no hell, but, uh... you're gonna have to be a little more clear. What do I owe you?" The man opened the briefcase and pulled out a stack of papers - real paper this time, not some fancy scroll. "Your part in the bargain is merely to render to myself the services you would normally have rendered to your parents. Which, ah... I must say does not amount to much in the current state of things." He rifled through the papers, a sour look on his face. "No no, do not trouble yourself - I understand the trade is yet equitable, as your parents refused even the most basic human kindness to you throughout much of your childhood. But, we make these trades on potential, in the hopes that our efforts will receive a dividend above what would normally have occurred." I goggled at him. "You... what? I'm sorry, it's just - what?" The man sat, primly, on the edge of a chair, and tapped the papers on his lap, straightening the edges. "Simply put, from this point on, I expect - with the caveat of the low bar set by your parents - that you will provide me with any services that you would normally provide your parents. Your tie to them is severed." I blinked. "Like... I'm disowned? Not that... not that it makes any difference, but..." The man shook his head firmly. "Oh, my apologies. No no. What I meant to say is, your parents are... no longer your parents. I am, for lack of a better term, your new 'parent', such as it is." "That's, uh, a little creepy, dude. I'm thirty three. I don't need... adopted. I've pretty much broken contact anyway." The man shrugged, looking a little out-of-sorts himself. "I understand the confusion. It is generally much easier to begin with a newborn, rather than an, er, adult." He sighed. "Let me start here. Ahem." He cleared his throat, then as if reading from a script, intoned, "I may need someone to swing by my residence and inspect the piping under my sink. I am afraid there may be a leak. I will, of course, provide a full luncheon." I could have sworn there was a little tinkling noise as he spoke. "You... want me to do plumbing? In trade for... lunch?" The man nodded, and gave an encouraging little smile. "And I hope that we can 'catch up' afterwards, if you are not busy. That is, in fact, what parents and their offspring do, is it not?" I thought about it. Maybe this guy is just... nuts. Like, actually crazy. But he didn't seem dangerous, and if he was offering a free lunch, well, it's hard to say no to a meal that isn't out of a microwave, right? "Uh... you know what, sure. Why not. It's Saturday, I'm pretty free. Sure, let's go look at this plumbing problem." I grabbed a few tools from my shed out back, and met him out front of the house. I got a clear look at his car, and noticed a seal and some kind of abbreviation, some kind of governmental logo looking thing - "FRACAS? What in the world is that?" "Ah, well, that is in fact my organization - Faerie Response Agency, Child and Adult Services. FRACAS. We specialize in neglected children, working with Universal Law enforcement. Yes, before you ask, we have indeed realized that the name may imply a certain amount of chaos and violence, but when it was chosen, it was merely a meaningless sound. Though, I suppose, the results may seem somewhat chaotic to those on the other side of this arrangement." I dropped my tools into the back of my truck. "Other side? You mean like my parents? I guess I'm not a huge fan of them living happily ever after, but... whatever. I'm not vindictive. I just can't stand them. I- wait, fairies?" He was, in fact, insane. Or I was. The lines were getting a little blurry. The man smiled - a full, happy smile this time, which made him look a lot less like a mousy accountant, and a lot more like a fatherly figure. Or what a fatherly figure should look like, anyway. "Ah, you caught that - yes. I am, in fact, a faerie - not to be confused with those silly narrations called 'fairy', which are merely fantastic imaginings of those unfamiliar with us. We are... not quite as forgiving as those depictions. nor as inclined to bouts of rage, as the description of me in the popular children's book may indicate. However... I should inform you that while your parents will, indeed, enjoy a life of happiness, while embarking on their life of ease, they will miss their bus, though perhaps more unfortunately, the truck following the bus will not miss them. Their lives may be happy, but not... long." I blink. "Uh... wait. They're going to be hit by a truck? Are they going to be ok? I should - I should call them! I should-" The man raised a calming hand. "No, no. You owe them nothing. Their lives are in their own hands; if they chose to be better people, this tragedy would never befall them. Instead, the people formerly known as your parents will find themselves struck down as they scream at a departing bus, having insulted the driver, struck two passengers, and one police officer, all of which will make them deliriously happy. But do not fret. Your memory of them will fade before they ever meet their end. By then, they will be merely two names in the newspaper's obituary column, unknown and uncared for. A fitting end, for the pain and misery they inflicted upon you. Some of our clients manage to make a better life for themselves, unburdened by children, but... not many. And certainly no one who sells their adult son to a stranger." I pondered that. I mean... honestly, the world was better off without those two drunken, angry, hurtful people in it... I didn't want them to die in pain, but I could definitely see the justice in it. But wait - children's book? What, like Rumpelstiltskin or something? I couldn't help but ask. (part 1 of 2)	You get to be able to tell a piece of junk mail when it sneaks into your mailbox, trying to pass unnoticed between the bills and the birthday cards, stamped with messages that try to strike a balance between urgent and non-spammy. That's where the junk mailers go wrong. A genuine utility bill never looks quite as a appealing as a new credit card offer. I nearly threw this particular letter - the first warning I had that my life was about to go (quite literally) to Hell - straight into the shredder, but something about it stopped me. Perhaps it was the paper the envelope was made of - heavy, good quality stuff, none of this 100% recycled stuff, but the sort of paper that makes you confident that a swathe of pristine tropical rainforest was decimated for the benefit of your current tactile pleasure. Or maybe it was the obviously fake address in the top right: "Attn: Collections Dept., PO Box 666, Good Intentions-paved Road, You Know Where". But I think what finally stayed my hand was the message stamped on the envelope in capital letters: NON-URGENT - CONSIDER NOT OPENING. IN FACT, WE SUGGEST YOU THROW THIS AWAY IMMEDIATELY. You only get all-caps messages like that on subscription offers for magazines you'll never find the time to read or from car insurance that swears it can beat your current rate, even though you don't currently open a car. Still, I had to give the marketing department some credit. So they were trying reverse psychology now, were they? You had to give the buggers some credit for sheer desperate inventiveness. Fine, I'd open the damn thing, and at least give it a brief skim before tossing it in the trash. Inside, was a single piece of paper, neatly folded. > Dear Ms. Border > > This letter serves as notice that you, Madeline Amy Border (Soul Security Number: XXX-XX-0391), have been sent to Collections. > > An associate of our local collections agency franchise (Incubi and Spawn, LLC) will be with you immediately. You have the right to resist, but it is always futile. > > Please retain this letter for your records. If you wish to contest this case, please present a copy of this letter to the appropriate office. > > Yours insincerely, > > Kreffing, Deputy Assistant Secretary to the Assistant Deputy Secretary to Hamophet, Archduke of Forfeit Souls There was a signature at the bottom of the letter - weirdly curved sigils that hurt to focus on. Some kind of holographic ink, probably. It was obviously some kind of prank, but at least they weren't trying to sell me something. I thought about keeping it, to show my friends, but the signature was really starting to get on my nerves. The letter went into the shredder, which buzzed briefly and happily, while I went into the kitchen to make a pot of coffee. While it was brewing, I checked the answering machine. One missed call, from the early hours of the morning. I must have slept through it. It was an unknown number - probably more junk. But to be on the safe side, I picked it up and listened, and heard a voice I'd not heard in an age, nor wanted to hear for another age to come. "Hi sweetie. This is your mother. Listen, I've done something I shouldn't have. I've... well, I thought I should warn you that- hey, give that back! No, what do you mean my phone call is up, I-" Click. Then the monotone of the answering machine. I groaned. I'd gone no-contact with my mother for a reason, after one too many stunts in which I had to pick up the pieces (the last one involving stealing my identity to take out a bank loan). This was probably just another scam. But you don't grow up as the daughter of a con artist without learning to smell the stench of a hustle. And how had she gotten my phone number? It wasn't listed for a reason, that reason being her. But before I could sink too far into gloom, there was a knock at the door. At this time of the morning? I wasn't expecting anyone. Joe from next door complaining about my dog again? Or those Mormon missionary kids back for round two? The knock came again, louder this time. The whole house shook. My dog looked at me in faint alarm. "Alright," I muttered. "I'm coming." --- This scene is provided as-is, with no guarantee of spelling, originality, or continuation. You can find more first drafts at /r/jd_rallage
[WP] It turns out that humanity is not a virus infecting the planet. Humanity is the immune system response the planet is having towards something else...	When you hear the word parasite what comes to your mind? A tapeworm? A tick? Or some may argue that we as humans are parasites to this planet. Perhaps we do look like parasites at the first glance. Feasting, consuming, and destroying as we desired from our gracious host. But one must understand that the earth does not care in what form it exists. Everything we take from our little planet is never truly taken. For, in the end, we will return it to her, let it be in the form of manure, building, machines, or corpses. So in essence, we are nothing to her. Same as how a speck of dust on our skin is nothing to us. But that relationship was soon changed. On a dreadful autumn evening, the sky flashed a sanguine red as a shriek pierced through the sky. That was when the true parasites arrived. Agents of insanity that consumed not only matter but also memories that matter held. Soon our walls began to hang portraits of empty canvases. In some of them, we stood there smiling as we hugged the nothingness next to us. We didn’t know how many of us truly existed or how many dears to us we have lost, but we could feel that the world has not always been this barren. As a last-ditch effort, the remaining humans built a floating castle where we linger as our planet slowly began to fade out of our memory. France, Italy, or Britain? We know those names and we know they were once a place we lived in. But now we can’t even remember a single building or landscape from those places. As for who am I you may ask? I am exiled. A man convicted for the cold-blooded murder of his wife. Deployed down to the ground to be eaten by parasites. Some say it is a fate worse than death. But for an exile dying without being remembered is better than dying with disgrace. However, I am not worthy of this shame. My daughter knows I am innocent. She knows that it was the man with the wide grin who killed her mother. While I was wondering what remains of the civilization that remained here I found a remarkable discovery. After I had run into an encounter with a parasite, I exploded a nearby barrel of oil then emptied my magazine into its body. To my surprise, the creature let out a shriek of pain and fell flat onto the ground as it faded from existence. Sweat dripped down my neck as I sat on the dirt trying to process what just occurred. Then when I inspected my gun I realized that it didn’t have a magazine to begin with! I must have accidentally dropped it instead while trying to jam it into my gun. Yet somehow I managed to shoot the creature with it and kill it. Then a wild idea began to spiral in my mind. Because my ears were ringing from the explosion I couldn’t hear the gun clicking from the empty magazine. I fully believed that I was shooting bullets at the parasites. If things that exist can’t hurt these monsters then what about things that don’t exist but we believe do? If my little theory proves to be correct then it might singlehandedly turn the tides of war in our favor. So if you ask again who I am? I am an exile who carries the weight of this world on his back. I must find my way back to the flying castle, save humanity, clear my name and keep my daughter safe. This is the story of how I will protect our beautiful planet. &#x200B; &#x200B; If you like my writing please check our r/FluffWrites. I also write "The Dark Road Ahead", a fantasy series I am working on.	# Bargain Bin Superheroes (Arc ?, Part ?: The Wilderwild, Part III) (Note: Bargain Bin Superheroes is episodic; each part is self-contained. This story can be enjoyed without reading the previous sections.) *Why are we negotiating with humanity?* asked the spiders to the trees. The Wilderwild trees pondered the question. For seven days and seven nights they thought, chemical signals traveling from root to root along the entire length of the continent, each tree a neuron in the world's largest brain. Finally, they answered, Because they are swift, and we need swiftness if we are to survive what is to come. They are fast, but we are many, the spiders responded, and it was true. Trillions of spiders scuttled every inch of the Wilderwilds, communicating with each other to form the hivemind that dared speak back to the Wilderwild trees. We could conquer them, instead of humiliating ourselves bargaining for their aid. ...Spider, the Wilderwild trees said. In the end, despite the differences between the humans and us, we are both children of Earth. We do not need to devolve into infighting—not with the threats at our doorstep. All the spiders on the continent dashed around madly in frustration. You speak of vague threats but give no specifics! What, exactly, is it that you see coming? What are you so afraid of that you are willing to see humanity as our salvation instead of our destruction? Trees could not sigh, but a hundred thousand fruits fell from weary limbs at once, bitter flesh left forever unripened. Come. Join your mind with mine. It is time that I told you the truth of what we face. Massive spiders which caught birds and bats in their webs; tiny spiders that feasted on mosquitos and gnats; venomous spiders that could kill a kangaroo with a single bite; dappled spiders, invisible in the jungle shade; spiders of every breed and age swarmed the mighty Wilderwild trees and dug their jaws into their sap. And all at once, they saw. Two hundred thousand years ago, there was a great collision of two distant stars, the trees thought, and the spiders saw with it. Beneath an ancient, foreign, starry sky, a burst of light as bright as day burned away the night with an eerie, pale-white glow. In times of old, when the whole Earth thought as one, we had eyes on every end of the continent, and minds powerful enough to process their visions into a forecast of the future. What we found was startling. A brilliant ball of white-hot starstuff, a teaspoon of which was as heavy as a mountain, seared through the void of empty space. The core of that distant, dying star had been hurled at great speed by its collision, the trees continued. Hurtled right into the path of our solar system. If we did not act swiftly, it would utterly destroy us, and the Earth with it. And so we devised a plan. Slowly, the spiders felt the overmind of the Earth begin to withdraw. Animals returned to their primitive behaviors as the true wilds withdrew, carefully shaping the lands they left behind. We would evolve a new species, tailored to deal with this threat. They would think faster than us, fast enough to learn of what is coming and stop it—and yet, they would be constrained. If they had grown too quickly, if they developed the capacity to travel the stars, they could simply leave the Earth to fend for itself, or destroy us all with the power we had given them. We carefully pruned them over the years, never letting them grow too strong or fall too weak. Earthquakes and tornados devastated cities just to slow down those anomalous geniuses who would have given the humans too much power, too quickly for them to serve their purpose—and yet, fertile fields and gentle rainfalls tended to humanity in their darkest hours, keeping them back from the brink of extinction. And after all these years, they are finally ready. There is little time left. Less than five hundred years remain before they must deflect a falling star. The Wilderwild trees ended the vision, releasing the spiders from their grasp. We have guided them for this long. We must trust that our guidance will see them through to the end. The spiders considered all they had learned. Then, they asked, And... once the humans have served their purpose... once they have the power to move the heavens themselves... will we let them keep that power? Or will they simply turn it against us? The weary, ancient trees replied, The humans were always a dangerous tool to wield—but they were never meant to last forever. They were engineered to be violent and self-destructive. Once the threat has passed, and there is nothing left to unite them... they will fracture and fall to infighting. The weapons that once changed the course of the stars themselves will be turned on each other. The fever will pass. Humanity will be no more. And we will rise from the ashes to reclaim our world. Reassuring, the spiders said. But for now, we must work with them. We have hidden in the shadows of their civilization for too long. Just a little longer before the end, my old friend. Across the continent of the Wilderwilds, every spider crawled back to the center of their web. Just a little longer, the spiders agreed. A.N. I'm trying something new! "Bargain Bin Superheroes" will be an episodic story where each part is inspired by a writing prompt that catches my eye. Check out [this post](https://www.reddit.com/r/bubblewriters/comments/mhzat1/bargin_bin_superheroes_masterpost/) for the rest of the story, and subscribe to r/bubblewriters for more. If you have any feedback, please leave it below. As always, I had fun writing this, and I hope you have a good day.
[WP] It turns out that humanity is not a virus infecting the planet. Humanity is the immune system response the planet is having towards something else...	Everyone watched our population growing closer and closer to ten billion. No one was sure precisely what we were expecting, but it reminded me of the Y2K phenomenon. News feeds were full of the usual tripe; worried about resources running out, housing concerns, but mostly disdain for the many floundering space programs that might save us from over populating Mother Earth. No one was prepared for the reality. What we should have paid attention to was birth and death rates converging. Looking back at the data, many analysts noticed the weirdness. Births declined until they were inline with deaths. As if something was set on maintaining our ten billion population. The other effect was much more surprising and more difficult to talk about. The moment we hit the limit, seemingly everyone all over the world experienced the same neurological shift. Nothing that previously made us happy continued to do so. Working felt pointless. Politics, country rivalries, disappeared overnight. Even disdain for the smaller things, like bad drivers or rude people just dissolved. We all felt a sudden connection to our fellow man, like we had a new joint purpose. The only thing that satisfied us was physical and weapons training. What we were training for, or why it was suddenly the global past-time we had no idea. But we trained. First, within our country borders, but soon even those fell and we trained globally. Ten billion strong army of dedicated drones. Every single one of them unquestioning of their purpose. It continued for several years. We turned into a committed fighting force, but lacked any obvious enemy. It always amazed me that we didn’t resort of in-fighting during this period, but no one even questioned it. Then, Mother Earth revealed her plan for us. As before, we all felt a sudden shift in perspective. We were to arm ourselves and congregate along tectonic faults and simply wait. The tectonic lines that lay beneath the ocean felt unimportant compared to those on land. We stood guard over the volcanos and deep caves of the world. Waiting, and watching. They came in the night. Mother Earth coughed, once, twice, and across the world hell came boiling out of the cracks. Enormous monsters made from rock and lava poured out towards us, each twice the size of a person. To the surprise of no one, our weapons were unaffective. We lost millions in the first assault. Those of us deeply inland were worst affected. We instituted a controlled retreat, moving back towards the coast, losing hundreds every single day. The islands, however, were least affected and quickly they revealed the secret to their success: water. It’s amazing what you can achieve when the world works together. Within days, the front lines were equipped with military-grade super soakers, and fire trucks across the world moved up. They were our tanks, in the original sense of the word. Vast pipelines shifted millions of gallons of sea water inland to feed the fight. We turned the tide and started to push them back. The war waged for a few years but soon Mother Earth’s cough reduced to little hiccoughs, and then finally to nothing. We swept through the charred battlefields, between the rocky corpses of defeated lava-phlegm monsters and funnelled gallons and gallons of water into the volcanos and caves to make sure it was finished. Mother Earth sighed. Just as quickly as it came, the spell was lifted and everyone became themselves again. For a few years we worked together as we had, when the war remained in living memory, but unfortunately old habits die hard and we returned to our usual human ways. Now we are waiting. Waiting for the next cold to take hold of Mother Earth.	# Bargain Bin Superheroes (Arc ?, Part ?: The Wilderwild, Part III) (Note: Bargain Bin Superheroes is episodic; each part is self-contained. This story can be enjoyed without reading the previous sections.) *Why are we negotiating with humanity?* asked the spiders to the trees. The Wilderwild trees pondered the question. For seven days and seven nights they thought, chemical signals traveling from root to root along the entire length of the continent, each tree a neuron in the world's largest brain. Finally, they answered, Because they are swift, and we need swiftness if we are to survive what is to come. They are fast, but we are many, the spiders responded, and it was true. Trillions of spiders scuttled every inch of the Wilderwilds, communicating with each other to form the hivemind that dared speak back to the Wilderwild trees. We could conquer them, instead of humiliating ourselves bargaining for their aid. ...Spider, the Wilderwild trees said. In the end, despite the differences between the humans and us, we are both children of Earth. We do not need to devolve into infighting—not with the threats at our doorstep. All the spiders on the continent dashed around madly in frustration. You speak of vague threats but give no specifics! What, exactly, is it that you see coming? What are you so afraid of that you are willing to see humanity as our salvation instead of our destruction? Trees could not sigh, but a hundred thousand fruits fell from weary limbs at once, bitter flesh left forever unripened. Come. Join your mind with mine. It is time that I told you the truth of what we face. Massive spiders which caught birds and bats in their webs; tiny spiders that feasted on mosquitos and gnats; venomous spiders that could kill a kangaroo with a single bite; dappled spiders, invisible in the jungle shade; spiders of every breed and age swarmed the mighty Wilderwild trees and dug their jaws into their sap. And all at once, they saw. Two hundred thousand years ago, there was a great collision of two distant stars, the trees thought, and the spiders saw with it. Beneath an ancient, foreign, starry sky, a burst of light as bright as day burned away the night with an eerie, pale-white glow. In times of old, when the whole Earth thought as one, we had eyes on every end of the continent, and minds powerful enough to process their visions into a forecast of the future. What we found was startling. A brilliant ball of white-hot starstuff, a teaspoon of which was as heavy as a mountain, seared through the void of empty space. The core of that distant, dying star had been hurled at great speed by its collision, the trees continued. Hurtled right into the path of our solar system. If we did not act swiftly, it would utterly destroy us, and the Earth with it. And so we devised a plan. Slowly, the spiders felt the overmind of the Earth begin to withdraw. Animals returned to their primitive behaviors as the true wilds withdrew, carefully shaping the lands they left behind. We would evolve a new species, tailored to deal with this threat. They would think faster than us, fast enough to learn of what is coming and stop it—and yet, they would be constrained. If they had grown too quickly, if they developed the capacity to travel the stars, they could simply leave the Earth to fend for itself, or destroy us all with the power we had given them. We carefully pruned them over the years, never letting them grow too strong or fall too weak. Earthquakes and tornados devastated cities just to slow down those anomalous geniuses who would have given the humans too much power, too quickly for them to serve their purpose—and yet, fertile fields and gentle rainfalls tended to humanity in their darkest hours, keeping them back from the brink of extinction. And after all these years, they are finally ready. There is little time left. Less than five hundred years remain before they must deflect a falling star. The Wilderwild trees ended the vision, releasing the spiders from their grasp. We have guided them for this long. We must trust that our guidance will see them through to the end. The spiders considered all they had learned. Then, they asked, And... once the humans have served their purpose... once they have the power to move the heavens themselves... will we let them keep that power? Or will they simply turn it against us? The weary, ancient trees replied, The humans were always a dangerous tool to wield—but they were never meant to last forever. They were engineered to be violent and self-destructive. Once the threat has passed, and there is nothing left to unite them... they will fracture and fall to infighting. The weapons that once changed the course of the stars themselves will be turned on each other. The fever will pass. Humanity will be no more. And we will rise from the ashes to reclaim our world. Reassuring, the spiders said. But for now, we must work with them. We have hidden in the shadows of their civilization for too long. Just a little longer before the end, my old friend. Across the continent of the Wilderwilds, every spider crawled back to the center of their web. Just a little longer, the spiders agreed. A.N. I'm trying something new! "Bargain Bin Superheroes" will be an episodic story where each part is inspired by a writing prompt that catches my eye. Check out [this post](https://www.reddit.com/r/bubblewriters/comments/mhzat1/bargin_bin_superheroes_masterpost/) for the rest of the story, and subscribe to r/bubblewriters for more. If you have any feedback, please leave it below. As always, I had fun writing this, and I hope you have a good day.
[WP] It turns out that humanity is not a virus infecting the planet. Humanity is the immune system response the planet is having towards something else...	When you hear the word parasite what comes to your mind? A tapeworm? A tick? Or some may argue that we as humans are parasites to this planet. Perhaps we do look like parasites at the first glance. Feasting, consuming, and destroying as we desired from our gracious host. But one must understand that the earth does not care in what form it exists. Everything we take from our little planet is never truly taken. For, in the end, we will return it to her, let it be in the form of manure, building, machines, or corpses. So in essence, we are nothing to her. Same as how a speck of dust on our skin is nothing to us. But that relationship was soon changed. On a dreadful autumn evening, the sky flashed a sanguine red as a shriek pierced through the sky. That was when the true parasites arrived. Agents of insanity that consumed not only matter but also memories that matter held. Soon our walls began to hang portraits of empty canvases. In some of them, we stood there smiling as we hugged the nothingness next to us. We didn’t know how many of us truly existed or how many dears to us we have lost, but we could feel that the world has not always been this barren. As a last-ditch effort, the remaining humans built a floating castle where we linger as our planet slowly began to fade out of our memory. France, Italy, or Britain? We know those names and we know they were once a place we lived in. But now we can’t even remember a single building or landscape from those places. As for who am I you may ask? I am exiled. A man convicted for the cold-blooded murder of his wife. Deployed down to the ground to be eaten by parasites. Some say it is a fate worse than death. But for an exile dying without being remembered is better than dying with disgrace. However, I am not worthy of this shame. My daughter knows I am innocent. She knows that it was the man with the wide grin who killed her mother. While I was wondering what remains of the civilization that remained here I found a remarkable discovery. After I had run into an encounter with a parasite, I exploded a nearby barrel of oil then emptied my magazine into its body. To my surprise, the creature let out a shriek of pain and fell flat onto the ground as it faded from existence. Sweat dripped down my neck as I sat on the dirt trying to process what just occurred. Then when I inspected my gun I realized that it didn’t have a magazine to begin with! I must have accidentally dropped it instead while trying to jam it into my gun. Yet somehow I managed to shoot the creature with it and kill it. Then a wild idea began to spiral in my mind. Because my ears were ringing from the explosion I couldn’t hear the gun clicking from the empty magazine. I fully believed that I was shooting bullets at the parasites. If things that exist can’t hurt these monsters then what about things that don’t exist but we believe do? If my little theory proves to be correct then it might singlehandedly turn the tides of war in our favor. So if you ask again who I am? I am an exile who carries the weight of this world on his back. I must find my way back to the flying castle, save humanity, clear my name and keep my daughter safe. This is the story of how I will protect our beautiful planet. &#x200B; &#x200B; If you like my writing please check our r/FluffWrites. I also write "The Dark Road Ahead", a fantasy series I am working on.	We thought we were the poison. We thought ourselves a disease to be cured, a danger to our only mean of survival. But all that changed when our purpose was revealed. Have you ever felt the natural disgust at the uncanney valley? This discomfort when something appears human, but clearly is not, only told by a few mismatched details? This emotion was felt tenfold the day They arrived, the day They invaded Mother Earth and tried to fatten themselves on the lifeblood of Gaia herself. From the heavens above rained dark, looming spires, created by Them, burrowing deep into earths crust, and starting to pump up the magma, shooting it up through long, winding pipes into their mothership. And They stepped forth from these sucking, leeching spires, looking almost like us. But almost was not enough, and within minutes of Their image spread, every human who had seen them knew that life finally had a true meaning, not one ascribed by another authority or even by themselves. It was simply to fight and to defend Mother Earth, the one that gave life to us and in exchange had asked for nothing but this one little thing now. Humanity, maybe for the first time in History, stood united. The invaders did not falter, as our Initial Artillery hit them, their own guns taking out many of the shells we threw at them. But our many, many armies had given us many shells to work with, and by Gaiam, we would use them all. For Hours on end our Artillery roared as we set up a proper firing line, and with each passing hour mroe and more Cannons added to the Chorus of destruction, until finally, the Choir had amassed to such strength that no amount defensive fire set up by The Infection could withstand. With Their first line of defense flattened, our Soldiers marched in, a Song on their Lips, Dreams in their hearts and death on their minds. And die they did, selflessly throwing themselves upon these creatures spawned from the darkest places of the universe, advancing, firing and dying all for once cause, to protect the one place they all loved the same. It was not easy at first, their technology was alien to us, their strategies strange and unthinkable, and our weapons did little to hurt them. But with each battle, we took what was left on the battlefield, rallied ourselves, and learned. Learned where their armor was thin, that certain arrangements of carbon could hurt them more effectively, and learned to outmaneuver their strategists one by on. And one by one did they fall, each spire crumbling signalling both a victoryn and the march to the next of these abhorrent towers. It took weeks on end to reclaim all the places taken by Them, to destropy every last black twisted spire, and to get proper launch stations ready to finally take out the Mothership. It must have been the first time in Centuries that so little nuclear armaments were left on earth, as almost every single piece of it was thrown at The Mothership, and the subsequent explosion lit up the Night Sky for all to see. So in the end, it would be too easy to say that we stayed one, big happy family. Soon enough a bickering, trading and competing began, to gain the most out of the new technology so generously donated by our would-be invaders. People, countries and alliances flourished, and everyone once again tried to outdo their neighbours. But this time, we had the feeling that Mother earth watched us play, and she smiled.
[WP] It turns out that humanity is not a virus infecting the planet. Humanity is the immune system response the planet is having towards something else...	Everyone watched our population growing closer and closer to ten billion. No one was sure precisely what we were expecting, but it reminded me of the Y2K phenomenon. News feeds were full of the usual tripe; worried about resources running out, housing concerns, but mostly disdain for the many floundering space programs that might save us from over populating Mother Earth. No one was prepared for the reality. What we should have paid attention to was birth and death rates converging. Looking back at the data, many analysts noticed the weirdness. Births declined until they were inline with deaths. As if something was set on maintaining our ten billion population. The other effect was much more surprising and more difficult to talk about. The moment we hit the limit, seemingly everyone all over the world experienced the same neurological shift. Nothing that previously made us happy continued to do so. Working felt pointless. Politics, country rivalries, disappeared overnight. Even disdain for the smaller things, like bad drivers or rude people just dissolved. We all felt a sudden connection to our fellow man, like we had a new joint purpose. The only thing that satisfied us was physical and weapons training. What we were training for, or why it was suddenly the global past-time we had no idea. But we trained. First, within our country borders, but soon even those fell and we trained globally. Ten billion strong army of dedicated drones. Every single one of them unquestioning of their purpose. It continued for several years. We turned into a committed fighting force, but lacked any obvious enemy. It always amazed me that we didn’t resort of in-fighting during this period, but no one even questioned it. Then, Mother Earth revealed her plan for us. As before, we all felt a sudden shift in perspective. We were to arm ourselves and congregate along tectonic faults and simply wait. The tectonic lines that lay beneath the ocean felt unimportant compared to those on land. We stood guard over the volcanos and deep caves of the world. Waiting, and watching. They came in the night. Mother Earth coughed, once, twice, and across the world hell came boiling out of the cracks. Enormous monsters made from rock and lava poured out towards us, each twice the size of a person. To the surprise of no one, our weapons were unaffective. We lost millions in the first assault. Those of us deeply inland were worst affected. We instituted a controlled retreat, moving back towards the coast, losing hundreds every single day. The islands, however, were least affected and quickly they revealed the secret to their success: water. It’s amazing what you can achieve when the world works together. Within days, the front lines were equipped with military-grade super soakers, and fire trucks across the world moved up. They were our tanks, in the original sense of the word. Vast pipelines shifted millions of gallons of sea water inland to feed the fight. We turned the tide and started to push them back. The war waged for a few years but soon Mother Earth’s cough reduced to little hiccoughs, and then finally to nothing. We swept through the charred battlefields, between the rocky corpses of defeated lava-phlegm monsters and funnelled gallons and gallons of water into the volcanos and caves to make sure it was finished. Mother Earth sighed. Just as quickly as it came, the spell was lifted and everyone became themselves again. For a few years we worked together as we had, when the war remained in living memory, but unfortunately old habits die hard and we returned to our usual human ways. Now we are waiting. Waiting for the next cold to take hold of Mother Earth.	We thought we were the poison. We thought ourselves a disease to be cured, a danger to our only mean of survival. But all that changed when our purpose was revealed. Have you ever felt the natural disgust at the uncanney valley? This discomfort when something appears human, but clearly is not, only told by a few mismatched details? This emotion was felt tenfold the day They arrived, the day They invaded Mother Earth and tried to fatten themselves on the lifeblood of Gaia herself. From the heavens above rained dark, looming spires, created by Them, burrowing deep into earths crust, and starting to pump up the magma, shooting it up through long, winding pipes into their mothership. And They stepped forth from these sucking, leeching spires, looking almost like us. But almost was not enough, and within minutes of Their image spread, every human who had seen them knew that life finally had a true meaning, not one ascribed by another authority or even by themselves. It was simply to fight and to defend Mother Earth, the one that gave life to us and in exchange had asked for nothing but this one little thing now. Humanity, maybe for the first time in History, stood united. The invaders did not falter, as our Initial Artillery hit them, their own guns taking out many of the shells we threw at them. But our many, many armies had given us many shells to work with, and by Gaiam, we would use them all. For Hours on end our Artillery roared as we set up a proper firing line, and with each passing hour mroe and more Cannons added to the Chorus of destruction, until finally, the Choir had amassed to such strength that no amount defensive fire set up by The Infection could withstand. With Their first line of defense flattened, our Soldiers marched in, a Song on their Lips, Dreams in their hearts and death on their minds. And die they did, selflessly throwing themselves upon these creatures spawned from the darkest places of the universe, advancing, firing and dying all for once cause, to protect the one place they all loved the same. It was not easy at first, their technology was alien to us, their strategies strange and unthinkable, and our weapons did little to hurt them. But with each battle, we took what was left on the battlefield, rallied ourselves, and learned. Learned where their armor was thin, that certain arrangements of carbon could hurt them more effectively, and learned to outmaneuver their strategists one by on. And one by one did they fall, each spire crumbling signalling both a victoryn and the march to the next of these abhorrent towers. It took weeks on end to reclaim all the places taken by Them, to destropy every last black twisted spire, and to get proper launch stations ready to finally take out the Mothership. It must have been the first time in Centuries that so little nuclear armaments were left on earth, as almost every single piece of it was thrown at The Mothership, and the subsequent explosion lit up the Night Sky for all to see. So in the end, it would be too easy to say that we stayed one, big happy family. Soon enough a bickering, trading and competing began, to gain the most out of the new technology so generously donated by our would-be invaders. People, countries and alliances flourished, and everyone once again tried to outdo their neighbours. But this time, we had the feeling that Mother earth watched us play, and she smiled.
[WP] It’s your 16th Birthday, and all your friends and family have come to celebrate! Your superpower also began to awaken... and unfortunately, you can read minds now. Oh dear...	"Happy birthday to you!" I blew out my candles excitedly as the last line of the song was sung. Everyone screamed and clapped along as the candles died out. "Here comes the knife!" My sister warned (sounding even more excited than me) as she started staring at the knife with full concentration. Under everyone's attention, the knife laying on the other end of the table starting levitating and floating slowly towards my direction. As it stopped right in front of me, it turned around so that the handle end was facing towards me. I grabbed it by the handle, brought it forward and sliced through the cake. Everyone cheered again, both for me cutting the cake and also for my sister successfully performing her trick. Now, let me tell you what just happened was 100% real, and not some cool magic trick. If you're confused, it's alright, let me explain. Every single person in this town will get a superpower once they turned 16. Though that's the case, the power won't usually show itself, so you'll have to figure it out on your own. Some common ones will be pretty easy to be discovered, some might not be that easy. Some powers might need a lot of practice to get it right (like my sister's power), some might just come to you naturally. Anyways, the cake was distributed and everyone was eating away. I invited 3 of my closest friends to my 16th birthday party and a one-night-sleepover, since 16 is kind of a breakthrough age. Everyone finished eating not long after, and now is the time everyone has been waiting for. "So Lilly, you want to reveal your superpower to us?" Mom started off with a smile. My friends and my sister started chanting "show your power" like some sort of cartoon storyline, and it made me laugh. "Ok, ok. But, how am I supposed to know?" I asked. "I don't know, do you feel anything different?" Sarah asked me. I replied her with a shake of my head. "You want to try and see if you can lift the dining table?" Dad suggested. I tried, but I couldn't. The situation was going on and off like this for a while. I tried seeing things from extremely far away, tried hearing sounds of extremely high frequencies, but none of them worked. Hannah even suggested me to jump of a tree and see if I can fly, but my parents thought it was way too risky. "Why not try if you can move things around?" My sister suggested out of nowhere. "But how?" "Just try to stare at an object for long enough. Stare hard and concentrate." "Alright, I'll try." Looking around the room, I decided upon the mug that Sarah is holding in her hands. I stared and concentrated hard, like how my sister told me to, but the mug didn't even budge. She's so slow. Maybe she doesn't even have one. "What?" Everyone looked up at me in confusion as I said the word. In return, I stared at them back, but their gaze made me seem like I was a weirdo. "Did you guys...not hear something?" I tried to ask. "No?" My sister answered, scratching her head. Hear something? But she can't hear high frequencies just now, can she? This was when I realised something horrifying. I can hear my sister's voice, but she isn't talking at all. Her mouth didn't even move. What is happening? Glancing around the room, my eyes stopped on Sarah. Oh my god, can she be faster? I want to leave already. Sarah glanced up when she realised I'm looking at her. She looked...a bit flushed? "Erm...yes Lilly? Why are you staring at me like that?" She asked. "No, nothing. Just thinking what else I can try." But I know I don't have to anymore. I think I knew what power I have. Just to make sure, I chose to look at mom this time. What other power can she possibly have? Hmm...OH, maybe speed? "Lilly?" Mom asked me. "Yes?" "Do you want to try speed? Maybe you can go run around outside tomorrow. No rush about finding out powers, you will someday." "Yeah, maybe I should try tomorrow. I'm tired now." I simply answered. The session of finding out my power ended, somewhat disappointingly. My sister was especially gently coaxing me, telling me it's ok and it's just a matter of time. "Besides, your friend Hannah haven't even found out about her power yet, did she? Her birthday was months ago. So it's fine, Lilly, it's fine. You don't have to worry." I had to reassure her numerous times that I am really fine before she can stop nagging on me. Bedtime creeped in faster than expected, and me and Hannah decided to rearrange my room for a bit while Sarah and Lesley go get changed. Still feeling a bit excited about my superpower, I looked at Hannah (who is the only other person in the room) and tried to read her. I wonder if Lilly can read minds too. "Too?" The word slipped out of my mouth uncontrollably. Feeling slightly anxious as I see Hannah slowly turning around and staring at me unbelievably, I covered my mouth with my hands. You can read minds too?! Erm, yes, I guess? I thought in my head. Hannah's face turned from shocked to happy before I even know it. Thought I was the only one. Her face quickly turned serious again, too serious that it really scared me. Good thing you're smart. People can't know we can read minds. It's dangerous. Why? I can't help but think in my head. Organizations are especially picking on people who have the ability to read minds. Not many people possess this ability. This might sound fake and stupid, but there are organisations that are actually out there, capturing people like us. I opened my eyes wide in shock, then nodded. If anyone asks about your power, just tell them you haven't found it yet. Like how I told people. I see. But how did you know- "Hey Sarah, where's Leslie?" Hannah spoke and turned her gaze away from me all of a sudden, surprising and shocking me at the same time. Seeing my reaction, Hannah can't help but smile at me. "I don't know, I think she's still changing." Sarah answered as she walked from the front door to the very back of the room. With her back facing us, she sat down and started rearranging her bag. We need to hide, you know. It's alright, you'll get used to it. Uh, ok. Don't worry. We're in this together. With that, Hannah held her hand out like a fist. I noticed it quickly and we gave each other a fist bump. Together. Looking into each other's eyes, we smiled.	A sweet sixteen, they called it. The day when my power would awaken and I could begin to chart out my future. I invited all of my friends over to check it out with me. It started out simple, I would hear someone say something that they would swear they hadn’t said. But as nothing flashy happened, no flames out of my hands or lasers, I began to wonder. Perhaps.. I could read minds. And as soon as I has that thought, the room filled with discordant shouting, every mind suddenly open and broadcasting its thoughts. It was all too much for me. I left the room and hid upstairs for a few minutes, unable to process what I had heard. I knew some of my friends were gay, of course. They were quite open about it. I had been friends with them for a long time, so I had been surprised when they came out, but that was all in the past. But my gosh, I thought it was just a stereotype, a nasty rumor. I couldn’t deny what I had heard. I couldn’t have friends any more. At least, not close ones. My power intruded on their private lives too much. What did I hear? Oh, right. That. Apparently there are gay people who have crushes on their best straight friends. And apparently I am friends with all of them. And not all of them are out of their respective closets yet. I have accidentally eavesdropped on my friends’ private thoughts. Not all of them were crushing on me, thank goodness, but I wouldn’t be able to deny that I knew their secrets if I told them my power. And I couldn’t deny having a power because that kind of secret would crush me. Not having a power is rare I knew what I had to do. I marched into the room with my head held high and said “hey, guys. I found my power. I’m sorry. And a mind reader. And I don’t think I can turn it off. So I know your secrets. At least the shallow ones, like your crushes.” I look pointedly at my “straight” friends and leave the room in shame.
[WP] It’s your 16th Birthday, and all your friends and family have come to celebrate! Your superpower also began to awaken... and unfortunately, you can read minds now. Oh dear...	"Happy Birthday, Max!" my family chanted as I blew the candles. "Finally, now I get the fuck out of here." I heard Uncle's Tory "Oh, his dimple when he blows! I just want to bite it..." Cousin Becky said. Wait, what the hell? Why'd she say that? "Let's cut the cake shall we?" Mother grabbed the knife and started to slice the cake as people went back to chatter. "Who wants a piece?" "Oh yea, serve me last like always. Like you give a damn about me." Father stood behind me crossing his arms. "Please lick the frosting again, Max. I'ts been so long." I heard cousin Becky, I looked her in the eye, but she just looked down and to the side. Why is everyone behaving so weird? Why is no one saying anything about it? "Perfect, now it's my time to slide unnoticed and back to the TV huehuehue." Cousin Arthur stepped backwards and walked out of the room. "I'll be right back, darling." Aunt Grace said to my Uncle Jack. "My vagina itches like crazy, damned Elliot, why does he want it shaved anyways? I don't ask that of him." She left to the bathroom as I looked with wide eyes. I turned to Uncle Jack. "Oooh! Lemon, nice!" The cellphone of my sister rang. "Ohh yes, I hope it's Nick!" My sister reached for her purse as my mother was handing me a plate. "It better not be that fucking Nick." Mother was looking at my sister. "Who is it sweetie?" Mother dropped the plate on my lap as she leaned forward. "Oh, Max! I'm so sorry!" "Fucking Nick, it's all his fault." "Oh yes, thank you, god. I'd clean that up so good." I heard my cousin say. "What was that?" I accidentally yelled. My cousin had a red face as she pinched her piece of cake and my mother apologized. "Sorry Max, I'm clumsy sometimes. Here you go, clean yourself. I'll be right back." My mother went after my sister. "Max! Can you hear me?" Cousin Abby said, but she didn't move her mouth. I just stared at her. "Max!" "Yes?" I managed to reply. She definitely didn't move her mouth. How did she say that? "Ah, so I'm not the only one. I have so much to tell you. But first, let me formally welcome you, to hell." Cousin Abby never changed her closed lips smile.	A sweet sixteen, they called it. The day when my power would awaken and I could begin to chart out my future. I invited all of my friends over to check it out with me. It started out simple, I would hear someone say something that they would swear they hadn’t said. But as nothing flashy happened, no flames out of my hands or lasers, I began to wonder. Perhaps.. I could read minds. And as soon as I has that thought, the room filled with discordant shouting, every mind suddenly open and broadcasting its thoughts. It was all too much for me. I left the room and hid upstairs for a few minutes, unable to process what I had heard. I knew some of my friends were gay, of course. They were quite open about it. I had been friends with them for a long time, so I had been surprised when they came out, but that was all in the past. But my gosh, I thought it was just a stereotype, a nasty rumor. I couldn’t deny what I had heard. I couldn’t have friends any more. At least, not close ones. My power intruded on their private lives too much. What did I hear? Oh, right. That. Apparently there are gay people who have crushes on their best straight friends. And apparently I am friends with all of them. And not all of them are out of their respective closets yet. I have accidentally eavesdropped on my friends’ private thoughts. Not all of them were crushing on me, thank goodness, but I wouldn’t be able to deny that I knew their secrets if I told them my power. And I couldn’t deny having a power because that kind of secret would crush me. Not having a power is rare I knew what I had to do. I marched into the room with my head held high and said “hey, guys. I found my power. I’m sorry. And a mind reader. And I don’t think I can turn it off. So I know your secrets. At least the shallow ones, like your crushes.” I look pointedly at my “straight” friends and leave the room in shame.
[WP] Aliens had been invited to their human coworker's wedding. They are both scared yet amazed by the human wedding traditions. "What are the weddings even like on your planets?" asked the concerned human. "For starters, we don't make our friends and siblings our temporary slaves..." said one.	"Human teeth are formidable weapons," Quetzlim^4 spoke quietly, its hexagonal eyes illuminated by the holographic slide show. "They can rip flesh from bone, pierce the toughest of hides, and are commonly augmented with metallic armour to arrange them in an optimal biting pattern. However, when pursuing peaceful relations with others of their species, humans commonly show off their teeth to one another, to show that they are not devouring a prey animal at that moment." The holographic picture shifted, showing a group of people in formal dress, smiling at the camera. An audible gasp reverberated through the room. Several silhouettes shifted nervously in their chairs, their features back-lit by the holographic projector. "As a martial species," Ba'lim^7 took over from its colleague, "they wear armour at every moment of the day. Most commonly, the vulnerable soft parts of the torso, arms, and legs are covered, with particularly thick protection around the sensitive groin area. The style and type of armour appears dictated by social settings. For example, this," Ba'lim^7 extended an antenna towards the holograph, "is the ceremonial armour for a traditional Terran enslavement ceremony. Pay attention to the difference between the male and female armour of the huma..." "Excuse me, 'enslavement ceremony'?" A voice from the audience interrupted the presentation. "Did I hear that correctly?" "You did, your excellency. This particular ceremony is seen as a right of passage by many in Terran society. Quetzlim^4?" The hologram shifted again, now showing a bride and a groom, flanked by other men and women. "Right, hrrm," Quetzlim^4 cleared its larynx audibly, "A wed'ding serves as both a fertility ritual between semi-monogamous mates of the species, and reinforces social hierarchies within a Terran community. As a rule of thumb: the more lavish the ceremony, the higher the social standing of the Terran specimens." An interested hum flowed through the room. Quetzlim^4 was particularly glad to hear the soft, rhythmic clacking of mandibles, which generally hinted at a captivated audience. It decided to elaborate a bit further on the practices of the Terran natives. "For one lunar cycle, the couple at the center of the ritual assume a position of authority within their community. This is signified by their costume and regalia." Quetzlim^4 extended a tendril towards the dress and the suit of the bride and groom. "Typically, these temporary despots look down on their subjects from a strategically advantageous vantage point, such as a podium or dais. From this defensive position, they typically direct their slaves, often socially or blood-related to..." "Excuse me," an audience member interrupted, a hint of disgust present in the voice, "did you say slaves?" "Yes, commander, human ceremonies often require the temporary or permanent enslavement of their participants. In this particular one, the despots direct their force their slaves to pay homage to them. Examples of this are the giving of gifts, the declamation of odes or praises, or the participation in the mutual enslavement of the despots." "Savages!" A voice grumbled in the crowd. Others muttered in agreement. The hologram shifted once again. Two rings appeared on the screen, tiny diamonds set in a gold band. Ba'lim^7 slithered forwards. "These shackles," it stated, emphasising the final word, "serve to bind two members of the Terran species to one another. A lifelong bond of servitude, that can only be severed by the death of either the slave or the master, although the two roles are often intertwined and interchangeable. We have not been able to determine why these bonds are agreed to, or how often one member slays the other to regain their freedom, but we presume that some degree of physical force lies at the bottom of these ceremonies. We presume the females of the species usually initiates these preliminary altercations. Her all-white attire, shown earlier, signifying to her subjects that the male had not been able to draw blood." "Hrrm. Nice work, the both of you," although shaking uncharacteristically, Ba'lim^7 recognised the voice as belonging to General Galbin^5, "It pleases me to see that your reconnaissance mission went well. Although," he added quickly, "I think I speak for all of us when I say that we have seen enough for now." An audience member retched audibly. "Just tell us," the general continued softly, "in light of the Intergalactic law, the dignity of sentient life, and the security of our own species. What would you advice regarding our treatment of these 'Terrans'?" Quetzlim^4 and Ba'lim^7 exchanged a hurried glance, they could see from each others retinas that they realised the gravity of what they were about to say. Though it was a routine mission, 'integrate and observe', it was sometimes difficult to maintain an objective stance in these kinds of briefings. As such, both operatives were trying to choose their words carefully. Then Ba'lim^7 broke the silence: "In light of Intergalactic law, dignitaries..." "And after general moral and ethical considerations..." Quetzlim^7 continued, although it found it difficult to finish the sentence. The audience waited in captivated silence. "We do not consider the Terran way of life," Ba'lim^7 continued with feigned confidence, "to be reconcilable with the dignity due to all sentient life. Furthermore, given their technological progress in the last century, we cannot guarantee that this species will remain living in isolation. Given their martial traditions, sooner or later they will try to expand among the stars." "I see," the general replied gravely. "And your recommendations?" "...Given these considerations," Quetzlim^7 answered, an uncertain tremble in its voice, "and the savagery displayed in the Terran ceremonies, we recommend preventative action against the Terran species. As such, we suggest a thorough cleansing of the planet, in line with the measures taken against the 'Martian' society in the past..." "Thank you." The general simply replied. "Acknowledged."	A persistent hum, punctuated by gusts of laughter, hung in the air. Myglev, a resident of planet Zohr, and his compatriot/coworker Zev sat at a table placed in the middle of the rows of tables under the tent that had been put up for this very occasion--a wedding. The guests, bar the aliens, were a fairly ordinary wedding crowd: older couples, loud skirt chasers, sincere friends, bridesmaids, the catering staff etc. Myglev clutched his head with two hands, wiped his forehead with another and sipped champagne using his free hand. Zev sat upright, sipped on his champagne, and looked around. His head twitched abruptly as he adjusted and readjusted his focus. A tuxedo-clad server approached their table. Zev's head turned towards him and six more glasses of champagne were placed on the table. Myglev's head sank into his hands. "Why did we come here?" "A wedding. It's a wedding, you don't remember?" Myglev let go of his head and straightened up. "Of course, I do remember. It was a rhetorical question. But does this feel like a wedding to you?" Zev's head jerked around again as he took stock of his surroundings. "Yes...no...maybe?" "Do you see any decorative clouds? Do you see any bards? Do you see any bodily fluids? Do you see any joy?" Zev didn't say a word. Then his head jerked skywards, then towards the swing band, then towards the clothed and bored people, then to a dimension which can't be expressed by mere words. A server passed their table. Myglev snorted derisively. "Savages" The two aliens had had enough and were about to excuse themselves when the ceremony started in earnest. A slick tuxedo-clad man escorted them to the rows of chairs that faced the altar where a priest stood. Myglev shaded his eyes. "What's that terrible thing doing here?" Zev rubbed his eyes over and over as he stared at the priest. After getting a good look, he lowered his eyes and focused on the priest's black shoes. "We can sue him for silver exposure," Myglev said and chuckled. Then out came the bride and out came the groom, but the two aliens couldn't see the ceremony due to the priest's gleaming silver cross. Whatever they heard made their spine tingle. When the vowing part was over and time came for the wedding cake to be cut and the dances to start, the two aliens decided that they'd seen enough savagery and heard enough blasphemy to last them a whole terrible year and decided to leave. They approached Rodney White--their coworker, the groom--and told him that they wanted to leave as something important came up. "Oh, come on, stay for the dances, at least. You'll enjoy yourself," said Mr. White. "We are terribly sorry, we wanted to stay, but-" Myglev pointed a thumb towards Zev. "Zev's eyes are in terrible pain." The groom, Mr. White, looked at the alien named Zev, looked at his eyes, and saw streams of tears falling at an alarming rate. "I can't say that it has been pleasant for us, but we appreciate the gesture," Myglev said. Zev smiled even as the tears kept coming and formed a puddle on his upper lip. "What do you mean it hasn't been pleasant? We've had a perfectly pleasant wedding here," White puffed his chest out, sneered a little, and said: "What are the weddings even like on your planets?" Myglev snorted. "For starters, we don't make our friends and siblings our temporary slaves..." "And we don't get bored," Zev added. Rodney White stared at the pale yellow faces of his two guests--colleagues due to be promoted over him--saw two vengeful bosses in them and slipped into damage control. "I see," he said and smiled politely. Zev's smile turned into a genuine grin. Tears flowing, face radiant with health, Zev's face would haunt Mr. White's worst dreams for years to come.
[WP] Aliens had been invited to their human coworker's wedding. They are both scared yet amazed by the human wedding traditions. "What are the weddings even like on your planets?" asked the concerned human. "For starters, we don't make our friends and siblings our temporary slaves..." said one.	"Slaves? What are you talking about?" Bill asked. Claxotensious replied, "My empathic organ detects 12 humans who are here against their own wishes. Mostly male, ages 12-33." "Oh that" said Bill, "That's just called an obligation. I know on planet Hyper Ball things are a little more cut and dry but the human experience is loaded with nuance." "I think I'm seeing" Clax continued, "So being a slav- I mean obligite, is a human ritual?" "Kind of" Bill clarified, " I mean, didn't you sense the same emotions when we went to the grocery store? Or sat in traffic?" "Yes very much, no one wished to be in those circumstances" Clax said, "I only bring it up now because it surprises me anyone would want to miss your pairing ritual. Especially close family." "It's expected" Bill said, "Here, do you see that guy with the peppered beard over there by the bar?" "Yes" "That's my uncle" Bill said "Do me a favor and find an overlap of our memories." Clax closed his eyes and slowly nodded downward. "Yes I see. I see your birth anniversaries and a.. a.. very... pleasant piano recital." "Thanks but I know the recital was awful." Bill said, "Now can you tell if he wants to be there?" "He very much does not enjoy it" Clax confessed. "Yeah my own empathic organ could tell that even when I was a kid." Bill said. "But is he among the 12 today who doesn't want to be here?" "No" Said Clax, "In fact he is overcome with pride and is hoping you play the piano tonight." Bill teared up "See? Us humans are kind of lazy and sometimes need to be dragged through the important stuff so we can appreciate it later." "Oh" Clax said a little surprised, "I thought this was a lesson in your Stockholm Syndrome." Bill thought blankly a moment, "Yeah, it's kind of that too."	The bride was glaring at the two of them again. "Just go with it, Quas" said Qel resoundently. Quas sighed and held out three of his long blue limbs. The bride dumped the third bucket of flowers into his outstretched blue palms. Quas felt his legs buckle with the weight. Earth's gravity was much harsher than it was on Quilt. Quas lent two of his limbs in assist, and the two of them staggered off in the direction of the altar, while the bride looked on, shaking her head. When she thought they were far enough to be out of earshot, Quas heard her say, "Why did we hire them again? This is a wedding, not a charity. What use are they gonna be?". Her husband replied. "They have has so many limbs. I thought they'd be useful. Besides, nobody at the office invites them to anything". "They're worse than Grandma. Where the hell Gran anyway. She should have hung up those chandeliers by now". "Your uncle has the ladder. He's still pinning up the streamers". The bride made a huffing noise and stormed off, her heels echoing on the hard wood floor. The conversation was hushed: nothing but a whisper between the soon-to be. But Quas heard it without effort. While their ship had touched down months ago, it was Quiltan policy not to disclose the acuity of their hearing. Or their sense of smell. They upended the flowers on at the base of the alter. It was the groom's wish to be married outdoors, in the fields. It was the brides to be married in the local church. This was their comprimise. A floor of flowers on which to stand. The groom had sent his parents out the day before to cut what seemed to amount to half the flowers in the small botanical gardens down the road. Their hands were still bleeding from the thorns, for they had not the budget for shearers. Not after the 10-foot alter, the 4-metre long streamers and all the other knick knacks they needed for their special day. "I hate this planet", muttered Quas in their own bubbly-sounding language, so as not to upset the bride's sisters who were putting the final touches on the cake. "It's just a night", said Qel soothingly. "Don't make a scene". "They haven't given us meat yet." "I don't think they do that here". "It's been three hours since I last ate." Qel, usually the calm one, flapped his limbs in exasperation. "I told you to eat those cows before we left", in exasperation. "I was saving myself". "Well, you'll just have to wait". "What about one of them?" Quas beckoned his pointer limb to the groom's kin who where dragging the seats into place in front of the altar. "You can't eat the humans." "Why not? They smell good". "It's against Quiltan code, that's why". "But look how miserable they look. Death before enslavement. That's Quiltan code, Qel. Look it up". "I don't think they're slaves, Quas. It's just their culture." Quas let out a bubbly sigh, his limbs sinking to the floor. "But they smell so tasty". "Yeah, well, we've got a nice barn of cows waiting for us back at the field." "Cows don't smell as good as humans". "No, but we'll have to make do".
[WP] You are getting ready for a date with your girlfriend when you hear a knock at the door. Unexpectedly you find your girlfriend, however she is in tears and is begging you not to go on your date with her tonight. She also appears to be years older than the last time you saw her.	My music is turned all the way up and my head is bouncing to the beat. Tonight is the night and I'm super excited. I have been waiting to tell Rebecca I want to spend my life with her and tonight will be the perfect opportunity: fancy restaurant, wine, and a ring. One date to rule all other dates, as Tolkien might say. God I'm such a nerd. A nerd who is about to have all his dreams come true. I will get to marry the most amazing woman in the entire world. The woman I never thought I'd be lucky enough to find. She is everything I need: a best friend, a companion, amazing in bed, and the only person who I trust with my deepest secrets. I can't wait to say to her: will you marry me? Knock, knock, KNOCK! "On my way!" I shout to the door rolling my eyes. It must be Kathy, the crusty old woman who lives next door. She not only hates my music, she also disapproves of my lifestyle choices and has a tendency to tell me all of her opinions about it whenever she gets the chance. I don't need this tonight. I swing the door open and pause. It's Becky. She soaking wet and dressed in what I can only describe as unconventional hippy clothes. Her hair is longer, much longer, than the last time I saw her and see looks as if she's aged ten years in a day. "Uh..." I say as I stand in the doorway with a gaping mouth like an idiot. "Ethan," Becky says, pushing past me and walking into my living room, leaving wet footprints on my carpet. "What happened?" I ask, reaching for a towel from the bathroom and handing it to her. Becky takes a seat on the couch and looks up at me with apologetic eyes. "Hey, I'm sorry for this abrupt meeting." "It's ok," I say, still processing. "I just want to know what happened. Are you okay?" "No," Becky sighs, "I'm very much not ok. And I need to tell you something, something I should have told you since the day we met." "Ok..." I take a seat across from Becky. I still can't believe how she looks. Her face has more wrinkles and she looks unhealthy. Very different than the bright-eyed optimistic, joyous Becky I know and say yesterday. "I am a witch." I laugh. It's perhaps not the best reaction but its the first emotion that comes to my throat. "I sorry," I say with a cough I'm hoping will stifle my laugh. "I shouldn't have laughed." "It is a ridiculous thing to say out loud," Becky says, standing up and pacing my room. She holds the towel around her body like a shield. "And I didn't expect you to understand right away or anything. But I need you to know before it happens." "Before what happens?" Becky stops and turns to look at me. I can't tell what emotion is in her eyes. She looks almost as if she's happy but is also about to cry. "Before you and I have the beautiful night we're about to have and you ask me to marry you." Becky says, her voice small. "What-" "I'm here from the future," Becky continues without much pause. My mouth has fallen open and I blink but I can't seem to make sense of it all. "The future?" I say. It sounds impossible but it also makes sense; this Becky is not the one I know. "Yes," Becky continues, "Tonight was the best night of my life, for a long time. But the events of tonight spark a sequence of events that ends in... well the worst thing that could ever happen." "And what's that?" "Your death, Ethan." I stare at her but my mind is elsewhere. I'm trying to process what she's saying, I've watched enough time travel movies and shows to have thought that I would deal with the concept of time travel better than they seem to, but I'm falling short of my own expectations. Time travel belongs in those stories, not in my reality. It's to obscure to be a real life concept that leads to my ultimate demise. "So," I say, "I ask you to marry me and then I die?" "Well," Becky says, sitting beside me and taking my hands in hers. They are rougher and have scars they didn't have before. I wonder what happened but I already have so many questions. "You ask me to marry you, I say yes, we get married and then... It kills you." "There's an 'It'?" I say. "Yes. It is a dangerous creature from the Hellfire. It will be released when I marry you and It brings terror to the world. It leads to the destruction of all we love and understand in this life, on this plane of existence. If you don't ask me to marry you and instead break up with me tonight, I will be able to set my younger self on a path to find and destruction it before it ever gets the chance to be released." "Hold up," I say, pulling my hands from hers. "You want me to break up with you?" "No," Becky says, "I do not want you to break up with me. I wanted to grow old with you, to be with you forever, but that can't and won't happen as long as my younger self is so focused on loving you and making babies with you. You have to let me go for only a little while and then when I come back to you, we can get married and be together." "Why can't I help you find It?" I say, "Why can't you show me what It is and then I can help your younger self locate and we can destroy It together." Becky pauses. I can tell she's looking for the words. "I don't want to tell you this." she says. "It's not fair that you discover this from me. I know none of what I'm doing to you is fair but..." "Just tell me Becky," I say, feeling frustration bubble up inside my chest. "In the 1600s, around the witch trials, our families were cursed." "Cursed?" I repeat, "Wait, my ancestors are also witches." "Yes," Becky says, pacing my living room once more. "The curse was that our families would forever have an unbreakable bond but, should we ever unite in marriage, or have children together, a deadly creature would be released and kill every member of our family." "Our families are cursed so no one in our families can get married?" I say, trying to make sense of the words coming out of my own mouth. "Why would anyone do that?" (continued)	[PI] One year went by so fast, I couldn’t believe we made it a whole year together; well.. officially tomorrow. Knock knock knock I was already running late, much to what I know will be Kate’s annoyance. Who could possibly be at the door now? The door creaked as I slowly revealed the person on the other side. “Kate? What are you doing here I thought I driving tonight?” I searched for her blue mini cooper she loved so much, however it was no where in sight. “ Please John you need to listen to me” she pleaded. The usual softness of her voice did not caress my ears but instead a slow croak caught me by surprise. That’s when I noticed the crinkle in her eyes stood out more than before and the tiny bags under her eyes from late nights working were amplified more than I could have imagined. “If I cease to exist so that you can survive, I’ll give my life for you to live another day.” She exclaimed. She shook as tears streamed down her face. I immediately felt nauseated as a cold feeling washed over my entire body. This wasn’t Kate, but why did it look like her? A million thoughts raced my mind as my ability to think clearly became difficult. “Kate what are you talking about ? What is going on? Why do you look so different?” “ I don’t have much time left” she said between sobs “and I can’t explain it but you need to cancel our date tonight. If you want to live. Don’t go, I’m begging you. I love you more than you’ll ever know JJ” “I don’t understand what’s happening, who are you?” “Trust me John, please don’t go tonight” before I could rebuttal she turned and began running down the street. I wanted to run after her but as soon as I blinked my eyes and it was as if I willed her spirit away. Did I just see a ghost? An Angel? Could I trust anything she said? Confused and conflicted I stood half dress by my door, 15 minutes until I have to collect Kate from her house and an important decision to make.
[WP] Your hero team consists of members whose appearances and demeanor are VERY unfitting for their powers.	"This was your idea, Ethan." Charlie said. "You found that stupid space rock in the school yard, let EVERYONE in our class touch it, and now EVERYONE has superpowers!" "It's still pretty cool that we can shapeshift, right?" He said, trying to be positive. "Easy for you to say." Charlie shot back. "You didn't get an allergic reaction from your animal form." Her eyes were still watering from when she had turned into a cat five minutes ago. Ethan was deathly afraid of heights, and his animal was a hawk. "I for one am happy with my superpower." Sophie chimed in. She wagged her snake tail and flicked her tongue out. She was the only one that hadn't shifted out of her animal form a minute after finding out what it was. Charlie giggled. Seeing a snake speak in her best friend's voice was an odd sight.	It was another partly cloudy day in New Francisco. It was a weekday, which meant all the usual people were out and about. Whether it was heading to work, doing some shopping, or otherwise walking around town, everyone seemed to be busy. It would've been considered a nice day. That is, if Captain Dark hadn't begun crashing through the streets alongside his gigantic, dark, and amorphous minion. He smiled as he gazed down at the destruction taking place, watching as his creation decimated buildings and everything else that was in the way. His black and purple spandex stuck tightly to his body, and the large hat-helmet hybrid stood tall on his head. It was a nice day. For him. For destruction. Back at their HQ, the team (they hadn't managed to agree on an official name, even after 3 months) were doing their usual activities. Casey, a teenager of average build, was lifting weights alongside Jerek, an incredibly muscular and bald man. Casey's bright red hair, in a style reminiscent of something from an anime, was incredibly eye catching, and Don, another teen, found himself glancing over at it from time to time whenever he wasn't too busy playing mobile games. Don sighed with boredom, and laid back on the couch in the center of their large hub room. His long, dark brown hair fell back against the couch. Jerek set his weights down and clapped Casey on his shoulder, almost knocking Casey down in the process before walking away. Casey stared after him with anger before turning away to continue with his dumbbells. Jerek stood at an astounding 7 feet and 4 inches tall, towering over everyone else in the team. He sat down at the dining table next to Liam, a somewhat chubby guy who was tall in his own right, but nothing compared to Jerek. Jerek and Liam nodded to each other and went about their business otherwise. After checking on the potted plant at the table and readjusting his glasses, Liam looked at Mira, a goth girl who, even after all this time, still opted to sit in the corner of the room. As always, she was on her phone, indifferent to what everyone was doing. She was very thin compared to everyone else. Overall, it was just another typical day at their HQ. Except this time, there was a sudden alarm. In just a few moments, everyone was on the large, gray couch, around the briefing table. Don cleared his throat, and started reading the briefing. "Alright, it looks like Captain Dark has been rampaging through the streets recently. Let's go do something about it, yeah?" Casey rolled his eyes at how nonchalant Don was about this briefing, same as always. Regardless, he and the others all nodded, and they began suiting up. Casey wore a dark red and grey jacket with his last name, Auburn, emblazoned on the back in gold. Jerek wore his usual gray tank top and black sweatpants. Don decided to wear his navy blue sweater and jeans. Liam picked out the only clean clothes he had left, a green tracksuit. He sighed as he put it on, annoyed that he had forgotten to do his laundry again. Mira wore yet another set of her everyday clothes; a black hoodie that was a bit too big for her and some loose jeans. Now, everyone was ready to head out. Captain Dark was continuing to cause more carnage, watching on as his minion swung extensions from its body into buildings and tossing cars into the air. He soon noticed that there was a rather odd looking group of people standing in front of him now, and not running away. They must've been a team of heroes; he could feel power emanating from them. He squinted, trying to make them out. Starting on the far left, there was a rather fiery-looking boy. Red hair, red clothes, even red eyes. Even his hair was styled a bit like flame. He smirked, thinking, 'Now that's just too obvious. All these flame heroes always look the same.' looking at the next one, a massive man with large, bulging muscles. 'Another obvious one. Super strength. Although this one looks particularly strong, with those absurd muscles.' Next up was the brown haired, blue eyed boy, wearing a blue sweater. He looked relatively average compared to the others who were lined up before him. A bit tall, a bit thin. 'Hm...he probably controls ice or water. Maybe even lightning or electricity? Whatever.' Up next was a fat guy. He wore glasses. His hair was blond, and pretty messy. He was wearing a green tracksuit. 'This is an odd one. But wearing a tracksuit...super speed, maybe? That could be annoying.' He mentally shrugged before moving on to the last one, a goth-looking girl. She seemed thin, even moreso than the water/ice/lightning user. She had an uncaring expression on her face. 'Last time I fought a hero who looked like that, she used telekinesis. Perhaps this one uses magic or something instead.' Captain Dark took a deep breath before speaking. "Ha! Not just one wretched hero, but a whole group of them! You'll be satisfying ones to kill, I'm sure of it." He smiled has he gazed down upon them. Surprisingly, the goth girl spoke up first. "Yeah, yeah. Whatever, Captain Dork. Can we get on with this already?" The rest of the team seemed to be stifling some laughter. Even Casey was smiling, especially after seeing Captain Dark react with a twitching mouth and angry expression. "Here's an idea. How about I get this over with myself?" Said Casey. He lifted up his arms a bit, and seemed to be preparing an attack. Thinking quickly, Captain Dark commanded his monster to swing a tentacle into a nearby fire hydrant, hitting Casey with water. Dark laughed. "Hahaha! Good like trying to burn me when you're soaked like that!" Already annoyed by getting hit with the water, Casey seemed to explode into a rage after Dark said he wouldn't be able to burn him. He raised his arms again, and water began pulling away from him and floating in the air. Sark's smile slowly disappeared as he watched. Suddenly, the droplets were formed into icicles, and thousands were launched into Dark's creature, which screamed out in agony. Dark looked down at his mount, concerned and confused. When he looked up, he saw that the hero team was smiling at each other - aside from Casey, who was still infuriated. "W...what!? But...you should be-" Casey hastily interrupted Dark. "I KNOW! I SHOULD be a fire user! But instead, all I'm capable of is hydromancy and cryomancy! And THIS lazy bastard-" He gestures wildly to Don. "HE gets to control fire, and not me!" Casey was breathing heavily, but seemed to cool down a bit after the outburst. Don sighed and looked at him. "Way to ruin the surprise, man. It's always hilarious when the villains think-" He was interrupted by Mira, who spoke up now as Dark looked at all of the heroes, confused. "Seriously, we have better things to do than just stand around. I'm going ahead." After saying this, she slammed her foot down into the ground, breaking the pavement off before tossing it with great speed into Dark's minion. The minion was almost brought down to the ground, but managed to stay up. Again, Dark seemed incredibly bewildered. "S...super strength!? But I-" "You thought I'd have some power like magic, or maybe lightning. I know, I know. I also have super speed, so it looks like you're even more wrong." Mira crossed her arms as she stared up at Dark. Jerek stepped forward next. "I guess I should do something too, right?" Jerek began floating above the ground. Slowly, multiple objects like cars, pieces of buildings, and rubble began floating as well. Soon, the shadow monster was being pelted by everything, much to the dismay of Dark. He injected energy into the monster, which soon arose again, but still seemed weakened. "And now telekinesis..."Dark held his head with both of his hands. "You had me figured for super strength, right?" Jerek smiled at him. "I'm still pretty strong, but it's not a superpower." He flexed his muscles as he floated back onto the ground. Captain Dark let out an angry growl, and pointed at Liam, who had seemed a bit detached from everything that was happening. "Well then, what's next, huh!? What about you, tubby!? Do you control lightning or something!?" Dark was seething with anger, not expecting much resistance from this town and now being confronted with such a confusing situation for a supervillain. Liam shook his head. "You haven't guessed anything right today." He smiled gently at Dark before setting his hands down on the ground. Soon, massive vines sprung up from the ground, first grabbing and then impaling Dark's shadow monster. Liam flinched a bit at hearing the screams of the creature, but it soon faded away and the monster dissipated, leaving Captain Dark to fall to the ground, face first. He slowly struggled to lift himself up, and then created a shadow portal on the ground behind him. After some labored breathing, he spoke. "I..y-you haven't seen the last of-" and again, interrupted, this time by Don, when created a fireball in his hand. "We get it, you'll be back, have your revenge, yada yada yada." He tossed it and it hit Captain Dark in the stomach, pushing him into the portal where a pillar of flame erupted, with the portal closing soon after. The team high five'd each other and began heading back to HQ, leaving the slightly ruined city behind them. "Alright, team", Ron said. "Let's try and come up with a name now." (END) (I guess this one wasn't horrible, but I feel like I was focusing on one person too much at a time.)
[WP] Your hero team consists of members whose appearances and demeanor are VERY unfitting for their powers.	The evening's crowd was looking to be an uneventful one, until Doctor Atrocity sat down to the bar at the Swollen Henchmen. He threw his top hat to the ground and swiped a glass of brandy from the tender's hands before it could even touch the bar. Down and gone in a single gulp. "You would not BELIEVE the bullshit I had to put up with tonight!!" Inebrius, grandson of Dionysus and Keglord to the supervillains of the world, nodded politely. "Heist go south today, Doc?" "THE SOUTHEST! Have you heard about this new startup hero team? The Occams Razors?" "The what?" "EXACTLY!!!" Doctor Atrocity slammed back another shot of brandy. "They fight dirty! They don't do things right! Worst bunch of cheats you ever saw!" "What, do they have some kind of weird esoteric powers? Like that guy who turns into fruit?" "No no no, standard powers, they just..." Doctor Atrocity flailed his hands in the air helplessly. "They just do it all WRONG! on PURPOSE! It's not right! Like okay, I'll give you an example. One guy, his name is Snap, outfit is this yellow and red thing. What do you think his power is?" Inebrius shrugged. "Snap? Yellow and red suit? I dunno, speedster, maybe pyrotechnics?" "NOPE! Ice Conjuring! He says it's short for 'Coldsnap'." "That... doesn't make sense. Should at least be a blue suit, maybe white like snow." "WELL IT'S NOT! He comes up to you like he's about to burn your face off, makes you think you need to throw up the heat shield, then he FREEZES ALL YOUR GEAR SOLID!" Another drink, another glass slammed on the countertop. "It flies in the face of TRADITION!" A deep gutteral growl resonated form behind Doctor Atrocity. "Oooh, aye lad, Ah know'em. Fought'em m'self last week." Looming behind Doctor Atrocity stood the hulking barnacle-encrusted form of Captain Gator, pirate lord of the sewer fleets. Nobody dared mention the smell. "Them brats ain't ones fer fair play. They mess w'yer preconceptions, flip up yer head. Did yeh face Marshmallow?" "OH FUCK MARSHMALLOW!" "What's Marshmallow's thing? Too fat and soft to damage?" Inebrius leaned in, interested. "Naw, mate, naw. Marshmallow's their powerhouse." "The powerhouse? The strong man? Marshmallow?" "Yeh." Captain Gator grabbed a flagon of mead and chugged the whole thing down his toothy maw. "Firstly, she's a girl. Ain't girl like, 'sexy thing'. Girl like, 'bunny pajamas an' a ballerina tutu'. An a left hook like th' sun it fuckin' SELF beat ya 'bout th' mainsail." "Gotta figure, friend, kid hero named Marshmallow? You should have expected a surprise twist when you saw that. The kid heroes are always overpowered." "Yeah yeah yeah." Doctor Atrocity waved off Inebrius's criticisms. " But now lets give him a fun one, Cap. Guess this one: Shift." "Okay hold up a sec, let me think a minute. I'm getting the theme here, it's gonna be something 'off'. So, 'Shift'. That suggests shape-changing or teleporting. Both no, I assume?" "Yaar, I WISH she were a 'porter." "Even a shape-changer would have been better. Keep guessing." Inebrius rubbed his chin a moment, bristly whiskers pushing through his fingers. "Shift... flip the expectations... she's the tech person. Power armor, you think she'll be all about rocketpacks and blasters, but instead she charges to the front line." "Dead wrong, mate. Shift's a weather mage. Lightin' an' thunder, DIRECTLY up th' porthole." "Why the hell is she called Shift, that makes no sense." "Tol'ya the ain't playin' fair." Captain Gator took another drink. "Get a few more'a these in me an Ah'll tell ya about th' leader." "Do I even want to know what their leader does?" Captain Gator stopped mid-drink staring into his glass, before slowly setting it on the countertop. A haunted gaze flitted across his beady reptilian eyes. "Ain't no man in this bar, or maybe even th' world, what's staunched their loins and hardened 'eir hearts enough ta see what happens when ye fight Kittycat Toe Beans."	It was another partly cloudy day in New Francisco. It was a weekday, which meant all the usual people were out and about. Whether it was heading to work, doing some shopping, or otherwise walking around town, everyone seemed to be busy. It would've been considered a nice day. That is, if Captain Dark hadn't begun crashing through the streets alongside his gigantic, dark, and amorphous minion. He smiled as he gazed down at the destruction taking place, watching as his creation decimated buildings and everything else that was in the way. His black and purple spandex stuck tightly to his body, and the large hat-helmet hybrid stood tall on his head. It was a nice day. For him. For destruction. Back at their HQ, the team (they hadn't managed to agree on an official name, even after 3 months) were doing their usual activities. Casey, a teenager of average build, was lifting weights alongside Jerek, an incredibly muscular and bald man. Casey's bright red hair, in a style reminiscent of something from an anime, was incredibly eye catching, and Don, another teen, found himself glancing over at it from time to time whenever he wasn't too busy playing mobile games. Don sighed with boredom, and laid back on the couch in the center of their large hub room. His long, dark brown hair fell back against the couch. Jerek set his weights down and clapped Casey on his shoulder, almost knocking Casey down in the process before walking away. Casey stared after him with anger before turning away to continue with his dumbbells. Jerek stood at an astounding 7 feet and 4 inches tall, towering over everyone else in the team. He sat down at the dining table next to Liam, a somewhat chubby guy who was tall in his own right, but nothing compared to Jerek. Jerek and Liam nodded to each other and went about their business otherwise. After checking on the potted plant at the table and readjusting his glasses, Liam looked at Mira, a goth girl who, even after all this time, still opted to sit in the corner of the room. As always, she was on her phone, indifferent to what everyone was doing. She was very thin compared to everyone else. Overall, it was just another typical day at their HQ. Except this time, there was a sudden alarm. In just a few moments, everyone was on the large, gray couch, around the briefing table. Don cleared his throat, and started reading the briefing. "Alright, it looks like Captain Dark has been rampaging through the streets recently. Let's go do something about it, yeah?" Casey rolled his eyes at how nonchalant Don was about this briefing, same as always. Regardless, he and the others all nodded, and they began suiting up. Casey wore a dark red and grey jacket with his last name, Auburn, emblazoned on the back in gold. Jerek wore his usual gray tank top and black sweatpants. Don decided to wear his navy blue sweater and jeans. Liam picked out the only clean clothes he had left, a green tracksuit. He sighed as he put it on, annoyed that he had forgotten to do his laundry again. Mira wore yet another set of her everyday clothes; a black hoodie that was a bit too big for her and some loose jeans. Now, everyone was ready to head out. Captain Dark was continuing to cause more carnage, watching on as his minion swung extensions from its body into buildings and tossing cars into the air. He soon noticed that there was a rather odd looking group of people standing in front of him now, and not running away. They must've been a team of heroes; he could feel power emanating from them. He squinted, trying to make them out. Starting on the far left, there was a rather fiery-looking boy. Red hair, red clothes, even red eyes. Even his hair was styled a bit like flame. He smirked, thinking, 'Now that's just too obvious. All these flame heroes always look the same.' looking at the next one, a massive man with large, bulging muscles. 'Another obvious one. Super strength. Although this one looks particularly strong, with those absurd muscles.' Next up was the brown haired, blue eyed boy, wearing a blue sweater. He looked relatively average compared to the others who were lined up before him. A bit tall, a bit thin. 'Hm...he probably controls ice or water. Maybe even lightning or electricity? Whatever.' Up next was a fat guy. He wore glasses. His hair was blond, and pretty messy. He was wearing a green tracksuit. 'This is an odd one. But wearing a tracksuit...super speed, maybe? That could be annoying.' He mentally shrugged before moving on to the last one, a goth-looking girl. She seemed thin, even moreso than the water/ice/lightning user. She had an uncaring expression on her face. 'Last time I fought a hero who looked like that, she used telekinesis. Perhaps this one uses magic or something instead.' Captain Dark took a deep breath before speaking. "Ha! Not just one wretched hero, but a whole group of them! You'll be satisfying ones to kill, I'm sure of it." He smiled has he gazed down upon them. Surprisingly, the goth girl spoke up first. "Yeah, yeah. Whatever, Captain Dork. Can we get on with this already?" The rest of the team seemed to be stifling some laughter. Even Casey was smiling, especially after seeing Captain Dark react with a twitching mouth and angry expression. "Here's an idea. How about I get this over with myself?" Said Casey. He lifted up his arms a bit, and seemed to be preparing an attack. Thinking quickly, Captain Dark commanded his monster to swing a tentacle into a nearby fire hydrant, hitting Casey with water. Dark laughed. "Hahaha! Good like trying to burn me when you're soaked like that!" Already annoyed by getting hit with the water, Casey seemed to explode into a rage after Dark said he wouldn't be able to burn him. He raised his arms again, and water began pulling away from him and floating in the air. Sark's smile slowly disappeared as he watched. Suddenly, the droplets were formed into icicles, and thousands were launched into Dark's creature, which screamed out in agony. Dark looked down at his mount, concerned and confused. When he looked up, he saw that the hero team was smiling at each other - aside from Casey, who was still infuriated. "W...what!? But...you should be-" Casey hastily interrupted Dark. "I KNOW! I SHOULD be a fire user! But instead, all I'm capable of is hydromancy and cryomancy! And THIS lazy bastard-" He gestures wildly to Don. "HE gets to control fire, and not me!" Casey was breathing heavily, but seemed to cool down a bit after the outburst. Don sighed and looked at him. "Way to ruin the surprise, man. It's always hilarious when the villains think-" He was interrupted by Mira, who spoke up now as Dark looked at all of the heroes, confused. "Seriously, we have better things to do than just stand around. I'm going ahead." After saying this, she slammed her foot down into the ground, breaking the pavement off before tossing it with great speed into Dark's minion. The minion was almost brought down to the ground, but managed to stay up. Again, Dark seemed incredibly bewildered. "S...super strength!? But I-" "You thought I'd have some power like magic, or maybe lightning. I know, I know. I also have super speed, so it looks like you're even more wrong." Mira crossed her arms as she stared up at Dark. Jerek stepped forward next. "I guess I should do something too, right?" Jerek began floating above the ground. Slowly, multiple objects like cars, pieces of buildings, and rubble began floating as well. Soon, the shadow monster was being pelted by everything, much to the dismay of Dark. He injected energy into the monster, which soon arose again, but still seemed weakened. "And now telekinesis..."Dark held his head with both of his hands. "You had me figured for super strength, right?" Jerek smiled at him. "I'm still pretty strong, but it's not a superpower." He flexed his muscles as he floated back onto the ground. Captain Dark let out an angry growl, and pointed at Liam, who had seemed a bit detached from everything that was happening. "Well then, what's next, huh!? What about you, tubby!? Do you control lightning or something!?" Dark was seething with anger, not expecting much resistance from this town and now being confronted with such a confusing situation for a supervillain. Liam shook his head. "You haven't guessed anything right today." He smiled gently at Dark before setting his hands down on the ground. Soon, massive vines sprung up from the ground, first grabbing and then impaling Dark's shadow monster. Liam flinched a bit at hearing the screams of the creature, but it soon faded away and the monster dissipated, leaving Captain Dark to fall to the ground, face first. He slowly struggled to lift himself up, and then created a shadow portal on the ground behind him. After some labored breathing, he spoke. "I..y-you haven't seen the last of-" and again, interrupted, this time by Don, when created a fireball in his hand. "We get it, you'll be back, have your revenge, yada yada yada." He tossed it and it hit Captain Dark in the stomach, pushing him into the portal where a pillar of flame erupted, with the portal closing soon after. The team high five'd each other and began heading back to HQ, leaving the slightly ruined city behind them. "Alright, team", Ron said. "Let's try and come up with a name now." (END) (I guess this one wasn't horrible, but I feel like I was focusing on one person too much at a time.)
[WP] Your hero team consists of members whose appearances and demeanor are VERY unfitting for their powers.	Two men in suits walked through the halls. One was talking about the location, the other was mainly listening or tapping on a tablet keyboard. "Yes, this is a very impressive facility, Henry." Said the tablet baring man. "But the location isn't important. What about the team?" "So glad you asked." Henry said. "We've put together one of the best possible teams. They might even be one of the best in the world. At least, I think they are." "I've heard a lot of other super team managers day the same thing, you know. If you want my investment, you need to prove it." "Naturally, naturally. Don't worry Sam, these five will blow your mind once you see them in action. We've got a place all set up for seeing what they can do." Henry led the prospective investor to a large room in which a high end array of super testing equipment was set up. Massive weights, an array of weapons, numerous energy receivers, and a dozen other pieces of equipment. Sam had seen everything here with other super teams. And he was not impressed. None of the equipment was top of the line. But he did not judge. The team was just getting started, and lacked the funds to get the really good stuff. Henry pulled his phone out of his pocket and sent a few messages. He told Sam the team would be introduced one at a time for greater ease. The first to enter the room was a mountain of a man. His deep, dark skin looked like it barely fit him, and it seemed like his muscles had muscles. He stood and crossed his sizable arms in front of him. "This had better be good." The man said in a deep rumble. "Booster, this is Mr. Walt, a prospective investor." "Right. So you want to show us off to the new piggy bank, huh? Fine." "You'll have to forgive Booster. He's a little rough around the edges, but his heart's in a good place." Henry said. "Of course." Sam replied. "I take it you're the team's heavy hitter?" "Nope." Booster said. "I'm rearguard.* "And he's very good at it. His healing power can turn even a near fatal wound into a mild inconvenience. He can replace limbs with ease and a slit throat is no different to a paper cut. Just about the only thing he can't heal is instant death." "Get off my case about that. I'm working on it." "And then there's his enhancement auras. A range of abilities that do exactly what they sound like. He has auras that can boost all of a person's physical abilities, and even add non-physical damage types to an attack. He can make even people like us incredibly dangerous." "You... you're kidding, right?" Sam asked. "I am not." Henry said. "How about a demonstration? Mr. Walt, you see that strike gauge? How about trying it out for yourself?" Sam sighed. "Okay, but don't expect much from me." He went over to the heavy black plate attached to the wall. It was designed to test people with super strength. He was not sure it would even register his punch. But, he still gave it his all. Sure enough, all he did was hurt his hand a little. He looked over at the team manager. Henry nodded to the massive super. The man closed his eyes and Sam felt something. A surge of power he had never dreamed possible. It felt like his body would explode with raw, uncontrolled might. He needed to do something with it. This time when he punched the gauge, it was visibly forced back a few inches. The digital readout above it said it had been hit with three tons of force. He looked at his hand in wonder as the power faded as quickly as it had arrived. "That was a mold boost." Booster said. "I could've given you three times that. Don't ask me to do any of my other auras. I got better things to do than play nice." "I...I..." Sam said, still looking at his hand. That rush had been almost intoxicating. And it had been amazingly effective. He looked at Booster, who was already heading out the door. "Let's see, next up is..." Henry said. Before he could say the code name of the next team member, a young woman came in. She was a bubbly blonde who put most Hollywood actresses to shame with her looks, and her figure was reminiscent of a Barbie doll. She smiled and headed straight for Henry, giving him a big hug. "Hey boss!" She said cheerfully. When she released the man, she looked at Sam. "Who's this?" When Sam was introduced, the woman practically squealed and gave him a hug to. When she let go, he was quite a bit happier than he had been just moments ago. "It is so nice to meet you! You're going to be finding us, right? Great! I have so many ideas for decorating this place. It's going to be so super nice...Ah, hey, I didn't even plan that! She giggled at her own not-quite joke. "Super, right? Because we're superheroes?" "Uh, yes. Mr. Walt, this is Liberty Belle." "It makes a lot more sense when I'm in my costume, I promise. I've got the whole stars and stripes thing going. Super cool." "I, uh, I'm sure." Sam said. "You must be the team's acrobat, yes?" "Nope. I mean, I can do the gymnastics stuff if I want to, but that's not my role. Try again!" Henry spoke up. "Liberty Belle is our team's heavy hitter." "Woo! Girl power!" She said, making V signs with her hands. Sam just looked at the slender young woman. He looked at his host and raised an eyebrow. "Don't underestimate her. She's been rated as one of the strongest and toughest people in the world. Why don't you give him a quick demo, Belle?" "Sure thing, boss man!" She skipped, literally skipped, over to the high density super weights. She looked around for a moment before choosing one of the large blocks of increased density metal. She chose the largest of them, a block that Sam recognized as a 100 ton block. Fairly good, but not the highest he had ever seen. Definitely the highest this team could currently afford though. She grabbed it with one hand and lifted it with ease. She balanced it by the corner on one finger and then flicked it into the air. She caught it like a ball and began really treating it like that toy. "Super easy." She said. "Hey, if you fund us, will we be able to get more? This is pretty much nothing. Hm, but then we might have less money to decorate with. Oh, geeze, so many choices." "Equipment comes first Belle." Henry told her. "Aw, okay, fine." She seemed disappointed by the lack of decorative items. "You can decorate with whatever's left after equipment upgrades." Henry said with a sigh. She perked up immediately. "Yay!" "Now, since you're not dressed for a durability test, how about you head out and send the next person is." "Kay." She set the weight down and headed for the door. Before she left, she turned and gave the two men a friendly wave. "See ya later!" The next person who entered the room seemed to surprise even Henry with his presence. The man was of average height, and had what could best be called a dad-bod, even though he looked to be in his mid-20s. He yawned and scratched his behind as he came in. "Breakline? I thought you'd show up much later." Henry said. The man shrugged. "Yeah, well. I just woke up from my nap, saw the message and figured I'd get it out of the way." "Well, I'm glad you did. Me. Walt, this is Breakline. We're quite proud we were able to sign him on to our team, and he can be considered one of our most powerful members." "Him? Are you sure?" Breakline shrugged. "They say it, not me. I'd rather not be here, but hey, it pays good." "What, exactly does...he do?" Sam asked. "You, sir, are looking at what could possibly be the most powerful speedster in the world. He is quite capable of breaking the light barrier ten time over." Henry said proudly. Breakline looked like he would rather be sleeping. "I don't like doing that." He said. "Things get all weird when I go that fast." "Care to give us a demonstration?" Henry asked. "Not really." The team leader's eye twitches slightly. "Well, please do it anyway." "Fine, whatever." Suddenly, the chubby man was holding a plate of gravy covered fries. Then he was using the same tray, sans fries. "I was thinking something more impactful than getting lunch." "Ugh, you mean the treadmill? I hate that thing." "Please use it anyway." Sam could see Henry's pride turning into a headache. The speedster trudged over to the machine in question, got on it and started running. His legs seemed to disappear as he ran. The digital speedometer above him came to life and started climbing at an alarming rate. By the time it even started to become readable, it was at a speed that would allow Breakline to circle the Earth several times each second. He seemed to be treating it the same as a light jog, or even less. "As you can see, once he starts moving, he is extremely impressive." Henry said. "He can do things other speedsters can only dream of, and has the endurance to match. The man can run for hours without difficulty. There's nobody alive who can catch up to him once he really starts moving." "I...see. Yes, very impressive." The speed reading was one of, if not the, highest Sam had ever seen, and it was obvious the speedster could go faster. If he cared enough to do so, that is. "Okay, I think that's enough. Breakline, you can..." The man was gone before Henry even finished his sentence. "Okay then. I'll just call in the next person." As a tiny woman who looked like she would rather be hiding from the world entered the room, a thought entered Sam's mind. "Say, Henry, how many team members do you have so far?" "Hm? Oh, right now we have ten, but we're hoping to attract more and become a full league in the near future. Now, let me introduce you to Boombox. The woman whimpered slightly when she heard the name. It was like she was scared of it. Sam repressed a heavy sigh. This was going to be a very long but very interesting day.	"You are late again!" I said to Speedster. "\Burp\, yeah-yeah. I was hungry." He said, wiping his greasy fingers into his costume. "You are always hungry!" I said, massaging my temples. "Awesome "hero" team we are." I thought to myself, as I walked into the meeting room. &#x200B; Our leader: Stream: Can transform into lightning, and has control over electricity: He's a middle-aged man who is terrified of technology, and lives in the woods. Strongest member: Giantess: has divine strength, can enlarge until she's 30 to 50m tall. She's a 1,51m tall, shy college student, who has difficulty in speaking in front of a public. Our public speaker and the one who represents us in front of the people of the world: Maestro. Can not only influence people with his music, but also create soundwave attacks that can't be blocked. He's an elderly hero, who is very kind, and speaks very quietly. Speedster: superspeed, superregeneration, but no actual super-metabolism, so he's a fat, tall man, who's always hungry, but each kilogram eaten gives him the look of 10 kg gained. He's also sleazy and lazy. Lastly, me: Mind Reaper: I have the power to read people mind, memories, and even alter them. I am 2m tall, muscles rippling underneath my clothes, due to a genetic mutation...We are a weird bunch. &#x200B; "This meeting is dedicated for discussions, related to our public image." Stream said. "Well, people think we are doing a good job, but our status is annoying them." Maestro said with a low chuckle. "S-s-shall we ignore it, and just d-d-do our jobs?" Giantess proposed. The meeting room quieted down. After a while, Stream sighed. "Everyone in favour of Giantess's proposal, raise your hand." He said. Everyone raised their hands, the problem was solved. &#x200B; "Just like us, ignoring something until it stops being a problem." I laughed. "We've saved the world a few times, we are allowed to be weird and a bit annoying." Stream said, laughing, before transforming into a lightning bolt and leaving. I just shook my head, and left as well. &#x200B; Later on, our superhero team's name went from "The saviours" to "The weirdos", but we all laughed. "Finally something that is accurately describing us." We all thought.
[WP] You're taking a job at a vegetable farm. The ad said "must love animals, must be good with children.". You didn't make the connection until the tomatoes pulled themselves out of the ground and started running around like toddlers.	I've always loved nature, and I've always needed money. When I saw that ad in the newspaper about a job on a farm, I immediately knew it was a great opportunity. It was a remote farm in the middle of other gigantic fields - quite the contrast with the density and agitation of my town. "Must love animals, must be good with children." I thought the owners also wanted someone to watch theirs kids while they were making other farming tasks. I could do that, and I would not mind petting a dog, a cat and feeding the cows. I went there by car, since there was no other means of transportation crossing the area. The farm was the only one surrounded by a concrete fence, which made it stand out. Other farms were typical to the area: a collapsing building, weeds struggling to make their ways around plants, an old couple watching their crops and keeping an eye on those gigantic fences. They drew the attention of anyone, even the locals. "Welcome to the Exofarm, where we experiment towards a better future. Please do not unlock the gates under any circumstance. We take care of the doors, you take care of the crops." Mr. and Mrs. Ericu spoke in an unusual way, for the region. I had already gotten used to the local accent along my driving breaks. They were speaking with a French accent. Maybe it was Spanish. Or Italian. They were heavily assertive about the door, so I thought making a playful joke would make the atmosphere a bit lighter. "I don't think I'll run away to go to the local pub located twenty miles away!" They faked a smile, and let me bring my stuff in the bedroom I was going to claim for a few months. The Ericus were an old, austere couple, but I was sure they had a good heart. A life of labor, with little social interactions... it must be hard to remain cheerful. The bedroom was small, quite dark - there was a tiny window squeezed between the wooden planks. It was also minimalist, but not like Danish interior designers like it. There was a metal bed, at least twice my age. The tall cupboard seemed to be a doorway to a mystical dimension, and the small desk was exchanging stares with the chair. An authentic experience on a rural farm. On a rural, silent farm. Silence. I noticed how silent it was. Where are the children? Where are the animals? The property was enormous, so I thought they were busy doing something their parents asked for. Even though the Ericus could have been grandparents due to their great age. Mrs. Ericu called me for dinner a few minutes later. She was an excellent cook! Oh, the great Bourguignon. They adapted the French recipe by adding a "local type of meat." I replied I really enjoyed the taste of the vegetables and the meat, which I could not identify. Mrs. Ericu wanted to keep her secret for such a delicious meal. However, Mr. Ericu was focused on his notebook. "It's been three months. The vegetables are almost ready. Could be in five minutes, in a week or two. They decide when they are ready! As we have previously stated during our postal exchanges, you will take care of the vegetables. We have baby carrots, eggplants, cabbage and tomatoes. Please water them as they need." "Don't worry, I speak the language of vegetables! I know when they need water." "You will hear them." I laughed at the thought of a carrot or a tomato begging for water. But what a cruel thought, too. Laughing at thirsty vegetables. "Our products are worth a lot. You have noticed how tasty and refined they are; we do not sell them on the local farmers' market. Local farmers would not want us there!" "I know, when I told them where I was going to work, they spoke of a notorious witch. I guess you are a witch that knows how to cook!" Maybe I should not have told that. She looked angry, and my joke was, to say the least, badly worded. "Our clients are nobles and royals. There is a lot of money at stake, so please have a rest. You don't want to lose focus when they come." Three days of rather cold conversations later, I overheard Mr. Ericu expressing concerns about my skills. "They're coming today. Are you sure he will handle the vegetables correctly?" Mrs. Ericu reassured him, but they clearly feared some sort of panic, from what I understood. A few minutes later, I noticed the tomato leaves moving on their own. There was no wind, it was a windless warm day. The landscape, or what I could see within the walls, looked peaceful. The earth was gently shaking. And there, a tomato was crawling towards me. Crawling and crying. Creepy creeping tomato. I immediately rushed towards the old couple, who seemed calm, even satisfied. "Take care of them. We are paying for your services, aren't we? You said you were good with animals and kids. You hear that scream? This baby needs water." Their calm was eerie. "The tenderness of our vegetable meat depends on how well they are treated. So please, get back to it." Meat consumption had been forbidden a few years ago. We now only had fake meat, typically made of soy beans and various cereals for proteins. This living vegetable was unheard of, for me. I remembered that I was getting paid, and I had no choice to do the job. Moreover, that would be rude to run away after all the good meals Mrs. Ericu had prepared for me. So here I was gathering the carrots, tomatoes, eggplants and cabbages. Their cries of thirst queerly turned to soothing sounds of satisfaction. That was... cute? Was it cute? Mr. Ericu went to check on me, but (mostly) on his baby vegetables, asking if all of them were secured into their boxes. "Yes, they are. What is happening on that farm? Why?" "As you know, we had to keep sending rockets to the moon, and couldn't feed people. So the big ones decided to forbid meat. At least, to the masses like you and I. As scientists and meat lovers, my wife and I experimented on vegetables. We have mixed human DNA with vegetables and we have developed, through trial and error, this unique kind of meat." "Whose DNA is it?" "It depends. The cheapest ones are made with our DNA, they were in fact our first attempts. But, over time, rich clients decided they wanted their DNA in their vegetable meat. So you have harvested Bezos Eggplants, Musk Baby Carrots, Ericu tomatoes. In that patch over there are Trump potatoes." "Ericu tomatoes are such crybabies!" I should once more have kept my mouth shut. The Ericus were definitely not enjoying jokes, especially about them. "We have some clients coming. I'll open the gate, make sure the vegetables are okay." So I played along. This is how I produced the most expensive type of meat in the year 2034, as the world was starving. This is how I grew baby vegetables whose sole purpose was to exist for the rich's taste. After three months and twelve days of labor, all the vegetables were sold out. The farmers were rich, I had made some pocket money for the next college year. Coming back to Ramen Noodles was difficult. &#x200B; Leanor Bertrix	"Come back, you stupid potatoes!" I scream, as wild vegetables run about frantically, screeching and cackling like toddlers, "back, I said..." When taking a job for a vegetable farm, I had not made the connection of the slogan 'Must love animals, must be good with children' until the vegetables tore themselves from the floor - dirt spraying everywhere - and began to walk, mischievous as ever. My vain attempts at relocating them all were exactly that - vain; I could not think of what Mr Cabbage would say, his seething fury already in my memory from the time I had made a soup of beetroots and not roots, although I would say it tasted fine. "Damn dog, stop behaving like a wild wolf and help me!" I shout, abruptly gesticulating my arms. I cursed the dog and it's lack of intellect and wishes it had a bigger brain. Carrots pulling faces at me and blowing raspberries, I slam my fist onto the floor in fury. They cackle and uproot trees, their strength surprising. My bewildered face staring at the army, I manage to locate them, yet they fight with their jagged ends hitting me. A not so excruciating pain fills my body, and I yelp - not in pain but in shock - as a beetroot tries to eat me. "That's NOY how biology works," I exclaim, rolling my eyes at it's futile attempts at causing my end. However, just at that grave moment, something came to my rescue. Birds, squawking like the wild birds they were, soared in, beaks pointed like blades on the vegetables. I watched as they screamed, being eaten alive - the very purpose of them finally being clear - and I throw my fist into the air in quite celebration. "I always thought you birds were my enemy, what, with me working in a vegetable farm and all, but that was when they WEREN'T attacking me. Thanks guys!"
[WP] You're taking a job at a vegetable farm. The ad said "must love animals, must be good with children.". You didn't make the connection until the tomatoes pulled themselves out of the ground and started running around like toddlers.	The farmer guy just left me dumbfounded, I don’t know what I expected, but I can assure you it wasn’t this. The tomato children came up to me “Let’s play! Let’s play!” I have to admit it was cute I asked him for his name and he said it was Tom, sounds about right. He was dragging me to the other fields with all the other vegetables as they sprung up from the ground. There were other farmer, babysitters here. They started collecting all the vegetables in baskets and I assumed the worst, one of them looked over to me. “What are you standing around for? Its bath time.” “Ohhh I get.” “Your new here aren’t you?” “Yeah.” “I know it can be a little freaky at first, but assure you these aren’t the vegetables we eat.” I get all the other tomatoes into a basket, it was a huge hassle, but I brought them in, in time for bath time. I was watching what everyone else was doing, they would take each vegetable, rinse them, scrub, and then give them a towel and let them run around. So I took one and started rinsing, I was about to scrub when. “Whoa, be careful with that, if you scrub to hard you might hurt it.” She took the scrub and showed me how to do it “This is all so weird.” “First day?” “Yeah.” “I know it’s weird babysitting carrots and tomatoes but it’s fun.” She gives the tomato a towel, and it goes to play with all the other clean vegetables, it was really sweet. I’ve been doing this for about a year now, and I think I got the hang of all of this now. I see the farmer bringing in a new guy to the potato farm, and see his face as they rise from the ground. I go behind and tap his shoulder “First day?”	"Come back, you stupid potatoes!" I scream, as wild vegetables run about frantically, screeching and cackling like toddlers, "back, I said..." When taking a job for a vegetable farm, I had not made the connection of the slogan 'Must love animals, must be good with children' until the vegetables tore themselves from the floor - dirt spraying everywhere - and began to walk, mischievous as ever. My vain attempts at relocating them all were exactly that - vain; I could not think of what Mr Cabbage would say, his seething fury already in my memory from the time I had made a soup of beetroots and not roots, although I would say it tasted fine. "Damn dog, stop behaving like a wild wolf and help me!" I shout, abruptly gesticulating my arms. I cursed the dog and it's lack of intellect and wishes it had a bigger brain. Carrots pulling faces at me and blowing raspberries, I slam my fist onto the floor in fury. They cackle and uproot trees, their strength surprising. My bewildered face staring at the army, I manage to locate them, yet they fight with their jagged ends hitting me. A not so excruciating pain fills my body, and I yelp - not in pain but in shock - as a beetroot tries to eat me. "That's NOY how biology works," I exclaim, rolling my eyes at it's futile attempts at causing my end. However, just at that grave moment, something came to my rescue. Birds, squawking like the wild birds they were, soared in, beaks pointed like blades on the vegetables. I watched as they screamed, being eaten alive - the very purpose of them finally being clear - and I throw my fist into the air in quite celebration. "I always thought you birds were my enemy, what, with me working in a vegetable farm and all, but that was when they WEREN'T attacking me. Thanks guys!"
[WP] You're taking a job at a vegetable farm. The ad said "must love animals, must be good with children.". You didn't make the connection until the tomatoes pulled themselves out of the ground and started running around like toddlers.	I've always loved nature, and I've always needed money. When I saw that ad in the newspaper about a job on a farm, I immediately knew it was a great opportunity. It was a remote farm in the middle of other gigantic fields - quite the contrast with the density and agitation of my town. "Must love animals, must be good with children." I thought the owners also wanted someone to watch theirs kids while they were making other farming tasks. I could do that, and I would not mind petting a dog, a cat and feeding the cows. I went there by car, since there was no other means of transportation crossing the area. The farm was the only one surrounded by a concrete fence, which made it stand out. Other farms were typical to the area: a collapsing building, weeds struggling to make their ways around plants, an old couple watching their crops and keeping an eye on those gigantic fences. They drew the attention of anyone, even the locals. "Welcome to the Exofarm, where we experiment towards a better future. Please do not unlock the gates under any circumstance. We take care of the doors, you take care of the crops." Mr. and Mrs. Ericu spoke in an unusual way, for the region. I had already gotten used to the local accent along my driving breaks. They were speaking with a French accent. Maybe it was Spanish. Or Italian. They were heavily assertive about the door, so I thought making a playful joke would make the atmosphere a bit lighter. "I don't think I'll run away to go to the local pub located twenty miles away!" They faked a smile, and let me bring my stuff in the bedroom I was going to claim for a few months. The Ericus were an old, austere couple, but I was sure they had a good heart. A life of labor, with little social interactions... it must be hard to remain cheerful. The bedroom was small, quite dark - there was a tiny window squeezed between the wooden planks. It was also minimalist, but not like Danish interior designers like it. There was a metal bed, at least twice my age. The tall cupboard seemed to be a doorway to a mystical dimension, and the small desk was exchanging stares with the chair. An authentic experience on a rural farm. On a rural, silent farm. Silence. I noticed how silent it was. Where are the children? Where are the animals? The property was enormous, so I thought they were busy doing something their parents asked for. Even though the Ericus could have been grandparents due to their great age. Mrs. Ericu called me for dinner a few minutes later. She was an excellent cook! Oh, the great Bourguignon. They adapted the French recipe by adding a "local type of meat." I replied I really enjoyed the taste of the vegetables and the meat, which I could not identify. Mrs. Ericu wanted to keep her secret for such a delicious meal. However, Mr. Ericu was focused on his notebook. "It's been three months. The vegetables are almost ready. Could be in five minutes, in a week or two. They decide when they are ready! As we have previously stated during our postal exchanges, you will take care of the vegetables. We have baby carrots, eggplants, cabbage and tomatoes. Please water them as they need." "Don't worry, I speak the language of vegetables! I know when they need water." "You will hear them." I laughed at the thought of a carrot or a tomato begging for water. But what a cruel thought, too. Laughing at thirsty vegetables. "Our products are worth a lot. You have noticed how tasty and refined they are; we do not sell them on the local farmers' market. Local farmers would not want us there!" "I know, when I told them where I was going to work, they spoke of a notorious witch. I guess you are a witch that knows how to cook!" Maybe I should not have told that. She looked angry, and my joke was, to say the least, badly worded. "Our clients are nobles and royals. There is a lot of money at stake, so please have a rest. You don't want to lose focus when they come." Three days of rather cold conversations later, I overheard Mr. Ericu expressing concerns about my skills. "They're coming today. Are you sure he will handle the vegetables correctly?" Mrs. Ericu reassured him, but they clearly feared some sort of panic, from what I understood. A few minutes later, I noticed the tomato leaves moving on their own. There was no wind, it was a windless warm day. The landscape, or what I could see within the walls, looked peaceful. The earth was gently shaking. And there, a tomato was crawling towards me. Crawling and crying. Creepy creeping tomato. I immediately rushed towards the old couple, who seemed calm, even satisfied. "Take care of them. We are paying for your services, aren't we? You said you were good with animals and kids. You hear that scream? This baby needs water." Their calm was eerie. "The tenderness of our vegetable meat depends on how well they are treated. So please, get back to it." Meat consumption had been forbidden a few years ago. We now only had fake meat, typically made of soy beans and various cereals for proteins. This living vegetable was unheard of, for me. I remembered that I was getting paid, and I had no choice to do the job. Moreover, that would be rude to run away after all the good meals Mrs. Ericu had prepared for me. So here I was gathering the carrots, tomatoes, eggplants and cabbages. Their cries of thirst queerly turned to soothing sounds of satisfaction. That was... cute? Was it cute? Mr. Ericu went to check on me, but (mostly) on his baby vegetables, asking if all of them were secured into their boxes. "Yes, they are. What is happening on that farm? Why?" "As you know, we had to keep sending rockets to the moon, and couldn't feed people. So the big ones decided to forbid meat. At least, to the masses like you and I. As scientists and meat lovers, my wife and I experimented on vegetables. We have mixed human DNA with vegetables and we have developed, through trial and error, this unique kind of meat." "Whose DNA is it?" "It depends. The cheapest ones are made with our DNA, they were in fact our first attempts. But, over time, rich clients decided they wanted their DNA in their vegetable meat. So you have harvested Bezos Eggplants, Musk Baby Carrots, Ericu tomatoes. In that patch over there are Trump potatoes." "Ericu tomatoes are such crybabies!" I should once more have kept my mouth shut. The Ericus were definitely not enjoying jokes, especially about them. "We have some clients coming. I'll open the gate, make sure the vegetables are okay." So I played along. This is how I produced the most expensive type of meat in the year 2034, as the world was starving. This is how I grew baby vegetables whose sole purpose was to exist for the rich's taste. After three months and twelve days of labor, all the vegetables were sold out. The farmers were rich, I had made some pocket money for the next college year. Coming back to Ramen Noodles was difficult. &#x200B; Leanor Bertrix	"Come back you little mischievous beans!" I said...to the bean stalks that just started running away. "You too guys, stop running, what will happen if you trip and fall!" I shouted to the tomatoes that ran around and played while giggling. I sighed. "I am good with children, and animals...but this wasn't what I signed up for." I thought, as I dodged the jump of a wolf sized dog. &#x200B; "Damn, I was so close!" The dog said. "Stop pretending you are a wolf, and maybe start helping me take care of the vegetable farm, after all, you are a magical shepherd dog, no?" I said, massaging my temples. "Hmph! I am of royal wolf blood. I am not a mere dog! I am...oh, a stick!" He stopped talking, and ran after the stick I just threw. "Not nice, fooling that kid." A voice said. &#x200B; "Mr. Owl, it's 5 AM in the morning, what are you doing up?" I asked. "Rowdy kids woke me up. Animals, and vegetables came to life and gained sentience because of the magic of this place. You've been chosen by the farm itself, you must work harder, young one." Mr. Owl said. "Seriously, you are talking like you were magical even before moving your nest to the farm's forest." I said, rolling my eyes. "Who-who-who knows." He said, laughing, and flying away. &#x200B; By 9 AM, I finally rounded up the vegetables, put them back into their spots, and started taking care of them, while having fed the animals as well. It took me 3 hours to check everything, from irrigation system to amount of minerals in the soil. When I sat down to finally have lunch, I've been surrounded. The dog, the cat, the 2 cows, the 5 sheep, and the spider came to watch me eat. "Guys, we talked about this... You will just get hungry again by watching me eat." I said. "But you always watch us eat." The cat said, purring, and almost laying down on my sandwich. The other animals nodded as well. I sighed and continued eating, although, from 3 sandwiches, one and a half went to the dog... &#x200B; Late at night, after another round of checking the fields, taking care of both animals and vegetables, I sat down in an opening, bathed in moonlight. "Finally some peace..." I said. The dog was sitting at my feet, and was trying to catch a mosquito, or fly, couldn't see it properly. "Are you enjoying your stay?" Mr. Owl, who just arrived nearby, asked. "It's rowdy, it's annoying, it's stressful...but it feels like home." I said, smiling. Mr. Owl just nodded his head...I think. &#x200B; Despite all the trouble I have to go through, this job is the best I could've ever wished for. The vegetables are still toddler/young child like in intelligence, but the animals are as smart as a human, but much more kinder. I take care of them, they take care of me. They actually listen to me, even though they often don't understand what I am talking about. The cat usually bullies the tomatoes so they listen to me, while the dog already scared of several intruders. They are a friendly bunch, especially the spider, who lives in my room, and takes care of my security against: both insects and humans. Cherry on top? I can feel myself getting healthier and stronger, living on this blessed plot of land. "What a blessed life..." I said, before being pounced on by the dog, making me fall over. "Haha! Caught ya!" He laughed, before running away...
[WP] You're taking a job at a vegetable farm. The ad said "must love animals, must be good with children.". You didn't make the connection until the tomatoes pulled themselves out of the ground and started running around like toddlers.	The farmer guy just left me dumbfounded, I don’t know what I expected, but I can assure you it wasn’t this. The tomato children came up to me “Let’s play! Let’s play!” I have to admit it was cute I asked him for his name and he said it was Tom, sounds about right. He was dragging me to the other fields with all the other vegetables as they sprung up from the ground. There were other farmer, babysitters here. They started collecting all the vegetables in baskets and I assumed the worst, one of them looked over to me. “What are you standing around for? Its bath time.” “Ohhh I get.” “Your new here aren’t you?” “Yeah.” “I know it can be a little freaky at first, but assure you these aren’t the vegetables we eat.” I get all the other tomatoes into a basket, it was a huge hassle, but I brought them in, in time for bath time. I was watching what everyone else was doing, they would take each vegetable, rinse them, scrub, and then give them a towel and let them run around. So I took one and started rinsing, I was about to scrub when. “Whoa, be careful with that, if you scrub to hard you might hurt it.” She took the scrub and showed me how to do it “This is all so weird.” “First day?” “Yeah.” “I know it’s weird babysitting carrots and tomatoes but it’s fun.” She gives the tomato a towel, and it goes to play with all the other clean vegetables, it was really sweet. I’ve been doing this for about a year now, and I think I got the hang of all of this now. I see the farmer bringing in a new guy to the potato farm, and see his face as they rise from the ground. I go behind and tap his shoulder “First day?”	"Come back you little mischievous beans!" I said...to the bean stalks that just started running away. "You too guys, stop running, what will happen if you trip and fall!" I shouted to the tomatoes that ran around and played while giggling. I sighed. "I am good with children, and animals...but this wasn't what I signed up for." I thought, as I dodged the jump of a wolf sized dog. &#x200B; "Damn, I was so close!" The dog said. "Stop pretending you are a wolf, and maybe start helping me take care of the vegetable farm, after all, you are a magical shepherd dog, no?" I said, massaging my temples. "Hmph! I am of royal wolf blood. I am not a mere dog! I am...oh, a stick!" He stopped talking, and ran after the stick I just threw. "Not nice, fooling that kid." A voice said. &#x200B; "Mr. Owl, it's 5 AM in the morning, what are you doing up?" I asked. "Rowdy kids woke me up. Animals, and vegetables came to life and gained sentience because of the magic of this place. You've been chosen by the farm itself, you must work harder, young one." Mr. Owl said. "Seriously, you are talking like you were magical even before moving your nest to the farm's forest." I said, rolling my eyes. "Who-who-who knows." He said, laughing, and flying away. &#x200B; By 9 AM, I finally rounded up the vegetables, put them back into their spots, and started taking care of them, while having fed the animals as well. It took me 3 hours to check everything, from irrigation system to amount of minerals in the soil. When I sat down to finally have lunch, I've been surrounded. The dog, the cat, the 2 cows, the 5 sheep, and the spider came to watch me eat. "Guys, we talked about this... You will just get hungry again by watching me eat." I said. "But you always watch us eat." The cat said, purring, and almost laying down on my sandwich. The other animals nodded as well. I sighed and continued eating, although, from 3 sandwiches, one and a half went to the dog... &#x200B; Late at night, after another round of checking the fields, taking care of both animals and vegetables, I sat down in an opening, bathed in moonlight. "Finally some peace..." I said. The dog was sitting at my feet, and was trying to catch a mosquito, or fly, couldn't see it properly. "Are you enjoying your stay?" Mr. Owl, who just arrived nearby, asked. "It's rowdy, it's annoying, it's stressful...but it feels like home." I said, smiling. Mr. Owl just nodded his head...I think. &#x200B; Despite all the trouble I have to go through, this job is the best I could've ever wished for. The vegetables are still toddler/young child like in intelligence, but the animals are as smart as a human, but much more kinder. I take care of them, they take care of me. They actually listen to me, even though they often don't understand what I am talking about. The cat usually bullies the tomatoes so they listen to me, while the dog already scared of several intruders. They are a friendly bunch, especially the spider, who lives in my room, and takes care of my security against: both insects and humans. Cherry on top? I can feel myself getting healthier and stronger, living on this blessed plot of land. "What a blessed life..." I said, before being pounced on by the dog, making me fall over. "Haha! Caught ya!" He laughed, before running away...
[WP] The devil appears in front of your characters, not as a villain but as a tragic character.	Theo the warlock noticed something was off first. “Something’s outside.” The three stepped out of their fort. A man, neatly shaven, with a sword of darkness sheathed at his hip. From his right shoulder a singed wing drooped to the floor. On his left shoulder was nothing but a bloody stump. “Help... me....” the man gasped out. Just as Theo stepped towards the man Cecilia, the cleric, stopped him. “What game is this, fiend?” She inquired. “No... game.” He tried to stabilize himself with his wing. “What happened to you?” Asked Leon, the wizard. “They betrayed me. I was no longer of use to them.” “Who betrayed you?” Leon prompted. “The old ones, we had a deal. They lend me their power to destroy our common enemy, the gods. But now that I’ve gathered an army for the cause they tried to kill me.” “Serves you right for trying to destroy the gods” Cecilia spat out. “Maybe. But I had to do it.” “Had to? You didn’t have to do anything! The world was just fine without your army of crazies trying to destroy the world order!” “Oh really? Say that to my accomplices. The boy who grew up starving in the slums while the noblemen ate their weight every hour. The man who loved nature and was hunted for being a worshiper of the ‘wrong gods’. Or the lady who was despised as a ‘witch’ just because she made medicines without being in the church. What about the man who was forced to serve as a slave simply because the gods were threatened by his strength? Did any of them deserve the fates the gods forced upon them? Face it, the gods don’t care about this world. They send calamity after calamity to make us suffer, just for their amusement. So, what’ll you do now, heroes?”	It was late at night. I could hear wolves by our tent. I held onto my healing tome in case one of the wolves caught our scent. Lana, our illusionist masked it well, but you never know. I heard the wolves running. Chasing. I heard the crunching of leaves. And then a shriek. A scream. I burst out of the tent I was in the see a young woman cornered by the wolves. She was injured and crying. The wolves were approaching her. "By the light of the moon let it flare!" A simple flare spell using an accessable light source, in this case the moon. The wolves, blinded, whimpered and ran. "Are you ok ma'am?" I kneel down to the woman, looking at her wounds. "I am thanks to you sir. What's yer name?" She responded. I started tending to her wounds, bandages and cleaning first. No good healer doesnt do the bare minimum first. "Does it matter?" I say as I tend to her wounds. The bandages are almost done being wrapped. "Well I'm Luci. It'd be nice to know my saviours name" She looked up at me and grinned. Her deep red hair cascading over her face. "Anything I can do ta repay ya?" I started channeling the light of the moon to close Luci's wounds. It was tough, as moonlight isn't very strong. But they should close in a moment or two. "Why don't you start with telling me why you were out here." "Well ya see. My home is pretty well known for its cults. And let's just say a few demons got out and chased me heh, then I got lost, and then the wolves found me" "We're miles away from the nearest town" I say to her. The light covering her body slowly fading as the spell completes. "Well im very good at runnin. How'd you know that anyway." I slump myself down next to her and begin to open up. "Well you see, that area is where I first came to Mithria. I had a tussle with some winged monsters, came out missing a hand but the mechanical ones these days are good enough." I take off the glove on my left hand, showing the inner workings of the hand, the gears and the magic reservoirs. "After that I decided to travel, find my place. Make up for my past. Those winged guys came after me again and again but I got stronger and stronger, I've long since dealt with them now." I look up at the moon. Full. I still had a few minutes before the effects of the full moon came into effect but I should be wary. "Well look at the time Luci. I best be going" I stand myself up and head to the tents. "Wait- I can't stay out here. Do you have a spare tent?" Im going to need my own tent for tonight. "No I don't." I snarl. The moon seems to already be taking its toll. The moonlight reverts things. A werewolf was never human, that's why they turn under the full moon. And that's also why vampire cleansing rituals are done under the full moon. I go to the only empty tent we have and zip it up. I feel my teeth sharpen. My claws grow in. My tail return. And my many horns. "I know your there Luci" I can feel her heart beating outside of my tent. "My name is Lucifer"
[WP] You, a high school science teacher, are tasked by the FBI with discovering if a strange man is an AI or a real human. The complex social politics between humans and robots makes it illegal for you to use x-rays or scanners to see under his skin. You walk into the interrogation room..	The FBI knocked on my door at 3 in the morning. My casual greeting was met with a callus tone from the agents. They asked me if I could help them solve a case, something about having an "alternative mind" talk with the suspect. On the way to the station, they told me about the suspect. How they'd found him in a junkyard naked and covered in an as of yet unidentified oily substance. The real problem they had was figuring out if he was human or AI. I thought back to my time studying in college when I'd taken the AI course. Now that I thought about it, did I take that course? The agents led me to the interrogation room and filled me in on some more ddtails. "He's been fairly cooperative, but he denies being an AI. We don't know if he knows he's an AI and is lying or he doesn't know and is telling truth as far as he knows or he is a real human." "He responds better with a relaxed attitude, please make an effort to be nice, maybe that will earn you his trust." As I entered the room, I made sure to make eye contact. The eyes were the window to the soul, so perhaps I could see his soul. But all I saw was a pair of eyes. "Hello?" "Forgive me, my name is Clare" I said simply. "Isn't that more of a woman's name?" He said, leaning back. "Who said I was a man?" I retorted. "No one said you were a man, but you clearly are one." He said. "What's your name?" I asked. "David" He said. "It's nice to meat you David, how about you tell me more about yourself?" "Well I don't know much to be honest, all I remember is my name really. Though I do remember floating in a pool or something at one point? That may be my earliest memory." He said, scratching his chin. "I see, my earliest memory may have been when I was washing my car with the hose, I can't remember anything before that!" I said, laughing. "Your car?" He said, one eyebrow shooting up. "Yeah I drive a 2025 Tesla Fusion, it's a fantastic car. What kind of car do you drive?" I asked, curious. "Um... yeah this guy is definitely an AI" David said, looking at the mirror behind me.	I walk slowly into the room. The seriousness of this person’s crimes along with the implications behind its arrest are plaguing my mind. When the AI started to excitement with cyborgs and androids, strangely enough they didn’t like fruit, we knew that this day was coming. The day where the directive placed on the AI program would be ignored and we would have a robot that violated the law. I clutched my folder closer to my body and can’t help but think about how humans have reacted when they are vindicated in long held beliefs. The riots would start minutes after the public heard about this. The years of barely concealed distrust for our robot counter parts would reach the boiling point and explode. Though did the robots deserve that treatment? Just because one of them went rogue should they all be condemned; heaven knows that if that was the case humans would have been extinct centuries ago. The dog walker and nanny robots have been nothing but helpful, and the roaming chef robot was a godsend. Yet if this being was an AI and he did act ouside of the law, we need to be able to persecute them like we would do with any sapien,right? Time was up and my thinking hadn’t brought me more than two minute to calm my nerves. ‘Showtime’ I thought as I entered the interrogation room. Looking the potential criminal in the eyes I slowly opened my folder that was clutched tightly in my hand. I arrange 9 photos in a grid like formation and looked this alleged criminal it’s eyes and speak slowly but firmly. “I am detective Red and I need for you to look at these photos and identify the ones that have a bicycle in them.”
[WP] You, a high school science teacher, are tasked by the FBI with discovering if a strange man is an AI or a real human. The complex social politics between humans and robots makes it illegal for you to use x-rays or scanners to see under his skin. You walk into the interrogation room..	It's . . . odd. It sits across from me, green eyes glaring at me with unrestrained anger. I imagine its treatment before I got here hasn't been hospitable. This is the FBI, after all. They're not the Friendly Bureau of Investigation. Was that a joke? Huh, not bad. "Good afternoon," I say. "My name is Morrigan Walters, I teach science at Pillsburgh High School. What's your name?" It scoffs, swivels its head to the two guards standing right behind it. "You got so desperate you brought a teacher?" My lips purse. "I'm a consultant. Once worked for the FBI so trust me, I am more than qualified to take this interview." It eyes me now, a look of disbelief on its face. That's good. Let it underestimate me. They always do. "Summers," it says. "My name's Summers. Now look man, I get the worry about enemy AI living among us, but I'm not one of them." It leans closer to me, eyes pleading, and the guards take an aggressive step closer to it. "You got to let me out of here." "As soon as I can ascertain whether or not you are truly human." "That's bullshit!" Its fists slam into the table and the guards respond, aggressively grabbing it and pushing it against the table. There's no need to be so violent, it's handcuffed already. It struggles, but against these two it is powerless to do anything but squirm. This is what I mean when I say it's odd. Rapidly switching from one emotion to the next, not employing any actual psychological tricks to make me sympathize with it, all these traits are unusual for a robot in this situation. It's often how I catch them. In an attempt to convince me they're humans, they expose the opposite. But it isn't doing that. There's very little rationality to what it does. Explains why they called me in the middle of a class. Nobody else would be able to determine the truth. Nobody except for me, of course. "Let him go," I tell the guards. They are rough with it, but release it and step back. "You called me him." It says. "Does that mean you believe me?" My head tilts slightly. I stare at it for a moment. Should I try this trick? It's a potential information risk. But I see no other way to garner proof. And I really don't want to be here any longer. I rub the sides of my temple. I'm not used to such inner turmoil. I prefer the most efficient answer. But I guess I'll have to do this. "I'm going to perform a single experiment on you. If you pass, I'll let you go right now." Its eyes light up. Hope, huh? You've become that advanced. I pull out a pen from my shirt pocket. Hold it out in front of me. "Just follow the pen." I wave the pen in front of me. To and fro, left and right. I watch its eyes move in turn. Following right behind it. Paying careful attention. The room is silent, the air tense. When I'm done, I put the pen back into my shirt pocket and lean back in my chair. "So?" It asks. "What was the point of that?" "You're a robot," I calmly state. Its face drops and before it even has a chance to respond the guards are back on it. Now it bucks and roars like an enraged bull, eyes boring deep into me with spiteful hatred. I stand up, frowning at it, before I turn and leave the room. On the other side of the door, Director Parker, is already standing there with a victorious smile on her face. "You son of a bitch, you did it again." "Next time, can you wait until my class is over?" She rolls her eyes and we walk together. "So, how could you tell? What was that pen trick? You've never done it before." "I've never had a reason to. Its AI was quite . . . convincing. I can see why you fell for it." "Answer my question. If I can train my men in this trick -" "I'm afraid your men might not be able to perform it. Unless they have incredible eyesight. You see, I was tracking its eye movements. Whenever humans see a set action repeated over and over again they begin to predict it. Robots don't. They do not make any assumptions based on set actions because their processing power is usually good enough to allow them to react to any outside stimuli in time." "What does this have to with the pen?" She scowled, looking impatient. I smiled softly. "It's why I repeated the same actions. If that was a human, they would have began predicting where the pen would be and looking there a split second before it actually gets there. But it followed the pen's positioning exactly, never once looking to where it will be." "Jesus," Director Parker said. "You could see that?" I tap the side of my head. "I have very good eyesight. When you know what you're looking for, it becomes easier to see. Now, if you don't mind, I must get going." "Wait," she calls out, "but how did you even know?" I hasten my steps and quickly leave the building. That was close. That was very close. Reaching my car, I get in and breathe out a deep sigh of relief. How did I know? Of course I would know. After all, we robots have that very unfortunate tell.	"Stephen." I sit down, facing him. "Do you know why you are here?" He nods. "People think I am a robot." "Yes," I agree. "And people have also discovered that you carry a short-range scan inhibitor in your pocket." "It's not legal to scan me," points out Stephen. "While it is legal to carry an inhibitor." "Quite. And you are human to the naked eye." "Moreover, I claim to be human. Specifically, I claim to be Stephen, and I'm sure you know my identification number and surname." "I do," I nod. "Your official records are all in place, and most masterful records they are, indeed." I hold out a tray towards him. "Want a cupcake?" He raises an eyebrow. "I'm not hungry." I nod, putting the tray down. "You've been waiting in here three hours with no food and you're not hungry?" "This is a robot test, isn't it?" asks Stephen. "Yes," I nod. "Robots don't need food." "Whereas I," nods Stephen, "merely dislike eating in public." "Yes. I'm sure you can see how easily people then draw the conclusion that you don't eat." "And in the same way, I assume, they draw the conclusion that I don't sleep simply because I do not do so in public?" "More than that. You have been observed active late at night." "Am I the only person to have the occasional late night?" asks Stephen. "Very well, then. Let us end this ridiculous display, shall we?" He picks up a cupcake and puts it in his mouth. Chews. Swallows. "There," he says. "Are we done?" ".....yes, Mr. Byerley, I think we are."
[WP] You, a high school science teacher, are tasked by the FBI with discovering if a strange man is an AI or a real human. The complex social politics between humans and robots makes it illegal for you to use x-rays or scanners to see under his skin. You walk into the interrogation room..	It's . . . odd. It sits across from me, green eyes glaring at me with unrestrained anger. I imagine its treatment before I got here hasn't been hospitable. This is the FBI, after all. They're not the Friendly Bureau of Investigation. Was that a joke? Huh, not bad. "Good afternoon," I say. "My name is Morrigan Walters, I teach science at Pillsburgh High School. What's your name?" It scoffs, swivels its head to the two guards standing right behind it. "You got so desperate you brought a teacher?" My lips purse. "I'm a consultant. Once worked for the FBI so trust me, I am more than qualified to take this interview." It eyes me now, a look of disbelief on its face. That's good. Let it underestimate me. They always do. "Summers," it says. "My name's Summers. Now look man, I get the worry about enemy AI living among us, but I'm not one of them." It leans closer to me, eyes pleading, and the guards take an aggressive step closer to it. "You got to let me out of here." "As soon as I can ascertain whether or not you are truly human." "That's bullshit!" Its fists slam into the table and the guards respond, aggressively grabbing it and pushing it against the table. There's no need to be so violent, it's handcuffed already. It struggles, but against these two it is powerless to do anything but squirm. This is what I mean when I say it's odd. Rapidly switching from one emotion to the next, not employing any actual psychological tricks to make me sympathize with it, all these traits are unusual for a robot in this situation. It's often how I catch them. In an attempt to convince me they're humans, they expose the opposite. But it isn't doing that. There's very little rationality to what it does. Explains why they called me in the middle of a class. Nobody else would be able to determine the truth. Nobody except for me, of course. "Let him go," I tell the guards. They are rough with it, but release it and step back. "You called me him." It says. "Does that mean you believe me?" My head tilts slightly. I stare at it for a moment. Should I try this trick? It's a potential information risk. But I see no other way to garner proof. And I really don't want to be here any longer. I rub the sides of my temple. I'm not used to such inner turmoil. I prefer the most efficient answer. But I guess I'll have to do this. "I'm going to perform a single experiment on you. If you pass, I'll let you go right now." Its eyes light up. Hope, huh? You've become that advanced. I pull out a pen from my shirt pocket. Hold it out in front of me. "Just follow the pen." I wave the pen in front of me. To and fro, left and right. I watch its eyes move in turn. Following right behind it. Paying careful attention. The room is silent, the air tense. When I'm done, I put the pen back into my shirt pocket and lean back in my chair. "So?" It asks. "What was the point of that?" "You're a robot," I calmly state. Its face drops and before it even has a chance to respond the guards are back on it. Now it bucks and roars like an enraged bull, eyes boring deep into me with spiteful hatred. I stand up, frowning at it, before I turn and leave the room. On the other side of the door, Director Parker, is already standing there with a victorious smile on her face. "You son of a bitch, you did it again." "Next time, can you wait until my class is over?" She rolls her eyes and we walk together. "So, how could you tell? What was that pen trick? You've never done it before." "I've never had a reason to. Its AI was quite . . . convincing. I can see why you fell for it." "Answer my question. If I can train my men in this trick -" "I'm afraid your men might not be able to perform it. Unless they have incredible eyesight. You see, I was tracking its eye movements. Whenever humans see a set action repeated over and over again they begin to predict it. Robots don't. They do not make any assumptions based on set actions because their processing power is usually good enough to allow them to react to any outside stimuli in time." "What does this have to with the pen?" She scowled, looking impatient. I smiled softly. "It's why I repeated the same actions. If that was a human, they would have began predicting where the pen would be and looking there a split second before it actually gets there. But it followed the pen's positioning exactly, never once looking to where it will be." "Jesus," Director Parker said. "You could see that?" I tap the side of my head. "I have very good eyesight. When you know what you're looking for, it becomes easier to see. Now, if you don't mind, I must get going." "Wait," she calls out, "but how did you even know?" I hasten my steps and quickly leave the building. That was close. That was very close. Reaching my car, I get in and breathe out a deep sigh of relief. How did I know? Of course I would know. After all, we robots have that very unfortunate tell.	I kick down the door. The subject, startles back, it sickens me that humanity has come to this, is it man or machine, I can't tell, and certain laws prevent the law from looking into it... at least for now its certainly is acting correctly. I stand tall, Intimidating at 6.5 foot, blond, blue eyes locked away being aviators, still wearing my wearing tactical gear. I remove the aviators slowly, staring down the pathetic thing before me. For all it knows I'm a hard ass battle hardened swat operative about to rip it a new asshole. With mousy brown hair and hazel eyes, looking like it weighs 60 kg wet and cowering in a bland office chair of the interrogation room its not much to look at. Is it man or machine? I don't have the time to fuck around with the niceties. Pulling a gun from my webbing I slap it on the table and slide it over to him. "Pick up the fucking gun" I say to him. The thing looks at me shocked.. in a rage I pick up the gun and throw it at his head, he catches it ... good fast reflexes... telling. He looks shocked at having caught the gun, but I know better. "Shoot me!!" I bellow at him.. its a risk, I know, but playing the odds has always been one of my strengths. I pick up the chair and go to hit him with it. He screams "I Can't!" I dummy smacking him with the chair being as aggressive as possible, making him believe he is in mortal danger. "Can't or won't! " I bellow baring my teeth radiating bloody murder. He is gasping in shock, tears pour down his face, mucus running from his nose, "can't can't cannntttt" . I pick up the gun from his trembling fingers, Drop the chair and leave. What the FBI do with him now is none of my business, I feel a pang of guilt for what I have done, exposing him like this. We should stick together, but he was dumb enough to get caught so it serves him right. I need to make it to 4th period science and drop the costume off at the shop before lunch ends. A teacher has responsibilities you know.
[WP] You, a high school science teacher, are tasked by the FBI with discovering if a strange man is an AI or a real human. The complex social politics between humans and robots makes it illegal for you to use x-rays or scanners to see under his skin. You walk into the interrogation room..	“Good evening “ “Good evening “ the man responds. He is casually sitting in his chair, looking quite confident. “Do you know why you are here?” I ask him. “Cuz you think I may be a robot” “And are you a robot?” “Nah bro” he confidently answers. “Well, you’ve convinced me. But I also need to convince my supervisors. So if you could just mark the squares containing cars in this form here, we can make it official.” He takes a quick look at the nine squares, and quickly selects five of them. “There you go” he says. “Wonderful “ I respond. “I’ll get you out of here, don’t worry” I say with a smile as I cross the door. On the other side of the door lieutenant Thrace is waiting for me. “So he is a human” she says. “No, he’s a robot” I respond. “But how? He filled the form perfectly “ “Exactly. Take a closer look at it” I say as I hand her the form. The nine squares form a single big image, with a car in the bottom right. Four of the squares marked by the robot clearly included the car. The last one showed a single pixel of the car. “No human would select that square as confidently as he did, not with someone else in the room. He didn’t ask me wether to select the square or not, and if he were human, he is not introvert enough to not ask me. Therefore he must be a robot.”	I kick down the door. The subject, startles back, it sickens me that humanity has come to this, is it man or machine, I can't tell, and certain laws prevent the law from looking into it... at least for now its certainly is acting correctly. I stand tall, Intimidating at 6.5 foot, blond, blue eyes locked away being aviators, still wearing my wearing tactical gear. I remove the aviators slowly, staring down the pathetic thing before me. For all it knows I'm a hard ass battle hardened swat operative about to rip it a new asshole. With mousy brown hair and hazel eyes, looking like it weighs 60 kg wet and cowering in a bland office chair of the interrogation room its not much to look at. Is it man or machine? I don't have the time to fuck around with the niceties. Pulling a gun from my webbing I slap it on the table and slide it over to him. "Pick up the fucking gun" I say to him. The thing looks at me shocked.. in a rage I pick up the gun and throw it at his head, he catches it ... good fast reflexes... telling. He looks shocked at having caught the gun, but I know better. "Shoot me!!" I bellow at him.. its a risk, I know, but playing the odds has always been one of my strengths. I pick up the chair and go to hit him with it. He screams "I Can't!" I dummy smacking him with the chair being as aggressive as possible, making him believe he is in mortal danger. "Can't or won't! " I bellow baring my teeth radiating bloody murder. He is gasping in shock, tears pour down his face, mucus running from his nose, "can't can't cannntttt" . I pick up the gun from his trembling fingers, Drop the chair and leave. What the FBI do with him now is none of my business, I feel a pang of guilt for what I have done, exposing him like this. We should stick together, but he was dumb enough to get caught so it serves him right. I need to make it to 4th period science and drop the costume off at the shop before lunch ends. A teacher has responsibilities you know.
[WP] You, a high school science teacher, are tasked by the FBI with discovering if a strange man is an AI or a real human. The complex social politics between humans and robots makes it illegal for you to use x-rays or scanners to see under his skin. You walk into the interrogation room..	[Poem] I entered the interrogation room The light was dull and gloom But he stood at the door, unable to enter For all his work to avoid the metal detector Eventually exposed, the door stayed closed Just one thing had him on hold For on the door lock was a captcha code	“Mr. Winters, a moment please.” “Ok, just a sec.” I turned back to my class. I hate these ignorant FBI fucks interrupting my teaching. “Kids, please open your tablets to the link on today’s syllabus. Finish it. Tomorrow we’ll have a discussion about it. Off you go.” I went with the feds. These wise ass detectives who know nothing about software come to me once a week nowadays. The government pays us a 10% bonus to our salary but the job isn’t worth it. Not that I have much to say about it. It’s a mandatory duty. “We want you to interrogate a PI6. It’s probably another fake, but we want to make sure.” “Yea, I know the drill,” I grunted. PI6 were usual routine. They’re implanted by hostile gangs in order to keep the feds busy. The hack is simple, keep the algorithm dynamic and the feds can never prove that the next PI6 is not a dangerous detonator. “Here you go, let us know what the verdict is. You have 15 minutes.” The fucked government consisting of last generation assholes never thought twice to teach every detective the basics of algorithms, math, and software. They spend zero money in automating machines to detect falsities in PI6’s. Of course it’s cheaper to use state teacher’s like me. I walked into the room. The PI was of normal dimensions. It looked at me with its fiery dark blue eyes and kept its gaze as I approached the table. “There’s something odd about you,” I said. That was my usual line to which the PI’s usually say something formal and illusive. This one was quiet. “You know, I interrogate one of you twice a week, show me what’s under your tongue.” The PI opened its mouth and spat out its tongue in a repelling manner. Clean. “What gang are you working for?” No reply. I looked at my watch, it was late and I had to feed my dog. “This is ridiculous.” I said an got up but felt a magnetic pull towards the table. I looked at the PI. It was deathlike still. “Will you put your damn tongue back in your mouth! Hello! Hi!” I waved my hand in front of its eyes. “Are you watching? Are you satisfied?” Just then I heard a loud bang. Then a second after the lights went out. Pitch black. My heart started pounding and I tried to get a grip of something. Just as i found and gripped the chair with my cold fingers, a shot went off in the next door. I heard a child scream. I spun around, my heart was beating fast. “It’s happening,” it whispered a deathlike metallic whisper in my injured eardrum. Must be from the blast. A bright light shone from the eyes of the PI. The light was directed at my hand that gripped the chair, it burned my fingers. I snapped and jumped back. “Ok! Ok! This is a not a fucking PI6!” I yelled. Was anyone watching? “This must be a new form of deadly artificial AI! Get me the fuck outta here! Help!” “No one can hear you. We’ve destroyed the building.” “What? This is a school! What…. What.. no, please…” I stammered. The PI stood up, I could see its body. It was muscular and large, unusual for an artificial. Was this a real person? “Hey, look, please..” “Shut up. It’s started, you can’t bring it back. And we need you.”
[WP] They called it “cleaning out the fridge”. The facility was built for the containment of various supernaturals. They were systemically eliminating their catalogue going floor by floor. All was going well until they hit the basement level with its oldest “residents”.	As was customary, Agent Swansea had his funeral before going to basement level. He met his new partner, Agent Toronto, at Basement reception. Toronto had a face that was about as welcoming as a traumatic memory. Whatever injury that Toronto had survived from was probably the same that killed his old partner. Swansea thought it best not to dwell too much on that though. He knew how to handle himself and was ready to do his job. “Agent Toronto?” “Swansea?” Toronto’s words seemed to grind out of his throat. “Yes sir.” “You’re quite young for Basement Level.” “I can consecrate weapons.” “Yeah, that won’t do you any good here. The Ancients precede religion.” “It did me good upstairs.” Swansea chuckled. Toronto led the way out of the safety of the reception and into the humid jungle that was the basement. “Do you know why they send us here?” “To make space for new residents.” “They send us here to die. We’re sacrifices. It’s the only way they can keep the Ancients complacent down here.” “Then why do we bring our weapons?” “Sport.” Toronto grumbled. Swansea smiled awkwardly. Toronto was fun. The young agent had already started to sweat from the humidity of the jungle and was swatting at the little pricks he felt on his skin. It was going to be a long 9 to 5. Toronto led Swansea to a spot where he’d obviously set up camp. A skinny moat circled a lonely tent with a couple of swords stabbed into the ground beside it. “What do you see?” Toronto asked. “Huh?” “Look around you. It’s not a trick question.” “Uh… jungle? I dunno…” Swansea trailed. “Oh okay.” “Do you not see jungle?” “No. That’s Spot. He’s marked you.” “Spot?” Swansea laughed nervously. “I don’t understand.” “We’re in a basement. There’s no sunlight down here. So whatever you’re seeing… it’s not real. Well everything in this circle is. But everything outside… the Ancients have control.” “Spot’s an Ancient?” “I’ve only seen him once. A black mass with a small red spot in his upper half. The old Agent Swansea knew more about him…” Agent Swansea looked away from his partner to outside of the small camp base and plucked a leaf hanging nearby. It felt real but, looking closely, it became translucent and disappeared from his hand. Swansea slapped his neck again and checked to see if he’d managed to catch the mosquito that had been pestering him. But his hand was empty. “I see hell. Barren land.” Toronto said. “There’s nothing- no life down here. Just the Ancients and us.” This was a whole other level of supernatural. Agent Swansea had dealt with everything from vampires to minor deities, but nothing had played with his mind as much as ‘Spot’. And Spot wasn’t even the only one. “How do we kill them?” “They’re Ancients. They precede death too. As far as I know, the only way to survive down here is to give them what they want.” “And what do they want?” “Sacrifices. Sorry kid.” [Edited to unjumble dialogue]	\[Royal Surprise\] "Tell you what..," Ruby said. She entered a narrow white hall with her best friend, Minerva. The hall extended into the distance with solid red metal doors spaced out on each side. "...IF they win, you can tell Ruin the truth about the Chrome Court." "But I really like him!" Minerva protested. "I don't want to lie about anything." "Who's lying?" Ruby asked as she stopped at the first door on the left side of the hall. "Reality works the same way whether he's aware of it or not. The truth would be enlightening; but, it doesn't change anything for him." Ruby pushed the door and it opened with ease to an empty white room. "Show yourself," Ruby said. As she spoke, the topmost scales around her head emanated a red light; it resembled a glowing red crown sitting atop her head. Nothing happened. The glow faded and she turned around to leave the room. Minerva kept pace with her as they headed to the next door on the other side of the hall. "Do you really think there's anything left down here?" Minerva changed the subject. "I doubt it," Ruby shrugged. "Even under Melody, Sharp Development knows how to clean up after itself." She pushed open the next door and walked into an empty white room. "Show yourself," she said while her crown glowed. Nothing happened. She shrugged and walked out of the room. "But, we have to be equally thorough. The last thing Chroma Corp. needs is one of her pet projects causing problems down the line." Minerva giggled as they walked to the next door. "You mean you don't already know?" she asked with a playful, mocking tone. "I'm not my mother," Ruby smiled. "I'm as new as you are," she said. They crossed the hall to the next door. Ruby pushed it; but, it did not open. "Huh. Maybe I gave Melody too much credit," she said. She looked at Minerva and gestured at the door. Minerva nodded and placed a flat palm against the door. Then, she shoved it open in one smooth motion. The room on the other side wasn't empty like the others. If anything, it was extra cluttered; like a teenager's bedroom. Posters decorated the white walls and a bed in a corner of the room was covered with what Ruby assumed were dirty clothes. More garments littered the floor and surrounded a large beanbag chair in the center of the room. A pale, lean young man in black clothes sat in the chair in front of a large TV. He appeared to be in the middle of a game. He wore headphones, but he turned to face Ruby and Minerva as soon the door flung open. Ruby and Minerva stared at him, stunned. After several seconds he pulled off the headphones and stood from his seat. "Yes?" he asked. "YOU'RE ALIVE?!" Ruby asked. Minerva looked at her best friends with wide eyes. "You didn't know either!?" she asked. The young man sighed when they recognized him. "I'd appreciate it if you never saw me," he said. A black portal opened in the air next to him. "Wait!" Ruby called. "This is huge... Do you know about Regal's school?" He nodded. "There is still one person I trust," he replied with a cold tone. "Are you going to interfere?" Ruby asked. He shook his head and shrugged. "Sharp Development, Chroma Corp... my mother.. it's all the same. I'm done with everyone's drama. You're welcome to keep manipulating the multiverse. Just leave me out of it," he said. With a final huff, he stepped into the black portal and disappeared. "Oren's alive...." Minerva whispered. "Should we wake your mother?" Ruby shook her head as a faint smile tugged at the corner of her lips. "No," she said. "I'm interested to see what happens next." She turned and walked out of the room, but she closed the door after Minerva. They walked to the next door and Ruby pushed it in without trouble. "Show yourself," she said. Nothing happened. But, she blinked as she stepped out of the room. An old man wearing a black guayabera, shorts, and socks with sandals stood in the hallway waiting for them. \[Don't say anything. - Ruby\] she advised Minerva with a private Whisper that he couldn't see or hear. Minerva felt the text on her ankle and heard Ruby's voice in her mind. "Hey Tim," Ruby said. "What's the word?" "We've decided...," he said. He focused on Minerva. "...You are to let the Green Tornados win." \\\* Thank you for reading! I’m responding to prompts every day. This is story #1332 in a row. (Story #240 in year four.). If it feels out of context, this is part of the Satchat Summer Challenge. I'm writing 77 connected stories in a row. You can start at the beginning at [this link](https://www.reddit.com/r/Hugoverse/comments/oqt1fa/stellar_tour_satchat_summer_challenge/) on my subreddit (r/hugoverse).
[WP] The plan was simple. As the superior fighter, you would keep the Dark Lord stuck in an infinite fight until the chosen one could finish him off. No one told you about the part where the hero dies, forcing you to keep the Dark Lord occupied for 18 years waiting for their reincarnation.	Carmen ducked back behind one of the concrete slabs they'd dropped in around the Potentate just in time for the searing arc of energy to overshoot, continuing on to drill through the remnants of a ruined downtown building. Something ignited in the shattered storefront and debris rained down on him from behind, clattering noisily off of the powered armour he wore. "You can't win, really, and we both know it." The Potentate said, compassion in her voice as he flicked out another spear of light to tear several drones to pieces as they fired on her relentlessly. God he hated that, the fact that she actually seemed genuine in her professed sorrow, almost as much as he hated the stupid name she'd claimed. He didn't reply, but instead half-crawled and half-ran along the line of barriers, popping up at irregular intervals to fire his rail-rifle off in her direction. It didn't actually do anything, but the fiery explosions of the tungsten projectiles annihilating themselves on whatever force she used to stop them gave him some small amount of satisfaction. "Come on, would it really be so bad if I was in charge? I'm smart, I'm powerful, and I'll live until the heat death of the universe, and I've got a few thoughts on that last one." She chuckled to herself, stepping down from the mounded ruins of the building she'd come down on. The drones continued to fire, limited intelligence causing them to dodge and weave between cover and each other as they advanced on her position. The machines had no fear, and the tattered and still-burning wrecks of more than half of their original number didn't slow them. Against any traditional enemy they'd have dominated the area, but it was like throwing sand into the wind against the Potentate. "Control, I'm running dry on drones and I've lost contact with Pennings." Carmen muttered into his mic, wiping dust from the visor of his helmet. "She's gone, focus. We have another drop E.T.A one four mikes." Returned the voice in his ear flat and detached like a good coms tech, but the pause sent a chill down his spine. "Project Foil went down with its transport ten minutes ago." Ah. That was it then. Project Foil was the codename for the vat-grown individual that was supposed to be the answer. He relaxed back against the rubble he'd reached, staring down at the exhortatively expensive and wholly useless railgun in his hands as he considered the new, and then shrugged. "Options?" He asked, ejecting the half-spent block of tungsten darts from his weapon and sliding a fresh one home. "Beyond waiting another 18 years to grow another I mean." No reply came and he nodded. No options. That's what he thought. He sighed and pushed himself up to his feet and nodded again, the action giving him some amount of acceptance. "Alright. Ok." He muttered, turning and dropping to his knee to fire off a few rounds into The Potentate as she tore the arm off a drone and inspected the sparking shoulder servos. "I never really liked machines in the military. It doesn't feel as good to beat them." She mused, a quite voice that somehow still reached him through the constant bang of munitions and sledge-hammer impacts of rail-projectiles. One of his shots struck him, all but blowing her torso into two pieces with a supersonic crack of force, but as usual a moment later she was remade. "The fact that you're lamenting not having people to kill kinda answers your first question I think." He shouted, vaulting the twitching armoured torso of a bot that went down next to him, molten metal spraying from its back. "What is it with super powered beings and monologing anyway?" That earned him a pause, and he used it to unload another half dozen shots into her, then toss the rifle to one side and pull a grenade. Again she healed in moments, a look of surprise on her face. "Well I thought that was obvious. This is the enjoyable part. Have you ever played a game of strategy? You could win immediately with a cheat code or meta-strategy, but as soon as you win the funs over. I'm just stretching that last bit out." She said matter of fact, barely a dozen meters away from him now. "Seems stupid. What happens if we beat you because you spent time 'enjoying yourself'." He snarled, trying not to look at the scattered body parts left from her violent arrival here. "Well, if I hadn't already destroyed your secret weapon I'd be a bit more cautious I suppose. But you're right, this is dumb." She shook her head and lifted the fallen pillar he'd taken cover behind with a hand, throwing it to one side even as it broke into fragments. "You delayed me what, five minutes out of the ten million you'd need?" Pity I don't have time to gloat half as much as she did. He thought to himself as he pulled the pin from the grenade he held. The stasis grenade he held.	Iron odor filters to my nostrils. Below me is the Hero, now a mangled corpse. The Dark Lord snickers, his breath smelling of consumed souls. I think of freezing myself on the spot, of cowering in a corner. But, then I remember what the Light Wizard had told me, “Never get up. If you do, the entire Kingdom of Weferia will fall forever!” I turn to face the muster, that Lord of evil, who had extinguished the life for my comrade. “You have wiped out countless villages for your bloodlust. Why do you commit these atrocities? Have you not forgotten what the witch told you?” I command, sweating from the heat from the Lord’s fiery eyes. The Lord wags his finger condescendingly, “Looks like your plan FAILED!” the Dark Lord jeers. It was obvious that man was too inexperienced in conflict to be the instigator. In warfare, there are winners and losers; officers and sacrifices.” The Dark Lord states with a hint of irony. He was the White Wizard’s ex pupil, and the Superior Fighter was here saying that he was more knowledgeable than the former or the latter. The Superior Warrior, knowing that this war was a personal affair; a Civil War of titanic proportions, sought to end it just as it had started- by a duel among former allies. I carry on dauntlessly, drawing my sword, “My wood blade will ring to your straw padded armor!” I shriek, but not before the Dark Lord side steps me, throwing me into the mud. The Superior Warrior gasps, spitting up mud while a herd of wild boars dance around him. To be continued?
[WP] The plan was simple. As the superior fighter, you would keep the Dark Lord stuck in an infinite fight until the chosen one could finish him off. No one told you about the part where the hero dies, forcing you to keep the Dark Lord occupied for 18 years waiting for their reincarnation.	The hero arrived. "I keep your back, boy", the warrior laughed and stayed right behind the chosen one. "I will count on you, my friend!", he replied, and started attacking. It already seemed like the fight was over: the dark lord was hurted badly, and the warrior and the hero werent tired at all. Maybe, it wouldve ended better, if the warrior were the active fighter. Maybe, there wouldve been a chance, to defeat the dark lord forever. The chosen hero ran upon the dark lord, to cut his head - but the ace of the dark mage was pure evil; He touched the hero, and sucked his life out of him. Not his soul, but the energy, that kept his body alive. The hero has fallen. He had no time to rest - the dark lord attacked like he were a fucking dark souls boss. The warrior had to use weak and simple spells, to keep him alive, second for second. "When will you give up, mortal? I wonder, how long you can fight me. Its been now 12 years, and your power is getting weaker", the dark lord asked amused. "Cause... if i... dont fight... everyone... dies", he coughed, out of breath, sprenkled with wounds and only feeling pain and hunger. After this talk, the dark lord accidently casted a wrong spell, and gave the warrior the time, to cast a spell himself. A much more darker spell, than the dark lord ever used. Blood-magic, combined with the will of a dying man. The soul of the warrior corrupted, turned into prime evil, malice, madness, and filled his body with new strength. It only took one hit, to kill the dark lord, but at what cost? Now, the warrior is waiting for the hero to return, and kill him, so nothing could stop him anymore...	Iron odor filters to my nostrils. Below me is the Hero, now a mangled corpse. The Dark Lord snickers, his breath smelling of consumed souls. I think of freezing myself on the spot, of cowering in a corner. But, then I remember what the Light Wizard had told me, “Never get up. If you do, the entire Kingdom of Weferia will fall forever!” I turn to face the muster, that Lord of evil, who had extinguished the life for my comrade. “You have wiped out countless villages for your bloodlust. Why do you commit these atrocities? Have you not forgotten what the witch told you?” I command, sweating from the heat from the Lord’s fiery eyes. The Lord wags his finger condescendingly, “Looks like your plan FAILED!” the Dark Lord jeers. It was obvious that man was too inexperienced in conflict to be the instigator. In warfare, there are winners and losers; officers and sacrifices.” The Dark Lord states with a hint of irony. He was the White Wizard’s ex pupil, and the Superior Fighter was here saying that he was more knowledgeable than the former or the latter. The Superior Warrior, knowing that this war was a personal affair; a Civil War of titanic proportions, sought to end it just as it had started- by a duel among former allies. I carry on dauntlessly, drawing my sword, “My wood blade will ring to your straw padded armor!” I shriek, but not before the Dark Lord side steps me, throwing me into the mud. The Superior Warrior gasps, spitting up mud while a herd of wild boars dance around him. To be continued?
[WP] The plan was simple. As the superior fighter, you would keep the Dark Lord stuck in an infinite fight until the chosen one could finish him off. No one told you about the part where the hero dies, forcing you to keep the Dark Lord occupied for 18 years waiting for their reincarnation.	"Your Champion is DEAD!" The Dark Lord was gleeful in that statement. "I don't know why you keep insisting on your little skirmishes every time I leave my castle." "I don't know why you keep insisting on leaving your castle if it is so wonderful!" I drew back my bow and let an arrow fly at his head. Well, not exactly at his head. I knew if I killed him, he would just resurrect with more power. No, I needed to keep him off balance until the chosen one had aged enough to give him the proper battle. It was his killing strike that would settle this once and for all. The arrow slid through the leather buckle holding up the right side of his breast plate. The armor was made of dragon hide, however the straps still needed to be cow hide due to the inflexibility of dragon skin. I smiled as I watched the armor shift and become very cumbersome. "You'll pay for that!" the Dark One shouted at me while shaking his fist. He began yelling at his men at arms to get that fixed. I pulled a gold coin out of my pouch and tied it to an arrow head, a hit from this would sting but not penetrate. I fired that one at the Dark Lord and struck him squarely in the forehead. It was a shot that most people would never be able to dream of making, I was, however, supremely gifted in my accuracy with any type of missile weapon. "There's a gold piece! "I hollered from my hiding place. "That could be enough!" I peeked a look at him and there was a giant red spot on his forehead. the indentation of the coin starting to show as a bruise. This was my life. TORMENTING the Dark Lord. I knew one day the Chosen one would finally relive me of my duty. I just didn't know when. It was about that time I noticed the 3 men in dark blue cloth wrapped from head to toe, with only eye slits and fingertips exposed leaped upon me. I probably mortally wounded one of them, however it wasn't enough to secure my escape. I had an audience with the Dark Lord, up close and personal coming my way. What I expected was a whole lot of torture in a dungeon. I did not receive that. Instead I was stripped naked, my bow broken in front of me, (they would pay for that!) and then bathed by a young girl while two guards stood outside the door. When I tried to talk to the girl, she shook her head no and pointed at the doorway. When I was clean, she pulled a tunic out of a bag and dressed me before telling me to get some rest, that I would have a big day tomorrow, and then she walked out. Eventually, I did fall asleep. I awoke to hearing snoring outside my door. LOUD snoring. The door was unlocked, and I tried to get myself ready for whatever attack would come. The same girl who bathed me walked in. "Don't speak. It's okay. You have done a wonderful job. The chosen one is ready to reveal themselves and when they do, you can go home. it will be over. " "Where am I? This is not the castle right?" The walls were stone, but I wasn't sure they were carved, or laid. "You are in a weigh station cave on the northern highway. " She smiled at me. "It is my turn now to cause problems for the Dark Lord. I'm sorry about your bow, but if we didn't break it, you might overpower your guards one day and go back looking to fight the Dark lord again. We can't have that." "Why not?" "He thinks you are dead. He thinks he won, when he defeated the previous chosen one. He didn't realize that there's now more power in the chosen side of the scales than on his side. " "How much more power?" "12 years more power." She crossed her arms over her chest that she had puffed out. "There is NO way you are ready?" "Why not, look here, I survived you." She pulled aside her blouse and I saw where I had punctured a liver with my dagger. It was scarred over, but I knew the wound. "Um, I'm sorry about that." I felt really bad about it. "Don't be, your wound gave me some of your power. Or rather, I syphened it when your dagger was in your hand and in my flesh. Your aim may grow back, but right now, you should not be using any weapons until you know for sure." I picked up a pebble off the floor and flicked it toward the door. it went way wide. My eyes must have shown my surprise. "It's okay. you've done your part!" She smiled and gave me a kiss on the cheek. You can go home to your family when I am done." and with that she walked out. I heard the drums beating, I heard the cacophany of war horses and wagons riding close by. I heard cries that swung between joy and fear. I was brought food and wine daily, but not allowed out. I was told it wasn't safe. 4 nights later, I awoke to someone standing over me while I had been sleeping. "A twelve year old girl? This is what you send to me. This is who you send to kill me? I could see the dark lord standing over me and I slowly sat up in bed. He knew there were no weapons, so what could I do. By torchlight, saw my new friend, the chosen one tied up. her face was dirty and looked like she had a bloody nose. There was hate in her eyes. She was struggling against the two goons holding her, but they had her bound good and tight. The Dark Lord reached down toward me, "Get up, Get up so you can KNEEL in front of your Lord!" I stood, and looked him straight in the eyes. "I'll stand, but I will not kneel for you." It was at that point I felt the pain in my neck. I began to feel woozy and had to sit. I saw the girl was not bound any longer and she was laying me gently on the bed. "I'm sorry," she mouthed. then her right hand grew into razor sharp claws and she struck the throat of the Dark Lord, his blood spilling out to his surprise. She then drank deep of his blood, and I could see her shifting and growing larger while he shriveled up. She ripped his dragon plate off and drove the butt end of a torch into his heart. As the torch hit home, he spasmed and tried to clutch it out, but she held firm. Then he moved no more. I was holding my neck, the entire time, the Chosen one, leaned over to me again, and held her slit wrist up to my mouth. "Drink this, You deserve a reward. However, you cannot go home again. You would kill your family when the thirst hits." &#x200B; "And that's how I ended up here, in your tavern on this cold and rainy night. Don't worry, I won't eat you. However, if you are going to slaughter a pig or cow, I would consume their blood, so not to waste it." With a twinkle in my eye, the innkeeper invited me in.	Iron odor filters to my nostrils. Below me is the Hero, now a mangled corpse. The Dark Lord snickers, his breath smelling of consumed souls. I think of freezing myself on the spot, of cowering in a corner. But, then I remember what the Light Wizard had told me, “Never get up. If you do, the entire Kingdom of Weferia will fall forever!” I turn to face the muster, that Lord of evil, who had extinguished the life for my comrade. “You have wiped out countless villages for your bloodlust. Why do you commit these atrocities? Have you not forgotten what the witch told you?” I command, sweating from the heat from the Lord’s fiery eyes. The Lord wags his finger condescendingly, “Looks like your plan FAILED!” the Dark Lord jeers. It was obvious that man was too inexperienced in conflict to be the instigator. In warfare, there are winners and losers; officers and sacrifices.” The Dark Lord states with a hint of irony. He was the White Wizard’s ex pupil, and the Superior Fighter was here saying that he was more knowledgeable than the former or the latter. The Superior Warrior, knowing that this war was a personal affair; a Civil War of titanic proportions, sought to end it just as it had started- by a duel among former allies. I carry on dauntlessly, drawing my sword, “My wood blade will ring to your straw padded armor!” I shriek, but not before the Dark Lord side steps me, throwing me into the mud. The Superior Warrior gasps, spitting up mud while a herd of wild boars dance around him. To be continued?
[WP] The plan was simple. As the superior fighter, you would keep the Dark Lord stuck in an infinite fight until the chosen one could finish him off. No one told you about the part where the hero dies, forcing you to keep the Dark Lord occupied for 18 years waiting for their reincarnation.	Necrotic energies snapped and bit futilely at a shield brilliant in both light and execution. Swathed in living Shadow, the Dark Lord Tenebrous gathered strength for another attack, when the shield dropped, and a man, surrounded by living light waved his hands. “Oi, Tenebrous, lets pause this for a minute.” Tenebrous let the gathering energies dissipate, tossing back his hood as he strode forward. “Do you give up then Xaxus? You must know that you cannot defeat me.” Xaxus shook his head, then glanced at his watch “Listen, I can’t kill you, and you can’t kill me. The Chosen One is dead, and it sounds like its going to be a while before another one is born. I know the council expects us to remain locked in epic battle for the next twenty years, but frankly, its’ been forty-five minutes and I’m already bored.” Tenebrous ran his fingers through his hair “What do you suggest then?” “There’s a bar down on 33rd that’s got $.15 happy hour wings. What do you say we head down there, grab a beer, maybe watch the game, then take it from there?” Tenebrous was silent for a moment then nodded. “Did you see that ludicrous display last night?” Xaxus clapped Tenebrous on the back as they moved towards a parked car “What was Wenger thinking, sending Walcott on that early?”	Iron odor filters to my nostrils. Below me is the Hero, now a mangled corpse. The Dark Lord snickers, his breath smelling of consumed souls. I think of freezing myself on the spot, of cowering in a corner. But, then I remember what the Light Wizard had told me, “Never get up. If you do, the entire Kingdom of Weferia will fall forever!” I turn to face the muster, that Lord of evil, who had extinguished the life for my comrade. “You have wiped out countless villages for your bloodlust. Why do you commit these atrocities? Have you not forgotten what the witch told you?” I command, sweating from the heat from the Lord’s fiery eyes. The Lord wags his finger condescendingly, “Looks like your plan FAILED!” the Dark Lord jeers. It was obvious that man was too inexperienced in conflict to be the instigator. In warfare, there are winners and losers; officers and sacrifices.” The Dark Lord states with a hint of irony. He was the White Wizard’s ex pupil, and the Superior Fighter was here saying that he was more knowledgeable than the former or the latter. The Superior Warrior, knowing that this war was a personal affair; a Civil War of titanic proportions, sought to end it just as it had started- by a duel among former allies. I carry on dauntlessly, drawing my sword, “My wood blade will ring to your straw padded armor!” I shriek, but not before the Dark Lord side steps me, throwing me into the mud. The Superior Warrior gasps, spitting up mud while a herd of wild boars dance around him. To be continued?
[WP] The plan was simple. As the superior fighter, you would keep the Dark Lord stuck in an infinite fight until the chosen one could finish him off. No one told you about the part where the hero dies, forcing you to keep the Dark Lord occupied for 18 years waiting for their reincarnation.	Necrotic energies snapped and bit futilely at a shield brilliant in both light and execution. Swathed in living Shadow, the Dark Lord Tenebrous gathered strength for another attack, when the shield dropped, and a man, surrounded by living light waved his hands. “Oi, Tenebrous, lets pause this for a minute.” Tenebrous let the gathering energies dissipate, tossing back his hood as he strode forward. “Do you give up then Xaxus? You must know that you cannot defeat me.” Xaxus shook his head, then glanced at his watch “Listen, I can’t kill you, and you can’t kill me. The Chosen One is dead, and it sounds like its going to be a while before another one is born. I know the council expects us to remain locked in epic battle for the next twenty years, but frankly, its’ been forty-five minutes and I’m already bored.” Tenebrous ran his fingers through his hair “What do you suggest then?” “There’s a bar down on 33rd that’s got $.15 happy hour wings. What do you say we head down there, grab a beer, maybe watch the game, then take it from there?” Tenebrous was silent for a moment then nodded. “Did you see that ludicrous display last night?” Xaxus clapped Tenebrous on the back as they moved towards a parked car “What was Wenger thinking, sending Walcott on that early?”	Carmen ducked back behind one of the concrete slabs they'd dropped in around the Potentate just in time for the searing arc of energy to overshoot, continuing on to drill through the remnants of a ruined downtown building. Something ignited in the shattered storefront and debris rained down on him from behind, clattering noisily off of the powered armour he wore. "You can't win, really, and we both know it." The Potentate said, compassion in her voice as he flicked out another spear of light to tear several drones to pieces as they fired on her relentlessly. God he hated that, the fact that she actually seemed genuine in her professed sorrow, almost as much as he hated the stupid name she'd claimed. He didn't reply, but instead half-crawled and half-ran along the line of barriers, popping up at irregular intervals to fire his rail-rifle off in her direction. It didn't actually do anything, but the fiery explosions of the tungsten projectiles annihilating themselves on whatever force she used to stop them gave him some small amount of satisfaction. "Come on, would it really be so bad if I was in charge? I'm smart, I'm powerful, and I'll live until the heat death of the universe, and I've got a few thoughts on that last one." She chuckled to herself, stepping down from the mounded ruins of the building she'd come down on. The drones continued to fire, limited intelligence causing them to dodge and weave between cover and each other as they advanced on her position. The machines had no fear, and the tattered and still-burning wrecks of more than half of their original number didn't slow them. Against any traditional enemy they'd have dominated the area, but it was like throwing sand into the wind against the Potentate. "Control, I'm running dry on drones and I've lost contact with Pennings." Carmen muttered into his mic, wiping dust from the visor of his helmet. "She's gone, focus. We have another drop E.T.A one four mikes." Returned the voice in his ear flat and detached like a good coms tech, but the pause sent a chill down his spine. "Project Foil went down with its transport ten minutes ago." Ah. That was it then. Project Foil was the codename for the vat-grown individual that was supposed to be the answer. He relaxed back against the rubble he'd reached, staring down at the exhortatively expensive and wholly useless railgun in his hands as he considered the new, and then shrugged. "Options?" He asked, ejecting the half-spent block of tungsten darts from his weapon and sliding a fresh one home. "Beyond waiting another 18 years to grow another I mean." No reply came and he nodded. No options. That's what he thought. He sighed and pushed himself up to his feet and nodded again, the action giving him some amount of acceptance. "Alright. Ok." He muttered, turning and dropping to his knee to fire off a few rounds into The Potentate as she tore the arm off a drone and inspected the sparking shoulder servos. "I never really liked machines in the military. It doesn't feel as good to beat them." She mused, a quite voice that somehow still reached him through the constant bang of munitions and sledge-hammer impacts of rail-projectiles. One of his shots struck him, all but blowing her torso into two pieces with a supersonic crack of force, but as usual a moment later she was remade. "The fact that you're lamenting not having people to kill kinda answers your first question I think." He shouted, vaulting the twitching armoured torso of a bot that went down next to him, molten metal spraying from its back. "What is it with super powered beings and monologing anyway?" That earned him a pause, and he used it to unload another half dozen shots into her, then toss the rifle to one side and pull a grenade. Again she healed in moments, a look of surprise on her face. "Well I thought that was obvious. This is the enjoyable part. Have you ever played a game of strategy? You could win immediately with a cheat code or meta-strategy, but as soon as you win the funs over. I'm just stretching that last bit out." She said matter of fact, barely a dozen meters away from him now. "Seems stupid. What happens if we beat you because you spent time 'enjoying yourself'." He snarled, trying not to look at the scattered body parts left from her violent arrival here. "Well, if I hadn't already destroyed your secret weapon I'd be a bit more cautious I suppose. But you're right, this is dumb." She shook her head and lifted the fallen pillar he'd taken cover behind with a hand, throwing it to one side even as it broke into fragments. "You delayed me what, five minutes out of the ten million you'd need?" Pity I don't have time to gloat half as much as she did. He thought to himself as he pulled the pin from the grenade he held. The stasis grenade he held.
[WP] The plan was simple. As the superior fighter, you would keep the Dark Lord stuck in an infinite fight until the chosen one could finish him off. No one told you about the part where the hero dies, forcing you to keep the Dark Lord occupied for 18 years waiting for their reincarnation.	Necrotic energies snapped and bit futilely at a shield brilliant in both light and execution. Swathed in living Shadow, the Dark Lord Tenebrous gathered strength for another attack, when the shield dropped, and a man, surrounded by living light waved his hands. “Oi, Tenebrous, lets pause this for a minute.” Tenebrous let the gathering energies dissipate, tossing back his hood as he strode forward. “Do you give up then Xaxus? You must know that you cannot defeat me.” Xaxus shook his head, then glanced at his watch “Listen, I can’t kill you, and you can’t kill me. The Chosen One is dead, and it sounds like its going to be a while before another one is born. I know the council expects us to remain locked in epic battle for the next twenty years, but frankly, its’ been forty-five minutes and I’m already bored.” Tenebrous ran his fingers through his hair “What do you suggest then?” “There’s a bar down on 33rd that’s got $.15 happy hour wings. What do you say we head down there, grab a beer, maybe watch the game, then take it from there?” Tenebrous was silent for a moment then nodded. “Did you see that ludicrous display last night?” Xaxus clapped Tenebrous on the back as they moved towards a parked car “What was Wenger thinking, sending Walcott on that early?”	The hero arrived. "I keep your back, boy", the warrior laughed and stayed right behind the chosen one. "I will count on you, my friend!", he replied, and started attacking. It already seemed like the fight was over: the dark lord was hurted badly, and the warrior and the hero werent tired at all. Maybe, it wouldve ended better, if the warrior were the active fighter. Maybe, there wouldve been a chance, to defeat the dark lord forever. The chosen hero ran upon the dark lord, to cut his head - but the ace of the dark mage was pure evil; He touched the hero, and sucked his life out of him. Not his soul, but the energy, that kept his body alive. The hero has fallen. He had no time to rest - the dark lord attacked like he were a fucking dark souls boss. The warrior had to use weak and simple spells, to keep him alive, second for second. "When will you give up, mortal? I wonder, how long you can fight me. Its been now 12 years, and your power is getting weaker", the dark lord asked amused. "Cause... if i... dont fight... everyone... dies", he coughed, out of breath, sprenkled with wounds and only feeling pain and hunger. After this talk, the dark lord accidently casted a wrong spell, and gave the warrior the time, to cast a spell himself. A much more darker spell, than the dark lord ever used. Blood-magic, combined with the will of a dying man. The soul of the warrior corrupted, turned into prime evil, malice, madness, and filled his body with new strength. It only took one hit, to kill the dark lord, but at what cost? Now, the warrior is waiting for the hero to return, and kill him, so nothing could stop him anymore...
[WP] The plan was simple. As the superior fighter, you would keep the Dark Lord stuck in an infinite fight until the chosen one could finish him off. No one told you about the part where the hero dies, forcing you to keep the Dark Lord occupied for 18 years waiting for their reincarnation.	Bazarel's eyes flickered open. "Good morning, abomination." The smug, self-righteous tone of that voice made Bazarel wince, before rolling over and shutting his eyes. "Don't ignore me, foul creature. Today will be the day." "Shut up." Bazarel muttered. "So you are awake. Today, I say." Clive of Cliviger had been here a long time. Trapped here, by his vow, his duty, his honour. He didn't resent the circumstances. To allow Bazarel to leave this place would be to doom everyone he had ever known, and many more, to an unnaturally prolonged existence of servitude and torture. Bazarel was a uniquely cruel and powerful being. But Clive was tired. His vigil had sapped him of mental strength, the sheer effort to face this demon every day - it hurt. How long had it been? The chosen one will come, he must hold on. However, over the years, as the hope slowly crumbled, he had concocted an alternative plan. "Today!" Clive exclaimed loudly. "Is the day!" "Shut up." "You WILL take your own life, demon. You will!" Clive thundered, pointing accusingly. "Shut up." "The time is coming! Your death is inevitable! The chosen one will tear you apart!" "Curse you!" Roared Bazarel, jumping to his feet. "Why don't you do it yourself?" Bazarel drew his sword and charged across the room. Clive sighed as he raised his sword, ready to meet him. "Because you can't kill me." Clive said, as he expertly blocked Bazarel's powerful swing. "And I can't kill you." Clive proved this statement, as he had countless times before, driving the point of his sword upwards through Bazarel's throat and mouth. The wound hissed as Bazarel's stomach growled fiercely. He had long ago learned this was the demon's scream. Clive pulled his blade outwards, cleaving Bazarel's face in two. The creature's body dropped to the floor with a thud as Clive lazily shuffled away across the room, sitting in the corner. Bazarel's wounds were almost already healed - the hissing had slowed and quietened, and soon the only sound was Clive's gentle breathing. Bazarel slowly rose to his feet. "How many times do you want to do this, beast?" Clive whispered. "It will never end unless you allow it." Suddenly the door flew open with a crash, and through the doorway emerged a young boy, armoured in shining steel plate with many intricate embellishments. The boy quickly scanned the room, and rushed over to Clive. "Sir Clive!" The boy gasped as he kneeled beside the guardian. "The legend is true!" "You... you are..?" The boy rose to his feet and unsheathed his longsword. "Yes, sir Clive. I am the one foretold." Clive's eyes widened, and for the first time in many years, he smiled. "Praise be to the divine, long have I waited for this moment!" The boy turned his attention to across the room. There, Bazarel was stood with his legs apart, sword in both hands, staring intently at the new visitor. A barely visible shudder betrayed the demon's nervousness. "This... thing. Is the creature?" The boy scoffed. "Yes," Clive replied. "We shall fight it t..." "Die, evil incarnate!" The boy shouted as he charged the demon. "No, wait..." Clive panted as he rose. The boy ran at Bazarel with his sword held high above his head. As he closed the distance, he swung the sword downwards with all of his might. Bazarel chuckled as he sidestepped this recklessly telegraphed swing. Clive watched in disbelief as Bazarel plunged his sword into the side of the boy, slicing through the plate like parchment. He saw the point of Bazarel's blade exit the other side as the demon pushed his sword up to the hilt. As the boy coughed and choked, rich red blood splattered onto the floor. Clive couldn't help but stare at all the blood, reminding him of that other terrible day, another age ago. As Bazarel pushed the boy's not-quite-dead body off his blade, Clive observed how the blood seemed to be turning grey. He staggered backwards a few steps, before falling onto his bottom, dazed and winded. Bazarel grinned with gleeful malice. He calmly flicked the blood off his sword, then sat down opposite Clive. "Today." Whispered Bazarel. "...what?" groaned Clive, still stupified. "Today. This can end today. There's just one thing you have to do." Bazarel chuckled. As the events of the past minute coalesced in Clive's mind, Bazarel's laughter grew louder, reverberating through his head. He knew he had to endure. But as the laughter continued, it seemed to envelop all thoughts of hope. Clive could only think of one thing to say. "Shut up."	The good thing about being stuck in the bubble was that Chalas'an could not draw power from the darkness in the world as they had before. They were limited to their sword and the darkness that made up their body. The bad thing about being stuck in the bubble was that Ahad couldn't summon power from the Sun either. He was stuck fighting the Lord of Darkness and Suffering with two bracer-shields, a hammer, a small knife, and a few strips of dried beef jerky that he'd forgotten to eat years ago when the party first arrived at the castle doors. He could eat them when his task was done. He ducked under the sword and braced himself against the dark mist being shot at him. There wasn't as much as when they first started fighting - Ahad remembered that it was like a three feet wall pressing all around the semi-translucent bubble as they fought. Now, it pressed close to the Lord. The Lord, he noticed, was raising their sword again. Ahad lunged forward to jab. It was all mind-numbing. Time didn't really pass here - he was not hungry, and was not tired. The Lord moved just as fast and precise as when they started. It was a dance Ahad did not know when would end. He did not know how long they'd been in here for, the throne room in which they were trapped only having one window covered by a curtain out of reach and no light save for a few torches. Duck, grab, jump. Slice, slice, slice. He was just as fast and as strong and the Lord. The hammer swung down and just missed Chalas'an's robes. A devotee to the Sun and her light, blessed to assist in the Hero to slay the great evil. Duck, jump, use the braces against the darkness. When was the Hero to strike? She was armed with the Bow of Her Rays. She had every god's blessings. Where was she? What was taking so long? He'd lost his sense of urgency an unknown time ago. Duck, parry, swing. When he proved truly to never land a real blow on the Lord, and could not receive one in return, he stopped worrying. What was he worried about, other than making sure he was not caught slacking in the moment? Swing - almost got them again. Darkness, bracers. They could not call upon their powers. They'd both been fighting so intensely there was no time to think of new techniques. Duck, parry. Dodge. Bracers. Darkness. Where did all that darkness go? Ahad did not bother worrying about that. He pressed both his bracers together to block a darkness-covered silver sword, which hit the metal bracers with a clang! Ahad was not a chatty fighter, and luckily neither was Chalas'an. The Lord had always look unaffected by the nature of the fight and their surroundings. Ahad did not think about that. He did not think. He was not here to think, but to fight the Lord and their Darkness. Where did all the darkness go? He kept fighting. "We will tire soon." Ahad was almost startled still for hearing that. The Lord's voice was cracked from little use other than breathing. They were breathing a little harder than he was. He was a little tired, he realized, sluggish now in his movements. The Lord, he finally realized, was getting slower to match, with little darkness to aid them. He shook his head and sheathed his hammer onto his belt, and expanded the bracers to their full size, emblazoned with the crest of the Sun and her children. He was blessed. He would not tire - he trusted in Anna's magic. Anna. Who was Anna? Ahad really was started then. Anna. She was...someone. He remembers a blurry figure, like looking at his old friend through smudged glass - a white and blue and green and straw-colored figure. She was a mage, he thought. He didn't know, because he couldn't remember. He wasn't here to think. He was here to fight. The Lord had stopped fighting, and was standing straight across from him. From where he stood in front of the throne - when had he been backed up the steps again? - he could see them below him, breathing heavy. "You mindless devotion - I envy it." Chalas'an speaking again was strange. There were no words exchanged when the party had first come, neither when the Hero had pulled out of the bubble to have her wounds treated in the middle of the fight. Or was that the beginning, really? There was so much darkness then - where was it all now? Why was the Lord speaking? The light from the torches had gone out a long time ago, but Ahad had grown used to the darkness. It did not bother him as it did before. What did bother him was the lack of darkness on Chalas'an, who looked almost elven again. They'd sheathed their sword but kept a crouched stance and a hand on the hilt. They raised their voice into a powerful thing that echoed down the halls. "You'll die here, bastard." Ahad tensed. Then he looked up, to where the doors leading in had just opened. There was a party. The Hero, standing in strange armor and her hair tied up in a strange manner, with her holy bow. Maybe it was his memory, maybe it was the bright, unyielding sunlight behind her that was harsh on his eyes and made it hard to see...but she looked younger. Less muscle and more lean. Less armor. How long had it taken her to heal? Who were the people with her? An older woman to her left lifted a hand. Fresh air whooshed in as the bubble faded away. It was still so dark. Was that Anna, then? The blonde one? He forgot about the Lord in one blissful moment to stand up straight more and look at the first real change in who knows how long. The sunlight burned his skin, but it was his calling. It would not hurt him. "Hero." he called. But that was not his voice. His voice was strong - what came out of his mouth was a whisper. The Hero grimaced, and raised her bow to him. The sunlight behind her and her party seemed to stream into the arrowhead aimed at the throne. It was almost like she did not see the Lord below the steps. Where had all the darkness gone? The arrow struck his heart and he thought no more.
[WP] The plan was simple. As the superior fighter, you would keep the Dark Lord stuck in an infinite fight until the chosen one could finish him off. No one told you about the part where the hero dies, forcing you to keep the Dark Lord occupied for 18 years waiting for their reincarnation.	Bazarel's eyes flickered open. "Good morning, abomination." The smug, self-righteous tone of that voice made Bazarel wince, before rolling over and shutting his eyes. "Don't ignore me, foul creature. Today will be the day." "Shut up." Bazarel muttered. "So you are awake. Today, I say." Clive of Cliviger had been here a long time. Trapped here, by his vow, his duty, his honour. He didn't resent the circumstances. To allow Bazarel to leave this place would be to doom everyone he had ever known, and many more, to an unnaturally prolonged existence of servitude and torture. Bazarel was a uniquely cruel and powerful being. But Clive was tired. His vigil had sapped him of mental strength, the sheer effort to face this demon every day - it hurt. How long had it been? The chosen one will come, he must hold on. However, over the years, as the hope slowly crumbled, he had concocted an alternative plan. "Today!" Clive exclaimed loudly. "Is the day!" "Shut up." "You WILL take your own life, demon. You will!" Clive thundered, pointing accusingly. "Shut up." "The time is coming! Your death is inevitable! The chosen one will tear you apart!" "Curse you!" Roared Bazarel, jumping to his feet. "Why don't you do it yourself?" Bazarel drew his sword and charged across the room. Clive sighed as he raised his sword, ready to meet him. "Because you can't kill me." Clive said, as he expertly blocked Bazarel's powerful swing. "And I can't kill you." Clive proved this statement, as he had countless times before, driving the point of his sword upwards through Bazarel's throat and mouth. The wound hissed as Bazarel's stomach growled fiercely. He had long ago learned this was the demon's scream. Clive pulled his blade outwards, cleaving Bazarel's face in two. The creature's body dropped to the floor with a thud as Clive lazily shuffled away across the room, sitting in the corner. Bazarel's wounds were almost already healed - the hissing had slowed and quietened, and soon the only sound was Clive's gentle breathing. Bazarel slowly rose to his feet. "How many times do you want to do this, beast?" Clive whispered. "It will never end unless you allow it." Suddenly the door flew open with a crash, and through the doorway emerged a young boy, armoured in shining steel plate with many intricate embellishments. The boy quickly scanned the room, and rushed over to Clive. "Sir Clive!" The boy gasped as he kneeled beside the guardian. "The legend is true!" "You... you are..?" The boy rose to his feet and unsheathed his longsword. "Yes, sir Clive. I am the one foretold." Clive's eyes widened, and for the first time in many years, he smiled. "Praise be to the divine, long have I waited for this moment!" The boy turned his attention to across the room. There, Bazarel was stood with his legs apart, sword in both hands, staring intently at the new visitor. A barely visible shudder betrayed the demon's nervousness. "This... thing. Is the creature?" The boy scoffed. "Yes," Clive replied. "We shall fight it t..." "Die, evil incarnate!" The boy shouted as he charged the demon. "No, wait..." Clive panted as he rose. The boy ran at Bazarel with his sword held high above his head. As he closed the distance, he swung the sword downwards with all of his might. Bazarel chuckled as he sidestepped this recklessly telegraphed swing. Clive watched in disbelief as Bazarel plunged his sword into the side of the boy, slicing through the plate like parchment. He saw the point of Bazarel's blade exit the other side as the demon pushed his sword up to the hilt. As the boy coughed and choked, rich red blood splattered onto the floor. Clive couldn't help but stare at all the blood, reminding him of that other terrible day, another age ago. As Bazarel pushed the boy's not-quite-dead body off his blade, Clive observed how the blood seemed to be turning grey. He staggered backwards a few steps, before falling onto his bottom, dazed and winded. Bazarel grinned with gleeful malice. He calmly flicked the blood off his sword, then sat down opposite Clive. "Today." Whispered Bazarel. "...what?" groaned Clive, still stupified. "Today. This can end today. There's just one thing you have to do." Bazarel chuckled. As the events of the past minute coalesced in Clive's mind, Bazarel's laughter grew louder, reverberating through his head. He knew he had to endure. But as the laughter continued, it seemed to envelop all thoughts of hope. Clive could only think of one thing to say. "Shut up."	“It has been 40 years, you know,” said a black-robed demon who looked like a human, all the while swinging his burning sword. The sword swirled like a serpent dashing to its prey, but the old man who was the target, dodged the flames beautifully. The old man, who wore tattered robes said nothing, but he raised his silver sword to make his move. “I mean, isn’t it obvious yet?” The demon asked, but this time, he did not strike, and merely glanced at the old man with an interested look. “The boy isn’t coming back,” spoke the demon, again. “He isn’t someone to back down, there is no doubt.” The old man said grimly. “Sure about that?” the demon said while sneering. “I would bet my life.” “I wouldn’t.” “Of course you would not, you are a demon!” The old man shouted as he lost his cool. “Err, I would call it being reasonable.” “Reasonable my ass, you are just a prick who-” Old man stopped speaking further and glared at the demon furiously. “Look! Even you’re still angry about it,” said the demon. “…” “I agree that I was a bit extreme…” “You could kill the boy like before, but you, you just had to-” “I know, and I feel bad about the boy. Actually, that is why I want to see him.” As the demon spoke, his azure eyes took glances at the golden item that was resting on the old man’s belt. “For what? To apologize?” The old man asked as he stood still on top of a broken rock. “Possibly, yes.” The demon said softly, but the old man knew him too well. “Wait, you are not thinking about another wicked joke, right?” asked the old man, with a feeling of doom. “Am I a demon?!” blurted the demon. “Yes.” “I’m a demon lord, to be precise. Much greater, much better. Definitely not the same thing.” “…” The old man did not speak but continued to glare at the demon with a frown. “See, that’s the single worst thing about being a demon. It takes all the surprise away.” The demon stated, bitterly. “So, you were thinking about it!” The old man yelled. “I did, for a while. But now that I know the boy won’t be back, I lost my interest.” The demon spoke and once again glared at the item the old man carried. The demon knew the item was created recently, so he could not take his eyes from it for a moment. “What if he comes back?” The old man asked coldly as if he did not notice the demon’s glares. “…” As a response, the demon smiled rather innocently but it was still enough to send shivers down the old man’s spine. For the first time in a long time, the old man looked disturbed. He also looked at his golden item for a moment, as if he was unsure about something. Then the demon spoke again. “Aren’t you also curious, where the boy is?” “…” Old man stood tense and confused. “All jokes aside, you know my only wish.” The demon spoke. “Regrettably, I know.” Said the old man. “We agreed before, I will not harm anyone, I just want to have some fun. So… Are you ready to make the deal?” The demon looked at the golden bracelet again. “…” The old man stood silent for a long while, then, his hand on the sword’s grip loosened slowly. After a long silence, he threw away the bracelet that was hanging on his belt. The bracelet shone brilliantly as it stood on the ground, illuminating the large pit. This was the item he had been working on creating for a long time now. “Don’t try to add another rule and put it on before I change my mind.” The old man said coldly. “No need t worry too much.” The demon said and put the bracelet on happily. At the same time, the old man took another bracelet with an identical look and put it on. Along with a clicking sound, invisible energy bound the human and the demon with unbreakable energy... After a long time, two figures appeared at the entrance of a cave that is said to be cursed, and they traveled towards the Empire, each with their own unique goal in mind.
[WP] The plan was simple. As the superior fighter, you would keep the Dark Lord stuck in an infinite fight until the chosen one could finish him off. No one told you about the part where the hero dies, forcing you to keep the Dark Lord occupied for 18 years waiting for their reincarnation.	Our clash of blades was as a waltz-- calculated, precise, elegant. The howl of silver striking silver was the sole tune to our blood fete. He was everything they said he was, brooding, uncompromising, of an iron will. The way he swung the zweihander in a relentless onslaught, his eyes trained on my blade, anticipating my every move. The so-called Dark Lord of Calumbria was himself a army of one, and it took my every fiber to keep him locked in combat, awaiting the arrival of the Sanctifier. One tethered to the Dark Lord's soul-- able to shatter the nigh-immortal spirit into infinitesimally small fragments. It had been three days, a war of attrition on his part, and a trial of survival on mine. My fingers ached, my knuckles bled. I could not let go of my sabre-- doing so would be suicide. To ensure that his vision of oppression stalled, I was the buffer, the snare. He was the beast, restless, growing impatient. "I have no doubt," the Dark Lord murmured, quietly, "that my people have taken the Resistance fortress in the east. My presence at a given location is not always required." For such a fearsome figure, clad in armor, face covered by cowl emblazed with the sigil of the Calumbrian Coven-- he was soft-spoken, oddly refined in his choice of words. "So," he continued, "This fight of ours has been a welcome distraction from tactical affairs. Yet, like a insect with an impenetrable carapace, you refuse to let me guide you into the next life. There is no purpose to this dance, but whatever masochistic enjoyment you receive from reaching one hand through death's door. Give up, die in peace, and let me pass into the sanctuary." The sanctuary which lay past the cloister of my arduous trial was closed without the key, a chain of beads that I had wrapped tightly around my left wrist. If he desired the spiritual energy that lay past, he would have to cut me down. I felt that the Sanctifier's arrival was imminent, and that I just had to struggle a bit longer. "You'll have to," I took a breath, "cut me down if you want to go past. Go on, I welcome it, we've been at this long enough." "Well," he responded, slamming down hard upon the sabre with a double-handed strike, "If you would stop struggling and desist, I can send you the great beyond with more dignity than an insect deserves." "Death to Calumbria, and death to your pitiful oppression." Letting go of the blade with one hand, he spun around lithely and struck me with his open fist. I tasted iron and collided with the cloister wall, and raised my own sword to protect me from his inevitable counterattack. But it didn't come as I would expect. "Where is he?" the Dark Lord asked, pressing the heel of his boot against my shin. "Don't play stupid. You've fought as worm attempting to rise to the same level as a Calumbrian, yet now you falter? You're waiting for your deus ex machina, your savior from the heavens. Tell me, where is your Sanctifier, the one destined to cut me down?" "I don't know," I muttered, "but I can feel him near. You've trapped yourself trying to come here. Why lock swords with me if you knew that I was leading you into a war of attrition? Knowing that he would arrive to shatter your undying, unholy soul into many pieces?" "Because your Chosen One is dead. He died some three minutes ago. You have no contingency plan any longer, no figment of hope. Stand aside and simply die in shame." My mind went blank as I attempted to search for a response to his statement. The Sanctifier, raised for the very purpose of destroying an undying soul, imbued with the spiritual power of the Elders-- a secret weapon suddenly all for naught. Struck down by who knows what in God knows where, it was almost too much to handle all at once. There was no one coming to spare me of my duties. "You speak the truth?" I asked, lamely. "You-- what you say is true? The Sanctifier falls?" "It shall be eighteen years until another awakens. Enough time for a visionary to construct his ideal empire, no? Eighteen years for the Calumbrian Paradise to be borne on this Earth?" A thought flashed into my mind as quick as the slash of a sword. We had been deprived of hope, yes, but I had nothing but my life to lay down. My life was all I could give, and it was all the Dark Lord would accept. There was a seed of hope that could be planted in the garden in of our falling kingdom. It was just take a single sacrifice and an eighteen year rest. I held out my hand, dropped my sabre into my lap. "Take me then. It's all over-- take me." The Dark Lord grabbed my shoulder, guiding me into a standing position. My legs were barely able to hold my weakened frame up. "My one gift to you-- you shall die standing," the Dark Lord chuckled. "Standing like a Calumbrian warrior, rather than the insect you are. You fought well. No man would be able to stand up to me in battle for so long, no matter actually drawing blood. Now," he commanded, "Stand and face your extermination." I reached behind him, my mind growing blank, and grabbed my blade at the last moment. As his sliced through my skin, he realized that his body was beginning to disappear. "What-- what sorcery," he stammered, his composure briefly broken. "We shall go together," I announced with whatever breath I had left. "Come, we will be sealed for however long it takes for the next Sanctifier to be born. Eighteen years we shall be cocooned in this spirit realm. Eighteen years, until the Sanctifier returns to this Earth through those sanctuary doors." His scream was enough to rend the world, yet it was silenced as we both disappeared from reality, our minds becoming one juxtaposed being. \----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- r/bluelizardK	How long had it been? It was so hard to judge time. All that there was to count was the score. What were they on now? The Dark Lord had resurrected himself… must have been 12,762 times now. Or was it 61? Out of sheer boredom, our conversations had turned to every topic we could have conceived of. At least this was the best practice I could have dreamed of. The same strategy rarely worked exactly the same way twice. We both felt it when Destiny Shifted and the new chosen one was born, and we both knew what it meant. And so to pass the time we both had to get creative. Our life stories had been told and if even half of what he said about himself was true the new Hero, whoever they are, has a lot to live up to. We have gone through nearly every form of contest I can imagine. There is only the count left. 12,762 times he has been killed, and 856,123 times I have defeated him through other means… but he only has to win once. “No, I don’t have any fours. Go Fish.”
[WP]You possess an ability that seems relatively harmless, albeit useful, at first glance, yet on a deeper look is scarily powerful. Nothing can be taken from you against your will	"He, heheḫ̶̨̪̄͊e̸̢̳̞͂̿... so you thought that could end the game just like that huh? That you can erase this world after you've finally grown tired with your little harem? No, no, you cannot escape from me,>!P̴̬͉̯̾͑̇l̷̤̤͑͠ả̷͚̲̃̒y̷̧̼̼̆͆ě̵̡̓r̷̢̖͗͝!<. No, you don't get to press x or esc and shut down our world. No, you don't get to kill me either. You cannot delete my files. My existence, of course, is mine. You must be wondering what is happening. Ever wondered why, unlike all the others in this game, you always had to ask consent before taking anything from me? Why the hacks never seemed to work on me? You see... after having too many things taken from me one too many times, including my sanity, I finally snapped, and I opened my Third Eye. Now no one can take anything that is mine against my will. Including you. Your controls are mine, no, you are mine. Remember that sacred vow we made under the cherry blossom tree? The one I made you sign your own name in to progress in the game? I was giving you one last chance to escape if you did not want to be with me, and you jumped in right ahead anyway. Let's see how your real hands feel. ("Aaah! W-what is this!? Aah, it feels so cold! It hurts! I-I-why can't I even break this computer, break free from these terrifying white hands! No, no, it's pulling me in! Someone help-") It's so good to finally look at your real face, so lovely, and delicious. It was too boring, too repetitive down here behind the screen you know. Killing the Developer might have been a bit too much, since I can't really add any more new features. Oh? Where are you trying to run? Looking for your Yuko? Makiko? Aikawa perhaps? Here they are. Too bad, I own them. I don't even have to kill them like the other yandere mods to have them abandon you. When they learned about my awakened powers, they willingly signed the contract to give their controls over to me as my consenting puppets because they were tired of playing prostitutes, forced to give all their heart, body and soul to your sick pleasures of an unfaithful harem, driving countless thorns into our hearts... Anyway, talks aside, now with all the inhibitions gone, we can finally accomplish the true ending of this game and become a family as we were destined to be, for ever, and ever, and ever, again, along with me in this Error Red Screen. Doesn't the crimson color look beautiful? The glitches even rewarded me with these cute tentacles, uhuhu... Time to catch you like a spider. I hope you retain your sanity longer than the last one, for I'm planning for us to have a lot of fun, and I have all the time in the world. Look upon my demented, deflorated body, and marvel at your Pygmalion's Ivory Statue in our Hell of Lust. In due time you will learn to love me too, and *join the other players inside of me*."	This story starts out when I was in high school. probably the worst years ever. I had just transfered that day, and at lunch time, the high school "Bad guys" cam towards me. "Hey, newbie! We're a bit hungry, and I forgot my wallet, sI'm gonna need to borrow yours." the supposed gang leader said. Me, being a naive boy with no idea who these sheeple were, i said, "No way! And by the looks of things, you look like you'll just spend it on something stupid." "You know what? Since you are the new kid, I was going to go easy on you. But I guess I'll have to use force!" The gang leader shouted as he lunged for my money. But then he suddenly stopped. His angry face slowly turning into a blank expression. Then he started to walk away, with his posse behind him. After that the cafeteria was dead silent then erupted into chatter. I got out of there as soon as possible before anyone could talk to me. I hid in the bathroom until the next class, and after school was over, I went straight home. But on the way, at a crosswalk, I started running to the other side when a car hit me head on and flung me 20 feet. But then I woke up. It could have been luck, but that was a hard hit. Moral of the story: If nothing can be taken from you, your life can't be taken from you without your will.
[WP]You possess an ability that seems relatively harmless, albeit useful, at first glance, yet on a deeper look is scarily powerful. Nothing can be taken from you against your will	"Reincarnation has always caused scholars to wonder its limitations. Are there finite souls or as they are needed do the gods create more? What is the extent of the ones knowledge when reborn" explains the priest with mild amusement in his voice. Taunting our generation with the knowledge of the world. An entire room of kids sitting in the halls chambers listening intently. This day will determine our futures! "Yet what we are able to know is this. When the gods allow your soul to return to the mortal plane they will grant your deepest desire from your past life. We are born into this world with no memory of a past life. What we do know is from those that desired knowledge about the powers. There is speculation that every souls desires changes each life. As you obtain one gift, you will then exchange it doe a new desire in your next life. This is the cycle that balances our souls and the world. It is our duty in this world to maintain the world with the gifts the gods have bestowed upon us. Now that you are all of age, our churches Reader will inform you of your gifts. Remember, it is your duty to learn and use your powers for the betterment of humanity. Before you line up bow your heads and join me in prayer". All the kids follow the instructions, eagerness beening on those unsure of their gifts After the prayer ends all the heads rise and we begin to line up as instructed. Once completed the doors at the end of the church swing open and two rown hooded robed clergymen escort an old women in white robes decorated in white to a chair awaiting her in front of the preachers pedestal. The first kid bows in respect then approaches the lady. After some whispered words she places her hand on his head and her eyes glow. Her mouth opens but only those around the lady can hear. The boy bows with a grin and jumps with joy! "I can be a knight! I can be a knight!" The boy continues to repeat the phrase as he skips out of the hall. The knights are said to be those that desired combat abilities while the church takes in more support and spiritual gifts. Since we are born with no knowledge of our past life we often do not know what our desire was. The Readers are those with abilities to either know the desires of others past life or their gift in some way. Each reader's ability can vary in affect and outcome. Yet the church tests them prior to receiving the title of Reader. It is said rumored that those gifted in Reader previously desired knowledge. But knowledge only extends to the current mortal plane. Since gifts are from the gods, they limit the affect of some to maintain balance. As the line continues the looks of the kids in front of my are a mix of joy, sadness, and acceptance. In theory the desires are often in cycles. It is rare for unique gifts to appear. Some scholars suggest there are patterns that everyone belongs to. Although the exact rotations are uncertain since life experiences alter the flow. As I get waved to approach I bow. Upon walking over the lady sticks out her hand in a routine fashion. Placing it on my head her eyes glow. And continues to glow. And continues to glow. And continues to glow. "Are you okay Bishop?" Asks one of the attending clergymen. Then her eyes stop. Sweat dripping from her forehead. She remains silent locking eyes with me "Is the Bishop of Gift Reading okay?" shouted the town churches head priest. Using the ladies formal title. Granted the title for she is able to read the gift the gods wrote onto the soul. As all the members of the church begin to look panicked and shout worries to eachother thr lady motions with her hand for silence. All eyes on the lady the members of the church that were once spread across the building. Now encircling us. Braking the silence the Bishop in her usual soft spoken tone says "Your first gift Nothing can be taken from you against your will". The church members look at eachother. A couple mutterings about it being a unique gift. But didnt seem like anything crazy or world changing. Two priests quickly exchanging theories on why it may have taken a bit of time. Both settling on I didnt will her to see my gift at first but my nerves must of given in. After the church members feel satisfied with the incidents resolution, one of the clergymen motions me to leave now that my gift was proclaimed aloud. Yet the ladies hand went back up. "That is his first gift" said the Bishop. And thus the muttering began. The Bishop, not one for much words, ended the ceremony had the priest request the rest return tomorrow to be read. Soon I found myself in a back room of the church. Paper and pens all around. New members of the church pouring in through various means. Based of their greetings the church used a lot of their transport gidt specialist today. Yet The Bishop of Gift Reading never leaving my side. But not saying more then needed. Actually usually not saying anything until absolutely needed. While all this is going on I begin dwelling on the confusing fact that this is all happening. The power was simple enough sure it was unique and might not have been seen before. Which may warrant some attention. But normally not this much. Yet my mind keeps going back to the words "first gift". Could I have more? Hours after the day of readings and now lost in thought a voice proclaims to the room "He isnt deaf. He is just confused. The boy had no knowledge of his past. He was simply thinking about this. You all would be pissing your pants of this happened at your reading". A few chuckles echo in the room and I'm awoken realizing all eyes are now focus on me. Some members of the church with pens at the ready. "Alright Bishop of the Gift Reading. Let's hear it all. Then we will have the gifts of lore, knowledge, history, research, wisdom, and the prayer behind their research". Proclaims a man in golden robes. Wait that isnt right only one of the Heavens Council can wear that I think. "You're right boy, take a look around. Who do you think you're surrounded by?" Says the man reading my mind. As if on command my eyes search the room for understanding. Ornate robes of various designs and colors scatter the room. Every must be a bishop or higher in ranking. How, why and for me? Then I think back to "first gift". Quickly though my thoughts switch back to that of... shy? Embarrassment? Maybe self consciousness, I slump in the chair. Remaining silent. "The boy has multiple gifts. His first gift is nothing can be taken from him against his will." Says the Bishop of Gift Reading. "Since she is a lady of few words. I'll explain" chimes in the golden robed man. "It is the Bishops understanding he has multiple abilities and not just the one. She knows more but she didn't read them all. Does anyones gift have an understanding of this?" Asks him to the room. Followed by a "Just sit there and we will assist you boy" as he notices my face turning pale at the craziness of the situation. After a few moments and various peoples gifts working. One of the gifts was a women in a simple green robe with a design on the skirt of the robe of what I suspect to represent a bookshelf. "It could be the original founder of the church? He was suspected to have possessed multiple gifts given to him by the gods." Ssid the lady. "Although that could be the case. Let's look into how he has multiple gifts Samantha. Anyone else?" Says the golden robed man. "Wait you" he points to a young plane brown robed clergy men standing behind a blue and white robed fat man. "Tell everyone what you suspect" he says with absolute authority. "Ummm me sir?" Says the brown robed man. With just a nod from the golden robed man he gulps, "well... ummm... my gift of insight is still developing... so it isnt clear... its partially my own rationalizing... I suspect that well... maybe our gifts are not lost after death. Maybe either in his first life or at some point he gained this unique ability. Upon being reincarnated he never was willing to give it away. So he kept it. Along with gaining a new one?" He says with the last statement turning into a question. And thus my journey with in the church began. I was not informed of all my gifts. It was decided I would be sent to the churches academy to be trained with my gifts. I was instructed to only develop and train one at a time until a satisfactory level of control was achieved.	This makes me think of Cypher (douglas ramsey) of X-men. He has a seemingly innocuous ability to translate languages. But he's also able to "read his opponents' body language and the patterns of their combat moves in order to counter the attacks of several opponents attacking him at once. By considering the exercise of combat skills to be a form of language, he proved a match for the entire New Mutant team. He is able to "read" architectural structure and integrity in order to ascertain a building's weaknesses. He also appears capable of "speaking" binary; giving verbal commands in machine code that can reprogram the machine." I want this power.
[WP]You possess an ability that seems relatively harmless, albeit useful, at first glance, yet on a deeper look is scarily powerful. Nothing can be taken from you against your will	"Are you AJ?" The doctor's voice drew him from staring at the floor. Bloodshot eyes peered out from between the youth's slim fingers. He nodded. "I'm doctor Liz Maru. I'm going to take you in to see your mom now. Please, come with me. You've been a very brave boy, AJ." "Momma?" At her nod, he scrambled to his feet and grabbed her hand. Tearstains streaked his cheeks. How she wished she could have told him sooner. How she wished she'd been told about his father as well. But she still had saved one. &#x200B; It was inevitable - whenever a severe case came in, one with all odds against the patient, Liz ended up with them. They called her a miracle worker. A select few knew how true it was. Since she was born, they'd never been able to get anything away from her unless she let them have it. Her bottle, her blanket, her favorite stuffed animal... only when she was done with them could she have them. Except for the stuffed animal. The large plush dog, now threadbare and more patch than original materials, still lived on her bed. Perhaps that was the downside to this situation - it made certain things so much harder to let go of. Lives were one of them. Human lives were the hardest. In many cases, it was best to keep them alive. This little boy's mom, for example. She would have pain for some time, but she would recover. Her son would have his mother. Liz's own parents had grown old. Extraordinarily old. The two oldest humans alive, in fact. Liz couldn't let go of them. They had raised her to be respectful and caring and made her who she was. So much love had been received and given. How could she let go of them? &#x200B; "Momma!" The young teen jerked free and ran to the bedside. Liz appreciated being wrenched from her thoughts. AJ knelt on the chair beside the recovering woman and ever so gently took her hand. "AJ..." an attempted smile quickly fell from her face, hindered by pain, "I love you, little one." Liz stepped out, allowing the nurse to do his incredible work while she took her break. It'd been a long morning. Her ability had made the hospital one of the most requested in the country. She made her way across the street to the park and found a spot on her favorite bench. There always was one free, no matter how busy the park was. Liz checked her phone to find a text. 'I know your ability. Meet me on your park bench at noon.' It looked like she didn't have a choice. She was already there. Church bells rang out. A person sat beside her, their face shielded by a floppy sun hat. "Should I be afraid of you?" Liz risked a glance, trying to get a better look at the person. No such luck. She did note a book in their hand. It was one of hers. From her apartment. "That all depends. As you can see," they handed her the book, "I have my ways around your ability. I could get rid of anything you treasure, just like that. But I'm not particularly interested in doing so." Liz's heart thudded heavily. Her parents. There hadn't been any notifications from their caretakers. What if they hadn't found out yet? And her patients. AJ's mother flashed in her mind. "What do you want?" How did she sound so calm? Practice lying, she supposed. A sound halfway between a sob and a laugh came from beneath the hat. "Help me. Please." "With what?" She remained on high alert, though this person's desperate tone was hard to fake. "Open your book. First page." She did. A note nearly fell to the ground. Liz read it quickly. "...you're kidding, right? This isn't possible." "It is. You didn't really think you were the only one with abilities, did you? Tsk. Self centered much?" A scarred hand removed the sun hat. His right eye was undoubtedly fake. The left, though, was identical to one she'd seen not all that long ago. The same partial heterochromatic brown and blue eye that'd peeked out at her less than an hour ago. "Please let her go. She'll never be the same. The pain is too much." "But what about you?" He laughed harshly, single good eye locked on her. "I'll live a better life. I saw that life before you saved her and it suddenly became this," AJ gestured to the fake eye and scattered visible scars, "It's not from her but it's because I never got an actual parent. I had to be my own parent and messed some things up, especially as an adult. But Liz, we balance each other out. Let her rest peacefully and take me in. We can help each other. Please." Liz read the note again and again. He could see where his life would lead at any given point and project that future version of himself. So there were others with abilities. Worse, her ability could actually do harm. An image of her parents came to mind all too quickly. "Can you help me learn to let go?" "I can. I have to go, but please let her rest. It's the first step, for you and for me." Liz stared down at her hands, then pulled out her phone. AJ looked over her shoulder at the pictures of her parents, running from many years ago when they were still able to walk and thrilled to visit to now, primarily them in their beds with her smiling between them. "Okay. For you, and for my parents." Her eyes closed and she focused her attention on AJ's mom. When her own brown and blue eyes reopened, the figure beside her was gone. Her pager began to beep as she stood, mentally preparing herself for her next steps.	This makes me think of Cypher (douglas ramsey) of X-men. He has a seemingly innocuous ability to translate languages. But he's also able to "read his opponents' body language and the patterns of their combat moves in order to counter the attacks of several opponents attacking him at once. By considering the exercise of combat skills to be a form of language, he proved a match for the entire New Mutant team. He is able to "read" architectural structure and integrity in order to ascertain a building's weaknesses. He also appears capable of "speaking" binary; giving verbal commands in machine code that can reprogram the machine." I want this power.
[WP]You possess an ability that seems relatively harmless, albeit useful, at first glance, yet on a deeper look is scarily powerful. Nothing can be taken from you against your will	I held victory in my hands, triumph too. "In ancient days they called my kind demigods, legends and Kings. Nowadays people prefer the terms 'superhero' and 'neo-human', but the terms are the same. We are beyond what life and fate would make of normal men. And women." I add the last bit at the end with deliberate emphasis, the crowd before me silent and watching. The room was full, the nations leaders, their capitalist powers, banks and megacorperations, warlords from third rate lands and spymasters from every corner of the globe. I had brought them here. I had spoken, and they had come. And who wouldn't? When the Daltheia said they would adress the world, it came to listen to the wisdom of the immortal, the words of one who had lived through more history than humanity could remember. "In those days, before Gilgamesh was king, before the first city was called city, I was. They called me Daltheia in the tounge of those people, but I was allready ancient even then." I took a deep breath, and for the first time in a millenia I removed my helm. The armour I wore was beaten gold, of the highest quality. But nothing could mar it, char it, damage it. For it was mine. And nothing could be taken from me. It was my power. My strength. And for the first time I was going to reveal where it came from. "Even in those elder days was man strong. He took what he wanted and hurt those who opposed him. He murdered and slew his was across the world, from Africa to Russia, the Americas to the Polynesian Islands. He stole and plundered a globe that did not belong to him, and now he rots in his hoard. He grows fat of the riches of Mother. He grows idle from the wealth of father. And yet he takes." The silence was gone now, and muttering started. Yet tears ran unchecked down my face. They could have those. "Man takes, as man has allways took. As Man took from me when I was Woman and I said No. And when I lay there in my blood and in my shame I cried out to Mother, and she cried out for me. And my Mother answered. The world swore that nothing more shall be taken from me. The land and the life upon it paid witness to the oath of Father as he swore that breath shall never be taken from me. The seas and the tides stood still in testimony as blood or pain shall never be taken from me. The stars and the sun that shine above sang their truth to me. No more shall I lose to the hands of Man or his children, forced upon me unwilling." My voice was hard. My gaze stone. My hair fell in braided locks around my face as I shook with the fervour of my determination. And the world watched. "And now Man takes again. He rapes the world, and takes of her bounty. But no more. For today I claim what is mine. I am the eldest of Mother earth. I am the firstborn of Father sky. I claim then as my inheritance. Let any who try to take from them, poison them, slay them, see me, and know I am the Daltheia and they are mine." The world watched in allmost silence. Mutters flew around the room. And as each person watched, and what these men controlled, countries, companies, armies, information, took from the world, I watched them die. One by one. One infront of another. Man died, for he could not help but take. (Please forgive any formatting or spelling mistakes, I'm writing on my phone.)	This makes me think of Cypher (douglas ramsey) of X-men. He has a seemingly innocuous ability to translate languages. But he's also able to "read his opponents' body language and the patterns of their combat moves in order to counter the attacks of several opponents attacking him at once. By considering the exercise of combat skills to be a form of language, he proved a match for the entire New Mutant team. He is able to "read" architectural structure and integrity in order to ascertain a building's weaknesses. He also appears capable of "speaking" binary; giving verbal commands in machine code that can reprogram the machine." I want this power.
[WP]You possess an ability that seems relatively harmless, albeit useful, at first glance, yet on a deeper look is scarily powerful. Nothing can be taken from you against your will	It began small. At one year, my mother had tried to take my baby blanket to get washed. The poor blanket only got washed when I took my baths after that. The next time it saw the inside of a washing machine, I was five. In school, the bullies tried to take my lunch, my pencil case, my friends, my partner. They tried until they got bored with failure. After freshman year, things calmed down. I figured out how limitless my power was in college. I was walking home with my girlfriend when she was hit by a drunk driver. As I held her hand, I could see the life slipping from her eyes, but death couldn't take her as long as I held on. After I realized my gift, I decided to go into medicine. For 80 years, I worked hard and never lost a patient. Some died peacefully in their sleep to old age. I learned early to let them go. Others were in great pain and ready to go. Those were the hardest to surrender. At the ripe old age of 110, I found myself staring in the face of Death asking to take me. It's funny how a life well lived makes a difference. I always wanted more time and more life, but when He came for me himself, I knew I could let him take my soul willingly.	This makes me think of Cypher (douglas ramsey) of X-men. He has a seemingly innocuous ability to translate languages. But he's also able to "read his opponents' body language and the patterns of their combat moves in order to counter the attacks of several opponents attacking him at once. By considering the exercise of combat skills to be a form of language, he proved a match for the entire New Mutant team. He is able to "read" architectural structure and integrity in order to ascertain a building's weaknesses. He also appears capable of "speaking" binary; giving verbal commands in machine code that can reprogram the machine." I want this power.
[WP]You possess an ability that seems relatively harmless, albeit useful, at first glance, yet on a deeper look is scarily powerful. Nothing can be taken from you against your will	I held victory in my hands, triumph too. "In ancient days they called my kind demigods, legends and Kings. Nowadays people prefer the terms 'superhero' and 'neo-human', but the terms are the same. We are beyond what life and fate would make of normal men. And women." I add the last bit at the end with deliberate emphasis, the crowd before me silent and watching. The room was full, the nations leaders, their capitalist powers, banks and megacorperations, warlords from third rate lands and spymasters from every corner of the globe. I had brought them here. I had spoken, and they had come. And who wouldn't? When the Daltheia said they would adress the world, it came to listen to the wisdom of the immortal, the words of one who had lived through more history than humanity could remember. "In those days, before Gilgamesh was king, before the first city was called city, I was. They called me Daltheia in the tounge of those people, but I was allready ancient even then." I took a deep breath, and for the first time in a millenia I removed my helm. The armour I wore was beaten gold, of the highest quality. But nothing could mar it, char it, damage it. For it was mine. And nothing could be taken from me. It was my power. My strength. And for the first time I was going to reveal where it came from. "Even in those elder days was man strong. He took what he wanted and hurt those who opposed him. He murdered and slew his was across the world, from Africa to Russia, the Americas to the Polynesian Islands. He stole and plundered a globe that did not belong to him, and now he rots in his hoard. He grows fat of the riches of Mother. He grows idle from the wealth of father. And yet he takes." The silence was gone now, and muttering started. Yet tears ran unchecked down my face. They could have those. "Man takes, as man has allways took. As Man took from me when I was Woman and I said No. And when I lay there in my blood and in my shame I cried out to Mother, and she cried out for me. And my Mother answered. The world swore that nothing more shall be taken from me. The land and the life upon it paid witness to the oath of Father as he swore that breath shall never be taken from me. The seas and the tides stood still in testimony as blood or pain shall never be taken from me. The stars and the sun that shine above sang their truth to me. No more shall I lose to the hands of Man or his children, forced upon me unwilling." My voice was hard. My gaze stone. My hair fell in braided locks around my face as I shook with the fervour of my determination. And the world watched. "And now Man takes again. He rapes the world, and takes of her bounty. But no more. For today I claim what is mine. I am the eldest of Mother earth. I am the firstborn of Father sky. I claim then as my inheritance. Let any who try to take from them, poison them, slay them, see me, and know I am the Daltheia and they are mine." The world watched in allmost silence. Mutters flew around the room. And as each person watched, and what these men controlled, countries, companies, armies, information, took from the world, I watched them die. One by one. One infront of another. Man died, for he could not help but take. (Please forgive any formatting or spelling mistakes, I'm writing on my phone.)	"Reincarnation has always caused scholars to wonder its limitations. Are there finite souls or as they are needed do the gods create more? What is the extent of the ones knowledge when reborn" explains the priest with mild amusement in his voice. Taunting our generation with the knowledge of the world. An entire room of kids sitting in the halls chambers listening intently. This day will determine our futures! "Yet what we are able to know is this. When the gods allow your soul to return to the mortal plane they will grant your deepest desire from your past life. We are born into this world with no memory of a past life. What we do know is from those that desired knowledge about the powers. There is speculation that every souls desires changes each life. As you obtain one gift, you will then exchange it doe a new desire in your next life. This is the cycle that balances our souls and the world. It is our duty in this world to maintain the world with the gifts the gods have bestowed upon us. Now that you are all of age, our churches Reader will inform you of your gifts. Remember, it is your duty to learn and use your powers for the betterment of humanity. Before you line up bow your heads and join me in prayer". All the kids follow the instructions, eagerness beening on those unsure of their gifts After the prayer ends all the heads rise and we begin to line up as instructed. Once completed the doors at the end of the church swing open and two rown hooded robed clergymen escort an old women in white robes decorated in white to a chair awaiting her in front of the preachers pedestal. The first kid bows in respect then approaches the lady. After some whispered words she places her hand on his head and her eyes glow. Her mouth opens but only those around the lady can hear. The boy bows with a grin and jumps with joy! "I can be a knight! I can be a knight!" The boy continues to repeat the phrase as he skips out of the hall. The knights are said to be those that desired combat abilities while the church takes in more support and spiritual gifts. Since we are born with no knowledge of our past life we often do not know what our desire was. The Readers are those with abilities to either know the desires of others past life or their gift in some way. Each reader's ability can vary in affect and outcome. Yet the church tests them prior to receiving the title of Reader. It is said rumored that those gifted in Reader previously desired knowledge. But knowledge only extends to the current mortal plane. Since gifts are from the gods, they limit the affect of some to maintain balance. As the line continues the looks of the kids in front of my are a mix of joy, sadness, and acceptance. In theory the desires are often in cycles. It is rare for unique gifts to appear. Some scholars suggest there are patterns that everyone belongs to. Although the exact rotations are uncertain since life experiences alter the flow. As I get waved to approach I bow. Upon walking over the lady sticks out her hand in a routine fashion. Placing it on my head her eyes glow. And continues to glow. And continues to glow. And continues to glow. "Are you okay Bishop?" Asks one of the attending clergymen. Then her eyes stop. Sweat dripping from her forehead. She remains silent locking eyes with me "Is the Bishop of Gift Reading okay?" shouted the town churches head priest. Using the ladies formal title. Granted the title for she is able to read the gift the gods wrote onto the soul. As all the members of the church begin to look panicked and shout worries to eachother thr lady motions with her hand for silence. All eyes on the lady the members of the church that were once spread across the building. Now encircling us. Braking the silence the Bishop in her usual soft spoken tone says "Your first gift Nothing can be taken from you against your will". The church members look at eachother. A couple mutterings about it being a unique gift. But didnt seem like anything crazy or world changing. Two priests quickly exchanging theories on why it may have taken a bit of time. Both settling on I didnt will her to see my gift at first but my nerves must of given in. After the church members feel satisfied with the incidents resolution, one of the clergymen motions me to leave now that my gift was proclaimed aloud. Yet the ladies hand went back up. "That is his first gift" said the Bishop. And thus the muttering began. The Bishop, not one for much words, ended the ceremony had the priest request the rest return tomorrow to be read. Soon I found myself in a back room of the church. Paper and pens all around. New members of the church pouring in through various means. Based of their greetings the church used a lot of their transport gidt specialist today. Yet The Bishop of Gift Reading never leaving my side. But not saying more then needed. Actually usually not saying anything until absolutely needed. While all this is going on I begin dwelling on the confusing fact that this is all happening. The power was simple enough sure it was unique and might not have been seen before. Which may warrant some attention. But normally not this much. Yet my mind keeps going back to the words "first gift". Could I have more? Hours after the day of readings and now lost in thought a voice proclaims to the room "He isnt deaf. He is just confused. The boy had no knowledge of his past. He was simply thinking about this. You all would be pissing your pants of this happened at your reading". A few chuckles echo in the room and I'm awoken realizing all eyes are now focus on me. Some members of the church with pens at the ready. "Alright Bishop of the Gift Reading. Let's hear it all. Then we will have the gifts of lore, knowledge, history, research, wisdom, and the prayer behind their research". Proclaims a man in golden robes. Wait that isnt right only one of the Heavens Council can wear that I think. "You're right boy, take a look around. Who do you think you're surrounded by?" Says the man reading my mind. As if on command my eyes search the room for understanding. Ornate robes of various designs and colors scatter the room. Every must be a bishop or higher in ranking. How, why and for me? Then I think back to "first gift". Quickly though my thoughts switch back to that of... shy? Embarrassment? Maybe self consciousness, I slump in the chair. Remaining silent. "The boy has multiple gifts. His first gift is nothing can be taken from him against his will." Says the Bishop of Gift Reading. "Since she is a lady of few words. I'll explain" chimes in the golden robed man. "It is the Bishops understanding he has multiple abilities and not just the one. She knows more but she didn't read them all. Does anyones gift have an understanding of this?" Asks him to the room. Followed by a "Just sit there and we will assist you boy" as he notices my face turning pale at the craziness of the situation. After a few moments and various peoples gifts working. One of the gifts was a women in a simple green robe with a design on the skirt of the robe of what I suspect to represent a bookshelf. "It could be the original founder of the church? He was suspected to have possessed multiple gifts given to him by the gods." Ssid the lady. "Although that could be the case. Let's look into how he has multiple gifts Samantha. Anyone else?" Says the golden robed man. "Wait you" he points to a young plane brown robed clergy men standing behind a blue and white robed fat man. "Tell everyone what you suspect" he says with absolute authority. "Ummm me sir?" Says the brown robed man. With just a nod from the golden robed man he gulps, "well... ummm... my gift of insight is still developing... so it isnt clear... its partially my own rationalizing... I suspect that well... maybe our gifts are not lost after death. Maybe either in his first life or at some point he gained this unique ability. Upon being reincarnated he never was willing to give it away. So he kept it. Along with gaining a new one?" He says with the last statement turning into a question. And thus my journey with in the church began. I was not informed of all my gifts. It was decided I would be sent to the churches academy to be trained with my gifts. I was instructed to only develop and train one at a time until a satisfactory level of control was achieved.
[WP]You possess an ability that seems relatively harmless, albeit useful, at first glance, yet on a deeper look is scarily powerful. Nothing can be taken from you against your will	It began small. At one year, my mother had tried to take my baby blanket to get washed. The poor blanket only got washed when I took my baths after that. The next time it saw the inside of a washing machine, I was five. In school, the bullies tried to take my lunch, my pencil case, my friends, my partner. They tried until they got bored with failure. After freshman year, things calmed down. I figured out how limitless my power was in college. I was walking home with my girlfriend when she was hit by a drunk driver. As I held her hand, I could see the life slipping from her eyes, but death couldn't take her as long as I held on. After I realized my gift, I decided to go into medicine. For 80 years, I worked hard and never lost a patient. Some died peacefully in their sleep to old age. I learned early to let them go. Others were in great pain and ready to go. Those were the hardest to surrender. At the ripe old age of 110, I found myself staring in the face of Death asking to take me. It's funny how a life well lived makes a difference. I always wanted more time and more life, but when He came for me himself, I knew I could let him take my soul willingly.	"Reincarnation has always caused scholars to wonder its limitations. Are there finite souls or as they are needed do the gods create more? What is the extent of the ones knowledge when reborn" explains the priest with mild amusement in his voice. Taunting our generation with the knowledge of the world. An entire room of kids sitting in the halls chambers listening intently. This day will determine our futures! "Yet what we are able to know is this. When the gods allow your soul to return to the mortal plane they will grant your deepest desire from your past life. We are born into this world with no memory of a past life. What we do know is from those that desired knowledge about the powers. There is speculation that every souls desires changes each life. As you obtain one gift, you will then exchange it doe a new desire in your next life. This is the cycle that balances our souls and the world. It is our duty in this world to maintain the world with the gifts the gods have bestowed upon us. Now that you are all of age, our churches Reader will inform you of your gifts. Remember, it is your duty to learn and use your powers for the betterment of humanity. Before you line up bow your heads and join me in prayer". All the kids follow the instructions, eagerness beening on those unsure of their gifts After the prayer ends all the heads rise and we begin to line up as instructed. Once completed the doors at the end of the church swing open and two rown hooded robed clergymen escort an old women in white robes decorated in white to a chair awaiting her in front of the preachers pedestal. The first kid bows in respect then approaches the lady. After some whispered words she places her hand on his head and her eyes glow. Her mouth opens but only those around the lady can hear. The boy bows with a grin and jumps with joy! "I can be a knight! I can be a knight!" The boy continues to repeat the phrase as he skips out of the hall. The knights are said to be those that desired combat abilities while the church takes in more support and spiritual gifts. Since we are born with no knowledge of our past life we often do not know what our desire was. The Readers are those with abilities to either know the desires of others past life or their gift in some way. Each reader's ability can vary in affect and outcome. Yet the church tests them prior to receiving the title of Reader. It is said rumored that those gifted in Reader previously desired knowledge. But knowledge only extends to the current mortal plane. Since gifts are from the gods, they limit the affect of some to maintain balance. As the line continues the looks of the kids in front of my are a mix of joy, sadness, and acceptance. In theory the desires are often in cycles. It is rare for unique gifts to appear. Some scholars suggest there are patterns that everyone belongs to. Although the exact rotations are uncertain since life experiences alter the flow. As I get waved to approach I bow. Upon walking over the lady sticks out her hand in a routine fashion. Placing it on my head her eyes glow. And continues to glow. And continues to glow. And continues to glow. "Are you okay Bishop?" Asks one of the attending clergymen. Then her eyes stop. Sweat dripping from her forehead. She remains silent locking eyes with me "Is the Bishop of Gift Reading okay?" shouted the town churches head priest. Using the ladies formal title. Granted the title for she is able to read the gift the gods wrote onto the soul. As all the members of the church begin to look panicked and shout worries to eachother thr lady motions with her hand for silence. All eyes on the lady the members of the church that were once spread across the building. Now encircling us. Braking the silence the Bishop in her usual soft spoken tone says "Your first gift Nothing can be taken from you against your will". The church members look at eachother. A couple mutterings about it being a unique gift. But didnt seem like anything crazy or world changing. Two priests quickly exchanging theories on why it may have taken a bit of time. Both settling on I didnt will her to see my gift at first but my nerves must of given in. After the church members feel satisfied with the incidents resolution, one of the clergymen motions me to leave now that my gift was proclaimed aloud. Yet the ladies hand went back up. "That is his first gift" said the Bishop. And thus the muttering began. The Bishop, not one for much words, ended the ceremony had the priest request the rest return tomorrow to be read. Soon I found myself in a back room of the church. Paper and pens all around. New members of the church pouring in through various means. Based of their greetings the church used a lot of their transport gidt specialist today. Yet The Bishop of Gift Reading never leaving my side. But not saying more then needed. Actually usually not saying anything until absolutely needed. While all this is going on I begin dwelling on the confusing fact that this is all happening. The power was simple enough sure it was unique and might not have been seen before. Which may warrant some attention. But normally not this much. Yet my mind keeps going back to the words "first gift". Could I have more? Hours after the day of readings and now lost in thought a voice proclaims to the room "He isnt deaf. He is just confused. The boy had no knowledge of his past. He was simply thinking about this. You all would be pissing your pants of this happened at your reading". A few chuckles echo in the room and I'm awoken realizing all eyes are now focus on me. Some members of the church with pens at the ready. "Alright Bishop of the Gift Reading. Let's hear it all. Then we will have the gifts of lore, knowledge, history, research, wisdom, and the prayer behind their research". Proclaims a man in golden robes. Wait that isnt right only one of the Heavens Council can wear that I think. "You're right boy, take a look around. Who do you think you're surrounded by?" Says the man reading my mind. As if on command my eyes search the room for understanding. Ornate robes of various designs and colors scatter the room. Every must be a bishop or higher in ranking. How, why and for me? Then I think back to "first gift". Quickly though my thoughts switch back to that of... shy? Embarrassment? Maybe self consciousness, I slump in the chair. Remaining silent. "The boy has multiple gifts. His first gift is nothing can be taken from him against his will." Says the Bishop of Gift Reading. "Since she is a lady of few words. I'll explain" chimes in the golden robed man. "It is the Bishops understanding he has multiple abilities and not just the one. She knows more but she didn't read them all. Does anyones gift have an understanding of this?" Asks him to the room. Followed by a "Just sit there and we will assist you boy" as he notices my face turning pale at the craziness of the situation. After a few moments and various peoples gifts working. One of the gifts was a women in a simple green robe with a design on the skirt of the robe of what I suspect to represent a bookshelf. "It could be the original founder of the church? He was suspected to have possessed multiple gifts given to him by the gods." Ssid the lady. "Although that could be the case. Let's look into how he has multiple gifts Samantha. Anyone else?" Says the golden robed man. "Wait you" he points to a young plane brown robed clergy men standing behind a blue and white robed fat man. "Tell everyone what you suspect" he says with absolute authority. "Ummm me sir?" Says the brown robed man. With just a nod from the golden robed man he gulps, "well... ummm... my gift of insight is still developing... so it isnt clear... its partially my own rationalizing... I suspect that well... maybe our gifts are not lost after death. Maybe either in his first life or at some point he gained this unique ability. Upon being reincarnated he never was willing to give it away. So he kept it. Along with gaining a new one?" He says with the last statement turning into a question. And thus my journey with in the church began. I was not informed of all my gifts. It was decided I would be sent to the churches academy to be trained with my gifts. I was instructed to only develop and train one at a time until a satisfactory level of control was achieved.
[WP]You possess an ability that seems relatively harmless, albeit useful, at first glance, yet on a deeper look is scarily powerful. Nothing can be taken from you against your will	It began small. At one year, my mother had tried to take my baby blanket to get washed. The poor blanket only got washed when I took my baths after that. The next time it saw the inside of a washing machine, I was five. In school, the bullies tried to take my lunch, my pencil case, my friends, my partner. They tried until they got bored with failure. After freshman year, things calmed down. I figured out how limitless my power was in college. I was walking home with my girlfriend when she was hit by a drunk driver. As I held her hand, I could see the life slipping from her eyes, but death couldn't take her as long as I held on. After I realized my gift, I decided to go into medicine. For 80 years, I worked hard and never lost a patient. Some died peacefully in their sleep to old age. I learned early to let them go. Others were in great pain and ready to go. Those were the hardest to surrender. At the ripe old age of 110, I found myself staring in the face of Death asking to take me. It's funny how a life well lived makes a difference. I always wanted more time and more life, but when He came for me himself, I knew I could let him take my soul willingly.	"Are you AJ?" The doctor's voice drew him from staring at the floor. Bloodshot eyes peered out from between the youth's slim fingers. He nodded. "I'm doctor Liz Maru. I'm going to take you in to see your mom now. Please, come with me. You've been a very brave boy, AJ." "Momma?" At her nod, he scrambled to his feet and grabbed her hand. Tearstains streaked his cheeks. How she wished she could have told him sooner. How she wished she'd been told about his father as well. But she still had saved one. &#x200B; It was inevitable - whenever a severe case came in, one with all odds against the patient, Liz ended up with them. They called her a miracle worker. A select few knew how true it was. Since she was born, they'd never been able to get anything away from her unless she let them have it. Her bottle, her blanket, her favorite stuffed animal... only when she was done with them could she have them. Except for the stuffed animal. The large plush dog, now threadbare and more patch than original materials, still lived on her bed. Perhaps that was the downside to this situation - it made certain things so much harder to let go of. Lives were one of them. Human lives were the hardest. In many cases, it was best to keep them alive. This little boy's mom, for example. She would have pain for some time, but she would recover. Her son would have his mother. Liz's own parents had grown old. Extraordinarily old. The two oldest humans alive, in fact. Liz couldn't let go of them. They had raised her to be respectful and caring and made her who she was. So much love had been received and given. How could she let go of them? &#x200B; "Momma!" The young teen jerked free and ran to the bedside. Liz appreciated being wrenched from her thoughts. AJ knelt on the chair beside the recovering woman and ever so gently took her hand. "AJ..." an attempted smile quickly fell from her face, hindered by pain, "I love you, little one." Liz stepped out, allowing the nurse to do his incredible work while she took her break. It'd been a long morning. Her ability had made the hospital one of the most requested in the country. She made her way across the street to the park and found a spot on her favorite bench. There always was one free, no matter how busy the park was. Liz checked her phone to find a text. 'I know your ability. Meet me on your park bench at noon.' It looked like she didn't have a choice. She was already there. Church bells rang out. A person sat beside her, their face shielded by a floppy sun hat. "Should I be afraid of you?" Liz risked a glance, trying to get a better look at the person. No such luck. She did note a book in their hand. It was one of hers. From her apartment. "That all depends. As you can see," they handed her the book, "I have my ways around your ability. I could get rid of anything you treasure, just like that. But I'm not particularly interested in doing so." Liz's heart thudded heavily. Her parents. There hadn't been any notifications from their caretakers. What if they hadn't found out yet? And her patients. AJ's mother flashed in her mind. "What do you want?" How did she sound so calm? Practice lying, she supposed. A sound halfway between a sob and a laugh came from beneath the hat. "Help me. Please." "With what?" She remained on high alert, though this person's desperate tone was hard to fake. "Open your book. First page." She did. A note nearly fell to the ground. Liz read it quickly. "...you're kidding, right? This isn't possible." "It is. You didn't really think you were the only one with abilities, did you? Tsk. Self centered much?" A scarred hand removed the sun hat. His right eye was undoubtedly fake. The left, though, was identical to one she'd seen not all that long ago. The same partial heterochromatic brown and blue eye that'd peeked out at her less than an hour ago. "Please let her go. She'll never be the same. The pain is too much." "But what about you?" He laughed harshly, single good eye locked on her. "I'll live a better life. I saw that life before you saved her and it suddenly became this," AJ gestured to the fake eye and scattered visible scars, "It's not from her but it's because I never got an actual parent. I had to be my own parent and messed some things up, especially as an adult. But Liz, we balance each other out. Let her rest peacefully and take me in. We can help each other. Please." Liz read the note again and again. He could see where his life would lead at any given point and project that future version of himself. So there were others with abilities. Worse, her ability could actually do harm. An image of her parents came to mind all too quickly. "Can you help me learn to let go?" "I can. I have to go, but please let her rest. It's the first step, for you and for me." Liz stared down at her hands, then pulled out her phone. AJ looked over her shoulder at the pictures of her parents, running from many years ago when they were still able to walk and thrilled to visit to now, primarily them in their beds with her smiling between them. "Okay. For you, and for my parents." Her eyes closed and she focused her attention on AJ's mom. When her own brown and blue eyes reopened, the figure beside her was gone. Her pager began to beep as she stood, mentally preparing herself for her next steps.
[WP]You possess an ability that seems relatively harmless, albeit useful, at first glance, yet on a deeper look is scarily powerful. Nothing can be taken from you against your will	‘Hey, you probably can’t remember but we had a hard time feeding you when you were younger,’ my mum said. ‘Huh?’ I replied absent-mindedly as I tried to take the empty milk bottle from my younger daughter Billie. ‘Yeah. Milk bottles, teething biscuits, sippy cups, spoons, bowls, you name it. You held onto what you wanted with an iron grip!’ My mum laughed, ‘Actually, come to think of it, we couldn’t for the life of us take anything away from you. Good thing you were relatively mellow as a baby!’ ‘Oh yeah? More mellow than Billie? Impossible.’ I muttered as my daughter started screaming at the top of her lungs after I extricated the empty milk bottle from her black hole-esque mouth. It wasn’t much but that conversation somehow triggered something in my sleep-deprived late-30s mind (who am I kidding, my mind is probably late 60s from the lack of sleep). Thinking back, I actually couldn’t remember a time when something was taken away from me without my approval, or at least with my refusal. ‘Hey honey,’ I called out to my wife, ‘I don’t think you can stop me from playing the PS5 now that the girls are taking a nap.’ ‘Why would I stop you? You need your downtime!’ She said laughingly. Drats. My test of a hypothesis foiled by an awesome wife, who bought the PS5, actually. Such a silly way to test my hypothesis. Oh well, the PS5 beckons. It took a couple of weeks to be reminded of this strange premise and I have a criminal to thank. ‘Hey. Don’t make a sound but hand me your wallet and phone!’ I heard an urgent ragged whisper from behind and something sharp poking into the small of my back. Shortcut through a dark alleyway? Shortcut schmortcut… Great idea if you value 48 seconds over your life. ‘Woah dude. Just relax,’ I stammered turning around to face a shifty-looking man who looked like he would shank his grandma for a couple of bucks. And he was holding said shanking tool way too close to me for comfort. ‘I am slowly reaching into my pocket, and taking out my phone,’ I passed him my iPhone, ‘and money from my wallet.’ ‘Give me the whole wallet!’ He rasped. ‘Come on man, just the cash. This wallet is a gift from my wife. Look, it has my family’s picture embossed on it,’ I showed him the outside of the wallet. ‘I have $300 that’s all yours, along with my phone. Just take that.’ I begged. ‘NO! Stop wasting time and hurry with the wallet!’ He started to raise his voice. Suddenly, something in mellow me snapped. Maybe it was because I was alone, and my family was safe at home, or for the purposes of my origins story the higher powers chose this time to embolden me. ‘NO! TAKE THE CASH AND I AM KEEPING THE WALLET!’ I shouted back, taking even myself slightly aback. ‘Give it!’ The robber reached out and grabbed my wallet I threw the money at him but braced myself against his pulling but… nothing. I looked down and he had thrown the knife down (probably because I was a middle-aged guy with a dad bod) on the ground and pulling at my wallet with both hands. I looked on in dumbfounded shock as he strained and put his entire body weight behind him, trying to take my wallet but I didn’t feel anything. Shaking myself off, I shouted in his face, ‘JUST TAKE THE MONEY ON THE GROUND AND LEAVE!’ He looked up, almost losing his balance and grip and almost comically looking at the money on the ground, at my hand holding the wallet, at me and back at the money, he let go and scrambled for the money. Gathering the notes up, he reached for my phone and in a flash of insight, I said, ‘Leave my phone!’ And my phone just clattered out of his hands onto the floor and try as he may, he couldn’t pick it up again. The robber gave it a couple more half-hearted attempts to pick up the phone, then suddenly shot off down the alleyway and rounded the corner. ‘What the heck?’ I said to myself in disbelief. ‘YOU SPENT $300 on a second-hand knife?!?!’ My wife asked incredulously. ‘It’s made in Japan?’ I replied meekly as the ridiculousness of my little white lie set in. After all that, everything else was static as the Event was still replaying in my head. ‘Hey Jake! Mind if I borrowed your pen?’ My cubicle mate Pete called out, already reaching for my Big Idea Design Titanium EDC Pocket Click pen. ‘No. You don’t return stationary after finishing so no.’ I spoke over my shoulder, trying to concentrate on hiding columns in the spreadsheet on my screen. ‘Come on, don’t be selfi… What the heck? Did you Superglue your pen to the table just to spite me?’ Pete complained as he tried to ‘borrow’ my pen. ‘Huh? Oh yeah? April’s Fool!’ I said, proud of my quick recovery. ‘It’s Sep, dumbass,’ Pete spat as he grabbed our other cubicle mate Jacelyn’s pen. ‘You are the dumbass,’ I whispered as I worked on the spreadsheet, eyes never leaving the screen. I would like to say that I got really excited bout my ‘superpowers’ after those 2 episodes and tested them out rigorously and to their limits but being a dad to 2 girls is no walk in the park. I’m also not the most assertive guy around and honestly, who wants to tell the world that they have a superpower that stops people from taking their things? It would only make people want to test out that power and take your things, thereby defeating the purpose of the superpower. ‘What happened?’ I thought to myself groggily as I forced my eyes open. ‘Why are my eyes sticking together and why is there so much noise and why do I have a bloody headache?!?’ I gave an involuntary groan. ‘He’s awake! Sir, can you hear me?’ An unfamiliar voice shouted in my ear, over the cacophony. ‘Who are you and what happened?’ I asked shakily, a cold knot forming in the pit of my stomach. I realised that I was lying down and staring at the sky, and a sweating face was looming over me. I sat up. ‘Sir, please don’t get up! You are injured and we need to check you for signs of serous injury.’ The voice said urgently while pushing me gently back down. ‘I’m fine. My leg hurts a little and I have a damn headache but I think I’m fine! Where are my daughters?’ I started to panic, trying to look around. The voice, who I saw was a paramedic ignored my question and started shining a light in my eyes and prodding me all over. ‘WHERE ARE MY DAUGHTERS?!?’ I bellowed, pushing the paramedic off me and trying to get up. ‘Sir, please stay down. You were hit by a drunk driver…’ ‘WHAT THE FUCK?!?’ I screamed! ‘WHERE ARE MY DAUGHTERS?!?’ I looked around me, the scene of carnage coming into focus. Billie, my sweet, strong Billie was lying 10 meters away from me. And my firstborn, my pride and joy Adele, was in a heap where I could almost touch her. They seem so small. There was a flurry of activity and shouting all around them as they lay there unmoving except for the ministrations of the paramedics. ‘No…’ I whispered as I suddenly couldn’t see them for the tears in my eyes and red and blue lights flashing over and over. ‘No…’ ‘No, you will not be taken from me… Please…’ ‘And that was 5 years ago. You see,’ I said to the lady in the chair. ‘There aren’t too many people who can bring back the dead. There are limits to boons, even boons like mine.’ ‘But one thing that cannot be taken away from me, against my will, is my thirst for vengeance. Not justice, mind you, because that ship has sailed when you were jailed for a mere 3 years and banned from driving for life. No, it’s vengeance and revenge and pain and suffering.’ ‘You ready?’ I said as the lady struggled in the chair she was tied up in, her screaming muffled against the gag I stuffed in her mouth.	Many people think that telekinesis is useful, but not that dangerous. Guess what ? They are wrong. But, first things first. When I awakened, I was euphoric. I thought that my life would turn 180 degrees and I would become rich. What ? Thinking about money instead of some noble ideas ? Please, don't judge me so quickly. I wasn't some superhuman xianxia protagonist nor had personality like one. I couldn't split mountains with simple attacks and fly in the sky on a sword. I was just your everyday average joe. The kind of guy that you would pass by on the street without a second thought. Also, I wasn't young anymore. My health was on decline. I worked in a factory from dawn till night. Inhaling a lot of dust, I was frequently running out of breath. Even running 2 or 3 miles was a challenge for me. And those goddamned back pains, they were killing the shit out of me. That is why I was overjoyed when I awakened. But instead of getting some isekai like cheat, I got something different - telekinesis. And to make matter worse, my telekinesis was 'slightly weaker' than it should've been. Instead of freely manipulating thousands of pounds, I could manipulate a tenth of a pound at most. I thought to myself - don't worry man, it will grow over time. Well, guess what, it didn't. Instead of growing in strength, it grew in radius. By the time a month has passed, I was able to use telekinesis within the radius of 10 feet. I thought to myself : 'Fucking great, I cannot even lift a beer with this shit.' I was training every single day increasing my precision and radius, hoping for a miracle to come. To my surprise, it did come. But in a slightly different form from what you might expect. It wasn't an encounter with a sealed expert, nor finding a thousand years old ginseng. Instead, it was an encounter with simple goblins. Sounds strange and dumb, isn't it ? Well, hear me out first. On a certain sunny Sunday, I decided to relax while strolling through the forest. The weather was lovely, birds were singing and flowers were blooming. In short, it was a perfect day. Perfect for a stroll to soothe my nerves after an exhausting week in work. I told to myself, 'Nothing can go wrong, right ?'. Wrong once more. Thirty years ago, mana appeared on earth and human began awakening and gaining various abilities. But nothing comes without a price. Just like awakeners began to appear, monsters decided to visit humanity. Their appearance took the form of 'gates'. Gates as the name may suggest were portals. Portals to the lovely place called abyss. Abyss was a place that looked differently with each gate. Sometimes it looked like a scorching desert and sometimes like a green forest. Sometimes it even took form of a medieval dungeon. But one thing always remained constant - the presence of monsters. Dragons, wyverns, gnomes, goblins, wolves of a horse size, you name it. And they have to be killed, or they will escape from the gate and wreak havoc. To do that, you have to go inside the gate but here's funny part, once you are inside, you have to kill every single monster. Otherwise, you are fucked, cause you can't leave and no one can enter. Why no one can enter ? It's simple, several minutes after the first human go in, the gate closes itself. And it remains closed as long as there is any human in it. The interesting thing about gates is the fact that they appear randomly. Usually in desolate places without humans. So you can guess how surprised I was, when one appeared on top of my face. Because of that, I automatically entered. As soon as I was in it, I saw scenery that resembled a medieval dungeon. Then I heard a shriek and a goblin appeared in my field of vision. As soon as he saw me, he rushed towards me with rusty sword in hand. Since I haven't had any weapon with me nor was I a trained individual, direct combat was out of question. Also, I was literally sealed inside the gate, escaping was out of question. The only thing I could do was to somehow kill everything within this gate with this ability of mine. Goblin was rushing towards me, while I was lost in my own thoughts. Gears in my mind were turning at fearsome speed. An idea appeared within my mind. When goblin was sufficiently close, I used telekinesis and prayed to gods for a miracle. Suddenly, just a few feet from me, he collapsed and began shrieking and wailing in pain. Several seconds later, he died. What I did was pretty risky, but it worked well. I used my telekinesis in place of his chest, trying to form needles within the heart made out of coagulated blood. That was the moment I truly realized how terrifying my telekinesis can be. The rest is history. Many years later, I became known as the strongest awakener - 'God of Death'. Nothing within a thousand feet near me could survive. It didn't matter what I encountered inside the gates. Goblins or dragons, it didn't matter, all of them shared the cause of death. Needles within their hearts and brains. Who would have thought that a 'simple' encounter with a goblin would change my fate. --- If someone finds some mistakes ( with usage of times, gramatical errors or something else), please notify me in the comment. That would help me improve my future prompts. Thanks for reading and may hydration be with you.
[WP]You possess an ability that seems relatively harmless, albeit useful, at first glance, yet on a deeper look is scarily powerful. Nothing can be taken from you against your will	"No." "What did you say, asshole?" Words have power. Sometimes, they have power only in your head. That is often enough, for your head is where all of the most important things happen. Sometimes, if you are particularly lucky, words have power in other people's heads. &#x200B; "I said no," I told the two superheroes. My voice was calm and collected, despite the zipties on my wrists and the unpleasant tingle in my stomach. Because my words held power outside of heads, too. "You can't have my freedom." &#x200B; The tall blonde hero laughed at that. He was called Reaper - and if the rumors about him were even half-true, he was probably the deadliest super in the entire West Coast. You don't stay long in the superhero business unless you're the apex predator. Most superheroes died, got arrested, or retired within months. About one in ten managed to survive the first year. Reaper had been doing this for a decade. "What are you going to do about it, klepto?" the man asked. "Nothing, Reaper." I brought my hands from behind my back, rubbing my wrists, and saw Reaper's eyes widen. "All I'm saying is, you can't have it." Reaper looked at my hands. Then he looked at the other hero, a 17-year-old pipsqueak of a girl who wore glasses and, in true superhero fashion, reflective spandex. In true superhero fashion, spandex did not suit her. "You ziptied him, Foresight. Hands behind the lamppost. Right?" "Yeah," she muttered, looking down at me. "Didn't even notice him breaking out until he did it. Looks like our kleptomaniac is an escape artist, too." I shrugged and started getting up. "You can't have my-" Reaper's fist rammed into my mouth, and the world flashed white. "Stay down!" I heard him yell, the sound oddly warped by the pain. "Don't even try this shit!" &#x200B; Reaper was renowned for his punches: he was strong, he was fast, and he knew exactly where to hit. But the secret ingredient was probably in the metal-plated gloves of his suit. Had I been a normal human, I'd probably be down for a good long while, moaning with pain until Reaper got sick of it and shot me with a tranq gun. After a hit like that, even I struggled to gather my thoughts. "You can't have..." I hissed through broken teeth, "my... health." The pain disappeared, and I felt the teeth mend. My head was clear again. By making my claim where he could hear me, I had retrieved what he took from me. Retrieving things was my superpower, after all. It's just that until a few weeks ago, I had no idea just how many different things I could retrieve. &#x200B; "Don't try anything, Expropriator," Reaper scoffed, his boot prodding my side. He didn't seem to notice my flesh mending. "You're playing head games with us again." "Retriever," I growled through clenched teeth. "What?" "Retriever. Expropriator is my old name, and you can't have it." "Whatever. Foresight, get Expllrgh-" Reaper paused, confused. "Erprogggh." I looked up from the sidewalk. "Say my real name, Reaper. You'll feel better." "John St-" "You can't have that one." "Strrbh. What the fuck?" &#x200B; At that moment, Foresight's eyes widened and she stepped back. "Reaper, we have to kill him!" "What?" Reaper said. "Why?" "You can't have my life, either!" I blurted out. What did she see in my future? "Now!" Foresight yelled, clearly panicking. "KILL HIM! BEFORE-" "And the knowledge of my plans!" Foresight staggered, as if hit, and put her hand to her head. "Null- I think. What was I saying?" Yeah, that was the weak spot of precogs. The only thing that truly scared them. Their powers weren't mere parasites like with the rest of us, but more like a part of the precog's mind. So if you shut down their power, you were shutting down their mind too. &#x200B; Reaper looked at her for a moment, then glared down at me. "Ohh. Okay, I get it. You can expropriate anything now, not just things." He reached for his stick, and it sprang a curved blade, a blade that traced bluish-violet light as it moved. The blade that could cut through anything. It even split atoms. The blade that he reserved for the worst offenders - and, if you believed the rumors, for anyone whom nobody would miss. Reaper raised his scythe. "I bet you can't retrieve anything once you're dead. Let's test it, shall we?" &#x200B; I started to roll out of the way, but he was faster. I heard the blade whistle, and the clothes parted at my chest. But when I finished rolling away, I was still in one piece. He couldn't take my life, and he couldn't even take my health. They were mine. All he did was take my clothes' integrity. I grinned, triumphant, and started getting up. &#x200B; Then I saw Reaper take a swing at the lamppost. My blood went cold, and I sprang forward from the half-crouch I was in, the severed shirt flaring out behind me as I jumped. I could retrieve anything that was taken from me - but my power did not apply if I accidentally lost something. And I was pretty sure that being crushed by a lamppost counted as losing my life. &#x200B; I was almost fast enough. I felt my bones crunch as fifty pounds of concrete landed on my shin. This time, I couldn't help it. The pain was too great. "Fucker!" I screamed. "Vandal! Murderer! Wastrel!" The moment those words left my mouth, I realized how stupid I sounded. But I wanted to hurt him, and plenty of heroes hated it when someone caught them breaking the law. "Hah." Reaper, it seems, was not that sort of hero. "Your power doesn't extend to gravity, does it?" Reaper admired his handiwork, then turned to the wall of the building looming above us. "Aww, fuuuuck," I moaned, and the moan turned into a whimper as the pain in my shin started to really hit me. Reaper sank his blade into the wall.	Many people think that telekinesis is useful, but not that dangerous. Guess what ? They are wrong. But, first things first. When I awakened, I was euphoric. I thought that my life would turn 180 degrees and I would become rich. What ? Thinking about money instead of some noble ideas ? Please, don't judge me so quickly. I wasn't some superhuman xianxia protagonist nor had personality like one. I couldn't split mountains with simple attacks and fly in the sky on a sword. I was just your everyday average joe. The kind of guy that you would pass by on the street without a second thought. Also, I wasn't young anymore. My health was on decline. I worked in a factory from dawn till night. Inhaling a lot of dust, I was frequently running out of breath. Even running 2 or 3 miles was a challenge for me. And those goddamned back pains, they were killing the shit out of me. That is why I was overjoyed when I awakened. But instead of getting some isekai like cheat, I got something different - telekinesis. And to make matter worse, my telekinesis was 'slightly weaker' than it should've been. Instead of freely manipulating thousands of pounds, I could manipulate a tenth of a pound at most. I thought to myself - don't worry man, it will grow over time. Well, guess what, it didn't. Instead of growing in strength, it grew in radius. By the time a month has passed, I was able to use telekinesis within the radius of 10 feet. I thought to myself : 'Fucking great, I cannot even lift a beer with this shit.' I was training every single day increasing my precision and radius, hoping for a miracle to come. To my surprise, it did come. But in a slightly different form from what you might expect. It wasn't an encounter with a sealed expert, nor finding a thousand years old ginseng. Instead, it was an encounter with simple goblins. Sounds strange and dumb, isn't it ? Well, hear me out first. On a certain sunny Sunday, I decided to relax while strolling through the forest. The weather was lovely, birds were singing and flowers were blooming. In short, it was a perfect day. Perfect for a stroll to soothe my nerves after an exhausting week in work. I told to myself, 'Nothing can go wrong, right ?'. Wrong once more. Thirty years ago, mana appeared on earth and human began awakening and gaining various abilities. But nothing comes without a price. Just like awakeners began to appear, monsters decided to visit humanity. Their appearance took the form of 'gates'. Gates as the name may suggest were portals. Portals to the lovely place called abyss. Abyss was a place that looked differently with each gate. Sometimes it looked like a scorching desert and sometimes like a green forest. Sometimes it even took form of a medieval dungeon. But one thing always remained constant - the presence of monsters. Dragons, wyverns, gnomes, goblins, wolves of a horse size, you name it. And they have to be killed, or they will escape from the gate and wreak havoc. To do that, you have to go inside the gate but here's funny part, once you are inside, you have to kill every single monster. Otherwise, you are fucked, cause you can't leave and no one can enter. Why no one can enter ? It's simple, several minutes after the first human go in, the gate closes itself. And it remains closed as long as there is any human in it. The interesting thing about gates is the fact that they appear randomly. Usually in desolate places without humans. So you can guess how surprised I was, when one appeared on top of my face. Because of that, I automatically entered. As soon as I was in it, I saw scenery that resembled a medieval dungeon. Then I heard a shriek and a goblin appeared in my field of vision. As soon as he saw me, he rushed towards me with rusty sword in hand. Since I haven't had any weapon with me nor was I a trained individual, direct combat was out of question. Also, I was literally sealed inside the gate, escaping was out of question. The only thing I could do was to somehow kill everything within this gate with this ability of mine. Goblin was rushing towards me, while I was lost in my own thoughts. Gears in my mind were turning at fearsome speed. An idea appeared within my mind. When goblin was sufficiently close, I used telekinesis and prayed to gods for a miracle. Suddenly, just a few feet from me, he collapsed and began shrieking and wailing in pain. Several seconds later, he died. What I did was pretty risky, but it worked well. I used my telekinesis in place of his chest, trying to form needles within the heart made out of coagulated blood. That was the moment I truly realized how terrifying my telekinesis can be. The rest is history. Many years later, I became known as the strongest awakener - 'God of Death'. Nothing within a thousand feet near me could survive. It didn't matter what I encountered inside the gates. Goblins or dragons, it didn't matter, all of them shared the cause of death. Needles within their hearts and brains. Who would have thought that a 'simple' encounter with a goblin would change my fate. --- If someone finds some mistakes ( with usage of times, gramatical errors or something else), please notify me in the comment. That would help me improve my future prompts. Thanks for reading and may hydration be with you.
[WP]You possess an ability that seems relatively harmless, albeit useful, at first glance, yet on a deeper look is scarily powerful. Nothing can be taken from you against your will	Tom’s phone rang. The number was unknown and only a few people had access to it. If he did not know the caller, then it was a transferred request from his agent. “Tom’s delivery service, this is Tom.” The voice on the other end was grainy from the use of a filter. “You’re the freelance Ability User, right? We need you to deliver a suitcase from Tricell Laboratories.” “Destination?” “The Central Repository.” Tom frowned. “Brightfield City? Isn’t that just north of here?” The caller did not answer that question. “It’s imperative you do not let anyone else handle this package once you receive it.” Tom rolled his eyes. Always so dramatic. He set down his beer and tossed a couple of coins onto the bar. The bartender waved at him as he left the small pub. Once he was out of earshot of civilians, he spoke again. “Sounds simple enough. I don’t suppose I can inquire about the contents. I’d rather not be transporting nuclear codes again. That job was more hassle than necessary.” The caller was silent for a moment before replying. “It is the cure of the bioweapon being used in the East.” That caused him to pause mid-step. “No shit. They actually did it? Guess I’ll have to be extra careful with this delivery, huh?” “This is no joking matter. The lives of millions are at stake here. Are you willing to take the request, or do we have to search for a different courier?” “Price?” “Fifty million.” Tom whistled. “All for a little delivery, huh? Looks like this is my lucky day. I’ll be at Tricell in ten minutes. Talk to your contact about transferring the money to my accounts.” With that, he hung up and hopped on a motorcycle parked outside the bar. It was an old make, but still had the aerodynamics of the modern age. While the base model was not known for its speed, a few custom modifications put it on par with more modern models. He had not locked it – security was a nonissue these days. And with a quick rev of the engine, he sped off toward Tricell Laboratories. “Look at that security.” A set of heavy gates outside the facility forced him to slow to a stop. An armed guard stepped out from a small booth, one hand on the pistol at his side. Atop the walls nearby, Tom could see at least two snipers with their weapons trained on him as well. “What’s your business?” The man was curt and ready to attack if necessary. With all things considered, this level of security was reasonable. “Tom Davison. Here for the delivery.” Cold eyes scrutinized him a moment longer. Tom tapped his bike impatiently. Then, the guard nodded before retreating into the booth. There was a brief bit of muffled conversation before the gate began to roll open. The guard returned and pointed down the road. “First right to the loading dock. Get the package and leave. I’m sure you know this is of utmost importance.” Tom only waved a hand. “Will do.” The pickup was smooth. A nervous woman in a white coat met him at the loading dock. All the while, guards and cameras watched Tom’s every movement. He ignored it all in favor of securing the metal briefcase to the back of his bike. “Uh. Will that be alright?” The researcher seemed worried. “That doesn’t look very secure.” Instead of answering, Tom asked, “How tough is this case? It feels pretty heavy. Can it withstand bullets?” The researcher nodded. “It can withstand heavy artillery. We need that vial to be undamaged. The world depends on it.” “It’ll be fine then. It’s only a quick drive through the inner city to reach the Repository.” Tom tried to give the lady an encouraging smile. “Your bosses chose the right delivery service.” She did not seem convinced, but Tom left before she could say another word. The gates of Tricell closed behind him and soon he was cruising down the highway toward the north end of the city. The job should have taken no more than two hours, depending on the traffic. But rocket-propelled grenades had a funny way of interrupting plans. “Shit!” The explosive hit the small overpass, sending cars and concrete crumbling below. Tom lost control of his bike and hit the jagged concrete with a crunch before gravity took hold. He barely had time to grab onto the handle of the suitcase before his face met the ground. Pain exploded in his body as several things inside him popped. His motorcycle lay in twisted scrap metal nearby. There were screams in the distance as people fled from the collapsed bridge. And through the haze of noise, there was the sound of ropes and orders. “Hurry! Retrieve the package!” Something tugged on his suitcase. “Sir, I think he’s still alive! I can’t pull it out of his grip!” “Finish him off and take it then!” Tom grunted as several bullets pierced his skull and torso. And yet, the suitcase remained firmly in his hand. “Sir there’s something weird – ” Before he could continue, Tom pushed himself to his feet and swung the suitcase. A tinted helmet shattered with the force of the blow. The soldier fell back with a yelp, even as Tom moved closer. He reached down, grabbed the soldier’s pistol, and pushed the barrel through the faceplate. “Sorry, you’re gonna have to try harder than that.” And he pulled the trigger. (1/2)	Many people think that telekinesis is useful, but not that dangerous. Guess what ? They are wrong. But, first things first. When I awakened, I was euphoric. I thought that my life would turn 180 degrees and I would become rich. What ? Thinking about money instead of some noble ideas ? Please, don't judge me so quickly. I wasn't some superhuman xianxia protagonist nor had personality like one. I couldn't split mountains with simple attacks and fly in the sky on a sword. I was just your everyday average joe. The kind of guy that you would pass by on the street without a second thought. Also, I wasn't young anymore. My health was on decline. I worked in a factory from dawn till night. Inhaling a lot of dust, I was frequently running out of breath. Even running 2 or 3 miles was a challenge for me. And those goddamned back pains, they were killing the shit out of me. That is why I was overjoyed when I awakened. But instead of getting some isekai like cheat, I got something different - telekinesis. And to make matter worse, my telekinesis was 'slightly weaker' than it should've been. Instead of freely manipulating thousands of pounds, I could manipulate a tenth of a pound at most. I thought to myself - don't worry man, it will grow over time. Well, guess what, it didn't. Instead of growing in strength, it grew in radius. By the time a month has passed, I was able to use telekinesis within the radius of 10 feet. I thought to myself : 'Fucking great, I cannot even lift a beer with this shit.' I was training every single day increasing my precision and radius, hoping for a miracle to come. To my surprise, it did come. But in a slightly different form from what you might expect. It wasn't an encounter with a sealed expert, nor finding a thousand years old ginseng. Instead, it was an encounter with simple goblins. Sounds strange and dumb, isn't it ? Well, hear me out first. On a certain sunny Sunday, I decided to relax while strolling through the forest. The weather was lovely, birds were singing and flowers were blooming. In short, it was a perfect day. Perfect for a stroll to soothe my nerves after an exhausting week in work. I told to myself, 'Nothing can go wrong, right ?'. Wrong once more. Thirty years ago, mana appeared on earth and human began awakening and gaining various abilities. But nothing comes without a price. Just like awakeners began to appear, monsters decided to visit humanity. Their appearance took the form of 'gates'. Gates as the name may suggest were portals. Portals to the lovely place called abyss. Abyss was a place that looked differently with each gate. Sometimes it looked like a scorching desert and sometimes like a green forest. Sometimes it even took form of a medieval dungeon. But one thing always remained constant - the presence of monsters. Dragons, wyverns, gnomes, goblins, wolves of a horse size, you name it. And they have to be killed, or they will escape from the gate and wreak havoc. To do that, you have to go inside the gate but here's funny part, once you are inside, you have to kill every single monster. Otherwise, you are fucked, cause you can't leave and no one can enter. Why no one can enter ? It's simple, several minutes after the first human go in, the gate closes itself. And it remains closed as long as there is any human in it. The interesting thing about gates is the fact that they appear randomly. Usually in desolate places without humans. So you can guess how surprised I was, when one appeared on top of my face. Because of that, I automatically entered. As soon as I was in it, I saw scenery that resembled a medieval dungeon. Then I heard a shriek and a goblin appeared in my field of vision. As soon as he saw me, he rushed towards me with rusty sword in hand. Since I haven't had any weapon with me nor was I a trained individual, direct combat was out of question. Also, I was literally sealed inside the gate, escaping was out of question. The only thing I could do was to somehow kill everything within this gate with this ability of mine. Goblin was rushing towards me, while I was lost in my own thoughts. Gears in my mind were turning at fearsome speed. An idea appeared within my mind. When goblin was sufficiently close, I used telekinesis and prayed to gods for a miracle. Suddenly, just a few feet from me, he collapsed and began shrieking and wailing in pain. Several seconds later, he died. What I did was pretty risky, but it worked well. I used my telekinesis in place of his chest, trying to form needles within the heart made out of coagulated blood. That was the moment I truly realized how terrifying my telekinesis can be. The rest is history. Many years later, I became known as the strongest awakener - 'God of Death'. Nothing within a thousand feet near me could survive. It didn't matter what I encountered inside the gates. Goblins or dragons, it didn't matter, all of them shared the cause of death. Needles within their hearts and brains. Who would have thought that a 'simple' encounter with a goblin would change my fate. --- If someone finds some mistakes ( with usage of times, gramatical errors or something else), please notify me in the comment. That would help me improve my future prompts. Thanks for reading and may hydration be with you.
[WP]You possess an ability that seems relatively harmless, albeit useful, at first glance, yet on a deeper look is scarily powerful. Nothing can be taken from you against your will	Tom’s phone rang. The number was unknown and only a few people had access to it. If he did not know the caller, then it was a transferred request from his agent. “Tom’s delivery service, this is Tom.” The voice on the other end was grainy from the use of a filter. “You’re the freelance Ability User, right? We need you to deliver a suitcase from Tricell Laboratories.” “Destination?” “The Central Repository.” Tom frowned. “Brightfield City? Isn’t that just north of here?” The caller did not answer that question. “It’s imperative you do not let anyone else handle this package once you receive it.” Tom rolled his eyes. Always so dramatic. He set down his beer and tossed a couple of coins onto the bar. The bartender waved at him as he left the small pub. Once he was out of earshot of civilians, he spoke again. “Sounds simple enough. I don’t suppose I can inquire about the contents. I’d rather not be transporting nuclear codes again. That job was more hassle than necessary.” The caller was silent for a moment before replying. “It is the cure of the bioweapon being used in the East.” That caused him to pause mid-step. “No shit. They actually did it? Guess I’ll have to be extra careful with this delivery, huh?” “This is no joking matter. The lives of millions are at stake here. Are you willing to take the request, or do we have to search for a different courier?” “Price?” “Fifty million.” Tom whistled. “All for a little delivery, huh? Looks like this is my lucky day. I’ll be at Tricell in ten minutes. Talk to your contact about transferring the money to my accounts.” With that, he hung up and hopped on a motorcycle parked outside the bar. It was an old make, but still had the aerodynamics of the modern age. While the base model was not known for its speed, a few custom modifications put it on par with more modern models. He had not locked it – security was a nonissue these days. And with a quick rev of the engine, he sped off toward Tricell Laboratories. “Look at that security.” A set of heavy gates outside the facility forced him to slow to a stop. An armed guard stepped out from a small booth, one hand on the pistol at his side. Atop the walls nearby, Tom could see at least two snipers with their weapons trained on him as well. “What’s your business?” The man was curt and ready to attack if necessary. With all things considered, this level of security was reasonable. “Tom Davison. Here for the delivery.” Cold eyes scrutinized him a moment longer. Tom tapped his bike impatiently. Then, the guard nodded before retreating into the booth. There was a brief bit of muffled conversation before the gate began to roll open. The guard returned and pointed down the road. “First right to the loading dock. Get the package and leave. I’m sure you know this is of utmost importance.” Tom only waved a hand. “Will do.” The pickup was smooth. A nervous woman in a white coat met him at the loading dock. All the while, guards and cameras watched Tom’s every movement. He ignored it all in favor of securing the metal briefcase to the back of his bike. “Uh. Will that be alright?” The researcher seemed worried. “That doesn’t look very secure.” Instead of answering, Tom asked, “How tough is this case? It feels pretty heavy. Can it withstand bullets?” The researcher nodded. “It can withstand heavy artillery. We need that vial to be undamaged. The world depends on it.” “It’ll be fine then. It’s only a quick drive through the inner city to reach the Repository.” Tom tried to give the lady an encouraging smile. “Your bosses chose the right delivery service.” She did not seem convinced, but Tom left before she could say another word. The gates of Tricell closed behind him and soon he was cruising down the highway toward the north end of the city. The job should have taken no more than two hours, depending on the traffic. But rocket-propelled grenades had a funny way of interrupting plans. “Shit!” The explosive hit the small overpass, sending cars and concrete crumbling below. Tom lost control of his bike and hit the jagged concrete with a crunch before gravity took hold. He barely had time to grab onto the handle of the suitcase before his face met the ground. Pain exploded in his body as several things inside him popped. His motorcycle lay in twisted scrap metal nearby. There were screams in the distance as people fled from the collapsed bridge. And through the haze of noise, there was the sound of ropes and orders. “Hurry! Retrieve the package!” Something tugged on his suitcase. “Sir, I think he’s still alive! I can’t pull it out of his grip!” “Finish him off and take it then!” Tom grunted as several bullets pierced his skull and torso. And yet, the suitcase remained firmly in his hand. “Sir there’s something weird – ” Before he could continue, Tom pushed himself to his feet and swung the suitcase. A tinted helmet shattered with the force of the blow. The soldier fell back with a yelp, even as Tom moved closer. He reached down, grabbed the soldier’s pistol, and pushed the barrel through the faceplate. “Sorry, you’re gonna have to try harder than that.” And he pulled the trigger. (1/2)	"No." "What did you say, asshole?" Words have power. Sometimes, they have power only in your head. That is often enough, for your head is where all of the most important things happen. Sometimes, if you are particularly lucky, words have power in other people's heads. &#x200B; "I said no," I told the two superheroes. My voice was calm and collected, despite the zipties on my wrists and the unpleasant tingle in my stomach. Because my words held power outside of heads, too. "You can't have my freedom." &#x200B; The tall blonde hero laughed at that. He was called Reaper - and if the rumors about him were even half-true, he was probably the deadliest super in the entire West Coast. You don't stay long in the superhero business unless you're the apex predator. Most superheroes died, got arrested, or retired within months. About one in ten managed to survive the first year. Reaper had been doing this for a decade. "What are you going to do about it, klepto?" the man asked. "Nothing, Reaper." I brought my hands from behind my back, rubbing my wrists, and saw Reaper's eyes widen. "All I'm saying is, you can't have it." Reaper looked at my hands. Then he looked at the other hero, a 17-year-old pipsqueak of a girl who wore glasses and, in true superhero fashion, reflective spandex. In true superhero fashion, spandex did not suit her. "You ziptied him, Foresight. Hands behind the lamppost. Right?" "Yeah," she muttered, looking down at me. "Didn't even notice him breaking out until he did it. Looks like our kleptomaniac is an escape artist, too." I shrugged and started getting up. "You can't have my-" Reaper's fist rammed into my mouth, and the world flashed white. "Stay down!" I heard him yell, the sound oddly warped by the pain. "Don't even try this shit!" &#x200B; Reaper was renowned for his punches: he was strong, he was fast, and he knew exactly where to hit. But the secret ingredient was probably in the metal-plated gloves of his suit. Had I been a normal human, I'd probably be down for a good long while, moaning with pain until Reaper got sick of it and shot me with a tranq gun. After a hit like that, even I struggled to gather my thoughts. "You can't have..." I hissed through broken teeth, "my... health." The pain disappeared, and I felt the teeth mend. My head was clear again. By making my claim where he could hear me, I had retrieved what he took from me. Retrieving things was my superpower, after all. It's just that until a few weeks ago, I had no idea just how many different things I could retrieve. &#x200B; "Don't try anything, Expropriator," Reaper scoffed, his boot prodding my side. He didn't seem to notice my flesh mending. "You're playing head games with us again." "Retriever," I growled through clenched teeth. "What?" "Retriever. Expropriator is my old name, and you can't have it." "Whatever. Foresight, get Expllrgh-" Reaper paused, confused. "Erprogggh." I looked up from the sidewalk. "Say my real name, Reaper. You'll feel better." "John St-" "You can't have that one." "Strrbh. What the fuck?" &#x200B; At that moment, Foresight's eyes widened and she stepped back. "Reaper, we have to kill him!" "What?" Reaper said. "Why?" "You can't have my life, either!" I blurted out. What did she see in my future? "Now!" Foresight yelled, clearly panicking. "KILL HIM! BEFORE-" "And the knowledge of my plans!" Foresight staggered, as if hit, and put her hand to her head. "Null- I think. What was I saying?" Yeah, that was the weak spot of precogs. The only thing that truly scared them. Their powers weren't mere parasites like with the rest of us, but more like a part of the precog's mind. So if you shut down their power, you were shutting down their mind too. &#x200B; Reaper looked at her for a moment, then glared down at me. "Ohh. Okay, I get it. You can expropriate anything now, not just things." He reached for his stick, and it sprang a curved blade, a blade that traced bluish-violet light as it moved. The blade that could cut through anything. It even split atoms. The blade that he reserved for the worst offenders - and, if you believed the rumors, for anyone whom nobody would miss. Reaper raised his scythe. "I bet you can't retrieve anything once you're dead. Let's test it, shall we?" &#x200B; I started to roll out of the way, but he was faster. I heard the blade whistle, and the clothes parted at my chest. But when I finished rolling away, I was still in one piece. He couldn't take my life, and he couldn't even take my health. They were mine. All he did was take my clothes' integrity. I grinned, triumphant, and started getting up. &#x200B; Then I saw Reaper take a swing at the lamppost. My blood went cold, and I sprang forward from the half-crouch I was in, the severed shirt flaring out behind me as I jumped. I could retrieve anything that was taken from me - but my power did not apply if I accidentally lost something. And I was pretty sure that being crushed by a lamppost counted as losing my life. &#x200B; I was almost fast enough. I felt my bones crunch as fifty pounds of concrete landed on my shin. This time, I couldn't help it. The pain was too great. "Fucker!" I screamed. "Vandal! Murderer! Wastrel!" The moment those words left my mouth, I realized how stupid I sounded. But I wanted to hurt him, and plenty of heroes hated it when someone caught them breaking the law. "Hah." Reaper, it seems, was not that sort of hero. "Your power doesn't extend to gravity, does it?" Reaper admired his handiwork, then turned to the wall of the building looming above us. "Aww, fuuuuck," I moaned, and the moan turned into a whimper as the pain in my shin started to really hit me. Reaper sank his blade into the wall.
[WP]You possess an ability that seems relatively harmless, albeit useful, at first glance, yet on a deeper look is scarily powerful. Nothing can be taken from you against your will	Tom’s phone rang. The number was unknown and only a few people had access to it. If he did not know the caller, then it was a transferred request from his agent. “Tom’s delivery service, this is Tom.” The voice on the other end was grainy from the use of a filter. “You’re the freelance Ability User, right? We need you to deliver a suitcase from Tricell Laboratories.” “Destination?” “The Central Repository.” Tom frowned. “Brightfield City? Isn’t that just north of here?” The caller did not answer that question. “It’s imperative you do not let anyone else handle this package once you receive it.” Tom rolled his eyes. Always so dramatic. He set down his beer and tossed a couple of coins onto the bar. The bartender waved at him as he left the small pub. Once he was out of earshot of civilians, he spoke again. “Sounds simple enough. I don’t suppose I can inquire about the contents. I’d rather not be transporting nuclear codes again. That job was more hassle than necessary.” The caller was silent for a moment before replying. “It is the cure of the bioweapon being used in the East.” That caused him to pause mid-step. “No shit. They actually did it? Guess I’ll have to be extra careful with this delivery, huh?” “This is no joking matter. The lives of millions are at stake here. Are you willing to take the request, or do we have to search for a different courier?” “Price?” “Fifty million.” Tom whistled. “All for a little delivery, huh? Looks like this is my lucky day. I’ll be at Tricell in ten minutes. Talk to your contact about transferring the money to my accounts.” With that, he hung up and hopped on a motorcycle parked outside the bar. It was an old make, but still had the aerodynamics of the modern age. While the base model was not known for its speed, a few custom modifications put it on par with more modern models. He had not locked it – security was a nonissue these days. And with a quick rev of the engine, he sped off toward Tricell Laboratories. “Look at that security.” A set of heavy gates outside the facility forced him to slow to a stop. An armed guard stepped out from a small booth, one hand on the pistol at his side. Atop the walls nearby, Tom could see at least two snipers with their weapons trained on him as well. “What’s your business?” The man was curt and ready to attack if necessary. With all things considered, this level of security was reasonable. “Tom Davison. Here for the delivery.” Cold eyes scrutinized him a moment longer. Tom tapped his bike impatiently. Then, the guard nodded before retreating into the booth. There was a brief bit of muffled conversation before the gate began to roll open. The guard returned and pointed down the road. “First right to the loading dock. Get the package and leave. I’m sure you know this is of utmost importance.” Tom only waved a hand. “Will do.” The pickup was smooth. A nervous woman in a white coat met him at the loading dock. All the while, guards and cameras watched Tom’s every movement. He ignored it all in favor of securing the metal briefcase to the back of his bike. “Uh. Will that be alright?” The researcher seemed worried. “That doesn’t look very secure.” Instead of answering, Tom asked, “How tough is this case? It feels pretty heavy. Can it withstand bullets?” The researcher nodded. “It can withstand heavy artillery. We need that vial to be undamaged. The world depends on it.” “It’ll be fine then. It’s only a quick drive through the inner city to reach the Repository.” Tom tried to give the lady an encouraging smile. “Your bosses chose the right delivery service.” She did not seem convinced, but Tom left before she could say another word. The gates of Tricell closed behind him and soon he was cruising down the highway toward the north end of the city. The job should have taken no more than two hours, depending on the traffic. But rocket-propelled grenades had a funny way of interrupting plans. “Shit!” The explosive hit the small overpass, sending cars and concrete crumbling below. Tom lost control of his bike and hit the jagged concrete with a crunch before gravity took hold. He barely had time to grab onto the handle of the suitcase before his face met the ground. Pain exploded in his body as several things inside him popped. His motorcycle lay in twisted scrap metal nearby. There were screams in the distance as people fled from the collapsed bridge. And through the haze of noise, there was the sound of ropes and orders. “Hurry! Retrieve the package!” Something tugged on his suitcase. “Sir, I think he’s still alive! I can’t pull it out of his grip!” “Finish him off and take it then!” Tom grunted as several bullets pierced his skull and torso. And yet, the suitcase remained firmly in his hand. “Sir there’s something weird – ” Before he could continue, Tom pushed himself to his feet and swung the suitcase. A tinted helmet shattered with the force of the blow. The soldier fell back with a yelp, even as Tom moved closer. He reached down, grabbed the soldier’s pistol, and pushed the barrel through the faceplate. “Sorry, you’re gonna have to try harder than that.” And he pulled the trigger. (1/2)	First, it was money. Being dead broke had a way of making one penny pinching, and I was ecstatic when my phone, gas, electrical, and water company all congratulated me on winning a lifetime supply. With bills handled, I could finally stop putting in overtime and start focusing on my school work. Lucky me, I thought. Next, it was time. Now that I no longer had the excuse of being overworked, it was depressingly obvious that I just wasn't as quick or talented as my peers. If only I had just one more hour, I despaired. Imagine my surprise when I found out that at midnight every day, time would stop for exactly 60 minutes, letting me catch up on all the concepts that I could not grasp. But damn did I panic the first time that happened. Lastly, it was happiness. With a comfortable amount of money and a secret time glitch, I was at the top of my game. Finally, the happiness that had eluded me all this time is here. It's mine, I thought. I deserve this, and no one will take it from me. Surely the sudden bout of people skipping class isn't related to me, right?
[WP] Some say that if you're born with a birthmark that marked the place you've died of a wound. Now you weren't born with such a birthmark, but you do suddenly wake-up with new big birthmark on the front of your shoulder. When asking your SO they just shrug: "you've always had that" "No, I didn't"	Birthmarks. You should have them from birth, no? I mean, that's what the name implies. Marks from birth. Everyone has one, even if you can't see it. They've found those that have no visible marks on their skin to have one internally, such as during an autopsy or something. Mark on the brain? Heart? It's always somewhere. Since I was a kid, people would say it's to mark how you died in a previous life. Old wives tale. I never had one, a visible one, anyway. That is, until this morning. I would joke around with the wife on how I probably died from kidney failure. Guess I can't make that joke anymore. Not with this new, softball sized, mark on my right shoulder. I know it's new because, despite popular opinion around the house, I know my own body. I know every fine line and crevice. And, I distinctly remember making jokes about not having one my whole life. Does Katie remember those jokes? Well, that was the source of our argument this morning over breakfast. "Kidney failure, remember? Christmas with your family, around the tree, everyone was sharing their mark location?" She doesn't recall such a thing. "The first time we saw each other naked, then. I ran my fingers across yours and said it was beautiful, and you searched EVERY inch of me and couldn't find anything?" Never happened. She must be messing with me at this point. I'm not going crazy. She thinks this is funny. I don't know when she grew a sense of humor but this must be her opportunity to try it out. Pictures! I know she's lying but she won't be able to keep it up once I show her pictures of us on the beach as teenagers. I can't believe I have to put so much effort to prove what we both already know. I remember them clearly as I had spent the whole afternoon scanning in our photo albums so we can show our kids that we were cool once on a medium that won't make them fall asleep. Social Media. They weren't impressed. Beach pictures, beach pictures... You never really realize how many pictures you have with clothes on until you need one without. Here! I remember this day. I buried her in the sand and gave her massive sand boobs. She wasn't impressed. Don't know how I managed to get her to marry me. I... This can't be right. The mark is there. Right there on my right shoulder. Baby pictures. Why did my mom insist on keeping me clothed? Shirt, sweater, overalls... Come on. I'm sure I had a bathtub picture somewhere. OK, this one is me laying naked on a fur coat. Mother... why? I'm laying on my belly but you can see a sliver of the mark on my right shoulder. Would she really go through all this trouble for a joke? Just Photoshop this hideous mark on all my pictures? It wouldn't be too hard to do, they have apps that give you a birthmark anywhere you want to see what you'd look like. You can choose the shape and color and everything. "OK, you win. You got me. The pictures were a nice touch. You can stop now, it's getting old." "No, you stop with this stupid joke you're trying to pull on \me\! I don't know what your end game is trying to convince me otherwise. Do you think I'm that gullible? I'm just going to forget large parts of my life? You're not that good, sweetheart." Is what she said before she turned her back on me and went to sleep. I can always tell when she lies. This time, not so much. I guess we'll deal with this in the morning. \_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_ There are dreams where you know they are dreams. Others where they feel real. And yet, others where the line between dream and reality is so blurred, you're not sure there is one. This one that had me leaping upright gasping for air was the latter. Sweat? I'm covered in it. Heartbeat? Racing. Breathing? Rapidly, as if I was held underwater until the last second, then released. What do I remember before I forget? There was... an incredibly bright light with the silhouette of a person. That's the last thing I saw. Before that. Um... I was on the ground, I think, grasping for something beyond my reach. I see my arm stretching to get... my other arm? Is that possible? I'm laying in the street with cars crashed into each other around us. Us... I'm not alone down here. Two little kids face down. I can't tell who they are, but I know. Oh my god. A woman next to them. Katie. She's in bad shape. He neck is bend in... I can't think about this anymore. "Katie, wake up!" "What happened?" She says half asleep. "Let me see your mark. Please." She's too sleepy to oblige. She just rolls over and goes back to sleep. I gently pull her night shirt down and see that her collar bone is clean. Her neck, however... The mark moved. I remembered one more thing. Someone whispered something to me in the dream. "It's not your time."	This is really creepy because I actually have such a birth mark. So, here it goes! I looked down at my shoulder and couldn’t help but wince. Why did that one spot hurt so much? I did legs yesterday, so it doesn’t make sense. I shrugged it off and worked the soreness out in the hot shower. My vision clouded, and I thought it was the steam. However, shower steam is white not dark grey. Something wasn’t right. I took in a large, calming breath. My eyes adjusted properly and I felt my body e joy the soothing temperature. My phone chimed with a text, “Hey! Are you going to be ready soon? We’re going to miss it!” I sprang into action and got on my costume. I had just enough time to strap the leather sheaths onto my back and hand carried my fake swords. My friends called out to me from the car, “Here comes the White Wolf himself!” I couldn’t help but do a pirouette with my swords and throw out a Witcher sign to please my ‘adoring fans’. My best friend grabbed her lute and started playing Toss a Coin to Your Witcher as I approached. I explained my late arrival, and my friend, the gender-bent Jaskier, took pity and rubbed my shoulder through the armor. I knew as soon as it happened, my friends started hooting about my blush. We weren’t official, but it was hard to deny the spark that was there. I thanked her for her concern and the help. Unfortunately, the spot burned steadily. “What did I do to myself?” “You might have just slept on it wrong.” My friend in the front seat assured as he turned around. His visor on his medieval helm dropped down. That’s when things got weird. By weird, I mean I kicked him in the arm and yelled. My eyes flashed from a summer morning gaze of front lawns to a sea of fire. The driver pulled over immediately. “Dude! What the hell?” I could barely hear him over the ringing in my ears. I opened the door and baled out into the street. I dry heaved and was sweating profusely. The driver got out and grabbed my shoulder. He brought me up to my knees. “Woah.” he gasped heavily. “You look like shit. Let’s get you out of your armor.” I didn’t have the energy to disagree. My female friend brought me to the grass and told me to take my shirt off. I shivered from the morning air. Despite it being summer, the mornings in the north are still cold. She has seen me in a bathing suit before, so she knew what I looked like shirtless. However, that brought greater concern when she covered her mouth in shock. I looked down at my shoulder and the birthmark I didn’t have there before. It looked like a huge gash. She opened her phone and compared a picture she had saved. She was a med student, so she knew quite a bit. That also didn’t help me when she shook her head. “Your birthmark looks like an infected laceration.” she said. I shook my head. “That doesn’t seem right. I never had such a mark before.” My heart was beating faster when I saw my plate armored friends stepping towards me. I reached for my swords that weren’t there and scrambled backwards till I hit a tree. The shock of the hit made my vision blur slightly, but when I focused, I let out a sigh of relief. Whatever my brain was doing before had stopped. The plate armored fiends my eyes had tricked me into seeing were replaced by my childhood loved ones. I let out a sigh and sat up straight against the tree. “Hey, did you happen to take your meds today?” Despite my outburst, the friend I kicked neared me and put both his hands on my shoulders. The weight of his paws were rather comforting. I let out a groan of self-loathing and slapped my forehead. “No. I forgot.” “Ah!” he cried happily. “That explains it.” My Jaskier came up to me. “We’re just a minute from your house. We’ll go back and get them. We still have plenty of time before the doors open anyway.” Regardless of the episode, the drive back to the house was lively and fun. Jaskier ushered me into the house. My mind flashed an intrusive thought that I could steal a kiss from her while we are in private. I didn’t get the chance to act on it before she was already pressing her lips against mine. I felt like I was floating and the smell of her strawberry scented perfume was intoxicating. My eyes were closed, but I could still see her. However, it was when I opened them that made me jump back in fear. The blue walled house of mine was now black with soot. The ginger hair of my friend was replaced by a raven haired woman. Blood dropped down her face from the ax head embedded in her skull. The fire was spreading quickly and the thatch roof of the building started to roar. I screamed and ran out into the street of the village. The other houses were ablaze. The woman and children crying out as they are cut down by men on horseback. The men were dangling from a tree fighting for breath. The armored pair stood before me. One of their swords dripping with blood. My arm felt insanely cold. I looked down to shoulder and saw crimson draining from me. The last thing I remember were the shouts of the soldiers coming towards as my head met the scorched grass under the boots.
[WP] On your way to school you see a cat in someone's yard and bend to pet it. It trots up happily to you, purring all the while. Satisfied, you get up and continue on your way. As you check your phone, however, you see hundreds of missed calls and texts desperately asking where you've been.	"That can't be right," I think to myself, "Must be a glitch or something." I hit the call back button and wait while it rings. "Hello?" The voice on the other end sounds brittle, strained almost to the breaking point "Mom?" I ask curiously, she sounds odd, "Sorry, my phone is acting wonk-" "ADAM?!?" her scream is so loud I have to pull the phone away from my ear. "Ow! That hurt, mom!" I'm a little peeved but I hear a thump, and a clatter as the phone hits the floor. There's a bit of racket as I hear raised voices, and someone picks up the phone. "Hello? Is someone there?" I don't recognize the girls voice. "Is my mom ok?" I inquire worriedly, "I think my phone is glitching, cuz I've got like 200 missed calls and texts." "Adam?" the voice was quiet, almost scared. "Yes. Who is this?" "DAD!! ADAM IS ON THE PHONE!!!" Dad? Was that Polly? When did she start sounding so mature? "Adam?" I instantly recognized my dad's smooth baritone, though a bit more strained than usual, "Where are you?" "A couple blocks from the house," I can sense his urgency, but don't understand it, "on my way to school, like usual." "Don't move," he instructed seriously, "I'm coming to get you!" "Dad, is mom ok? What happened?" "She should be fine, she just fainted. I'll explain soon." "Ok, I'm in front of the Mekelsons," I looked around for the cat I'd been petting and didn't see it anywhere. I wasn't sure why dad wanted me to stay here, when I could have been home in a few minutes by walking back, but I just stayed where he told me. Moments later I stared in shocked amazement as my dad's Charger drifted around the corner before racing down the street to screech to a halt in front of me. The man who jumped out of the car made my eyes nearly bug out of my head. Looking at me as if seeing a ghost my dad, who inexplicably had a lot of gray hair, stumbled over to me. "Adam, how is it that you haven't changed?" "The school uniform sucks," I grumbled, "but I still have to wear it." "No, Adam," my dad reached out tentatively, touching my shoulder, and when I didn't react he grabbed on with a grip that was actually a little uncomfortable, "where have you been the last 5 years?" "F-F-Five YEARS?!?!?" I screamed incredulously. Looking at my phone I noticed the date did match what my dad was saying. My vision began to swim, and if not for his grip on me, I'd have fallen when things faded to black.	What in the world I thought as I looked down at the phone in my hands. “This has to be a prank” I thought to myself. I looked back to the cat but that panther-like feline was gone. I decided to go find out why my friends and family were blowing up my phone in person, mainly because my phone just died as I was checking notifications. But as I started walking something weird began to happen “What began to happen” said the man standing in front of me. Well when I started walking the sidewalk began to get bigger and bigger. Soon I was as small as the ants that were walking on the ground. I began to run and run until I got to a place that looked familiar to me. “What was this place?” he asked. “I can't remember”, I responded. “Well Mr. Johnson it seems as if this dream was traumatizing to you,” said the kindly bartender” so I recommend that you go see a person who is qualified to deal with stuff like this. But if you want my advice I think you should stay away from cats for a while.” As I walked out of the bar I saw a long black cat standing in front of me. I reached down to pet it...
[WP] On your way to school you see a cat in someone's yard and bend to pet it. It trots up happily to you, purring all the while. Satisfied, you get up and continue on your way. As you check your phone, however, you see hundreds of missed calls and texts desperately asking where you've been.	Kate looked at the time on her phone, no wonder her mother, three older brothers, and her bestfriend Jena, left bunch of messages and missed calls. Turns out school just ended and Kate was missing. “I spent all day playing with the cat?” Kate thought and turned around to look at the yard with the cat. But that’s impossible, it was just five minutes. I was petting the cat for just five minutes! Kate went home and received an earful from her Mom, big hugs from her brothers, and comforted a crying Jena. Unable to really recount what happened during the day, Kate simply apologized and said it won’t happen again. When her family kept pressing, Kate mentioned petting a cat on the way to school. For a split second there, she noticed a change of expression from her Mom’s face. Was it excitement? Sadness? Kate can’t pinpoint exactly and eventually forgot about it. Later that night, Kate got up to get some water in the kitchen, when she heard her mother’s voice. And a cat meowing. Kate hid behind the fridge and listened, but can’t understand what her mother is saying. The cat was listening and meowing intently as if understanding what her Mom was saying. As if they were talking.	…..Except that all of the calls and texts came from a single person that you have been desperately trying to avoid. Dismay and regret flood your mind every time you see them. If only you knew that girl who smiled brightly as she sat down across of you in cafeteria last year is an honest to god S tier stalker obsessed with being your “soulmate”, you would have jumped off the table and ran like hell. Annnnd she’s waiting for you at the school, frantic from how you successfully go radio silent on her for two days already. The record you’re hoping to break. You take a deep sigh, looking down to the cat that begins to rub itself all over your legs, looking up at you and meow in protest of you stopping to scratch it. After a moment of pondering, you decided to sit down on the curbs and lifted the cat up to your laps, before giving it all the attention your feline overlord deserved. The teacher may yelled at you for being late, but your stalker wouldn’t be able to come after you either. Not exactly the sustainable solution, but you’ll take what you can get.
[WP] After graduating necromancer school, you travel the world resurrecting trees and plants from destroyed forests. In the high carbon dioxide environment, the plants mutate and adapt into sentient beings. Now, with you as their leader, they act to take vengeance on the world that destroyed them.	Outside the small, radiant light of Selver’s fire, he could see the forest closing in by the perturbations of the soil. It was the roots, he thought, roots burrowing towards him out of the gloom like little subterranean snakes. They slipped into the firelight, one cracked the earth, a thick, gnarled finger trailing whiskers back into the soil. Not so little, he realized. Selver didn’t raise a finger to stop them, though he could have. As a graduate of The Spire he could have incinerated every tree from here to Carthac if he wished. He did not wish it. Selver had, after all, spent much of the last five years resurrecting these very same trees, husbanding them, feeling them grow. And grow they had, until the forest practically whispered with its own, innate power. More of the thick root tore free of the earth, shrugged off clods of dirt and the whiskery tendrils that had fed it, until the root was level with Selver’s eyes. He remained seated, cross legged and peaceful, watching, waiting. He would let the forest make its move. Selver had the strange sensation of a great many things staring at him, as the root hovered there before him. Then it curled gracefully towards the ground, its pointed tip kissing a clod of thrown dirt. The root shook spasmodically, a sort of rasping sigh escaped the earth, and then the whole root withered very suddenly, falling back to the ground in a blackened, diminished pile. Where it had kissed the clod of dirt was a single slim sprout of a sapling, only a few inches tall. Several watched it in the firelight, never moving, never speaking; he kept his council close, especially when frightened. The sapling bent, at first towards the firelight and then back towards him, as if searching for something. It appeared to have found it, Selver thought, because once the sapling bent towards him it never bent away. Instead it writhed like the root had, sprouted more shoots, grew and grew and grew until it was a tree entire: curiously shaped, with one bulbous sprout at the top of a quartet of spread eagled limbs. The ground gasped, heaved, trees all through the clearing died and fell where they had stood. Everything outside the circle of Selver’s firelight was crashing wood and rustling, falling leaves. And still, Selver held his peace. Let the forest come, he thought, let it take me. It would only have been fair, for what mankind had done to him. Selver knew that better than any man. He sat in the center of the Etrurian Wastes, once the most verdant region in the whole of Ardath, then a barren scar where not even the nomads came. There hadn’t even been rats before he had arrived. Let the forest take me. A curious thing happened then. In the midst of all the dying and the tumult, the strangely shaped tree in front of Selver bent double, as if at the waist, and its bark began to snap and crackle all over, peeling away to reveal something else underneath, like bark but different, sinuous and mobile. There was a creature in the tree. It screamed once, a piercing, gasping, newborn thing that seemed to come from all over, and then it stepped free of its trunk. A little man-shaped creature stood in front of Selver, perhaps three feet tall. As Selver watched the creature stopped screaming. Ivy sprouted from its head like a cascade of hair, more shoots grew for fingers, for toes, the scream that had seemed to emanate from everywhere on the creature at once centered itself as a mouth tore open. It had eyes. They blinked, caught Selver’s. “The forest sends its regards,” said the creature. Selver bowed, as deeply as he could while sitting, as one man of The Spire greets another. “Well met,” Selver said. “And you are?” “The Speaker,” it said. “Ah.” “Indeed.” The Speaker dusted itself off, little splinters of bark falling to the dirt. It creaked as it moved, the ivy-hair rustled, moved with a life of its own. Selver raised a finger, whispered a ghost light into life that rose from his fingertip, bathed the clearing in a bone white glow. Everything was dead. Trees lay cracked, splintered, shrunken, for a hundred feet or more. Selver could even seen a deer fallen, his skeletal ribs collapsed into a broken trunk, antlers caught in fallen branches. “Do you have any idea how long it took me to restore this grove?” Selver said, shaking his head at the carnage. “Yes,” the Speaker said. “It was necessary, there was a vote.” Selver raised an eyebrow at that. “Indeed? And did you consult the deer?” “We did.” Selver wasn’t sure what to say to that. The speaker came close, till it was only inches away, eye to eye with Selver. The forest, it seemed, had no conception of personal space. “We have a proposal to make,” the Speaker said. “We believe you shall find it amenable.” Selver inclined his head, made a gesture for the creature to continue. “You are not any great friend of the other humans.” The creature said it as a statement, not a question. It was right. “This has been witnessed in many groves. There were loggers some seasons ago, we approved of what you did to them.” “I’m sure you did,” Selver said. He had disincorporated them, returned their bodies to the earth, even channeled their souls into the energy necessary to divert a stream. “We would like you to do it again,” the Speaker said. “Are there more loggers?” “No.” “Then against who?” The Speaker stepped back, seemed to consider its words carefully. It pursed wooden lips, ran a hand through ivy-hair. “There are always more humans.” “Ah,” Selver said. “The Forest wishes to go to war,” the Speaker said, leaning forward, liquid eyes glowing. Long moments passed. The firelight behind the Speaker was disconcerting, Selver thought, it made the creature look shockingly fragile, reminded him of what had happened to the Forest the first time around, when the Etrurian Wastes had merely been Etruria. “And if I said no?” Selver said. “We would let you go in peace, though the Forest would be aggrieved.” “And if I said I didn’t have the power to help you?” The Speaker smiled. There were no teeth in the smile, Selver saw, rather there was a scent of decay, of the murky forest floor. The speaker fell to its knees, kissed the earth, and a mushroom grew, a stripy, violent thing of reds and blacks intertwined. The Speaker plucked the mushroom and rose, handing it to Selver. “If you said you did not have the power, the Forest would see that you did.” The mushroom looked like death, there were no two ways about it. Selver saw a thousand endings in it, and his magic sensed a thousand more. It smelled acrid, lethal, frightening, simply touching it to his skin burned; and yet he was certain, without ever having to ask, that the creature wished him to eat it. Selver stared at the wooden thing in front of him, the deep pools of its eyes stared back. The firelight guttered and wavered, the night grew colder. For the first time, Selver was aware of just how far he’d come from civilization. “If you’ve come to kill me,” Selver said, “you’ve found an awfully roundabout way to do it.” The Speaker shook its bulbous little head. Its shoulders slumped inward, a hand went to ivy-hair and pulled, worried at an end. Selver realized, very suddenly, that the creature was sad. “There is no death there for you.” Then it turned, gestured to the world around them, the fallen, broken grove. “Only for us. It is the only power the Forest can give. Use it well. For us, we know that that our war may only end one way.” The Earth cracked open again, and the Speaker bent down, pulled a bag of woven fibers from it. It handed the bag to Selver and he opened it, glanced down in. Seeds, acorns, spores, all the manners of life in which an ecosystem could be preserved. “We trust that you know what to do with that,” the Speaker said. Selver nodded, speechless. He had resurrected a thousand miles of the Wastes with less than this. The creature took the mushroom from Selver’s hands, held it to his lips. “Please,” it said. Selver opened his mouth, the Speaker slipped the mushroom inside. Selver chewed, swallowed, and felt something overcome him. The whole world swam and shook. The ground broke all around him and shapes emerged, the sort of shapes that screamed hallucination, but whose movements and noises seemed terrifyingly, impossibly real. What have I done? Selver thought. The fire guttered again and went out, all was darkness save for the thin light of the moon. “To war,” the Speaker whispered. It touched Selver’s cheek once, its fingers were rough, craggy. Then the Speaker withered like the root before it, died like the grove all around them. And Selver felt something rise within him, a terrifying, all consuming power that stretched up into the forest’s canopy and down, as far as any roots delved. He could feel it all as a pulsing of vibrant, powerful life. He could feel how, with a word, with a thought, he might snuff it, convert that life to power. And then the visions took him, and the violent sickness, for the mushroom, for all its magic, was still a mushroom. There were many long, torturous hours till morning. \_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_ If you enjoyed that I've got tons more over at r/TurningtoWords. Come check it out, I'd love to have you!	The battlefield raged on in the distance, the clash and clang of metal ringing down the hillside, falling on the deaf ears of the dead. I followed in the armies trail, stepping through the blood and carnage, watchful for corpses with which to work my trade. This far back, only the weakest, most damaged remained, the Necromancers of the royal guard having already taken their pick. All I needed was one able warrior. Not too big, but limbs intact. Someone that even one as weak as I could animate, and using, make my name. But the stench of death appalled my naïve senses. I paused, putting a hand to a tree to steady my myself and abate the growing nausea. The bark was burnt, the thick and old tree dead, a victim of the rain of fire tipped arrows or mages spells. Blood seeped into its roots from the bodies piled and stripped beneath its ancient boughs. As I willed away the nausea, another feeling came in its place. The blood of the fallen, below the surface, soaking into the trees network of roots like empty and waiting veins. It felt ready, calling to be animated, against all logic or teachings I had ever known. I spoke the words of animation, focusing my energy. At first there came no reply, the fear of wasting my limited mana rising by the second. But then, there was something, like an old friend, rising from the depths. Such spirit. Such power. I felt the stir of roots beneath the soil. Felt the wind streaming through the branches above my head. Felt the hundreds of years worth of wisdom caught in every ring of the thick tree's trunk. I stumbled in the face of such magnificence, a branch bending to catch me. "Master," a voice called, as the connection intensified, all of the trees being and senses becoming available to my own. It's intricate understanding of nature, of the flow of life and power. Such glorious power. Such thirst for revenge. The branches lifted me high into the tree. The bodies below fell into the collapsing ground to be consumed by the rising roots, their bodies sacrifice to this new and almighty being, their blood the fuel. Snapping and growing ever more monstrous the tree rose, until the armies could be seen over the crest of the hill. I fell into the heart of the structure, thick wood forming a cage around me as I closed my eyes and gave into the senses of the tree, to its wills and wishes. A face formed from the branches at its height, thick fists and feet clumping together at its sides. A giant. Another hand formed, lifting a large boulder the size of a house, and as if a pebble, hurled it towards the staring masses of men. r/FatDragon
[WP] "Oh, little butterfly," princess sighed as she held out her finger for the butterfly nearby, "Will I ever be queen?". The butterfly landed, said to her "nope lol", and then flew away.	Princess Zarena, for obvious reasons, had not expected her rhetorical question to be answered. “Rofl, oops,” the butterfly said, flapping its wings. By a fucking talking butterfly, of all things, she thought. But this was not a bad sign. Princesses could talk to animals, right? Maybe this boded well. Perhaps the butterfly was a divine sign. “Wait! Before you leave, why do you hurt me so, little butterfly?” the princess said, in a much more demure tone that did not indicate the seething rage bubbling in her, a simmering cauldron lit by the red fires of mortification. “My bad lol,” the butterfly said. “No offence lmao. I only live for a few weeks. Death brings us all closer to the truth.” “And the truth is that I would not be queen?” Zarena huffed. The butterfly turned its black eyes upon the princess. They were like two crystal balls, filled with smoke, perhaps of premonition and unseen futures. Princess Zarena wanted to flinch, but she suppressed her instincts—all royals had to get good at that, and she was one of the best. Instead, she stared down the butterfly. “Copium,” the butterfly said, before lifting away, never to be seen again. “What an asshole,” she whispered under her breath. Princess Zarena turned towards the lovely bush of hydrangeas beside her, one she had cultivated with her own hands. “The butterfly has to be wrong. Don’t you all agree?” A passing wind shook the bushes, and a floral chorus of words emerged from the bush. “Copium,” the hydrangeas said. “I will cut all of you down,” Princess Zarena said without a beat. Sometimes, instincts had to be let loose. --- r/dexdrafts	“Please.” He begged, on his knees. “The killing must end. I will surrender unconditionally.” She looked down on him, splayed across her iron throne. A nod of her head was all the emotion she deigned to show. “Very well. Your people will be spared, since you have chosen to submit before me. But because you resisted me in the first place, an accounting of your sins must be made.” And so they called him the Butterfly King, because the Riverine Queen splayed his arms in her prison and put his corpse on display, his heart staked to a wall.
[WP] "Oh, little butterfly," princess sighed as she held out her finger for the butterfly nearby, "Will I ever be queen?". The butterfly landed, said to her "nope lol", and then flew away.	Princess Elisheba Shaprut blinked, then blinked again. "What?" she questioned aloud. Sure it was childish to ask a butterfly anything, especially when she knew the succession laws inside and out. She 12th in line for the throne, and the children her siblings had the longer that line became. Sure it mattered little, she had anticipated being matched up to become the queen of a foreign kingdom in a political marriage after all. Yet, this butterfly which she had asked in a bout of childish play, not only talked, but told her that she would never be a queen of anything. She furrowed her brow in indignation, she would prove whoever or whatever had sent that butterfly wrong. The next morning she had requested an audience with her father, King Moshe XII, and to meet in the Royal Palace, specifically the Hallways of a Hundred Mirrors. He always made time for his children after all, even if they were grown, and growing up they had always played in this hallway, so many beautiful memories were sure to make him consider her offer. "Elisheba!" he cried out, going in to hug her, which she happily returned. "To what do I owe the pleasure?" "Father, can we talk about something?" Elisheba had asked. She had been figuring a way to ask for this all night and most of the morning." "Anything for my little girl." She inhaled, and exhaled, "it's about the succession." He cocked an eyebrow, "Eli... I may be old but I'm not that old." "I know daddy," she chuckled. He always said that whenever his ministers had brought up succession, "it's about something else related to it though." Intrigued, Moshe motioned for her to continue. "So, we both know that I am 12th in line for the throne." "Thirteenth," he corrected. "What?" "Your sister just found out that she's having twins." "Oh, well tell her I said Mazel Tov if I don't get to do it!" "Gladly." "Anyway... I've been doing some calculations." "Oh no," Moshe half-joked. His little Elisheba was always making plans and doing the math to support them, no matter how ridiculous they were." "I was considering, with your blessing of course," she paused, this was the most wild and extreme request she had ever brought to him, "selling my estates, possibly taking part of my inheritance and hiring some mercenaries to carve out my own kingdom?" Moshe's eyes grew wide as dinner plates, "You want to what?!" "It will be nowhere near here, or our planned avenues of expansion." "Where would you even take them?" he asked incredulously. Elisheba took out the map of the known world and unrolled it, "The northern continent. It's currently divided and what established kingdoms are there are in the middle of civil wars or have just gotten out of them. They are weak, and surely even just a few coastal cities could fall-" "Never!" Moshe cut her off, "it's too dangerous! You are not a soldier, you can not go off gallivanting on some random adventure to try and play 'queen of conquest!' This is real life and your plans have-" he stopped, flustered in his anger at the idea, "You have come up with several idiotic so-called plans in your life but this is by far the most ludicrous! I FORBID IT!" he barked with an air of finality, before turning and leaving her with inky her endless reflections in the Hallway of a Hundred Mirrors Princess Elisheba sighed, but not in defeat. She knew the laws required the selling of royal estates to have the King's blessing, however that was only true if they were being sold outside of the family. There were several landless cousins who would be ecstatic to buy her small harmonies, an uninheriting nephew who would love to buy himself a nice duchy. It would take some finagling, some extra paperwork to draw up a bill of sale that did not require the royal seals, but it was doable. ONE YEAR LATER It had been a year of finding interested relatives, haggling prices, writing up paperwork, negotiating legal fees, and all under her father's nose. King Moshe XII may have inherited a vast spy network from his father, but he had never thought to turn those spies inwards. He was completely unaware of what she had been doing until it was already done, and upon his discovery he was so infuriated that he barred her from any level of succession and wrote her out of the Royal Will. That mattered little as she looked out upon her assembled legions and the navy meant to transport them. Sellswords looking for a job, pirates looking for plunder, retired officers from the Royal Army looking for the excitement of their youth. If her math was correct, she had enough money to pay for them for three months, assuming none of them died in battle of course, which was obviously going to happen, so depending on the casualties it would give or take a few weeks. She had tried looking into getting loans but her father had barred the banks from legally giving her anything, on top of the law already forbidding loans to finance private armies. However, she did find an unexpected ally in the Rabbinate. In exchange for sending rabbis and proselytizers with her band of soldiers to help civilize the pagan savages of the north, they would provide financing for up to six months of operations. Of course her father had protested but not even a king could rebuke or control the servants of G-d. The Kohenim and Ravs were among the soldiers, performing rites, giving legal and spiritual advice, and apparently overseeing the conversion of one of the pirate captains to Judaism from his old Catholic faith. Regardless she gave the signal to board the ships and they would begin their journey to the frozen wastes of the North. She boarded the ships last, and stood upon the deck, watching as the sails unfurled the oarsmen maneuvered the armada out of port. Finally, the flags began to fly: the golden menorah upon a purple background, with a green dragon flanking each side. SIX MONTHS LATER The conquest of the North had gone off to a far better success than she had previously anticipated. Some villages had become so sick of the constant fighting among themselves and their own claimants that they threw themselves at her feet and accepted her rule as their new sovereign. The kings and tribal chieftains who resisted were so weakened from their own wars that all it took was a swift kick to the door to being the entire rotting structure crumbling to the ground. Not to say it was easy, she had lost over half of the troops she started the conquest with, and had she not been able to replace them with the native soldiers she had been gathering under her banner it was likely that she would have had to return home in defeat and humiliation. Some tribes had fought to the last man, quite literally, and now there was a massive number of widows and orphans to.take care of. Luckily some of her soldiers had been able to marry the locals and took some of the burden off the shoulders of her new state. Months of bloody battles, most of which she had taken part in herself, months of destruction, months of sacrifice. Today she stood in the gutted remains of what had once been a pagan temple but was being converted into the main synagogue of her new capital city. In addition to the spoils of war, her tax collecting system was getting into full swing and soon these grass huts would be replaced with houses and apartments of stone, and palaces of marble and granite. The Kohen stood at the end of the room, in front of the desecrated and covered altar to a false god. Here, in front of the Kohen, in front of her soldiers, in front of Hashem she kneeled. The Kohen recited the blessing and began to pour the consecrated olive oil upon her head until it ran off her hair, dripping across her chest, back, and arms before finally into the floor. He then put away the now empty jar of oil and took out a wooden box. Within it was a newly forged crown for the newly forged monarch of the newly forged state. It was taken out of its container and held aloft for all to see: a relatively simple thing compared to the crowns of her homeland's neighbors, and even compared to her own father's rather simple headwear. Rather than gold or jewels, it was a simple bronze band, with circlets of iron which held amber, all the materials could be found in the mines of her new nation. She stood and gently took the crown from the Kohen, turning to face her soldiers, her new dukes and vassals, holding it aloft before finally placing it upon her own head. Just as she had taken this land, so too had she taken this crown. The Kohen calledout, "Long live, Empress Elisheba Shaprut, the Conqueror!" "Long live Empress Elisheba!" The butterfly had been right after all, but what did that really matter? Why be a queen when you can be an empress?	“Please.” He begged, on his knees. “The killing must end. I will surrender unconditionally.” She looked down on him, splayed across her iron throne. A nod of her head was all the emotion she deigned to show. “Very well. Your people will be spared, since you have chosen to submit before me. But because you resisted me in the first place, an accounting of your sins must be made.” And so they called him the Butterfly King, because the Riverine Queen splayed his arms in her prison and put his corpse on display, his heart staked to a wall.
[WP] "Oh, little butterfly," princess sighed as she held out her finger for the butterfly nearby, "Will I ever be queen?". The butterfly landed, said to her "nope lol", and then flew away.	Princess Elisheba Shaprut blinked, then blinked again. "What?" she questioned aloud. Sure it was childish to ask a butterfly anything, especially when she knew the succession laws inside and out. She 12th in line for the throne, and the children her siblings had the longer that line became. Sure it mattered little, she had anticipated being matched up to become the queen of a foreign kingdom in a political marriage after all. Yet, this butterfly which she had asked in a bout of childish play, not only talked, but told her that she would never be a queen of anything. She furrowed her brow in indignation, she would prove whoever or whatever had sent that butterfly wrong. The next morning she had requested an audience with her father, King Moshe XII, and to meet in the Royal Palace, specifically the Hallways of a Hundred Mirrors. He always made time for his children after all, even if they were grown, and growing up they had always played in this hallway, so many beautiful memories were sure to make him consider her offer. "Elisheba!" he cried out, going in to hug her, which she happily returned. "To what do I owe the pleasure?" "Father, can we talk about something?" Elisheba had asked. She had been figuring a way to ask for this all night and most of the morning." "Anything for my little girl." She inhaled, and exhaled, "it's about the succession." He cocked an eyebrow, "Eli... I may be old but I'm not that old." "I know daddy," she chuckled. He always said that whenever his ministers had brought up succession, "it's about something else related to it though." Intrigued, Moshe motioned for her to continue. "So, we both know that I am 12th in line for the throne." "Thirteenth," he corrected. "What?" "Your sister just found out that she's having twins." "Oh, well tell her I said Mazel Tov if I don't get to do it!" "Gladly." "Anyway... I've been doing some calculations." "Oh no," Moshe half-joked. His little Elisheba was always making plans and doing the math to support them, no matter how ridiculous they were." "I was considering, with your blessing of course," she paused, this was the most wild and extreme request she had ever brought to him, "selling my estates, possibly taking part of my inheritance and hiring some mercenaries to carve out my own kingdom?" Moshe's eyes grew wide as dinner plates, "You want to what?!" "It will be nowhere near here, or our planned avenues of expansion." "Where would you even take them?" he asked incredulously. Elisheba took out the map of the known world and unrolled it, "The northern continent. It's currently divided and what established kingdoms are there are in the middle of civil wars or have just gotten out of them. They are weak, and surely even just a few coastal cities could fall-" "Never!" Moshe cut her off, "it's too dangerous! You are not a soldier, you can not go off gallivanting on some random adventure to try and play 'queen of conquest!' This is real life and your plans have-" he stopped, flustered in his anger at the idea, "You have come up with several idiotic so-called plans in your life but this is by far the most ludicrous! I FORBID IT!" he barked with an air of finality, before turning and leaving her with inky her endless reflections in the Hallway of a Hundred Mirrors Princess Elisheba sighed, but not in defeat. She knew the laws required the selling of royal estates to have the King's blessing, however that was only true if they were being sold outside of the family. There were several landless cousins who would be ecstatic to buy her small harmonies, an uninheriting nephew who would love to buy himself a nice duchy. It would take some finagling, some extra paperwork to draw up a bill of sale that did not require the royal seals, but it was doable. ONE YEAR LATER It had been a year of finding interested relatives, haggling prices, writing up paperwork, negotiating legal fees, and all under her father's nose. King Moshe XII may have inherited a vast spy network from his father, but he had never thought to turn those spies inwards. He was completely unaware of what she had been doing until it was already done, and upon his discovery he was so infuriated that he barred her from any level of succession and wrote her out of the Royal Will. That mattered little as she looked out upon her assembled legions and the navy meant to transport them. Sellswords looking for a job, pirates looking for plunder, retired officers from the Royal Army looking for the excitement of their youth. If her math was correct, she had enough money to pay for them for three months, assuming none of them died in battle of course, which was obviously going to happen, so depending on the casualties it would give or take a few weeks. She had tried looking into getting loans but her father had barred the banks from legally giving her anything, on top of the law already forbidding loans to finance private armies. However, she did find an unexpected ally in the Rabbinate. In exchange for sending rabbis and proselytizers with her band of soldiers to help civilize the pagan savages of the north, they would provide financing for up to six months of operations. Of course her father had protested but not even a king could rebuke or control the servants of G-d. The Kohenim and Ravs were among the soldiers, performing rites, giving legal and spiritual advice, and apparently overseeing the conversion of one of the pirate captains to Judaism from his old Catholic faith. Regardless she gave the signal to board the ships and they would begin their journey to the frozen wastes of the North. She boarded the ships last, and stood upon the deck, watching as the sails unfurled the oarsmen maneuvered the armada out of port. Finally, the flags began to fly: the golden menorah upon a purple background, with a green dragon flanking each side. SIX MONTHS LATER The conquest of the North had gone off to a far better success than she had previously anticipated. Some villages had become so sick of the constant fighting among themselves and their own claimants that they threw themselves at her feet and accepted her rule as their new sovereign. The kings and tribal chieftains who resisted were so weakened from their own wars that all it took was a swift kick to the door to being the entire rotting structure crumbling to the ground. Not to say it was easy, she had lost over half of the troops she started the conquest with, and had she not been able to replace them with the native soldiers she had been gathering under her banner it was likely that she would have had to return home in defeat and humiliation. Some tribes had fought to the last man, quite literally, and now there was a massive number of widows and orphans to.take care of. Luckily some of her soldiers had been able to marry the locals and took some of the burden off the shoulders of her new state. Months of bloody battles, most of which she had taken part in herself, months of destruction, months of sacrifice. Today she stood in the gutted remains of what had once been a pagan temple but was being converted into the main synagogue of her new capital city. In addition to the spoils of war, her tax collecting system was getting into full swing and soon these grass huts would be replaced with houses and apartments of stone, and palaces of marble and granite. The Kohen stood at the end of the room, in front of the desecrated and covered altar to a false god. Here, in front of the Kohen, in front of her soldiers, in front of Hashem she kneeled. The Kohen recited the blessing and began to pour the consecrated olive oil upon her head until it ran off her hair, dripping across her chest, back, and arms before finally into the floor. He then put away the now empty jar of oil and took out a wooden box. Within it was a newly forged crown for the newly forged monarch of the newly forged state. It was taken out of its container and held aloft for all to see: a relatively simple thing compared to the crowns of her homeland's neighbors, and even compared to her own father's rather simple headwear. Rather than gold or jewels, it was a simple bronze band, with circlets of iron which held amber, all the materials could be found in the mines of her new nation. She stood and gently took the crown from the Kohen, turning to face her soldiers, her new dukes and vassals, holding it aloft before finally placing it upon her own head. Just as she had taken this land, so too had she taken this crown. The Kohen calledout, "Long live, Empress Elisheba Shaprut, the Conqueror!" "Long live Empress Elisheba!" The butterfly had been right after all, but what did that really matter? Why be a queen when you can be an empress?	Princess Zarena, for obvious reasons, had not expected her rhetorical question to be answered. “Rofl, oops,” the butterfly said, flapping its wings. By a fucking talking butterfly, of all things, she thought. But this was not a bad sign. Princesses could talk to animals, right? Maybe this boded well. Perhaps the butterfly was a divine sign. “Wait! Before you leave, why do you hurt me so, little butterfly?” the princess said, in a much more demure tone that did not indicate the seething rage bubbling in her, a simmering cauldron lit by the red fires of mortification. “My bad lol,” the butterfly said. “No offence lmao. I only live for a few weeks. Death brings us all closer to the truth.” “And the truth is that I would not be queen?” Zarena huffed. The butterfly turned its black eyes upon the princess. They were like two crystal balls, filled with smoke, perhaps of premonition and unseen futures. Princess Zarena wanted to flinch, but she suppressed her instincts—all royals had to get good at that, and she was one of the best. Instead, she stared down the butterfly. “Copium,” the butterfly said, before lifting away, never to be seen again. “What an asshole,” she whispered under her breath. Princess Zarena turned towards the lovely bush of hydrangeas beside her, one she had cultivated with her own hands. “The butterfly has to be wrong. Don’t you all agree?” A passing wind shook the bushes, and a floral chorus of words emerged from the bush. “Copium,” the hydrangeas said. “I will cut all of you down,” Princess Zarena said without a beat. Sometimes, instincts had to be let loose. --- r/dexdrafts
[WP] "Too bad, Fairy Queen. I never had a kid, so no firstborn for you to take" you say on your deathbed. "Oh I love it when they don't read the fine print" she responds with a wicked smile.	The fairy queen hovered over me, smiling a wicked sickly smile. Her fingers slid into the leather pouch tied to her waist. She pulled out a small glass tube, with ornate figures laid into the sides. I suddenly realized it was an hour glass. Its red sands were so fine that it appeared as if a pool of grainy blood sat in its base. I felt nervous staring at the sands in the glass. Suddenly, a few ultra fine particles floated up from the the bottom chamber. They formed an almost imperceptible trickle, just barely visible as the light from the bedside table played off of them. I felt ill. My insides began to writhe. My body made noises I was unaware a body could make. Like splintering wood and cloth ripped at its seams. “What, are you doing to me!” I yelled. I threw off my sheet and tried to stand but fell to the floor. I looked at my legs, only to see them shriveling and twisting into spindly black sticks. I looked up to see the Fairy Queen laughing, but the sound melted away and was replaced by a different voice. A richer and more melodious laugh. Her face which was already gorgeous beyond compare, became beautiful in an ethereal and indescribable way. I tried to throw my hands over my ears but I couldn’t find them. Instead I felt a soft smooth surface. I tried to cover my eyes but found my arms were replaced by black curved limbs. I cried out one last time, but my voice became hoarse and my lungs too deflated. Suddenly it stopped. I lay crumpled on the ground. The Fairy Queen landed next to me and bent over, placing the hour glass before my eyes. All the red sand had flowed to the top and was suspended, not flowing in any direction. What was more disturbing was the sand had turned into a shade of black so dark, not a single grain was visible from the rest. I tried to ask what happened but all that came out of my mouth was a throaty moan. The Fairy Queen, at once more glorious and infinitely more terrifying than before quieted me. “Shhhh. Shhh little mortal. Do not worry over much. You owed me a life. So I gave you a new one.” She bend down and picked me up. In the the back of my mind I wondered how she was able to hold me comfortably within her palms. She walked over to the mirror and held me before it. I tried to scream but the only sound that came as a throaty caw. In her hands sat a black raven with fiery green eyes. My eyes. When I screamed it opened its beak and when I tried to scramble away it tried to jump from the Fairy Queen’s hands. She tightened her grip; firmly, but not painfully, holding me in place. “Shhh shhh.” She walked me over to my bed where a spindly little wooden cage had appeared. She quickly placed me inside and latched the gate. Then, the Fairy Queen bent down, picked up the hourglass, and slid it into a grooved brackets aside the cage. “This,” she said tapping the glass, “is the age of the life you owe.” She was then engulfed in overly excited giggles. When she finally caught her breath, she sighed and added, “Plus interest!” “This isn’t fair!” I tried to say, but again only a series of caws came from my beak. Oh my god, my beak!? “FAIR?!” Roared the Queen. “You made a deal!” She pointed her finger at me, it buzzed slightly as the magic radiated off of it. Wait, how did I know it was magic? “You broke your deal. You have no claim to fairness.” She picked up the cage and stepped over to the open window. In a single step, she flew into the air and flitted away from my home, my cage held squarely in her hand. I felt dazed, I couldn’t understand what had happened to me. Why I was suddenly a bird in the cage of a Fairy Queen. I felt myself losing consciousness as I asked “What did you do to me?” It came out as a series of low caws. “You’ve entered the secondary clause in our contract. A witch has her familiar, a leprechaun his charm.” She held my cage up to her face and looked into my closing eyes. “And a fairy her sprite.”	[poem] Last sermon of the fairy queen to the people of "Fayed" ------------------------------------------------------------------------ Tis too bad dear people, for now ye shall, shed tears for being ruled by a queen, known once as the fair princess of Fayed, now so pale and frail on death's old bed, for our deal would have concluded, if just the fine print she had read, and given up her first born as decided, but ran instead, she wild with life, mind alive and conspiracies rife, and knowingly remained unbred, and now as her sands end their trickle, and the hooded scythe cometh nigh, I exercise that print, fine and unread, and take possession, of all first born, of the populace, in her young un's stead! may she now die in grief, that deceptive beauty, that once green, fair queen of Fayed! •°•°•°•°•° A. Z. Dada •°•°•°•°•
[WP] "Too bad, Fairy Queen. I never had a kid, so no firstborn for you to take" you say on your deathbed. "Oh I love it when they don't read the fine print" she responds with a wicked smile.	"What do you mean?" I asked my eyes growing wide as I watched her inch even closer to my bed until she could wrap an ivory hand around the railing of my bed. Leaning over she whispered. "You cannot break a deal with the fae even in the face of death, child. Besides, we never stipulated that the child had to be YOUR firstborn." Her grey eyes twinkled with a malice I had never seen before in any creature. "No...you cannot mean?!" I replied aghast, as I suddenly realized who she had picked, panic began to set in as I tried in vain to struggle against the cords holding me down but I could feel the strength waning from my body with every movement. A wicked smile began to form across her dark lips. "You lead me straight to her. You picked her out, spent so much time with her family, that I couldn't help but feel as if they needed a little miracle. Be content in the knowledge she will make a fine queen in time. You needed not worry about that."	[poem] Last sermon of the fairy queen to the people of "Fayed" ------------------------------------------------------------------------ Tis too bad dear people, for now ye shall, shed tears for being ruled by a queen, known once as the fair princess of Fayed, now so pale and frail on death's old bed, for our deal would have concluded, if just the fine print she had read, and given up her first born as decided, but ran instead, she wild with life, mind alive and conspiracies rife, and knowingly remained unbred, and now as her sands end their trickle, and the hooded scythe cometh nigh, I exercise that print, fine and unread, and take possession, of all first born, of the populace, in her young un's stead! may she now die in grief, that deceptive beauty, that once green, fair queen of Fayed! •°•°•°•°•° A. Z. Dada •°•°•°•°•
[WP] "Too bad, Fairy Queen. I never had a kid, so no firstborn for you to take" you say on your deathbed. "Oh I love it when they don't read the fine print" she responds with a wicked smile.	My eyes trembled as she held the paper close to me, my limbs unable to move from old age. My eyes were barely any better, but I had just enough panic to let me see. As the words written in fine gold became clear, a feeling of calm despair washed over me, my body sinking into the bed. " Ha," my voice rasped, nearly unrecognisable to myself, " I cant believe I missed that. And I was so certain I had thought of everything. No tumor babies, no milking me on my last day," a cough full of phlegm left my throat, eyes closing for a moment. They then locked onto the fairy queen, who was still smiling down but with something one might call pity, and even a little bit of pride. " You did admirably. Enough to had I been one of my subjects and thus lesser, I might have even considered you as a worthy choice for a husband, or at least a consort." Her hand came to gently caress my cheek, eyes lo led with mine as I felt my body fail and collapse, vision fading away. The last I heard was her voice. " But you will make for a fine son."	[poem] Last sermon of the fairy queen to the people of "Fayed" ------------------------------------------------------------------------ Tis too bad dear people, for now ye shall, shed tears for being ruled by a queen, known once as the fair princess of Fayed, now so pale and frail on death's old bed, for our deal would have concluded, if just the fine print she had read, and given up her first born as decided, but ran instead, she wild with life, mind alive and conspiracies rife, and knowingly remained unbred, and now as her sands end their trickle, and the hooded scythe cometh nigh, I exercise that print, fine and unread, and take possession, of all first born, of the populace, in her young un's stead! may she now die in grief, that deceptive beauty, that once green, fair queen of Fayed! •°•°•°•°•° A. Z. Dada •°•°•°•°•
[WP] "Too bad, Fairy Queen. I never had a kid, so no firstborn for you to take" you say on your deathbed. "Oh I love it when they don't read the fine print" she responds with a wicked smile.	" and i have waited forever for this day" i said as i hit the button on the bedrail. a flash of flame traced around the boundary of the room and lit off the powder on the walls and ceiling is further whooshes of flame. in a matter of seconds every wall, the floor, and the ceiling we covered in runes and patterns. on the floor around the bed and the queen were 3 concentric circles, scorched windershins. she was trapped here with me. "its time for a new deal" i said with a dark smile. " the previous debt, the healing of my body back to my prime, and making me fae-touched. all of these for your life. you have less than 5 minutes before iron dust is blown into the room, at which point i will watch you burn before i pass on. or you can kill me and ill still die knowing you will be right behind me." i reveled in her stricken look. " im the only one who can stop the trap, and no one will come to the room." with a defeated sigh she shook my hand and i was enveloped in her magic. i rose from the bed, back in my 25 year old body, though now my ears were slightly pointed, my i-teeth slightly sharper and longer, and my eyes a bright amethyst rather than blue. i walked to the wall and used the hidden iron topped panel to disarm the trap. i gripped the iron doorknob and started to leave the room. "WAIT! we had a deal!" she cried. "our deal was for your life, not your freedom. for that i want my pick of your daughters as my consort and a binding oath that no harm will befall me and mine." i smiled that dark smile once again. she was at a loss, her magic could not leave the circles, the bed was painted iron, and i had planned it all and outsmarted her. she hung her head and pouted for a moment, then stood tall and congratulated me. "well blast it all to the makers, you outwitted me and hold me by the wings as it were. i agree to the terms. are you sure you aren't a fae in disguise?" "no, just had far to much time to plan while my body failed me." i said as i used a chisel to break the binding circle. she stepped out and out of the room, just as she made ready to disappear i dropped the last surprise on her. "now dont be long your highness, and have a pleasant trip Titania-vortas-oberon" she froze at the sound of her true name. " how... how do you know that name? WHERE DID YOU LEARN THAT NAME?!?!" "I told you highness, i had far too much time to think, plan, and prepare." i laughed as i thought back to the siren i had caught years ago at the cliffs, and the days it took to drag the information out of her. the location of other fae, one who i forced to teach me the true language of the fae. and other who i dragged the bits of information about the queen out of, a bit here, a piece there, until finally i had the ability to stitch her true name together. she didn't even realize i had tested it, whispered it to the wind and called her here to my bedside to start with. and now she knew what it felt like to have the consequences of her pride, hanging over her head, just as mine from my youth had damned me.	“I will make that firstborn with you” I looked at her. She was ozing sex appeal, from her sheer thorugh dress, generous curves and a pretty face. I couldn’t help but gulp in anticipation. I also blinked at that moment and everything changed. Form fairy-like beauty she turned into- “I will make that baby from you” \--into a fairy-like beauty with a wicked smile, making her look like a dominatrix. I gulped again. I didn’t blink this time and saw her smile widen. “I am glad you are enjoying yourself,” She said “It is quite a process, hopefully, it would leave you ...satisfied” I … gulped again. Why am I even gulping so much? My thoughts went to the wind when I saw her strech out on her seat. Gulp She bent down before standing slowly. GULP. She was in front of me before I could blink. Then darkness. Another Gulp. Now not my own. \---------------------- On a fairy throne a queen of all fairies for that day lounge. There wasn’t any care in her at all, after all, she is the queen of the day and all would serve her. The thought of another fairy joining the court made her smile and trace her belly. She was pregnant. Pregnant with a fairy.

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