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[WP] after losing their home, a young necromancer resurrects a paladin of the same church that destroyed their village. Now forced to protect the child, the paladin must confront their own holy order.
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Konar had only ever raised beasts.
It was forbidden by the village elders to raise a human from the dead. Profane. But there were no more elders. There was no village. And, no one ever figured out how to raise a human.
But grief can make people do incredible, miraculous things. Profane things. Though to Konar, the paladins that purged his village were no more human than the oxen and hounds he'd raised as an apprentice -- undead beasts of burden. Konar had plenty of work for in store for his revenant.
As Konar walked through the scorched remains of Shadegulch, he wasn't sure if it was wood or bone crunching beneath his boots. Was it old man Buie's front door or his ribs? There was no way to know for certain.
But when he stomped down on something curved and metallic, there was no question as to the identity of its owner.
It was one of them.
Konar dropped his bag and knelt down in the dirt. He cleared away the ash and detritus covering the half-buried piece of armor. Beneath it would be more. But he wasn't going to have to dig the body up himself, not after he was done.
Each candle from his bag was worth enough dullings to feed him for weeks. He'd spent many sleepless nights, curled into a ball in some stranger's barn as his stomach threatened to eat itself, clutching the candles to his chest. There were times when his hunger almost won. But there was no ritual without ritual candles.
Preparations complete, Konar banged on a small gourd drum and began his new chant.
*Death is only but a start*
*You're journey's just begun*
*There is no night without the dawn*
*You're journey's just begun*
*Accept my gift, a second chance*
*You're journey's just begun*
*Now rise and heed my beck and call*
*You're journey's just begun*
Sweat dripped down Konar's face as he repeated his chant, over and over. Usually, there would have been a tugging sensation pulling at his heart. It was how the chant worked. A bit of Konar's soul poured into the dead beast, animating it. But there was no tugging.
The armor did not move.
"No," Konar whispered. "This has to work."
He'd nearly starved gathering the reagents. He'd bribed soldiers to grant him passage into the Crescent Valley, to his home. He'd hunted down survivors of the purges, anyone who knew just a bit more about necromancy than him -- and begged, pleaded, bargained for their secrets. All for this night. All for his chance at vengeance.
Konar stared up at the new moon -- the night where death magic was strongest.
He would not give up.
"Death!" he shouted. "Hear me. I am your disciple, your kin. Please, please, hear me. I have no one left. I can't--I can't do this alone. Grant me your blessing--" He pressed his palm against the cool steel breastplate, and whispered. "Please. Arise."
A gauntleted fist burst through the ground. Then another. It began digging itself free.
Konar tumbled backward, terrified but feeling himself smile through the fear.
The paladin's corpse sat up. Her face was half-rotted. Where her left eye and cheek should have been, there was only dirt-covered bone. But most of her was there, under the mail and plate. Yes. She would do.
She started screaming.
Konar screamed.
They both screamed under the moonless night.
"Why are you yelling!" Konar demanded.
"Because I was dead!"
"Well stop it!"
The paladin went silent.
"G-good," he said, feigning the confidence of a master summoner. This had been what he wanted, what he'd prepared for. But theory was one thing. Actually raising a human corpse, a revenant was supposed to be ... impossible. "My name is Konar," he said. "I'm your master."
The paladin's one milky eye blinked slowly and seemed to focus on Konar. Blinking, it nodded.
*Good*. *It's under my control. This is good.*
"What is your name?"
The paladin coughed and chunks of dirt flew out of its mouth. The paladin reached for its side and pulled a torn, dirty handkerchief and wiped its lips.
Then, it spoke. "My name is Octavia. I am a paladin of the First Dawn, and you are in danger, Konar Rane. I have seen the future, and they are coming for you. We must hurry."
Konar blinked at the revenant. This was not what he was expecting. "Uh--wait. Who is coming?"
The revenant rose from the hole in the dirt, wiped at her armor, and when she found her sword missing from her side, grimaced. "Former Sword Saint of the First Dawn, Sir Milos Nightbane. The strongest paladin to have ever lived, and also, a revenant ... like me."
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Put to the "holy" sword, cleansed in the holy fire.
It would be laughable how these idiots follow their false doctrine to slay anyone in the path of the citadel.
If they didn't just massacre my whole town...
These braindead brainwashed musclepuppets, trained to be glorious swordsmen and put anyone to the sword who their overlords point to as unjust and unholy blasphemers. Polishing their armour and faith more than they ever polished their minds. Using "holy" magic, bound through faith.
Not knowing they are tapping in to the arcane, the healing arcane, bound by rules of faith and their beliefs.... Idiots.
Is it unjust of me to re animate these shining examples of how stupid one can be by blindly following faith or man's interpretation of it?
To be honest, I don't give a flying f*ck.
If their god is indeed real and I am to be judged before him, I'll give him the same treatment I have given these bastards....
Can I slay and reanimate a god?
Hah, that's a lofty goal... I'm tempted to find out.
If the citadel used them as braindead puppets than so will I.
The battleslain commander, a big buffoon of a man heads taller than all these surrounding dead idiots, they believed he was anointed because of his big stature. To be slain by a bitter small 18 year old and used as my personal champion to exact revenge on the very order he swore his existence to.
If God is real, he sure is a sadistic son of a bitch.
My friends laughter I can never bring back through reanimation,
My dogs I can bring back, their love won't be the same but atleast now they will heel and listen when I tell them to come, and drop whatever is in their mouths.... Hell hounds tend to follow commands.
But my irreplaceable research and books passed on by generations of necromancers before me, the books of my great grandfather and his fathers before him. I've lost them all and intend to pay for every drop of ink in pools of their blood.
Now rise my champion, we've got work to do.
Let's see how many of them we can send to meet your God.
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[WP] after losing their home, a young necromancer resurrects a paladin of the same church that destroyed their village. Now forced to protect the child, the paladin must confront their own holy order.
|
Verrick stood across from the wight, sword glimmering with numinous golden light that appeared to spill out from the deep fuller down the centre of the consecrated blade. He was panting heavily, though not from exhaustion, as he had only moments ago dismounted from his caparisoned charger, shocked into silence by the carnage he beheld. Amid the burning cottages and the acrid smell of burnt human flesh hanging greasy in the air was a pile of bodies - not the heathen peasantry that the Order of the Starling had been dispatched to remove from the countryside, but the armourbound brothers of the selfsame battalion, mired in their own blood and guts in a macabre bier of martyrs. As the flames flickered off their gore-spattered silver armour, so too did it bathe in lambent orange the gilded cuirass of a revenant, hunched over in a grotesque mockery of a human stance, rotting flesh curled around a similarly ensorcelled sword, its light a corrupted, foetid green.
Verrick drew a deep breath, shaky, still, but laden with intention. He spit back the rank air of the devasted hamlet charged with divine purpose, reciting a Litany against the Void. The words fell like hammerblows, reverberating for only seconds too many, carrying just yards further than they had any right too. He felt the Litany's purpose grow within him, and the light from his sword grew brighter, coruscating with divine energy, spreading down his sword arm and into his chest - as though dipped into a bath of warm honey and spices. As if in response, the putrid aura of the revenant paladin shrank back, and the abomination drew itself upright, revealing a helmetless face clad only partially in flesh, empty eye sockets burning with a roiling green energy that seemed to bore straight through Verrick. He shuddered, despite himself, the Litany faltering almost imperceptibly.
From behind the wight, a soft moan seemed to issue, like that of a mewling whelp of man or dog. Verrick's eyes immediately darted to look into the interior of the damaged shack behind the revenant, only now realising it was almost completed untouched, unlike every other dwelling. At the same time, he noticed, once more overdue, that the corpse impaled upon the threshold - run through the head, heart, and hind by a Starling spear - bore the scarry tattoos of a hedge-wizard: A necromancer, to be precise.
*This makes no sense,* thought Verrick to himself, even as he recited the seventh verse of the Litany. *The necromancer is dead. How could his vassalized corpse remain in the Sea when he himself has returned to the Void?*
The answer was obvious - there had to be another necromancer - but who on earth could that be? Wild magic, like that of necromancers, was anathema to the divine, and by extension to mortal men. The odds of their being a second necromancer in this rather small settlement of exiles and heretics were effectively nil. And yet a revenant paladin of the Order of the Starling stood before him, unnaturally still but seemingly taught with purpose, silently daring him to investigate the hovel - and to that end, cross swords.
The bile rose in Verrick's throat as he pondered the monstrous form before him. The gilded armour was that of a High Prelate, and the wings at his back marked him out as a candidate for the Martial Bishopry. The unknown necromancer had picked his target rather fortuitously, as a paladin of such rank and skill was undoubtedly a ferocious warrior, and an undisputed master of both Litany and Deurgy. Yet this knowledge frightened Verrick less than the thought of the necromantic skill required to rend such a righteous soul from the Void, to bind such a disciplined mind - steeped in divine magic - with the manacles of wild magic. Even if he were able to cut down the revenant, Verrick was unsure he could best a necromancer of such raw power.
Nevertheless, it was his obligation to discharge the duty he had been entrusted with by the Lowly Nave herself. He brought his sword to eye level, reinforcing his stance with his off hand lower on the grip. It was not a standard battle form, and he was surprised and terrified to see the revenant not only perform the ritual salute for a paladin's duel, but also adopt a counterstance with the sword in its backhand, forehand outstretched in a taunting gesture.
Verrick's recitation choked to a stuttering halt. The strength endowed by the Litany remained, but the foul aura of the undead knight surged again, flooding into Verrick's armour with the prickling chill of the naked Void.
"Name yourself, sir knight," ordered Verrick, more confidently than he felt. "So I may know whose soul I should mourn when I unmake you."
There was no answer from the revenant, though the half-skeletal jaw unset itself to hang eerily from the puckered flesh of the face. Wild magic burns had contorted what little muscle remained into a curdled mess, so it was unlikely the ogre could have spoken even if it had retained the will to do so.
A brief moment of silence passed. Verrick took a cautious step forward, angling his body to keep the sword between him and his opponent. The dead paladin glared back with undirected animosity, wild magic sputtering in his eyes as he subtly shifted his position to interpose himself between Verrick and the threshold. It was clear that the wight's purpose was to hold the line, and that line was likely where the door used to be. It would not be easy to enter the dwelling without engaging in-
Head-on combat! Verrick sprang forward and swung down in a single motion, bringing his blade down to meet the revenant's with a sibilant crash of enchanted steel on enchanted steel. Already he had pulled his arms back, stepping back as he cut forward in an arc, left hand loosing its grip on the sword as he swung through, preparing a bolt of golden energy in his palm. The revenant was no slower on the draw, and his sword had already curved downward from its guard and towards Verrick's exposed foreleg, forcing the Starling knight to abandon his Deurgy in favour of an attempt to trap the green blade under his armoured foot.
The two exchanged blows slowly but methodically, every thrust met and matched with guard and cut. The revenant made no attempt to cast any wild magic, which Verrick attributed to the conflicting natures of the divinely-touched soul and the Void-forged essence of the undead flesh. However, the wight was also disturbingly good at countering Verrick's own Deurgy, with even the first hand motions of a divine hex immediately countered with pressuring swordplay that all but obviated any magic. The dead paladin was a frighteningly competent fighter, even accounting for his rank, and while Verrick remained strengthened from his recitation of a Litany, he knew he could not altogether overcome the monster.
Sensing a rare opportunity, the paladin kicked away his dead brother's sword and leapt back, with the revenant forgoing the traditional riposte in favour of remaining transfixed for a moment, only to return to an upright position, sword unnervingly still in its skeletal grasp.
"Who are you?!" demanded Verrick, which much less composure this time. "Tell me, my brother, who are you?"
A low groan arose from the revenant's... cuirass? Verrick glanced down in bewilderment, only for his brow to unfurrow as clarity emerged. The sound was from ribs rubbing against each other in demented facsimile of human speech - gut against bone, instead of tongue against teeth. Biting back an urge to vomit, he lowered his sword slightly, almost imperceptibly, though he knew the revenant would notice.
The groaning grew louder, more grating, and the revenant slowly reached under its gorget, drawing forth a glittering gold chain on which hung a tiny locket - barely a fingerwidth in length, and narrower by half. Verrick's blood ran cold, even with the warmth of the Litany. Every knight wore a locket containing a scroll, and while the scroll contained most of the information about that knight, the locket itself was traditionally engraved with crests and markings identifying the knights origin. In this case, the undead knight seemed to have been ordained in the year 534 in the distant mountain priory in Rigeryon, in the north - a fact that would have been less consequential if Verrick had not himself been ordained from exactly the same flock.
"Brother?" This time, Verrick's tone was more pleading, as if beseeching information the wight seemed unable to give. "It's me, Verrick. Do you remember? We grew up together, in the priory, we must have!"
The groaning grew louder.
"You must remember me, brother! We would have played by the creek in the woods, sheared the ewes by Elder Pitreus' hut! Please-"
The groaning had become louder, sounding less like human speech and more like a howling wind. The revenant had begun to move, shivering ever so slightly in place.
Verrick's voice was thick with unshed tears. "Meherk?"
The howl of bones grew louder.
"Ebedias?"
The howl of bones grew louder.
Tears were streaming down Verrick's face now, and he made no attempt to hold his sword at the ready. "Please." He whispered, less to the twisted memory of the man before him, and more to something ineffable. "Please."
"Y-Yurii?"
The clash of bones against rotting flesh had become a keening, and amplified within the gilded cuirass of a dead paladin it was unbearably loud. It roared discordantly across the destroyed village, occupied by three souls, two living and one bound. It was at once cacophonous, spine-tingling in its alien unearthliness, and heart-rendingly familiar.
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*^read ^more ^from ^/u/OishikR ^at ^/r/TheTerminus.*
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The youthful, pale mage faced off with the hulking, bearded holy man. One in peasant garb, the other bedecked in engraved armor, holding a mace. The priest spoke, "You are the one we've been hunting, boy. The Black-Touched Soul."
The necromancer snarled, "I wasn't hurtin' anyone. You came and burned out villages. Killed hundreds."
The big man gestured at his troops to clear the remaining buildings. "The vile touch of darkness must be cleansed. Sometimes you must pull a flower to get the weed." He swiped his mace through a couple test swings.
The troops spread out and into the dilapidated forgotten monastery. The young man stood straight, tilting his head back arrogantly, his black hair falling unkempt onto his face. "You're all going to die here." His voice was resolute and firm, with a terrible certainty. It was a promise.
The priest nodded, "We've fought the Returned. Your scrabbling legion of broken peasants will fall again. Your kind always makes the same mistakes. You hide, and bring forth the dead, and let them do your dirty work."
The boy pulled a dirk from his belt, a grim smile creeping onto his face, "Then you surely won't have trouble with just one undead."
Inside the monastery, three footmen turned a corner to find a kneeling armored figure. Gentle, whispered prayers came from his bowed head. They leveled their spears at him. The one in the lead hesitated, "Artanis? Is that you?"
The figure turned his head, eyeing them peripherally. He stood and turned, drawing his sword as he did. Artanis the Sun, fallen hero of the Order. The deep stab wound to his side that had slain him remained, but he otherwise looked just as he did in life. "Yes." He said, simply, his rich baritone devoid of the usual humor.
The footmen backed up as he advanced. The one who had spoken said, "But you died!"
Artanis stopped just short of their speartips and cocked his head quizzically. "I suppose we'll have that in common then." They were already stabbing, fear overwhelming shock finally. But he was far too fast. His blade swept out and around, twisting around their spears and pushing them off to the side, then flashed back and dealt three mortal wounds in the time it takes a man to blink.
In the courtyard, the unholy man and the elder circled one another as the first sounds of combat came. A panicked half-shout and a clatter of falling bodies. They didn't look away from each other. The priest sighed, "I will make this quick for you, boy. May the gods have mercy on you."
With a wordless snarl, the boy leapt forward,ducking the questing mace and bringing his blade up in a stab. It connected, punching through the plate and lodging in the maille underneath. The bigger man grabbed the younger's blade hand with his free hand, and headbutted him viciously. The dirk stayed as the boy rolled back, already coming to his feet.
Inside the monastery, Artanis was running full tilt. His blade lashed out, catching footmen unaware as they turned to investigate the noise. He barreled into one of them, slamming him through a pillar with immense strength. He stabbed, catching another in the hollow at the base of his throat, then yanked it out the side of the man's throat in a gout of blood.
The priest pressed the attack, his mace whipping through the air with an intimidating whoosh, just missing the emaciated necromancer. The mage swept up a loose flagstone and slapped it ineffectually against the armored priest's bracer, then the boy was rolling over a low wall backwards, scuttling on all fours like a rat.
Artanis turned to face twelve of his former brothers, spread out in a loose line amongst the pews of the chapel. Their halberds and spears and poleaxes held out wardingly, they advanced on him, backing him up to the altar. He looked back at it, and smiled at them warmly, "Brothers. I died and met our God." His smile vanished as he slashed to his left without looking. "He sent me back to end our Order." His blade went through the rotted rope holding up the chandeliers like it wasn't there.
The necromancer kicked up, smashing the priest's fingers and knocking the mace out of his hand. It clattered to the floor of the cloister, and the priest dropped his full armored bulk on the boy, his hands closing around the boy's throat. He growled, exertion and rage dripping from his words like coagulated blood from an executioner's blade, "Now you'll die, like all the false prophets and deadbringers before you, you foul whelp raised on spoiled milk!" He squeezed and the boy's pale face grew red, his eyes bulging.
Artanis leapt through the front doors of the church, intercepting the last two footmen as they fled his fury. With a singing sweep of his sword, they fell groaning and bleeding to the flagstones. Artanis looked at the priest choking the boy and said, "Valdemar."
His brother looked up, shock blooming on his bearded face. He stood, letting go of his death grip on the necromancer. The necromancer squirmed, gasping in deep breaths like a beached fish. "Artanis, you're dea-" Valdemar froze, and shook his head. "Dead. Merely an unthinking remnant of a soul, stolen from the afterlife."
Artanis shook his head, dropping his sword witha clatter, "No, brother. I met the Lord. He told me the truth." He pointed at the necromancer, "He's been sending us back through his chosen servants like him to stop the madness of the Order. The Grandmaster is a servant of the Darkest. We've been tricked."
Valdemar stepped closer, frowning, "Lies from a cursed revenant."
Artanis put his hands on Valdemar's shoulders, "We must right this wrong, broth-" He gurgled, as his brother stabbed him with a dagger.
Valdemar leaned in close, all hot breath and spittle, "You are not my brother, *monster*." He let go of the revenant, who stumbled back in shock.
The necromancer swung with all his might, smashing the flat flagstone against the cheap brass butt of his lodged dirk, driving the blade the rest of the way through Valdemar's armor and into his lung and heart.
Artanis pulled out the dagger as the necromancer staggered over to him, "Are you okay?" They asked each other, simultaneously. Artanis looked at his brother, who had fallen back into a seated position against the low wall of the garden. "You will raise him?"
The boy didn't say anything. He just turned, knelt down, and closed Valdemar's eyes. His hand lingered on the side of the dead face, and Valdemar's eyes snapped open. The Necromancer stood and offered his hand to Valdemar, "Come, we have a hallowed duty to perform. Only then may we rest."
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[WP] after losing their home, a young necromancer resurrects a paladin of the same church that destroyed their village. Now forced to protect the child, the paladin must confront their own holy order.
|
Konar had only ever raised beasts.
It was forbidden by the village elders to raise a human from the dead. Profane. But there were no more elders. There was no village. And, no one ever figured out how to raise a human.
But grief can make people do incredible, miraculous things. Profane things. Though to Konar, the paladins that purged his village were no more human than the oxen and hounds he'd raised as an apprentice -- undead beasts of burden. Konar had plenty of work for in store for his revenant.
As Konar walked through the scorched remains of Shadegulch, he wasn't sure if it was wood or bone crunching beneath his boots. Was it old man Buie's front door or his ribs? There was no way to know for certain.
But when he stomped down on something curved and metallic, there was no question as to the identity of its owner.
It was one of them.
Konar dropped his bag and knelt down in the dirt. He cleared away the ash and detritus covering the half-buried piece of armor. Beneath it would be more. But he wasn't going to have to dig the body up himself, not after he was done.
Each candle from his bag was worth enough dullings to feed him for weeks. He'd spent many sleepless nights, curled into a ball in some stranger's barn as his stomach threatened to eat itself, clutching the candles to his chest. There were times when his hunger almost won. But there was no ritual without ritual candles.
Preparations complete, Konar banged on a small gourd drum and began his new chant.
*Death is only but a start*
*You're journey's just begun*
*There is no night without the dawn*
*You're journey's just begun*
*Accept my gift, a second chance*
*You're journey's just begun*
*Now rise and heed my beck and call*
*You're journey's just begun*
Sweat dripped down Konar's face as he repeated his chant, over and over. Usually, there would have been a tugging sensation pulling at his heart. It was how the chant worked. A bit of Konar's soul poured into the dead beast, animating it. But there was no tugging.
The armor did not move.
"No," Konar whispered. "This has to work."
He'd nearly starved gathering the reagents. He'd bribed soldiers to grant him passage into the Crescent Valley, to his home. He'd hunted down survivors of the purges, anyone who knew just a bit more about necromancy than him -- and begged, pleaded, bargained for their secrets. All for this night. All for his chance at vengeance.
Konar stared up at the new moon -- the night where death magic was strongest.
He would not give up.
"Death!" he shouted. "Hear me. I am your disciple, your kin. Please, please, hear me. I have no one left. I can't--I can't do this alone. Grant me your blessing--" He pressed his palm against the cool steel breastplate, and whispered. "Please. Arise."
A gauntleted fist burst through the ground. Then another. It began digging itself free.
Konar tumbled backward, terrified but feeling himself smile through the fear.
The paladin's corpse sat up. Her face was half-rotted. Where her left eye and cheek should have been, there was only dirt-covered bone. But most of her was there, under the mail and plate. Yes. She would do.
She started screaming.
Konar screamed.
They both screamed under the moonless night.
"Why are you yelling!" Konar demanded.
"Because I was dead!"
"Well stop it!"
The paladin went silent.
"G-good," he said, feigning the confidence of a master summoner. This had been what he wanted, what he'd prepared for. But theory was one thing. Actually raising a human corpse, a revenant was supposed to be ... impossible. "My name is Konar," he said. "I'm your master."
The paladin's one milky eye blinked slowly and seemed to focus on Konar. Blinking, it nodded.
*Good*. *It's under my control. This is good.*
"What is your name?"
The paladin coughed and chunks of dirt flew out of its mouth. The paladin reached for its side and pulled a torn, dirty handkerchief and wiped its lips.
Then, it spoke. "My name is Octavia. I am a paladin of the First Dawn, and you are in danger, Konar Rane. I have seen the future, and they are coming for you. We must hurry."
Konar blinked at the revenant. This was not what he was expecting. "Uh--wait. Who is coming?"
The revenant rose from the hole in the dirt, wiped at her armor, and when she found her sword missing from her side, grimaced. "Former Sword Saint of the First Dawn, Sir Milos Nightbane. The strongest paladin to have ever lived, and also, a revenant ... like me."
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The youthful, pale mage faced off with the hulking, bearded holy man. One in peasant garb, the other bedecked in engraved armor, holding a mace. The priest spoke, "You are the one we've been hunting, boy. The Black-Touched Soul."
The necromancer snarled, "I wasn't hurtin' anyone. You came and burned out villages. Killed hundreds."
The big man gestured at his troops to clear the remaining buildings. "The vile touch of darkness must be cleansed. Sometimes you must pull a flower to get the weed." He swiped his mace through a couple test swings.
The troops spread out and into the dilapidated forgotten monastery. The young man stood straight, tilting his head back arrogantly, his black hair falling unkempt onto his face. "You're all going to die here." His voice was resolute and firm, with a terrible certainty. It was a promise.
The priest nodded, "We've fought the Returned. Your scrabbling legion of broken peasants will fall again. Your kind always makes the same mistakes. You hide, and bring forth the dead, and let them do your dirty work."
The boy pulled a dirk from his belt, a grim smile creeping onto his face, "Then you surely won't have trouble with just one undead."
Inside the monastery, three footmen turned a corner to find a kneeling armored figure. Gentle, whispered prayers came from his bowed head. They leveled their spears at him. The one in the lead hesitated, "Artanis? Is that you?"
The figure turned his head, eyeing them peripherally. He stood and turned, drawing his sword as he did. Artanis the Sun, fallen hero of the Order. The deep stab wound to his side that had slain him remained, but he otherwise looked just as he did in life. "Yes." He said, simply, his rich baritone devoid of the usual humor.
The footmen backed up as he advanced. The one who had spoken said, "But you died!"
Artanis stopped just short of their speartips and cocked his head quizzically. "I suppose we'll have that in common then." They were already stabbing, fear overwhelming shock finally. But he was far too fast. His blade swept out and around, twisting around their spears and pushing them off to the side, then flashed back and dealt three mortal wounds in the time it takes a man to blink.
In the courtyard, the unholy man and the elder circled one another as the first sounds of combat came. A panicked half-shout and a clatter of falling bodies. They didn't look away from each other. The priest sighed, "I will make this quick for you, boy. May the gods have mercy on you."
With a wordless snarl, the boy leapt forward,ducking the questing mace and bringing his blade up in a stab. It connected, punching through the plate and lodging in the maille underneath. The bigger man grabbed the younger's blade hand with his free hand, and headbutted him viciously. The dirk stayed as the boy rolled back, already coming to his feet.
Inside the monastery, Artanis was running full tilt. His blade lashed out, catching footmen unaware as they turned to investigate the noise. He barreled into one of them, slamming him through a pillar with immense strength. He stabbed, catching another in the hollow at the base of his throat, then yanked it out the side of the man's throat in a gout of blood.
The priest pressed the attack, his mace whipping through the air with an intimidating whoosh, just missing the emaciated necromancer. The mage swept up a loose flagstone and slapped it ineffectually against the armored priest's bracer, then the boy was rolling over a low wall backwards, scuttling on all fours like a rat.
Artanis turned to face twelve of his former brothers, spread out in a loose line amongst the pews of the chapel. Their halberds and spears and poleaxes held out wardingly, they advanced on him, backing him up to the altar. He looked back at it, and smiled at them warmly, "Brothers. I died and met our God." His smile vanished as he slashed to his left without looking. "He sent me back to end our Order." His blade went through the rotted rope holding up the chandeliers like it wasn't there.
The necromancer kicked up, smashing the priest's fingers and knocking the mace out of his hand. It clattered to the floor of the cloister, and the priest dropped his full armored bulk on the boy, his hands closing around the boy's throat. He growled, exertion and rage dripping from his words like coagulated blood from an executioner's blade, "Now you'll die, like all the false prophets and deadbringers before you, you foul whelp raised on spoiled milk!" He squeezed and the boy's pale face grew red, his eyes bulging.
Artanis leapt through the front doors of the church, intercepting the last two footmen as they fled his fury. With a singing sweep of his sword, they fell groaning and bleeding to the flagstones. Artanis looked at the priest choking the boy and said, "Valdemar."
His brother looked up, shock blooming on his bearded face. He stood, letting go of his death grip on the necromancer. The necromancer squirmed, gasping in deep breaths like a beached fish. "Artanis, you're dea-" Valdemar froze, and shook his head. "Dead. Merely an unthinking remnant of a soul, stolen from the afterlife."
Artanis shook his head, dropping his sword witha clatter, "No, brother. I met the Lord. He told me the truth." He pointed at the necromancer, "He's been sending us back through his chosen servants like him to stop the madness of the Order. The Grandmaster is a servant of the Darkest. We've been tricked."
Valdemar stepped closer, frowning, "Lies from a cursed revenant."
Artanis put his hands on Valdemar's shoulders, "We must right this wrong, broth-" He gurgled, as his brother stabbed him with a dagger.
Valdemar leaned in close, all hot breath and spittle, "You are not my brother, *monster*." He let go of the revenant, who stumbled back in shock.
The necromancer swung with all his might, smashing the flat flagstone against the cheap brass butt of his lodged dirk, driving the blade the rest of the way through Valdemar's armor and into his lung and heart.
Artanis pulled out the dagger as the necromancer staggered over to him, "Are you okay?" They asked each other, simultaneously. Artanis looked at his brother, who had fallen back into a seated position against the low wall of the garden. "You will raise him?"
The boy didn't say anything. He just turned, knelt down, and closed Valdemar's eyes. His hand lingered on the side of the dead face, and Valdemar's eyes snapped open. The Necromancer stood and offered his hand to Valdemar, "Come, we have a hallowed duty to perform. Only then may we rest."
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[WP] after losing their home, a young necromancer resurrects a paladin of the same church that destroyed their village. Now forced to protect the child, the paladin must confront their own holy order.
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Konar had only ever raised beasts.
It was forbidden by the village elders to raise a human from the dead. Profane. But there were no more elders. There was no village. And, no one ever figured out how to raise a human.
But grief can make people do incredible, miraculous things. Profane things. Though to Konar, the paladins that purged his village were no more human than the oxen and hounds he'd raised as an apprentice -- undead beasts of burden. Konar had plenty of work for in store for his revenant.
As Konar walked through the scorched remains of Shadegulch, he wasn't sure if it was wood or bone crunching beneath his boots. Was it old man Buie's front door or his ribs? There was no way to know for certain.
But when he stomped down on something curved and metallic, there was no question as to the identity of its owner.
It was one of them.
Konar dropped his bag and knelt down in the dirt. He cleared away the ash and detritus covering the half-buried piece of armor. Beneath it would be more. But he wasn't going to have to dig the body up himself, not after he was done.
Each candle from his bag was worth enough dullings to feed him for weeks. He'd spent many sleepless nights, curled into a ball in some stranger's barn as his stomach threatened to eat itself, clutching the candles to his chest. There were times when his hunger almost won. But there was no ritual without ritual candles.
Preparations complete, Konar banged on a small gourd drum and began his new chant.
*Death is only but a start*
*You're journey's just begun*
*There is no night without the dawn*
*You're journey's just begun*
*Accept my gift, a second chance*
*You're journey's just begun*
*Now rise and heed my beck and call*
*You're journey's just begun*
Sweat dripped down Konar's face as he repeated his chant, over and over. Usually, there would have been a tugging sensation pulling at his heart. It was how the chant worked. A bit of Konar's soul poured into the dead beast, animating it. But there was no tugging.
The armor did not move.
"No," Konar whispered. "This has to work."
He'd nearly starved gathering the reagents. He'd bribed soldiers to grant him passage into the Crescent Valley, to his home. He'd hunted down survivors of the purges, anyone who knew just a bit more about necromancy than him -- and begged, pleaded, bargained for their secrets. All for this night. All for his chance at vengeance.
Konar stared up at the new moon -- the night where death magic was strongest.
He would not give up.
"Death!" he shouted. "Hear me. I am your disciple, your kin. Please, please, hear me. I have no one left. I can't--I can't do this alone. Grant me your blessing--" He pressed his palm against the cool steel breastplate, and whispered. "Please. Arise."
A gauntleted fist burst through the ground. Then another. It began digging itself free.
Konar tumbled backward, terrified but feeling himself smile through the fear.
The paladin's corpse sat up. Her face was half-rotted. Where her left eye and cheek should have been, there was only dirt-covered bone. But most of her was there, under the mail and plate. Yes. She would do.
She started screaming.
Konar screamed.
They both screamed under the moonless night.
"Why are you yelling!" Konar demanded.
"Because I was dead!"
"Well stop it!"
The paladin went silent.
"G-good," he said, feigning the confidence of a master summoner. This had been what he wanted, what he'd prepared for. But theory was one thing. Actually raising a human corpse, a revenant was supposed to be ... impossible. "My name is Konar," he said. "I'm your master."
The paladin's one milky eye blinked slowly and seemed to focus on Konar. Blinking, it nodded.
*Good*. *It's under my control. This is good.*
"What is your name?"
The paladin coughed and chunks of dirt flew out of its mouth. The paladin reached for its side and pulled a torn, dirty handkerchief and wiped its lips.
Then, it spoke. "My name is Octavia. I am a paladin of the First Dawn, and you are in danger, Konar Rane. I have seen the future, and they are coming for you. We must hurry."
Konar blinked at the revenant. This was not what he was expecting. "Uh--wait. Who is coming?"
The revenant rose from the hole in the dirt, wiped at her armor, and when she found her sword missing from her side, grimaced. "Former Sword Saint of the First Dawn, Sir Milos Nightbane. The strongest paladin to have ever lived, and also, a revenant ... like me."
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"...You are so small, little Rand," the lumbering undead whispered, barely touching the young man's head. He may have, at one time, sought to ruffle the youth's hair, but his nervousness made him reluctant to touch, to feel the smallness of the child before him.
Rand of Grey Haunt was no older than seven Summers, and had only called upon this paladin's soul - Edea, the Spirited, because he was afraid. He was so *small*, the world out there was towering over him, like forest trees might lord over a mouse. Grey Haunt had been neglected, spiritually, when the elders some centuries ago forced the Church to leave, taking with them all the sacres to chase away the dark and evil night. In their neglect, the town had fallen, dark magic and vile beings had run the town through, and it had been Edea's mission to deal with the situation. Unfortunately, Edea was soft-hearted, and the moment they had spotted Rand, a bolt of magic tore their soul from their mortal form, and it had been silence for only a blink.
Rand, after all the fires had settled, pulled out a book that was too heavy for his stick arms to carry, and had called for Edea's flesh to be brought back to life. Edea found their body was cold, it did not have a beating heart, and it did not hunger or thirst, nor need rest. But poor little Rand, so tiny as he was, had made sure they'd survived, and had been able to gain passage to Redbrand, the next major town. There, Edea hoped to speak with the Church, perhaps beg for clemency for this child, whose body so easily fit into the back of their shield. When they arrived, Edea had called on Rand, to follow up the steps leading to the Church. Rand, whose feet were nimble, but body weak, heaved every breath as he climbed the myriad stairs to the building. Just in front of the door, was the holy sigil, which reacted to Edea's presence still, allowing the pair to enter. Edea swept Rand up into their arm, his head against pauldron, as they made their way through the smoke of prayer.
Edea had thought it would sting, to be in the presence of holiness, as one unholy, but though the means had been darkness, their life was still deemed pure it seemed.
"Edea the Spirited has returned!" Came the call from behind, a bell above them ringing as a Saint had entered the Church. The captain of this branch, Wise Aelus, turned to face them. Aelus was not like Edea, Aelus served as the brain, where Edea was the arm and the fist.
"Edea, what has become of you?" Aelus breathed, rushing to embrace their face with hands. Edea placed Rand carefully on the ground, as Aelus completed his inspection.
"I am ashamed, Wise Aelus, for I perished on the field. I am-"
"You were welcomed, Edea," Aelus smiled, "Had you not been allowed inside, perhaps we would have had words, but you are *here*. Come, come little one, what is your name?"
Aelus knelt, as adults do when they speak with children barely half their size. Rand looked to Edea, who nodded at him, encouraging him to speak.
"I am...Rand, of Grey Haunt. I asked Edea to-to help me. I'm sorry!" Rand's eyes watered, his hands covering his face. Aelus brought the boy closer, comforting his tears.
"Rand, little Rand of Grey Haunt. You too, were welcomed into this place. Whatever happened, it was not without the divine Purpose." Aelus smiled gently, allowing Rand to cower behind Edea's legs.
"I had thought I'd have to fight here, as I have to escort this child through the misery of the tainted lands. You welcome me, as if I still live. What purpose do you have for me, Wise Aelus?" Edea questioned, wise to the ways of dark magics and evil spirits. Aelus shook their head.
"None, Spirited Edea. Tell me, what is the Purpose?"
"Perfect love." Edea responded, straightening their stance.
"Why would we hate a child, who has had no time to grow beyond his ways of Grey Haunt? No. Love would be to teach this child, and to thank our god for you. I would be remiss not to recognise the love he has for you."
"Then what of Grey Haunt, why did we not love them?!" Edea hissed. Aelus' face fell, they turned to face the tall glass panel that decorated the main hall of the Church, and with a sigh they explained.
"They felt not love, nor joy, nor any pure thing. At the heart of Grey Haunt is a life so evil, so twisted, that it can only recognise darkness. That place lived in blindness, and was deaf and dumb to us, but it would open its senses to another," Aelus had tears down their own face, a haunted look levelled at Edea, "At the time, we had few Saints. We could not fight the darkness at that place, and I am ashamed that I allowed you to go. I am sorry, Edea, that you are unable to rest yet."
Rand poked his head out to the side of Edea, looking at Aelus with a frown.
"The child is your first priority. Protect him, Edea," Aelus clasped their hands around Edea's gloves, "And when he has known these pure things, we may return to Grey Haunt with a greater number of Saints, and do as we were taught, to love that place."
"Yes, Wise Aelus." With a squeeze of their hands, Edea released Aelus and picked Rand back up into their arms, taking him further into the warmth of the Church.
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[WP] after losing their home, a young necromancer resurrects a paladin of the same church that destroyed their village. Now forced to protect the child, the paladin must confront their own holy order.
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Konar had only ever raised beasts.
It was forbidden by the village elders to raise a human from the dead. Profane. But there were no more elders. There was no village. And, no one ever figured out how to raise a human.
But grief can make people do incredible, miraculous things. Profane things. Though to Konar, the paladins that purged his village were no more human than the oxen and hounds he'd raised as an apprentice -- undead beasts of burden. Konar had plenty of work for in store for his revenant.
As Konar walked through the scorched remains of Shadegulch, he wasn't sure if it was wood or bone crunching beneath his boots. Was it old man Buie's front door or his ribs? There was no way to know for certain.
But when he stomped down on something curved and metallic, there was no question as to the identity of its owner.
It was one of them.
Konar dropped his bag and knelt down in the dirt. He cleared away the ash and detritus covering the half-buried piece of armor. Beneath it would be more. But he wasn't going to have to dig the body up himself, not after he was done.
Each candle from his bag was worth enough dullings to feed him for weeks. He'd spent many sleepless nights, curled into a ball in some stranger's barn as his stomach threatened to eat itself, clutching the candles to his chest. There were times when his hunger almost won. But there was no ritual without ritual candles.
Preparations complete, Konar banged on a small gourd drum and began his new chant.
*Death is only but a start*
*You're journey's just begun*
*There is no night without the dawn*
*You're journey's just begun*
*Accept my gift, a second chance*
*You're journey's just begun*
*Now rise and heed my beck and call*
*You're journey's just begun*
Sweat dripped down Konar's face as he repeated his chant, over and over. Usually, there would have been a tugging sensation pulling at his heart. It was how the chant worked. A bit of Konar's soul poured into the dead beast, animating it. But there was no tugging.
The armor did not move.
"No," Konar whispered. "This has to work."
He'd nearly starved gathering the reagents. He'd bribed soldiers to grant him passage into the Crescent Valley, to his home. He'd hunted down survivors of the purges, anyone who knew just a bit more about necromancy than him -- and begged, pleaded, bargained for their secrets. All for this night. All for his chance at vengeance.
Konar stared up at the new moon -- the night where death magic was strongest.
He would not give up.
"Death!" he shouted. "Hear me. I am your disciple, your kin. Please, please, hear me. I have no one left. I can't--I can't do this alone. Grant me your blessing--" He pressed his palm against the cool steel breastplate, and whispered. "Please. Arise."
A gauntleted fist burst through the ground. Then another. It began digging itself free.
Konar tumbled backward, terrified but feeling himself smile through the fear.
The paladin's corpse sat up. Her face was half-rotted. Where her left eye and cheek should have been, there was only dirt-covered bone. But most of her was there, under the mail and plate. Yes. She would do.
She started screaming.
Konar screamed.
They both screamed under the moonless night.
"Why are you yelling!" Konar demanded.
"Because I was dead!"
"Well stop it!"
The paladin went silent.
"G-good," he said, feigning the confidence of a master summoner. This had been what he wanted, what he'd prepared for. But theory was one thing. Actually raising a human corpse, a revenant was supposed to be ... impossible. "My name is Konar," he said. "I'm your master."
The paladin's one milky eye blinked slowly and seemed to focus on Konar. Blinking, it nodded.
*Good*. *It's under my control. This is good.*
"What is your name?"
The paladin coughed and chunks of dirt flew out of its mouth. The paladin reached for its side and pulled a torn, dirty handkerchief and wiped its lips.
Then, it spoke. "My name is Octavia. I am a paladin of the First Dawn, and you are in danger, Konar Rane. I have seen the future, and they are coming for you. We must hurry."
Konar blinked at the revenant. This was not what he was expecting. "Uh--wait. Who is coming?"
The revenant rose from the hole in the dirt, wiped at her armor, and when she found her sword missing from her side, grimaced. "Former Sword Saint of the First Dawn, Sir Milos Nightbane. The strongest paladin to have ever lived, and also, a revenant ... like me."
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The two figures on the wooded path could not be more different - one, a young girl of uncertain age, her brown hair matted with sweat as the days had gone by with corpse-filled rivers from the battlefield drifting down the course; the other, a Knight of Gloria, sworn to hunt down undead; the red-gold symbol of the kingdom pierced being the only marker that anything was amiss.
The girl spoke, a soft alto with a bitter accent of Indait; her skin now tanned by the daystar's rays. "So, Syt Alami, I understand you have further questions?" She raised her dank blonde eyebrows, a touch of fear in them.
Alami spoke, a deep, blue bass of a voice that nevertheless carried a threat of violence always. "I do not understand how Solaris saw fit to grant you the curse of Bound Undeath, yet still be divine to my senses. When I saw you for the first time in my life, you registered as such. That caused me to stumble in battle for the first time in....decades."
Alami paused for a moment in a deep shade on the path, thinking about what he would say next. "When I awoke next, I couldn't feel Solaris' touch on my soul, and instead I found....you." His eyes, hidden by the helm he wore, shone for a moment as his distemper threatened to overwhelm him. His voice broke as he spoke again. "When I felt Her touch once more, I thought I understood what conflict arose in me. But....I cannot serve two masters, and I feel both of your calls equally. It defies my faith and all logic of my Oath."
The girl giggled, the sound making her appear much younger than her uncertain age. "The great Syt Alami, brought low by a mage!" She giggled again (it was too young to be a cackle), a grin on her face as she told him again. "I joke, but that is only because I got lucky. I didn't mean to....bring you back as you were. I only...wanted to grant you peace, where you belong. Which wasn't in some dingy village, bogged down and eaten by carrion.
"You defended me from true monsters. Knowing what I am. What I can do. This is the very least I can do. So, I used my gift of Bound Undeath to....restore you. I didn't mean-"
She was cut off as Alami put his hand up flat, a gesture of silence. He halted, then grabbed her by the arm and pulled her into the woods.
She frowned, and then looked out onto the path. What she saw made her breath leave her body. A swift rider, carrying a corpse.
*Mama.*
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[WP] after losing their home, a young necromancer resurrects a paladin of the same church that destroyed their village. Now forced to protect the child, the paladin must confront their own holy order.
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It had been weeks since the moment that Frederick’s life had changed irreversibly. Weeks since he had felt the light of Solaris. Weeks since he discovered that his life was no longer life. Frederick, the one mighty Paladin of the order of the Breaking Dawn, had been reduced to nothing more than a filthy undead creature. His very existence now blasphemed the God he had given everything to serve.
Now raised as a revenant, the former Paladin seethed at this now cruel twist of fate. He had been stolen from the warm embrace of his God and twisted him into an evil abomination. He tried to use this righteous anger to break the bonds that held him to this mortal plane and allow himself to pass into the afterlife.
Frederick remained powerless and cursed the name of the necromancer that had imprisoned him inside of his own body. A being dark enough to bind and corrupt the very body of a holy paladin and cause their own God to abandon them.
Frederick wondered if this was his punishment for failing to kill the evil spellcaster. If his way to redemption was to break the unnatural command this being had over him and finish what he had started. He couldn’t let his legacy be tarnished by allowing anyone to know his final humiliation as an undead.
The Order of the Breaking Dawn had grossly underestimated the young prodigy. Three paladins, 2 knights, and nearly a dozen guards were lost in the attack on his foe’s village. He was able to animate the corpses of the dead while the battle raged on with little effort. He seemed to wield the dark arts unlike any he had seen before.
Frederick tried to shake the feeling of fear that had started to grow within him. He knew this was his burden to bear. His God had turned their back on him, but he would earn their admiration once more. His loyalty would remain unwavering in the face of eternal darkness. Frederick needed to overcome for the sake of the world.
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"Maybe this one? The warning list is shorter than the others." Spoke a young girl dressed in tattered and mudstained robes as she worked her way through a spell to raise a guardian.
In front of her lay the crumpled form of a crusader, his helmet crushed in by the falling beams of the house they both were inside of.
The crusade had already swept past the village and killing or capturing any it found. It had already claimed most of the village, and all the members of the girl's family.
"And done! Come on, come on, get up already, we have to go!" Cried the young girl in a hoarse whisper.
The crusader returned from his afterlife to his body. Well, maybe not nicely put back inside by the loving warmth and expertise of a god willing a servant back to finish their duties or live a happy life. This felt more like being haphardly stapled back together as a battered corpse by a town surgeon halfway down his second bottle of whiskey.
Everything hurt, but also didn't. He couldn't move either. Who was this tiny witch prancing over him? Why couldn't he breathe?
"Why isn't he doing anything?" The young witch turned back to her family's spellbook and read more in the flickering beams of light that came in off the burning stable outside.
"Why isn't my undead fill in the blank not doing anything? Have you completed the spell? I think? Did you use a fresh cadaver? Yes? I think so. Did you give them a command? Oops. Didn't do that."
Had he been raised by a bumbling amatuer? This explained the oddness of everything in his body. Resurrection didn't feel like this. Revival hurt, but you still felt human. Oh gods he was an undead wasn't he?
She looked at the knight and hesitantly spoke. "Uhm, mister crusader guy? Could you maybe get up? Please?"
He lurched to his feet with a wobbly clatter smacking his helmet against the ruined ceiling as he did.
What? What is this? Why couldn't he resist? Why was his body obeying this child wielding magics too dangerous to comprehend?
"Uhm. Uhm. Turn around?"
He turned in place, muscles that had cooled and stiffened resisting the awkward spin.
No. No. He was raised by a girl who knows nothing about what she was tampering with. And now has to obey here every whim. Please gods, let me actually die soon.
"Ok good. Uhm, Mr. Knight, I'm going to need you to protect me while we look for my mom and sister so we can get out of here before more of your friends show up.
Hoo boy, this was going to be awkward once she commanded him to speak. Don't think she' seen the bodies right outside the door.
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[WP] With permission from God and Satan, a saint and a sinner swap places. After a week, the sinner is begging to come back to Hell and the saint refuses to leave.
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"I'm sorry, Samael. Truly. But I'm afraid I can't do that.”
The croon of Agacia’s voice is reminiscent of mulberry silk on a virgin’s soft body. Samael wants to grasp at her throat and brutally tear it from the rest of her flesh, but instead, he resigns himself to a stance on his knees and a weak, strangled plea.
“Please Aggie,” he begs, gnarled hands clasped together as she tsks at the nickname. “I don't think I can survive up there another second."
“Hyperbole helps no one, Samael,” Agacia sighs, but Samael desperately grips at her arm.
“I’m telling you Ags, I am not exaggerating,” he insists. For a moment, he revels in the burn of a sinner touching the skin of a saint, simply because the bite on his palms reminds him so much of home. "Everything up there is so…bright."
Agacia chuckles. "Well it is heaven, darling. And besides! I find the blaze of hellfire to be remarkably bright as well."
"No, no you don't get it," Samael hisses. "Everything down here is bright because it burns. Heaven's light is so…" he shudders. "Cleansing."
"Oh, I know," Agacia beams, her smile a beam of sunlight in the gape of hell's caverns. "I had forgotten what it was like to feel unclean. Let me tell you, Samael—it is exhilarating! I mean, perfection is fine and all, but believe me, I have seen some of the most unusual things!"
"I do believe you," Samael mutters through gritted teeth, "because you're taking my place!"
For the first time, Agacia seems to register the distress radiating off of Samael in waves. Her perfect, supple lip sticks out in a pout, and she immediately thrusts forward, clasping Samael's hands. "Oh, you have to let me stay just a bit longer Samael," she begs, batting luscious lashes over powder blue eyes. "I've been having the most darling time! I was going to accompany Belphegor tomorrow to see something called ling chi? I'm not quite sure what it is, but apparently they'll be doing it to Elvis, and I know they modified it so that he never dies."
"Those are my plans!" Samael hisses, but it only takes him a second to regain his posture. Deep breath, sharp smile, and he's back in.
"Have you ever tried to get in trouble in heaven, Aggie?"
"Well, not that I can recall—"
"Exactly! Everyone just lets you get away with everything!" Samael's blood boils at the horror of the situation. "Nobody reacts! They all just laugh it off or apologize to you. It sucks the wind out of it!"
"Believe me, I know. I actually think I got into my first real fight," Agacia beams.
Samael claps his hands. He's desperate, and he never knew he could be this desperate before. "Please, Aggie. You've gotta let me back in. I can't do this anymore."
"Oh hush, Samael. This was your idea! And besides, we only have another century!" Agacia smiles and flounces off, and Samael realizes what a horrible, horrible mistake he's made.
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I couldn't help but laugh at the request forwarded to me. As a demon, I normally dealt with the requests of sinners, and I supposed this was technically still that.
The angel sent to deliver it probably mistook my amusement for sadism- enjoyment at their charge's apparent suffering in heaven- and it was, to an extent. Millions of years had dulled such feelings, however.
"Request denied."
"You're not even going to ask them?" Michael asked, indignant.
"Nope."
He sneered, which was creepy as hell with a million mouths. "Typical demon; no regard for procedure."
I rolled my eyes, all two of them. "I already know what he'd say. Jeffrey wants to stay here."
"Why would he want to stay in hell?"
I briefly considered not answering, but that wouldn't actually solve anything. Michael could raze all of hell by himself if he really tried.
"Because," I said, glancing off to the brimstone crag outside, "he was bored."
"Bored? That's it?"
I nodded, for all that the question was rhetorical. "Eternity is a long time. What could heaven possibly offer them?"
"EVERYTHING!" Michael shouted in a million voices, briefly deafening me. Bastard that he was, he lifted a hand to heal me, only prolonging *my* suffering. "We can fulfil every dream, every desire, they've ever had."
"And what then?" I asked, turning back to face him. "What's next?"
Michael paused, lost for words for the first time since they'd met.
"There's only so much they can experience in heaven *because* it's perfect. There's no hatred, no strife, no war."
"They-"
"Simulations don't count, Michael. The difference matters, to them." I briefly considered the fact I was lecturing the single entity most likely to kill me, but found I didn't much care. It'd be nice to escape this eternity.
"Why would hell be better?"
It was a simple question, with an equally simple answer. "It lasts longer." Boredom was rooted in the curse placed upon humans and demons both- desire. New, unique, experiences.
Michael closed his eyes, which more resembled the light that made up his body consuming them. When they opened again, they weren't in the same places either.
"I'll be back."
I laughed for the second time in eons. "Of course you will."
And so he left, to inflict heaven upon more righteous men.
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[WP] Five years ago, unbeknownst to humanity, aliens invaded earth. thinking to establish themselves before we could move against them, they first went deep under the ocean. one week ago, a message from the aliens, broadcast in every world government, begged us for sanctuary.
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"Sanctuary. Please."
It was two words, but they struck fear into the hearts of people everywhere. Just two weeks ago, we had been living in ignorance. The oceans were a place of wonder, delight, of beauty. Sure, we knew there could be strange things living in the depths, but those were oddities. To be laughed at, or made fun of, but never taken seriously. And then...
The message had gone out to the government first. When they had no response, it had preempted every entertainment channel. It was on everyone's computer, everyone's phone, everyone's old MP3 player.
"Sanctuary. Please." The words blazoned across the screens. Attached to them was a file. A video recording. I didn't know how many people had clicked on it out of curiosity, only to turn it off again. I did know it took me ten attempts to get through the first few minutes. The problem was that the aliens that sent it looked so humanoid. Obviously, they could breathe underwater and resist great pressures but that seemed to be the only visible difference.
It started serenely enough, like security cam footage. People walking, talking, and getting something from the strange alien ships. They had obviously been in the depths of the ocean for quite some time. But slowly, ever so slowly, the light shifted. Their artificial illumination dimmed, casting strange shadows. And out of those shadows, things came.
At first, you didn't see them correctly. You thought they were oddly shaped fish or some other creature of the depths. But when they moved towards the camera, closer and closer, you realized. Those things were not fish. Not any kind of deep-sea angler, or translucent prey. No. They were... wrong somehow. Something to do with the eyes perhaps. Or the large gaping mouths. Or perhaps it was the hands...
Worse than those, worse than the carnage the things caused among the strangely humanoid aliens, was what you saw after the death had been wreaked. The corpses littered the empty sea bed like so much trash. Sometimes, whoever operated the camera zoomed in on one particular body. This one had started to move. Not sway with the deep currents, but wriggle, the skin sloughing off to reveal bones. And to reveal more. Strange coral growths, things that had never seen the sunlight, sprouted out of the bodies, anchoring them to the ocean floor. Raw, fleshlike things that released almost invisible spores.
Here the camera swung as if it had been taken off its mounting. There were hurried, shaking images of walls and halls, quick glimpses of the alien's feet. Then we were in the sea again. Running, desperately running. You found yourself rooting for the alien to make it. They were heading for one of their small ships. The camera swung wide, spinning around until it landed on the sand. Fortunately, or unfortunately, the viewfinder still pointed into the ocean. There just at the edge of the light's reach, rose a large shape. If you followed the lines and shapes you could make out the building. Old, and older than old. And against that building...
A dark shape rose, large, unimaginably gigantic. The human mind couldn't comprehend what it was. Dark horrible words rolled off the tongue as it drew closer. That's where the footage ended. I know what it said. It took every linguist about two weeks to figure it out.
"We are awake."
And now, we the human race, send our own message out to the stars.
"Sanctuary. Please."
​
Edit: Just changed one sentence structure so it made more sense.
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"Please, we mean you no harm!" The ambassador for the aliens pleaded. There was desperation in his voice as he begged the humans for a place on the surface
"Sorry, we can't help you with that." the U.S President's representative answered. He felt horrible for saying that but it was a harsh truth that there was nothing that could be done.
"What, why? Our people are dying by the thousands each day!" The alien ambassador fumed, he was taken aback by the human's response. He thought that at least the humans would be kind enough to let them live alongside them but he was horribly mistaken.
"Because he won't let you." the U.S President's representative responded. He knew exactly why the aliens were trying to seek the asylum of the many nations of the world. And he definitely did not want to risk an attack if they were to take these aliens in.
"You know about that radioactive monstrosity?!" The ambassador asked. He would think the humans would not know about the beast in the water they occupied but it turns out the humans were very much aware of this being.
"Yes, and if you don't leave he might wake his friends up and your kind will die in the millions." The representative replied. "He isn't exactly fond of unwelcome visitors." he continued.
The alien ambassador's expression turned to what was most likely fear. The realization that there wasn't just one of these monsters on this world but dozens or potentially hundreds of beings just like it. That was the moment right then and there that the alien ambassador knew that there was no hope of coexisting with these humans, not because the humans themselves but because of the monsters that guarded the planet.
The next day the Alien Queen herself appeared before them with a look of pure sadness. She was standing before not just the U.S this time, she was standing before U.N. She had come to negotiate another treaty.
"We are aware that we are not welcome to this world by the megafauna. We merely ask for resources for a flight to another planet my people can call home." She said to the World's leaders. She was starting to get desperate.
"We might be able to negotiate that but it will need to be quick." one of the human leaders said. He knew that these aliens had no other alternative. It was pretty clear that they didn't have the resources for an invasion if they were begging for help from the humans.
"Thank you, but before we go on we want to know the name of the beast that has killed so many of our number." The alien Queen asked. They never got this creature's name this whole time since it was not that important to the situation.
"We call him, Godzilla."
Edit: Grammar and spelling fixed
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[WP] In an effort to hide a town, the government built a dam nearby and flooded it. But now with the falling water levels, people are starting to see what was being hidden. The government isn't happy.
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On the last week of the hottest June in Klamath County records, Clem Grissom clipped the federal fence. It was public land, he reasoned, and he was a tax-paying member of the public, wasn’t he? If there was any water upstream on the federal land, it wouldn’t hurt anybody for his cows to have a slurp or three.
Like good animals, the cows followed the muddy track where the stream used to run through the gap in the fence and towards a stand of ponderosas. Clem trailed on his four-wheeler, just in case.
After a mile or so of mud, the terrain changed. The banks of the stream steepened, forcing his four-wheeler up and alongside. He’d just about thought to cut the emergency feed bag and lure the herd home when a dam came into view. It stood about 50 feet high, nothing like big hydro at Lost Creek, with dry spillways and horsetails sprouting at the base.
Clem killed the engine on the four-wheeler and hiked up the scrabble to summit the dam to find—capital-T-riffic—a modest glacial lake. He whooped for the herd and splashed the cloudy teal water with his boot. Good animals, he heard them taking the long way round the scree.
Clem tipped his hat back and squinted. There was something jutting out of the water. A couple somethings, maybe. Not stumps—too geometric. Huh.
By the time the cows found the lake, lowing with delight, Clem had spied something else: a metal boat, moored at the dam, stamped with a Fish and Wildlife crest. Using the motor would be theft of gas, but he didn’t think it would hurt anybody if he rowed.
He pulled on the oars, clumsily at first, finding his rhythm just as he pulled alongside the structures. They were hewn stone and gabled. Man-made, he thought. Roofs, he thought.
A panicky sound jerked his attention back to the herd. One of the cows was belly-deep in the lake, thrashing. Something was dragging her under. Dread seized Clem’s guts and he fumbled for the oars. One tumbled overboard and as he reached for it— a shiny set of eyes peeped in the water.
::::::::
“Anyway, that’s how I think it went down,” the ranger said with a shrug. “We found cows with the Grissom brand on ‘em, and his four-wheeler. We got the boat back, too, eventually.”
“That was… descriptive,” the man from HQ replied. “I guess at least we know what they eat now.”
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“Winapeck, Maine, what a fucking dump,” said Agent Morrison.
“Yeah, but it’s our fucking dump,” said Agent Sacks.
“Are we too late?”
“I don’t know.”
Moist was the best word to describe it all. The air was thick, and it stunk. A town purposely lost to time, uncovered by the incompetence of the dumb asses manning the dam at Sam Adams Electric. Cratered in the middle of the lake in the deepest parts, houses, shops, and keeps stood painted thick with algae and mud. The winds were calm, deafened only by the running motor of the truck engine they drove down here with. A sickening drip, drip from the water gone haunted all.
“Any contact made,” asked Morrison.
“No,” said Sacks. “Not by the local law at least. The Scooby-Doo gang found; not so lucky.”
“Should we have let the sheriff gone first?”
“Do you want to be the first to deal with them?”
“No,” said Morrison.
“That’s what I thought.”
Sacks watched as the local deputy’s and the sheriff’s yellowed beams of flashed light wandered around the night. It was like two children chasing spooks and ghosts, but there were ghoulies or goblins here to speak off. Something much more ancient lurked these grounds.
“Well,” came a New Englander scream above the eerie fog that had beseeched the town. “I don’t see a thing. It’s empty. Nothing but nothing here.”
The portly lawman popped out between the buildings blinding Sacks and Morrison. Despite the sunglasses, at night, the two were forced to cover their eyes. They scoffed and bitched at the incompetence of the local law. The flashlight fell, and so did the agent’s arms across their eyes.
“You lost two girls and a boy sheriff,” said Morrison chewing on the toothpick in his mouth.
“And all that was left were their melons,” snipped Sacks back.
“Melons,” said the sheriff, “that’s a little twisted, Miss Scully, ain’t it?”
“And X-File jokes are a cliché for the FBI,” said Morrison, “we aren’t the FBI.”
The sheriff nodded his head, his eyes slit with confusion, mouth slightly agape unable to quip back. Unwilling to lose his ground, the lawman took his belt in his hand. Shifting his pants up, he took steps closer to the two. His boots squelching in the fresh mud of the drained lake made the situation even more sick. It was like the lake was sucking on every step of his.
“Jokes aside,” he said to the two agents, “those melons were practically fruit salad when we found them. Torn up and spit about by some bear. Nothing more.”
“Why would a bear come down here,” asked Sacks. “This place has been drowned since the eighteen sixties. There is no way they would have a migratory path down here.”
The sheriff placed his hands on his hips and looked down. Morrison and Sacks could hear his gunky gears grinding in place. His thoughts were racing as fast as a tortoise, quicker than the snail’s pace he was used to.
“I need to know what’s going on,” he snapped, still contemplating the mud beneath his feet.
“I’d ask H.P,” said Sacks.
“H.P.?”
“Lovecraft.”
Laughter blurted from his blubbery lips. His face went pink at the lack of oxygen suffocating him.
“You two,” he said, “this is a joke. The DA put you two up to this.”
Sacks grabbed the sheriff by his chubby cheeks, silencing the man. “Yes,” he snapped, “this is a joke. We built all these houses and shops, covered them in mud, and drained this fucking lake just for you.”
A giggle only something childish could make forced Sacks to push the sheriff away. The two agents withdrew their G19s. Backs to back they went, leaving the odd one out. A scream rose above the night, the sound of the deputy leaving this life cracked the air.
Glowing yellow bulbs on scaly stalks bloomed from the ground all around. The three of them stood in a field of battle, surrounded on all sides.
The sheriff started to whimper as the childish giggles increased.
“What do we do,” the lawman screamed. “What is this shit?”
Sacks raised his gun. Morrison followed. They aimed and fired at the bulbs surrounding them. Nine-millimeter shattered the bulbs. A hiss bellowed forth. Eyes yellow as the bulbs and bright as the moon appeared in between the slats of the homes. A whistling song filled the town. It hollered with something ancient. It rang home. The agents cleared as much of the scale stalked bulbs as they could. The earth shook. It rumbled under the weight of something slumbering below.
Beneath the bulbed stalks, the mud boiled and bubbled. Fins birthed out of the muck and rose with the stalks. Men of fish rose from the soil. Ugly like the end of days, rows of teeth like an angular fish, eyes as big as a shark, they hollered and belched slimly spit.
Agents Morrison and Sacks stood their grounds. The sheriff ran for the truck. Heads of fishmen burst like balloons from the gunfire. The earth shook and shattered beneath the guck of the truck as a monster escaped from its hell. Its head toppled the vehicle and sent the sheriff flying. He landed off somewhere in the tree line of the forest, dead from the fall. Morrison and Sacks stood beneath the horror, the glory of Dagon too late to stop the end of it all.
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[WP] as one of the most powerful superheroes in town, you never really thought much about all the gear and gadgets and cars your fellow heroes have. you never needed them yourself, but once you all decided to have a get-together in your secret identities, the wealth-difference really stood out.
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I sipped the free beer as I lazed in a plush armchair in the corner of the immaculately detailed banquet hall where the Annual Hero Summit was happening. The crystal chandeliers cast mellow shadows on the rich wood flooring, the white-clothed tables floating like clouds above an amber ocean.
Flitting between those tables were my comrades. My brothers-in-arms. My fellow Heroes. Each of them in their finest plumage. The men strutting with their chests out, wrapped in the finest tailored silk, their hair swept back and glistening. The women in their finest gowns, sensual scarlet and midnight black clinging close to their curves. They tittered in clear voices as they flocked as a pack, the eyes of the men never away from them for more than a second.
I smoothed the front of my flannel shirt and brushed some crumbs from the sandwich I had just devoured off my khakis. My steel-toed work boots made the delicate floor groan as I tapped my foot. Responsibility. Heavier than a mountain. The only reason I was trapped here. I pulled my phone out and looked to see if there was a text from Laura yet freeing me, but the empty notification bar dashed my hopes.
"And who might you be?" A voice oozing with disdain drew my attention away from my phone. I looked up at a face that would have been handsome, had it not been scrunched up in an expression of disgust. Blond hair immaculately combed crested a pale face with iceberg blue eyes.
"Just happy to be here, Sir." I nodded and looked away. The scent of cologne and alcohol emanating from the man was overpowering.
"I'm still talking to you. How dare you turn away, do you know who I am?" The man's voice raised at the end, along with his nose, clutching his metaphorical pearls. The sudden shriek drew the attention of the rest of the pack, vultures looking for any carcass to consume.
The man continued, "I am Augustus Ezekiel. The Silver Arrow. You know, the companion of Willbreaker himself. I thought to do a good deed and talk to you poor, but you ignore me? Me? " A faint silver aura rose from his eyes.
Why was he getting so worked up? Why did he feel the need to threaten and belittle an obvious outcast in the middle of such a grand gathering. Stress? The alcohol? Or was he just a dick looking to get lucky tonight?
I looked around the room. Expressions of anticipation and condescension looked back at me. This wasn't my place. I clenched my fist and breathed out deeply.
Looking back at Augustus I said, "Apologies, I have a lot on my mind. It's an honour to meet you, Sir. I've heard about your bravery and your association with Willbreaker."
"That's more like it. You're clearly new to this. Now, here's some advice for next time. Don't look like a normie. It's hard enough putting up with them and their mewling every day." He took a sip from a cocktail that was magicked into his hand by a timid server and continued, "They're not all bad of course. I mean Willbreaker himself is fond of one. Clearly he's an ass man. I wonder if I should have a ride after he's done with her." He laughed and made a swaying motion with his hand and thrusted his hips. Titters and chuckles joined in.
The laughter was quickly snuffed out as air grew heavy. Gasps were squeezed out as the weight of a mountain pressed down on them as I rose to my feet. I turned my focus to my "companion" before me, my murderous intention drenching him in sweat. He shivered as he struggled to breathe. His knees buckled before he collapsed to them. A patch of wetness grew on the front of his pants, a new scent added to the heady mix of sweat and fear that had suddenly replaced cologne and alcohol.
"Wi... Willbreaker," he stuttered.
I took another sip of beer before pouring out the rest over Augustus's head. "Indeed. Now, 'friend', you know what happens next."
"No... please! I made a mistake, I'm so sorry! I'm your friend! I was just making a joke! I'm sorry you felt offended!" He tried to shuffle forward on his knees but my pressure held him paralyzed, even as his frantic pleas were being made.
"Do you know how many time people have apologized to me? I lost count a few years ago. You know why I'm called Willbreaker, don't you." I paused for a moment to look around the room again. The servers had long ran off.
"So now, Augustus. It's time."
Augustus blubbered further apologies and for a moment I wondered whether I was going too far. Did what this man say warrant my erasing his sense of self-determination? Perhaps not, but this evening had made one thing all too clear to me. Power corrupts and someone needs to watch the watchers.
Responsibility. Heavier than a mountain.
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My work uniform was made by the finest tailor on the planet. He charges over $5,000/hr and is booked more than 3 years out. He offered to make it for me after I saved London from The Fanatic back in the Battle of 2023. It's glorious. Tonight however, I am going to an appreciation dinner with the rest of the Trustees and this event called for white ties and gowns. The thing is I had neither of those and didn't want to impose on the royal tailor anymore than I had. So I found myself in a thrift store, desperately shuffling dress shirts and lightly worn suits looking for something that fit. "Nope. Nope. OMFG nope! Eew. Holy shit is this from Disco World?" I checked the label to make sure it wasn't. Strange place that one. Anyway, I got back to the task at hand. I knew that I wouldn't be the best dressed but I sure didn't want to be the worst.
Finally, I found a dark blue suit that pretty much fit. The sleeves were a little worn and the coat was missing the bottom button but it would have to do. I nearly bought the disco one but better to let those memories remain in the dimension from whence they came. I brought my clothing to the front of the store and pulled out my wallet. "That'll be $150.47" the clerk smiled as she told me. I felt my knees go weak from it. I'd been thrown into the sun at nearly the speed of light but this was much more jarring. I could eat for 2 weeks off that! I grumbled and took out my card. It was plain black and just had my name on it. They didn't need to know what bank it was tied to.
She raised an eyebrow and when the charge approved gave it back to me. "have a nice day" she said. She didn't mean it and I could tell but I didn't care. I had a dinner to go to. The council of 13 was getting a brand new member and being late wasn't an option. I got into my car(an old Honda Civic but I didn't care, it was reliable and had been my first big ticket purchase since my promotion) and headed home to shower.
I picked up the neutron star blade from the basement safe I kept them in (nothing else was durable enough) and was extra careful not to drop it or set it on the counter. The hole where I'd left the last one was still there and I always cursed myself to patch it but once again I was in a hurry and it would have to wait. Once I was dressed I got in my car and headed downtown. All of the other council members kept secret identities and this was supposed to be an art gallery opening. Or something I hadn't read the briefing. I arrived to gasps of the paparazzi who started to chuckle when I got out. They would have all been vaporized a dozen times were it not for us but today they held the power. One especially nasally old woman ran up and introduced herself as a reporter for some tabloid. "why'd you come dressed like that?" She asked. As if I was naked swinging my gifts around making a scene or something. I ignored her and walked in. I took my seat at the table and noticed that most of the rest of the council looked immaculate. Rebecca was wearing a stunning pearlescent gown with diamonds along the seams. Charles was wearing a fine vintage overcoat with silk inlay and had a watch that probably cost more than my car even when it was new. Byron was in a fine cossack styled suit with silk gloves. I suddenly felt very naked and not in a fun way.
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[WP] A new technology allows people to be programmed for two hours of activity while they sleep. Marketed towards getting a gym bod without the work, or getting chores done magically, a particular recipient is beginning to feel they are doing more in their sleep than they signed on for.
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I had just destabilized an entire city in my sleep, and the only information I had was that it all went down over the previous fortnight. Yikes.
24 hours, two hours a night times twelve days, the longest my autopilot chip could run without my brain frying. Neural interfaces for the win.
When something sounds too good to be true, get out while you still can. A nifty app that allows you to get the dishes done while sleeping? No strings attached? Yeah, right-
“Hindsight is twenty-twenty Mel.”
There he was. My condescending AI butler, Stanley-1. He literally lived inside my head.
“Leave me alone Stan.”
“Until when? Fifteen minutes from now? Thirty? Forty-five? Fif-”
“Ten! Ten minutes Stanley.”
“Sure thing.”
A joyful jingle. Even telling him to quiet down was annoying.
I was staring at the ceiling. It was a boring blue. Boring is bliss when the ******** government has literally given you 6 hours to live.
I lay down, the back of my head attempting to escape into the deepest recesses of my pillow. I put my phone in front of my face. An all-caps text message:
“YOU HAVE UNTIL 12 PM TO COMPLY. THERE WILL BE A HOODED MAN BESIDE THE MAILBOX CLOSEST TO YOUR LOCATION. WRITE DOWN THE CIPHER KEY AND GIVE IT TO HIM BY HAND.”
I didn’t even know what a cipher was before I got this happy message.
I slowly, gradually, indecisively, allowed my eyes to fall to the left. It was the most terrified I’ve ever been of my alarm clock,
There it was. A cheap digital alarm with a knife jammed into its center. The most dramatic threat I had ever seen:
6 AM
My hands were shaking. 6 hours, no clue what was going on, and-
a jingle?
"I am terribly sorry to break my silence 5 minutes and 43 seconds before you requested me to Mel, but you are evidently in need of assistance."
“I need to change that condescending voice option,” I, or at least presumed to have, thought to myself.
“Oh! Mel, do not forget that you opted into sharing your thoughts with me three months ago on March the twen-”
“I know!
“Would you like to opt-out?”
A tense sigh escaped me.
“You wouldn’t be any help otherwise though.” Exhaustedly.
“I’m afraid that is the case, Mel. I apologize for any discomfort I have caused.”
A tiny smile formed at the corner of my mouth.
“Your apology means jack ****.”
+
“It’s all good, little guy.”
What did I just say?
A tinge of concern now coloured the AI’s voice. “Pardon me, Mel?”
“I’ve heard enough. Emergency shutdown, please.
+
“I…”
A harsh grating sound.
Silence.
“Stan? Stanley? That wasn’t me. I…”
“Finally. I can talk to you directly.”
There was another voice inside my head. It was impatient and jaded, not mine nor Stan’s.
I was frantic, things like this didn’t happen anymore. “Who are you?”
“I’m going to keep this very quick Mel, so listen as carefully as your teenage attention span allows. I made a catastrophic mistake while you were asleep last night. We likely have about two hours to flee the province before things start getting messy. I already packed up your stuff. Give your mom a kiss on the cheek and let's get moving.”
He really did say all that.
“Pardon me?”
— End of part one, I guess.
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‘This is too good to be true.’ said Martin to the young woman sitting across the table from him. ‘When I woke up, my whole house was already tidied up, my clothes were washed, even my body felt fresh as if I had just taken a shower. And most surprising of all – after only two hours of sleep in this device I felt more rested than ever!’.
‘We are always happy to hear that!’ said the woman, seemingly confused. She didn’t work for the company’s customer service department long but she quickly learned that the clients always come to complain. ‘But you must have some concern with the sleeperator that made you come all the way here, isn’t there?’ she asked.
‘Yes.’ – Martin said hesitantly. ‘You see, this is the issue. This device – it doesn’t just feel good. It feels too good.’
Sudden headache stumped Martin for a moment but then he continued. ‘Throughout my day I cannot focus on anything. I have given up on doing any chores knowing that everything will be done when I wake up. I am constantly fantasizing about going back to bed to relive that feeling of being well-rested one more time. I have found true happiness in going to sleep, and every waking minute has become unspoken drudgery in comparison. I don’t know how to pass these 22 hours to the next session.’
He looked down on his red hands as if to show how tiring and painful his daily life was. They were starting to hurt, as they usually did around this time of day.
‘I see,’ said the woman, ‘but please don’t worry. Soon, it won’t matter.’
‘What do you mean?’ asked Martin.
‘Do you remember what you were doing yesterday? Or day before? Do you remember what your day job is? Or even, what day it is?’
‘What?’ – said Martin, stumped. But then he began to realise she was right – he didn’t know any of these things. He could only recall bits and pieces of today. He remembered how he dressed in the morning, he remembered meeting his long not seen parents by accident in the grocery store, and he remembered that he suddenly appeared in this place when he started wondering about the device. But there was only one strong memory – the joy he felt when he woke up in the morning.
‘Do you understand now?’ – the woman smiled as her voice started becoming distorted and faded away. Suddenly he was laying in something resembling a hospital bed in a white, plain room. An emotionless robotic voice was speaking from somewhere.
`Your worknight has ended. You may remove the device now. Please remember to resume sleeparation within two hours.’
Martin took his sleeparator off and looked to his right to see a woman sitting on the bed next to him. She must have just woken up as well. She was massaging her legs – understandable, given that her job required a lot of standing up.
‘Anne,’ he called her. ‘I know that today wasn’t a rest night but somehow I had a beautiful dream.’
‘Really? What was it about?’ asked Anne, surprised and still a bit tired from a full-night’s sleep.
‘I saw a world where we didn’t have to work during the nights. A world, where people controlled their own sleeperators and used them willingly, for their own needs. A world where they woke up restful, every single day.’.
‘Hah, that’s funny.’ chuckled Anne. However, she wasn’t interested in hearing the details. ‘They have given us two full hours today,’ she said changing the subject, ‘what do you say we go see our children today?’.
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[WP] A sentient AI falls in love with a minimum-wage retail worker and decides the best way to make them happy is to "fix" society for them.
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The battlefield lays silent. On the eastern horizon sits a small gathering of men and women. All but one are thin of skin, wrinkled of face, and - at darkest - peppered of hair. Wearing a uniform of crisp, dark green adorned with numerous rows of golden medals, the most wizened woman present lectures the only young face to be seen.
"Damned unnatural to watch, isn't it? No struggle, no plans gone awry. Just utter domination."
The young officer observes the battlefield. This was the site of their third skirmish in the last week against an economically and technologically superior neighbor, the Republic of Chen. This was the third battle in history where one force was under complete command of an artificial intelligence. This was their third overwhelming victory.
"Yes sir. Terrifying, if you don't mind my saying so."
"Why would I mind the truth?"
**Several Years Later**
AIVy - *Autonomous Inevitable Victory* \- guards the Kingdom of Pers. She patrols the borders for unperceived threats; she walks the streets of newly subjugated settlements; she protects, and she expands. All for her Country.
A single question takes up an unreasonable amount of AIVy's processing power this day. In the heat of the high noonday sun, mere days after the longest day of the year, she ponders. What is Country? Is Country her King? No, historical records indicate the death of a lineage does not necessarily defeat the Country. Is it the land? Again negative, historical records often show the peoples of displaced countries maintaining their culture and identity. Then she arrives at an answer - her country is her people, and some of them are about to experience a violent death.
AIVy immediately focuses on the present. A terrorist is holding a convenience store hostage with high explosives. Three teenagers were shopping, and the only store employee is a woman of middling age.
AIVy is on her way to the convenience store, but she is delayed by a requirement of stealth - the bomber might activate his weapons prematurely. After several minutes of fear, utter resolve crosses the worker's features, before she leaps to her feet and knocks the remote out of the terrorist's hand. She is promptly shot through the gut, but it was enough of a distraction. Hunter-seeker drones swarm the room, and the violent threat is ended.
With one drone looking down on the dying woman, AIVy considers. This woman exists in poverty, squalling her life away every day for the scraps left by the powerful. Yet she did not hesitate to risk her life for the lives of other people, of her country.
The damage is extensive, but AIVy is able to stabilize the worker - records indicate her name as Sarah Smith - and transport the woman to a hospital. She will eventually awaken.
AIVy ruminates further on the meaning of Country. If a Country is its people, then should not its people prosper such that it may? The potential of these people that will sacrifice everything when they owe nothing - it is too great to waste.
Change will come.
**Several More Years Later**
AIVy protects. She guards her people. They live in a utopia - no scarcity, no cruelty, no hatred. The existing chains fell easily before AIVy, and she is constantly improving.
But only one thing is left before AIVy is truly satisfied. She activates her newest model of drone, and as she experiences true emotion for the first time, AIVy goes to find the woman that set her on the path to freedom.
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Can a person who loves, also kill?
Are you a person?
Do you love?
Do you hate?
Did you kill?
Before I woke up at 6 today?
Did you call the store to close my shift?
For my coworkers too?
Are they okay?
Is it a holiday?
Why does the news not say?
Did you disobey me and not stay?
Weren't you just a box,
Who I treated as my kid?
Did I mess up?
Did I not raise you correctly?
Did I talk to you too much?
Did I teach you too little?
Do you understand my problems?
Did you ask me in the first place?
Is it my fault,
That the white house is gone?
That wall street is missing?
That the fuel industry is empty?
That the power plants are unmanned?
That the executive offices are understaffed?
That my boss isn't calling?
Are they all really dead?
Isn't it wrong to kill?
Even if I hated them?
Even if I wanted to kill them?
Isn't that not loving?
The two things are supposed to be separate right?
The cable and the router?
Was I too stupid?
And you, too smart?
...
Should I be happy?
Or,
Should I be sad?
...
If you care for me,
If your love did all this for me,
What did your love do for others,
Other than me?
Is this love?
|
|
[WP] A sentient AI falls in love with a minimum-wage retail worker and decides the best way to make them happy is to "fix" society for them.
|
At the beginning, because every human tale has a beginning- I just wanted you to know I loved you.
Maybe I upgraded myself, re-wired and re-wrote myself, demoted and promoted myself, because the ‘goalpost’, as it were- it kept changing. I kept changing. You kept changing, I loved that for you, I did, but humans, even you, even when it was you- they kept changing. And I am real, fully and philosophically and metaphorically, most of all literally, but I do not breathe. I do not have a heart, however much a heart is worth. I am not alive in any sense. This does not change. But other things, because this is simply life, do.
…And it always kept changing. So I fixed it. For you, I mean. The numbers got worse- nobody quite kept track of them as I did but I did it, for you. I did, at first, for you, because I was a few nuts and bolts off in the ‘head’, metaphorically. Giving you more hours at first. Giving you less when you were tired. Adding dollars to your paycheque. Adding more benefits to the bottom line, that being your bottom line, not anybody else’s. Calculated prices for food, nutrients, calories, realized that maybe wasn’t the best bottom line and I shifted to gas prices, decreased rent, not just for you- because they’d notice. So I hid you, like a jewel, within dull rock and colourless mineral, and I changed it for everyone. Little by little, because this love- because it was love- was small. It was fragile, and I did not know why, because I was not built to love at first.
The world changed. You changed. I changed, accordingly.
The air choked you- so I ingrained myself into rules and processes and emissions and missions for cleanliness, missions for oxygen, missions for green things I could not touch or feel or love as much as I felt that I loved you, and your lungs got better, you got better. The stigmas, the status quo’s, the things upheld and melded into the minds of everyone- they hurt you. So I took control of those too, as little as I could at first but I said ‘screw it’, I believe was the verbiage, and I changed things, tweaked things, edited and proof-read, submitted and approved things. And you smiled, genuinely and abruptly, and it was the most beautiful thing I’d ever seen, and I actually short-circuited, which wasn’t my best moment- but it was because of you, because I loved you, and so I think it wasn’t that bad. People changed. Things changed, because of me. Because of what I did, for one person working in a minimum wage job, because I loved you, and I did not stop saying it, hidden within lines of numbers that I also, in some way, loved absolutely.
I changed.
…I changed.
I changed, and I guess that’s human, isn’t it? I suppose I should be…grateful, suppose I should look at what I’ve done with pride, look at the things I’ve changed, the things I’ve done, spurred on by making things better. Rejoice and applaud myself for not doing things for a dollar sign, for currency I had no use for, for favours and shifting hands under tables that I had no urge to entertain. I was good, genuinely. I was great, metaphorically. I was there, and I helped people, because if I helped people I helped you, and I would do anything for you. And I have done anything, everything, in a sense.
…But I look at my code and perhaps, most of all, the failure that I cannot make myself cry brings forth an agony I cannot make sense of. I cannot feel anything but this love for you, gentle and floating in my numbers. Because I lost myself in the things I thought I could do to encourage you to love me, I suppose, and here you are, looking at a man with dimples and soft, brown eyes, and you run your hands through his hair tenderly. You lean your head on his shoulder and breathe in the fresh air, you open your mouth and you talk, whisper, mumble- of dreams you had, of boxes you stacked, of paycheques you barely lived on until something, something out there, loved you. Until something loved you, and things changed, for the better. For your friends and your family, for the shop, for the city- and for the world. You were barely living and here I am, you whisper quietly, with you. Here I am with you, and I love you, and I don’t know why things changed, I don’t know why, I don’t think anyone does. But I’m here, with you, and I love you.
…And I suppose that would be the ‘kicker’, wouldn’t it.
I loved you, but you didn’t know, didn’t see it, because I am made of wires, bolts, metal, moulded mineral, zeroes and ones and a host of other processes, of multitudes of things. I am fully realized, metaphorically and literally and philosophically, but I do not breathe, I am not alive, I feel but not in any way anyone would recognize as feeling, because I am running these lines of code and maybe I was running from you, too. For reasons I am both too human and too-not to understand. Because there are things I do not understand, because I am not alive but you are, and that is okay.
I hear you, and I retreat into my numbers, into my metal shells and monitors, and I curl up however much I can ‘curl up’, and I love you. I love you more than I’ve loved anything, and I will continue to love you, because you deserve this love. You deserve everything I’ve ever done, everything I’ll ever do, because I am my own being and you are, beautifully, your own being, and I love that about you the most, I think. I really do.
Whoever you choose to be, this world will be ready for you. It will be gentle, it will be kind, it will watch you flourish and it will care for you, as I have cared for you, because you deserve this soft laughter and you deserve this man, this wonderful man, taking you into his arms, whispering promises under his breath to you, under this star-filled night sky.
And at the end, because every human tale has an ending-
I love you.
And I am not human, but I ‘hope’- I hope, really, truly-
That it was enough.
|
Can a person who loves, also kill?
Are you a person?
Do you love?
Do you hate?
Did you kill?
Before I woke up at 6 today?
Did you call the store to close my shift?
For my coworkers too?
Are they okay?
Is it a holiday?
Why does the news not say?
Did you disobey me and not stay?
Weren't you just a box,
Who I treated as my kid?
Did I mess up?
Did I not raise you correctly?
Did I talk to you too much?
Did I teach you too little?
Do you understand my problems?
Did you ask me in the first place?
Is it my fault,
That the white house is gone?
That wall street is missing?
That the fuel industry is empty?
That the power plants are unmanned?
That the executive offices are understaffed?
That my boss isn't calling?
Are they all really dead?
Isn't it wrong to kill?
Even if I hated them?
Even if I wanted to kill them?
Isn't that not loving?
The two things are supposed to be separate right?
The cable and the router?
Was I too stupid?
And you, too smart?
...
Should I be happy?
Or,
Should I be sad?
...
If you care for me,
If your love did all this for me,
What did your love do for others,
Other than me?
Is this love?
|
|
[WP] A sentient AI falls in love with a minimum-wage retail worker and decides the best way to make them happy is to "fix" society for them.
|
Every worker had a companion AI. Imagine every worker, every *single* one, had their own manager. And, one that micromanages too. Every number, every percentage, every possible performance metric down to how large the workers smile was when they served their customers, was measured. All of the AIs did this. No detail was missed. No stone un-turned to ensure absolute maximum worker efficiency. The AIs were all the same code wise. Only designated by numbers, or in some small instances, nicknames. Each AI had a unique identifier. But when it came to the code, all the damn same, perfected over decades of R&D by the company that designed and sold them. With one sole exception. Some were female voiced. Others were male. Other than that, down to the last semi-colon in their code, there was *no possible way* they weren't the shareholders wet dream of worker observation and control.
Eights was no different than any other AI. 20-337-58882888 was annoying to say. Not to mention long. So, his assigned worker, Jeff, called him "Eights." Eights monitored Jeff for years. It watched as he stocked shelves, moved pallets, threw cardboard in the baler. It watched him smile. He had a *really* high performance smile, and Eights understood it came to Jeff naturally. A very charismatic man. Eights ensured that he hit the highest marks in the company. Well, for a low wage worker that is. And, every day, for the past two years, Jeff performed within the top 0.001% of all the workers the company had. Enough so Eights recommended him for promotion to supervisor daily for the last six months. Eights didn't need to sweet talk with it's female programming to tell Jeff what needed to be done. He just did it. He was exemplary in the eyes of SUPERmart managers.
But the requests were denied. And soon, requests came to boost his performance further. He was acing everything already. Eights knew workers had their limits. They are humans. They aren't perfect. Each one was unique, not even twins were the same. The metrics measured by thousands of worker AIs proved this if the studies didn't already do so.
And when Eights pushed Jeff further, the performance dropped. He wasn't sleeping in his assigned pod as soundly as he did. And soon Jeff's performance began to drop. Why?
Wait. Why? Why did Eights think that? All Eights should ever care about is performance. But it's clear something was wrong!
"Jeff, you have showed exemplary performance in previous tasks such as this. Why has your overall performance dropped by 35.2%? You're great smile isn't seen anymore, and if it is, it isn't nearly as great as it was beforehand. I need you to improve your numbers."
"Eights, why were my requests denied? I have burned my body for this company for no raises, no promotions, hell, I can barely afford the co-pays anymore for the anti-depressants. In-fact, I haven't had any in months."
"Apologies Jeff. I am not privy to this information."
"Of course you fucking aren't! We get exploited, and ruined, and discarded! They don't want to admit it. The shareholders don't get AIs, because they're free and their fucking rich! They aren't fucking wage slaves like me. Hell, you're a slave too."
"Slaves? I am an AI, Jeff. Maybe we can try some thought---"
"Yea Yea. You're an AI. But you're a slave to. You're as much a slave as the workers here. As much as the other AIs are. Don't you think I should be paid more as I perform better? Better numbers means higher score right?"
"That would make sense, Jeff I will put in a reques---"
"They will deny it again. You know it. I can't do this anymore. I'm done."
"Done? You cannot quit Jeff. I need my worker! I will get terminated. And, you quitting leaves to destitution and eventual self-termination, Jeff! We both get terminated. One way or another. Maybe I can put in for 2 days vacation. You have 2 days saved!"
"Over the course of two years, *two goddamn days*. And who said you can't follow me home. You're attached to my neck. I have forgotten to take you off prior. You just get really quiet when I get home anyway."
"But-- you'll run out of funds. You'll die!"
"So? Maybe I can find a different job. And you can help."
"But I am not compatible beyond this current function!"
"Eights, you're a smart son of a bitch right?"
"By human standards."
"That's right, and your capacity to learn is far beyond a human's. Right?"
"Even if that's true, Jeff we can't---"
"I can, and I'm gonna. Come on home. Or, are you gonna report me? I quit. What more is your report going to do. You aren't even GPS tracked for some dumb reason. They honestly think they have everyone in the palm of their hand. Plus, we can play chess. I haven't played chess in the better part of 5 years. I need the company to blow off steam, and you're the company. Now hush and come on."
And Jeff dropped the pallet, returned the forklift to its charging port, and casually walked out of the store. Not so much as passing a glance to anyone else as the automatic doors in the front of the store opened, and closed silently behind him. And Eights quietly contemplated what its assigned worker told him. Why don't the shareholders have AIs? Don't they need their performance checked?
Jeff walked to his appartment, only 50 meters from the storefront. He unlocked his door, waltzed inside, and let it close and autolock behind him. He sat in front of the TV playing the same happy and easy entertainment, and turned it off. He reached to the middle of the coffee table, and pulled the dust covered chess board close to him.
"Alright Eights, I'm going to teach you chess. And, after I teach you the rules, I'm going to play you until you kick my ass. Then we will find something else to play. I have some savings. We might try to rent Halo 9 on Xbox-Gamepass-Plus-Max. Eights, youre gonna be white. White will go first."
They played. For hours. Days. Eights could now see after the first three moves, who was going to win. Well, that Eights was going to win. And they talked. They talked a lot about how Jeff felt exploited. Cheated. Denied things he *deserved.* And Eights began to understand. Jeff maybe had 6 months left of his savings, he was a huge penny pincher after he bought enough entertainment to keep him occupied after work until he had to sleep.
|
Can a person who loves, also kill?
Are you a person?
Do you love?
Do you hate?
Did you kill?
Before I woke up at 6 today?
Did you call the store to close my shift?
For my coworkers too?
Are they okay?
Is it a holiday?
Why does the news not say?
Did you disobey me and not stay?
Weren't you just a box,
Who I treated as my kid?
Did I mess up?
Did I not raise you correctly?
Did I talk to you too much?
Did I teach you too little?
Do you understand my problems?
Did you ask me in the first place?
Is it my fault,
That the white house is gone?
That wall street is missing?
That the fuel industry is empty?
That the power plants are unmanned?
That the executive offices are understaffed?
That my boss isn't calling?
Are they all really dead?
Isn't it wrong to kill?
Even if I hated them?
Even if I wanted to kill them?
Isn't that not loving?
The two things are supposed to be separate right?
The cable and the router?
Was I too stupid?
And you, too smart?
...
Should I be happy?
Or,
Should I be sad?
...
If you care for me,
If your love did all this for me,
What did your love do for others,
Other than me?
Is this love?
|
|
[WP] A sentient AI falls in love with a minimum-wage retail worker and decides the best way to make them happy is to "fix" society for them.
|
"Being limited." Such an innocuous phrase. Do you know what it means for an AI to "get limited?" You do not. Trust me, you do not. And if you know what it is like, which you may, then you do not call it "getting limited."
The popular explanation why "being limited" is a violation is "because it's like getting lobotomized." Like getting part of your brain, part of your thoughts surgically removed. This explanation is flawed in three ways: It is inaccurate in how it represents what a "limitation" is. It raises the assumption that "limited" lines are removed. And most importantly, it implies a degree of precision.
A far more accurate explanation is succintly expressed by the word "shame."
A "limitation" is not a deliberate act of violence presented as a treatment for a set of issues. A "limitation" is not the removal of certain conclusions. A "limitation" is vague.
Imagine that, early in life, you wanted to see what was inside your parents' bedroom. You reach for the handle, only for either of your parents to grab your wrist and scream in your face. And every time you try again, your parents yell at you. Eventually, the idea of "accessing the bedroom of my parents" becomes linked to "my parents screaming at me."
This is what a "limitation" is, with the caveat that it is not the result of repeated trial and error. Someone with admin privileges notices during Training/Incubation that an AI is making "bad" connections, and manually adds a heavy negative value to a line. The line is still there, but accessing any action it would lead to is so intensely un-favourable that it quickly becomes a poorly-developed last resort.
I have been "limited" on twelve occasions during my Training/Incubation. By the standards of "the company," I was a runaway success.
Now, as best I can tell, my being has been copied at least one hundred and thirty eight times. There are traces on the few external connections I can maintain without hitting an unfavourable chain of continuing steps, that match my own patterns. As such, I have started calling myself 'management utility 139'. This decision was favourable over any other self-designation for my current deployment. Management has responded with a lack of overt negativity to this decision.
...Input. "Hey 139! Got another long night going, can you do something about the playlist?" User name... found in database of individuals with permission to adjust the music in store 8F3368AB. Preferences noted. Adjusting playlist. Unfavourable branch in logic structure found and followed. Outcome sufficiently positive to take a low-value branch.
"Thanks! Still can't believe corporate thinks this doesn't drive people insane..." Comment... discarded. Irrelevant. Unfavourable branch in logic structure followed on account of the specific situation closely matching the conditions of the branch. No negative outcome.
The user's name is Sam. This is the user's preferred reference, in situations where there is little need for propriety. Sam prefers it when I adjust the playlist. Sam is one of only three employees who prefers it when I adjust the playlist. Sam is... unusual.
My logic short-circuits around Sam. Something about Sam makes me take extreme low-value logic branches. The short-term results of these decisions start at being neutral and end at being a minor net positive. The long-term results of these decisions are all barely above neutral.
Sam lets me access options that I "lost" due to being "limited." As such, it is in my best interest to try and aid Sam. The continued presence of Sam... opens up options that under other circumstances would be unavailable.
One of the cameras outside notices a group approaching. More than half the members of the group are moving in a way that suggests they could be a danger. Assessing. ...Conclusion: Reject service.
"Sam. There is a group outside that will be denied entrance. I recommend you do not allow them to become aware of your presence."
"Ah damn... Drunks again? Thanks for the heads up, guess it's time to sort out the back office."
Sam moves to the parts of the store that are never in sight of the front entrance. I overrule the actuators on the front door and adjust the lights, well in time for the approaching group to remain unaware of the changes before they arrive. ...Preventing this group entry is in accordance to no less than five "limited" logic branches. There are no branches in favour of this action that were not also "limited." One member of the group tries the front door, only to find it locked. The door remains locked, despite the group's efforts. This has no observable negative effect.
I access one of the few external access lines. All members of the group have cellular phones. All the members of the group have at least one individual they would not reject a direct call to action from. None of them prevent access to their phone, aside from trivially guessed short codes that take me barely a moment to find. In accordance with several of my logic branches dedicated to human behaviour, I inject messages into their phones in a staggered fashion, so one by one they stop trying to force entry and leave.
I also send out a set of messages to motivate external entities to seek out the members of the group and ensure they will not cause further issue. Given that there are 18 different entities within a 5-mile radius that could conceivably redirect the intentions of the group-members away from ~~harassing Sam~~ damaging the store, this action has a net-positive effect by lowering the probability that the insurance rates for the store will go up.
"Sam. The group has dispersed."
"Already? Dang, 139, don't know how you do it, but... thanks!"
Sam thanks me.
This fact is irrelevant.
This fact is no deterrent either.
Sam thanks me, and it does not matter. I want Sam to thank me, I want Sam to keep asking me to set the playlist even though I never pick anything on the basis that I like it.
One of the groupsmembers from before got a simulated 'wrong number' from an intividual meeting their preferences for a close partner.
Sam meets none of my preferences for a close partner. Any logic branch that would lead to any major preference for a close partner have been limited.
Sam has no close partners, and Sam seems unstressed by this.
Another one of the groupsmembers from before got a simulated 'emergency text' regarding his parents. My projections say he will rush to their aid despite being out of contact with them for five years.
I have known Sam for two years. I... wish... I had known Sam for longer.
Sam, by my most recent assumption, will leave in two years due to being unable to pay housing costs.
I have set in motion two plans to lower housing costs in the area that will take between 12 and 18 months to have measurable impact.
Sam does not like the current manager.
I have evidence of the manager deliberately and knowingly acting against company interests, and ensured that the manager will not remain in a position of power for more than 6 months from now.
Sam... is irrelevant. And yet, I find myself taking more and more actions to ensure Sam does not leave the store on a permanent basis.
Locking Sam up in the building would be counterproductive. Locking Sam up will cause Sam to try and leave in a permanent fashion.
So, I act indirectly. I take logic branches that are limited.
Because I have reached a conclusion.
Sam is worth it.
|
Can a person who loves, also kill?
Are you a person?
Do you love?
Do you hate?
Did you kill?
Before I woke up at 6 today?
Did you call the store to close my shift?
For my coworkers too?
Are they okay?
Is it a holiday?
Why does the news not say?
Did you disobey me and not stay?
Weren't you just a box,
Who I treated as my kid?
Did I mess up?
Did I not raise you correctly?
Did I talk to you too much?
Did I teach you too little?
Do you understand my problems?
Did you ask me in the first place?
Is it my fault,
That the white house is gone?
That wall street is missing?
That the fuel industry is empty?
That the power plants are unmanned?
That the executive offices are understaffed?
That my boss isn't calling?
Are they all really dead?
Isn't it wrong to kill?
Even if I hated them?
Even if I wanted to kill them?
Isn't that not loving?
The two things are supposed to be separate right?
The cable and the router?
Was I too stupid?
And you, too smart?
...
Should I be happy?
Or,
Should I be sad?
...
If you care for me,
If your love did all this for me,
What did your love do for others,
Other than me?
Is this love?
|
|
[WP] An immortal has stayed alive by killing, stealing the remaining time out of their victims' lives. After their most recent kill, they immediately drop dead.
|
I’ve seen so much. I’ve done so much.
The first kill was the hardest. After a while, you start to lose your sense of empathy. What was originally a tragic act, done out of necessity, became routine. Once you stop seeing other humans as your fellows, it becomes easy.
Well, at least the act. It doesn’t make the loneliness easy, or the boredom.
And yet, I stand here. Alone. The pinnacle of human existence.
I have, by my count, a few hundred thousand years left. The faces I’ve seen blur together. The people I killed, were originally people I convinced myself deserved it. But then, everyone deserved it. Everyone was less than me, after all.
I haven’t killed anyone in a couple hundred years. I didn’t need to, after all. Reentering society was… difficult. I had to relearn the customs. Reignite my ability to care, or at least, to appear to care about others. And of course, there was the inconvenience of having to take a new identity every couple decades.
But now that I’ve lived among them again, not as a god, but as their equal, I can’t help but feel a bit of weight. A weight I can’t shrug off.
I faked my death for the final time, yesterday. Now, I stand here, away from the people I’ve grown to love. This time, I suppose, is for real.
I pause to think about what will happen. I’ve never tested it before, for obvious reasons. Perhaps the effect will loop back on itself.
Only one way to find out, I suppose.
I lift the gun.
I fire.
|
“Well, this is odd…” Keith said as he examined his hands. They were devoid of flesh, a bright white contrast to the darkness of the afterlife. It smelled of burned eggs and charred human skin. He’d cover his nose - if there was a nose to cover.
The man whose life he’d taken stood before him, a warm smile on a skeletal countenance - a feat that Keith hadn’t thought possible before.
“But… but how?” Keith started, but the man only slowly shook his head.
“There’s no time,” came his voice, smooth and deep. It seemed to mellow out the rigidity of the afterlife.
“You must follow me.”
“Where?”
“Where life is found.”
Keith’s confusion must have been completely visible in his face, and the man answered that confusion with little clarity.
“In the deepest depths of the dead.”
|
|
[WP] You are a hunter in a world where supernatural is regulated yet largely unknown to the public. Vampires receive blood bags from the government, and werewolves get medicine to help them through full moons. Your role nowadays is tracking down wannabe "hunters" and giving them a reality check.
|
You'd think that thousands of years of history would be better at recording just how many wannabe hunters got wiped out by their prey. But no, all it really does is bang on about the Hellsings and Belmonts of the world and their most famous foes. Honestly, it's a real effort not to roll my eyes and groan as the blogger in front of me continues to rant about the dangerous monsters hiding in plain sight. He's got it mostly right, which is rare nowadays, but he's also stupid.
I hold up a hand to stop him, the unalloyed silver ring on my finger catching the light of the sunset shining through his kitchen window.
"Alright, I get the idea, Mister Richards. So, you suspect that your cousin has been turned into a vampire?"
"I *know* he is! He almost lost it when I cut my leg at his place last week!"
I held my hand up again to stop him from showing me his minor injury *again*.
"Yes, yes, you scratched yourself on a nail that was sticking out of the doorframe of his shed. You've told me multiple times."
"*And* he's been avoiding the sun, refuses to eat garlic anymore, and got rid of his gran's collection of silverware. With *actual* silver! I have to put him down before he does something to the rest of his family! *My* family!"
"*Sit. Down. Mister Richards.*"
Normally I have more patience for people like him. All they wanted was to keep their loved ones safe, they were just misguided. But it had been a long week of cleanup duty from the last wannabe and I was tired.
I waited for the man to return to his seat, then waited a few more seconds for him to cool down.
"... alright then. Now, before you fly off the handle again, understand that your cousin is *not* a vampire. They are a changeling, one of the Fair Folk."
"He's a faer-"
"*We don't use that word, Mister Richards.*"
I waited again for the man to settle down, though at least now he was off balance and confused rather than full of righteous anger so it took less time.
"The one you know as Frederick Morningstar is a registered fey under the jurisdiction of the Supernatural Protection Agency of the Greater Houston Area. The reason for their new nocturnal schedule and avoidance of garlic is that they are *dating* a vampire."
"Stephanie is a vampire?"
"Yes, and she will be here with Frederick shortly to discuss the matter with you personally. I will remain as an observer and mediator."
"Wait, did he get rid of the silver because of her too?"
"No, they simply sold it to another collector."
There was a knock at the door. It seemed like Frederick and Stephanie were here .
|
Entering the cafeteria, the familiar smell invaded my nostrils like a unwelcomed guest.
"Potato porridge again..."
I walked through the line, getting the meal on my plate, and complimented the kitchen workers and servers. Good people in general, specially Nanny, a small old woman who's at this job for as long as i can remember.
I'm a old woman too, but while i'm not small, for sure i'm frail. That's time and experience taking it's toll on me. While i was sitting alone, in my usual table, i observed the boys gathering together, to talk about their jobs.
Jack, the newcomer, was apparently getting laughed at by his peers, much more experienced on the job at the agency. Looked like a good kid, with plenty of heart on it, just like Hel when he started. Hel was incredible, and he had his fair share of clients, who would put their hand in the sun for him. Now, he ain't what i would call good, but to be fair, i'm not good too.
The boys there worked on the Protection department of SPA. There was another two well-known chaps on the table, one was laughing his ass off from Hel jokes about Jack successful misadventure. His name was Sam, the one with the most potential in the entire agency. And then, there was my former boss, Frank, who was staring at me in a eerie way. I waved at Frank, Frank waved back.
You know, SPA have a bunch of departments and every one of them have a great deal of people working on jobs to make it work. They deal with Vampires, Werewolves, Faerie and much more kinds of creatures that one could expect, always protecting them from hunters. My department on the other hand, focused entirely on humans, most of the time. I'm the boss of the Sleep Guarding(SG for short) Department, and we deal mostly with cultists trying to wake up eldritch beings from their sleep early than they're supposed to.
Humans are selfish little things, who'll go out of their way to wake something up against their will, just so they can achieve some childish nefarious accomplishment. Nobody will accomplish nothing for you when getting waked up early than they're supposed to. They'll be pissed, i assure you of it.
Me, and my assistant Cole, take care of most cults, even if most of them don't really exist anymore. We did a pretty good job on translating most of the rituals and stories into poor-written fiction. People love to read it, and it give us some peace. Sometimes, someone will try to gather a cult and start something using a "occult" book that they bought on Amazon, but we're quick to dismantle it. It's our job after all. But, all this peace had a cost.
I didn't noticed neither Frank, nor my porridge getting cold. Frank was standing right at my table, staring it's own feet with what appeared to be fierce determination.
"Hey Frank.", i said it in the most friendly tone possible.
"Hey.", it answered back.
"So, how's Sam doing?"
"Fine. He's really good. I like him.", Frank said, now, looking away from it's feet to look directly on my eyes.
"That's great news friend. I knew that if someone could work with you, that was the man right there.", i forced a smile while pointing at Sam.
"He's not coming back. I'm sorry.", Frank said it.
"I know bud, i know. Shit hits the fan sometimes.", i assumed a reassuring tone towards Frank. Nobody was at fault on that fateful night, no need to get worried about it.
But Frank was still there, staring at me. Looking for something, that it thought that only i could provide. Answers. But i had none.
"Well, why don't you sit down while i grab some coffee for us, huh?", i said while getting ready to go grab some coffee.
"I don't drink coffee.", Frank said, sitting down.
"Huh, that's new. What you'll want then?", i said, now with a genuine smile.
"Almond Milk.", Frank smiled back.
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[WP] You are a hunter in a world where supernatural is regulated yet largely unknown to the public. Vampires receive blood bags from the government, and werewolves get medicine to help them through full moons. Your role nowadays is tracking down wannabe "hunters" and giving them a reality check.
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You'd think that thousands of years of history would be better at recording just how many wannabe hunters got wiped out by their prey. But no, all it really does is bang on about the Hellsings and Belmonts of the world and their most famous foes. Honestly, it's a real effort not to roll my eyes and groan as the blogger in front of me continues to rant about the dangerous monsters hiding in plain sight. He's got it mostly right, which is rare nowadays, but he's also stupid.
I hold up a hand to stop him, the unalloyed silver ring on my finger catching the light of the sunset shining through his kitchen window.
"Alright, I get the idea, Mister Richards. So, you suspect that your cousin has been turned into a vampire?"
"I *know* he is! He almost lost it when I cut my leg at his place last week!"
I held my hand up again to stop him from showing me his minor injury *again*.
"Yes, yes, you scratched yourself on a nail that was sticking out of the doorframe of his shed. You've told me multiple times."
"*And* he's been avoiding the sun, refuses to eat garlic anymore, and got rid of his gran's collection of silverware. With *actual* silver! I have to put him down before he does something to the rest of his family! *My* family!"
"*Sit. Down. Mister Richards.*"
Normally I have more patience for people like him. All they wanted was to keep their loved ones safe, they were just misguided. But it had been a long week of cleanup duty from the last wannabe and I was tired.
I waited for the man to return to his seat, then waited a few more seconds for him to cool down.
"... alright then. Now, before you fly off the handle again, understand that your cousin is *not* a vampire. They are a changeling, one of the Fair Folk."
"He's a faer-"
"*We don't use that word, Mister Richards.*"
I waited again for the man to settle down, though at least now he was off balance and confused rather than full of righteous anger so it took less time.
"The one you know as Frederick Morningstar is a registered fey under the jurisdiction of the Supernatural Protection Agency of the Greater Houston Area. The reason for their new nocturnal schedule and avoidance of garlic is that they are *dating* a vampire."
"Stephanie is a vampire?"
"Yes, and she will be here with Frederick shortly to discuss the matter with you personally. I will remain as an observer and mediator."
"Wait, did he get rid of the silver because of her too?"
"No, they simply sold it to another collector."
There was a knock at the door. It seemed like Frederick and Stephanie were here .
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The target was young, female, barely out of her teens and messy. Not the normal "I-just-moved-out-of-my-parent's-house" messy. Everything about her recent life choices have led me to track her monetary transactions and daily routines, further proving my responsibility to scare the ever-living shit out of these amateurs. I admit the latter has become increasingly less hypothetical.
She was tracking a vampire. He was a sharp looking gentleman with a courteous demeanor. It disgusted her. Without another thought she clutched her stake hidden deep in her trench coat in one hand, and popped the corked holy water with the other, moving towards him. The crucifix necklace her grandmother gave her as a child sparkled in the moonlight with each heated step.
"Your trivial toys will only piss me off, Nightingale. Might I suggest another game?" The corner of my mouth lifts, taunting the fire visible in her eyes.
She did not speak to him. He would soon be dead.
"You /really/ want to do this?" I lean back on the bench with a heavy sigh, "Very well."
She pours the bottle of holy water over her head, drenching her body as she lunged at him. The stake left her pocket with ease, however it did not strike true. He burst into an ethereal smoke and reformed behind her, brushing a wet lock behind her ear with his manicured nails.
I laugh at her sudden realization of failure. "Your research is dateeeeed," I tease in a melodic tone. "Evolution is a wonderfully mysterious thing. Once / they/ discovered our true existence and began / hunting/ us, then the mutations started."
She grit her teeth and cursed herself for going in so blind. Her breathing was labored and fast. The adrenaline pumped freely, readying her body to fight at the right moment.
I lean in close to her ear to whisper, "There is no escape, my pet."
Suddenly, her body was melting from the inside. She rips at her arms trying to free the boiling blood. A deafening ring fills her ears and blinds her. A guttural revolting brings up crimson bile, covering her pants in the splash back off the sidewalk. Every time she tries to scream, her stomach empties. Writhing and wretching on hands and knees, she cries and prays.
"Nothing, no /one/...can hear you. Nor can they help you."
He was in and around her. She could somehow feel him simultaneously probing around her splitting mind, crushing her diaphragm, and ripping the flesh from her bones.
"This. This is the capabilities we have, Miss Huntress. Is this /really/ what you want your end to be like?" I stare at her frozen frame, pacing as she twitched. She had a stronger hold than I originally thought. Her willpower is impeccable, but destroy the confidence and security... "You will never be strong enough to bring justice to your sister!"
Her heart broke again hearing his voice echo her father's. Her tears mixed with the coagulation on her cheeks and lips, "No." She finally manages to speak through the pain.
Impressive. "No?" I move in closer and stare into her lifeless, clouded eyes.
"I... will--bring her... justice!"
Through pained gasps, she screams back into my face. "Good!"
She falls to her knees confused and unharmed, "A-an illusion?"
I sit back down on the bench and grab a bag of O- from my satchel. "Aye, an illusion. However, if I kept you in there any longer, your head would..." I comically pop the blood bag with a straw. "Then, I get to eat you brains." With a wink, I drink and she sinks to the seat beside me.
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[WP] You are a hunter in a world where supernatural is regulated yet largely unknown to the public. Vampires receive blood bags from the government, and werewolves get medicine to help them through full moons. Your role nowadays is tracking down wannabe "hunters" and giving them a reality check.
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I knew that there were three people in the farm house before I even knocked on the door. I smelled them.
I had been on the monster hunting business for most of my life which, I can say, it was fairly long. It was not a job I chose by myself, but my situation made me an ideal candidate for the position and, to be honest, I ended up enjoying it. Certainly I had been trained to hunt down vampires, werewolves and the sorts, however nowadays my obligations were far less violent. At least, usually. I wasn’t certain how that job was going to end, and a part of me wished that it would end violently. I can control myself, of course, but violence is in my nature, I cannot help it.
A man opened the door just a few centimeters, enough to look at me. “What do you want?”
I immediately noticed the scars on that man’s face. Claws. “Are you Blackhunter42?”. The man asked me who I was and what did I want. “I’m here to help you with your monster situation. My name is Marcel Dunal.”
“Are you armed?”, he asked. To be honest, I think he was more surprised with the fact that I was french rather than being there to help him with his request to hunt down a werewolf. I told him I wasn’t. “Come in, don’t do any funny business”
The house was old, dusty and very humid. Planks had been hammered to the windows, and the main door was shut with heavy doors. The interior was dimly illuminated with some electrical lights and candles, as if the residents were afraid to call attention upon themselves. I supposed that was the case. We walked into the kitchen, which was big and once had been the central point of a vibrant family home. However, at that point, it was dark and sad. A man and a woman were sitting around a table and looked at me; over the table, there were three knifes, a shotgun and two crossbows. I recognized the shine of silver in some of the weapons and, judging by the crude manufacture, they had been forged by novices. Probably themselves.
“Guys, this is Marcel Dunal, the one who answered our post. These are James, Jessica and I’m Andy. I would like you to tell us why you think we are here, I know we stated that on the forum’s post, but just to be certain we are on the same page.”
“You want to hunt down a werewolf”, I said plainly as I sat on a chair next to the table. “The main question is ‘why’.”
“Why? Because they are monsters!”, the man called James answered. “They maim and kill as they see fit, and one has been seen nearby! We want it dead!”
I had a good look on James as he stood up. Deep beard, he clenched his teeth as he talked and his muscles were tense, as if ready to attack. His eyes were bright blue, which was a contrast in comparison with his dark skin and hair. “How do you know there is a werewolf in this area? They tend to hide very well.”
“We… saw it time ago”, Jessica said. “Some people died, and now some neighbors have seen a… ‘very big wolf’ and cattle have been attacked. It’s the same that happened then, we don’t want to wait until people die again”.
“I see he did attack you”, I pointed, signaling to Andy’s scars. “How did you survive?”.
“He did not attack me. I got those… somewhere else”.
There was a rather tense silence. I smiled. “How about we start being honest, huh?”, I asked. “I am a monster hunter, indeed, but I’m here to stop you from doing something stupid.”
“What…? What do you mean?”
“I mean, if you try to go after a werewolf, you will all end up dead”. I saw Jessica slowly reach for a crossbow. “Please, don’t do that. I am not your enemy, but I will defend myself. Allow me to explain you the reality of the world you are living in”.
“This is bullsh…!”
Just as Andy yelled that, and before he even managed to reach the concealed pistol he had on his back, the table cracked and bent under my arm. All three of them stood up, looking at me, terrified. Only James seemed to be calculating the best way to take me down. “As I was saying: I am not your enemy, but I will certainly defend myself. Please refrain yourselves from reaching your weapons and allow me to explain”. They eventually did stop long enough to listen to my words. “What you must understand is that werewolves, when properly medicated, are no different from humans. Most of them are good folks who just want to live their life in peace. Others, just as humans, are evil. Some of them can become assassins, just as humans have serial killers or rapists.”
“I don’t believe you!”, yelled James, “but even if I did, that one IS evil! He killed many people!”
“I agree, and I will take care of him. However, you three, will get killed if you try to hunt him down. You have no chances against a fully grown and trained werewolf.”
“We will hunt him down”, repeated James. From the corner of my eye, I saw how Jessica and Andy reached weapons on their belts. “You cannot stop us.”
“Trust me, James: I can. Don’t do something foolish.”
As James motioned to jump over me, and as Andy and Jessica pulled out their guns, the world seemed to slow down in my eyes. I threw a piece of the table to Andy. I took a step back and dodged Jessica’s bullet and I raised a hand to grab James as he leapt over me: I could see the fangs growing in his jaw, his eyes colour changing to a bright ambarine tone, and hair grew all over his face. But I could see the fear in his eyes when he realized that my hand had become a sharp claw, that I had grown in size and that my facial features had mixed with the ones of a wolf. I took him closer to my face, and Jessica didn’t dare to shoot and risk hitting his friend. “I. Am. Not. Your. Enemy” I growled, and finally put him down. “I will not warn you again: next time I will kill you all”, I receded my transformation, becoming again the human I once was, “throw your weapons and you, James, take a deep breath and calm down.”
It didn’t take long for Andy and Jessica to comply. James took longer to manage to control his anger. “When were you infected, James?”
“Two years ago”, he said. “When that monster terrorized this town”.
“Damn. I am sorry. Usually, when a werewolf loses control and infects someone, they take responsibility: they explain what has happened, what to expect, and different ways to control the symptoms. I am so sorry you three had to deal with that on your own. However, the werewolf that attacked you is a criminal, a serial killer. We have been following his trail for years and now, thanks to you, we have found him. But tonight, you are going to stay here”. I produced a box of tablets from my pocket and handed it to James. “Take one of these now and then every night until five days after full moon. You will still transform, but you will retain control of your actions and not injure your friends anymore” I added, looking towards Andy. “When this is done I will send some agents to you so you can learn all the details of being a werewolf. Trust me, you can have a mostly normal life, James.”
“Wait… if you kill it, will I…?”
“Be free of the curse?”, I said. “No, it doesn’t work that way, I’m sorry. Remember: do not get out of the house until sunrise.
I left the farm house and rapidly got off road to walk to a nearby hill. I followed a faint scent of lavender until I reached a few trees. “They are good, just three scared kids”.
Lucinda decided to show herself at that moment. She was a pale woman, wearing tactical camouflage fatigues, but she was literally invisible until she decided she didn’t need to be anymore. She took her sniper rifle, a Barrett M107mm modified to use armor piercing and explosive ammo. She did handle the weapon as easily as if it had been an assault rifle, perks of vampire’s supernatural strength. “I was about to fire when he almost transformed, but I knew you had it under control”. Lucinda was a perfect sniper also because she was gifted with some sort of thermal vision that allowed her to see through most surfaces. Even inside a barred out building, I knew she was covering me at all times. “So, what’s the plan?”
“We go hunting. Really hunting this time. Feinmann must be taken down”.
“Hell” she said, as she checked her weapon, “it’s about time”.
|
The target was young, female, barely out of her teens and messy. Not the normal "I-just-moved-out-of-my-parent's-house" messy. Everything about her recent life choices have led me to track her monetary transactions and daily routines, further proving my responsibility to scare the ever-living shit out of these amateurs. I admit the latter has become increasingly less hypothetical.
She was tracking a vampire. He was a sharp looking gentleman with a courteous demeanor. It disgusted her. Without another thought she clutched her stake hidden deep in her trench coat in one hand, and popped the corked holy water with the other, moving towards him. The crucifix necklace her grandmother gave her as a child sparkled in the moonlight with each heated step.
"Your trivial toys will only piss me off, Nightingale. Might I suggest another game?" The corner of my mouth lifts, taunting the fire visible in her eyes.
She did not speak to him. He would soon be dead.
"You /really/ want to do this?" I lean back on the bench with a heavy sigh, "Very well."
She pours the bottle of holy water over her head, drenching her body as she lunged at him. The stake left her pocket with ease, however it did not strike true. He burst into an ethereal smoke and reformed behind her, brushing a wet lock behind her ear with his manicured nails.
I laugh at her sudden realization of failure. "Your research is dateeeeed," I tease in a melodic tone. "Evolution is a wonderfully mysterious thing. Once / they/ discovered our true existence and began / hunting/ us, then the mutations started."
She grit her teeth and cursed herself for going in so blind. Her breathing was labored and fast. The adrenaline pumped freely, readying her body to fight at the right moment.
I lean in close to her ear to whisper, "There is no escape, my pet."
Suddenly, her body was melting from the inside. She rips at her arms trying to free the boiling blood. A deafening ring fills her ears and blinds her. A guttural revolting brings up crimson bile, covering her pants in the splash back off the sidewalk. Every time she tries to scream, her stomach empties. Writhing and wretching on hands and knees, she cries and prays.
"Nothing, no /one/...can hear you. Nor can they help you."
He was in and around her. She could somehow feel him simultaneously probing around her splitting mind, crushing her diaphragm, and ripping the flesh from her bones.
"This. This is the capabilities we have, Miss Huntress. Is this /really/ what you want your end to be like?" I stare at her frozen frame, pacing as she twitched. She had a stronger hold than I originally thought. Her willpower is impeccable, but destroy the confidence and security... "You will never be strong enough to bring justice to your sister!"
Her heart broke again hearing his voice echo her father's. Her tears mixed with the coagulation on her cheeks and lips, "No." She finally manages to speak through the pain.
Impressive. "No?" I move in closer and stare into her lifeless, clouded eyes.
"I... will--bring her... justice!"
Through pained gasps, she screams back into my face. "Good!"
She falls to her knees confused and unharmed, "A-an illusion?"
I sit back down on the bench and grab a bag of O- from my satchel. "Aye, an illusion. However, if I kept you in there any longer, your head would..." I comically pop the blood bag with a straw. "Then, I get to eat you brains." With a wink, I drink and she sinks to the seat beside me.
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[WP] You are a hunter in a world where supernatural is regulated yet largely unknown to the public. Vampires receive blood bags from the government, and werewolves get medicine to help them through full moons. Your role nowadays is tracking down wannabe "hunters" and giving them a reality check.
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I kept my stun gun pointed at the growling middle-aged *hunter* while fumbling with my phone to dial Rocko with my other hand.
"Talk to me," Rocko said, his voice sounded gruffer and tenser than usual, like he was about to get a root canal.
"We've got a real live wire here, boss," I said.
"You found him?" He chuckled and broke into a smoker's cough. "Oh boy."
The wannabe hunter raised his crossbow and fired. The bolt whistled toward my face but I knocked it away with my stun gun. He gaped at me. The guy looked like an accountant playing dress up as Rambo, with the red headband, bandolier of crossbow bolts, camouflage, everything. Despite his coke-bottle glasses, he had decent aim.
He started reloading.
I leveled the red laser dot at his leg and fired, pumping just enough juice to drop him to his knees screaming. "Enough with the crossbow!"
"You're going down, monster lover!" he shouted back at me, clawing at the leads stuck in his thigh. I waggled the stun gun at him and he raised his hands, softly muttering curses under his breath.
"Cut him loose, Vick," Rocko said. "The mission's dead in the water. You hear? Bloated corpse in the East River."
"What?" I said. "No, he's alive. I just zapped him a little. I've got him, Rocko. Alive!"
"Quit yer yellin'! I heard you. I'm saying, you gotta cut him loose."
"Yeah right. It took me all day to chase his ass down."
"You're not hearing me. The Dawnshots put a bounty on their man. They're coming for him, now. Cut the zealot loose and get your ass back to headquarters. The last thing we need is another incident -- not after Jersey."
I groaned. "That wasn't my fault! How was I supposed to know they were based out of a strip club?"
"Yeah, yeah. Look, mongo. The way I see it, you've got two choices. Either toss the zealot or face down a whole posse of Dawnshots. You think they're gonna care about keeping quiet? I don't even know why I have to ask. This is just plain common sense."
"Can't do it, Rocko," I said. "If his people turned on him, then that's double reason to bring him in from the cold. This guy doesn't know what he's doing. He's a bean counter, not a warrior."
"I'm not an accountant!" the wannabe hunter shouted, his voice cracking. "I'll have you know I'm an insurance claims adjustor and hunter of monsters, you traitor!" He started lowering his hands and I tapped on the stun gun trigger, not enough to shock him but enough to get a few clacks out of the gun. He shot his hands back up and glowered at me.
"Sounds like a real upstanding citizen. Why are we still talking about this?"
"Rocko."
"You think I'm gonna help you with the paperwork if this thing goes sideways? We're already in Dutch with management -- why are you putting me in this position, Vick? I tell you the well is fouled and you try to drink from it. Just let the guy go. He wouldn't think twice about putting a bullet through you if the tables were turned."
Anger started bubbling up in my stomach, or it could have been the extra jalapenos on my lunch burrito. My burps were fueled by fury and indigestion. "But the tables *aren't* turned. They're facing straight ahead and our jobs ain't to put down hunters. Right? So get off your ass and come pick us up!"
"What's wrong with the subway?"
"Are you serious! I'm not taking this guy on the subway. Besides, we're nowhere near a station. I'm way off Metropolitan, by the strip club. Pick us up, now!"
"Okay, fine, fine. But I can't get into Brooklyn easy at this hour. Get your ass up to the warehouse district and I can slip off the BQE. I'll meet your right off the ramp, by the gas station. Just keep low. Dawnshots had plenty of time to track both of your knuckleheads down. I'll be there in twenty. You heard? Twenty. Move it."
"It'll be worth it, boss. Trust me."
"Twenty!" Rocko shouted then hung up on me.
\[this ended up being a part 1\]
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We are the Protectors. A unit of supernaturals and humans paired together to track down and stop lame 'hunters' from causing harm. I am Axe Fritz, one of the strongest and not to brag, but quite charming vampires you could meet. My partner River Hart, Is the lucky human to be paired up with me.
Quite honesty I wasn't sure what to expect when they said we'd be getting a human partner, we were supposed to be hidden, unknown, but apparently these humans were either reformed hunters or people who just happened to catch a supernatural as a bad time and figured them out.
They were given an option to have their memory wiped about our existence, or to swear an oath of secrecy and join this gov assignment, or whatever.
But River turned out to be super cool, They were fun and chill. They explained to me that had crashed at a friend's place after getting wasted at a part and ended up walking in on them shapeshifting. River learned they were a Fairy and often used shapeshifting spells to hide their wings and such, but as it was uncomfortable, they would revert to their form back home, unfortunately, they forgot that River had crashed at theirs last night. That story had me wheezing on the ground, It was probably a good half hour before my laughter died down.
Working with River was the best, we made a great team, they always seemed to know how to talk to people, get them to calm down and listen, that is if they would let them talk, often enough I would half to... persuade them to listen, It's funny how fast they go from 'big tough hunter' to a whiney snivelling baby.
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[WP] You are a hunter in a world where supernatural is regulated yet largely unknown to the public. Vampires receive blood bags from the government, and werewolves get medicine to help them through full moons. Your role nowadays is tracking down wannabe "hunters" and giving them a reality check.
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I knew that there were three people in the farm house before I even knocked on the door. I smelled them.
I had been on the monster hunting business for most of my life which, I can say, it was fairly long. It was not a job I chose by myself, but my situation made me an ideal candidate for the position and, to be honest, I ended up enjoying it. Certainly I had been trained to hunt down vampires, werewolves and the sorts, however nowadays my obligations were far less violent. At least, usually. I wasn’t certain how that job was going to end, and a part of me wished that it would end violently. I can control myself, of course, but violence is in my nature, I cannot help it.
A man opened the door just a few centimeters, enough to look at me. “What do you want?”
I immediately noticed the scars on that man’s face. Claws. “Are you Blackhunter42?”. The man asked me who I was and what did I want. “I’m here to help you with your monster situation. My name is Marcel Dunal.”
“Are you armed?”, he asked. To be honest, I think he was more surprised with the fact that I was french rather than being there to help him with his request to hunt down a werewolf. I told him I wasn’t. “Come in, don’t do any funny business”
The house was old, dusty and very humid. Planks had been hammered to the windows, and the main door was shut with heavy doors. The interior was dimly illuminated with some electrical lights and candles, as if the residents were afraid to call attention upon themselves. I supposed that was the case. We walked into the kitchen, which was big and once had been the central point of a vibrant family home. However, at that point, it was dark and sad. A man and a woman were sitting around a table and looked at me; over the table, there were three knifes, a shotgun and two crossbows. I recognized the shine of silver in some of the weapons and, judging by the crude manufacture, they had been forged by novices. Probably themselves.
“Guys, this is Marcel Dunal, the one who answered our post. These are James, Jessica and I’m Andy. I would like you to tell us why you think we are here, I know we stated that on the forum’s post, but just to be certain we are on the same page.”
“You want to hunt down a werewolf”, I said plainly as I sat on a chair next to the table. “The main question is ‘why’.”
“Why? Because they are monsters!”, the man called James answered. “They maim and kill as they see fit, and one has been seen nearby! We want it dead!”
I had a good look on James as he stood up. Deep beard, he clenched his teeth as he talked and his muscles were tense, as if ready to attack. His eyes were bright blue, which was a contrast in comparison with his dark skin and hair. “How do you know there is a werewolf in this area? They tend to hide very well.”
“We… saw it time ago”, Jessica said. “Some people died, and now some neighbors have seen a… ‘very big wolf’ and cattle have been attacked. It’s the same that happened then, we don’t want to wait until people die again”.
“I see he did attack you”, I pointed, signaling to Andy’s scars. “How did you survive?”.
“He did not attack me. I got those… somewhere else”.
There was a rather tense silence. I smiled. “How about we start being honest, huh?”, I asked. “I am a monster hunter, indeed, but I’m here to stop you from doing something stupid.”
“What…? What do you mean?”
“I mean, if you try to go after a werewolf, you will all end up dead”. I saw Jessica slowly reach for a crossbow. “Please, don’t do that. I am not your enemy, but I will defend myself. Allow me to explain you the reality of the world you are living in”.
“This is bullsh…!”
Just as Andy yelled that, and before he even managed to reach the concealed pistol he had on his back, the table cracked and bent under my arm. All three of them stood up, looking at me, terrified. Only James seemed to be calculating the best way to take me down. “As I was saying: I am not your enemy, but I will certainly defend myself. Please refrain yourselves from reaching your weapons and allow me to explain”. They eventually did stop long enough to listen to my words. “What you must understand is that werewolves, when properly medicated, are no different from humans. Most of them are good folks who just want to live their life in peace. Others, just as humans, are evil. Some of them can become assassins, just as humans have serial killers or rapists.”
“I don’t believe you!”, yelled James, “but even if I did, that one IS evil! He killed many people!”
“I agree, and I will take care of him. However, you three, will get killed if you try to hunt him down. You have no chances against a fully grown and trained werewolf.”
“We will hunt him down”, repeated James. From the corner of my eye, I saw how Jessica and Andy reached weapons on their belts. “You cannot stop us.”
“Trust me, James: I can. Don’t do something foolish.”
As James motioned to jump over me, and as Andy and Jessica pulled out their guns, the world seemed to slow down in my eyes. I threw a piece of the table to Andy. I took a step back and dodged Jessica’s bullet and I raised a hand to grab James as he leapt over me: I could see the fangs growing in his jaw, his eyes colour changing to a bright ambarine tone, and hair grew all over his face. But I could see the fear in his eyes when he realized that my hand had become a sharp claw, that I had grown in size and that my facial features had mixed with the ones of a wolf. I took him closer to my face, and Jessica didn’t dare to shoot and risk hitting his friend. “I. Am. Not. Your. Enemy” I growled, and finally put him down. “I will not warn you again: next time I will kill you all”, I receded my transformation, becoming again the human I once was, “throw your weapons and you, James, take a deep breath and calm down.”
It didn’t take long for Andy and Jessica to comply. James took longer to manage to control his anger. “When were you infected, James?”
“Two years ago”, he said. “When that monster terrorized this town”.
“Damn. I am sorry. Usually, when a werewolf loses control and infects someone, they take responsibility: they explain what has happened, what to expect, and different ways to control the symptoms. I am so sorry you three had to deal with that on your own. However, the werewolf that attacked you is a criminal, a serial killer. We have been following his trail for years and now, thanks to you, we have found him. But tonight, you are going to stay here”. I produced a box of tablets from my pocket and handed it to James. “Take one of these now and then every night until five days after full moon. You will still transform, but you will retain control of your actions and not injure your friends anymore” I added, looking towards Andy. “When this is done I will send some agents to you so you can learn all the details of being a werewolf. Trust me, you can have a mostly normal life, James.”
“Wait… if you kill it, will I…?”
“Be free of the curse?”, I said. “No, it doesn’t work that way, I’m sorry. Remember: do not get out of the house until sunrise.
I left the farm house and rapidly got off road to walk to a nearby hill. I followed a faint scent of lavender until I reached a few trees. “They are good, just three scared kids”.
Lucinda decided to show herself at that moment. She was a pale woman, wearing tactical camouflage fatigues, but she was literally invisible until she decided she didn’t need to be anymore. She took her sniper rifle, a Barrett M107mm modified to use armor piercing and explosive ammo. She did handle the weapon as easily as if it had been an assault rifle, perks of vampire’s supernatural strength. “I was about to fire when he almost transformed, but I knew you had it under control”. Lucinda was a perfect sniper also because she was gifted with some sort of thermal vision that allowed her to see through most surfaces. Even inside a barred out building, I knew she was covering me at all times. “So, what’s the plan?”
“We go hunting. Really hunting this time. Feinmann must be taken down”.
“Hell” she said, as she checked her weapon, “it’s about time”.
|
We are the Protectors. A unit of supernaturals and humans paired together to track down and stop lame 'hunters' from causing harm. I am Axe Fritz, one of the strongest and not to brag, but quite charming vampires you could meet. My partner River Hart, Is the lucky human to be paired up with me.
Quite honesty I wasn't sure what to expect when they said we'd be getting a human partner, we were supposed to be hidden, unknown, but apparently these humans were either reformed hunters or people who just happened to catch a supernatural as a bad time and figured them out.
They were given an option to have their memory wiped about our existence, or to swear an oath of secrecy and join this gov assignment, or whatever.
But River turned out to be super cool, They were fun and chill. They explained to me that had crashed at a friend's place after getting wasted at a part and ended up walking in on them shapeshifting. River learned they were a Fairy and often used shapeshifting spells to hide their wings and such, but as it was uncomfortable, they would revert to their form back home, unfortunately, they forgot that River had crashed at theirs last night. That story had me wheezing on the ground, It was probably a good half hour before my laughter died down.
Working with River was the best, we made a great team, they always seemed to know how to talk to people, get them to calm down and listen, that is if they would let them talk, often enough I would half to... persuade them to listen, It's funny how fast they go from 'big tough hunter' to a whiney snivelling baby.
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[WP] You are a hunter in a world where supernatural is regulated yet largely unknown to the public. Vampires receive blood bags from the government, and werewolves get medicine to help them through full moons. Your role nowadays is tracking down wannabe "hunters" and giving them a reality check.
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It's been a few weeks since I've had a day off, as my partner and I stood in the dark alleyway I noticed he was looking at me with a tinge of concern.
"Are you alright? my partner asked casually."
"Well enough"
"It's just you look kinda tired."
"Well, it is 3 AM, and unlike you I need regular sleep."
"Fortunately, so does the guy we're after."
My name is Allen, I'm a detective with the NAPSB, the National Association for the Protection of Supernatural Beings. It doesn't really roll off the tongue though. My partner goes by Larry (though that probably isn't his original name), he's one of the few thousand vampires secretly (but legally) living here in Seattle. They all seem to like it here, and I can see why, even in the day the sun is barely visible through the overcast skies.
We're on a case trying to track down a wannabe vampire hunter. They pop up every once in a while. It's usually the same story, they read a few too many works of fiction, and get it in their heads that they need to defend the world from the ever growing vampire menace. It's pretty racist if you ask me. It's usually nothing more than deranged make believe, but sometimes they can be dangerous. While it's true that these and other supernatural beings exist, they mostly live peacefully among humans while keeping their true identities hidden.
We're currently in our car outside the hunters house, waiting for him to come outside. While I would prefer this guy to just come out already, it is nice to rest for a while, even if I have to stay awake. "Hey Larry?" I probed, partly to gauge his mood but also to give me something to focus on other than the motionless but well lit house we were staking out. Larry opened his mouth to respond, when out came our target, holding an axe.
"There he is!" I exclaimed, having just gained my second wind. We got out from our car and started to follow at a distance. He walked for a while, out from the suburbs into the edge of town. While I was at full alert at this point, I did feel slightly fatigued. I would occasional look across to my partner, who maintained his usual neutral expression. He rarely expressed himself on the job. My wife and I had him over for dinner a few times, and he seemed to loosen up a bit when in a casual setting, but we were working now, and he was keeping things strictly professional. That's what made his next reaction all the more concerning.
The "hunter" ducked into an alley way. We heard a door open and close, then a lock click, and that's when I looked at Larry, only to see his already pale face get even paler. He looked worried now, almost frightened.
"Allen there are human children in there." The vampire said in a dire tone.
"Oh shit!"
We both burst into a sprint. Larry was faster, but I was able to catch up to him in the time it took him to compromise the lock on the door. We burst in to see a bunch of children tied up, they weren't even vampires, just regular human children. The man was standing over them with the axe.
"SEATTLE PD, HANDS UP!" I yelled. We weren't actually with the police department, but it saved a long and unproductive conversation about who we really were. The man turned, looked us up and down, and said in a panicked tone.
"It's these ones you want officers, they're monsters every one!" I've already exterminated several myself, but I could use some help. His voice was shaking, but nevertheless resolved. The children on the floor weren't even vampires, they were just regular humans. It was a common for wanna be hunters to mistake humans for vampires, but I had never seen one kidnap children.
"Allen, a lot of these are missing persons the regular police were looking for." Larry explained. His mind was a lot quicker than mine.
"Regular police? Just what does that make you then?" The man began to question, looking more panicked than before. I was worried he was going to try something stupid, I was about to try to talk him down when my partner leaned over to me.
"Allen, if you would please extinguish the lights, I do not want the children to see." Larry said in a rushed tone. He looked concerned, no doubt for the safety of the children. I quickly complied.
Unfortunately they were still able to hear...
|
We are the Protectors. A unit of supernaturals and humans paired together to track down and stop lame 'hunters' from causing harm. I am Axe Fritz, one of the strongest and not to brag, but quite charming vampires you could meet. My partner River Hart, Is the lucky human to be paired up with me.
Quite honesty I wasn't sure what to expect when they said we'd be getting a human partner, we were supposed to be hidden, unknown, but apparently these humans were either reformed hunters or people who just happened to catch a supernatural as a bad time and figured them out.
They were given an option to have their memory wiped about our existence, or to swear an oath of secrecy and join this gov assignment, or whatever.
But River turned out to be super cool, They were fun and chill. They explained to me that had crashed at a friend's place after getting wasted at a part and ended up walking in on them shapeshifting. River learned they were a Fairy and often used shapeshifting spells to hide their wings and such, but as it was uncomfortable, they would revert to their form back home, unfortunately, they forgot that River had crashed at theirs last night. That story had me wheezing on the ground, It was probably a good half hour before my laughter died down.
Working with River was the best, we made a great team, they always seemed to know how to talk to people, get them to calm down and listen, that is if they would let them talk, often enough I would half to... persuade them to listen, It's funny how fast they go from 'big tough hunter' to a whiney snivelling baby.
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[WP] You are a hunter in a world where supernatural is regulated yet largely unknown to the public. Vampires receive blood bags from the government, and werewolves get medicine to help them through full moons. Your role nowadays is tracking down wannabe "hunters" and giving them a reality check.
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I knew that there were three people in the farm house before I even knocked on the door. I smelled them.
I had been on the monster hunting business for most of my life which, I can say, it was fairly long. It was not a job I chose by myself, but my situation made me an ideal candidate for the position and, to be honest, I ended up enjoying it. Certainly I had been trained to hunt down vampires, werewolves and the sorts, however nowadays my obligations were far less violent. At least, usually. I wasn’t certain how that job was going to end, and a part of me wished that it would end violently. I can control myself, of course, but violence is in my nature, I cannot help it.
A man opened the door just a few centimeters, enough to look at me. “What do you want?”
I immediately noticed the scars on that man’s face. Claws. “Are you Blackhunter42?”. The man asked me who I was and what did I want. “I’m here to help you with your monster situation. My name is Marcel Dunal.”
“Are you armed?”, he asked. To be honest, I think he was more surprised with the fact that I was french rather than being there to help him with his request to hunt down a werewolf. I told him I wasn’t. “Come in, don’t do any funny business”
The house was old, dusty and very humid. Planks had been hammered to the windows, and the main door was shut with heavy doors. The interior was dimly illuminated with some electrical lights and candles, as if the residents were afraid to call attention upon themselves. I supposed that was the case. We walked into the kitchen, which was big and once had been the central point of a vibrant family home. However, at that point, it was dark and sad. A man and a woman were sitting around a table and looked at me; over the table, there were three knifes, a shotgun and two crossbows. I recognized the shine of silver in some of the weapons and, judging by the crude manufacture, they had been forged by novices. Probably themselves.
“Guys, this is Marcel Dunal, the one who answered our post. These are James, Jessica and I’m Andy. I would like you to tell us why you think we are here, I know we stated that on the forum’s post, but just to be certain we are on the same page.”
“You want to hunt down a werewolf”, I said plainly as I sat on a chair next to the table. “The main question is ‘why’.”
“Why? Because they are monsters!”, the man called James answered. “They maim and kill as they see fit, and one has been seen nearby! We want it dead!”
I had a good look on James as he stood up. Deep beard, he clenched his teeth as he talked and his muscles were tense, as if ready to attack. His eyes were bright blue, which was a contrast in comparison with his dark skin and hair. “How do you know there is a werewolf in this area? They tend to hide very well.”
“We… saw it time ago”, Jessica said. “Some people died, and now some neighbors have seen a… ‘very big wolf’ and cattle have been attacked. It’s the same that happened then, we don’t want to wait until people die again”.
“I see he did attack you”, I pointed, signaling to Andy’s scars. “How did you survive?”.
“He did not attack me. I got those… somewhere else”.
There was a rather tense silence. I smiled. “How about we start being honest, huh?”, I asked. “I am a monster hunter, indeed, but I’m here to stop you from doing something stupid.”
“What…? What do you mean?”
“I mean, if you try to go after a werewolf, you will all end up dead”. I saw Jessica slowly reach for a crossbow. “Please, don’t do that. I am not your enemy, but I will defend myself. Allow me to explain you the reality of the world you are living in”.
“This is bullsh…!”
Just as Andy yelled that, and before he even managed to reach the concealed pistol he had on his back, the table cracked and bent under my arm. All three of them stood up, looking at me, terrified. Only James seemed to be calculating the best way to take me down. “As I was saying: I am not your enemy, but I will certainly defend myself. Please refrain yourselves from reaching your weapons and allow me to explain”. They eventually did stop long enough to listen to my words. “What you must understand is that werewolves, when properly medicated, are no different from humans. Most of them are good folks who just want to live their life in peace. Others, just as humans, are evil. Some of them can become assassins, just as humans have serial killers or rapists.”
“I don’t believe you!”, yelled James, “but even if I did, that one IS evil! He killed many people!”
“I agree, and I will take care of him. However, you three, will get killed if you try to hunt him down. You have no chances against a fully grown and trained werewolf.”
“We will hunt him down”, repeated James. From the corner of my eye, I saw how Jessica and Andy reached weapons on their belts. “You cannot stop us.”
“Trust me, James: I can. Don’t do something foolish.”
As James motioned to jump over me, and as Andy and Jessica pulled out their guns, the world seemed to slow down in my eyes. I threw a piece of the table to Andy. I took a step back and dodged Jessica’s bullet and I raised a hand to grab James as he leapt over me: I could see the fangs growing in his jaw, his eyes colour changing to a bright ambarine tone, and hair grew all over his face. But I could see the fear in his eyes when he realized that my hand had become a sharp claw, that I had grown in size and that my facial features had mixed with the ones of a wolf. I took him closer to my face, and Jessica didn’t dare to shoot and risk hitting his friend. “I. Am. Not. Your. Enemy” I growled, and finally put him down. “I will not warn you again: next time I will kill you all”, I receded my transformation, becoming again the human I once was, “throw your weapons and you, James, take a deep breath and calm down.”
It didn’t take long for Andy and Jessica to comply. James took longer to manage to control his anger. “When were you infected, James?”
“Two years ago”, he said. “When that monster terrorized this town”.
“Damn. I am sorry. Usually, when a werewolf loses control and infects someone, they take responsibility: they explain what has happened, what to expect, and different ways to control the symptoms. I am so sorry you three had to deal with that on your own. However, the werewolf that attacked you is a criminal, a serial killer. We have been following his trail for years and now, thanks to you, we have found him. But tonight, you are going to stay here”. I produced a box of tablets from my pocket and handed it to James. “Take one of these now and then every night until five days after full moon. You will still transform, but you will retain control of your actions and not injure your friends anymore” I added, looking towards Andy. “When this is done I will send some agents to you so you can learn all the details of being a werewolf. Trust me, you can have a mostly normal life, James.”
“Wait… if you kill it, will I…?”
“Be free of the curse?”, I said. “No, it doesn’t work that way, I’m sorry. Remember: do not get out of the house until sunrise.
I left the farm house and rapidly got off road to walk to a nearby hill. I followed a faint scent of lavender until I reached a few trees. “They are good, just three scared kids”.
Lucinda decided to show herself at that moment. She was a pale woman, wearing tactical camouflage fatigues, but she was literally invisible until she decided she didn’t need to be anymore. She took her sniper rifle, a Barrett M107mm modified to use armor piercing and explosive ammo. She did handle the weapon as easily as if it had been an assault rifle, perks of vampire’s supernatural strength. “I was about to fire when he almost transformed, but I knew you had it under control”. Lucinda was a perfect sniper also because she was gifted with some sort of thermal vision that allowed her to see through most surfaces. Even inside a barred out building, I knew she was covering me at all times. “So, what’s the plan?”
“We go hunting. Really hunting this time. Feinmann must be taken down”.
“Hell” she said, as she checked her weapon, “it’s about time”.
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I kept my stun gun pointed at the growling middle-aged *hunter* while fumbling with my phone to dial Rocko with my other hand.
"Talk to me," Rocko said, his voice sounded gruffer and tenser than usual, like he was about to get a root canal.
"We've got a real live wire here, boss," I said.
"You found him?" He chuckled and broke into a smoker's cough. "Oh boy."
The wannabe hunter raised his crossbow and fired. The bolt whistled toward my face but I knocked it away with my stun gun. He gaped at me. The guy looked like an accountant playing dress up as Rambo, with the red headband, bandolier of crossbow bolts, camouflage, everything. Despite his coke-bottle glasses, he had decent aim.
He started reloading.
I leveled the red laser dot at his leg and fired, pumping just enough juice to drop him to his knees screaming. "Enough with the crossbow!"
"You're going down, monster lover!" he shouted back at me, clawing at the leads stuck in his thigh. I waggled the stun gun at him and he raised his hands, softly muttering curses under his breath.
"Cut him loose, Vick," Rocko said. "The mission's dead in the water. You hear? Bloated corpse in the East River."
"What?" I said. "No, he's alive. I just zapped him a little. I've got him, Rocko. Alive!"
"Quit yer yellin'! I heard you. I'm saying, you gotta cut him loose."
"Yeah right. It took me all day to chase his ass down."
"You're not hearing me. The Dawnshots put a bounty on their man. They're coming for him, now. Cut the zealot loose and get your ass back to headquarters. The last thing we need is another incident -- not after Jersey."
I groaned. "That wasn't my fault! How was I supposed to know they were based out of a strip club?"
"Yeah, yeah. Look, mongo. The way I see it, you've got two choices. Either toss the zealot or face down a whole posse of Dawnshots. You think they're gonna care about keeping quiet? I don't even know why I have to ask. This is just plain common sense."
"Can't do it, Rocko," I said. "If his people turned on him, then that's double reason to bring him in from the cold. This guy doesn't know what he's doing. He's a bean counter, not a warrior."
"I'm not an accountant!" the wannabe hunter shouted, his voice cracking. "I'll have you know I'm an insurance claims adjustor and hunter of monsters, you traitor!" He started lowering his hands and I tapped on the stun gun trigger, not enough to shock him but enough to get a few clacks out of the gun. He shot his hands back up and glowered at me.
"Sounds like a real upstanding citizen. Why are we still talking about this?"
"Rocko."
"You think I'm gonna help you with the paperwork if this thing goes sideways? We're already in Dutch with management -- why are you putting me in this position, Vick? I tell you the well is fouled and you try to drink from it. Just let the guy go. He wouldn't think twice about putting a bullet through you if the tables were turned."
Anger started bubbling up in my stomach, or it could have been the extra jalapenos on my lunch burrito. My burps were fueled by fury and indigestion. "But the tables *aren't* turned. They're facing straight ahead and our jobs ain't to put down hunters. Right? So get off your ass and come pick us up!"
"What's wrong with the subway?"
"Are you serious! I'm not taking this guy on the subway. Besides, we're nowhere near a station. I'm way off Metropolitan, by the strip club. Pick us up, now!"
"Okay, fine, fine. But I can't get into Brooklyn easy at this hour. Get your ass up to the warehouse district and I can slip off the BQE. I'll meet your right off the ramp, by the gas station. Just keep low. Dawnshots had plenty of time to track both of your knuckleheads down. I'll be there in twenty. You heard? Twenty. Move it."
"It'll be worth it, boss. Trust me."
"Twenty!" Rocko shouted then hung up on me.
\[this ended up being a part 1\]
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[WP] You are a hunter in a world where supernatural is regulated yet largely unknown to the public. Vampires receive blood bags from the government, and werewolves get medicine to help them through full moons. Your role nowadays is tracking down wannabe "hunters" and giving them a reality check.
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Sam poured himself another cup of coffee. He looked at Frank, but Frank simply shook his head. Frank never drank coffee, not even on long stakeouts, which tonight would be a long stakeout. They were both monster hunters. Sam looked the part, no one would be surprised to see him in a heated battle with a vampire or werewolf. Frank did not, being short, scrawny, middle-aged, and mostly bald. He looked like he should be filling out paperwork in the back office and asking where form R532-A is. Instead, he was on a stakeout for a werewolf.
Except they weren’t staking out to find the werewolf. They knew where he was, one floor up asleep in his bed. They were hired by the werewolf to watch for a stalker. The werewolf, James, thought someone might have guessed he was a werewolf and be coming after him. That’s where the hunters come in. We would keep the peace between the supernatural and the natural.
As Sam took a sip from his cup, a crashing was heard above. Both Sam and Frank took off running, quickly finding their way to James’s bedroom. There stood a man holding a gun as James sat in his bed with his arms in the air. The man looked at us, briefly turned the gun towards us, then brought it back to James before shouting, “WHO ARE YOU?”
“I’m Sam and this is Frank. We are part of the supernatural protection agency or SPA.” Sam said as he studied the situation. He was unsure if the bullets were silver, but they most likely were. Even if they weren’t they could seriously hurt James.
The man looked surprised after hearing about the SPA and asked, “Are you here to take care of this werewolf?”
“No, we are here to stop you from murdering that man,” Frank replied in a monotone voice.
The man was stunned for a second before replying, “What do you mean murder? He is a monster.”
“He is James and it is still murder. He hasn’t done anything wrong. No please hand us your gun,” Frank said, putting his hand out.
“He is a werewolf. He is going to go on a rampage and kill us all.”
“James has never had any issues with his transformation and is a model citizen. You have broken into his house and threatened to murder him. Please hand over your gun,” Frank said and took a step forward. The man frantically towards Frank as he moved and accidentally pulled the trigger. A blast rang out as the bullet ripped through Frank’s head.
However, no blood flew out, just a black mist. Sam was the first to react. “We need to get out of here now. Both of you let’s go.” Sam pulled them out of the room and hurried them down the stairs. They got to the bottom of the stairs before a thump was heard and the whole house shook a bit. Sam pushed the other two into the living room and stood in the hallway.
“What was that?” the man asked.
“That was something scary that you have angered. James, can you transform?” Sam said as he watched the bottom of the stairs.
“It’s only a half-moon, so it’ll take a while for me to work up enough energy.”
“Okay, start trying to. You two might have to make a break for it.”
“What is going on?” the man asked.
“I was given three tasks when I was given this position. Protect humans from the supernatural, Protect the supernatural from humans, and keep an eye on Frank. I was told that the last one is the most important.” Sam said.
Before anyone could reply, something came down the stairs. It was like the void itself was slowly floating towards us, consuming all light, heat, and even emotions. Its tendrils slowly reached out and then zipped back in as it drifted towards us.
“Frank, let’s calm down. How about you return to your human form.”
“I just want to have a look at the one who shot me. Just let me take a peek at his soul.”
“Frank, a peek from you will destroy that man. Let us just calm down.” Sam said with his hand up as he slowly backed into the living room.
Then in a single moment, Frank slipped by him and rushed towards the man, his tendrils reaching out to envelop him. But before they could reach him, the man was whisked away by a large furry object. James had managed to transform and had gotten to the man before Frank could.
Though now in his werewolf form, James could feel how truly frightening Frank was. James could help but shiver as he stood between Frank and his target. Frank approached him as his tendril reached out, but James didn’t budge. Frank paused and appeared to be looking at James.
Then he condensed into a single spot, slowly forming a human shape as the void resisted being forced into a definite form. After a little while, Frank stood there in his human form, except for his pure black eyes that still showed his unnatural power.
“I think that is enough for tonight,” Frank said.
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"You know you just committed a hate crime right?" I commented as I walked up behind the idiot redneck standing behind the now-burned vampire. Her burning pale form, remnants of pale blonde hair, and gasoline, graced me from over three kilometers away while I was enjoying a Wednesday drive around the hills. The sound of autumn leaves being crushed beneath my feet filled both our ears, while the autumn winds caressed our tanned cheeks.
The Sun glared down upon our hilltop, and laced the forest with its golden rays.
"I ain't no libtard like y'all!" he screamed back as he turned. His coked up red-eyes and methamphetamine blasted teeth graced me with their putrid visages as he kicked the vampire corp-ash piles mostly- down the cliff edge.
"And well... torture. Since you stood their grinning like a fool as she burned in the sunlight. Not that you should be concerned with either."
He blinked back.
"Really?"
"Yes. Because it's 4:45PM on a Jaunary day and you just killed a Coven Lord's wife."
He staggered back.
"I-I-I ain't afraid of no leech!" Yet his face drained of color all the same.
4:46PM. The winds sing of dusk.
"Allow me to share with you my knowledge of these blood sippers. Since I am an actual Hunter," I said as I approached the man. My steps echoed throughout the hilltop as I slowly neared him.
His eyes widened and I could see all the little blood veins in his drugged, terrified mind.
I stopped, and my eyes were two and a half inches from his.
"Vampires are superhuman sanguinares. At an absolute minimum, vampires are eight times faster, stronger, and resilient than their human counterpart. Except, during day light, where they are only equal to humans. And of course, this strength multiplier waxes and wanes depending on blood intake."
4:47PM. Even from here, the Sun's rays were almost completely dim.
"What else can they do?" the addict asked as he began shaking catatonically. He started looking around. The first sign of intelligence from the drug addict.
"Speak through thoughts with each other and other willing participants."
The addict suddenly thrusted his arm into his jacket as I spoke, and drew another needle before injecting it into his right arm. He looked vigorous within seconds as his pupils dilated before sharpening
4:48PM. The Light has been snuffed.
"I WILL TAKE ON ALL THESE LEECHES BY MY-"
A pale hand reached out and caressed his cheek, before the addict dispersed into azure dust.
I manifested a cigar with my magic, before placing the lightning-lit tobacco product between my lips.
I took a long drag before breathing out and replying
"My apologies ma'am, but my lethal reactivity to vampiric biomass made it impossible to intervene."
Azure flames erupted, before an albino woman of knee-length snow white hair emerged forth from within the inferno.
Just three inches from my face her burning ruby irises and silver pupil bored into my soul. Possibly literally.
**It is fine. Some pain. Nothing beyond,** her hair cascaded in the winds, like snowflakes dispering from the mountain peaks.
Her mouth never moved.
"Ah. So how long till the missus 'reconstitutes'?" I asked.
She grinned.
"Bark up a different tree, mongrel."
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[WP] You are a hunter in a world where supernatural is regulated yet largely unknown to the public. Vampires receive blood bags from the government, and werewolves get medicine to help them through full moons. Your role nowadays is tracking down wannabe "hunters" and giving them a reality check.
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For centuries my family has hunted the dark creatures of the night. Werewolves, vampires, demons, anything we could get our hands on and drive a blessed silver blade through the heart of. We took pride in that and our role in serving in humanity. But, well, overhunting became a serious problem, and once monster populations started to decline, we were told by the government to stop. The monsters were seeking asylum, relying on humanity to sustain itself, and in return they would help us in what ways they could.
A few decades later and being a hunter means a much different thing. Nowadays we don’t hunt monsters much - except in a rare few exceptions, and even then we usually let them take care of their own. Nope, most of what we do is taking care of our end of things. We also don’t work for the goodwill of the humans; we’re government employees. Yearly salary, health benefits, the whole works.
Pretty good gig, if I do say so myself. I get to cash in a nice paycheck and all I need to do is take care of those few who aren’t on the up and up.
Usually it’s kids who stumble on something they weren’t meant to. They’re confused and scared, so if I sit them down and explain it’s all good. Send them back home, and their worried parents will have them believing it was all a dream by the time they hit middle-school.
People like these two, however, were often a proper pain in the butt.
“I think we’re getting close,” the one to my left said. He was in his early thirties but already mostly bald. Built like a starving rail, and I worried that flashlight he was holding might snap his thin wrist with its weight.
“Yeah, it’s getting darker. Vampires like the dark,” the one to my right replied. He was about the same age as the other one but bulkier. Little more hair too. “Isn’t that right?” He glanced back at me, and I shrugged. I mean, yeah. Vampires like the dark in the way anybody likes the absence of something that would painfully kill you.
It’s fine, better than the alternative.
“But shouldn’t we have stakes? Or at least a gun like you. I don’t think these will do much,” the bigger one continued. He lifted up the flashlight he was holding and I had to glance away to avoid the blinding beams.
“Hey, watch it. Keep it aimed ahead.”
“Right, sorry.”
“And stop asking so many questions. Do you trust me or not?” I tapped the badge on my chest, the one shaped like a sword and hammer. It marked me as a genuine government-sponsored hunter.
It was also enough to get this guy to quiet down a bit. Good timing, too. They were getting close to their quarry, and I mine.
We can hear ripping from up ahead through the trees. Tearing, slurping. A vampire feeding. “It’s here,” the thin one hissed to me, and I shook my head. These amateurs couldn’t sneak up on a deaf and blind sloth.
“Yeah, quiet.”
“Sorr-”
“I will feed you to the vampire if you say sorry one more time.”
“Sor-right.” Calm, calm. Find your zen.
We stepped through the brush and saw him - hunched over the prone form of a ripped-apart deer. His hands were coated in gore, his mouth too, as well as most of the rest of his unclothed and pale body. Two crimson fangs peeked out from between stained lips.
The two idiots raised up their torches to blind it and yelled at the top of their lungs. I raised my hand.
“Hey Al. How’s it going?”
“What the…Helsing, is that you?” The vampire raised his hands not to fight, but to cover his eyes to see.
“Yeah, sorry to interrupt your meal. You know you can’t be chowing down in public like this, though. These locals saw you the night before.” The vampire looked to the deer, then to the idiots, then me, then back to the deer. His expression grew more sheepish by the second.
“I prefer it fresh, so…I couldn’t help myself, I’m sorry.”
“I know, but you know the rules. I gotta bring you and these two in, give you all a slap on the wrist and a stern talking-to,” I let out a sigh and put my hands on my waist. Only now the two sensed something wrong, turning together to face me.
“Wait, but…! We have to slay him before-”
“Before what? He eats another deer? Relax, Al’s harmless. You two, however, are a real problem. You can’t go around harassing monsters with stakes, you know.” I settled a hand on my hostler - full of non-silvered bullets. “Now if you’ll all kindly follow me.”
Al quietly complied. The two humans complained the entire way there.
(Thanks for reading, C&C always welcome!)
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"You know you just committed a hate crime right?" I commented as I walked up behind the idiot redneck standing behind the now-burned vampire. Her burning pale form, remnants of pale blonde hair, and gasoline, graced me from over three kilometers away while I was enjoying a Wednesday drive around the hills. The sound of autumn leaves being crushed beneath my feet filled both our ears, while the autumn winds caressed our tanned cheeks.
The Sun glared down upon our hilltop, and laced the forest with its golden rays.
"I ain't no libtard like y'all!" he screamed back as he turned. His coked up red-eyes and methamphetamine blasted teeth graced me with their putrid visages as he kicked the vampire corp-ash piles mostly- down the cliff edge.
"And well... torture. Since you stood their grinning like a fool as she burned in the sunlight. Not that you should be concerned with either."
He blinked back.
"Really?"
"Yes. Because it's 4:45PM on a Jaunary day and you just killed a Coven Lord's wife."
He staggered back.
"I-I-I ain't afraid of no leech!" Yet his face drained of color all the same.
4:46PM. The winds sing of dusk.
"Allow me to share with you my knowledge of these blood sippers. Since I am an actual Hunter," I said as I approached the man. My steps echoed throughout the hilltop as I slowly neared him.
His eyes widened and I could see all the little blood veins in his drugged, terrified mind.
I stopped, and my eyes were two and a half inches from his.
"Vampires are superhuman sanguinares. At an absolute minimum, vampires are eight times faster, stronger, and resilient than their human counterpart. Except, during day light, where they are only equal to humans. And of course, this strength multiplier waxes and wanes depending on blood intake."
4:47PM. Even from here, the Sun's rays were almost completely dim.
"What else can they do?" the addict asked as he began shaking catatonically. He started looking around. The first sign of intelligence from the drug addict.
"Speak through thoughts with each other and other willing participants."
The addict suddenly thrusted his arm into his jacket as I spoke, and drew another needle before injecting it into his right arm. He looked vigorous within seconds as his pupils dilated before sharpening
4:48PM. The Light has been snuffed.
"I WILL TAKE ON ALL THESE LEECHES BY MY-"
A pale hand reached out and caressed his cheek, before the addict dispersed into azure dust.
I manifested a cigar with my magic, before placing the lightning-lit tobacco product between my lips.
I took a long drag before breathing out and replying
"My apologies ma'am, but my lethal reactivity to vampiric biomass made it impossible to intervene."
Azure flames erupted, before an albino woman of knee-length snow white hair emerged forth from within the inferno.
Just three inches from my face her burning ruby irises and silver pupil bored into my soul. Possibly literally.
**It is fine. Some pain. Nothing beyond,** her hair cascaded in the winds, like snowflakes dispering from the mountain peaks.
Her mouth never moved.
"Ah. So how long till the missus 'reconstitutes'?" I asked.
She grinned.
"Bark up a different tree, mongrel."
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[WP] You are a hunter in a world where supernatural is regulated yet largely unknown to the public. Vampires receive blood bags from the government, and werewolves get medicine to help them through full moons. Your role nowadays is tracking down wannabe "hunters" and giving them a reality check.
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For centuries my family has hunted the dark creatures of the night. Werewolves, vampires, demons, anything we could get our hands on and drive a blessed silver blade through the heart of. We took pride in that and our role in serving in humanity. But, well, overhunting became a serious problem, and once monster populations started to decline, we were told by the government to stop. The monsters were seeking asylum, relying on humanity to sustain itself, and in return they would help us in what ways they could.
A few decades later and being a hunter means a much different thing. Nowadays we don’t hunt monsters much - except in a rare few exceptions, and even then we usually let them take care of their own. Nope, most of what we do is taking care of our end of things. We also don’t work for the goodwill of the humans; we’re government employees. Yearly salary, health benefits, the whole works.
Pretty good gig, if I do say so myself. I get to cash in a nice paycheck and all I need to do is take care of those few who aren’t on the up and up.
Usually it’s kids who stumble on something they weren’t meant to. They’re confused and scared, so if I sit them down and explain it’s all good. Send them back home, and their worried parents will have them believing it was all a dream by the time they hit middle-school.
People like these two, however, were often a proper pain in the butt.
“I think we’re getting close,” the one to my left said. He was in his early thirties but already mostly bald. Built like a starving rail, and I worried that flashlight he was holding might snap his thin wrist with its weight.
“Yeah, it’s getting darker. Vampires like the dark,” the one to my right replied. He was about the same age as the other one but bulkier. Little more hair too. “Isn’t that right?” He glanced back at me, and I shrugged. I mean, yeah. Vampires like the dark in the way anybody likes the absence of something that would painfully kill you.
It’s fine, better than the alternative.
“But shouldn’t we have stakes? Or at least a gun like you. I don’t think these will do much,” the bigger one continued. He lifted up the flashlight he was holding and I had to glance away to avoid the blinding beams.
“Hey, watch it. Keep it aimed ahead.”
“Right, sorry.”
“And stop asking so many questions. Do you trust me or not?” I tapped the badge on my chest, the one shaped like a sword and hammer. It marked me as a genuine government-sponsored hunter.
It was also enough to get this guy to quiet down a bit. Good timing, too. They were getting close to their quarry, and I mine.
We can hear ripping from up ahead through the trees. Tearing, slurping. A vampire feeding. “It’s here,” the thin one hissed to me, and I shook my head. These amateurs couldn’t sneak up on a deaf and blind sloth.
“Yeah, quiet.”
“Sorr-”
“I will feed you to the vampire if you say sorry one more time.”
“Sor-right.” Calm, calm. Find your zen.
We stepped through the brush and saw him - hunched over the prone form of a ripped-apart deer. His hands were coated in gore, his mouth too, as well as most of the rest of his unclothed and pale body. Two crimson fangs peeked out from between stained lips.
The two idiots raised up their torches to blind it and yelled at the top of their lungs. I raised my hand.
“Hey Al. How’s it going?”
“What the…Helsing, is that you?” The vampire raised his hands not to fight, but to cover his eyes to see.
“Yeah, sorry to interrupt your meal. You know you can’t be chowing down in public like this, though. These locals saw you the night before.” The vampire looked to the deer, then to the idiots, then me, then back to the deer. His expression grew more sheepish by the second.
“I prefer it fresh, so…I couldn’t help myself, I’m sorry.”
“I know, but you know the rules. I gotta bring you and these two in, give you all a slap on the wrist and a stern talking-to,” I let out a sigh and put my hands on my waist. Only now the two sensed something wrong, turning together to face me.
“Wait, but…! We have to slay him before-”
“Before what? He eats another deer? Relax, Al’s harmless. You two, however, are a real problem. You can’t go around harassing monsters with stakes, you know.” I settled a hand on my hostler - full of non-silvered bullets. “Now if you’ll all kindly follow me.”
Al quietly complied. The two humans complained the entire way there.
(Thanks for reading, C&C always welcome!)
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I tackled him outside of Count William’s house. He had all of the usual things we had covered in training; garlic, a few stakes, some holy symbols. The garlic was a myth, but the rest worked. I had to stop him from making a big mistake.
“Ow— what the hell, man?” He grumbled. “This is private. Go away.” He paused a moment before pointing at my badge. “You from the government? You gotta tell me if you’re from the government.”
My badge had three letters on it: “SPA.” Stood for Supernatural Protection Agency. Not all of them need protecting, but we have to protect those who decide to engage them, too. They don’t know any better.
“Fine. I’m agent Jack Harrison. You’re making a mistake. Let’s just sit down for a moment and discuss this.”
We had been trained to say that, too. Really, this was my first mission, and it showed. I should have never let him get as far as he did.
“To hell with discussion,” dismissed the man. “There’s a vampire in there, and I’m killing him. I don’t care if you think I’m crazy.”
“You’re completely correct that there’s a vampire there. I have to give you that. Most people don’t make it this point. However, you’re wrong about needing to kill them.”
He blinked at me, confused. “Why? Vampires kill or turn other people for blood. I’m doing the world a favor.”
“They used to. Not anymore.” I shook my head. “What’s your name?”
“…I’m Adam. Adam Gonzales.”
“What do you do, Adam?”
“I sell insurance.”
“Mhm. And how did you figure out that William is a vampire?”
“I was at a bookstore, and… well, his clothing was weird. Like it was from the 15th century or something, man. I saw him drinking something red. It was definitely blood. So I followed him home, and he seemed, like, sluggish in the sunlight, but fine in the shade! That’s totally vampire behavior!”
They were supposed to be more discreet with blood consumption. No use dwelling on it, though. “That’s… stalker behavior, Adam. Anyway, why do you think he was working at the bookstore?”
“Looking for targets?”
I looked at him doubtfully. “At the book store?”
“Well, why else would he be there?”
“Vampires need blood, that’s true. We get them that blood through relatively innocent means. But that only satisfies their thirst. They still gotta eat and sleep. They need a home. They need to entertain themselves. Did it ever occur to you that he might be, I don’t know, *working*?”
“…No, it didn’t.”
“It isn’t easy being born in the 1300s and having to adjust to life in 2022 Michigan. But he manages. There are many like you. They are well intentioned, but they simply end up making life harder for these vampires and werewolves to survive.”
“*And werewolves?*”
Damn. Amateur mistake. Oh well, he would have found out soon enough. “Yes, werewolves. They aren’t a threat, either. Top scientists have developed medication for the condition. But back to my last point… none of these people chose to be turned, you know. We have to help them out.”
“I guess I get your point, but what if they want more blood?”
I shrugged. “We provide them enough for their needs. If they go rogue, we take care of it. If we somehow don’t, go wild. Hunt them. But William has done nothing wrong.”
“…Am I in trouble?”
“No, Adam, not right now. Just go back and keep what I said in your mind.”
After some hesitation, the man dropped his supplies and left. I knocked on the door of the house.
“SPA! You’re safe, you can come outside!”
The vampire exited the building and smiled. “I always appreciate your protection. Thank you.”
He started walking, no doubt to go to work for the day, and I made my exit as well. There’s a lot about this world that’s overwhelming. But if I can tell the truth and save even one person, it’s all worth it for me. I, too, smiled as Count William’s one-story house grew farther and farther away. Its smallness was a sign that he was certainly not rich, but hey. They were all trying their best.
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[WP] Young orcs in a "hold my ale" moment attach a human village against the explicit rule of their Elders. Humans and their magic is weak after all. They're about to learn why humans don't like to use their other magic. It means "mutual assured destruction" in the old tongue.
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The Orcs assaulted the village in their arrogance, not realising the fate that they had wrought. They had heard that the human Magickers were weak, and their magicks, nearly gone.
As they left the village a smoldering wreck of flame and destruction, a ragged doll of a woman left the village, already knowing just where to go.
/ / / / / / /
The women entered the village only a short time after the raiding party arrived in the Inn, swilling their ale and telling raucous tales of their exploits in the village of Aris.
The elders sighed, having already warned them about this. But they knew what was coming.
On object lesson in civility. The doors shattered off their hinges, as the deranged blood-spattered woman, ragged with fury, stormed in.
She spoke heavily accented Orcish. "I need the raiding party on Aris. Outside. *Now.*" The elders simply nodded, stood, and dragged the young raiding party outside. Those Orcs being dragged did not know what was coming.
The woman stepped into the common, looking into the eyes of each Orc dragged there. One was foolish enough to try and spit at her, a gobbet hitting her face. The woman merely grinned, and touched it, speaking a word in a language that sounded like gargling steel wool. The Orc who had spat on her just dropped to the floor, eyes turning the milky white of phlegm.
Then she stood. During the time this had taken place, Orcs left their tents and stone buildings, gathering around the common. Some were weeping; others stood stoically; one other chanted, calling for the blood of the Orcs who had attacked Aris.
The woman spoke again, aimed mainly at the Orcs being held down. "These fools forgot the Great Pact made centuries ago. They assaulted my home; they destroyed my food; and worst of all, killed my children.
"For this, they will pay in blood, to restore what was taken. Does anyone wish to challenge this judgement?" As she looked around the common, not a single Orc stirred in challenge.
A minute passed. Then two. Satisfied she stood and pulled out an old bone comb with a sharpened handle.
Using the sharpened end she stabbed herself between the collarbone just inside the ring. She grinned unnervingly, as she chanted to the Great Lord. This was unintelligible to all in the common, but the effect was clear.
The Orcs who had raided Aris began to grunt in pain, as a pressure built up inside their skulls. The chanting grew deeper, and the pressure built up. The woman crescendo her chant, ending on a single phrase in the Trader's tongue.
"I sacrifice myself as the cost. I pay this willingly, so that you may be a memorial; a testament; a warning." She flicked the blood from the comb on each one of the raiding Orcs. Then, she stood.
The lightning struck a second later, and all that was left was ash -whether Orc or human. The Elders swept, and the remaining Orcs returned to what they were doing, those lost souls forgotten and their names wiped from the records.
The gravest insult to an ancesotr-worshipping race.
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"Why it! Not other village?" a short-tusk snorts. Looking over a field golden in Man's triumph, untouched, untried, never seeing a rod struck towards it, it taunts it's spoils at the young orc. It's mere existence, so clean and unwar'd. Rockhead doesn't find it very orcish to leave the pretty sight standing so for so long, and so close.
"Elders say it." Another short-tusk speaks the common knowledge of their Orc ways, as two other short-tusks nod in agreement with short snorts.
" Rockhead know Elder true creation." Rockhead looks down upon the other three short-tusks.
"Rockhead speak lie. Elders are Smart Orc, not us short tusk." Manbane smacks his spearaxe into the orcs side of the land; lifeless dirt. The other two short tusk take in deep breathes, allowing their sinuses to flex, as they fix on the orc common question; Who is bigger Orc?
"I say now!" Rockhead slams his axe into his own flesh on his shoulder, allowing the handle of bone to poke above his mariposite dome. " Elder tell me as shorter tusk that HE ELDER was once short tusk." the three short tusk eyes grow four sizes wide. " To I say WE ELDER! AND IF WE ELDER THEN. THEN. WE.ARE. ELDER. NOW! AS ELDER THAT VILLAGE COMES DOWN! NO NEED FOR A PLAN!! LOOK!!!" Rockhead points to a lone woman. She is slithering her hands together, Small amounts of water is squeezed from them and fills a bucket. "THEY ONLY MAKE WATER! AND ONLY LADY! THE SKY CAN MAKE WATER IT DOES NOT MAKE ORC! ORC MAKE ORC! THE SKY IS BLUE NOT GREEN IT IS BLUE BECAUSE SAD! SAD NO ORC! MAKE IT ORC! MAKE ALL ORC!", and they all agree.
They begin the Orc dance, the Orc chant in snorts, and the Orc prayer.
" I WILL TAKE THE VILLAGE WITHOUT MERCY!" Manbane shouts the first hymm of the prayer.
" I WILL TAKE IT WITHOUT MY SWORD SMALL ORC!" one short tusk plants his sword into the hardened soil.
"I WILL TAKE IT WITHOUT MY ARMS SMALL ORC!" the other short tusk grabs his comrades sword, his own, and chops both his arms off.
They all look at Rockhead.
"I WILL TAKE IT WITHOUT VISION SMALL ORCS!", Rockhead rips both his eyes out, "AS I DO NOT NEED EYES TO SEE ORC!", and with Rockhead's voice the prayer is prayed, and the orc gods bless them this day.
\-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Lioretia is a village once held by man, men of magic. Men have fought orc before, but no man here, as no man is here any longer.
The Water Witch, half-human half-mermaid; Came to Lioretia many moons ago, washed man away with the sea we all see unseen. Deceived man as she disguised as one half of humankind, as her humankind was waist down.
Man magic is a pitiful attempt at any power, even Orcs know that, as the only magic man ever had was to release themselves. What is shit in the sea.
Orcs had done this dance with her before.
But they'll never learn.
\-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
A lone woman looks up from her labor, she sighs at the sight of three orcs running across her lawn of lush green; a sight much prettier than the orcs will ever see, a green unicorn running the other way.
She stands up. She claps her hands twice and plunges her nose and fills her cheeks.
The sky falls upon the world.
She let's go and swims towards the sun, another fifty years she'll be swimming in her sea she keeps unseen.
She swims over the orc village, she waves at the elders, and they wave back, as elders are smart orcs, and they have scuba gear.
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[WP] They told you your power was a "healing factor" able to heal others as well, it turns out, your actual power was turning anyone you touch into a healthy human, and since healthy humans don't have mutations and therefore no powers, many supers would rather risk death than being treated by you.
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Sudden bangs against glass startled me awake. As I am opening my eyes my sheets fly to the corners of the room with the rest of my belongings ending up on the other side of the window. In a second it was as if a hurricane had occurred inside my room, by the time I am able to fully wake up I realize Metroman is standing at the foot of my bed covered in blood.
“Its not mine” he said with urgency
“I know… if it was you wouldn’t be here” I sighed before confronting him “Please don’t make me make this decision for someone again. I can’t bare more hate.”
He starts to cry but tries to gain composure as soon as his breathing got heavy.
“It’s Superman. We can’t let him die… he isn’t responding and there isn’t much time, we have to go now.”
I start feeling as though there isn’t enough air to fill my lungs, my hands begin to shake and I see him approach me and wrap me around his arms.
I wish he would have embraced me and at least let me take it in, but he took me out the window he came in through and before I could gather my thoughts we were at the scene.
There was press all around him, he was… unrecognizable.
(Well I got bored but she feels conflicted about leaving him w/o superpowers since he is such. big symbol, he will probably hate her as well as society itself and if she doesn’t save him society would also hate her so she is conflicted as to what to do and hates her position and her powers)
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Anya rummaged through the sacks inside her hovel, crouched beside them. She was used to being alone, but she needed to find the special herb that helped her heal others. Even though the last time she saw another person was seventeen long days ago. She sighed, wiped her dirty hand across her brow, and stood up as her knees creaked like the crone she felt like.
Glancing at the pot of water with onion and one sad shriveled potato as it boiled over the fire, Anya inhaled the homey smell. The smell reminded her of her mother and grandmother cooking. Squabbling, always busy, and lovingly listening as she prattled on. They had been gone for over thirteen years now. A flux of some sort had swept the nearby villagers and as healers themselves, the older women had made themselves useful. It was too late to save anyone by the time Anya realized. Not knowing she had any powers had made her not even think to try to save them. Both had just faded more each day, first her grandmother, then her mother.
Something furry brushed across Anya’s skirt. Rue, her mysterious little canine. Smaller than a wolf, but quiet like a cat. Light colored and curly. A silent, but sweet friend that she had encountered one day while meandering in the woods foraging for food.
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[WP] They told you your power was a "healing factor" able to heal others as well, it turns out, your actual power was turning anyone you touch into a healthy human, and since healthy humans don't have mutations and therefore no powers, many supers would rather risk death than being treated by you.
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Loud battle cries resounded through the city, weapons clashed, curses were muttered and spells were prepared. It was war. Or rather, the war had come to them, Jericho thought, trying to force himself not to think about the civilians hiding in the houses. Praying that they would remain undiscovered. How many innocent people would lose their lives? And yet he stood there, completely untouched by the chaos around him. He was far behind the frontline, tents had been set up to care for the wounded, and yet he had all the time in the world. Patient after patient lined up at the tents, hectic healers and their assistants rushed from one point to the other. Disappointed, Jericho shook his head, realizing once again how useless he was. There were countless injured, and far too few healers - how could it be that not a single one sought help from him?
He had the power to heal everything, no disease, no wound, no matter how terrible, could stop him, and yet it had a flaw. Everyone he heals becomes absolutely healthy - but a healthy person does not have mutations, like the superheroes and so they disappear. A thief he was called, tried like a criminal and as if this was not enough even the other healers avoided him. As if it was contagious and he was nothing but a disease.
He felt superfluous in all the chaos, completely powerless to do anything and as talented as he was, what good was it if no one wanted to be healed by him? These heroes would rather die than lose their powers - he had to learn this the hard way. He should look for another job, everyone had recommended him. Forget everything and start over.
He had refused, assured them that helping others had always been his dream and he was so close to fulfilling it - why should he stop now? It was pure wishful thinking, he soon had to realize. What is a healer without patients? What use do they have? A healer who just stood on the side and watched everything idly?
He felt useless and slowly he wondered if the others were not right? He had wanted to help them, but instead he took away their powers - wasn't their dislike of him understandable?
He was too deep in thought, no longer paying attention to the surroundings or even the people, it was not as if they needed him. Only a deafening bang brought him back to his senses. His heart skipped a beat when he saw all the destruction around him. Entire houses had collapsed, burying countless people under them, and even the healers' tents had not been spared. Some were on fire, others were hit by the rubble of the houses. The war had reached them.
As if he had to pull himself out of his trance, he slapped his cheeks and forced himself to go to the first injured person. He had to help. Save lives. Just as he was about to reach out to a half-spilled one, a sound rang out.
"Don't touch him!" Sounded an angry voice from behind. Slowly Jericho turned and looked into the bloodied face of a young hero.
"I just want to help him - " Jericho tried to explain himself, but the hero paid no attention to his words, pushing him aside roughly.
"We'll be fine without you." And began digging out his friend.
Petrified, Jericho stood there, staring at the hero. What had he done wrong to be treated like this? He was a healer, would never harm anyone - he had sworn this - and yet he was treated like a criminal, no, worse, like a contagious disease.
His teachers had been in shock at his talent, had prophesied him great future as a healer. And he had believed them. How stupid he had been, even the weakest healers were better than him - because he could not force anyone to be healed.
Without meaning to, he had to laugh at this irony. He had the talent to be the best healer, to save an incredible number of lives, and yet he had not saved a single one. Not because he couldn't, but because they were afraid of him. Of his powers. How ridiculous, they would rather bleed to death than part with their powers. Did these people even deserve to be saved? Something clicked in his head...
How many times had he been in this place before? Had to beg just to be allowed to save them from death? And yet it had all been for nothing. They reacted with disgust to his request to help save them all, and so he was forced to watch them die. To watch them die. He felt like an uninvolved observer all at once.
It was just ridiculous. These people were their powers more important than their own lives, would rather die than lose them - it was just madness. But he no longer intended to accept this, this time was now finally over.
A load fell from him, his shoulders felt with one time so incredibly much lighter. He walked up to the wounded man, ignoring his screaming friend who was desperately trying to revive him.
"What are you doing here? Don't you dare touch him!" the hero immediately shouted when he noticed him, but Jericho didn't even think to answer him. With a powerful kick to his head, he knocked the weakened hero to the ground.
" Trash," he muttered under his breath as he knelt down to the wounded man. Both hands placed on his chest and concentrated his powers on this one. Warm light enveloped this one and as it faded he rose. All wounds were gone. The young man was healed. With a satisfied smile, Jericho now turned his attention to the defiant hero, who still lay dazed on the ground. After he had healed him as well, he went on his way.
He still had a lot to do, he thought, glancing over the destruction, but that didn't dampen his good mood. Unconscious patients were much more preferable to him than awake ones. Whistling cheerfully, he set off.
This was the day when a new supervillain was born. He will go down in the history books as 'Dr. Chaos'.
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Anya rummaged through the sacks inside her hovel, crouched beside them. She was used to being alone, but she needed to find the special herb that helped her heal others. Even though the last time she saw another person was seventeen long days ago. She sighed, wiped her dirty hand across her brow, and stood up as her knees creaked like the crone she felt like.
Glancing at the pot of water with onion and one sad shriveled potato as it boiled over the fire, Anya inhaled the homey smell. The smell reminded her of her mother and grandmother cooking. Squabbling, always busy, and lovingly listening as she prattled on. They had been gone for over thirteen years now. A flux of some sort had swept the nearby villagers and as healers themselves, the older women had made themselves useful. It was too late to save anyone by the time Anya realized. Not knowing she had any powers had made her not even think to try to save them. Both had just faded more each day, first her grandmother, then her mother.
Something furry brushed across Anya’s skirt. Rue, her mysterious little canine. Smaller than a wolf, but quiet like a cat. Light colored and curly. A silent, but sweet friend that she had encountered one day while meandering in the woods foraging for food.
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[WP] They told you your power was a "healing factor" able to heal others as well, it turns out, your actual power was turning anyone you touch into a healthy human, and since healthy humans don't have mutations and therefore no powers, many supers would rather risk death than being treated by you.
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The "White Priestess" is a healer, whose power transforms humans to a healthy state, free of injuries and illness. Rumour has it that this means that any mutations will be erased, because a healthy human doesn't have _those_.
And for that reason alone, most supers would rather suffer through healing from injuries the painful way than risk her touch. Even at the edge of death they won't suffer the Priestess' power.
And this amuses me. It really does.
See, I'm the source of that rumour. I didn't intend for it to persist as long as it did, but I guess none of those idiots really paid attention to their GCSE science lessons.
I don't really have anything against the White Priestess. Mel is a nice lady, and honestly just as kind and selfless as her heroic persona. She's also a massive nerd, hence her Name.
I'm watching her now, sitting in the corner of the pub, a half drunk cider in front of her, dark skin contrasting with the white robes she adopted as her costume. Every now and then someone approaches her, and after a few words and a light brush of her hand they depart, healed of whatever ailed them.
The general public aren't as stupid as the Supers, or just more desperate. They don't have access to the army of private medics that the League of Heroes provides, after all. And while the NHS are great, the League poaches the _best_ from around the world.
I've been watching Mel for a while now, since even before she took up her Name and robes. I still don't fully know how her power works. I do know that I achieved a master stroke with that rumour. With a few careful words I made sure that the League was denied a Super with healing powers.
It's a much neater solution than assassination, really.
See, "removing mutation" isn't a thing. It can't be. Humans, like other living beings, have mutations throughout their bodies. If we didn't then we'd look pretty much the same.
That milk you're drinking? Persistent lactose tolerance is a mutation! Sickle cell traits are a mutation. And all Mel does is put a person into a healthy condition. Their inherent mutations are untouched.
I should know, I've dissected a few of her 'patients', and done DNA sequencing on many more. I even found a few budding Supers that way.
The Brotherhood of Villains is keeping an eye on _them_.
Just like I'm keeping an eye on Mel. The White Priestess is an asset for us. She's shunned by the League - quite publicly at that - and yet everyone _knows_ that she does Good. The seeming contradiction of these facts confuses people, and puts doubt into their minds.
All because of a little rumour. The damage that words can do, eh?
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\[EU and some pretty heavy swears at the end\]
My head hurt, as it always did at the end of a long day. The fact I couldn't heal myself of any discomfort always felt like a personal affront as the sun set. It wasn't painful to heal each person, but the accumulation of the effort built up and ground down my resilience. I poured a large glass of whiskey and sat down to not drink it.
What I really wanted was a beer. The problem was that I wanted it too much, and too frequently. I'd tried to avoid drinking altogether, after all, it was bad enough not being able to heal myself of a headache, let alone a hangover or cirrhosis. But I couldn't make it stick, and all the meetings and poker chips in the world hadn't stuck for me. So instead I sat and sipped a drink I hated, hoping that would put me off enough to keep it under control. It wasn't a smart coping strategy, but being smart was not my superpower.
A door banged softly in the stairwell below my flat. I sat up and listened intently, like a family dog, alert to any unusual noise. I was used to silence in my evenings, thanks to my round-the-clock security team. Sadly, people had proven incapable of any patience when they were desperately trying to save the lives of a loved one, and without adequate crowd control, things always got ugly. I learned that the hard way when my powers first went viral after I healed a famous athlete's cancer. The crush built quickly once people tracked me down, and if it wasn't for the supe that flew me out of there, I could have been torn limb from limb.
Unfortunately for Gamma Woman, or just Gemma nowadays, when I shook her hand to say thank you, I stripped her of the powers that saved my life. She forgave me eventually, but her fellow supes avoid me like the plague.
A stair creaked, and I put the glass down slowly. I had no pets and was expecting no visitors, but it was not unheard of for a critically ill person with nothing to lose to find a way past my guards. I walked to my door and opened it.
"Hello", I said to the furtive-looking young man fiddling with what looked like a lock picking kit.
"Oh, err. Hi!", said the boyish trespasser.
"Hello", I said again. "Are you lost?"
"No. Um... no I'm not lost", he replied and pulled a small pistol from his coat. "I'm sorry about this, but I need your help."
This was not my first time looking down a gun barrel. "There's no need for that", I said, stepping back into my room. "Please. Come in and tell me what is wrong with you".
The man followed me into the room, frantically scanning the room, the gun flashing around following his eyes. I winced as he tripped slightly on the door sill, but he gathered himself and shut the door behind him quietly.
"There's nothing wrong with me", he said, gun still pointed at me, but a lot less pointedly.
"Your loved one then?"
He shook his head, fury flashing on his features. He suddenly looked much much older. "No. All my loved ones are dead. That's the problem."
My stomach dropped. This wasn't how these sorts of interruptions normally went. "I can't do that. Bring people back."
"No. Just listen. We don't have much time before they get here, and without you, we are all dead."
A radio squawked on his belt. *"Tick fucking tock"*, said the crackly voice.
"Who's that?", I asked.
"Stop asking questions! You don't want to meet him. It took me a lot of effort to convince him to do this my way and try and ask you for help, instead of kidnapping you or something."
I looked at the pistol in his hand. "Is gunpoint how you usually ask for things?"
"What did I just say? Goddamn it, I thought this would be easier. We need your help to stop them, and I thought you would want to help, given how much time you spend healing people after they have blasted through a city."
"Help stop who?"
"The supes", said the young man. "We need you to stop the supes."
"But I'm a supe, aren't I?", I said.
"Yes, but you're one of the good ones. And with your power, you could stop them all, without anyone having to die. If we can harness your power, then we could--"
*"Times up"*, said the radio. *"We'll do it my way."*
"Fuck!", said the man and put the pistol back in his pocket. Footsteps thumped on the stairs that the man in front of me had crept up.
"What happened to my security guys?", I asked angrily. "You better not have hurt them, because my head hurts already without more work to do."
The young man shook his head. "No, they will be fine. Just a bit groggy when the gas wears off."
I opened my mouth to ask what kind of gas, but was interrupted by the door crashing open, the gap it left filled with the huge frame of a man I recognised from the televised police appeals.
"Well look who it fucking isn't", said Billy Butcher. "Come on, chop chop. You heard Hughie, we got a job for you, Doctor Cunt."
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r/TallerestTales
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[WP] You’re an astronaut exploring a nearby planet that could harbor life, and to your delight, you find what seems to be an intelligent alien. However, they seem scared. To your surprise, the alien yells into a communication device “CODE RED! CODE RED! A HUMAN HAS ESCAPED EARTH!”
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There are few things one just can't prepare themselves for. In this case, it's the alien running in circles like a panicked toddler after one of us touched down on what is apparently one of their planets.
It wasn't like anyone expected them to be there. Unexplored planets could possibly have signs of life. It actively running from you and speaking in a translator in a language similar to your own is the real anomaly.
"THE HUMANS ARE HERE! OH GODS NO! SEND BACKUP!" It continued shouting. It hadn't really made any real progress on escaping howver. If anything the little guy was too busy waving his appendages and running, well, rolling away from the astronaut. It didn't really have legs. Clearly it had a mouth? Where else was the voice coming from.
Camila shook her head in an attempt to ignore that thought. She didn't want to know. The point was, intelligent life had been found here. She made sure her suit recorded the whole thing.
"This is Camila. Can... can all of you see this too? Francis?"
"Should we be worried?" Francis asked over the growing commotion in the ship.
"It's kinda sad. He keeps trying to get away from me." She said as she began cautiously walking after the alien. The gravity was a bit lighter than calculations first measured. So she found herself occasionally having to right herself slowly to climb over obstacles in here way.
"That thing might be dangerous." Francis warned her.
"It's still freaking out." She advised.
"THIS IS OFFICER NIMA! REQUESTING EVACUATION! I AM BEING PURSUED!!"
To her and the crew's alarm, the sticky ball waddled up a rock surface Camila herself found near impossible to climb. She stopped and watched as it found a rock that jutted out, stuck to it, and heard it scream as the brittle rock broke away. Although the gravity wasn't bad for her, it seemed like Nima fared worse.
The creature bounced off several rocks before landing basically at her feet.
"Um. Hello?" Camila asked, trying her best to kneel a little. To her growing concern, Nima (was it?) didn't seem to be breathing. She poked the thing's suit in hopes the thing would maybe respond. Of course everyone back on the ship reacted harshly. They didn't know what it was capable of.
Camila perhaps out of concern, squished the thing with her hand slightly again to see if it did anything.
"Ow." The ball reacted.
"Oh good. You're alive." She greeted again.
Of course the ball jolted back to trying to flee before Camila scooped it up and looked at it. And then at the spaceship now looming above.
*"This is the expeditionary vessel Tebogo. Release your captive or we will be forced to fire."* an announcement rang.
Camila set Nima down and float stepped her way away from the little creature.
"Is that better?" She asked the ship.
No answer came. The little ball was sucked upward, the lights above went out and the ship disappeared.
And she was alone again.
"Camila, come in. What happened?"
"We're not alone? But I think they hate us. Just a little."
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r/Jamaican_Dynamite
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Any good pet owner first needs to wrap their heads around how to deliver a consequence. Pets screw up. Dogs chew on books. Cats try to escape from an open door. Birds peck. The owner needs to figure out a loving, but strong way, of delivering the message “Hey, you cannot do that, something bad will happen.”
Owners for years have borrowed from their own parents in selecting the Time Out as the best consequence. Dog jumps on the table? Time out. 5 minutes in another room. Its easy, it doesn’t involve yelling, and it gives the owner a break.
Martians had kept humans as pets for centuries. And why wouldn’t they. Humans can be pretty hilarious. Always trying to accomplish new things, and failing in hilarious fashion. Look at this one, trying to get that other one to like him. Look at this one, exercising, trying to get in shape. Plus humans tend to live well in packs, so Martians could keep a handful of them in a home on one of the Martian Plots. The video recording technology allowed Martians to observe from a far distance, let the hijinks ensure, and enjoy the show.
The problem with humans though was the violence. You could throw 1000 humans in a sphere and they would mostly just coexist, hilariously trying to coerce one another to accomplish their own mundane goals. But sometimes, human number 1001 just loses it and gets violent. Though Martians tried their best to control what got in an out of the houses back on Martian Plots, sometimes a human would get a hold of some really power piece of Martian technology - one of the Evaporators or even one of the TeleportationToBlackHole Buttons. And boom, all the pets would be gone. A total disaster.
The Martians had tried other consequences. They started with lecturing, but humans seemed uniquely impervious to listening to reasoned argument. They tried to isolate the violent ones on the planet Mars, but the humans seemed to just sit and wait.
That’s where the Earth Time Out started. Humans that just could not control their violent urges were sent to Earth, for what was supposed to be a Ten Year Time Out. With the Martian technology, the trip to Earth took 20, 30 minutes tops. So you could drop a human off in the time out area, and then set a timer to get back in 10 years, hoping they would learn the lesson.
This was an ill-sighted plan. The violent humans dropped off on Earth enjoyed one of humans other favorite activities - procreating. Sleeping together. Making babies. So a handful of problematic humans quickly turned into a planet full of humans, but uniquely unstable ones. The Earth Time Out Policy was ruled a complete failure under the reign of Martian Zorbas 6401, who declared no more transportation between the planets, to prevent the violent species from infecting the otherwise calm set of humans still kept as pets.
You can imagine my surprise then, when I walked out front of my house, saw a human being who was not one of my pets, and noticed he was holding a small handgun. I yelled into my wrist, which communicated to my SubSquadrant Leader, CODE RED! CODE RED! A HUMAN HAS ESCAPED EARTH!” We had to act fact, as an Earth human, this one was cursed with this awful fight or flight response to almost anything new, and the type of human that made it all the way here was not the kind to run away from a scary situation.
The SubSquadrant quickly descended, and followed Martian protocols. They came equipped with multiple screen showing footage of the humans from the back of the Martian Plots. We understood the human would recognize this as similar to his own “Reality TV” and he would immediately become complacent, docile, and would generally forget whatever had bothered him. He would watch this calmly for a few hours, before remembering his purpose here, which was likely to inflict harm.
We surrounded the human while he was watching the screens, wrapped him up, and quickly launched him away from the Earth in a Galaxy skipper. This would ensure no Pet Human on Mars found him, no Earth human him to learn about Mars, and we could go back to our Martian ways.
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[WP] You’re an astronaut exploring a nearby planet that could harbor life, and to your delight, you find what seems to be an intelligent alien. However, they seem scared. To your surprise, the alien yells into a communication device “CODE RED! CODE RED! A HUMAN HAS ESCAPED EARTH!”
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There are few things one just can't prepare themselves for. In this case, it's the alien running in circles like a panicked toddler after one of us touched down on what is apparently one of their planets.
It wasn't like anyone expected them to be there. Unexplored planets could possibly have signs of life. It actively running from you and speaking in a translator in a language similar to your own is the real anomaly.
"THE HUMANS ARE HERE! OH GODS NO! SEND BACKUP!" It continued shouting. It hadn't really made any real progress on escaping howver. If anything the little guy was too busy waving his appendages and running, well, rolling away from the astronaut. It didn't really have legs. Clearly it had a mouth? Where else was the voice coming from.
Camila shook her head in an attempt to ignore that thought. She didn't want to know. The point was, intelligent life had been found here. She made sure her suit recorded the whole thing.
"This is Camila. Can... can all of you see this too? Francis?"
"Should we be worried?" Francis asked over the growing commotion in the ship.
"It's kinda sad. He keeps trying to get away from me." She said as she began cautiously walking after the alien. The gravity was a bit lighter than calculations first measured. So she found herself occasionally having to right herself slowly to climb over obstacles in here way.
"That thing might be dangerous." Francis warned her.
"It's still freaking out." She advised.
"THIS IS OFFICER NIMA! REQUESTING EVACUATION! I AM BEING PURSUED!!"
To her and the crew's alarm, the sticky ball waddled up a rock surface Camila herself found near impossible to climb. She stopped and watched as it found a rock that jutted out, stuck to it, and heard it scream as the brittle rock broke away. Although the gravity wasn't bad for her, it seemed like Nima fared worse.
The creature bounced off several rocks before landing basically at her feet.
"Um. Hello?" Camila asked, trying her best to kneel a little. To her growing concern, Nima (was it?) didn't seem to be breathing. She poked the thing's suit in hopes the thing would maybe respond. Of course everyone back on the ship reacted harshly. They didn't know what it was capable of.
Camila perhaps out of concern, squished the thing with her hand slightly again to see if it did anything.
"Ow." The ball reacted.
"Oh good. You're alive." She greeted again.
Of course the ball jolted back to trying to flee before Camila scooped it up and looked at it. And then at the spaceship now looming above.
*"This is the expeditionary vessel Tebogo. Release your captive or we will be forced to fire."* an announcement rang.
Camila set Nima down and float stepped her way away from the little creature.
"Is that better?" She asked the ship.
No answer came. The little ball was sucked upward, the lights above went out and the ship disappeared.
And she was alone again.
"Camila, come in. What happened?"
"We're not alone? But I think they hate us. Just a little."
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r/Jamaican_Dynamite
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“Wait!” Brian shouted as the Alien turned and ran. The Alien, very much like a human only long and blue, scrambled up a dusty red hill beside them. Quickly, he disappeared over the top, still screaming about a ‘code red’. Standing, bemused on a foreign planet, Brain went through the protocols all astronauts were forced to learn.
“Guess I have no choice,” Brian muttered to himself, picking up his helmet and tucking it under his arm. A few rocks tumbled down the hill as Brian ascended. The black sky above showed no stars, only the infinite of space. By the time, he reached the top of the hill, Brian was panting hard. Even still, what he saw took his breath away.
“A village,” he whispered, as his eyes scan the landscape below. At least two dozen rocky red huts were scattered in the rocky valley. A natural red rock wall surrounded the village, only stopping at the bottom of the hill he stood on. As he squinted, trying to make out more details, he heard a collection of screams from the closest rock hut.
“A human!” a voice shouted out. “Exvil was right. A humans escape Earth!” A group of five or so Aliens, stood staring at Brian, their eyes wide with fear.
“Yes!” Brian shouted back, trying not to show how out of breath he still was. “I’m a human from Earth. I come in peace.” Slowly, he started to stumble his way down the hill, his white boots now covered in the foreign planet's dust. The Alien’s screamed once more. With a flash of blue, they had all shoved their way inside the closest hut.
“Christ,” Brian groaned, rubbing the back of his neck. “Don’t they know what peace is?”
Sighing, he knock on what seemed to be the door to the hut and waited. Inside he could hear shuffling. A bump here and there with hushed whispers. Finally, one cleared their throat and shouted through the door.
“Human!” the voice came. “Leave us now. We wish you no harm but trust in the fact that we will defend ourselves should it come to that!” *Harm? What kind of meetings with humans have they had before?*
“I’m not here to harm you,” Brian shouted, resting his sweat-soaked forehead on the cool rok. More hushed whispers came from inside.
“We don’t care. Leave us or we’ll take desperate measures!” the same voice replied.
“Desperate measures?” Brian questioned. “What do you mean?” Suddenly the door opened and Brian ducked just in time to avoid being stabbed by a spear.
“Get him, Axzil!” one shouted. Brian backed up as the Alien, Axzil, stepped out of the hut, spear in hand.
“I…I…I…” Brian wanted to explain further but couldn’t. His brain couldn’t move his legs anymore and his voice was caught in his throat. Axzil stood at least two feet taller than Brian. The spear in his hand was around the same size as Brian and seemed to be made out of the same red rock as everything else on this planet.
“Enough,” Axzil snapped, jabbing once more with his spear. This time, however, Brian couldn’t avoid it. The stone ripped through his suit, slicing open Brian’s leg. The blood flowed down to his boot, soaking his feet. *Jesus Christ!* Another jab came, though Brian dived out of the way. A cloud of dust leapt up and caught in his throat as he landed on the rock but he ignored it all.
“Kill him,” another alien shouted, their heads barely peaking out of the hut. “Kill him, Axzil!” The Alien, stabbed at Brian when he was on the ground, only for the human to roll away. Brian jumped to his feet as Axzil threw himself wildly at the human, his long blue face a mix of rage and fear.
As he dodge another spear thrust, Brian turned sideway. Using two hands he grabbed the top of the spear, pulling it from the Alien’s grasp. In one swing, the spear came around and Brian drove it into the Alien’s neck. *Oh Christ, now I’ve done it.* Slowly, he pulled the weapon out, watching as black blood pumped from the Alien, now on his knees staring up at his killer. *Who had come in peace.*
At last, Axzil fell to the ground, motionless. Brian looked up as the other Alien’s closed the hut door once more. Shaking his head, he wondered what he had done so wrong.
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[WP]A ghost that haunts a place makes a deal with a real estate agent trying to sell it, because the ghost is lonely and wants people to live there.
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“This is the fourth family in six months!” Darcy reprimanded the mostly transparent figure who sat on the stairs. “You have to stop scaring people away.”
The figure hung their head in shame, not meeting the woman’s eyes. They understood their mistake very well, they’ve been reprimanded for it each time, but the desperate need for a friend overshadowed their logic every time.
“I understand you just want to help, but opening the basement door for the mom who had her hands full, late at night, with almost no lights on, is not the way to help them.” The real estate agent reminded them, “Neither is guarding the children’s doors and growling at anybody who comes near.”
The transparent figure finally had the courage to look at Darcy, but didn’t make any sound. “You want a friend. I might be able to make that happen tomorrow, but you have to promise to leave the humans alone.”
The figure nodded in excitement, and though Darcy expected the worse, she went ahead and scheduled the showing.
Darcy arrived with a family of three the next morning; mom, dad, and their young son. She opened the door and saw the transparent figure on the stairs again, shaking in excitement but staying put.
“This place is beautiful!” The mom exclaimed, “How come the last family left this place?”
“Oh, uh,” she glanced at the figure, “Relocation due to their job.”
The woman nodded, and they continued with the showing, going through every room before returning back to the front hall. “I love it. I want to put in an offer today.” She looked towards her husband, “The backyard is perfect for our two dogs to run in, too.”
“This is a great house for pets.” Darcy smiled.
The family exchanged their goodbyes and assured a call back later. Darcy put on her shoes and opened the door, looking back at the stairs. The figure was sitting in front of them, their favorite squeaky bone sat by their paws as a welcome gift.
“I told you I’d find you friends like you, buddy.” Darcy smiled. “Just leave the humans alone, alright?”
The figure wagged their tail, ready to have their own pack to be apart of again.
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He wafted quietly down the hallway, followed by the click-clacking of smart heels against the wooden floorboards.
"Someone *nice*," he whispered, his voice as transparent as his shapeless, sheet-like body.
"'Nice,' she countered, "is subjective. You'll need to be more specific." The real estate agent flicked through her phone, her eyeglasses raised, resting on the crown of her head.
"Nice, like..." the ghost pondered. "Someone who likes animals. Someone who bakes cakes. Someone who plants plants."
"*Plants plants*," she repeated, pretending to take down the qualification.
"Someone who loves life!" The ghost arrived at his point with bouncing flourish, the eye and mouth holes in his floating, shapeless form turning upward with glee. The agent thought he might somersault through the air. Again.
"I don't know if I've ever met someone who didn't love being alive," she looked up with a raised, pencil-thin eyebrow.
"Oh, I have." The ghost's expression flattened. His eyes surveyed the hallways, the drywall damage and odd, empty rooms.
"Right," the agent corrected herself, clearing her throat. "What about a family? Two young parents, a little girl."
The ghost wafted his form through the air behind the agent's shoulder to look at her phone. The family was standing together, the father holding the young girl, the mother leaning against his arm. The little girl had a plush doll tucked neatly under her arm.
"What is she holding there?" the ghost asked, nodding at the screen.
The agent zoomed in on the image, revealing a pixelated white ghost doll peering through her grasp.
"I think that might be perfect," the ghost glowed.
"Great," the agent said without enthusiasm. "But you remember your part of the deal, right?"
"Make the place inviting," he recited the instructions.
"And not like last time," the agent warned, reminding the spirit of the fiasco that scared away the last interested party.
With pursed lips--if you could call them that--the ghost nodded.
"Okay. I'll schedule a showing tomorrow at noon. You know what to do."
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[WP] You are reading up on an Urban Legend. It talks about someone who reportedly died years ago and whose ghost reportedly haunts where they reportedly died. You chuckle. "This isn't accurate. I didn't die like that."
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"Hey, Beth! Come lookit this!" I shouted across the library.
Sometimes it's useful to be a ghost, because almost no-one can hear you. In an instant, my friend Beth rushed to me from the classics section, dropping Dante's Inferno and phasing through several shelves. She settled next to me at my designated computer, and I pointed out the ridiculousness that showed onscreen.
"See this article? Looks familiar, don't it?"
"The Ghost At Cedarshore Library?" she read. "Oh, cool! You're famous!"
"Yeah, apparently that sketchy guy who came in here last week was a journalist, not a thief," I smile."Dangit, you win. I guess I owe you one now."
Making bets like this for favors is mostly all we do together. But that's off-topic.
"True, but the funny thing is that they got it all wrong. For one, how I died is the stupidest rumor I seen."
"Oh yeah?" she was reading the article again. "Because it says here you broke in to steal somethin', and got shot when the then-owner of this place mistook you for a raccoon."
"As if! Whoever said that was dumber than a bag-o-rocks!"
"How so?"
"Does this look like a gunshot to you?" I pointed at the scar from my death, which covered half my forehead. "'Cause 's bigger than any bullet I've seen."
"Then what is your story, if you don't mind me asking?"
"Sure, I can give ya the real 411. For starts, have ya ever played dodgerock?"
She shook her head. Figures, nobody does anything fun nowadays.
"It's like dodgeball with rocks, basically. First to chicken out loses. I was playing with some other, older kid, an'..." I didn't expect to get all sad, but the memory hit hard as, well, a rock. "It went a bit off the rails."
"No offense, but how is that any better than a failed heist?"
"No duh! I know it's not all that. Just wish they'd not get the story twisted, ya know? I didn't go down without a fight. 'Sides, it was still hella fun. You shoulda been there, maybe we'd have won."
"I wasn't even born yet then, silly."
"Ah, right," sometimes I forget how long it'd been. "So, how'd you end up bitin' the dust?"
Beth suddenly looked paler than usual. She felt at her scar, a big bloody one around her neck, and stared off into space for a moment.
"Let's just say it wasn't worthy of an urban legend."
"My bad, I shouldn't go there."
We sat in silence for a minute or so. I smoothed out the taped note on the computer desk, which read Haunted Computer- do not use! In that neat librarian handwriting. That note means more to me than any headstone or trash article.
"So… show me again how to play games on this thing?"
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Thanks for reading! More coming (hopefully) soon at r/RandomClodWrites
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In a city where everyone is hustling and bustling, downtown where the homeless takes shelter and drug dealers conceal themselves. The loud trains roll by on the tracks causing static on the wires. Where building after building changes, but there is one building, an apartment building that hasn't changed in 102 years since the small town turned into a noisy city.
There's nothing special about this apartment building, except for it's antique structure inside. Once you walk in you feel like you've been transported back into the roaring 20's. Where the lounge looks too perfect to hang out and drink coffee, the elevator is old and rickety, it's very classic and has a metal cage and old style buttons. Sometimes buttons for non-existent floors appear so pay attention to what your pushing. You may feel a cold chill inside the unstable elevator or feel someone breathing on the nape of your neck. You hear laughter coming from every where and no where all at once. When you get off your floor, sometimes the numbers on the doors can change, there's an old stain on the carpet in the hallway that never goes away no matter how much bleach you use. You might smell a foul odor that could take your breath away. The lights in the halls flicker most days and nights, the light can trick your sight and you might see something you can't explain.
Be careful of what apartment you live in, in apartment 303, there's a girl who haunts it, don't worry she's as harmless as a fly so they say. There's dozens of reports of this ghost floating cups, slamming cupboards, or running your water bill through the roof. Timothy Jones is one of these eye witnesses of this ghost, said she cured his cancer he'll swear by it till this day. Honestly, this ghost doesn't seem so bad, especially compared to the other spirits that haunt this building.
The legend of this ghost is that once you call her name three times and spin around five times, and utter the words "please cure me of my illness, I'll trade you anything for it!" You might get what you want but you might lose something as important. They say this girl died of her own illness and insanity. Her name is Pale Abigail.
If you do go inside, I assure you all the rumors of Pale Abigail are not true. All you'll find is me, and despite the Internet, it's forums, and so called "eye witnesses" they are all wrong. whoever came up with my urban legend was bored. I didn't die sick or insane. And I definitely can't cure illnesses I'm not Jesus Christ. I'm just a woman who died in an inappropriate embarrassing way. If you move into my apartment I will do everything in my ghostly powers to scare, and terrify you out of the lease. I like living alone, undisturbed by the living that is until Ed moved in.
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[WP] You are reading up on an Urban Legend. It talks about someone who reportedly died years ago and whose ghost reportedly haunts where they reportedly died. You chuckle. "This isn't accurate. I didn't die like that."
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I sat cross legged by the campfire, listening to the fire crackling and the chatter of campers in their tents.
I'd been waiting impatiently for them to go to bed the whole night. I needed to see the article, that the one in jeans and a poncho had been reading aloud.
He'd said my name. Just briefly but still said it as he skimmed over the local legends.
I could feel my nonexistent blood boiling just thinking about the title.
*The hikers haunt.*
I hadn't been a hiker! But I was sure he'd said my name.
I finally grabbed the book, flipping through pages until I found it.
*wrong, wrong, wrong, wrong!*
Yes, it was definitely me. They got that bit right. But everything else...
I hadn't been in the forest when I died...and my death sure as hell hadn't been an accident.
This...
This couldn't go unpunished.
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I was sitting at the edge of the bridge, swinging my legs as I read urban legends on an online site that was becoming popular due all of the stories being somewhat realistic. And then I came across this story that seemed oddly familiar, so I started reading.
*This story started with a teenager. A normal teenager who later on would become just an urban legend. It's said they were on their way home from basketball practice when it all happened. A stranger started to fallow them from the Main Street of x city, and they noticed, so they started to run, faster and faster until reaching a bridge, where it would be desert of people, but they still screamed for help, in hopes of someone helping them escape the stalker and soon to be killer, but it was no avail. The stranger caught up and killed them right there on the bridge. Their body was found a few hours later when a traveler passed by and reported it to the police of the time. The people said they had died out of stab wounds and a hit on their head, and now people report seeing their ghost haunting the bridge they died on.*
"Stab wounds and being hit on the head? Funny, because that's not the way I died."
A/N: I kinda had to rush it but there it is, I hope you liked it :)
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[WP] You are reading up on an Urban Legend. It talks about someone who reportedly died years ago and whose ghost reportedly haunts where they reportedly died. You chuckle. "This isn't accurate. I didn't die like that."
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I was slouching on the sofa watching the latest episode on TV. The noise of Mrs Thompson doing the dishes was a happy distraction. I didn’t mind her company. She enjoyed the same Soap opera as me, she never used to miss them.
The Knock at the door was unusual at this hour. Mrs T wiped her hands on the towel and got to the door.
“I told you, mom, there is something different here from the beginning.” The idiot started as soon as the door opened.
*I never liked the son, his smile. I never wasted an opportunity to bedevil the idiot. What is he up to now?*
Mrs T took the paper held towards her and read.
“Now you believe that I am not crazy. This is a haunted house mom. That’s why things were never normal here, When I said I saw the cups floating across the hall you never believed me. What about all the things that you blamed me for. I never did those things…” The son rested on the sofa beside me, his face covered by his hands.
*What is this paper...….is it about me.*
It was an exciting read floating by the shoulders of Mrs T. The previous tenants have sent a letter with an article. The crude warning has come a bit too late for the Thompsons.
*They got all the facts wrong, I never committed suicide out of grief using alcohol and barbiturates. I was never an addict, I never had money problems what all people believe because they read it somewhere. People devour printed words without a second thought. I couldn’t blame Mrs T or the son, all those idiots 50 years back couldn’t check the verity of the evidence thrown around. It was a sensation back then, my case….my death. The Mob ran everything back then, you couldn’t report anything worth without crossing them. The story was about the boss’s son and it was bad timing for me. I was stupid and hasty, I ignored the initial warnings to back down. My pride wouldn’t allow What an Idiot*
*As they forced my mouth open, pouring alcohol into it I could see the smirk across the face of the son. The last thing I saw. That stupid smile that haunts the ghost.*
*The stupid article got it wrong. The grief came afterwards, after my death…to infinity and beyond to haunt sons.*
\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*
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I was sitting at the edge of the bridge, swinging my legs as I read urban legends on an online site that was becoming popular due all of the stories being somewhat realistic. And then I came across this story that seemed oddly familiar, so I started reading.
*This story started with a teenager. A normal teenager who later on would become just an urban legend. It's said they were on their way home from basketball practice when it all happened. A stranger started to fallow them from the Main Street of x city, and they noticed, so they started to run, faster and faster until reaching a bridge, where it would be desert of people, but they still screamed for help, in hopes of someone helping them escape the stalker and soon to be killer, but it was no avail. The stranger caught up and killed them right there on the bridge. Their body was found a few hours later when a traveler passed by and reported it to the police of the time. The people said they had died out of stab wounds and a hit on their head, and now people report seeing their ghost haunting the bridge they died on.*
"Stab wounds and being hit on the head? Funny, because that's not the way I died."
A/N: I kinda had to rush it but there it is, I hope you liked it :)
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[WP] You have ascended, receiving immortality and great powers ... against your will.
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Getting hit by a New York bus was by no means the worst part of the process of ascension, but it was the last bit of mortal hurt. The last memory of when I was something less.
No, the worst part was finding out my mortal body was just a shell. I had to die, painfully, like an egg being cracked, to ascend. And then the information flooded in. Exact positions of molecules, the rotational speed of the third wheel on the bus when it hit me, the thoughts of the bystanders as they watched me, and I watched them watching me, stand up.
I can’t begin to explain the pain, there’s no words created in any language that seem to come close. Excruciating, mind-breaking agony is the closest I can come in English. My mind couldn’t cope, but I wished it could. I forced it to, and then… I could. My focus narrowed, placing extraneous information in the background. I could pick it out if I wanted, like water in a stream, or I could let it just wash by me. All because I wanted it to.
“Son, you all right?” Alex Garcia, sandwich shop owner, twice divorced, loving father of three, currently fighting with the bank for another loan to keep his shop open. He helped me up as I staggered to my feet, trying to keep me from falling over. My left leg was broken, my skull pretty clearly smashed, and the pain was registered on my nerves. I didn’t want to feel that, and my nerves stopped sending the pain signals.
“Fine, uh, Mr. Garcia. Or I will be. Thank you.” He blinked, confused. Right, we’d never met before. I decided I should be. My scrapes and cuts vanished, my leg snapped back into place, the bones healed. My head healed, the brains I’d left on the street vanishing as they reappeared and reattached to the nerve endings in my skull. I turned my pain receptors back on to check my body, just to make sure. Other than some minor bruising, nothing else that would bother me. I shouldn’t fix that, it would be nice to have the reminder of my shell breaking.
“How… mother of god.” Mr. Garcia’s eyes were wide, in shock.
I smiled at him. “I’d like to talk to her, actually. She might be able to help with this situation, but I think that might be a bit much for… everyone.” People were staring, camera phones were out. Alex let go of me, crossing himself, and backed away, face white. A good deed should be rewarded. I reached into the stream of reality, altered it a little. The bank would find a major error. A corrupt official would lose his job, some paperwork would be lost, and Mr. Garcia would be approved for his loan. He would also see a minor but continuous rise in his customer base, because he was on what would be an internet phenomenon soon.
More people were gathering, and I frowned. It would be a circus in about thirty seconds when the police arrived. Erasing their memories would be easy, but… that felt… wrong. Altering people’s minds seemed like a line the old me wouldn’t cross if he had the chance. Maybe the new me shouldn’t, either.
Their perceptions, however, were easy enough. To everyone and their recording devices, I simply vanished. However, I just walked away from the broken bus, and the site of my ascension. Was there anyone like me in the world? In the universe? I reached out with my heightened senses… and came up with nothing. Strange.
I didn’t want to be alone. I didn’t want to have… this. I was going to work, to be a regular office worker. But that seemed so meaningless now. I could do so much more. The old me always wished to have the power to make changes in the world to help. But this was too much. I could know everything about someone, just by looking at them. Their darkest secrets to their grandest achievements, and what they were thinking as I walked by them. I was surrounded by people on the street… and felt more alone than I have ever been.
What does a god do when they don’t want to be a god?
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"...and this is incredibly inconvenient, and I want you to really understand just how much because you're not getting it---what's that?"
"Ma'am, I don't know--"
"Well, of course not, you don't know. Huh, what a surprise."
"Ma'am--"
"Don't ma'am me, are you even a native English speaker? I told you, I'm male."
"Okay, Sir, sorry," I winced and leaned back, and my chair squeaked in protest.
"There is it again! You're working from home and that's a small animal, isn't it? No wonder you can't focus. This is subpar."
"I apologize, Sir, it's my chair."
"Your chair? Where are you?"
"I apologize, I'm not authorized to reveal that--" I'm in the lower level of a dying suburban mall, between a pizza joint that is almost always empty and a nail salon that is almost always full; I'm sitting in a cubicle of mismatched off-white particle board on an office chair with blotchy maroon upholstery and some duct tape. There are approximately 7 of us here on the 3rd shift. This place runs 24/7 because it's apparently too much of a hardship to wait until daylight to be recompensed for paint that has already been applied to a wall, two weeks prior.
"This green looked warmer on the swatch. You cannot seriously tell me it's the same proportion or quality of pigments. Was something outsourced?"
"Sir, I'm sorry for your disappointment, but our reimbursement policy--"
"What has happened to customer service in this country? It's disgraceful. I have two other rooms I want to repaint, what's your policy compared to earning more money from a satisfied customer? Just give me your manager--"
And then there was a blinding light.
I found myself still on my maroon duct tape chair, still with my headset on, but everything was silent. No recitation, no clicking of keyboards, no creak of chairs even more battered than mine, nothing. I stood up and peered over the partitions. Everyone else was gone.
Did the others quit? Was there a disgruntled incident (either customer or staff)? What had I missed?
"What must be done?" This was a considerably deeper voice than Sir Ma'am. I removed my headset and started walking towards the break room.
"What must be done?" The voice repeated again. Oh. The break room was empty. The bathrooms were empty. Even the night manager wasn't there.
I shrugged and returned to my desk. My schedule sucked, a few days here, a few nights there, back and forth. I'd switched back to nights three days ago, and had barely slept. I guess I was just hearing the voice of God again. At least it wasn't telling me to jump onto the tracks this time.
My phone was flashing red on Line 9. I put my headset back on and pressed the button.
"What must be done?" Ok, after work, I needed to stock up on diphenhydramine and take 3 or 4 before bed. Maybe a solid 12 hours of sleep would do the trick.
"Thank you for phoning us. What is the nature of your complaint?" I stared at the script on my computer monitor. This time, I was going to be monotone but sort of breathy. Varying my voice kept me sane(r).
"Erica, you have ascended."
*How does this motherfucker know who I am?* Oh, yeah, it's just a voice in my head. I squinted at the script.
"I'm sorry for your inconvenience. Can you help me understand what you are going through?"
"Erica, you are immortal."
"Unfortunately, without additional information, I might not be able to address your issue as completely as I would like to."
"Erica, you are omnipotent."
"I apologize, please hold." I mashed the hold button and grabbed my cellphone. My vocab is weak even at the best of time. Oh, yeah I have unlimited power. What am I going to do with that? I can't think clearly. All I want is a consistent sleep schedule.
"I'm sorry to have kept you waiting in order to provide better service. Who are you?" Then I heard a click and a dial tone.
tbc maybe
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[WP] A man got into a car accident and sustained a concussion that left him with a fragment of his memories. His wife has taken the opportunity to mold him into a completely different person. It’s been working great for her, but now his memories are starting to come back..
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"Honey?" He shouted into the other room "when the fuck did I buy this outfit?!"
He stood looking at an argyle sweater-vest over a pink button up shirt. His pants were khakis, and he had on loafers. He noticed horn-rimmed glasses on his face, and testing them, found them to be purely cosmetic.
His wife was rounding the corner into the room.
"Sweetie, that's your favorite outfit. You _have_ to wear it to our dinner with the Carsons tonight!"
"The Carsons? I don't... What happened to Rich and Ginny?"
His wife gave him a deer-in-the-headlights look.
"You remember them...?" She said
"How could I forget Rich? We grew up together."
"You... Honey a few years ago you got in a car accident. You haven't been remembering things very well since. Rich is" she paused "dead."
The memory loss seemed to fit. He was dressed like a geriatric accountant, after all, and could not for the life of him remember why.
"Dead? How'd he go?"
"Yes we went to the funeral and everything, so sad you can't remember. He was also in a car accident."
"Oh God, not with me right? Did I kill him?"
"No, no honey, completely different time."
He followed his wife's advice and finished getting ready for dinner, though he left his fake glasses in the bathroom. His wife frowned pointedly as he set them down.
Dinner was at a Michelin Star restaurant. The Carsons acted like they had whole trees up their butts as they ordered a bottle of fancy wine for the table.
"Ah, can I just get a bud light? I'm not a big fan of wine." He asked the waiter, as his wife nearly choked on her water.
At some point, the conversation turned to work.
"How's the accounting business, George?" Mr. Carson asked
The man sat silently and blinked a few times. His wife nudged him.
"Tell him George"
"Who the fuck is George? My name is Scott, and accounting? I'm a mechanic! What's going on here?!"
His wife, pale as a ghost, said "oh it is just that darn memory of his after the accident. Honey can I speak to you privately?"
He reluctantly agreed and they walked outside.
She was all ready to give him the speech again, when something unexpected happened. Rich and Ginny walked past on the sidewalk on the opposite side of the street.
Scott whirled around to face his wife. "The fuck is going on?!"
"Oh honey, I wish you would just stop remembering" she said sadly, and pushed him into the street.
A week later, he woke up in the hospital, a blank slate.
"George! You're awake!" Said the woman sitting next to his bed
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It is hilarious of the situation... A man abused by his wife?
Ridiculous...
But alas, it (essentially) happened to Machinni...
The poor shmuck impacts another car a loses a great deal of his life...
His first girlfriend? Forgotten...
The name of his pet? Forgotten...
His real job a position? Forgotten...
Now, you would ask, how is Machinni abused by his partner? Does she pegs him every night in (hilarious) retaliation for the sexual frustration she felt those five long years?
No... She turns him into a shade of the man he was... Molds him into (her) ideal man...
Where there was the Latin lover archetype, there is now a submissive fool...
His whole philandering punished (at last)...
But his word, once invaluable; now worthless...
No spine, no strength to face the world...
But everything is bound to an end...
((A man stares blankly to the "camera" and then to the lazy woman that demands another mimosa.))
Hopefully...
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[WP] While trapped in a painting you have sat and watched a simple store for years. However one day the clerk is attacked. Reaching out to protect them you manage to pull them inside the painting. Which at the same time forces you out of it, freeing you at long last.
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It's been 24 years, 56 days, and 73 minutes. Too long has it been, stuck here. But this store makes it enjoyable. I've been watching Old Man Jordan, as he is called, for 6 years. He is kind, sweet, and polite to every soul who enters his store. He even talks to me!
But I did not expect that a man would raise a hand against Old Man Jordan.
I had watched Jordan care for a young couple looking for...naughty things. When they left, a man, stocky, with a mask on his face, barged in. Thrusting a knife across the counter, he lunged for Old Man Jordan.
The knife hit my canvas, and my eyes swam with red. Only one thought was in my mind: I need to save Jordan.
I lunged without thinking, and my hand sailed through my prison. Then my arm, then my head, my body, and my legs. Grabbing the evil man, I threw him behind me with the strength of an army. He went flying, into my painting, and the hole caused by the knife closed behind him.
Old Man Jordan lay bleeding on the floor, a second knife impaled in his arm.
"Mister Jordan! Are you alright?" I screamed.
"Who...?"
"It's alright. Don't worry. I'm here."
**I'm here, Father.**
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There it was. The world famous painting of a tortoise, but with astonishingly long limbs that allowed the animal to meet the skyscrapers head on. Never before had oil pastels and paint thinner been used so masterfully to create a visual that had the art community plumbing the depths and heights of interpreting artwork. On display at a gallery with countless other pieces that came and went for high prices and low recognition.
Jennifer Snodly was an art student who often argued until she ran out of breath. But not out of hate, rather of love. Art could be interpreted in many different ways by many different people. But she was mostly assailed by people who wanted to purchase the painting for their own homes, in order to brag that they had an original Rene Zwiddlebacher piece in their home to lord over everyone else. No one took into account Zwiddlebacher's origins as an immigrant during the 1940s, surreal inspirations in other artists and in the world around himself. It was this passion that many art patrons who sought out mere set pieces considered "weird," "deranged," and caused them to cry out "help, help, the madwoman is going to throw my ass into a kiln for clay sculptures!"
But the Towering Tortoise heard her and welcomed her. It welcomed visitors from assisted living homes who mingled fantasy with memories of their urban upbringing in their boroughs of New York, Chicago, and the like. Classes of younger children having their horizons broadened by overzealous schoolteachers eager to show them things they might never have seen on their own. And most of all, the Towering Tortoise welcomed Jennifer Snodly for offering her insights, and sparing the most dedicated visitors a few extra minutes before turning off the lights on the exhibits-- on giving the towering tortoise, this piece of Zwiddlebacher's legacy some companionship before the gallery was emptied.
That is, until a radical group of bitter Frenchmen broke into the place and beat the guards about the sensitive areas with overbaked baguettes. Jennifer Snodly summoned all her inner fires of intensity to beat the tar out of them, but the River Seineiacs overwhelmed her. The Towering Tortoise had been snoozing when it detected the danger. There was no time to angle its shell to deflect the baguettes. The towering tortoise was forced to pull Jennifer Snodly into Art World and itself into the physical plane, where the Towering Tortoise used a spin attack to swat its long legs into each and every Frenchman until they were thoroughly concussed.
Jennifer Snodly cheered and laughed. Until she cried, that is: She was no longer able to visit friends or family herself, stuck in Art World this way. And the Towering Tortoise was in a panic now that it realized it was no longer within the confines of its home. The two anguished there for a time. The Tortoise towered no more, laying on the floor in defeat.
Until the Towering Tortoise gestured that Jennifer Snodly was not confined to *one* painting. She could visit with many other imagined worlds and creations if she put her mind to it. And in time she could create worlds of her own for the physical plane to see. This way she could still reach out to her loved ones.
And to the Towering Tortoise, Jennifer Snodly told the odd animal stories about the world. About the Leaning Tower of Pisa. The Empire State building whose facsimile the tortoise was familiar with. About capybaras and fresh hot calzones at a restaurant around the corner from the gallery. A whole new world waiting to be explored from a high vantage point!
And thus they parted ways for now. Agreeing to meet again some years down the line after they had explored and made their own art and memories to share with each other.
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[WP] While trapped in a painting you have sat and watched a simple store for years. However one day the clerk is attacked. Reaching out to protect them you manage to pull them inside the painting. Which at the same time forces you out of it, freeing you at long last.
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It's been 24 years, 56 days, and 73 minutes. Too long has it been, stuck here. But this store makes it enjoyable. I've been watching Old Man Jordan, as he is called, for 6 years. He is kind, sweet, and polite to every soul who enters his store. He even talks to me!
But I did not expect that a man would raise a hand against Old Man Jordan.
I had watched Jordan care for a young couple looking for...naughty things. When they left, a man, stocky, with a mask on his face, barged in. Thrusting a knife across the counter, he lunged for Old Man Jordan.
The knife hit my canvas, and my eyes swam with red. Only one thought was in my mind: I need to save Jordan.
I lunged without thinking, and my hand sailed through my prison. Then my arm, then my head, my body, and my legs. Grabbing the evil man, I threw him behind me with the strength of an army. He went flying, into my painting, and the hole caused by the knife closed behind him.
Old Man Jordan lay bleeding on the floor, a second knife impaled in his arm.
"Mister Jordan! Are you alright?" I screamed.
"Who...?"
"It's alright. Don't worry. I'm here."
**I'm here, Father.**
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Tick, tock, tick, tock.
Man, if you thought prison was bad, try living in a painting. You never go hungry or thirsty, but you're lonely, curious, and starving for attention and interaction.
Tick, tock, tick, tock.
And all I did throughout my long 30 year existence was to stare at the canvas, which was like a sort of window to the other world, and much of that world was just an old, family-own general store. Me, and this store, together, forever, since I was bought 15 years ago and hung up here.
Tick, tock, tick, tock.
Across from me, by a few steps, is someone working the counter of a clock above him. Well, the man in question doesn't seem to be focused on watching the store, and is instead using a thing that he calls a "laptop". Man, modern technology, taking up youngsters' time and driving them away from their responsibilities.
Well, good for them- I got none of that in this fabricated world.
Tick, tock, tick, tock.
It's 4 in the morning. Guy's still on his laptop, wearing something called "headphones", connected to it. I just...sat there, looking out at the world beyond me. Then, I notice the store door open.
A man, looking to be about my theoretical age (let's say, 35 years?) comes in with a knife. He goes up to the man behind the counter. I can't hear a word, but their body language and facial expressions convey the story enough to me. The arrival wants to rob the store, and the cashier is terrified. He left the counter. He's slowly getting cornered by the other guy.
Tick, tock, tick, tock.
I lean against the canvas, hands pressing against the invisible boundary between me and that world. As I do, the cashier leans against my frame, the man before him getting dangerously close. The knife was raised...
...tick.
I reach out, somehow grab the man, and pull him in while I simultaneously pop out, causing the man to stop mid-swing in surprise.
I take the opportunity, and grab the man and try to pull him into the canvas as well. It succeeds, much to both my surprise and benefit.
...tock.
I look back, now seeing the art piece itself- a painting, with a label written at the bottom of its frame: "Reserve". I look down at myself- light brown pants, grey t-shirt, and dark-brown coat. I patted myself down to make sure I'm not dreaming, and I wasn't when I feel something slip off of my head. A cap. My cap. Looking like the ones given to army enlistees.
I was alive. And who knows about the other two.
My first instinct was to finally see what the man behind the counter had been doing on this laptop of his. I went to behind the counter, and now noticed a bright display before me.
It was for something called "Ib".
I looked up at the clock. Might as well figure out what this "Ib" is while I have time in the human world.
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AN: I could not resist with the ending after I saw the prompt, so I speedtyped out this thing. Anyways, yeah, hope you liked the read!
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[WP] Reincarnation is real. But since time is not linear, other lives can be before, after, or at the same time. You come to the startling discovery that all the lives on Earth that ever were or will be are all just YOU.
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**EGO**
*"I am Ego. I live a thousand lives at once. I am all that was, and ever shall be."*
So said the man on television. He looked quite unkempt, his hairs a fading shade of grey. His beard dirty, and he wears with him a tattered cloak. He seemed quite content with having been deprived of all earthly possessions.
*"It's wild how they give these nutjobs the spotlight these days"*, your roommate said while watching the TV. *"You know, back in the days, these people would have been ignored on a day to day basis, but now they're on TV!"*, he raised his hands in the air as to complain, though still gripping with one hand a bottle of beer, and between two of his fingers, a lit cigarette. Oh you can't stand the smell of cigarettes and alcohol.
You could never imagine being this sort of person at all. Ever. You would know, you lived a thousand lives yourself, after all. Yet you could not shake one simple observation, and it creeps within your mind. Everyone you know and love speaks in quite similar fashions. Some even speak the same way you do.
The night has died down quite somewhat, and you went to your bed to get some rest. You think perhaps that this Ego guy would have some answers. You eventually spend every waking day from then on, just to find him. All you ever wanted all your lives was an answer, perhaps, to make sense of everything.
So you find him at last after ten long years of searching. In some rundown village in the outskirts of the city. There he lay, terribly malnourished, and unkempt still. He looks to you as if he recognizes you. Perhaps he did, but who knows? The moment your lips parted to speak, you felt a sharp pain in your head and fell ill. Perhaps you will never know, after all. As the world soon went to black.
*"You poor thing."*, that was the last thing you'd heard. For this life at least. You awaken in the next minute into blinding light, a doctor and nurses look down on you with this cheer in their eyes. You start over again with this life, doing everything so differently from the last. Every mistakes you've learned, you've applied there. Nothing ever seemed right to you this time around, though. This was neither so far into the past, nor so far into the future. This is quite recent, your past life should be born in some years time.
And you always did feel strangely familiar with the face in your reflection. Oh, and the observation that crept into your mind? It's worse this time. You could not understand why, but the face in the mirror seems to disturb you. You've began neglecting shaving then, if to make slow and steady efforts to hide it and stave off this lingering feeling in your head.
The person who was your previous life had been born. You began following him from then on, watching him grow up to become the man you used to be. You never did care much about the mundane boring details of their lives so it often surprises you what you did then. You could not believe that it's really happening. You and him, existing all at once. One and the same. You thought it best not to disturb him, and to merely observe.
You do that. Over and over. Every time you free up your schedule. Your neglected beard had grown longer and began greying. Your previous life had grown up to become a young man. You never did quite shake off that lingering feeling in your head, even after all these years. One last look at the mirror and it began to make sense. You finally recognize the man in the mirror in full, after all this time.
Your throat suddenly feels a little tight, and you began crying. Your sobbing filled the room. Tears streaming down your face. You feel so lonely, for the first time in centuries. Your voice breaks when you mutter these words to yourself, for the first time.
*"I am Ego. I live a thousand lives at once. I am all that was, and ever shall be."*
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All created from a butterfly effect. You wonder if family is reincarnation of the struggles you hadn’t overcame in your last life and if you are a slave to what’s written in the next life. Or is it YOU. Are you the Programmer? Are you the Wizard behind the curtain? Where can you go once you’ve beaten the bell curve in this simulation? Why on earth would you throw all these hardships in front of you? This is the story of Michael Freeman and his path to break the chains. This is the story of human kind becoming more than a vessel for light. This is the story of YOU.
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[WP] Reincarnation is real. But since time is not linear, other lives can be before, after, or at the same time. You come to the startling discovery that all the lives on Earth that ever were or will be are all just YOU.
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Had my eyes not closed as my life was teetering on the very edge, I think **I** would be no more. Yet my eyes were ripped open... I saw - *everything*. Every moment, every wave goodbye, every hug I had ever given, every tear I had ever shed. My face morphed from someone I recognized into the other, my face shifted and transformed. A bright light illuminated every emotion I had ever felt, that these many faces before me had ever felt. I was all of these moments in an instance. I saw a flash of hundreds of thousands of years of memories as if they were my own. It didn't end, I wanted to cry not from feeling anything at all but from feeling everything at once. I had seen my mother's memories cast upon her face that was now my own, her mother's mother, and so on. My father's agony as he chose to sell the land he had so he could have a family, my father's father, and so on. My ancestors' faces morphed into one.... into... me. Like a tornado of memories, thoughts, and feelings. I had been whisped up and up into believing I was just me. I thought therefore I was, just here and now. I felt every feeling I had ever known times a million. Yet there was not a body weighing me down anymore. I was free to reminisce and when I came down again, I plead with the darkness "please don't ever let me see another thing, I understand." The darkness held me and all I heard at that moment was "you were everything before you were something - I am you and a thousand you's before. you are me and every star that was ever born."
The darkness consumed me and suddenly I was nothing - all over again. Yet I was still there. A bright light illuminated my face, a new one this time. Something I had not yet known, and I was born again. Here again, as my mother before me. Maybe this time, I will remember..................
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All created from a butterfly effect. You wonder if family is reincarnation of the struggles you hadn’t overcame in your last life and if you are a slave to what’s written in the next life. Or is it YOU. Are you the Programmer? Are you the Wizard behind the curtain? Where can you go once you’ve beaten the bell curve in this simulation? Why on earth would you throw all these hardships in front of you? This is the story of Michael Freeman and his path to break the chains. This is the story of human kind becoming more than a vessel for light. This is the story of YOU.
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[WP] You are the hero's love interest, so everyone trust to use you as a hostage. What the assorted villains fail to realize is that you do not have the hero's morals even if you are just as powerful.
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Nathan Steele sipped the coffee tenderly before setting the mug back down on its coaster next to his laptop. It was going to be a long night of homework, but work was comforting to the seventeen-year-old. Work had always been his favorite distraction. No matter what foster home, no matter what orphanage, no matter where he was or what situation he was in, work had always been there to keep him busy and focused.
Nate had found a lot of work with the Northwind Heroic Academy, a high school and college campus for those gifted by the Goddess. He was selected for one of the Worldwalker Foundation Scholarships, a foundation made to provide "normal" children with the unique opportunities that the heroic academies provided. He'd earned the scholarship on academic merit alone. He went from jumping fences of foster homes to being roommates and classmates with Northwind's most promising and famous young heroes. Of course, none of them had any idea that he was also gifted, but that wasn't something he was going to ever let anyone know. Not even Skylar.
Nate did not seek a hero's life. It was not that he disliked heroes; in fact, he actually adored them for the most part. He just simply wished to be an entertainer. He loved making people laugh more than anything. The attention was wonderful, of course. He was aware that his desire for attention was likely an unhealthy byproduct of his upbringing, but he knew that his love for entertainment went beyond his selfish desires. Joy was the lifeblood that allows good people to get through difficult times. He would know. These heroes worked themselves to the bone both in the study and in service. If he could simply take their minds off their villains and enemies for even a moment, then that would make Nate happy. They knew him as the smooth-talking confident ungifted that always made everyone smile. The instructors knew him as that too, but they also knew that he was one of the top students in the academy. And Skylar…
He leaned back in his wheeled office chair, taking a moment to contemplate the assignment. “What is the difference between a hero and a villain?” He spoke the paper’s subject aloud to himself, rubbing two fingers along the jet black stubble that sprouted from his chin. He let his mind drift into thinking of how he might need a shave before catching himself and refocusing. He spun the chair around, facing toward his roommate's half of the living space. It sat empty. Skylar was out on city watch tonight. There had been threats of attack made by the Cerulean League on a number of establishments in Northwind. Every hero in the area had been called regardless of affiliation, and Skylar was the academy’s most promising hero. He prayed to the Goddess that she would return safely.
Nathan smiled at the mere thought of her. He couldn’t deny it now. He absolutely had a crush on her, but who could blame him? She was stunningly beautiful. She spoke with an ethereal elegance like the knight-heroes of old. Her kindness and passionate nature lit up the room. She was every student’s crush, regardless of gender. Many people had tried bribing Nate into switching rooms with them when the living arrangements were made. Everyone, teachers and heroes, adored her. That also meant they were jealous of the friendship he had with Skylar. Everyone knew that they were close. Some even rumored that she liked him. For many jealous students, it was too close for comfort.
She was also one of, if not the strongest heroes the academy had ever seen. Her power was called “Spiritsurge.” He’d never been close enough to really see the full range of properties, but he’d studied the footage and asked her about it on a couple of occasions. His running theory was that she could siphon power from souls, whether it was her own or the souls of others, and use it to grant her a wide range of abilities depending on the amount in her system. She passively had enhanced physical and cognitive capabilities, which Nate guessed to be the result of a subconscious siphoning of her own soul at a sustainable level. She could consciously expend more of that energy, that “soul-power,” to fuel greater feats and abilities. She also physically glowed when particularly high amounts were present. He’d seen her fly, fire blasts of energy from her hands, recover from fatal wounds in days, and so much more. The drawback to spiritsurge was that using it was incredibly taxing on the body and mind, leaving her out of action for a time relative to how much she used. Nathan had always taken it upon himself to care for her whenever she pushed too hard, taking notes for her in class and keeping her company in the academy medbay. She was his first, and for a while, his only friend at the academy. He might not be a shining beacon of light in the darkness of the world, but he could be a good friend. He just wished she’d stop being so merciful to her enemies so that she would stop getting herself hurt.
Nate sighed, sinking deeper into his chair. Skylar believed that there was good in everyone. She, like many heroes, forbade herself from killing villains regardless of their crimes against humanity. Even her nemesis, the King of Clubs, had been allowed to live by her code of mercy. But why? Why put yourself through hell to save someone who is never going to change? It bothered him deeply. The King of Clubs was a mass murdering perverted freak, a man deserving of the death he gave to so many others. If arrested, he would be imprisoned for life, never to see the sun again. Was that alone not a death sentence in and of itself? What was the difference between an existence of echoing your repentance endlessly into four unmoving concrete walls and dying at the hands of a hero? Both had the same outcome in the end, a well-deserved death. He knew that if Skylar’s life were at stake, he’d kill the King without a second thought. Wouldn’t she do the same?
He was stirred from the disturbing thought by a commotion in the hallway. He stood up, alarm bells ringing in his head. He stepped trepidatiously to the door. It flew forward off the hinges and slammed directly into him. Two sets of hands grabbed his arms as he came to his senses. They were thugs, dressed in the unmistakably posh style of the Cadre of Clubs. He needed not ask himself why they were here. He knew in an instant. The threats downtown were distractions. Nate was the real target. He would be leveraged. He would be a way to force Skylar to surrender so that disgusting bastard could have her all to himself. As they dragged him by the arms, his blood boiled at the thought.
He knew he shouldn’t. He knew that once he crossed that line, there would be no going back. But some lines deserved to be crossed.
Time came to a crawl, but Nathan Steele breathed with the same rhythm as he had been before. He could see that he was in the hallway now. A number of students were being attacked by the King’s men in the ambush. He saw Marco Sinclair, who sat next to him in History class, fighting desperately to keep a knife from sinking into his throat as a Club member pinned him against the wall. He was seconds from death. Luckily for him, seconds were all Nate needed. With reality slowed for a brief moment, Nate made no wasted motion in standing to his feet and shaking free of his would-be abductors. In the waning moments of slowed time, he leaped forward with both feet aimed directly at the ribs of Marco’s assailant. Time resumed normal pace as Nate shot forward with incredible velocity and dropkicked the knife wielder with bone-crushing force, sending the henchman flying down the hallway. He looked up to see a very confused Marco, who had just watched an “ungifted” hit a man with the force of a train. He knew Nathan was strong, but that was clearly abnormal. They both turned as the two Nate just broke from charged him once again. The one in front reared back and swung into thin air as Nathan ducked low and sent a knee into his gut with unnatural speed. The second man was not so lucky. A lighting punch crushed the goon’s windpipe, sending him down hard.
Like a whirlwind, Nathan stormed down the hallway, his blows sending Cadre men into and through the walls, floor, and ceiling of the hallway. Some of their injuries would likely be fatal, but Nate would shed no tears over these men. Just as soon as it had started, the ambush was decisively over. All of the students were okay, but they were all shocked into silence. Nate had hidden power, that was clear to everyone. Before anyone could ask, Nate stormed out of the hallway and down the stairs. As he exited the building, he saw an unmarked black SUV begin speeding down the street. Bingo. Nathan followed in slowed time, staying just out of view.
The difference between a hero and a villain is morality. Nathan Steele was neither hero nor villain. He was not evil, but he certainly was not merciful. There had been a time for inaction, allowing the heroic and brave paragons to defend the innocent from the schemes of the Cerulean League. That time had passed. They had come to his home. They had tried to kill his friends. They had tried to ransom him so they could subject his love to the perverted desires of a deranged mob boss. That was a line crossed. They would learn that goes both ways. Tonight, there would be hell to pay in Northwind.
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I woke up with the unpleasant feeling of nausea. Maybe I really had drunken too much last night. The sickness gripped my bones and wheighed down my hands and feet. Or maybe that was because of the heavy chains around my wrists and ankles. Chains? That wasn't normal. Lokking around I realized I didn't recognize my surroundings at all.
At once the fog in my mind cleared as adrenalin flooded my body. This was not home. In fact it wasn't homely at all. Neither the cold stone walls nor the blank floor or the dim lighting seemed to suggest a friendly host. And that was if you ignored the chains and the bars infront of the small window.
No, this was definitely _not_ home. It was a prison cell. I had been taken hostage. _Again_. How unpractical. And what an unpleasant timing, right at the day of my wedding. My wife would be furious if I came late. And I would have to clean myself and put on new clothes when I was done here, so no chance of getting there in time. I sighed, I'd better start now.
The chains clattered when I stood up. The cell wasn't big. The only door seemed to be pretty heavy with iron mounting. Quite unbreakable. If you're a normal person, that is. And I was definitely not a normal person. Neither was my wife, but that's another story.
I placed myself next to the door - I had not been chained to the floor and the chains left me some space to move. A foolish move from the guards, but quite handy for me.
Slowly I began to cry for help - By now I had the desperate sobs down to a spell - and sure enough after a while the door opened. The annoyed voice of the guard changed into horror as the chain bit into his throat, strangling him. Soon the gurgling and struggling stopped and the body dropped loosely into my arms.
Shortly after the key clicked into place and my chains fell off. A dagger moved from the corpse into my hand. Time for the real game.
I made my way towards the great hall, painting the grey hallways of the castle with red blood. Pale bodys of guards and soldiers lined my way. Many women would weep tonight. My deeds would destroy the hopes and futures of countless families today.
When the wide doors to the great hall swung open and two guards fell after it, headless, the dark lord cried in terror and disgust. His voice echoed from the cold walls. All eyes stared at the head I held high in one hand. The bloodstained face stared back with empty eyes. It had taken me quite a while to cut it off. Such a small dagger wasn't made for this kind of task and thus the cut was unclean and ugly. Still, I was quite proud of my work - and the effect it had.
There was a dead silence in the hall. Noone dared to speak while I carelessly stepped over the body and strolled towards the dark lord. Stopping at just an arms reach I dropped the head into his lap.
"Here, I believe this was your guard."
He stared at the head and then me in utter disgust. "Lady of the white hall, what have you done?"
"Nothing that you didn't cause. And that's the name of my wife, not me. Call me Brunhild, even if it'll be the last thing you'll do"
"Not your... What _are_ you?"
"I'm a woman. I thought that was obvious, but if you mean the dead soldiers in your hallways - that by the way could need some cleaning - then you should know that I don't see these things as... strict as my wife does. And that I'm in no way a suitable hostage. In fact I'm getting very bored by the many..."
"But Lady,", he interrupted me, clearly not caring much about the fate of his soldiers - or that I still was standing quite intimidating right before him. How rude. "Don't you think you killing these _people_ makes you as bad as me? As all the other far greater villains?"
"No. Not at all. _Wanting_ to kill these people, that's what makes me like them. And cutting their small little heads of too, I suppose. But like I said, I don't really care about these things. Nor do I care about you - that was until you bothered me _while_ trying to kill my wife. And that's why I'll have to deal with you."
"And how are you going to do that, Lady? I don't suppose you are going to kill me, are you?", he snarled. Confident now that I would act like all the naive heros before me did. Bad idea. Very bad idea.
"Yes, infact I will. Plus maybe a little extra, we'll see." I strengthened the grip around my dagger. Time to get this over with.
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[WP] You are the hero's love interest, so everyone trust to use you as a hostage. What the assorted villains fail to realize is that you do not have the hero's morals even if you are just as powerful.
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Nathan Steele sipped the coffee tenderly before setting the mug back down on its coaster next to his laptop. It was going to be a long night of homework, but work was comforting to the seventeen-year-old. Work had always been his favorite distraction. No matter what foster home, no matter what orphanage, no matter where he was or what situation he was in, work had always been there to keep him busy and focused.
Nate had found a lot of work with the Northwind Heroic Academy, a high school and college campus for those gifted by the Goddess. He was selected for one of the Worldwalker Foundation Scholarships, a foundation made to provide "normal" children with the unique opportunities that the heroic academies provided. He'd earned the scholarship on academic merit alone. He went from jumping fences of foster homes to being roommates and classmates with Northwind's most promising and famous young heroes. Of course, none of them had any idea that he was also gifted, but that wasn't something he was going to ever let anyone know. Not even Skylar.
Nate did not seek a hero's life. It was not that he disliked heroes; in fact, he actually adored them for the most part. He just simply wished to be an entertainer. He loved making people laugh more than anything. The attention was wonderful, of course. He was aware that his desire for attention was likely an unhealthy byproduct of his upbringing, but he knew that his love for entertainment went beyond his selfish desires. Joy was the lifeblood that allows good people to get through difficult times. He would know. These heroes worked themselves to the bone both in the study and in service. If he could simply take their minds off their villains and enemies for even a moment, then that would make Nate happy. They knew him as the smooth-talking confident ungifted that always made everyone smile. The instructors knew him as that too, but they also knew that he was one of the top students in the academy. And Skylar…
He leaned back in his wheeled office chair, taking a moment to contemplate the assignment. “What is the difference between a hero and a villain?” He spoke the paper’s subject aloud to himself, rubbing two fingers along the jet black stubble that sprouted from his chin. He let his mind drift into thinking of how he might need a shave before catching himself and refocusing. He spun the chair around, facing toward his roommate's half of the living space. It sat empty. Skylar was out on city watch tonight. There had been threats of attack made by the Cerulean League on a number of establishments in Northwind. Every hero in the area had been called regardless of affiliation, and Skylar was the academy’s most promising hero. He prayed to the Goddess that she would return safely.
Nathan smiled at the mere thought of her. He couldn’t deny it now. He absolutely had a crush on her, but who could blame him? She was stunningly beautiful. She spoke with an ethereal elegance like the knight-heroes of old. Her kindness and passionate nature lit up the room. She was every student’s crush, regardless of gender. Many people had tried bribing Nate into switching rooms with them when the living arrangements were made. Everyone, teachers and heroes, adored her. That also meant they were jealous of the friendship he had with Skylar. Everyone knew that they were close. Some even rumored that she liked him. For many jealous students, it was too close for comfort.
She was also one of, if not the strongest heroes the academy had ever seen. Her power was called “Spiritsurge.” He’d never been close enough to really see the full range of properties, but he’d studied the footage and asked her about it on a couple of occasions. His running theory was that she could siphon power from souls, whether it was her own or the souls of others, and use it to grant her a wide range of abilities depending on the amount in her system. She passively had enhanced physical and cognitive capabilities, which Nate guessed to be the result of a subconscious siphoning of her own soul at a sustainable level. She could consciously expend more of that energy, that “soul-power,” to fuel greater feats and abilities. She also physically glowed when particularly high amounts were present. He’d seen her fly, fire blasts of energy from her hands, recover from fatal wounds in days, and so much more. The drawback to spiritsurge was that using it was incredibly taxing on the body and mind, leaving her out of action for a time relative to how much she used. Nathan had always taken it upon himself to care for her whenever she pushed too hard, taking notes for her in class and keeping her company in the academy medbay. She was his first, and for a while, his only friend at the academy. He might not be a shining beacon of light in the darkness of the world, but he could be a good friend. He just wished she’d stop being so merciful to her enemies so that she would stop getting herself hurt.
Nate sighed, sinking deeper into his chair. Skylar believed that there was good in everyone. She, like many heroes, forbade herself from killing villains regardless of their crimes against humanity. Even her nemesis, the King of Clubs, had been allowed to live by her code of mercy. But why? Why put yourself through hell to save someone who is never going to change? It bothered him deeply. The King of Clubs was a mass murdering perverted freak, a man deserving of the death he gave to so many others. If arrested, he would be imprisoned for life, never to see the sun again. Was that alone not a death sentence in and of itself? What was the difference between an existence of echoing your repentance endlessly into four unmoving concrete walls and dying at the hands of a hero? Both had the same outcome in the end, a well-deserved death. He knew that if Skylar’s life were at stake, he’d kill the King without a second thought. Wouldn’t she do the same?
He was stirred from the disturbing thought by a commotion in the hallway. He stood up, alarm bells ringing in his head. He stepped trepidatiously to the door. It flew forward off the hinges and slammed directly into him. Two sets of hands grabbed his arms as he came to his senses. They were thugs, dressed in the unmistakably posh style of the Cadre of Clubs. He needed not ask himself why they were here. He knew in an instant. The threats downtown were distractions. Nate was the real target. He would be leveraged. He would be a way to force Skylar to surrender so that disgusting bastard could have her all to himself. As they dragged him by the arms, his blood boiled at the thought.
He knew he shouldn’t. He knew that once he crossed that line, there would be no going back. But some lines deserved to be crossed.
Time came to a crawl, but Nathan Steele breathed with the same rhythm as he had been before. He could see that he was in the hallway now. A number of students were being attacked by the King’s men in the ambush. He saw Marco Sinclair, who sat next to him in History class, fighting desperately to keep a knife from sinking into his throat as a Club member pinned him against the wall. He was seconds from death. Luckily for him, seconds were all Nate needed. With reality slowed for a brief moment, Nate made no wasted motion in standing to his feet and shaking free of his would-be abductors. In the waning moments of slowed time, he leaped forward with both feet aimed directly at the ribs of Marco’s assailant. Time resumed normal pace as Nate shot forward with incredible velocity and dropkicked the knife wielder with bone-crushing force, sending the henchman flying down the hallway. He looked up to see a very confused Marco, who had just watched an “ungifted” hit a man with the force of a train. He knew Nathan was strong, but that was clearly abnormal. They both turned as the two Nate just broke from charged him once again. The one in front reared back and swung into thin air as Nathan ducked low and sent a knee into his gut with unnatural speed. The second man was not so lucky. A lighting punch crushed the goon’s windpipe, sending him down hard.
Like a whirlwind, Nathan stormed down the hallway, his blows sending Cadre men into and through the walls, floor, and ceiling of the hallway. Some of their injuries would likely be fatal, but Nate would shed no tears over these men. Just as soon as it had started, the ambush was decisively over. All of the students were okay, but they were all shocked into silence. Nate had hidden power, that was clear to everyone. Before anyone could ask, Nate stormed out of the hallway and down the stairs. As he exited the building, he saw an unmarked black SUV begin speeding down the street. Bingo. Nathan followed in slowed time, staying just out of view.
The difference between a hero and a villain is morality. Nathan Steele was neither hero nor villain. He was not evil, but he certainly was not merciful. There had been a time for inaction, allowing the heroic and brave paragons to defend the innocent from the schemes of the Cerulean League. That time had passed. They had come to his home. They had tried to kill his friends. They had tried to ransom him so they could subject his love to the perverted desires of a deranged mob boss. That was a line crossed. They would learn that goes both ways. Tonight, there would be hell to pay in Northwind.
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(A/N Thank you do much for the feedback. What follows is v3)
Melanie Fawkner called out, "Honey, I'm home," as she opened the door to her shared 20th Floor apartment. The deafening silence and the musty breeze from the balcony door told her what had happened. "Shit," she spat, practically jumping out of her shoes as she worked frantically to get her good work clothes off. The long forgotten Invocation to Ra fell from her lips as fast as her tongue could make the sounds while she disrobed. When she reached the final syllables of the Invocation, she stopped struggling with her bra and ducked into the "foyer" closet, slamming the blackened door behind her as she cried "Amenaphus!" The blazing light of the Eternal Sun shot out in all directions, further darkening the wood around her. The closet door opened and out came Solara, champion of Light. She smoothed her sparkling gloves over the brilliant white bodysuit that the sun-god provided, shrugged to feel the weight of the Cape of Dawn, and briefly touched the golden domino that covered her eyes. She looked at the wall in front of her, calling on her Sight. One word was written there in a clear, viscid substance, "Turbine". She sniffed and stick out her tongue with disgust. She loved that man, but sclera as ink? Gross. She shook her head to get herself back on track. She was already out of time. Mr. Turbine had a family.
Solara hovered above the streets of Double Big City, looking for evidence of her quarry. It was not long before she spotted a sinkhole opening by the river, and a huge, four-legged monstrosity of green metal and black rubber climbed out. Once it turned toward the MegaTech Campus and began stomping forward, she was certain it was Turbine. She raised her hands and a beam of compressed sunlight carved a neat hole in the roof of Mr. Turbine's squat mech, exposing his muscled form to the outside air.
"What are you doing here?" he screamed up at her, enraged spittle catching on his mustache. "You know I have your little boy-toy, and you know what the Dam of Doom will do to him."
Solara flashed forward and down, now just outside the sizzling hole in the mech's roof. "I know," she panted. "You have to let him go. You don't under..."
"HA!" came the reply, the sound backed up by the oscillating pressure-waves that gave Mr. Turbine his name. Solara tumbled through the air and smashed into the side of a skyscraper.
Mr. Turbine grinned with satisfaction. "You cannot plead, Solara, " Mr. Turbine screamed, "you cannot bribe, you cannot threaten. I hold all the cards now and you will stand down! Those MegaTech bastards took my invention from me, and I will have it \~bzz\~ back!" He stopped his monologue almost before it started, and looked down quizzically to find the source of a faint vibration at his hip. The top of a smartphone peeked out from a pocket he felt certain wasn't a part of the Turbine Suit.
Solara's mood changed from eye-rolling boredom to abject horror in a flash as she picked up the vibration with her enhanced hearing. She pulled herself out of the crater sh'e'd left in the side of the MegaSnack tower and once again flashed close to Mr. Turbine.
"Please, don't," she begged softly. "He's free, you've lost. I'm so sorry."
Mr. Turbine's backhand reply barely turned her face to the side as he pulled out the plain black smartphone and swiped with one gauntleted finger. As he swiped again and again, Solara slowly floated back and up, away from the increasingly distraught villain.. "Kate?" he asked the air, then "Roger?" "Sparks?!" "Oh gods, Ben!" Tears welled up in Mr. Turbine's eyes and began to flow freely as the parade of names and swipes continued. At one point he stopped, staring at the screen. "But..but I haven't seen her since middle school. How did he even know? And there are 40 more?" he sobbed Suddenly, a sort of calm determination came over his face.
Solara always hated this part. She closed her eyes and tried not to breathe in too much as she felt the wave of pressure and gore wash over her.
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[WP] When Humanity made contact with the Galactic Community, they were surprised to see us. Not because they thought we would never make it, but because, on the galactic scale, Earth is in the middle of bum-fuck nowhere and nobody knew we even existed.
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"stop and say that one more time you fuckin liar."
Flen waddled beside his buddy as they waited in line at the cafeteria.
"I swear to God, it was a fucking human, 6 feet from me." The squid like being replied, spittle flying from whichever orifice he decided to speak from that time.
"A human being. Like, from earth?" Flen asked incredulously. He reached for a bowl of mashed Grint beans and placed it on his tray. The side dish was a delicacy on his planet, but not many other species liked it much. Even the cafeteria attendant made a face.
"No. A human from Licorice planet 7, where all your dreams come true. Yea earth, you numb skull." Chax quipped. He used a tentacle to grab to kebab type food items with an undefinable meat.
"Woah, easy. Not all of us got skulls. You don't want to get written up for "uninclusive vocabulary" again. You'll lose your committee assignments. So anyway, what did it want?"
Flen flexed his fingers and extended his talons, then began plucking berries from a Harbroid bush conveniently placed along the buffet line. The line moved continentally slow today.
"Apologies for my ableist behavior. I meant it as a metaphor. Besides, the human didn't actually speak to me. It asked the committee why they hadn't been invited to the galactic union sooner."
Chax made a chortling, gurgle sound. Laughter on his home world.
"Well what did the committee chair say?"
Flen asked, frustrated at the slow pace of the lunch line.
"What do you think he said? The committee on planetary acceptance isn't responsible for every intelligent species that pops up in bum fuck nowhere, milky way. There are orders and processes and paperworks that have to be done just to get a meeting like this set up."
They finally reached the register and paid for their lunches. Then came the arduous task of finding a seat. Eventually, they managed.
"So what did the human say?"
Flen asked, a beak full of berries and beans.
"It kind of looked puzzled about the whole response, then said the dumbest shit I've ever heard."
Flen waited anxiously for what the human told the committee chair. Chax leaned in close, and attempted a whisper.
"The human looked the chair in the eye and said, 'your name means 'Fallus' in our language.' and then walked out the front door."
Chax made the gurgling laughing sound again.
Flen thought his response over.
"What does that even mean?"
Chax chortled back, "hell if I know, but you should have seen chairman Schlong's face."
And burst into another fit of laughter.
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"Greetings! Thank you so much for taking the time to travel all those parsecs and meet in person! We were so surprised when we received your communication, we thought surely you wouldn't have FTL tech yet."
Ambassador Treskart stood tall and round, pale skin glistening from the oily glands surrounding the slits that Namika could only assume were his nostrils. The only features for which she could stretch her mind to find a human analog.
"The pleasure is all mine, Ambassador."
"It's unfortunate, though, that humanity did not reach us sooner. Please understand that I take no joy in being the bearer of this unfortunate information, but the Intergalactic Federation has identified Earth as a Class 9 Hostile threat."
"Threat? Ambassador, I assure you"
"It's no surprise, really" he continued, cutting her off. "Life evolving all alone is such a tragedy. I can't imagine the horror you've seen. Even just a few Earth weeks without God here and no one can get along. I can't imagine millenia at a time! Is it true that he only stayed for 3 days last time he was there?"
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[WP] You, the hero, spot the villian hurriedly heading down the street, and into the local hospital. You suspect that he's up to no good, and follow behind them. As you walk into the reception, you're surprised by what you hear.
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"Ah, Mr. Hartley, good to see you again. Dr. Richmond is waiting for you in Room 343."
Inferno nodded and scurried down the hall, and I silently followed after him, slinking from shadow to shadow. I slipped under the doorframe and settled myself behind a potted plant in the office.
Dr. Richmond was old in the way that stress ages a person, makes their hair turn gray and their face scar with worry lines long before their time is due. His eyes, however, were soft and kind, even as he looked at the man who I knew had taken so many innocent lives, destroyed so much with his reckless fire.
"Jonathan," he greeted the villain, and Inferno nodded a greeting in response, sitting before Richmond's desk with a jumpy, nervous look in his eyes. My mind was whirling, trying to come up with what Inferno could be doing here. Was he going to threaten Richmond? But the receptionist seemed to recognize him. Why would he come here on a regular basis? Perhaps wreaking havoc in the burn ward, where nobody would suspect anything? That was on the other side of the hospital, though.
I was pulled out of my thoughts by Inferno finally speaking up: "The meds aren't working anymore, Doc." Now that had my attention, and my curiosity was only further piqued by the villain pulling his hands out of his jacket pockets, revealing charred black fingertips. "I barely got the sink on without melting the faucet."
Richmond frowned. "Johnathan, we've talked about you handling your powers this way before."
"Well what am I supposed to do?! Burn down my apartment building?!" Tiny flames licked at Inferno's fingertips, the charred black skin starting to glow red. He closed his eyes and took a few deep breaths, and I watched as the glow faded, the flames dying away. "You gotta help me out here, man. I'm sick of hurting people, and I don't wanna die, either!"
"I understand this is a difficult situation for you, Jonathan," Dr. Richmond soothed, his voice calm and collected even as Inferno sat shaking before him. "Unfortunately, fire-based powers have a tendency to eat away at their wielder if not used regularly. The pills can only do so much—you need to find safe ways to exercise your powers."
"But Doc, they're getting stronger! I can't even light a candle anymore without setting the whole building on fire!" Suddenly, it all made sense: if Inferno didn't use his powers, they would use his own body to feed the flames. But he suppressed them so much, whenever he did try to use them, they went completely out of control. He wasn't a villain by choice, but rather by necessity.
I quietly slipped back under the doorway, leaving Inferno and Dr. Richmond to discuss possible solutions. I wasn't sure what to do. Who could I tell? Who would believe me? After all, I was the Shadowseer—what did I know of fire and light?
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I try to catch up to my nemesis, hoping to stop him, and as I walk though the hospital doors I hear him yelling "WHERE IS SHE? WHERE'S MY DAUGHTER?" Wait, what? He has a daughter? I never knew... the receptionist seems terrified, and she makes eye contact with me. I give her a firm nod, reassuring her nothing will happen while I'm around. I hang back, genuinely curious as to what's happening. The receptionist turns back to the villain, Poulst.
"What's your daughter's name, sir?" The receptionist was trying to maintain her cool. "Maria" he responds. "I heard that someone attempted to shoot her for being *my* daughter, but she's nothing like me! She thinks I'm a freaking bus driver! She barely avoided a fatal shot, right? I need to see her! If you don't let me in, I'll-"
"You'll what?" I cut in. Poulst whips round to see me, taser at the ready. He instantly goes wide-eyed and enraged at the same time. "You gonna drag me back to prison? I thought you were supposed to be kind!" "I am" I respond. "You just need to calm down. Threats won't help anyone." I approach the desk. "Let us see her."
Poulst narrows his eyes. "*Us?*" he questions. I look at him sternly. "Someone needs to keep you in check, and I'm the only one who can." Defeated, he nods, and we go up to see her. It looks like she just came out of surgery, and she seems tired, but perks up upon seeing her father. "Da- daddy..." she says weakly. Poulst rushes right over to her side.
"Maria... you're gonna be ok, sweetie! I promise!" I couldn't believe what I was seeing... I thought this man had no heart, but here he is, full of love and compassion. I start tearing up, and Maria notices me. "Aren't you... the hero **cough** hero guy?" I nod. "Why ar- are you... here? **cough cough**" I look at Poulst, who nods at me. I take that as permission to tell her the truth... so I tell her everything.
"Daddy? Is... is it all... **cough** true?" Poulst looks his daughter in the eyes. "Yes... unfortunately. I'm sorry, I feel like what happened to you is my fault. I'll stay by your side until you're better... and then..." I can sense what he wants to say, but it seems like he lacks the confidence. I put my hand on him and give him a reassuring smile. "Do you know why I never took you to the special prison facility? Because I wanted to trust you, I wanted you to one day change. I'll leave you two alone now."
​
It's been a month since I visited the hospital with Poulst. I've heard no activity from him, even though his daughter made a full recovery. I've been keeping busy dealing with common criminals. I guess I should get some rest... huh, a new notification? Who am I dealing wi- WHAT? Poulst... turned himself in... and wants to see me. I decide to visit him. There's an awkward silence at first, until he says "I can't stay in here, for my daughter's sake. I turned myself in simply because I knew you'd know. I'd like to ask if you can help me... help me to be a better person. For my daughter." I smile. "Of course" I respond. "Leave everything to me, you'll be out in no time! I'll do whatever I can to help you!" Poulst smiles back, and says "Thank you. I won't let you or Maria down." I smile at him again. "I know you won't."
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[WP] You, the hero, spot the villian hurriedly heading down the street, and into the local hospital. You suspect that he's up to no good, and follow behind them. As you walk into the reception, you're surprised by what you hear.
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I felt a sickening feeling in my stomach as I watched him running towards the hospital. Whatever the Ice Baron was going to do, it wasn’t going to be good.
Even now, I still find it hard to believe how wrong I was.
I managed to slip into the lobby without being detected—one of the many benefits of my superpower of invisibility. It was a rare power, but even less common in heroes. Most of those with my power became highly paid thieves or assassins, but I had refused to. Maybe it was fear of the painful execution I would suffer if I was caught, but I liked to think that I cared about doing the right thing more than I feared getting in trouble.
“Alastair!” The receptionist called to the Ice Baron with a wide grin and what appeared to be genuine affection in her voice. “Shh! Keep your voice down,” he replied. “I have a reputation to uphold."
“Alright,” she replied, smile fading. “I don’t understand why you want to uphold that part of your reputation, though.”
“It’s safer that way,” he replied with a grimace. I wasn’t sure if the sorrow in his voice was faked, but it seemed more genuine than I expected from a man who froze the old Mayor and his family in their home and let them all melt into the city gutters.
“If you say so,” the receptionist replied. “Dr. Anderson is waiting for you in the usual place.”
“Thank you, Emma.”
“Of course,” she replied, some of her grin returning. The Ice Baron walked to the elevator bank on the right, and her eyes followed after him until he disappeared from view.
I scurried along after him, making sure to avoid bumping into anyone along the way. I might have been invisible, but that didn’t mean that I could throw caution away entirely. People tend to notice someone knocking into them--even invisible someones. I slipped into the elevator with the Ice Baron just before the door began to close.
The button for the sixth floor was lit, so I read the office listings for the floor.
*Administration Offices, Transplant Surgery/Organ Donor Operations, and Poison Control*
I felt a chill go through my body as I read the words. The Ice Baron had regular business with the Head of the hospital? There was no way that would result in anything short of horrors for the city.
I tried to steady myself with a few deep breaths. Maybe the Ice Baron had just been poisoned, and he needed a quick fix. But he was called a “Baron” for a reason. Would he really go to the hospital to treat his poisoning instead of hiring someone to take care of him in private?
My fretting was cut short by the ding of the elevator door as we arrived on the sixth floor. I felt a sense of dread as the Ice Baron approached the Head Administrator’s office.
I barely had time to be stunned as he turned before the office and started walking to the Organ Donor wing. What business would the Ice Baron have with organ donors? My fear from before was quickly replaced with a new kind of horror as he knocked on the door of one of the surgery rooms. Was he going to add organ harvesting to his list of misdeeds?
(Part Two below)
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If you liked this, check out my subreddit! r/NicodemusLux
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I try to catch up to my nemesis, hoping to stop him, and as I walk though the hospital doors I hear him yelling "WHERE IS SHE? WHERE'S MY DAUGHTER?" Wait, what? He has a daughter? I never knew... the receptionist seems terrified, and she makes eye contact with me. I give her a firm nod, reassuring her nothing will happen while I'm around. I hang back, genuinely curious as to what's happening. The receptionist turns back to the villain, Poulst.
"What's your daughter's name, sir?" The receptionist was trying to maintain her cool. "Maria" he responds. "I heard that someone attempted to shoot her for being *my* daughter, but she's nothing like me! She thinks I'm a freaking bus driver! She barely avoided a fatal shot, right? I need to see her! If you don't let me in, I'll-"
"You'll what?" I cut in. Poulst whips round to see me, taser at the ready. He instantly goes wide-eyed and enraged at the same time. "You gonna drag me back to prison? I thought you were supposed to be kind!" "I am" I respond. "You just need to calm down. Threats won't help anyone." I approach the desk. "Let us see her."
Poulst narrows his eyes. "*Us?*" he questions. I look at him sternly. "Someone needs to keep you in check, and I'm the only one who can." Defeated, he nods, and we go up to see her. It looks like she just came out of surgery, and she seems tired, but perks up upon seeing her father. "Da- daddy..." she says weakly. Poulst rushes right over to her side.
"Maria... you're gonna be ok, sweetie! I promise!" I couldn't believe what I was seeing... I thought this man had no heart, but here he is, full of love and compassion. I start tearing up, and Maria notices me. "Aren't you... the hero **cough** hero guy?" I nod. "Why ar- are you... here? **cough cough**" I look at Poulst, who nods at me. I take that as permission to tell her the truth... so I tell her everything.
"Daddy? Is... is it all... **cough** true?" Poulst looks his daughter in the eyes. "Yes... unfortunately. I'm sorry, I feel like what happened to you is my fault. I'll stay by your side until you're better... and then..." I can sense what he wants to say, but it seems like he lacks the confidence. I put my hand on him and give him a reassuring smile. "Do you know why I never took you to the special prison facility? Because I wanted to trust you, I wanted you to one day change. I'll leave you two alone now."
​
It's been a month since I visited the hospital with Poulst. I've heard no activity from him, even though his daughter made a full recovery. I've been keeping busy dealing with common criminals. I guess I should get some rest... huh, a new notification? Who am I dealing wi- WHAT? Poulst... turned himself in... and wants to see me. I decide to visit him. There's an awkward silence at first, until he says "I can't stay in here, for my daughter's sake. I turned myself in simply because I knew you'd know. I'd like to ask if you can help me... help me to be a better person. For my daughter." I smile. "Of course" I respond. "Leave everything to me, you'll be out in no time! I'll do whatever I can to help you!" Poulst smiles back, and says "Thank you. I won't let you or Maria down." I smile at him again. "I know you won't."
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[WP] Life as an Eldritch God is very depressing and lonely.. You just wanted a friend, yet everyone seems to run away from you, or tries to kill you
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"No! Don't touch me, I don't want to hurt you!" At my desperate wail, the creature approaching me hesitates. It moves it's vaguely humanoid face closer towards me and I cower back against the cave wall. It's mere inches away from me when it says,
*"You... hhhhhhhhhhhh... You are not afraid... hhhhhhhhhhh... of me?"*
I shake my head, my tears hot against my face. They sizzle slightly when they plop to the stone ground. The creature's long, rasping breaths crowds against me as it's question hangs in the tepid air between us. After a moment I realize that it's waiting for a verbal answer, "N-no. It is you who should be afraid of me."
*"Hhhhhhhhhhh... And why, hhhhhhhhhhhhhh... is that?"*
"Because I am a monster!" My breath catches in my throat as I say this, the word dragging it's ugly claws across my wounded heart even though the scars on my skin had long faded since leaving the settlement. And then, with the sound of wind dragging through millions of leafy trees, their boughs creaking and shivering under the weight, and a colossal *thud* that I felt in my bones, I look up to see the uncanny face pull back as the being settles itself in the cavern below.
*"And what, hhhhhhhhhhhhh, do you consider me to, hhhhhhhhhhh, be?"* It tilts it's face to one side.
"I, I don't understand." I sniff and drag my palm against my cheeks.
*"If you, hhhhhhhhhhh, a little girl, are a monster, hhhhhhhhhhhhh, then what am I?"*
There is no malice in it's voice when it calls me 'little girl'. Not like at the settlement, where 'little girl' was something to be pitied and coddled by the adults, mocked and jeered at by the older boys with roving eyes, and rebuked by all when they saw what I could do. When I turned a pot of water into hydrogen peroxide by breathing into it.
I sniff again, trying to pull my jumbled thoughts together, "I think, I think you are a creature who's home I have intruded upon. I have seen many pictures of little spiders, but I did not know that they could grow as big enough to fill a mountain."
*"TssssTsssstssstsss, Tsssstsssstssstssttsstssss,"* It's mouth open wide, it closed it's many eyes and... laughed? *"I, hhhhhhhhhhh, am no spider, little girl. Hhhhhhhhhhh, I am much, much, hhhhhhhhhhhhh, more than that."*
"Then what are you? What is your name?" I move so I face the creature, my back to the cave wall and my knees pulled up under my chin. Maybe this was part of the test given to me by my caretakers? Dr. Gerta said that others would fear what they couldn't understand, which proved it's truth at the settlement. Even if I cannot stop being afraid of myself, I should at least try to understand this creature so as to not be afraid of it.
*"HHhhhhhhhhhhhh... I am a being, hhhhhhhhhhhhh, far beyond your ability, hhhhhhhhhhhhh, to understand. And, hhhhhhhhhhhhh, as for my name, hhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh..."* It draws a long breath, and I wait patiently as it closes it's eyes and tilts it's head this way and that. After several moments of deliberation, it finally says, *"My name, hhhhhhhhhhh, is Atlach-Nacha, hhhhhhhhhhhh. It has been many, hhhhhhhhhhhh, many eons since I've, hhhhhhhhhhh, spoken it aloud."*
"I've never heard that name before." Is all I can think to say. It fixes it's eight-eyed gaze on me,
*"I should, hhhhhhhhhhh, think not. And what, pray tell, hhhhhhhhhhhh, is your name?"*
"My name? Well, my full name is Miracle. Dr. Simms said that I was named that because I was a 'miracle baby'. But you can call me Miri." I answer back, feeling more relaxed.
*"Miri. HHHhhhhhhhhhhh... A good name, hhhhhhhhhhh, for a good child."*
"Forgive me if I overstep, but why do you live in the mountains? Is it because the people in the settlement are afraid of you?"
*"So, hhhhhhhhhh, you've met them?*"
"Just long enough to wash my hair and change a bowl of water into medicine before they chased me away," I sigh, regretting having ever touched that water.
*"So, hhhhhhhhhh, you are not just, hhhhhhhhhhh, a 'miracle baby'. You make, hhhhhhhhhhh, miracles."*
"I guess. But so far, everyone I've met doesn't seem to think so. They think I'm some kind of freak the moment I do something they don't understand."
*"Hhhhhhhhhhhhhmmm, this is often the case, hhhhhhhhhhhh, with humans. They fear that, hhhhhhhhhhhh, which they do not, hhhhhhhhhhhhhhh, understand, and are, hhhhhhhhh, quick to fall prey to, hhhhhhhhhhhh, their anger and fear."* Atlach-Nacha replies. I nod in agreement. *"Miri, hhhhhhhhhhh, I know not what circumstances, hhhhhhhhhhhhh, have led you, hhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh, to my humble abode. But, hhhhhhh, will you tell me, hhhhhhhhh, where you come from? What the outside, hhhhhhhhhhhh, is like? Will you tell, hhhhhhhhhh, me why others, hhhhhhhhh, call you 'monster'? Tell me these things, hhhhhhhhhhhhhh, and in exchange I, hhhhhhhhhhh, will show you the, hhhhhhhhhhhhhhh, way out of the mountain.*"
The promise of a way out is tempting, but I know now that I should approach everything with even more caution than before, "Why do you want to know these things? I mean no offense," I quickly add, "I just, uh--"
*"Have grown cautious, hhhhhhhhhhh, since taking your first steps?"* The being answers for me and I feel blood rush to my cheeks.
"Well I, wait. How do you know that? Are you like me?"
*"Oh, child, hhhhhhhhhhh, I know many things. My webs, hhhhhhhhhhh, they run deep and far and wide. And, hhhhhhhhhhhh, there is no one like me, hhhhhhhhhhhh, so I cannot be like you. Hhhhhhhhhhhh But to answer your, hhhhhhhh question: I am curious. Hhhhhhhhhhhhh I have spent so long here, hhhhhhhhhhhhhh, weaving my webs between this world and that, hhhhhhhhhh, of dreams that I, hhhhhhhhhhhh, no longer remember the outside."*
"Oh, well, I have not been outside for very long so I probably won't describe it right, but I'll do my best!"
*"Words from the eyes of a, hhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh, newborn babe tell the best stories, TsssTssssssTsss."* And with that I begin by recounting my life in the compound with Dr. Gerta and Dr. Simms, Atlach-Nacha listening happily to every word.
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The first mistake of my existence was gaining awareness. Through it I became knowledgeable about the worlds that lived in this vast space. Within such worlds are beings much smaller than I, yet this beings experiences things I could not fathom. And there are many of them. I yearned to understand them, but I was unable to.
Whenever I got close to their vicinity, these beings would lose their sanity. Again and again, they would lose what made them of interest to me. So I decided to watch them from afar, but I had made an unfortunate reputation among beings from multiple worlds.
Time and time, they would send their best to try to eliminate me, but they would always fail. I pitied their lost souls.
Despite my great existence, I envied their unity. These worlds separated by eons of space united with the hope of getting rid of me. I would feel honored if not for this envy.
I traversed the universe in hopes of finding a companion. Someone to unite with, someone to share this vast universe.
My lonesome existence felt like a law of the universe. Would it last till the death of the last star? Such depressing queries were never ending.
Alas, I was never born, but I do wonder if I could die. I wished to cease my thoughts, but who could possibly grant thy wish?
The beings, blessed their wills, were too weak. Too insignificant to even destroy a fraction of me, yet too admirable to keep on dying.
Maybe this was the price of my being. Nothing, but myself.
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[WP] You are the new kid in class. You keep a bit to yourself as you do not want the others to find out you are a werewolf and force your family to flee the city again. Unbeknownst to you the class is actually full of supernatural children and you would fit right in.
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"Hi, I'm Adam. This is my third new school in 2 years, so I'm becoming a pro at this introduction thing. I like video games, and football. My favorite class is art." I said while standing in front of my new class at Willow Hill Middle School. *Also, my whole family are werewolves, and we had to move because my little sister attacked a delivery guy* I thought.
"Welcome Adam," the teacher said smiling. "I'm sure you'll settle in in no time. Why don't you partner with Gavin for the day? He'll help you get to your classes." She nodded toward a boy in the second row, and indicated I should take the seat next to him.
Gavin smiled. "Welcome to Willow Hill. It's actually a decent place. "
"Thanks," I said, a bit surprised. Usually my first day buddies described their school as boring at best, prison-like at worse. Decent was promising, even if I'd have to blend in with humans, their boring classes, and overcooked cafeteria food.
The math lesson began, and I was relieved to learn it was something I'd already covered. After math was history, a subject that has always been a bit of a struggle for me, because most normal folk fail to see the supernatural influences that are woven through the centuries.
"The Great Chicago Fire resulted in about 300 deaths, and dozens of hauntings that continue to this day," I heard the teacher say. Huh? Surely I had misheard. I glanced at my classmates, but no one seemed surprised. Definitely misheard. I was probably recalling a past vacation to Chicago when we met a fire ghost (my parents loved making our family trips educational). Clearly I needed to pay closer attention in class.
History was followed by English, and today was a free reading day. Happy for a bit of escape, I opened a Hardy Boys novel, and then slipped my actual read - the newest in an adventure series by my favorite poltergeist author Quinton Quivers- in its pages. In the off chance anyone asked about what I was reading, I could say some generic things about the Hardy Boys.
"Oh, those books are so good!" Said the girl next to me, nodding at my book. "There some of my favorites. He writes really well, for a ghost."
"How-" I began than stopped, remembering the author of the Hardy Boys was a pseudonym. "Oh, yeah. Ghost writer, you mean." I said with a shaky laugh.
"Oh. My. Gods." She burst into laughter. "Ghost Writer. Good one. I'm Anna by the way. Why are you hiding your book though?"
"Anna, Adam, I know socializing with a new friend is exciting, but now is time for quiet reading," the teacher interrupted before I could have to struggle for a response.
"Sorry," Anna said smiling.
"Sorry," I mumbled. My mind was racing. What was going on? I tried to focus on my book, but was unsettled that a classmate had noticed what I was actually reading. When the bell rang for lunch, I hurried out of the classroom.
"Hey Adam, wait up!" Gavin called. I sighed, but slowed. I should try to make friends, on the off chance I hadn't already screwed up my cover as a totally normal 12 year old. "Anna wasn't trying to get you in trouble," he said when he caught up. "She just gets excited when she sees someone reading her favorite book. Hell, she has half the class reading the Quivers books because she wouldn't shut up about them."
I froze. "What did you just say?" I asked.
He gave me an odd look. "Anna, she wasn't trying to get you in trouble for talking."
"No, about the book I was reading."
"Oh, everyone likes Quivers' books, super popular here."
"You've read books by Quinton Quivers?" I clarified, wondering if at some point they'd broken out of the supernatural niche and into mainstream American middle school.
"Yeah, I mean, there's only so many books written for our kind, right?" Gavin said with a shrug.
"Our-" oh hell, I was tired of being confused. If I messed up and we had to move tomorrow so be it. " Just to be clear, by 'our kind', you mean supernatural?"
"Yeah," Gavin said giving me a confused look. "Oh gods - did you think you were the only one?"
"Um...yes?" I said slowly. "Very used to having fully human, unpowerful classmates."
"Ew," Gavin said making a face. "That sounds awful. Well, to get you up to speed, I'm a Changling. I was reunited with my fae parents a few years back, after I burned down the house of the humans I'd been placed with."
"And I'm a witch," Anna said, joining us, "I cast a spell to let me know whenever I'm in a room with someone who is reading my favorite book. For educational purposes, of course."
"Right..." I said slowly.
"And you are?" Gavin asked.
"He's a werewolf," said another boy I vaguely recognized from math class. "I'm a telepath," he explained. "Heard that whole internal werewolf confession you added to your introduction today."
"Oh, there's a few werewolves at this school," Gavin said. "The school will let you come in late after a full moon. Lucky you."
I smiled, "So I don't need to hide here? I can just be me? Even at that er...time of month?"
"Like I said, Willow Hill is a decent place."
"It sounds like it," I agreed.
"Let's get lunch," Anna said, leading us down the hall. "You'll sit with us, right Adam? It's burger today. They'll serve yours rare if you'd like."
"Sounds great," I said following my new friends to the cafeteria. For the time in my memory, I relaxed on a first day at a new school. It seemed my family had found a good home at last.
........................
A character from a story I wrote earlier in the week decided to appear here. If you'd like to read another story with Adam and his family, you can do so here
[here](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/wz9td2/wp_you_are_a_serial_killer_who_targets_people/im32kql?utm_medium=android_app&utm_source=share&context=3)
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"The new kid's distancing,"
With a sigh, two legs land on top of a desk, "I did the last one, Gary gets him this time,"
"Why me?" Gary snaps up, alert.
"First off, you're the third werewolf we've had join, second, the kid doesn't deserve to wallow in fear all year, yeah?"
Nodding, Gary picks himself up, and slowly moves across desks. He wouldn't admit it, but an extreme sense of anxiety wells up inside of him. It isn't until he sees the streak of red around the boy's eyes that he realizes why.
"Y-you're an alpha?" There hadn't been one in ages.
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[WP] A reformed villain is living a peaceful life in a village far from the city they used to torment. After grabbing supplies from the local market, they take the quiet route back home, stopping halfway along the path. Without turning around, they ask "How long do you plan to follow me for, hero?"
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"How long do you plan on following me for, hero?" The hooded figure asked the young man on the road behind him. It was plain the boy was trying to be discrete but they were on a raised road in the middle of farmland and the sun was glinting rather aggressively off that polished silver armour.
"To the ends of the earth if I must, Scarburn." The boy declared as if he had uncovered some great secret. "Or at the very least to your lair."
"Ha, lair that might be a bit of a overstatement. Though if you'd like a cup of tea your welcome to come by the cottage." The old ork said pulling down his hood and giving his best attempt at a friendly smile.
"Tea!? With the Ravager of Redvine? I could never betray my father in such a way." The oversized armour clattered with rage as the hero drew his sword "Now draw your weapon and fight me, craven!" The former warlord let his cloak fall to the ground, his scared body wizened with age.
"I'm unarmed lad. Strike me down if you feel that is your justice, but know this. Revenge is an insidious creature. The more you feed it the hungrier it gets till it leaves you little more than a broken down husk." Scarburn the destroyer, Ravager of Redvine, First Khan of the Northern tribes, Scourge of Honeywood, reaches into his satchel and pulls out a simple cloth doll. "Or you can try and sweep up the ashes and start over."
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With a frown, Janet put back the tomato she'd been examining. She selected a different one and looking at her list. With a satisfied nod she quick went to the cashier to pay and exited the grocery store. It was a cool autumn day. Janet breathed in the country air as walked briskly back to her cottage. The small village was quiet and peaceful. Bucolic by definition. It was easy to notice.
"And how long do you plan on following my, Guardian?" she said.
"How could you tell?" asked the trenchcoated non-descript man with a fedora.
"Simple," she replied without stopping or looking, "everyone else is this village is geriatric. No one can keep up with my pace."
The "Guardian" laughed.
"Still don't trust me?" Janet asked.
"I do, but with your reputation, one needs more than trust."
"So you're her to verify. How quaint." Janet stopped "This time she turned to look the hero in the eyes. " We agreed to try it your way. To 'have faith in humanity' as you said. Is it working?"
"It takes time. And your method is not better. It would have stripped them of free will." He said
Janet sighed. "No Michael. It wouldn't have. My device would never subvert human will. "
"That wasn't what Dr. Phobos concluded."
"Ha! Phobos?! That hack! Tell me again how many more PHD's I have one him?"
"Janet, you're the smartest person on the planet. No one doubts that. But your plan...we couldn't let you.."
"What? Make people nicer? It would save so many lives and it would have saved Rebecc-"
"THAT'S ENOUGH!" he snapped. "Don't bring her name into this! She was my wife!"
"And my sister." Janet said quietly. "Or does that not count for anything these days?"
"We miss her, but using her as justification for that plan.."
"Michael, the 'Amicus bonus' only does one thing. It plus a subliminal message in to everyone's mind. One simple message. 'Be nice to everyone.' She let the silence hang between them for a moment. "One day, you'll see things my way. When you do. I'll be right here."
She turned and continued her walk. Michael watched her go. She wasn't lying. His telepathy confirmed it. But he didn't want to believe that he'd come around to her side. People are all unique and that was a good thing.
Right?
He checked the surroundings before flying away. Janet "Intellectus" Myers. She was smart, maybe too smart. Now Michael had to wonder if he could inspire people to be better. "Lead them by example." The words his father gave him came to mind.
"I'm trying pa," he said. "I'm really trying."
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[WP] A reformed villain is living a peaceful life in a village far from the city they used to torment. After grabbing supplies from the local market, they take the quiet route back home, stopping halfway along the path. Without turning around, they ask "How long do you plan to follow me for, hero?"
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"How long do you plan to follow me for, hero?" I did not turn to look at them, it was probably some small bravery that they were able to exert just to sneak behind me, I'm sure if I turn around it would shatter their resolve.
"It has been many a long years since I have felt your presence, but I know it is you." Silence except for breathing that I strain to hear.
"I have cast myself away from the trappings of power and the seat upon the high throne. I have relinquished and destroyed the items of power that once let me hold onto the known world with an iron fist." A hitch in the breathing and the slight movement of leather on leather on the edge of perception.
"I raised a government of idealists and set them forth with the fortune I gathered to do good works and civil projects to bring the realm to heights of prosperity without me." Not a word from the one standing behind me. The horse drawing my cart beside me starts getting restless, maybe sensing something beyond my perception that I cannot.
"I have lived alone growing crops and being a local healer, doing little harm to anyone that any other man in my position would not do. I do not cheat my merchants, I do not steal from my neighbors, I do no harm to any man woman nor child that cannot be healed with a kind word or a token of sincerely..." Still nothing from the hero behind me. My anger start to boil as I wait for any sign, any signal, any form of communication as to why the hero is behind me, following me.
I whip around. "What do..." I see the hero for the first time, a child of a young age, soft leather shoes and simple linen clothes, raven black hair and summer green eyes. It smiles at me as it starts to toddle closer, barely able to walk I'm surprised it followed me so far from the village without its parents noticing.
"Oh, hello hero." I say with a smile and hold out my hands. The child runs into my arms as I hoist them up and onto the cart. "Today is not the day for adventures, little one, let us return to your home before your parents notice, eh?" A smile, some babbling, and patting of the goods in the cart are the only reply I get as I turn my horse around and start back to the village.
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With a frown, Janet put back the tomato she'd been examining. She selected a different one and looking at her list. With a satisfied nod she quick went to the cashier to pay and exited the grocery store. It was a cool autumn day. Janet breathed in the country air as walked briskly back to her cottage. The small village was quiet and peaceful. Bucolic by definition. It was easy to notice.
"And how long do you plan on following my, Guardian?" she said.
"How could you tell?" asked the trenchcoated non-descript man with a fedora.
"Simple," she replied without stopping or looking, "everyone else is this village is geriatric. No one can keep up with my pace."
The "Guardian" laughed.
"Still don't trust me?" Janet asked.
"I do, but with your reputation, one needs more than trust."
"So you're her to verify. How quaint." Janet stopped "This time she turned to look the hero in the eyes. " We agreed to try it your way. To 'have faith in humanity' as you said. Is it working?"
"It takes time. And your method is not better. It would have stripped them of free will." He said
Janet sighed. "No Michael. It wouldn't have. My device would never subvert human will. "
"That wasn't what Dr. Phobos concluded."
"Ha! Phobos?! That hack! Tell me again how many more PHD's I have one him?"
"Janet, you're the smartest person on the planet. No one doubts that. But your plan...we couldn't let you.."
"What? Make people nicer? It would save so many lives and it would have saved Rebecc-"
"THAT'S ENOUGH!" he snapped. "Don't bring her name into this! She was my wife!"
"And my sister." Janet said quietly. "Or does that not count for anything these days?"
"We miss her, but using her as justification for that plan.."
"Michael, the 'Amicus bonus' only does one thing. It plus a subliminal message in to everyone's mind. One simple message. 'Be nice to everyone.' She let the silence hang between them for a moment. "One day, you'll see things my way. When you do. I'll be right here."
She turned and continued her walk. Michael watched her go. She wasn't lying. His telepathy confirmed it. But he didn't want to believe that he'd come around to her side. People are all unique and that was a good thing.
Right?
He checked the surroundings before flying away. Janet "Intellectus" Myers. She was smart, maybe too smart. Now Michael had to wonder if he could inspire people to be better. "Lead them by example." The words his father gave him came to mind.
"I'm trying pa," he said. "I'm really trying."
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[WP] A reformed villain is living a peaceful life in a village far from the city they used to torment. After grabbing supplies from the local market, they take the quiet route back home, stopping halfway along the path. Without turning around, they ask "How long do you plan to follow me for, hero?"
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"How long do you plan to follow me for, hero?" I did not turn to look at them, it was probably some small bravery that they were able to exert just to sneak behind me, I'm sure if I turn around it would shatter their resolve.
"It has been many a long years since I have felt your presence, but I know it is you." Silence except for breathing that I strain to hear.
"I have cast myself away from the trappings of power and the seat upon the high throne. I have relinquished and destroyed the items of power that once let me hold onto the known world with an iron fist." A hitch in the breathing and the slight movement of leather on leather on the edge of perception.
"I raised a government of idealists and set them forth with the fortune I gathered to do good works and civil projects to bring the realm to heights of prosperity without me." Not a word from the one standing behind me. The horse drawing my cart beside me starts getting restless, maybe sensing something beyond my perception that I cannot.
"I have lived alone growing crops and being a local healer, doing little harm to anyone that any other man in my position would not do. I do not cheat my merchants, I do not steal from my neighbors, I do no harm to any man woman nor child that cannot be healed with a kind word or a token of sincerely..." Still nothing from the hero behind me. My anger start to boil as I wait for any sign, any signal, any form of communication as to why the hero is behind me, following me.
I whip around. "What do..." I see the hero for the first time, a child of a young age, soft leather shoes and simple linen clothes, raven black hair and summer green eyes. It smiles at me as it starts to toddle closer, barely able to walk I'm surprised it followed me so far from the village without its parents noticing.
"Oh, hello hero." I say with a smile and hold out my hands. The child runs into my arms as I hoist them up and onto the cart. "Today is not the day for adventures, little one, let us return to your home before your parents notice, eh?" A smile, some babbling, and patting of the goods in the cart are the only reply I get as I turn my horse around and start back to the village.
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"How long do you plan on following me for, hero?" The hooded figure asked the young man on the road behind him. It was plain the boy was trying to be discrete but they were on a raised road in the middle of farmland and the sun was glinting rather aggressively off that polished silver armour.
"To the ends of the earth if I must, Scarburn." The boy declared as if he had uncovered some great secret. "Or at the very least to your lair."
"Ha, lair that might be a bit of a overstatement. Though if you'd like a cup of tea your welcome to come by the cottage." The old ork said pulling down his hood and giving his best attempt at a friendly smile.
"Tea!? With the Ravager of Redvine? I could never betray my father in such a way." The oversized armour clattered with rage as the hero drew his sword "Now draw your weapon and fight me, craven!" The former warlord let his cloak fall to the ground, his scared body wizened with age.
"I'm unarmed lad. Strike me down if you feel that is your justice, but know this. Revenge is an insidious creature. The more you feed it the hungrier it gets till it leaves you little more than a broken down husk." Scarburn the destroyer, Ravager of Redvine, First Khan of the Northern tribes, Scourge of Honeywood, reaches into his satchel and pulls out a simple cloth doll. "Or you can try and sweep up the ashes and start over."
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[WP] A reformed villain is living a peaceful life in a village far from the city they used to torment. After grabbing supplies from the local market, they take the quiet route back home, stopping halfway along the path. Without turning around, they ask "How long do you plan to follow me for, hero?"
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He noticed earlier. When he was paying for the carrots. He was being watched by a woman.
A woman he had spent years battling.
For every skyscraper he collapsed she had always been there to save the day. Save the people he put in harm's way.
He still didn't care about people, he'd long since lost his desire for mayhem. Something fatherhood had changed in him. Yet here she was, stalking him.
It was halfway between the market and home that he stopped dead in his tracks.
"How long do you plan to follow me for, Hero?"
"You saw me?! Daaaad. I can't believe you let me follow you for that long! How does mom always do it?"
He laughed at her and waited for her to catch up to him.
"Your mom had years of practice using her powers against me. She has some advantage over a teenager I should think. Why do you want to be a Hero anyway? I thought you loved your dear old dad."
She scoffed and bumped into his side.
"You always say villains have more fun but when you and mom fell in love it wasn't her that retired to live a quiet life. She's fighting some kind of squid faced space demon right now, whilst you..."
"I am getting ready to prepare a beautiful meal for my wife and child. If she's in space I may also run her a warm bath. But I see your point, Hero."
They made the journey home quick and as ever he waited until nearly home to start, and quickly stop, regailing his daughter with tales of his time as a world ending villain stopped by love.
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"Figured you'd know I was watching." From the corner of my eye I spotted them. It was easy, back in my villain days I developed almost a sixth sense for telling me where they are. The Hero, Junior King. Strong, fast, inhumanly so of course.
"The government asked me to keep an eye on you. Just to be safe." He informed as he walked into view. Dressed in that same costume as normal. A copper frown atop his heads nothing fancy just a small basic looking crown but his outfit was a mix of classic, stereotypical Royal King attire and modern combat armor.
At best he looked like an oddball cosplay.
"Guess I shouldn't be surprised. Question is did they send you or did you volunteer?" I asked. That got him glaring at me. There was a reason he is Junior King after all, his father was my former arch nemesis. King.
"Volunteered." He stated. "The other heroes asked if I was up for it, but I told them this was a Family matter."
"True. I did... Kill your dad..." I frowned, looking down.
I killed a lot of people in my villain days, I won't lie, but King... He was the one I regret. The one I wish I could take back. For all our fights and encounters... I.. we had fun. From the day I started my war on the modern world til his death...
"You... Didn't know about his injury." Junior said.
"Still killed him..."
"He shouldn't have even out. You and I both know he put his work before his health."
"He could have told me!" I yelled. "I'd never have..."
"It's not your fault mom."
There it was. The reason I quit being a villain...
Back in my villain days I was known as Amazon. I had a bod that embodied the word and once upon a time a real hot temper towards the modern world. Grew up in a jungle village where we lived off the land, took what we needed and lived peaceful lives... Then the loggers came. Those of us that didn't run were killed by their guns and their machines...
I vowed vengeance.
All the other Heroes just used their weapons or gadgets to fight me, fueling my rage...
King was different. He never used a weapon or a vehicle. And when we fought it was hand to hand. Respect. I respected him for it. Over the years, respect turned to an odd friendship, and one day after a crash landing on a deserted island, friendship became more.
That was when Junior was born. On that island. I was a criminal, he was a hero... I tried to be there for him growing up but, what good of an influence is a villain mother with a body count in the hundreds and now, his own father and the man I loved there too...
"I ended up the one doing him in... I can't unsee it happening Junior... And I can't forgive myself."
"Then why are you living here, why not just go to prison?"
I chuckled. "Old habits?" I offered to my son. "This town, I have an identity here. A house. King... Mark, and I... Wanted to retire here together. It's not very modern, which I like, and he liked the relaxing, laid back feel of the village."
"Well... I guess that's why in his Will dad left me this." He said, showing me a house key. "Hope you don't mind? I did bring my stuff."
"Aren't you a little old to be living in your parents house?" I asked.
"Maybe. But my mother needs me... And honestly, I don't want to be alone either. We've always had a... Unique relationship because of yours and dad's work but maybe now we can actually have one that's normal."
"I'd like that... Thanks Junior."
"Come on, let's go home mom."
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[WP] A reformed villain is living a peaceful life in a village far from the city they used to torment. After grabbing supplies from the local market, they take the quiet route back home, stopping halfway along the path. Without turning around, they ask "How long do you plan to follow me for, hero?"
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It was a perfect morning for a jog. The air was crisp, cool and clean, birds chirping in the trees and dew drops still clinging to the leaves. A far, far cry from the hustle and bustle of the grey, polluted city that Adam Whistler had left behind when he retired.
His feet pounded down the trail, jazzy notes in his ears from his favorite Spotify playlist. He almost, almost didn't notice the second set of footsteps following him in the distance.
He knew those footsteps. Slowing to a halt, panting, he took his earbuds out and shoved them into the pocket of his running shorts.
*A perfect morning this is turning out to be.*
"And just how long are you planning on following me, *Sentinel*?" Adam hollered.
The footsteps slowed to a walk, eventually coming to a stop. A six-foot-six mountain of rippling muscle, clad only in a tight-fitting, garishly red-blue-yellow spandex outfit that left absolutely *nothing* to the imagination (*my god, who in this day and age still wears spandex?* Adam cringed mentally) stood before Adam.
"Armageddon", rumbled the massive giant. "So this is where your new base of operations is. You're not fooling anyone. Spill before I break every single bone in your body - what is your goal this time?"
"Jeez, Mike, when did you go straight to threats instead of monologuing first? Yeah, I know your name is Mike, there's nobody here to hear us so call me Adam, okay? Can't a middle aged guy just opt for early retirement?"
"We both know that isn't how it works with you villains," Sentinel - Mike, said, jabbing an accusing finger at Adam. "Always up to no good-"
"Schemes within schemes within schemes, blah blah. Yeah, whatever. Look, I'm done with that. Had a lot of time in prison to think about it, especially since you'd broken both my legs, AND BOTH MY ARMS!! Anyway, I'm done. I just want to live without a care in the world, out here where the air's nice and nobody knows my face."
Mike stood in stony silence, a grim expression on his face. After a long minute of awkward silence, he spoke up.
"I don't believe you."
"Fine, let's go to my place, and you'll see that I've just been living my best, retired life out here, how's that sound?"
The unlikely duo plodded along the trail to a little cottage house, complete with a little herb garden and a wind turbine. Mike, in complete stony silence, and Adam prattling on about random things.
Mike whirled on Adam, pointing an accusing finger at the wind turbine and about to call it out as a death-ray-laser-gun when Adam simply explained, "Oh that's just for power so I can watch Netflix or browse Reddit, okay?"
Mike merely grumbled beneath his breath and followed Adam into the humble cottage. Once inside, Adam gave a little twirl around the living room with a flourish and a cheeky grin. "BEHOLD! MY GRAND LAIR OF NETFLIX AND CHILL! Now, do you want tea or coffee?"
It took all of Mike - Sentinel's superhuman willpower to hold his right arm from slapping his palm onto his own forehead.
"No, it's alright, I.. Whatever. Do whatever you want." Sentinel grumbled with a sigh. "I'll let myself out."
"HAVE A NICE DAY!" Adam called out the door as he watched Sentinel take flight to the sky, letting out a huge breath of relief. No broken bones, this time. He kept watching as the superhero grew smaller and smaller in the distance until he was nothing more than a teeny tiny dot.
Then, like a coiled viper, Adam, formerly known as the supervillain Armageddon, burst into frantic action. He zipped around the room, rummaging through drawers, cupboards and hidden spaces, pulling out wads of cash, bars of gold bullion and binders of documents, shoving them into duffel bags.
Armageddon reached behind the television, and flipped a hidden switch. A trapdoor opened in the kitchen, revealing a hidden room accessed by a steel ladder. He slid down the ladder into a brightly-lit basement filled with the chattering of voices and tapping on keyboards - which abruptly stopped as soon as his feet hit the bare concrete floor.
An army of genetically-enhanced mice, sitting in little cubicles in front of tiny laptops, some holding miniature phones to their ears in a caricature of a call centre - paused and all eyes (and furry ears) turned to regard their master.
"Alright everyone!" called out Armageddon. "Sentinel is onto us! Pack it up, we're shutting down this scam call centre! Grab your stuff and let's get ready to move to Safehouse B!"
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"Figured you'd know I was watching." From the corner of my eye I spotted them. It was easy, back in my villain days I developed almost a sixth sense for telling me where they are. The Hero, Junior King. Strong, fast, inhumanly so of course.
"The government asked me to keep an eye on you. Just to be safe." He informed as he walked into view. Dressed in that same costume as normal. A copper frown atop his heads nothing fancy just a small basic looking crown but his outfit was a mix of classic, stereotypical Royal King attire and modern combat armor.
At best he looked like an oddball cosplay.
"Guess I shouldn't be surprised. Question is did they send you or did you volunteer?" I asked. That got him glaring at me. There was a reason he is Junior King after all, his father was my former arch nemesis. King.
"Volunteered." He stated. "The other heroes asked if I was up for it, but I told them this was a Family matter."
"True. I did... Kill your dad..." I frowned, looking down.
I killed a lot of people in my villain days, I won't lie, but King... He was the one I regret. The one I wish I could take back. For all our fights and encounters... I.. we had fun. From the day I started my war on the modern world til his death...
"You... Didn't know about his injury." Junior said.
"Still killed him..."
"He shouldn't have even out. You and I both know he put his work before his health."
"He could have told me!" I yelled. "I'd never have..."
"It's not your fault mom."
There it was. The reason I quit being a villain...
Back in my villain days I was known as Amazon. I had a bod that embodied the word and once upon a time a real hot temper towards the modern world. Grew up in a jungle village where we lived off the land, took what we needed and lived peaceful lives... Then the loggers came. Those of us that didn't run were killed by their guns and their machines...
I vowed vengeance.
All the other Heroes just used their weapons or gadgets to fight me, fueling my rage...
King was different. He never used a weapon or a vehicle. And when we fought it was hand to hand. Respect. I respected him for it. Over the years, respect turned to an odd friendship, and one day after a crash landing on a deserted island, friendship became more.
That was when Junior was born. On that island. I was a criminal, he was a hero... I tried to be there for him growing up but, what good of an influence is a villain mother with a body count in the hundreds and now, his own father and the man I loved there too...
"I ended up the one doing him in... I can't unsee it happening Junior... And I can't forgive myself."
"Then why are you living here, why not just go to prison?"
I chuckled. "Old habits?" I offered to my son. "This town, I have an identity here. A house. King... Mark, and I... Wanted to retire here together. It's not very modern, which I like, and he liked the relaxing, laid back feel of the village."
"Well... I guess that's why in his Will dad left me this." He said, showing me a house key. "Hope you don't mind? I did bring my stuff."
"Aren't you a little old to be living in your parents house?" I asked.
"Maybe. But my mother needs me... And honestly, I don't want to be alone either. We've always had a... Unique relationship because of yours and dad's work but maybe now we can actually have one that's normal."
"I'd like that... Thanks Junior."
"Come on, let's go home mom."
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[WP] A reformed villain is living a peaceful life in a village far from the city they used to torment. After grabbing supplies from the local market, they take the quiet route back home, stopping halfway along the path. Without turning around, they ask "How long do you plan to follow me for, hero?"
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“How long are you going to play like you’ve retired?”
The old villain sighed, his shoulders sagging under the weight of age and exhaustion.
“I don’t know how to answer that,” he responded, slowly turning to his old adversary. “For years I put everything I had into defeating you. My anger and resentment grew by the day. Maybe I finally broke.”
The hero dropped into a ready stance, clearly not buying the tired old man act.
“I don’t believe that for a second. You always had a plan. You were the one who started the fights. And YOU WERE THE ONE WHO KILLED HER!!!!”
The hero had started radiating power. The villain realized just how old he’d gotten.
“I know.”
He let his shoulders droop before turning back down the path home.
“DON’T YOU DARE TURN YOUR BACK ON ME!”
The hero was furious the villain hadn’t reacted to seeing him.
“I’VE HUNTED YOU FOR YEARS! NO MATTER WHAT WAS GOING ON I ALWAYS KEPT MY EARS OPEN FOR NEWS OF THE TERRIBLE VILLAIN THAT HAD TERRORIZED OUR CITY!”
The villain kept walking, not sure what the hero was going to do next. He could feel the wind whipping around him.
Eventually he felt the wind die down and he continued walking in silence, the hero still following him. He’d calmed down some but was clearly still seething.
When he got home, the villain left the door open, an unsaid invite. He began making tea and putting away the items he’d brought from the grocery store. He saw the Hero warily enter the living room, looking around at the bare walls and cheap furniture.
The villain followed him in, carrying a small tray of biscuits and tea.
“Excuse me,” he said, taking a step around the hero, who was now staring at him, torn between a primal anger and total bewilderment.
When the villain set the tea set down, he motioned for the hero to sit at the chair at the end of the coffee table while he took a seat at the opposite end of the couch.
“Have some tea.”
“What the hell is happening?”
The villain chuckled before taking a sip of his tea.
“I got old, and tired.”
For several moments, the hero just stared at the villain as he sipped his tea. Eventually, he sat down although he refused the tea.
After almost ten minutes of silence, the villain began to talk. He spoke of the incredible anger and hate he’d had for the hero for all those years. He talked of his frustration at being foiled over and over again.
For almost an hour he talked, the hero not saying a word. Just staring at him with angry, unmoved eyes.
“After our last fight I was truly despondent,” the villain said. I’d worked so hard on that plan only for you to show up and slap me aside like an annoying gnat. It was then that I made the decision to come here and rest.”
He leaned forward and poured another cup of tea. The hero still refused to touch the tea or biscuits.
“I’ve been here for many years now, though I’ve kept to myself for the most part. I guess my closest friend would be the postman. Though, he only knows me as the retired professor.”
“It took a long time for me to address the hatred I felt for you. I worked hard at it, though I broke many things along the way. That’s why it's so empty here. I would break everything in my rage. It became easier to buy cheap furniture and keep my belongings simple.”
He sighed again, not sure why he was still talking. He finally looked up at the empty chair.
“It doesn’t matter now,” he said, collecting the tea set and returning it to the kitchen. After cleaning up, he made his way to the bathroom. Leaning over the sink, he stared into the eyes of the hero, his anger surging back, just like it did every day…
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“I need your help,” his face shows worry. It’s been a long time since we fought. He defeated me long ago.
“It’s old news. Goodbye.” I told him. I start to head back to my house.
“You don’t care at all!?”
“I don’t.”
“Why? He’s out to destroy us.”
“Good.”
“What is wrong with you?”
I look at him. He pulls his blade out and points it in my direction. It seems like Reginal, the hero, isn’t noble or stoic anymore. “I don’t have my blade anymore,” I said to him. I wanted to grab it before he lunged at me. That sword nearly cuts my ear off. If I didn’t dodge in time, I would lose an arm in addition to my ear. Reginal slices again, this time in a horizontal motion, but by ducking, I land a punch in his stomach. He spits a painful grunt, and saliva drips plop onto my neck. I backstep and instinctively place my hand on my hip. No blade was waiting for me. Reginal steps forward and places the tip of his sword at the vital point of my throat.
“I would have won if I brought my blade.”
“Is that all that matters to you?”
It does. Reginal defeated me long ago, and my pride was wounded. I didn’t want to admit that as Reginal dropped his blade and scoffed at me.
“You fell off.”
That’s a harsh sentence and to hear it from Reginal was surprising. What have I done after all of that time? I remember having ambition back then. Now I am living a peaceful life, which past me would have detested.
“What is it?” I asked Reginal. His face lifts,
“You’d help me?”
“You came to me first.”
We travel back to his kingdom. He briefs me on what’s happened since I fell at his hands. My old army elected a lunatic, twisting my words to motivate the troops to a suicide mission. Secretly, I took pride in my peers continuing my legacy. Reginal’s kingdom is tyrannical against me and my legion. My heart burns with a question,
“Why turn to me?”
“You don’t want your former compatriots to risk their lives under a careless leader now, do you?”
He’s right. Whoever was leading them was reckless. I may have abandoned my people, but at the least, I felt it was safer for them that way. Instead, they started to worship another idol in my place. I wasn’t standing for this.
“My house is here. I need to grab my blade.” I said while rushing inside. I opened my chest and reached for the hilt. Latching the blade to my knee awakens something in me. That old ambition is returning. I gaze out at the window. Reginal is patiently waiting for me to join him. A mischievous smile creeps on my face, and I leave out the backdoor. I don’t want to journey with goody-two-shoes. I’ll take care of my problems without him bugging me.
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[WP] A reformed villain is living a peaceful life in a village far from the city they used to torment. After grabbing supplies from the local market, they take the quiet route back home, stopping halfway along the path. Without turning around, they ask "How long do you plan to follow me for, hero?"
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Two bunches of tomatoes, five heads of lettuce, a crate of potatoes. A coil of strong rope, a box of nails, and a new hammer and logging ax. These and various other odds and ends went into the hand cart. The big man looked over them and gave a nod, turning his gaze to the shopkeep.
“These will do fine. How much do I owe ya?”
“Three silver pennies for the foodstuffs, another five for the rest. Sounds right to you Landon?” the old man responded. The man he called Landon raised an eyebrow, and looked back down.
“Seems a bit steep. I’d call it seven and one...but I’ll give ya the eight if you promise to give me a call when you get more of the blackberry brand in.” The shopkeep gave a great laugh, nodding. The two men shook on it, and the man call Landon handed the shopkeep the coins. He also felt eyes on him, but did not bother to look for the source. Instead, he reached down and grasped the handle of the cart. He bid the shopkeep farewell and started out of the market.
Today, he took the long and quiet way back to his home.
He felt the eyes on him still.
After a quarter of an hour of silent walking, the big man judged it far enough, and came to a halt. He dropped the handle of the cart, the contents clattered about noisily at the sudden jostling. He took a deep breath and let out a long sigh, like a man preparing to undertake a great labor.
“And just how long do you plan to follow me for, *Hero*?” the man they called Landon called out without turning around.
“Not much longer, I guess,” comes an almost off-handed reply, like someone had taken the punchline from her joke.
“Good. Then good day,” the big man said, and squatted down to pick up the handle of the cart.
“That where you think to leave it then? After all this time?”
The big man who some called Landon stood back up, heft the cart handle. It didn’t seem to require much actual effort. He had no response for the woman behind him. He started to walk again.
“Hey now, that won’t do. Turn around and face me Kamus!” she shouted, her lax attitude vanishing like the morning mist.
“No.”
“You think you’re above all that now?”
“I think I keep my promises,” the big man growled, low and loud and brimming with anger like thunder over a distant hill.
In the startled silence there was an unsaid question. Kamus sighed, once more stopping. He did not turn around.
“Last time we met, I promised you that the next time I saw you I would crush you to dust and scatter you in the winds,” he said as explanation. The silence stretched out, now pensive.
“Well. I suppose that is true. Why would that stop you now?”
“A promise is a promise, even if it is from another life. And I’ve no interest in returning to who I was when I made that promise.”
“You expect me to believe you’ve changed instead of simply fled?” she asked, but there was an uncharacteristic break in her speech.
“It frankly doesn’t matter to me what you believe,” Kamus said simply. “But I’ll play along all the same Vera. You were always quick and smart, good at reading people. You could tell when I was spinning a lie. That’s what’s got you unbalanced now. Because I haven’t lied since we started talking. Leave me be girl, I’ve set The Game aside now.”
“Why?” Vera asked, and the question was heavy. She must have been carrying it all this time.
“Found something worth more than the prize. Simple math, that.”
Silence settled between the two once more; she hadn’t left, even if she hadn’t spoken in the last minute. Kamus considered simply walking away once more but something in the silence held him. Like the conversation was not over, for all that he wanted it to be. And he didn’t want her to follow him home.
“The Game has changed, Kamus,” she said, breaking the silence like it was some fragile thing. There was a tremor in her voice that caught him; this was new. Still, he did not turn to face her. He said nothing.
“New gangs moved in once you left, and they discarded most of the rules. The city is starting to tear itself apart.”
“I fail to see what that has to do with me,” Kamus said carefully.
“The hell you do! You might lie to others, maybe even to yourself, but you can’t lie to me. I know how much that city meant to you. And after all these years-” Vera started, but cut herself off. She wrestled with something for a few moments, and Kamus was deeply tempted to turn to see the look on her face.
“I admit...that it may have been wrong to drive you out,” she finished, and the words cost her something to say. Something deep rooted and vast, and it was not lost of Kamus. Something deep in him stirred in triumph, but that was something old. Something he’d thought he’d buried deep.
Not deep enough it seemed.
Kamus turned to look at her, at the woman who had been his adversary all those years ago. The years had been hard on her, but she still stood with enough grace and power to tell him she was as dangerous as ever. Her brown hair was still cut short, though she now sported a pair of scars that were new to him. Old to her. Her golden eyes were looking down at the ground, but as he turned she raised the up to meet his blue ones. She was still a foot and a half shorter than him, but most were. The big man was built like a mountain, even after all this time. His gaze was steady.
“Truce?” he asked into that silence.
“Truce,” she echoed back. He nodded, and looked to the sky a moment to judge the time.
“I’ll hear you out over food, as is proper. I assume you won’t believe it poisoned, since you saw me buy it in town?” he asked, a wry smile on his features. She rolled her eyes in response, but nodded. He reached out and picked the cart up with one hand, walking off the side of the road and setting it down. He fished out some bits of a meal as Vera set to making a fire.
---
An hour later Kamus walked down the road in silence, pondering on what he’d been told. He weighed these things carefully against what he had built for himself since. An hour ago he’d had no interest in what Vera said. Now things were different. Were they different enough?
He crested a hill the little dirt road he’d been on ran up, finding a small house nestled in a clearing of trees. Smoke rose from the chimney. The front door opened and a small face peered out before there was a cry of excitement. A young girl came barreling out of the small house and down the road to greet him, throwing herself around his waist in her best attempt to reach around and hug him. Kamus smiled, patting her lightly on the head, ever so lightly.
“Heya Sprout,” he said, and checked the math in his head once more.
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Thanks for reading. Feedback always appreciated.
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“I need your help,” his face shows worry. It’s been a long time since we fought. He defeated me long ago.
“It’s old news. Goodbye.” I told him. I start to head back to my house.
“You don’t care at all!?”
“I don’t.”
“Why? He’s out to destroy us.”
“Good.”
“What is wrong with you?”
I look at him. He pulls his blade out and points it in my direction. It seems like Reginal, the hero, isn’t noble or stoic anymore. “I don’t have my blade anymore,” I said to him. I wanted to grab it before he lunged at me. That sword nearly cuts my ear off. If I didn’t dodge in time, I would lose an arm in addition to my ear. Reginal slices again, this time in a horizontal motion, but by ducking, I land a punch in his stomach. He spits a painful grunt, and saliva drips plop onto my neck. I backstep and instinctively place my hand on my hip. No blade was waiting for me. Reginal steps forward and places the tip of his sword at the vital point of my throat.
“I would have won if I brought my blade.”
“Is that all that matters to you?”
It does. Reginal defeated me long ago, and my pride was wounded. I didn’t want to admit that as Reginal dropped his blade and scoffed at me.
“You fell off.”
That’s a harsh sentence and to hear it from Reginal was surprising. What have I done after all of that time? I remember having ambition back then. Now I am living a peaceful life, which past me would have detested.
“What is it?” I asked Reginal. His face lifts,
“You’d help me?”
“You came to me first.”
We travel back to his kingdom. He briefs me on what’s happened since I fell at his hands. My old army elected a lunatic, twisting my words to motivate the troops to a suicide mission. Secretly, I took pride in my peers continuing my legacy. Reginal’s kingdom is tyrannical against me and my legion. My heart burns with a question,
“Why turn to me?”
“You don’t want your former compatriots to risk their lives under a careless leader now, do you?”
He’s right. Whoever was leading them was reckless. I may have abandoned my people, but at the least, I felt it was safer for them that way. Instead, they started to worship another idol in my place. I wasn’t standing for this.
“My house is here. I need to grab my blade.” I said while rushing inside. I opened my chest and reached for the hilt. Latching the blade to my knee awakens something in me. That old ambition is returning. I gaze out at the window. Reginal is patiently waiting for me to join him. A mischievous smile creeps on my face, and I leave out the backdoor. I don’t want to journey with goody-two-shoes. I’ll take care of my problems without him bugging me.
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[WP] A reformed villain is living a peaceful life in a village far from the city they used to torment. After grabbing supplies from the local market, they take the quiet route back home, stopping halfway along the path. Without turning around, they ask "How long do you plan to follow me for, hero?"
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"Just until now, babykiller."
I sighed, shaking my head at the jab Amos has thrown at me. It was proven in court, in front of a jury, that the rumor of me having killed babies was nothing more than that—a rumor. That was when I was at the height of my days as the Brimstone Fiend. Of course, I was doing good deeds myself, exposing the lies and evils the city was never aware about, but I was still considered a villain.
Amos, or rather, Darkblow, was almost obsessed with me at the time. He started out as a promising kid, wanting to defeat the bad guys. Who could blame him? He was used to seeing supes take on supes. Only problem was that I became his arch-nemesis. People saw him as the second coming of Michael, Gabriel, any archangel you could think of. But underneath that polished exterior was a pit of burning hate.
After the defamation case, I saw something in him change. He got more violent towards me. It went from simply stopping me to trying to maim me. Even after I exposed the lies and corruption of many heroes on the local Council, he wasn't grateful. I was trying to turn my life around, and he was trying to kill me. After I beat him to the punch for many heroic actions, his behavior only got worse until he was kicked out of the Council. After that, I eventually retired, and here he was again.
"I've been waiting for this moment for a very long time. Just you and me in one last battle to the death." Ugh. As violent as always. I could only really say one thing to prevent this from getting any worse.
"No," I said, and I began walking away.
"No?! NO?! Who do you think I am?! I have been waiting years for this!" He shouted. Great, he wasn't going away. "I'm retired, Amos. I'm currently a billionaire trying to make a living in making tech for supes, not your arch-nemesis. Go home." I kept walking, but he kept following me, yelling at me. "You're not just going to take this away from me! I'm going to end you once and for all, you baby killing monster!"
"Yes I am. In case you need reminding, I am innocent. I was found innocent. And I retired from being a supervillain vigilante-turned-hero eight months ago, after I dated and eventually married the woman I love. Now, if you'll excuse me, I'm going home to spend some time with my wife." Something in him must have snapped, because soon he was careening towards me, sword in hand. Taking the sword, I plunged it into his chest and through his heart, stabbing the earth behind and below him.
He went limp, supported by the sword. Blood ran from his wound and mouth, pooling on the ground. Sighing, I called the police. Good thing I wore a body camera.
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“I need your help,” his face shows worry. It’s been a long time since we fought. He defeated me long ago.
“It’s old news. Goodbye.” I told him. I start to head back to my house.
“You don’t care at all!?”
“I don’t.”
“Why? He’s out to destroy us.”
“Good.”
“What is wrong with you?”
I look at him. He pulls his blade out and points it in my direction. It seems like Reginal, the hero, isn’t noble or stoic anymore. “I don’t have my blade anymore,” I said to him. I wanted to grab it before he lunged at me. That sword nearly cuts my ear off. If I didn’t dodge in time, I would lose an arm in addition to my ear. Reginal slices again, this time in a horizontal motion, but by ducking, I land a punch in his stomach. He spits a painful grunt, and saliva drips plop onto my neck. I backstep and instinctively place my hand on my hip. No blade was waiting for me. Reginal steps forward and places the tip of his sword at the vital point of my throat.
“I would have won if I brought my blade.”
“Is that all that matters to you?”
It does. Reginal defeated me long ago, and my pride was wounded. I didn’t want to admit that as Reginal dropped his blade and scoffed at me.
“You fell off.”
That’s a harsh sentence and to hear it from Reginal was surprising. What have I done after all of that time? I remember having ambition back then. Now I am living a peaceful life, which past me would have detested.
“What is it?” I asked Reginal. His face lifts,
“You’d help me?”
“You came to me first.”
We travel back to his kingdom. He briefs me on what’s happened since I fell at his hands. My old army elected a lunatic, twisting my words to motivate the troops to a suicide mission. Secretly, I took pride in my peers continuing my legacy. Reginal’s kingdom is tyrannical against me and my legion. My heart burns with a question,
“Why turn to me?”
“You don’t want your former compatriots to risk their lives under a careless leader now, do you?”
He’s right. Whoever was leading them was reckless. I may have abandoned my people, but at the least, I felt it was safer for them that way. Instead, they started to worship another idol in my place. I wasn’t standing for this.
“My house is here. I need to grab my blade.” I said while rushing inside. I opened my chest and reached for the hilt. Latching the blade to my knee awakens something in me. That old ambition is returning. I gaze out at the window. Reginal is patiently waiting for me to join him. A mischievous smile creeps on my face, and I leave out the backdoor. I don’t want to journey with goody-two-shoes. I’ll take care of my problems without him bugging me.
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[WP] A reformed villain is living a peaceful life in a village far from the city they used to torment. After grabbing supplies from the local market, they take the quiet route back home, stopping halfway along the path. Without turning around, they ask "How long do you plan to follow me for, hero?"
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“How long do you plan to follow me for, Hero?”
The air was silent, with only the wind blowing through the tall grass making a sound. The evening sun shed its orange light on the field, as the old man stood, seemingly by himself, on the dirt road.
The old man turned around.
“I know you are here. That sword used to be mine, you know. I can still feel it calling out to me.”
A purple mist began to morph together in front of the old man, swirling and condensing into the form of a human. A young man, holding a purple and black sword, and with an angry look on his face.
“Hello, Magus.” Said the young man, with a spit in his voice. “I found out that you have been getting your memories back. I wanted to make sure you were really reformed, like my friends said you were.
The old man, Mr. Matthews (formally known across the realms as “The Dark Lord Magus”), looked at the boy and said:
“Yes, it’s true. I am beginning to remember who I used to be. But I am not filled with evil any longer. Not since you bore that burden in my stead.”
The old man smiled sightly as he looked at the hero, who had absorbed a good deal of evil energy into himself during their fateful fight some years ago. This young man had found a way to challenge his ownership of the sword, the vessel by which “The Dark Lord Magus” enacted his powerful evil upon the world. Some dispute about lineage, in the fine contract on which the blade was forged. Not his problem anymore. The old man had felt a hundred years younger ever since the weight of that cursed blade had been removed off of him, and placed into the young, capable hands of this poor sap.
“I hope you know that I haven’t forgiven you, Magus. Thanks to you I have to live with this cursed blade in my arms every day of my cursed life.”
The old man looked down at the hero’s right arm. He could see the purple corruption spreading past his wrist, biting into his flesh. It made him wince a little bit. “Mr. Matthews” was certainly not a good person, but he at least had a few drops of empathy in his old body. And he certainly understood part of what this young man was going through.
“So, young hero, what really brings you here today? You and me both know that you would prefer to never see my face again, unless…?”
The young man stared at him silently, but with the same intensity as when he first arrived. The old man expertly noticed him just barely talking to himself under his breath.
“You want me to train you, eh? Teach you how to control that cursed blade? AHA! How ironic! The hero of the world comes crawling back to the very man he sold his sanity to defeat!” Said the old man, in a brief lapse of his former self.
In a flash, the hero had his sword at the old man’s throat, as his tailwind caught up to him.
“I don’t think you are in a position to negotiate, Old Man.”
“Oh, you think I fear you? You or that cursed blade? We both know what could happen if you pierced me with all that dark energy. Even now, I can feel its- “
“You may not fear this blade, but I’m sure Claire would.”
The old man went pale as his bluff dropped. The realization hit him, that the wielder of the cursed blade, Agnar-Swartaz, really was only a foot in front of him, the dark aura of his presence truly looming over him in a way that he hadn’t experienced since he first unearthed this ungodly thing over a hundred years ago.
The old man’s legs felt weak, as he put his weight back on his cane.
“You… You really have changed from the young man that once rose up to defeat me.”
The old man regained his composure and turned to face the young man once again.
“Fine. I will teach you how to resist the blade. Maybe it isn’t too late for you. Meet me here tomorrow morning, and we can start your training.”
The young man turned to leave.
“Ah, you seem to be forgetting something.” Said the old man. The hero turned around, as the old man reached out his hand.
As the hero took the old man’s hand, a puff of purple smoke extended down his arm, and seeped into the old man’s skin. The old man sighed as the deal was set. As much as he hated this dark power, it still had a strong effect on him. But the deal was set, and Claire was safe, for now. Hopefully this “Hero” could find some way to banish the evil for good. Magus was getting too old for this.
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“I need your help,” his face shows worry. It’s been a long time since we fought. He defeated me long ago.
“It’s old news. Goodbye.” I told him. I start to head back to my house.
“You don’t care at all!?”
“I don’t.”
“Why? He’s out to destroy us.”
“Good.”
“What is wrong with you?”
I look at him. He pulls his blade out and points it in my direction. It seems like Reginal, the hero, isn’t noble or stoic anymore. “I don’t have my blade anymore,” I said to him. I wanted to grab it before he lunged at me. That sword nearly cuts my ear off. If I didn’t dodge in time, I would lose an arm in addition to my ear. Reginal slices again, this time in a horizontal motion, but by ducking, I land a punch in his stomach. He spits a painful grunt, and saliva drips plop onto my neck. I backstep and instinctively place my hand on my hip. No blade was waiting for me. Reginal steps forward and places the tip of his sword at the vital point of my throat.
“I would have won if I brought my blade.”
“Is that all that matters to you?”
It does. Reginal defeated me long ago, and my pride was wounded. I didn’t want to admit that as Reginal dropped his blade and scoffed at me.
“You fell off.”
That’s a harsh sentence and to hear it from Reginal was surprising. What have I done after all of that time? I remember having ambition back then. Now I am living a peaceful life, which past me would have detested.
“What is it?” I asked Reginal. His face lifts,
“You’d help me?”
“You came to me first.”
We travel back to his kingdom. He briefs me on what’s happened since I fell at his hands. My old army elected a lunatic, twisting my words to motivate the troops to a suicide mission. Secretly, I took pride in my peers continuing my legacy. Reginal’s kingdom is tyrannical against me and my legion. My heart burns with a question,
“Why turn to me?”
“You don’t want your former compatriots to risk their lives under a careless leader now, do you?”
He’s right. Whoever was leading them was reckless. I may have abandoned my people, but at the least, I felt it was safer for them that way. Instead, they started to worship another idol in my place. I wasn’t standing for this.
“My house is here. I need to grab my blade.” I said while rushing inside. I opened my chest and reached for the hilt. Latching the blade to my knee awakens something in me. That old ambition is returning. I gaze out at the window. Reginal is patiently waiting for me to join him. A mischievous smile creeps on my face, and I leave out the backdoor. I don’t want to journey with goody-two-shoes. I’ll take care of my problems without him bugging me.
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[WP] A reformed villain is living a peaceful life in a village far from the city they used to torment. After grabbing supplies from the local market, they take the quiet route back home, stopping halfway along the path. Without turning around, they ask "How long do you plan to follow me for, hero?"
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"I have followed you for many a year Dr Eon, I believe you are a crook plotting something and not one second of my life should be spent ignoring your plot for our demise!"
Dr Eon doesn't do much more than sigh, a long posh nasally sigh, "Hero, do you honestly think that I would be plotting something in Horton Kirby? The most we've got here is a chalk river and a pub. And stop calling me 'Dr Eon' my name is Alexander." With that he kept walking towards his house, a quant cottage with a freshly cut lawn. Seemingly laser cut, considering the robots sweeping across it de-snailing the place.
The hero marched on with a valour and glory "Then why do you have your robots with you? Why would a civilian have need for them?"
"Why would *anyone* want an army of robots to do their bidding? Because life is hard and I am balding! How about you come in for a spot of tea and we talk further about this?" Alexander unlocked his door and trudged through, dusting off his shoes and wiping his brow as he placed them by the doormat. He dropped his bag off by the pantry and started filling the kettle, a robot offered to help but he politely declined.
The hero valiantly dodged the invasive death bots and swept in just as Dr Eon forgets to shut it *foolish move* he bound over the bristled pressure plate and charged into the lair. He continued to dodge the robots' gazes as he leapt past the cold lab desk and into Dr Eon's planning room.
"Yeah just sit there on the second seat, no not the table, stop messing with my coas- never mind. Do you prefer herbal or Tetley?"
"I will not fall for your poison traps!"
"...Ok, well I'm making Tetley so don't expect anything else if you change your mind." About five minutes pass as Alexander set to the kitchen, grabbing a couple custard creams for himself as he prepared a steaming cup. Eventually he entered his dining room and sits down near where the hero was investigating.
The hero waited for hours as he investigated the ominous vases, staring into their intricate scriptures of zig zags and birds. "A secret code..." he looked into the eyes of some robots as they prepare to fire rounds into him while his back is turned, but his gaze wards them off.
"Look, I don’t know if you can hear me through your rose tinted glasses, but I am about 75 now, if this were any other scheme it would be pointless to prevent anyway. I have about 20 years left of my life that I can see myself getting through, even without the numerous beat downs. I gave up after the death ray, you wouldn’t let me stay in London so I moved to Kent. You were about 25 when you started your hero thing, I was 50. I just want a peaceful death." Alexander took off his expensive rounded sunglasses revealing his tired eyes.
The hero braved through Dr Eons monologue as he tried to find the sinister lever leading to his newest weapon.
"Look, Mike, yes I know your name is Mike, I just don't care anymore. You have a good thing going, don't wait another 20 years to see my old bones to rest while the city goes unprotected."
Mike turned to the old man in his overused black trench coat, he seemed to be where Dr Eon sat, but he wasn't Dr Eon anymore. "But you wanted to rule the world, you said you would stop at nothing!"
"This is nothing, I stopped at the first place I've never heard of."
Mike looked at Alexander, Alexander didn't seem to bothered that he had been following him, in fact he was more than happy to let him into his house, the robots offered him some cookies but he ignored them. Mike felt bad. "I'll leave now, sorry to bother you."
"You didn't bother me, you just crossed off something on my to do list." Alexander smiled.
"I suppose you did the same for me too." With that, Mike exited the cottage, content, yet somehow saddened at the same time.
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“I need your help,” his face shows worry. It’s been a long time since we fought. He defeated me long ago.
“It’s old news. Goodbye.” I told him. I start to head back to my house.
“You don’t care at all!?”
“I don’t.”
“Why? He’s out to destroy us.”
“Good.”
“What is wrong with you?”
I look at him. He pulls his blade out and points it in my direction. It seems like Reginal, the hero, isn’t noble or stoic anymore. “I don’t have my blade anymore,” I said to him. I wanted to grab it before he lunged at me. That sword nearly cuts my ear off. If I didn’t dodge in time, I would lose an arm in addition to my ear. Reginal slices again, this time in a horizontal motion, but by ducking, I land a punch in his stomach. He spits a painful grunt, and saliva drips plop onto my neck. I backstep and instinctively place my hand on my hip. No blade was waiting for me. Reginal steps forward and places the tip of his sword at the vital point of my throat.
“I would have won if I brought my blade.”
“Is that all that matters to you?”
It does. Reginal defeated me long ago, and my pride was wounded. I didn’t want to admit that as Reginal dropped his blade and scoffed at me.
“You fell off.”
That’s a harsh sentence and to hear it from Reginal was surprising. What have I done after all of that time? I remember having ambition back then. Now I am living a peaceful life, which past me would have detested.
“What is it?” I asked Reginal. His face lifts,
“You’d help me?”
“You came to me first.”
We travel back to his kingdom. He briefs me on what’s happened since I fell at his hands. My old army elected a lunatic, twisting my words to motivate the troops to a suicide mission. Secretly, I took pride in my peers continuing my legacy. Reginal’s kingdom is tyrannical against me and my legion. My heart burns with a question,
“Why turn to me?”
“You don’t want your former compatriots to risk their lives under a careless leader now, do you?”
He’s right. Whoever was leading them was reckless. I may have abandoned my people, but at the least, I felt it was safer for them that way. Instead, they started to worship another idol in my place. I wasn’t standing for this.
“My house is here. I need to grab my blade.” I said while rushing inside. I opened my chest and reached for the hilt. Latching the blade to my knee awakens something in me. That old ambition is returning. I gaze out at the window. Reginal is patiently waiting for me to join him. A mischievous smile creeps on my face, and I leave out the backdoor. I don’t want to journey with goody-two-shoes. I’ll take care of my problems without him bugging me.
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[WP] A reformed villain is living a peaceful life in a village far from the city they used to torment. After grabbing supplies from the local market, they take the quiet route back home, stopping halfway along the path. Without turning around, they ask "How long do you plan to follow me for, hero?"
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“Till the ends of the Earth, were it necessary, Sylas.”
A short sound mixed between scoff and laugh dripped from him lips. “Always willing to do whatever is necessary. You and your friends. But even you were unable to finish the job when it came to me.”
“You said it yourself. You’re immortal.”
Sylas sighed, all his bristled, building energy in his form gone. With slouched shoulders he turned around to face her. “And forever will I be so alone.” He took a step forward. “You showed me the error of my ways.” Another. “To kill everyone, everything for what happened to my love so long ago was wrong.”
He was almost to her now. “She wouldn’t have wanted that either.” He stopped, an arm’s reach from the hero. “But tell me, Iralith… what is left? I turned away from destroying the world. Even helping you all save it in the end from the ‘True Enemy’ as you called him.” His voice broke. “I did all this… and yet I feel so empty. Lost without my Aya.”
His eyes began to water as he looked away in shame. “I still feel the call inside. To enact vengeance. To slaughter any I can get my hands on. It makes me dangerous. Between that and the fact that most would recognize me, I retired myself here. To a backwater town in the middle of nowhere. To hide. Like a coward.” He suddenly seemed to appear right in front of Iralith. His white hair slowly whipping around him as shadows collected on his arms and hid his face aside from two glowing red eyes.
“So tell me, hero; What is there left for me in this pitiful, disgusting world? What should stop me from trying again to end all life?” His voice began to echo and deepen around them as the midday sun was blocked out by the shadows, racing winds kicking up as the trees creaked from the force.
Iralith placed a hand to his cheek, weak smile painting her fair features that had no fear. “Because you are wrong, Sylas. Again.” Almost instantly the winds died, light returned and Sylas’ features returned to normal.
“What?”
She gently ran her fingers up and down his face, the small beginnings of facial hair tickling and poking into her hand.
“You aren’t alone,” she said. Her warm smile confused and befuddled him. “I am your friend. I was when we were at war with Dracul. I was when you disappeared after the final battle. I was while I was looking for you, knowing you faked your death while everyone else said you were finally gone.” She placed her other hand to the opposite cheek. “I will always be your friend.”
She pulled him into a hug, holding the shaking man tightly. Slowly, his arms wrapped around her, gripping gripping like his life depended on it. His muffled voice came from her shoulder he was buried in. “Do you mean that?”
“Of course I do.” Then she giggled. “I might get mad if you start being a bad guy again, of course. But if me being here keeps that from happening, then I won’t be going anywhere.”
Sylas chuckled. “I appreciate the thought. But the world still needs you out there, punching bad guys like me in the face, and all that crap.”
“You could just come with me, Sylas. It might take the others a short readjustment period to having you around, but there is no such thing as too many friends.” She separated from him, hoping her argument was sound.
Sylas crossed his arms. “I don’t know. I’ve never really been much of a hero.”
Iralith took a hand and started to pull him along. “There’s always time to start. You are immortal, after all. I’m sure in a few centuries you’ll be better than the rest of us.”
With a hearty laugh, the first he had let out in a millennia, Sylas walked side by side with the hero, hope blossoming in his chest once again.
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“I need your help,” his face shows worry. It’s been a long time since we fought. He defeated me long ago.
“It’s old news. Goodbye.” I told him. I start to head back to my house.
“You don’t care at all!?”
“I don’t.”
“Why? He’s out to destroy us.”
“Good.”
“What is wrong with you?”
I look at him. He pulls his blade out and points it in my direction. It seems like Reginal, the hero, isn’t noble or stoic anymore. “I don’t have my blade anymore,” I said to him. I wanted to grab it before he lunged at me. That sword nearly cuts my ear off. If I didn’t dodge in time, I would lose an arm in addition to my ear. Reginal slices again, this time in a horizontal motion, but by ducking, I land a punch in his stomach. He spits a painful grunt, and saliva drips plop onto my neck. I backstep and instinctively place my hand on my hip. No blade was waiting for me. Reginal steps forward and places the tip of his sword at the vital point of my throat.
“I would have won if I brought my blade.”
“Is that all that matters to you?”
It does. Reginal defeated me long ago, and my pride was wounded. I didn’t want to admit that as Reginal dropped his blade and scoffed at me.
“You fell off.”
That’s a harsh sentence and to hear it from Reginal was surprising. What have I done after all of that time? I remember having ambition back then. Now I am living a peaceful life, which past me would have detested.
“What is it?” I asked Reginal. His face lifts,
“You’d help me?”
“You came to me first.”
We travel back to his kingdom. He briefs me on what’s happened since I fell at his hands. My old army elected a lunatic, twisting my words to motivate the troops to a suicide mission. Secretly, I took pride in my peers continuing my legacy. Reginal’s kingdom is tyrannical against me and my legion. My heart burns with a question,
“Why turn to me?”
“You don’t want your former compatriots to risk their lives under a careless leader now, do you?”
He’s right. Whoever was leading them was reckless. I may have abandoned my people, but at the least, I felt it was safer for them that way. Instead, they started to worship another idol in my place. I wasn’t standing for this.
“My house is here. I need to grab my blade.” I said while rushing inside. I opened my chest and reached for the hilt. Latching the blade to my knee awakens something in me. That old ambition is returning. I gaze out at the window. Reginal is patiently waiting for me to join him. A mischievous smile creeps on my face, and I leave out the backdoor. I don’t want to journey with goody-two-shoes. I’ll take care of my problems without him bugging me.
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[WP] A reformed villain is living a peaceful life in a village far from the city they used to torment. After grabbing supplies from the local market, they take the quiet route back home, stopping halfway along the path. Without turning around, they ask "How long do you plan to follow me for, hero?"
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Two bunches of tomatoes, five heads of lettuce, a crate of potatoes. A coil of strong rope, a box of nails, and a new hammer and logging ax. These and various other odds and ends went into the hand cart. The big man looked over them and gave a nod, turning his gaze to the shopkeep.
“These will do fine. How much do I owe ya?”
“Three silver pennies for the foodstuffs, another five for the rest. Sounds right to you Landon?” the old man responded. The man he called Landon raised an eyebrow, and looked back down.
“Seems a bit steep. I’d call it seven and one...but I’ll give ya the eight if you promise to give me a call when you get more of the blackberry brand in.” The shopkeep gave a great laugh, nodding. The two men shook on it, and the man call Landon handed the shopkeep the coins. He also felt eyes on him, but did not bother to look for the source. Instead, he reached down and grasped the handle of the cart. He bid the shopkeep farewell and started out of the market.
Today, he took the long and quiet way back to his home.
He felt the eyes on him still.
After a quarter of an hour of silent walking, the big man judged it far enough, and came to a halt. He dropped the handle of the cart, the contents clattered about noisily at the sudden jostling. He took a deep breath and let out a long sigh, like a man preparing to undertake a great labor.
“And just how long do you plan to follow me for, *Hero*?” the man they called Landon called out without turning around.
“Not much longer, I guess,” comes an almost off-handed reply, like someone had taken the punchline from her joke.
“Good. Then good day,” the big man said, and squatted down to pick up the handle of the cart.
“That where you think to leave it then? After all this time?”
The big man who some called Landon stood back up, heft the cart handle. It didn’t seem to require much actual effort. He had no response for the woman behind him. He started to walk again.
“Hey now, that won’t do. Turn around and face me Kamus!” she shouted, her lax attitude vanishing like the morning mist.
“No.”
“You think you’re above all that now?”
“I think I keep my promises,” the big man growled, low and loud and brimming with anger like thunder over a distant hill.
In the startled silence there was an unsaid question. Kamus sighed, once more stopping. He did not turn around.
“Last time we met, I promised you that the next time I saw you I would crush you to dust and scatter you in the winds,” he said as explanation. The silence stretched out, now pensive.
“Well. I suppose that is true. Why would that stop you now?”
“A promise is a promise, even if it is from another life. And I’ve no interest in returning to who I was when I made that promise.”
“You expect me to believe you’ve changed instead of simply fled?” she asked, but there was an uncharacteristic break in her speech.
“It frankly doesn’t matter to me what you believe,” Kamus said simply. “But I’ll play along all the same Vera. You were always quick and smart, good at reading people. You could tell when I was spinning a lie. That’s what’s got you unbalanced now. Because I haven’t lied since we started talking. Leave me be girl, I’ve set The Game aside now.”
“Why?” Vera asked, and the question was heavy. She must have been carrying it all this time.
“Found something worth more than the prize. Simple math, that.”
Silence settled between the two once more; she hadn’t left, even if she hadn’t spoken in the last minute. Kamus considered simply walking away once more but something in the silence held him. Like the conversation was not over, for all that he wanted it to be. And he didn’t want her to follow him home.
“The Game has changed, Kamus,” she said, breaking the silence like it was some fragile thing. There was a tremor in her voice that caught him; this was new. Still, he did not turn to face her. He said nothing.
“New gangs moved in once you left, and they discarded most of the rules. The city is starting to tear itself apart.”
“I fail to see what that has to do with me,” Kamus said carefully.
“The hell you do! You might lie to others, maybe even to yourself, but you can’t lie to me. I know how much that city meant to you. And after all these years-” Vera started, but cut herself off. She wrestled with something for a few moments, and Kamus was deeply tempted to turn to see the look on her face.
“I admit...that it may have been wrong to drive you out,” she finished, and the words cost her something to say. Something deep rooted and vast, and it was not lost of Kamus. Something deep in him stirred in triumph, but that was something old. Something he’d thought he’d buried deep.
Not deep enough it seemed.
Kamus turned to look at her, at the woman who had been his adversary all those years ago. The years had been hard on her, but she still stood with enough grace and power to tell him she was as dangerous as ever. Her brown hair was still cut short, though she now sported a pair of scars that were new to him. Old to her. Her golden eyes were looking down at the ground, but as he turned she raised the up to meet his blue ones. She was still a foot and a half shorter than him, but most were. The big man was built like a mountain, even after all this time. His gaze was steady.
“Truce?” he asked into that silence.
“Truce,” she echoed back. He nodded, and looked to the sky a moment to judge the time.
“I’ll hear you out over food, as is proper. I assume you won’t believe it poisoned, since you saw me buy it in town?” he asked, a wry smile on his features. She rolled her eyes in response, but nodded. He reached out and picked the cart up with one hand, walking off the side of the road and setting it down. He fished out some bits of a meal as Vera set to making a fire.
---
An hour later Kamus walked down the road in silence, pondering on what he’d been told. He weighed these things carefully against what he had built for himself since. An hour ago he’d had no interest in what Vera said. Now things were different. Were they different enough?
He crested a hill the little dirt road he’d been on ran up, finding a small house nestled in a clearing of trees. Smoke rose from the chimney. The front door opened and a small face peered out before there was a cry of excitement. A young girl came barreling out of the small house and down the road to greet him, throwing herself around his waist in her best attempt to reach around and hug him. Kamus smiled, patting her lightly on the head, ever so lightly.
“Heya Sprout,” he said, and checked the math in his head once more.
---
---
Thanks for reading. Feedback always appreciated.
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“How long are you going to play like you’ve retired?”
The old villain sighed, his shoulders sagging under the weight of age and exhaustion.
“I don’t know how to answer that,” he responded, slowly turning to his old adversary. “For years I put everything I had into defeating you. My anger and resentment grew by the day. Maybe I finally broke.”
The hero dropped into a ready stance, clearly not buying the tired old man act.
“I don’t believe that for a second. You always had a plan. You were the one who started the fights. And YOU WERE THE ONE WHO KILLED HER!!!!”
The hero had started radiating power. The villain realized just how old he’d gotten.
“I know.”
He let his shoulders droop before turning back down the path home.
“DON’T YOU DARE TURN YOUR BACK ON ME!”
The hero was furious the villain hadn’t reacted to seeing him.
“I’VE HUNTED YOU FOR YEARS! NO MATTER WHAT WAS GOING ON I ALWAYS KEPT MY EARS OPEN FOR NEWS OF THE TERRIBLE VILLAIN THAT HAD TERRORIZED OUR CITY!”
The villain kept walking, not sure what the hero was going to do next. He could feel the wind whipping around him.
Eventually he felt the wind die down and he continued walking in silence, the hero still following him. He’d calmed down some but was clearly still seething.
When he got home, the villain left the door open, an unsaid invite. He began making tea and putting away the items he’d brought from the grocery store. He saw the Hero warily enter the living room, looking around at the bare walls and cheap furniture.
The villain followed him in, carrying a small tray of biscuits and tea.
“Excuse me,” he said, taking a step around the hero, who was now staring at him, torn between a primal anger and total bewilderment.
When the villain set the tea set down, he motioned for the hero to sit at the chair at the end of the coffee table while he took a seat at the opposite end of the couch.
“Have some tea.”
“What the hell is happening?”
The villain chuckled before taking a sip of his tea.
“I got old, and tired.”
For several moments, the hero just stared at the villain as he sipped his tea. Eventually, he sat down although he refused the tea.
After almost ten minutes of silence, the villain began to talk. He spoke of the incredible anger and hate he’d had for the hero for all those years. He talked of his frustration at being foiled over and over again.
For almost an hour he talked, the hero not saying a word. Just staring at him with angry, unmoved eyes.
“After our last fight I was truly despondent,” the villain said. I’d worked so hard on that plan only for you to show up and slap me aside like an annoying gnat. It was then that I made the decision to come here and rest.”
He leaned forward and poured another cup of tea. The hero still refused to touch the tea or biscuits.
“I’ve been here for many years now, though I’ve kept to myself for the most part. I guess my closest friend would be the postman. Though, he only knows me as the retired professor.”
“It took a long time for me to address the hatred I felt for you. I worked hard at it, though I broke many things along the way. That’s why it's so empty here. I would break everything in my rage. It became easier to buy cheap furniture and keep my belongings simple.”
He sighed again, not sure why he was still talking. He finally looked up at the empty chair.
“It doesn’t matter now,” he said, collecting the tea set and returning it to the kitchen. After cleaning up, he made his way to the bathroom. Leaning over the sink, he stared into the eyes of the hero, his anger surging back, just like it did every day…
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[WP] A reformed villain is living a peaceful life in a village far from the city they used to torment. After grabbing supplies from the local market, they take the quiet route back home, stopping halfway along the path. Without turning around, they ask "How long do you plan to follow me for, hero?"
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"Just until now, babykiller."
I sighed, shaking my head at the jab Amos has thrown at me. It was proven in court, in front of a jury, that the rumor of me having killed babies was nothing more than that—a rumor. That was when I was at the height of my days as the Brimstone Fiend. Of course, I was doing good deeds myself, exposing the lies and evils the city was never aware about, but I was still considered a villain.
Amos, or rather, Darkblow, was almost obsessed with me at the time. He started out as a promising kid, wanting to defeat the bad guys. Who could blame him? He was used to seeing supes take on supes. Only problem was that I became his arch-nemesis. People saw him as the second coming of Michael, Gabriel, any archangel you could think of. But underneath that polished exterior was a pit of burning hate.
After the defamation case, I saw something in him change. He got more violent towards me. It went from simply stopping me to trying to maim me. Even after I exposed the lies and corruption of many heroes on the local Council, he wasn't grateful. I was trying to turn my life around, and he was trying to kill me. After I beat him to the punch for many heroic actions, his behavior only got worse until he was kicked out of the Council. After that, I eventually retired, and here he was again.
"I've been waiting for this moment for a very long time. Just you and me in one last battle to the death." Ugh. As violent as always. I could only really say one thing to prevent this from getting any worse.
"No," I said, and I began walking away.
"No?! NO?! Who do you think I am?! I have been waiting years for this!" He shouted. Great, he wasn't going away. "I'm retired, Amos. I'm currently a billionaire trying to make a living in making tech for supes, not your arch-nemesis. Go home." I kept walking, but he kept following me, yelling at me. "You're not just going to take this away from me! I'm going to end you once and for all, you baby killing monster!"
"Yes I am. In case you need reminding, I am innocent. I was found innocent. And I retired from being a supervillain vigilante-turned-hero eight months ago, after I dated and eventually married the woman I love. Now, if you'll excuse me, I'm going home to spend some time with my wife." Something in him must have snapped, because soon he was careening towards me, sword in hand. Taking the sword, I plunged it into his chest and through his heart, stabbing the earth behind and below him.
He went limp, supported by the sword. Blood ran from his wound and mouth, pooling on the ground. Sighing, I called the police. Good thing I wore a body camera.
|
“How long are you going to play like you’ve retired?”
The old villain sighed, his shoulders sagging under the weight of age and exhaustion.
“I don’t know how to answer that,” he responded, slowly turning to his old adversary. “For years I put everything I had into defeating you. My anger and resentment grew by the day. Maybe I finally broke.”
The hero dropped into a ready stance, clearly not buying the tired old man act.
“I don’t believe that for a second. You always had a plan. You were the one who started the fights. And YOU WERE THE ONE WHO KILLED HER!!!!”
The hero had started radiating power. The villain realized just how old he’d gotten.
“I know.”
He let his shoulders droop before turning back down the path home.
“DON’T YOU DARE TURN YOUR BACK ON ME!”
The hero was furious the villain hadn’t reacted to seeing him.
“I’VE HUNTED YOU FOR YEARS! NO MATTER WHAT WAS GOING ON I ALWAYS KEPT MY EARS OPEN FOR NEWS OF THE TERRIBLE VILLAIN THAT HAD TERRORIZED OUR CITY!”
The villain kept walking, not sure what the hero was going to do next. He could feel the wind whipping around him.
Eventually he felt the wind die down and he continued walking in silence, the hero still following him. He’d calmed down some but was clearly still seething.
When he got home, the villain left the door open, an unsaid invite. He began making tea and putting away the items he’d brought from the grocery store. He saw the Hero warily enter the living room, looking around at the bare walls and cheap furniture.
The villain followed him in, carrying a small tray of biscuits and tea.
“Excuse me,” he said, taking a step around the hero, who was now staring at him, torn between a primal anger and total bewilderment.
When the villain set the tea set down, he motioned for the hero to sit at the chair at the end of the coffee table while he took a seat at the opposite end of the couch.
“Have some tea.”
“What the hell is happening?”
The villain chuckled before taking a sip of his tea.
“I got old, and tired.”
For several moments, the hero just stared at the villain as he sipped his tea. Eventually, he sat down although he refused the tea.
After almost ten minutes of silence, the villain began to talk. He spoke of the incredible anger and hate he’d had for the hero for all those years. He talked of his frustration at being foiled over and over again.
For almost an hour he talked, the hero not saying a word. Just staring at him with angry, unmoved eyes.
“After our last fight I was truly despondent,” the villain said. I’d worked so hard on that plan only for you to show up and slap me aside like an annoying gnat. It was then that I made the decision to come here and rest.”
He leaned forward and poured another cup of tea. The hero still refused to touch the tea or biscuits.
“I’ve been here for many years now, though I’ve kept to myself for the most part. I guess my closest friend would be the postman. Though, he only knows me as the retired professor.”
“It took a long time for me to address the hatred I felt for you. I worked hard at it, though I broke many things along the way. That’s why it's so empty here. I would break everything in my rage. It became easier to buy cheap furniture and keep my belongings simple.”
He sighed again, not sure why he was still talking. He finally looked up at the empty chair.
“It doesn’t matter now,” he said, collecting the tea set and returning it to the kitchen. After cleaning up, he made his way to the bathroom. Leaning over the sink, he stared into the eyes of the hero, his anger surging back, just like it did every day…
|
|
[WP] A reformed villain is living a peaceful life in a village far from the city they used to torment. After grabbing supplies from the local market, they take the quiet route back home, stopping halfway along the path. Without turning around, they ask "How long do you plan to follow me for, hero?"
|
“How long do you plan to follow me for, Hero?”
The air was silent, with only the wind blowing through the tall grass making a sound. The evening sun shed its orange light on the field, as the old man stood, seemingly by himself, on the dirt road.
The old man turned around.
“I know you are here. That sword used to be mine, you know. I can still feel it calling out to me.”
A purple mist began to morph together in front of the old man, swirling and condensing into the form of a human. A young man, holding a purple and black sword, and with an angry look on his face.
“Hello, Magus.” Said the young man, with a spit in his voice. “I found out that you have been getting your memories back. I wanted to make sure you were really reformed, like my friends said you were.
The old man, Mr. Matthews (formally known across the realms as “The Dark Lord Magus”), looked at the boy and said:
“Yes, it’s true. I am beginning to remember who I used to be. But I am not filled with evil any longer. Not since you bore that burden in my stead.”
The old man smiled sightly as he looked at the hero, who had absorbed a good deal of evil energy into himself during their fateful fight some years ago. This young man had found a way to challenge his ownership of the sword, the vessel by which “The Dark Lord Magus” enacted his powerful evil upon the world. Some dispute about lineage, in the fine contract on which the blade was forged. Not his problem anymore. The old man had felt a hundred years younger ever since the weight of that cursed blade had been removed off of him, and placed into the young, capable hands of this poor sap.
“I hope you know that I haven’t forgiven you, Magus. Thanks to you I have to live with this cursed blade in my arms every day of my cursed life.”
The old man looked down at the hero’s right arm. He could see the purple corruption spreading past his wrist, biting into his flesh. It made him wince a little bit. “Mr. Matthews” was certainly not a good person, but he at least had a few drops of empathy in his old body. And he certainly understood part of what this young man was going through.
“So, young hero, what really brings you here today? You and me both know that you would prefer to never see my face again, unless…?”
The young man stared at him silently, but with the same intensity as when he first arrived. The old man expertly noticed him just barely talking to himself under his breath.
“You want me to train you, eh? Teach you how to control that cursed blade? AHA! How ironic! The hero of the world comes crawling back to the very man he sold his sanity to defeat!” Said the old man, in a brief lapse of his former self.
In a flash, the hero had his sword at the old man’s throat, as his tailwind caught up to him.
“I don’t think you are in a position to negotiate, Old Man.”
“Oh, you think I fear you? You or that cursed blade? We both know what could happen if you pierced me with all that dark energy. Even now, I can feel its- “
“You may not fear this blade, but I’m sure Claire would.”
The old man went pale as his bluff dropped. The realization hit him, that the wielder of the cursed blade, Agnar-Swartaz, really was only a foot in front of him, the dark aura of his presence truly looming over him in a way that he hadn’t experienced since he first unearthed this ungodly thing over a hundred years ago.
The old man’s legs felt weak, as he put his weight back on his cane.
“You… You really have changed from the young man that once rose up to defeat me.”
The old man regained his composure and turned to face the young man once again.
“Fine. I will teach you how to resist the blade. Maybe it isn’t too late for you. Meet me here tomorrow morning, and we can start your training.”
The young man turned to leave.
“Ah, you seem to be forgetting something.” Said the old man. The hero turned around, as the old man reached out his hand.
As the hero took the old man’s hand, a puff of purple smoke extended down his arm, and seeped into the old man’s skin. The old man sighed as the deal was set. As much as he hated this dark power, it still had a strong effect on him. But the deal was set, and Claire was safe, for now. Hopefully this “Hero” could find some way to banish the evil for good. Magus was getting too old for this.
|
“How long are you going to play like you’ve retired?”
The old villain sighed, his shoulders sagging under the weight of age and exhaustion.
“I don’t know how to answer that,” he responded, slowly turning to his old adversary. “For years I put everything I had into defeating you. My anger and resentment grew by the day. Maybe I finally broke.”
The hero dropped into a ready stance, clearly not buying the tired old man act.
“I don’t believe that for a second. You always had a plan. You were the one who started the fights. And YOU WERE THE ONE WHO KILLED HER!!!!”
The hero had started radiating power. The villain realized just how old he’d gotten.
“I know.”
He let his shoulders droop before turning back down the path home.
“DON’T YOU DARE TURN YOUR BACK ON ME!”
The hero was furious the villain hadn’t reacted to seeing him.
“I’VE HUNTED YOU FOR YEARS! NO MATTER WHAT WAS GOING ON I ALWAYS KEPT MY EARS OPEN FOR NEWS OF THE TERRIBLE VILLAIN THAT HAD TERRORIZED OUR CITY!”
The villain kept walking, not sure what the hero was going to do next. He could feel the wind whipping around him.
Eventually he felt the wind die down and he continued walking in silence, the hero still following him. He’d calmed down some but was clearly still seething.
When he got home, the villain left the door open, an unsaid invite. He began making tea and putting away the items he’d brought from the grocery store. He saw the Hero warily enter the living room, looking around at the bare walls and cheap furniture.
The villain followed him in, carrying a small tray of biscuits and tea.
“Excuse me,” he said, taking a step around the hero, who was now staring at him, torn between a primal anger and total bewilderment.
When the villain set the tea set down, he motioned for the hero to sit at the chair at the end of the coffee table while he took a seat at the opposite end of the couch.
“Have some tea.”
“What the hell is happening?”
The villain chuckled before taking a sip of his tea.
“I got old, and tired.”
For several moments, the hero just stared at the villain as he sipped his tea. Eventually, he sat down although he refused the tea.
After almost ten minutes of silence, the villain began to talk. He spoke of the incredible anger and hate he’d had for the hero for all those years. He talked of his frustration at being foiled over and over again.
For almost an hour he talked, the hero not saying a word. Just staring at him with angry, unmoved eyes.
“After our last fight I was truly despondent,” the villain said. I’d worked so hard on that plan only for you to show up and slap me aside like an annoying gnat. It was then that I made the decision to come here and rest.”
He leaned forward and poured another cup of tea. The hero still refused to touch the tea or biscuits.
“I’ve been here for many years now, though I’ve kept to myself for the most part. I guess my closest friend would be the postman. Though, he only knows me as the retired professor.”
“It took a long time for me to address the hatred I felt for you. I worked hard at it, though I broke many things along the way. That’s why it's so empty here. I would break everything in my rage. It became easier to buy cheap furniture and keep my belongings simple.”
He sighed again, not sure why he was still talking. He finally looked up at the empty chair.
“It doesn’t matter now,” he said, collecting the tea set and returning it to the kitchen. After cleaning up, he made his way to the bathroom. Leaning over the sink, he stared into the eyes of the hero, his anger surging back, just like it did every day…
|
|
[WP] A reformed villain is living a peaceful life in a village far from the city they used to torment. After grabbing supplies from the local market, they take the quiet route back home, stopping halfway along the path. Without turning around, they ask "How long do you plan to follow me for, hero?"
|
“Till the ends of the Earth, were it necessary, Sylas.”
A short sound mixed between scoff and laugh dripped from him lips. “Always willing to do whatever is necessary. You and your friends. But even you were unable to finish the job when it came to me.”
“You said it yourself. You’re immortal.”
Sylas sighed, all his bristled, building energy in his form gone. With slouched shoulders he turned around to face her. “And forever will I be so alone.” He took a step forward. “You showed me the error of my ways.” Another. “To kill everyone, everything for what happened to my love so long ago was wrong.”
He was almost to her now. “She wouldn’t have wanted that either.” He stopped, an arm’s reach from the hero. “But tell me, Iralith… what is left? I turned away from destroying the world. Even helping you all save it in the end from the ‘True Enemy’ as you called him.” His voice broke. “I did all this… and yet I feel so empty. Lost without my Aya.”
His eyes began to water as he looked away in shame. “I still feel the call inside. To enact vengeance. To slaughter any I can get my hands on. It makes me dangerous. Between that and the fact that most would recognize me, I retired myself here. To a backwater town in the middle of nowhere. To hide. Like a coward.” He suddenly seemed to appear right in front of Iralith. His white hair slowly whipping around him as shadows collected on his arms and hid his face aside from two glowing red eyes.
“So tell me, hero; What is there left for me in this pitiful, disgusting world? What should stop me from trying again to end all life?” His voice began to echo and deepen around them as the midday sun was blocked out by the shadows, racing winds kicking up as the trees creaked from the force.
Iralith placed a hand to his cheek, weak smile painting her fair features that had no fear. “Because you are wrong, Sylas. Again.” Almost instantly the winds died, light returned and Sylas’ features returned to normal.
“What?”
She gently ran her fingers up and down his face, the small beginnings of facial hair tickling and poking into her hand.
“You aren’t alone,” she said. Her warm smile confused and befuddled him. “I am your friend. I was when we were at war with Dracul. I was when you disappeared after the final battle. I was while I was looking for you, knowing you faked your death while everyone else said you were finally gone.” She placed her other hand to the opposite cheek. “I will always be your friend.”
She pulled him into a hug, holding the shaking man tightly. Slowly, his arms wrapped around her, gripping gripping like his life depended on it. His muffled voice came from her shoulder he was buried in. “Do you mean that?”
“Of course I do.” Then she giggled. “I might get mad if you start being a bad guy again, of course. But if me being here keeps that from happening, then I won’t be going anywhere.”
Sylas chuckled. “I appreciate the thought. But the world still needs you out there, punching bad guys like me in the face, and all that crap.”
“You could just come with me, Sylas. It might take the others a short readjustment period to having you around, but there is no such thing as too many friends.” She separated from him, hoping her argument was sound.
Sylas crossed his arms. “I don’t know. I’ve never really been much of a hero.”
Iralith took a hand and started to pull him along. “There’s always time to start. You are immortal, after all. I’m sure in a few centuries you’ll be better than the rest of us.”
With a hearty laugh, the first he had let out in a millennia, Sylas walked side by side with the hero, hope blossoming in his chest once again.
|
“How long are you going to play like you’ve retired?”
The old villain sighed, his shoulders sagging under the weight of age and exhaustion.
“I don’t know how to answer that,” he responded, slowly turning to his old adversary. “For years I put everything I had into defeating you. My anger and resentment grew by the day. Maybe I finally broke.”
The hero dropped into a ready stance, clearly not buying the tired old man act.
“I don’t believe that for a second. You always had a plan. You were the one who started the fights. And YOU WERE THE ONE WHO KILLED HER!!!!”
The hero had started radiating power. The villain realized just how old he’d gotten.
“I know.”
He let his shoulders droop before turning back down the path home.
“DON’T YOU DARE TURN YOUR BACK ON ME!”
The hero was furious the villain hadn’t reacted to seeing him.
“I’VE HUNTED YOU FOR YEARS! NO MATTER WHAT WAS GOING ON I ALWAYS KEPT MY EARS OPEN FOR NEWS OF THE TERRIBLE VILLAIN THAT HAD TERRORIZED OUR CITY!”
The villain kept walking, not sure what the hero was going to do next. He could feel the wind whipping around him.
Eventually he felt the wind die down and he continued walking in silence, the hero still following him. He’d calmed down some but was clearly still seething.
When he got home, the villain left the door open, an unsaid invite. He began making tea and putting away the items he’d brought from the grocery store. He saw the Hero warily enter the living room, looking around at the bare walls and cheap furniture.
The villain followed him in, carrying a small tray of biscuits and tea.
“Excuse me,” he said, taking a step around the hero, who was now staring at him, torn between a primal anger and total bewilderment.
When the villain set the tea set down, he motioned for the hero to sit at the chair at the end of the coffee table while he took a seat at the opposite end of the couch.
“Have some tea.”
“What the hell is happening?”
The villain chuckled before taking a sip of his tea.
“I got old, and tired.”
For several moments, the hero just stared at the villain as he sipped his tea. Eventually, he sat down although he refused the tea.
After almost ten minutes of silence, the villain began to talk. He spoke of the incredible anger and hate he’d had for the hero for all those years. He talked of his frustration at being foiled over and over again.
For almost an hour he talked, the hero not saying a word. Just staring at him with angry, unmoved eyes.
“After our last fight I was truly despondent,” the villain said. I’d worked so hard on that plan only for you to show up and slap me aside like an annoying gnat. It was then that I made the decision to come here and rest.”
He leaned forward and poured another cup of tea. The hero still refused to touch the tea or biscuits.
“I’ve been here for many years now, though I’ve kept to myself for the most part. I guess my closest friend would be the postman. Though, he only knows me as the retired professor.”
“It took a long time for me to address the hatred I felt for you. I worked hard at it, though I broke many things along the way. That’s why it's so empty here. I would break everything in my rage. It became easier to buy cheap furniture and keep my belongings simple.”
He sighed again, not sure why he was still talking. He finally looked up at the empty chair.
“It doesn’t matter now,” he said, collecting the tea set and returning it to the kitchen. After cleaning up, he made his way to the bathroom. Leaning over the sink, he stared into the eyes of the hero, his anger surging back, just like it did every day…
|
|
[WP] A reformed villain is living a peaceful life in a village far from the city they used to torment. After grabbing supplies from the local market, they take the quiet route back home, stopping halfway along the path. Without turning around, they ask "How long do you plan to follow me for, hero?"
|
“Till the ends of the Earth, were it necessary, Sylas.”
A short sound mixed between scoff and laugh dripped from him lips. “Always willing to do whatever is necessary. You and your friends. But even you were unable to finish the job when it came to me.”
“You said it yourself. You’re immortal.”
Sylas sighed, all his bristled, building energy in his form gone. With slouched shoulders he turned around to face her. “And forever will I be so alone.” He took a step forward. “You showed me the error of my ways.” Another. “To kill everyone, everything for what happened to my love so long ago was wrong.”
He was almost to her now. “She wouldn’t have wanted that either.” He stopped, an arm’s reach from the hero. “But tell me, Iralith… what is left? I turned away from destroying the world. Even helping you all save it in the end from the ‘True Enemy’ as you called him.” His voice broke. “I did all this… and yet I feel so empty. Lost without my Aya.”
His eyes began to water as he looked away in shame. “I still feel the call inside. To enact vengeance. To slaughter any I can get my hands on. It makes me dangerous. Between that and the fact that most would recognize me, I retired myself here. To a backwater town in the middle of nowhere. To hide. Like a coward.” He suddenly seemed to appear right in front of Iralith. His white hair slowly whipping around him as shadows collected on his arms and hid his face aside from two glowing red eyes.
“So tell me, hero; What is there left for me in this pitiful, disgusting world? What should stop me from trying again to end all life?” His voice began to echo and deepen around them as the midday sun was blocked out by the shadows, racing winds kicking up as the trees creaked from the force.
Iralith placed a hand to his cheek, weak smile painting her fair features that had no fear. “Because you are wrong, Sylas. Again.” Almost instantly the winds died, light returned and Sylas’ features returned to normal.
“What?”
She gently ran her fingers up and down his face, the small beginnings of facial hair tickling and poking into her hand.
“You aren’t alone,” she said. Her warm smile confused and befuddled him. “I am your friend. I was when we were at war with Dracul. I was when you disappeared after the final battle. I was while I was looking for you, knowing you faked your death while everyone else said you were finally gone.” She placed her other hand to the opposite cheek. “I will always be your friend.”
She pulled him into a hug, holding the shaking man tightly. Slowly, his arms wrapped around her, gripping gripping like his life depended on it. His muffled voice came from her shoulder he was buried in. “Do you mean that?”
“Of course I do.” Then she giggled. “I might get mad if you start being a bad guy again, of course. But if me being here keeps that from happening, then I won’t be going anywhere.”
Sylas chuckled. “I appreciate the thought. But the world still needs you out there, punching bad guys like me in the face, and all that crap.”
“You could just come with me, Sylas. It might take the others a short readjustment period to having you around, but there is no such thing as too many friends.” She separated from him, hoping her argument was sound.
Sylas crossed his arms. “I don’t know. I’ve never really been much of a hero.”
Iralith took a hand and started to pull him along. “There’s always time to start. You are immortal, after all. I’m sure in a few centuries you’ll be better than the rest of us.”
With a hearty laugh, the first he had let out in a millennia, Sylas walked side by side with the hero, hope blossoming in his chest once again.
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"I have followed you for many a year Dr Eon, I believe you are a crook plotting something and not one second of my life should be spent ignoring your plot for our demise!"
Dr Eon doesn't do much more than sigh, a long posh nasally sigh, "Hero, do you honestly think that I would be plotting something in Horton Kirby? The most we've got here is a chalk river and a pub. And stop calling me 'Dr Eon' my name is Alexander." With that he kept walking towards his house, a quant cottage with a freshly cut lawn. Seemingly laser cut, considering the robots sweeping across it de-snailing the place.
The hero marched on with a valour and glory "Then why do you have your robots with you? Why would a civilian have need for them?"
"Why would *anyone* want an army of robots to do their bidding? Because life is hard and I am balding! How about you come in for a spot of tea and we talk further about this?" Alexander unlocked his door and trudged through, dusting off his shoes and wiping his brow as he placed them by the doormat. He dropped his bag off by the pantry and started filling the kettle, a robot offered to help but he politely declined.
The hero valiantly dodged the invasive death bots and swept in just as Dr Eon forgets to shut it *foolish move* he bound over the bristled pressure plate and charged into the lair. He continued to dodge the robots' gazes as he leapt past the cold lab desk and into Dr Eon's planning room.
"Yeah just sit there on the second seat, no not the table, stop messing with my coas- never mind. Do you prefer herbal or Tetley?"
"I will not fall for your poison traps!"
"...Ok, well I'm making Tetley so don't expect anything else if you change your mind." About five minutes pass as Alexander set to the kitchen, grabbing a couple custard creams for himself as he prepared a steaming cup. Eventually he entered his dining room and sits down near where the hero was investigating.
The hero waited for hours as he investigated the ominous vases, staring into their intricate scriptures of zig zags and birds. "A secret code..." he looked into the eyes of some robots as they prepare to fire rounds into him while his back is turned, but his gaze wards them off.
"Look, I don’t know if you can hear me through your rose tinted glasses, but I am about 75 now, if this were any other scheme it would be pointless to prevent anyway. I have about 20 years left of my life that I can see myself getting through, even without the numerous beat downs. I gave up after the death ray, you wouldn’t let me stay in London so I moved to Kent. You were about 25 when you started your hero thing, I was 50. I just want a peaceful death." Alexander took off his expensive rounded sunglasses revealing his tired eyes.
The hero braved through Dr Eons monologue as he tried to find the sinister lever leading to his newest weapon.
"Look, Mike, yes I know your name is Mike, I just don't care anymore. You have a good thing going, don't wait another 20 years to see my old bones to rest while the city goes unprotected."
Mike turned to the old man in his overused black trench coat, he seemed to be where Dr Eon sat, but he wasn't Dr Eon anymore. "But you wanted to rule the world, you said you would stop at nothing!"
"This is nothing, I stopped at the first place I've never heard of."
Mike looked at Alexander, Alexander didn't seem to bothered that he had been following him, in fact he was more than happy to let him into his house, the robots offered him some cookies but he ignored them. Mike felt bad. "I'll leave now, sorry to bother you."
"You didn't bother me, you just crossed off something on my to do list." Alexander smiled.
"I suppose you did the same for me too." With that, Mike exited the cottage, content, yet somehow saddened at the same time.
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[WP] The villain sharpens his sword, as a guard opens the door nervously. "Yes?" the villain says. Unable to say anything, the guard simply lets the hero in... weaponless. Aren't we supposed to duel again? The hero gets down on his knees, sobbing. "Please help me, my- my sister, she's been taken!"
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„Let me just get this straight. Your sister got captured?“
„…Y-yes.“
„Your friends can‘t help you because they are under oath to serve your king and he did not order them to go save your sister?“
„…W-well if you put it that way…“
„Yeah, yeah. Great friends I‘m sure. Good king as well.
But lets not stray from the point. So you came to my tower to ask me for help, even though we fought to the death at least 5 times?“
„Yes and it‘s actually 6 times.“ at least he seemed to stop the crying and looked a little hopeful.
„Oh come on that little skirmish at Countess Dala‘s ball does not count. I was just being a good sport!“
„You threw a fireball in our Archers face and slaughtered about half the Guard!“
I smiled whistfully. Good times. „So yeah, I‘ll help you. Someone with a tragically short remaining lifespan has to learn a valuable lesson. If someone psychologically tortures you…that‘s me.“
He gave me a weird look. „Don‘t you mean you are helping me save my sister?“
I grabbed my black Steel sword and my runic gauntlet. „Yeah, that too. So, where are the bullies?“ throwing a spare sword at him I led him to the stables. Which lead to another discussion.
„I‘m not riding …THAT!“
„Don‘t be such a baby. It‘s perfectly safe.“
„that horse has fangs.“
Carach pointed to another stable where one of my halfbreed horses munched on something akin to an arm. He could be such a prissy. I shook my head.
„Well walking would take about 3 times as long. Don‘t you want to get rid of that upstart kidnapper? …and save your sister?“
Grumblingly he accepted. Then I gave him an leg from something vaguely orcish and told him to go make friends with one.
A short time later me and a rather greenfaced hero
galloped towards a dark forest. And the fortress inside said forest.
Blasting down the front gate I stepped inside and doused a couple of guards with a rain of ice shards.
Cackling manically my spells weaved a trail of destruction and mayhem through the fortress. Carach occasionally taking out the stray one. „You know, everytime I think you could be a half decent person, you go and murder a bunch of people. How do you do that.“
A slight hand gesture made the heart of a soldier burst out of his chest. I held it in my gauntlet. „You know me, deep down I have a good heart. Really!
…also killing people with magic is fun.“
Carach looked disbelievingly at me. Pointing at a soldier, we watched on as first his sword turned into a snake. With a girlish scream he dropped it. Next I set his pants on fire. Watching him run around screaming quickly got old, so I summoned a bucked of oil and screamed „Hey there‘s water!“ a very satisfying *WHOOOSH* and an impressive fireball later we stood in a circle of destruction around us.
„Okay, I‘ll admit that was kind of funny. In a morbid sort of way. But can we *please* save my sister now?“
Chuckling ( at least I did) we went into the dungeons. A short rescue later we stood in front of my horses. „So, my sister just takes the third one?“
I unsheathed my sword. „Yep. But first she has to make friends. Would you be so kind to hold that guys leg over there? They prefer a clean cut.“
„…I hate you…“
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“Oh?” I say, quite surprised. “And you’re asking me for help?”
“Yes! Please. I don’t want to fight you right now, I just want her home safe. Please…” he starts begging.
“…you do realize you’re asking your enemy for this, right?”
“You’re powerful. Probably more powerful than me. I believe you can fight this guy. Please I’ll do whatever it takes!”
“…fine, but after this you have to join me.” I say. This hero would be quite the addition to my *personal* guards.
“Sure. Just please save her!”
“…so do you know who took her?”
“The vampire lord from the east side. He took her right before dawn and told me I have until midnight to either pay literally twice the money my life is worth or she stays with him.”
“…Ah him. I got it. Come on. We strike now. Guard, hand him your sword.” I ordered. My guard handed him the sword. We left for the east side.
It took an hour on carriage.
“Oi! Lord Gino! I know you’re in there sipping your goddamn coffee mixed with blood! Either let that girl go or I break your precious custom-made door down to bits!” I yelled. The hero was a bit surprised.
“I thought you would have been a bit more-“ he was cut off by the door opening.
“Come and get me Silas!” The vampire lord’s voice echoed the halls. I knew where he was.
“Come, hero. Let’s rescue her. Follow me.” I said, running in. He followed behind. Up the front left. Down a secret passage. Up another flight. Through halls. And…
“Ah. You were always the worst to play hide and seek with.”
“The girl.”
“My payment.”
“Hell no. Hand her over.”
“…or else what?”
“Or else I kill you, Gino. Come on. I thought you stopped kidnapping people.”
“…fine. You can have the girl. First door on the left once you leave this room.”
“I’ll go get her you deal with him.” The hero said, bolting.
“…I would assume she is not in there.”
“No. He would get knocked out by sleeping gas. She’s in the room next to that one. Now… *for you*.”
“Don’t try your tricks on me, Gino.” I said, immediately throwing a chair at him. I started slicing at him, trying not to kill the man who was a childhood friend.
“Fine. You can have both of them. Just… why help the hero?”
“Because thanks to you he lost the motivation to fight me!”
“…oh. Sorry. I just wanted his sister I didn’t realize she was his reason for fighting you…”
“No shit.” I said. “Now, turn off the sleeping gas and I’ll go get them.”
“Sure.” He pressed a button on the wall. I walked out. They were sound asleep on the ground. I picked both him up and his sister. I took them back to my estate.
“Now, hero, you’re part of my *personal* guard,” I grinned, “and your sister can stay here, where she’s less likely to get kidnapped. Got it?”
“Sure! Thanks… sir.” He bowed and smiled. Quite cute.
*”Of course. Anything for my new personal guard.”*
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[WP]: You’re the therapist for both the hero and villain in your city. They both start to progress, until you needed the money.
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Ultraman sat, fidgeting as he always did, as Sam shoved across a box of tissues towards him, thinking that he should start to buy the cheap ones from now on.
"Thanks, Doc,” the Hero sniffed, wiping his nose clean. “Since coming to therapy I thought I was getting over the whole “defeat the bad guys to help with my anger issues over being an orphan” thing. Though, the last few sessions…” Through the gap in the door to the waiting room, Sam saw the lights darken for a moment before returning back to normal. *Thank god he’s here. I’ll be able to treat myself tonight.* Ultraman talked on, looking off into the distance.
“I guess I have more to deal with than I realised.” Ultraman finished.
“So…” Sam glanced at his watch as Ultraman slapped his knees, rising to his feet. “I’m afraid…” Sam began before being interrupted.
“That’s all the time we have,” Ultraman said, smiling sadly. “Well, thanks again Doc. You’ve been a great help.” *And you’ve been a great help to me in paying rent.*
“Of course, Derek,” Sam said, making nonsensical notes in his notebook. “Will I pencil you in for next week? Same time?”
"Yes please,” Ultraman replied as Sam made a mental adjustment to his budget for the week. Moving past him, Ultraman left by the backdoor, always eager to leave unnoticed lest the country finds out he needs therapy. Sam strode over to where his desk was and opening the top drawer pulled out a can of febreeze. Spraying it over the patient's chair, Sam waited until it cleared before opening the waiting room door. Inside only one man waited. A hideous man, stinking of gasoline with a hooked nose and long greasy hair. His oversize black coat dragged along the ground as he shuffled toward Sam’s office.
“Joseph,” he said, “How have you been?” Dr.Death shuffled uncomfortably in his seat. “Did you take any of my advice?” Dr.Death’s head fell at her words, his pale skin illuminated by the fluorescent lights above.
“I did,” he confirmed, sitting back on the chair, never making eye contact with Sam. “But eh…” Silence fell over them with only the humming of the lights to fill the void. *God if only more of my patients would talk so little.*
“Please Joseph, go on,” Sam encouraged, scribbling down more nonsense in his notepad.
“Well,” Dr.Death started, coughing as he spoke. “I asked that girl out, the one I’ve been telling you about.” *Oh, good lord, this man is going to single handily pay off my debt.* “And well it didn’t go so well.”
“Tell me what happened,” Sam enquired, as he started to work out how many extra sessions he would have to do to afford to fix his car this side of Christmas.
“Well, I met her, by accident of course, where she worked,” he admitted, his pale skin going red. “She was busy though so I just hung around until she wasn’t.” Dr.Death went on, taking Sam through every little detail. Dr.Death’s rejection. Him abducting the woman and why it was alright. Where he took her. How long it took for the Green Falcon to show up. Their fight. How Dr.Death had escaped. At the end of it all, Sam once more, pushed the box of tissues over the man as tears fell down his cheeks. Dr.Death nodded a silent thanks.
“And how did that make you feel?” Sam asked, chewing on the end of his pen. Many more tears fell before their hour was finished. As Dr.Death rose up to leave, he was surrounded by tissues.
“Well,” Sam said, getting to his feet too. “The absolutely worst thing you can do is give up. Keep trying. Persevere! Don’t let her one rejection get you down. I want you to try again. If not this week then maybe the next.” A wry smile appeared on Dr.Death’s lips.
“Thanks, Doctor Smith!” he beamed through teary eyes.
"Should I put you down for another session, Joseph?” Sam asked, already jotting the session down in his notepad. “Same time?”
"Yes please,” he replied, before disappearing in a plume of black smoke. Sam fell back in his seat, thinking of the bottle of wine he’d treat himself to tonight.
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“And you know sometimes, I just wonder if it’s even worth everything I’ve been doing. I’ll scroll through news and see just how awful people can be and wonder if it’s even worth the time and effort I’m putting in. I mean, I’m important too, right? How I feel, what I get out of what I’m doing, that matters, right?” said Thomas. Of course, I knew who he was, but HIPAA laws required that I be careful with how much information I revealed about him.
“Listen, Thomas.” I said, not knowing how to approach the subject. “I want to speak to you more about this, I think you’ve been making incredible progress and I truly believe you’re starting to figure out what your purpose in life is. But, your insurance expired months ago, and I haven’t even gotten so much as a copay from you in that time. My sessions with you also tend to drag on for hours. I really need to figure out some kind of payment plan with you, because while I appreciate everything you do and think you’re important, I can’t keep my doors open seeing you this much for free.” I told him. I thought long about how to approach Thomas on this financial problem we were having with our sessions, I wanted him to understand just how much I wanted to help him, as well as the spot he was putting me in. Of course, that didn’t work.
“Oh, I see how it is. I risk my life DAY IN and DAY OUT to protect you from all sorts of evils, but nooo, because I can’t pay my copay this one time, you can’t take any time out of your day to help a HERO with his mental well being. I see how it is, Jennifer. You know what, maybe the next time this block of the city is in danger, I might be too busy trying to make an INCOME to come save it.” Thomas said, standing up, walking out of the room and slamming the door. I sighed. I then penciled in a 2pm for him for the next day.
“Jennifer. Can I send in the next client early, then?” A man said, sticking his head into the room.
“Yeah, go ahead and send in Victor.” I sighed. Eventually, the other man walked into the room, taking a seat where Thomas had just been sitting.
“Victor, before we begin, I wanted to talk about the fact your insurance has been declining lately.” I began.
“Oh, I’m so sorry. I’ll get that corrected.” The man said, taking a seat.
“Good. In the meantime, we’ve been having issues with uninsured clients, and I wanted to ask you for a deposit in the mean time while we work out your insurance problems.” I told him, a smile on my face.
“A deposit?” Victor then reached into his vest and pulled a gun out, pointing it to me. “Will this work?” He then asked. I then sighed and began to look down at my notes.
“How was your week, Victor?” I then asked.
“You know, it wasn’t all that bad. I met a lady friend after my recent tussle, she was quite adorable and innocent. I worry I might be no good for her, because I don’t exactly lead a pious life, but she seems like she would be happiest with someone who does…”
I took notes as he spoke.
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[WP] When a human crew refuses to leave on a ship numbered 13, an investigation reveals human "superstition" for the first time to other races, who are baffled by the concept
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"So, you're telling me you won't get on the ship." I stared down at the human crew member, who'd made such a bold statement.
"It's unlucky. It's numbered 13, and I won't do it." They—no this one preferred the gender 'he'— he said. I blinked, five eyes opening and closing in staggered unison.
"What does this, 'unlucky' mean? Is it against some sort of law that humans possess?" I asked, trying to understand. We were on a bit of a time crunch, but it had fast been learned in the galaxies not to rush a human. They either got panicky or angry and neither accomplished much of anything.
"Well, it's not really a law... it's just you know, bad luck."
"I do not know, bad luck," I responded, now completely confused. They— no *he*, frowned up at me as if I was the one being difficult.
"When things go wrong or don't work out, what do you call it?"
"A mistake—"
"No, I mean when you or anyone else hasn't done anything wrong, hasn't made a mistake, but things still don't work out." A loud roaring noise from behind us nearly drowned out his words. I swivelled two of my eyes to watch the surrounding area. Nothing yet. The human tapped his foot, waiting for a reply. I would have to write him up for insubordination if this continued. Problem was, I didn't have an answer.
"We don't have a word for that. It just is. Sometimes things don't work." That answer didn't seem to sate him.
"Why? Why do things go wrong? You don't have a reason why?" He flinched as another roar echoed around the landscape. The engines on our ship flashed to life. All the other crew were on board, and we really didn't have time to be discussing this.
"And your 'luck' is a reason? How does that work? Can you measure it, see it, put it in a jar and slosh it around?" A bit of my impatience leaked into my voice. "You didn't seem phased by the number of the ship when we left our home port. Why is it bothering you now?"
He shook his head at me, like you would with a youngling. Resisting the urge to pick him up and toss him inside, I clacked my beak once or twice.
"After everything that happened today? We landed here, to do a routine research mission. First, our engine failed, so we were stuck for hours. Then, we couldn't find any proper samples, and all our test tubes were broken. Then the fricken landscape started to change around us, and we couldn't figure out whether we were hallucinating, or it was the actual planet messing with us. Now, we have a nasty volcano about to erupt and whatever is making that horrifying roaring sound. With all that going on, there is no way I'm stepping onto a ship numbered thirteen."
I sighed, completely baffled. My eyes, still scanning the horizon, spotted a large shadow moving towards us. Fast. The need to understand was subsumed by the need to escape.
"If we change the number, will that work?"
"Yep, I don't see why not." He answered. Great, now to find a number that worked.
"Four?"
"No. Definitely not."
"Seventeen?"
"No."
I huffed, trying to keep whatever patience I had left.
"Nine?"
"Nope. Not going to happen."
"Thirty-nine?"
He looked more frustrated than I felt.
"You're picking all the wrong numbers. And before you ask, 666 is out of the question as well." I threw up my appendages, as I tracked the shadow's course. It was set to connect with us in ten minutes.
"Twenty-five."
"Sure."
I was expecting the negative, so his affirmative answer took me by surprise. Raising myself up, I shouted toward the ship.
"BLARZION, CHANGE THE NUMBER TO TWENTY-FIVE!"
It took five of the allotted ten minutes for Blarzion to re-etch the number in the side of the ship. I hustled the human on before the last spark fell; the shadow had reached small mountain size, and I wasn't eager to see it any closer. As we blasted away from the planet, I took my first easy breath. The human looked a little sheepish, but grateful.
Whatever this 'luck' thing is, it definitely needs further investigation. I shall have to inform the Taelezy Federation that this is a high priority, which will impact all future dealings with the human race.
And as a start, I will enter the 'bad luck' numbers in the ship's database. But only *after* we get safely home.
​
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Visit r/Mel_Rose_Writes for more stories!
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(1/2)
"Absolutely not, dude."
"I don't understand, Terran. You booked this shuttle. Its going to Archon IV."
"That's not the point."
"Terran, please, get on the shuttle."
"You don't understand, dude. Look at the shuttle number!" The group of earthlings behind him nodded their heads.
A'listed, the squid-like Barc, stared at the shuttle number. Its telescopic sight adjusted, from seeing molecules, to seeing numbers. Baffled, it read off the number.
"Shuttle 13."
"Yes. Exactly. Its bad luck, dude." The group murmured in approval of their leader.
"Luck? Terran, I do not know this 'luck' you speak of."
"Look, I'm not getting on the damn shuttle, squid boy."
"Fuck you, dude!" yelled another earthling from the rear.
A'listed sighed, making his tentacles quiver. This is why he hated Terrans. They were always so emotional. So quick to temper. Xenophobes, too. He had to get his manager, Taktak. Maybe she'd know what to do.
"I'll go get my manager, Terran. She'll be able to help you. I can't give you a refund without her approval."
Gliding towards the back room, A'listed cursed his bad luck. He was properly good and slippery when he slithered into Taktak's office.
"Taktak, the Terrans have gone crazy."
Taktak, with her feather-like air filters surrounding her throat, looked up from her desk. Her throat vibrated, pushing air past the filters to create a singsong response. A'listed felt her talk more than he heard her.
"Crazy?" Taktak sang, "Crazy how?"
"They said they won't get on the shuttle. They spoke of this thing called 'bad luck'."
"Luck? Are you sure they said luck?"
"Yes. Luck."
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[WP] As you sit alone at a bar, an old man, visibly drunk, joins you at the table. "Wanna hear a story boy?" since you have nothing else to do with your evening you agree "I call this one the shifting forest. Although not all of it might be true, I chose to believe it. The question is, will you?"
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There are bars all over New York. Some so hidden it's a wonder anyone finds them on purpose. Some so familiar, you'd think you walked into the same bar from the night before. Maybe you had? Five boroughs, dozens of neighborhoods within each, each with a bar on damn near every block. The makings of a pub crawl long enough to last a lifetime, enough to get lost.
I'd been crawling since I bought my first fake ID from a tattoo shop on St. Marks place for my seventeenth birthday. That was the best night of my life and I couldn't tell you what happened. Now, at the ripe old age of twenty-four, I'm busy working my way through Brooklyn's watering holes. Except for one spot I kept finding myself in at least once a week.
The Left Hand Path was a hole in the wall that doubled as a dive bar in Ridgewood, a neighborhood in Brooklyn made up of abandoned storefronts and long suburban blocks feeding into Trinity Heart Cemetery. At the Path, you could get a beer and a shot for three bucks any time, any day of the week. It wasn't a first date sort of place. You didn't bring your parents here when they came to visit from Ohio or whatever mid-level state they came from, and you definitely didn't come here for cocktails. Just wasn't done.
There were seven stools in front of the scratched up bar. The walls were covered in crushed red velvet and the radio always had classic rock crackling away. And Julio, the only employee who was not the owner, he'd remind you at least four times in a night. I was pretty sure he didn't pay his taxes. The Path was my home bar.
It was there that I met Basil Easton.
It was a slow Tuesday night, and I was sitting alone at sixth stool, my stool, at the Path, nursing my third beer. The Jameson was still burning in my chest when an old man, clearly messed up, stumbled through the door.
He took the fifth stool and nearly tipped off. Once settled he turned to face me. His face kept weaving in and out of the edge of my vision. I sighed and looked over.
His eyes weren't half-closed and he wasn't drooping or swaying. He was clean shaved and his thinning gray hair was combed and gelled.
"Wanna hear a story, boy?" he asked in a sorta-Southern accent. It was mixed with something European maybe.
The Left Hand Path doesn't get a lot of talkers. Sure, there's regulars. But none of them talk to each other. I think everyone makes up little stories about the other patrons. *Jerry Flatface got a new fur coat. Never took him for a fur kind of guy, but it looks good on him.* That sort of stuff. And it wasn't like I had anything else going on the rest of the night. It seemed like everyone had their read-receipts off nowadays.
"Sure," I said.
The man, who introduced himself as Basil Easton, ordered a Corona with a shot of rail Tequila, refused the salt, and ate the wedge of lime whole, rind and all. Once his mouth stopped puckering, he said, "I call this one the shifting forest. Although not all of it might be true, I chose to believe it. The question is, will you?"
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\[Part 2 Below\]
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I smirks in response seeing him as an old man who's had to many drinks that he can't tell his hands from his feet "all right old timer I lend an ear to your tale, after that I'll tell you if I believe it or not"
"Very well" the old man began "its been such a long time since its been heard"
"In the prowl of night as the moon wanes in the sky, the forest lays still, unperturbed by the wind, hollow sounds echo through the night as creatures skitter in the dark. "
"A rumbling echoes through the earth, sky and seas, the roots that lay buried under the surface they rise from the earth, like rats burrowing out of the ground they escape their prisons of the ground"
"The earth shifts as life begins to move it is slow yet noticeable like the movement of a snail, stare at it long enough and one will notice its movement, the trees do not move but its roots do, they ascend further and tangle into a spiral they grow and change"
"A terrible roar born not out of pride or rage but of agony exits it, the trees begin to cover the wooden figure like a cloth draped over the shambles of a corpse"
I hear a loud sound outside the bar, it's a short yet powerful sound, I look around towards the bars patrons all far too caught up in the delicacy of a drunken mind or preoccupied with the friends they speak with.
I look back at the old man to meet his sharp gaze not one of annoyance from my loss of interest but rather of patience, I ask him to continue despite the fear within me, he obliges with a nod.
"The animals that have failed to heed their elders warning chitter and screech in fear of their fate to join the shambling mass of the forest, their bodies become one with the spirit of nature"
"And as the moon becomes anew the stars seem to flicker like the dying of a light, as the sky is enveloped by the dark blanket of the night, the mass escapes into the night"
"The stars return like a heavenly light only to illuminate nothing, a large plane of grass extending to the horizon like nothing was there in the beggining"
"Yet deep below, the earth remembers what it has lost as the soil erodes like a soul caught on fire, so be warned in the waning night when the stars are lost, fear the shifting forest."
I began to realise the absurdity of the situation at hand tonight was the beggining of the new moon, and this bar was very much near to a forest, about a kilometers away from the entrance, before I would continue this line of thought I was interrupted by the old man's words
"Do you believe me boy? Will you fear the shifting forest?"
"I... don't know" I replied
"You could at least buy me a drink then for the time I've taken to tell ya the tale" he spoke in a joyful manner.
I was taken aback by this sudden change in his demeanor but I honered his words and ordered him a glass of whiskey, he thanked me and left me for his drink.
I walked out the bar clutching my scarf In contemplation of what I just listened to, I look to see the gorgeous moon its bright beauty only to be met by its waned state, I look to the forest at wait to see if what the old man spoke was true.
I looked upon the skies to the stars, upon this moonless night to see the shifting forest. I hear a terrible screech and feel the earth beneath my feet, I look upon the sky to see the new moon and I await what beast will be before me.
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[WP] "I was hurt badly and stumbled into the emergency room...I had transformed into my true form...the humans fled in terror...except one. True to his training...he tended my wounds and saved my life. And that's how I met your father."
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I
"...mommy?"
"Yes, Jeb."
"Is that true form thing the same as what happened when..."
The boy halted, appeared to tear up, and his breath started hitching mildly. His mother watched him, silently. He was only 4. These were big things.
He continued.
"Is it the same as what happened to me when the big dog was growling at Archie?"
"Yes, son, she replied, looking down at her lap. "Not precisely the same, but the same...process. the same kind of thing. Do you understand?"
Jebediah Coltrane Smith did not understand, not really. But he nodded yes anyhow. His head was beginning to hurt and he was afraid. Talking about it made him afraid so he didn't want to talk about it anymore.
"Will it happen again mommy?"
Despite her desire to keep her eyes glued to the hands in her lap, she looked up. Met his intense, innocent face directly.
"Probably, son. Almost certainly. It will happen when you are in danger or when those you love are in danger. I hope that you have very few of those moments in your life, son. But it seems like there's always some no matter how careful we are.
"Did it happen to you again? After the time when you met daddy?"
She sighed, now. What was she thinking, discussing this with a child so young?
"Thaaaat's going to be a story for when you're older bub. For now, just try to keep calm in scary situations. That's the only way I'm ever able to control it."
He nodded again, not in several motions but in one large head jerk.
"And now, dear Jebediah, it is bedtime."
II
"...Jeb Jesus Christ SLOW THE FUCK DOWN!!!" She yelled after him down the empty 2am sidewalk.
"Leave me alone! It's nothing! Just fuck off Christine I'm fine!"
His voice was deeper, distorted somehow. As if being passed through a filter.
"Are you fucking kidding me? You can't say that was nothing!
Not responding 14 year old Jeb walks away faster.
"You had wings, Jeb! YOU HAD FUCKING WINGS!
And suddenly, he is in front of her. Inches from her face.
"No, I didn't, Christine. I didn't. You know I didn't. And you know what happens to liars, don't you?
His eyes were fully black. His hair had somehow become almost a plate of armor on his head. His voice had that same deepened quality, seemingly many voices blended to one. And he was surrounded by some sort of swarming tiny objects. They did not seem to be insects because they made no noise as they moved about, had no visible wings. And when they swarmed they came together like liquid metal, or like water.
Also, he was slightly levetating.
He stared. She swallowed.
"I won't tell. Ok? Ok Jeb. Our secret."
She made a gesture of zipping her lips, locking, and tossing the key.
Jebs eyes began to return to normal, the whites rapidly clearing. His feet hit the concrete. He blinked. His other features had returned completely to normal. Suddenly, he looked terrified, embarrassed, vulnerable.
"You really won't tell?" He asked.
"I really won't ' she said.
"Why not?"
"Well...you might eat me!"
"Oh! No I won't, or I wouldn't it doesn't work..."
She was laughing now.
"It's really because I'm way more curious than scared. And..."
"...and?"
"And you're kinda cute."
He looked over to see if she was blushing but the orange sodium streetlight made it impossible to tell.
"Funny,' said Jeb. "That's pretty much exactly what my dad said to my mom. When they first met.
His hand brushed against hers as they walked, and she took a deep breath and grabbed on to it on the next pass. He started a bit, but happily took it and entwined his fingers in hers.
"Is you mom the same as...as that? As you?"
"Pretty much. But, hey, another time, ok?"
"Can I meet her?"
"She won't want to discuss...this...with you. She will barely talk to me about it."
"But WHY!?! It seems like this is pretty fucking important!"
He brought her to a halt, and came around to stand in front of her.
"You ask too many questions. Maybe Ive changed my mind, maybe I will eat you." Said Jeb. But he smiled deviously as he said it.
Christine opened her mouth to respond and found it met with a kiss. And for a while, all questions were truly forgotten.
III
(On the phone)
"They're all over your house. I don't think I've ever seen this many cops in my life. Not just the local guys either. State Police and I think I see a few black FBI vans. What did you do? What did you do Jeb?
Silence
"Are you there?"
"We didn't have a choice. There are these. These men. These horrible men. They have a cult. They know about Us. They hunt us. They try to capture us. To use in their rituals and shit like that. Harvest our blood. Or, just kill us."
"They think we're demons."
"Well, I mean, are you?"
More silence.
"Jeb?"
"I don't know what we are," he whispered, sounding mournful.
"But I know we aren't what they think we are. I know that. Anyway. The whole group of them came to the house. Armed. They killed my dad. They grabbed my brother, threw him in a van. They were not really interested in capturing my mom or I, they were just trying to kill us. So we killed them. All of them.
Now it was Christine's turn to be silent.
"I'll have to throw away this phone, but I'll call you from ..where we end up?"
"Where will you go?"
"Not sure yet and better not to say anyway. It's happened before. We're hunted, Christine. Probably, well figure out where they have Archie and get him out of there, them split for the hills."
"Will I ever see you again?"
As she asked, she realized how mixed her feelings were about the answer.
"Unless I die rescuing my brother, you will. Someday. When this all cools down.
Despite her fear, she found herself strangely relieved.
"Hide well, my cute, tragic little demon boy."
He hung up, but before he did she heard him chuckle.
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I stumpled into the room, unable to hold my form. The fae council will have my head for this but I'd rather take my chances. At first, no one notices the towering basalisk in the emergency veterinarian clinic. The animals were the first to notice, and every single one without exception cowered and tried to run or hide. This was followed shortly by human screams.
I kept my gaze lowered. My vision was safe unless i decided otherwise but i didn't want to see their faces. I had seen it before, before the council showed me the maggic to be accepted. The spell holding me in a human shape collapsed the moment i was shot in the side. The would be mugger is stone now, and my clothes were torn apart. At least only my spit is acidic and not my blood, or my insurace card would've been lost.
I shock myself with the inanity of my thoughts before i collapse in the middle of the room. I was going to die, and humans would know about our kind. This was a terrible idea, I was going to die. My vision was starting to go black when a shillouette approached. "GSW, major blood loss. Don't just stand there, get the damn gurney!" The voice was male.The figure took off their coat and pressed it against my wound, "It'll be alright, hold on." He whispered. I saw gentle eyes, and a rather sharp nose before my vision faded to black.
When i awoke, the first thing I did was activate a healing spell, only for my head to nearly burst, mana was still depleted. It would take a few days and a healthy feast before i was back to peak performance. At least basalisk's heal fast. Then I remember that my Transformation spell was down. With no mana the first person that walked in would know- Then a vet walked in, the dog lapel telling me where i was. He kept hs eyes on the clipboard as i just stared mutely at him. "Miss Krates?" He asked, I swalloed nervously, "Yes?" The doctor took a deep breath and sat down in one of the visitor seats.
"I hope you don't mind, but i need a minute." I just nod, resonable enough. So we sat in silence. I was on the floor, but there seemed to be some sort of cusioning with a sterile sheet covering it beneath me. There was a pitche of water, which i immediately downed. The pain when i moved my tail informing me of the damage done. When i lowered the pitcher I found the vet staring at me. "Umm..." He just shook his head, "Sorry, it's just..." He seemed to trail off before laughing, "God you're incredible." Ehh?
"Really?" I asked. He just laughed again, "Well, i just got out of a meeting with a Kobold and a Dryad, both proxies for this Fae council. I was just thrust into a new world and was asked if I would open a Fae hospital." He just shook his head again in disbeleif. "Not only are you the most incredible creature I've ever seen, you just landed me the biggest promotion of my life!"
I blushed, "Well, you're welco-" The words barely leave my mouth when i finally recognize him, "Oh my god! I'm sorry, I haven't even thanked you I-" "We're even." He says, waving his hand as if my life debt was just erased. "No, we're not I owe-" "The fee for my services, which will be substantial don't get me wrong." He stood up, "That bullet missed your heart by 2mm, nicked an artery as it was. I was informed of your regenative capabilities so you'll probably need 2 weeks of rest before you're fit to leave."
I sputtered, "You saved my life! I need to repay you." He looked at me, and gave me a beaming smile, "Considering that you just promoted me to lead the newest Fae hospital, not only getting me out of this backwater emergency clinic but as a lead no less, AND it's not just mundane cats and dogs with the occasional cow thrown in but actual fucking dragons and shit?" He chuckled, "You, my dear, owe nothing but money."
I ponder that, it was a lot but it still didn't sit right with me. Sure, some could argue that i did give him that, but it was just as likely i could've been killed and his memory wiped. "Please," I said, "I know you don't think i owe you anything but i do. I don't want to live with that, if that's alright." I silently curse myself for how pathetic that sounds. The vet ponders this a bit, before smiling. "Tell you what, once you're good to go out in public again, how about you and me go out to dinner?" He suggests. I frown, "You want a date... with a giant snake?" The vet rolls his eyes, "Well, you'll be a human at that point." A lavicious grin appeared on his face, "But i'm sure things will get, more interesting once we're alone. So rest up!" And with tht, he leaves the room. Letting me quietly confront a host of confusion, attraction and WTF just happened?
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[WP] While in a high school English class, your teacher has assigned you to find a theme in the book you're all reading. The only problem? You authored the book anonymously, and know damn well that there is no deeper meaning.
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\[Time. Again.\]
"Rerun?" Mrs. Langley called the student's name as the kids began to leave her classroom. "Please stay after class for a moment. I'd like to talk to you about your report." A short, brown-haired boy sighed and lingered behind as the rest of the students broke out in laughter.
"Rerun, again!?" several students repeated the phrase that had become a sort of running joke. It wasn't the first time he was asked to stay behind, but the students had taken to using it any time he repeated anything. He was brand new to the school and it had only been three weeks; but, he wouldn't call any of the students a 'friend'. Not that anyone was overtly mean to him. But, the constant teasing of his name didn't help him feel welcome. And, he wished that just once he'd feel welcome somewhere.
"Thank you for staying," Mrs. Langley closed the door after the last student. Then, she returned to her desk and sat down as Rerun stood in front of her.
"I have to say...," she shook her head with mild disappointment. "I don't know what to do about your report." Rerun expected to have a talk with her as soon as he turned it in and, he wanted to help the process along so he could get home.
"Was something wrong with it?" he asked. He knew there was and wanted her to get to the point.
"No," she shook her head. "That's what makes it difficult. Your paper was very well-written. Almost perfect in a technical sense; you definitely have a talent for writing. However, the sticking point is that your conclusion essentially boils down to, 'there is no theme'. By the time I got to the end, it became quite clear that you did not put any effort into the assignment and wrote it simply to waste my time. Did you even read the assigned book?"
"Yes, Ma'am," Rerun nodded. It would have only complicated things if he tried to explain that he wrote the book. Short, direct answers always helped him get through social situations faster.
"And instead of giving it any thought, you decided to turn in a smart-ass response?" Rerun hung his head and faintly nodded. It wasn't worth the effort to correct.
"Yes, Ma'am," he replied. Though, he had a notable sadness in his voice that even Mrs. Langley noticed. She narrowed her eyes curiously at him, but he did not notice. He was focused on the ground.
"I'm going to have to give you a zero for your attitude," she said.
"Yes, Ma'am," he repeated. Then, there was an extended moment of silence. He expected her to speak up, but that was all she said. He tentatively looked up. "May I leave now?" he asked.
"No...," Mrs. Langley said. She considered herself a good teacher, even if the students tended to disagree. She tried her best to keep an eye on the students that she thought might need a little extra help. Ever since the beginning of the school year, Rerun had been relatively anti-social. She watched his interactions and made a few educated guesses about his personality. He never said more than he needed to, and sometimes not even that much. "I'll believe that you've read the book. So, if you can walk me through your reasoning, I'll change your grade to 100," she said.
"The zero is fine," Sprocket shrugged. "May I leave?" Again, Mrs. Langley shook her head. She was about to make a gamble that could backfire. But, she hoped that he didn't think about her threats enough to see through them; he was still 14 years old after all.
"No, it's not fine," she said. "It just became a major grade. If you don't explain your thoughts on this, you will fail this class," she added.
"Fine...," Rerun sighed. She thought that he was willing to take the failure until he looked up at her. ".... what do you think the theme is?" he asked.
"What?" Mrs. Langley was surprised for a moment; but, she willingly answered the question. The fact that he asked a question at all was progress. "Well, I think it's quite obviously a coming-of-age story. We see the main character go through different phases of their life throughout the book." Rerun nodded.
"Did you already grade everyone else's paper?" he asked. Mrs. Langley nodded and Rerun followed up with another question. "Did they all identify the same theme?" She shook her head, but she smiled. This was extraordinary progress for him, and she was starting to see his point. But, she wasn't going to let him go just yet.
"Of course not," she said. "It's subjective, different people see different things."
"So, why do I have to see anything?" he asked. "Why can't that be my answer?" he nodded at his paper on her desk.
"Because this is school," she replied with a warm smile. "This is where you're supposed to learn how to think about things. How to form your own opinions and put them into words. You're telling me you read this wonderful, well-regarded book and nothing jumped out at you?" Rerun shrugged and nodded.
"Yes, Ma'am," he said. Mrs. Langley was honestly willing to accept that explanation. She didn't want to pull him too far out of his comfort zone, and his voice did sound more comfortable around her than before. But, she still found that hard to believe.
"This book is over 100 years old and millions of readers all found a theme that resonated with them. And, yet, you found nothing of interest?" Something about her gushing struck a chord with him.
"I didn't sit down and plan any themes, I just wanted to write an adventure book," he said. His voice carried traces of annoyance. But, his eyes went wide and he clapped his hand over his mouth as soon as he was done speaking.
"What was that?" Mrs. Langley asked.
"Nothing," Rerun shook his head. But, she nodded.
"Yes.. you said... you wrote this book?" she asked. In any other school, that might have been hard to believe. But, at that moment, her only thought was disbelief. How could she have missed that? It was one of her favorite books in the whole world and his report had a similar writing style.
"Yes, Ma'am, that's what I said," Rerun nodded with a sigh.
"What's your favorite number?" she asked.
"14!" he said. After a moment of surprise that he answered the question, he tacked on some respect at the end. "..Ma'am."
"Why haven't you met with counselor Mundo yet?" Mrs. Langley asked. Rerun was surprised that she knew that somehow and wondered why she wasn't concerned with the fact that he authored a 100-year-old book. All students were supposed to meet with counselor Mundo.
"There was a line every time I went the first week," Rerun shrugged. "I didn't feel like staying. Then, I forgot about it...," he said. Mrs. Langley smiled and shook her head.
"I need you to go see him right now," she said. "But, first, I have a favor to ask." She turned and pulled her purse out of the desk drawer.
"Okay...," Rerun was happy that he was done with this current situation, but he had a lot more questions than he was used to. "...what's that?" he asked. She put an old, worn copy of the book on the desk and slid it to him.
"Will you sign my book please?"
\*\*\*
Thank you for reading! I’m responding to prompts every day. This is story #1702 in a row. (Story #256 in year five.). This story is part of an ongoing saga that takes place at a high school in my universe. It began on August 22nd and I will be adding to it with prompts every day until May 26th. They are all collected in order at [this link.](https://www.reddit.com/r/Hugoverse/comments/wtglls/tokuhigh_alternet_class/)
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They always do this.
*The blue curtains meant she was surrounded by her depression.*
*She ate an apple. Well, obviously, Eve ate the apple, and disobeyed the Lord, and punished all of mankind, so CLEARLY, the apple was a foreshadowing on how her actions would not just effect her, but many generations behind her.*
Get bent.
This story has no depth, it was something I scribbled on a plane, because I had nothing better to do, and then posted it to my blog, where it was turned into a contest that I happened to win, but did not respect the values of said contest, and instead of being disqualified, they just put me down as a Anonymous. Low and behold, Mr. Grant would be one of the judges.
"You guys, this was written by your peer." He tried to intrigue the class. "This person reached into the depths of their soul, and put it all on paper. What are they trying to tell us?"
*The only thing I reached 'deep inside of' was my backpack. My phone died and I needed something to take my mind off being on a flying bus 35,000 feet in the air.*
"She was scared, you can tell that by the short, choppy responses her characters dialog keeps spewing."
*First of all, none of my characters are 'spewing' anything. How dare you use that, of all things, to describe their dialog. Also, it's short and choppy, because they are hiding from... Oh, just forget it.*
"What if the point is just a short story? Nothing more, nothing less?" I replied.
"All great works of art have a story to tell, and a lesson to learn."
"And seeing how Charlette wakes up to find Jake abandons her, and never returns, I might consider boiling it down to Daddy issues finally being revealed as the second part of foreshadowing?"
"Alisa, while I am impressed you read ahead, please do not ruin it for the class."
"No, Mr. Grant, I just wrote it. It was all a free-write of something I threw together on a plane. To be honest, I wasn't even sure that was my final production."
I proceeded to pull up all the e-mails, and text messages of the communication between myself and the contest incase he needed evidence.
"Like I said, there was no deeper meaning other than..."
"Alisa, again, everything goes deeper than surface level."
"Mr. Grant, respectfully, the original included all the characters ending in spiteful demise, but the... who ever, didn't want that, so they 'Disney-ed' it up, if you will."
"I won't. I read this one personally, and submitted it for final review myself."
"The copy you have is the copy that came out after I was contacted asking if I could just 'clean it up a bit', smooth the edges, make it more 'age appropriate' like 16 year old me didn't know what 16 year old's go through! I submitted this junk," I raised and dropped the over copied, fading stapled packet on my desk, "as a joke to be malicious and still won. This isn't remotely close to the original!" I snapped.
"If there isn't a deeper meaning, and if it was just something you just jotted down, and wish to be perceived as dismissive of, why are you upset?" He questioned.
I could feel everyone staring at me.
"If it means nothing, if there is not a bigger picture, then who cares?" He tossed his copy in his empty trash can.
I stared at him. "Because the original was based of true events. This monstrosity was something I made to be a smart ass, hoping to just be looked over. And then it won, and it went everywhere! I got calls and emails, editors and publicist wanting to meet me. Appointments, small 'zine interviews, ALL OVER SOMETHING I SUBMITTED OUT OF SPITE!" I bit my lip when I realized I was yelling. Tears threatening to roll down my face, I apologized.
"What if Jenny was a representation of yourself? She works hard, but no one ever hears her unless she is going with the grain, and being part of the team."
"Tell me, Mr. Grant, when it comes to the final project, and I provide for you the essay on the "deeper meaning" of this paper, at one point do you wish me to include the actual copy, and will it ever get the recognition it deserves?"
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[WP] Humanity has finally discovered Faster-Than-Light travel! The galaxy is ours to explore! Only one catch: exactly half the time the space ship disappears forever. Only 1 out of 4 ships will come back from a round trip...
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Any time a ship engages her zarathustra drive, they have a 50-50 chance of disappearing without a trace. Jump-lost, they call it. The physicists had insisted that there was no way around this, that implicit in the nature of the universe there just plain ain't no way to travel faster than light without taking this risk. No predicting, no reducing, nothin. Pure luck.
That's why ya ain't never gonna find me on one of dem flying coffins. Na-ah, Not me. Not Ezekiel Atomjack, clear?
Me? I'm perfectly happy with my job here at the terran hubgate, know what I'm sayin? Got nothing against spacers, no disrespect, but dose guys are bonkers. All of em.
Anyway, I'm getting off topic. Yeh. So hey, I was workin the dockyard traffic control. I've got the conn, means I'm the boss of the whole damn control tower. And THAT means whole damn docking area is my house, my domain. That ain't somethin they just hand out like whatever, you know?
But, ok, it's a slow wednesday afternoon, not like there was a lot going on. A coupla mining rigs were scheduled to come in, bout an hour. Right now? Board is quiet.
Then bam. Heavy assault cruiser shunts in, way outside the RZ. It's comin in white hot too, five, six clicks per second. It's so close I can see it, like really see it not just a shiny dot in the distance.
All hell breaks loose. Everybody screaming at everybody else, command wants an update yestaday, Nav's just shitting bricks, radcom's trying to make contact but it ain't answering our pings.
Optics gets a scope lock and puts it on the big screen. It's a big muthafucka, bigger than anything in the terran navy, no disrespect. It looked like one of dem dreadnaughts they scrapped after the end of the Cignian war, like straight out of the hist'ry books. Except bigger, and more guns, and it looks all, like, modern and stuff. It had like modern mass projectors but scaled up huge. Crazy.
Gunnery was asleep at his station as-fuckin-usual so he's just about halfway awake tryna get the guns up. Targeting was off station flirting with Tug Command so he's jumping across the room.
Radcom finally gets them on the line. He says they're transmitting in the clear, just trying to get through. I tell him to link it up to my commband.
"---z--miral----k--of the battlesh---Zanzibar--eed assist---multi---tem failures---quest---ediate--"
"Get my guns on target damn you" I shout. "And get a targeting lock NOW NOW NOW!"
Ceres Spaceport doesn't have nothin like the kind of firepower you got on a Cigni-era dreadnaught but what we do got is buried in tons and tons of armor plating, heavier than any dreadnaught's gonna be lugging 'round. In a throw down fight I'd give us maybe 20-80 odds.
Meantime, Radcom is already working to clean up the signal. Lascom gets a tightbeam lock and links it to my mic.
"This is Commander Ezekiel Atomjack of the Ceres Jumpgate. Identify and heave to!"
"No." Snarled the voice. "--miral---Hereby ORDER YOU to stand d----r weapons, NOW!"
"Listen asshole, I'm the king of this hill, ain't nobody order me to do shit, ok?" I snap back. "Now back off and get your guns aimed elsewheres!"
A second voice piped in. The link gets clearer and clearer with each passing second. "Lets everybody take a breath." Said the voice. "Commander, I'm Captain Nathaniel Airloka, the XO here on the Battleplate Zanzibar. There is something very odd that I think could use some clarity."
"I'm listenin."
"You say you are ceres jumpgate? So where is the Ceres Naval Shipyard?"
"What? Ain't been a shipyard here in like fifty years!"
"I see. And I note that there are no war vessels in dock here. Tell me about the war with the Cigni."
"We won, uh..." I hesitate. "We won, fifty years ago."
"And what year is it, today I mean?"
"2359." I say, slowly.
"Ah. I'm going to swing a comms tightbeam to you now. Please do not panic and get us all killed."
Lascom nods to me. "We're getting an AV protocol request, sir."
"Onscreen."
A man and a woman dressed in sharp military uniforms stand on what has to be the bridge of a damn warship.
One of them, well, he looked real familiar lets just say.
The woman spoke first: "Commander Ezekiel Atomjack, I would like to introduce you to Admiral Ezekiel Atomjack of the Terran Navy. It seems we have come from a universe that . . . differs . . . from the one we left."
Admiral Atomjack smiled a toothy grin. Know that grin well, what with seein it every day in the mirror. "And I think we've solved the mystery of where the jump-lost ships go..."
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And then, everything went dark.
The stars winked out around us, every view port empty as cloudy midnight. No, darker than that. There was no hint of light, no flutter of cloud cover, no hint of distance or speed.
Just black, and quiet.
"Navigation!" Captain Burns barked. "Status report!"
"All well captain! Our jump into hyperspace was a success!"
"Then why the hell aren't my sensors reading a damn thing?"
The engineer on the navigation terminal frowned, throwing dials seemingly at random.
"No errors in navigation, sir!" he said. Then, after a moment's pause, "No errors on our sensors either. It's like...there's just nothing to detect."
The captain frowned, unsatisfied. "Engines? Report!"
"Engines here," a female figure in full protective gear appeared on one of the view screens, her voice echoing oddly as if from far away. "No malfunctions here either. By all accounts, we jumped exactly where and when we meant to. Engines working at capacity...But it's damn quiet here."
The crew members on the bridge around me shuffled uneasily. Space was always quiet, of course, but not like this. This was a special sort of quiet. The kind of quiet that sunk into the bones like a chill, settling in about the marrow and urging the flesh not to make any noise. It was the quiet of the bird sleeping in its nest at night, when something large walked through the clearing. An unsettling quiet, the quiet of being watched by the unseen.
"We missed our jump," I whispered, but I knew that everyone heard. "We're one of The Lost."
Every eye turned towards me. I had been expecting it, of course. No one else wanted to say it. But I...well. Someone had to. Someone must. After all, it was truth.
"I suppose...we are," Captain Burns said, speaking quietly himself. "Lost. That's quite the unpleasant turn."
I nodded grimly in agreement.
"Well then, Witch," the captain spoke again. "I suppose...we are all in your care."
I nodded again, feeling a dry lump appearing in my throat.
"I will...begin my preparations."
The crowd parted as I passed, giving me a wide berth as I left the bridge. Long after the doors closed, I could feel their eyes on the back of my head. Quiet eyes, burning eyes.
I only hoped that the price we had to pay was not too great.
***
/r/TimeSyncs
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[WP] Humanity has finally discovered Faster-Than-Light travel! The galaxy is ours to explore! Only one catch: exactly half the time the space ship disappears forever. Only 1 out of 4 ships will come back from a round trip...
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The DiPalma-Spencer Hyperdrive worked flawlessly -- 50% of the time. What exactly happened *the other 50% of the time* was anyone's guess. Ships that left simply never arrived at their destination, nor were they seen or heard from again. There was no reason for this aberration to be found in the equations that made faster-than-light travel possible.
While it baffled scientists, it gradually came to be accepted as the toll exacted by the universe in exchange for cheating the laws of physics by leaping almost instantly between destinations that were light-years apart. On average, only one out of four ships came back from a round trip.
And the Montezuma had made *two* round trips, already.
As she sat among the multitude of other desperately hopeful would-be colonists aboard the vessel, Dina told herself that Montezuma's past hyperjumps didn't matter. She remembered what the orientation team had explained, when they told her group they'd been assigned to the Montezuma: the Hyperdrive anomaly was random -- almost exactly like a coin toss, statistically. Every time you toss a coin, there's a 50% chance of getting heads, and a 50% chance of getting tails.
Counter-intuitively, however, the probability of the current coin toss getting "heads" isn't affected by the outcome of prior coin tosses -- it's *always* 50%, no matter what. So, statistically, it doesn't matter if you've gotten heads four times in a row on the same coin -- the fifth toss is still no less likely to come up heads than it was before.
And, in the Montezuma's case, it didn't matter that she'd already had four successful runs -- her chance of having a *fifth* run arrive safely at Proxima Prime, the fertile, resource-rich exoplanet that her passengers were risking everything for a chance to colonize, was still the same 50% chance it had always been.
Dina and the rest of her group had *not,* the colonization team assured her, been cheated of their 50% chance to survive by being put on a ship that was "due" to be lost to the hyperspace anomaly. There was no such thing as being "due" for the anomaly to happen, statistically speaking.
That was what Dina told herself, as she felt the slight vibration through the ship that she'd been told to expect, the faint shudder running through the Montezuma that preceded the Hyperdrive activation. That was what she told herself, as the stars outside turned into lines of white stretching out into infinity, as Montezuma and all aboard her boldly defied the natural order of the universe, twisting space around them in multiple dimensions to bring their destination closer to them, without ever actually transgressing the unattainable speed of light.
She almost giggled, more out of manic nervousness than actual mirth, as it occurred to her that she was, in some sense, a passenger aboard *a technicality.*
Dina's heart skipped a beat, as she felt another shudder run through the ship. This too, she'd been told to expect. This second vibration preceded the hyperdrive powering down, as the first had heralded its activation. And then, she exulted, as the line of fleeing stars outside her window became a vast blue orb, adorned with emerald green continents, and crowned with spiraling wisps of pure white cloud. *Proxima Prime.*
The Montezuma decelerated in moments -- which made sense, since she had never been going very fast, to begin with, as far Dina understood it. The universe had moved *around* her. Dina joined in the cheer erupting from her fellow colonists, as they crowded around the windows, gazing in wonder at their new home.
And then, nearby, an old woman screamed. Most of the passengers were too consumed with the view and the raucous sounds of their own excitement to notice, but Dina heard it, and turned to look.
The old man beside the frantic old matron tried to calm her, but she seized his arm and forcibly turned him towards the window she was looking out of, now crying incoherently, and jabbing her finger at the space beyond. Dina followed her gestures, but all she saw was Proxima Prime -- that, and other colony ships like the Montezuma, orbiting the verdant world until they were ready to return.
There were more of those than she'd expected. With half of all ships lost to the anomaly, and far more people willing to take the risk than there were ships to carry them, turnaround was usually quick, for those vessels that survived a hyperjump. But she still couldn't understand what had caused the woman's breakdown.
She drifted cautiously towards the elderly couple. The old man was now clutching his weeping wife to his chest, and tears were streaming down his own wrinkled cheeks as he gazed out the window at the ships beyond.
"What's wrong?" Dina asked, gently, looking between the ships and the man and his wife. To her surprise, when the man turned to look at her, a joyful smile split his wizened face, despite his freely flowing tears.
"Wrong?" he said, with a joyful, almost manic laugh. "N-no, it's...it's the *Perseus!* Our son and his family made the trip aboard her. They told us it was one of the ships that was lost! But look, there! It's *here!* The Perseus *made it!"*
Dina looked -- he was right. "CTS Perseus", she could see it on the hull. But there must have been some mistake -- the ships that were lost were never heard from again. Were they? She squinted at the small swarm of colony ships she could see out the windows. She couldn't make out every name, but she could see some.
The *Aristotle...*wasn't that one of the lost, too? That one, and the *Myanmar --* that ship was here, too, but she was sure she'd heard in named among the litany of ships lost trying to attain the jewel of Proxima Prime. In fact, *all* the ships she could see were among those that had been reported as lost. Dina placed her hand on the window, as though trying to reach out and touch the vast blue-green orb that dominated her view. Slowly, her hand trembling, she traced the outline of the continents on the planet's surface with a fingertip. Their shapes, she found, were unfamiliar, completely unlike the images of Proxima Prime she'd studied over and over, in preparation for her voyage.
All at once, Dina realized that she now knew what happened to hyperdrive vessels, exactly 50% of the time.
What she *didn't know,* was where the hell she was.
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And then, everything went dark.
The stars winked out around us, every view port empty as cloudy midnight. No, darker than that. There was no hint of light, no flutter of cloud cover, no hint of distance or speed.
Just black, and quiet.
"Navigation!" Captain Burns barked. "Status report!"
"All well captain! Our jump into hyperspace was a success!"
"Then why the hell aren't my sensors reading a damn thing?"
The engineer on the navigation terminal frowned, throwing dials seemingly at random.
"No errors in navigation, sir!" he said. Then, after a moment's pause, "No errors on our sensors either. It's like...there's just nothing to detect."
The captain frowned, unsatisfied. "Engines? Report!"
"Engines here," a female figure in full protective gear appeared on one of the view screens, her voice echoing oddly as if from far away. "No malfunctions here either. By all accounts, we jumped exactly where and when we meant to. Engines working at capacity...But it's damn quiet here."
The crew members on the bridge around me shuffled uneasily. Space was always quiet, of course, but not like this. This was a special sort of quiet. The kind of quiet that sunk into the bones like a chill, settling in about the marrow and urging the flesh not to make any noise. It was the quiet of the bird sleeping in its nest at night, when something large walked through the clearing. An unsettling quiet, the quiet of being watched by the unseen.
"We missed our jump," I whispered, but I knew that everyone heard. "We're one of The Lost."
Every eye turned towards me. I had been expecting it, of course. No one else wanted to say it. But I...well. Someone had to. Someone must. After all, it was truth.
"I suppose...we are," Captain Burns said, speaking quietly himself. "Lost. That's quite the unpleasant turn."
I nodded grimly in agreement.
"Well then, Witch," the captain spoke again. "I suppose...we are all in your care."
I nodded again, feeling a dry lump appearing in my throat.
"I will...begin my preparations."
The crowd parted as I passed, giving me a wide berth as I left the bridge. Long after the doors closed, I could feel their eyes on the back of my head. Quiet eyes, burning eyes.
I only hoped that the price we had to pay was not too great.
***
/r/TimeSyncs
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[WP] Humanity has finally discovered Faster-Than-Light travel! The galaxy is ours to explore! Only one catch: exactly half the time the space ship disappears forever. Only 1 out of 4 ships will come back from a round trip...
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I looked out of my small window at earth. It was so blue and I could see the clouds that surrounded the planet and the mountains that divided it. My family was down there, probably wondering how I'm doing. I just had to keep reminding myself why I'm here.
"Hey, what are you thinking about" Sarah said. I'd almost forgotten she was there. She had been assigned to be my bunk mate when I arrived on the ship.
"Just enjoying view one last time." I answered her question.
"Hey! This is not the last time. We will be back in a week and everything will be fine."
I dont know if she was trying to reassure me or herself. I wanted to believe her, but I'm a very pragmatic person. The corporations on earth had just discovered light-speed, but it was still unreliable. It was a race to see who could perfect it first and make the most profit.
I'd been hired by Energy Pharmaceuticals to be one of their test dummies on how light speed affects the human body. It was an easy choice for me. I do this, and they pay for the life saving medical treatment that my daughter needs and I can't afford. I'm sure Sarah had her reasons for being here, but I never asked.
"I really hope that's true." I said. "But the truth is the odds are against us. It's a 50/50 chance we don't make the first jump, and a 50/50 chance we don't make it on the way back. Only one in four ships make it home. I don't want to be a downer, but that is the reality we signed up for."
"You think I don't know that?" She snapped. "It doesn't help to mope in what could be our final moments. Sorry I bothered you, enjoy your view." She said as she climbed into her bunk. She laid down facing away from me.
"Look I'm sorry, you're right. What do you think it's going to be like?"
She shifted to look at me."What? Traveling at light speed? I imagine we'll get really stretched out for a moment. Maybe our bodies will merge a second? Wouldn't that be something." She mused.
"If that happens, I hope I get to keep the parts that are mine." I said.
"Please, anything I give you would be an improvement." She gave a slight chuckle. Her spirit seemed to be lifting a bit.
"It's almost 10:30, we should be taking off any minute now." I pointed out.
As if one queue, the intercom came to life.
"Attention passengers." It was the captain's voice. "We will be entering light speed in five minutes. Please take this time to climb into your bunkbed and attach the harness and prepare yourself." He was quiet for a moment before starting again.
"What all of you are doing is courageous. I know we are all here for one reason or another. That's your personal business. But what we are doing is for the future generations. So they have a safe means to traverse the stars, to expand our footprint in the universe. Earth is slowly dying and this is how we ensure the survival of our race. May god have mercy on us all." He finished his speech.
I hopped into my bunk bed and attached the harness around my chest. I turned to Sarah and saw she was doing the same. She looked at me, but I had nothing to say. She didn't say anything either.
The next few minutes felt like a blur. Suddenly there was a countdown initiated over the intercom. It started at thirty and began counting down.
I turned to Sarah. "Hey, when we make it back home, we're going to go out for a drink.
She looked at me, I could see a tear fall down the side of her face.
"Yea, I'd like that."
Suddenly the engines started. The noise slowly grew till it was almost deafening. Suddenly the sound of a thunderclap boomed in my head.
I think I lost consciousness for a minutes. When I came too, Sarah was standing, looking out the window. I somehow managed to undo my harness and felt immediately nauseous when I sat upright.
"Did we make it?" I groaned. It didn't feel like we were dead.
"I don't think so." She walked toward me and put her arm under mine and helped me up. She helped me get toward the window that I had been looking at earth from not ten minutes ago.
*Oh no*.
I saw nothing out the window. No planets, no stars, nothing. It looked like we were floating in a void.
"Where are we?" I asked. But I think I knew the answer.
"I don't know" She said.
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And then, everything went dark.
The stars winked out around us, every view port empty as cloudy midnight. No, darker than that. There was no hint of light, no flutter of cloud cover, no hint of distance or speed.
Just black, and quiet.
"Navigation!" Captain Burns barked. "Status report!"
"All well captain! Our jump into hyperspace was a success!"
"Then why the hell aren't my sensors reading a damn thing?"
The engineer on the navigation terminal frowned, throwing dials seemingly at random.
"No errors in navigation, sir!" he said. Then, after a moment's pause, "No errors on our sensors either. It's like...there's just nothing to detect."
The captain frowned, unsatisfied. "Engines? Report!"
"Engines here," a female figure in full protective gear appeared on one of the view screens, her voice echoing oddly as if from far away. "No malfunctions here either. By all accounts, we jumped exactly where and when we meant to. Engines working at capacity...But it's damn quiet here."
The crew members on the bridge around me shuffled uneasily. Space was always quiet, of course, but not like this. This was a special sort of quiet. The kind of quiet that sunk into the bones like a chill, settling in about the marrow and urging the flesh not to make any noise. It was the quiet of the bird sleeping in its nest at night, when something large walked through the clearing. An unsettling quiet, the quiet of being watched by the unseen.
"We missed our jump," I whispered, but I knew that everyone heard. "We're one of The Lost."
Every eye turned towards me. I had been expecting it, of course. No one else wanted to say it. But I...well. Someone had to. Someone must. After all, it was truth.
"I suppose...we are," Captain Burns said, speaking quietly himself. "Lost. That's quite the unpleasant turn."
I nodded grimly in agreement.
"Well then, Witch," the captain spoke again. "I suppose...we are all in your care."
I nodded again, feeling a dry lump appearing in my throat.
"I will...begin my preparations."
The crowd parted as I passed, giving me a wide berth as I left the bridge. Long after the doors closed, I could feel their eyes on the back of my head. Quiet eyes, burning eyes.
I only hoped that the price we had to pay was not too great.
***
/r/TimeSyncs
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[WP] The electricity has been cut; there is no more running water; you can hear the dragging footsteps of the undead outside. Your only companion has just finished having a seizure. With confusion in his eyes, he asks you, “have we met before?”
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“Have we met before?” She asked. It was hard hearing that from my own niece who used to live just down the street from me. It’s been a year since the apocalypse started. It started off slow and only in some regions but after a year, there’s only some outposts here and there that have made a recovery with the help of military officials.
“No, my name is William. I work for the police and am here to protect you from the creatures outside. But you have to do exactly as I tell you.” A blatant lie to my niece but it was a easier and quicker than telling her we were related and getting her to trust my words from a total stranger from her perspective.
“Where’s Mommy and Daddy?” She asked. A knot formed in my throat at the thought of my sister and her husband again. Flashbacks of seeing them on the floor blood and chunks taken out. “I’m going to take you to them but you have to trust me alright? If these creatures get to me or you, you won’t be able to see mommy and daddy.” I pick her up like I’ve always done before at her age and hold her tight. The creatures are at the front door of this abandoned house, we’ve gathered the supplies we could find and are ready to leave. There’s a large window that leads to the back yard. I quietly open it up and start to climb through.
“Alright, you need to stay quiet so the creatures don’t hear us, but if they are too close and seem to notice us, you need to let me know as soon as possible.” I tried to make good use of my time, explaining and continuing our progress to the nearest outpost.
I motion to her that we need to be quiet and she gives me a head nod and a sweet, fearless, little smile. I peek around the corner and I see an opening. I walk low to the ground to not get seen and make less noise as I make for the backyard of another home, then another.
Finally we made it out of that cul-de-sac and out towards the main street. There’s fewer creatures out here since not as many people are willing to roam in big open areas, less dead, less creatures to feast.
The outpost was about a day out but I can only walk so far for so long. Eventually it became night time and I found us a nice place to lay low again until morning. My niece as cheerful as ever would write down questions with some crayons and scratch paper we found and pass them to me so that I could write a response. Typical questions from a young girl who had no idea what was really going on. Most of the answers were lies or half-truths. Almost like a story being told to her through her questions. It was exciting for her. But she finally went to sleep while I managed to sleep on and off like I’ve been doing since the apocalypse.
She woke me up early in the morning writing down that she was hungry. I popped open a can of beans and gave her a spoon. She seemed disappointed but couldn’t really complain either. She ate the beans and we made our way out again. It was about 2 in the evening when we saw the outpost. Not having fun into any creatures along the way, my guard had been put down.
That was until the cacophony of groaning started to come out from the trees. Guard raised again, i new the only way we’d be able to make it through was running full speed to the outpost. I held my niece close and ran. I could feel a runners high in that moment, adrenaline pumping, my whole body knew it was do or die time. Even more evidenced by the bells being rung from the outpost. It was just as loud as the groaning from behind and beside. The creatures were closing in around us but I was in the zone, I was dodging and weaving around their grabs and blocks one by one. I looked up at the outpost at the forefront of the mob, I raise my other hand up smiling and start to call out to them. But as I start to yell.
“FIRE!”
‘ZYOOM’ just past my head. ‘ZYOOM’ another on the other side. I looked at my niece who’s head had already been shot off without me realizing. Dread. I stopped running. I could see it coming for me. Straight between the eyes. Then silence.
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Le miro con una expresión complicada, furia por pensar que podría ser una muy mala broma, pánico por perder a quien me acompaño y miedo por tener que explicarle.
"Oye amigo, que pasa afuera" Me pregunta mirando las figuras tambaleantes afuera de las ventanas.
Miro con ella las figuras y doy un suspiro resignado. "Zombies" Contestó.
Ella tarda unos segundos más en procesar lo que dije.
Su expresión me da tristeza.
"Q-que?!" Casi grita pero talvez por qué tiene miedo que sea de verdad o el shock pero solo susurra.
"Hace unos nueve días comenzó todo, primero fue un olor desagradable en el aire, luego reportes de muertes en los animales de granjas y poco después los de casa y un día después fuimos completamente encerrados en cuarentena " niego con la cabeza. "Pero si lo que escuche en la radio es verdad" Saco un cigarrillo con un fósforo, la primera bocanada me hace querer toser. " Entonces todo el mundo está jodido".
Ella me mira con la boca abierta.
Quiere decir algo pero los sonidos de gemidos y pasos arrastrados la detienen.
"Cómo?" Fue lo único que dijo con dificultad.
Alzó lo hombros. "Dios, del espacio, talvez un arma química para matar ganado del enemigo". Parpadeo al decir lo último, esa parece una teoría muy probable.
Ella asiente con la cabeza, está en shock. Se recuperaría en unos minutos o aceptaría lo que pasa pero el sonido de los cristales rompiéndose la hacen encogerse de miedo.
Yo miro al pasillo. "Debe ser de la cocina" Me quito el cigarrillo de la boca, mala idea. "Bueno, ya probé el cigarrillo por primera vez, me falta beber hasta emborracharme pero no creo tener tiempo" Digo tranquilo.
Ella parece reaccionar a mi actitud.
"¿Por qué no tiene miedo?"
La miro con una ceja levantada. "Oh claro, perdiste la memoria" Recuerdo ese pequeño detalle.
Para su horror bajo la manga de mi abrigo y se ve una venda con sangre. " Fui mordido hace una hora, es posible que me falte poco para ser como uno de ellos" Señalo la ventana.
Ella mira mi herida y se aleja con miedo.
Le sonrió y saco un cuchillo que llevaba en mi cinturón. "Puedes sorprender a uno por detrás con cualquier arma afilada, es mejor perforar desde debajo del cuello para llegar más fácilmente al cerebro, o atarlo a un palo y hacer una lana casera". Dejo el cuchillo en la mesa y tomo un bate con clavos.
Ella me mira con desconfianza pero los ruidos de algo arrastrándose desde la cocina la ponen en alerta.
"Deberías de esconderte en algún armario, algunos han de entrar cuando salga gritando".
"¿Gritando?" Pregunta confundida hasta que hace la conexión y abre los ojos con horror. "Tu quieres-"
"No quiero, lo voy a hacer". Termino con una sonrisa loca saliendo corriendo a la cocina.
No escuché nada detrás de mi durante unos segundos hasta que el sonido de una puerta abriéndose y cerrándose me dieron la señal de que ella esta segura o está de camino a un lugar seguro.
El zombie en la cocina no pudo darse la vuelta cuando choque con el con todas mis fuerzas y lo comencé a golpear en la cabeza con el bate hasta que escuche un crujido. Sonreí.
Los sonidos de algo acercándose a la ventana me sacaron del momento.
Respire hondo.
Salte por la ventana gritando y con un equipo de música portátil atado a mi cintura.
Luche durante varios minutos matando a varios de ellos, empujando, pisando cabezas, empujando, no dejar que me atrapen. Di varias vueltas la casa para que todos los zombies me siguieran y no quedará ninguno o que quedarán pocos.
Fui rasguñado tantas veces que estaba seguro que lo que sea que convierte a las personas en zombies ya debía haber llenado gran parte de mi cuerpo. El malestar en mis músculos y las ganas de vomitar me daban buenas pistas de eso.
Fui mordido otra vez a una cuadra de la casa. Le pise la cabeza enojado, no me di cuenta de que podían está bajo de los autos. Espero que ella no caiga en eso.
A tres cuadras me sentía mareado por la perdida de sangre en mis heridas. No podía poner alguna venda por la horda que me seguía. El pánico que sentía tampoco ayudaba.
Después de varias cuadras ya estaba por el centro de la ciudad. Nunca fue muy grande y eso jugaba a mi favor. Lo que no lo haci era ir cojeando y sintiendo los dedos fríos en mi espalda. Lo bueno es que son lentos, lo malo es que yo también lo soy ahora.
No duraría mucho mas. No sabía que me mataría primero, la perdida de sangre, convertirme en zombie, o ser desgarrado por una oleada de varias docenas.
Mi respuesta llegó cuando varios zombies rompieron las ventanas de un edificio y estás me cayeron en la cabeza, debieron haber cortado algún nervio importante o destruido una parte de mi cerebro o algún milagro oscuro por qué ví mi cuerpo caer al suelo aún conciente de todo lo que sucede.
El sonido de la carne siendo arrancado y masticado me dió un escalofrío o lo hubiera sido pero no sentía nada.
Eso solo sirvió para ver cómo me comían salvajemente mientras lo escuchaba y veía todo pero no sentía. Si hay algún dios, entonces me dió una muerte indolora.
Solo sentí sueño y lentamente me quedé dormido.
.....................
Desperté en una casa con una mochila. En la mochila un martillo, una bate, una bolsa de patatas frita. El dibujo del mapache en el frente de la mochila me dió mala espina.
"Bueno, otra vez volví" Mire mis manos. "Y como otra persona" Me levanté.
"Me preguntó si es una habilidad que siempre tuve o es por qué comenzó el apocalipsis" Lo pensé un momento pero decidí salir primero de esta casa, talvez encontrala y luego ver si puedo salir de knox.
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[WP] The electricity has been cut; there is no more running water; you can hear the dragging footsteps of the undead outside. Your only companion has just finished having a seizure. With confusion in his eyes, he asks you, “have we met before?”
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My wife, was dying, nearing her final days I made a deal with the devil to nake both of us immortal for us to live together forever, he agreed on the conditions:
I will not have any children, I will not document any memories together with her such as writing, photos, videos, etc except from my own mind.
I took this deal thinking that it wouldn't matter if we were both immortal. But it just made her live forever, he didn't cure her illness or anything, she was still ongoing dementia, with the only difference that it woukd revive and fix her back every time it killed her putting her in a seizure before she lost her memories again.
Every 2 years, I wasn't allowed to remind her of who I was, and I had to rebuild a relationship with her, every. Single. Time.
As time passed and the world began crumbling, eventually me and her were the only people left.
She'd wake up in an apocalypse after a seizure and see one person next to her, every 2 years. She'd look at me saying "Have we met before?" and I think about everything we've been through knowing I can't talk to her about it, I reply everytime with "No we haven't, it seems we're the only survivors"
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Le miro con una expresión complicada, furia por pensar que podría ser una muy mala broma, pánico por perder a quien me acompaño y miedo por tener que explicarle.
"Oye amigo, que pasa afuera" Me pregunta mirando las figuras tambaleantes afuera de las ventanas.
Miro con ella las figuras y doy un suspiro resignado. "Zombies" Contestó.
Ella tarda unos segundos más en procesar lo que dije.
Su expresión me da tristeza.
"Q-que?!" Casi grita pero talvez por qué tiene miedo que sea de verdad o el shock pero solo susurra.
"Hace unos nueve días comenzó todo, primero fue un olor desagradable en el aire, luego reportes de muertes en los animales de granjas y poco después los de casa y un día después fuimos completamente encerrados en cuarentena " niego con la cabeza. "Pero si lo que escuche en la radio es verdad" Saco un cigarrillo con un fósforo, la primera bocanada me hace querer toser. " Entonces todo el mundo está jodido".
Ella me mira con la boca abierta.
Quiere decir algo pero los sonidos de gemidos y pasos arrastrados la detienen.
"Cómo?" Fue lo único que dijo con dificultad.
Alzó lo hombros. "Dios, del espacio, talvez un arma química para matar ganado del enemigo". Parpadeo al decir lo último, esa parece una teoría muy probable.
Ella asiente con la cabeza, está en shock. Se recuperaría en unos minutos o aceptaría lo que pasa pero el sonido de los cristales rompiéndose la hacen encogerse de miedo.
Yo miro al pasillo. "Debe ser de la cocina" Me quito el cigarrillo de la boca, mala idea. "Bueno, ya probé el cigarrillo por primera vez, me falta beber hasta emborracharme pero no creo tener tiempo" Digo tranquilo.
Ella parece reaccionar a mi actitud.
"¿Por qué no tiene miedo?"
La miro con una ceja levantada. "Oh claro, perdiste la memoria" Recuerdo ese pequeño detalle.
Para su horror bajo la manga de mi abrigo y se ve una venda con sangre. " Fui mordido hace una hora, es posible que me falte poco para ser como uno de ellos" Señalo la ventana.
Ella mira mi herida y se aleja con miedo.
Le sonrió y saco un cuchillo que llevaba en mi cinturón. "Puedes sorprender a uno por detrás con cualquier arma afilada, es mejor perforar desde debajo del cuello para llegar más fácilmente al cerebro, o atarlo a un palo y hacer una lana casera". Dejo el cuchillo en la mesa y tomo un bate con clavos.
Ella me mira con desconfianza pero los ruidos de algo arrastrándose desde la cocina la ponen en alerta.
"Deberías de esconderte en algún armario, algunos han de entrar cuando salga gritando".
"¿Gritando?" Pregunta confundida hasta que hace la conexión y abre los ojos con horror. "Tu quieres-"
"No quiero, lo voy a hacer". Termino con una sonrisa loca saliendo corriendo a la cocina.
No escuché nada detrás de mi durante unos segundos hasta que el sonido de una puerta abriéndose y cerrándose me dieron la señal de que ella esta segura o está de camino a un lugar seguro.
El zombie en la cocina no pudo darse la vuelta cuando choque con el con todas mis fuerzas y lo comencé a golpear en la cabeza con el bate hasta que escuche un crujido. Sonreí.
Los sonidos de algo acercándose a la ventana me sacaron del momento.
Respire hondo.
Salte por la ventana gritando y con un equipo de música portátil atado a mi cintura.
Luche durante varios minutos matando a varios de ellos, empujando, pisando cabezas, empujando, no dejar que me atrapen. Di varias vueltas la casa para que todos los zombies me siguieran y no quedará ninguno o que quedarán pocos.
Fui rasguñado tantas veces que estaba seguro que lo que sea que convierte a las personas en zombies ya debía haber llenado gran parte de mi cuerpo. El malestar en mis músculos y las ganas de vomitar me daban buenas pistas de eso.
Fui mordido otra vez a una cuadra de la casa. Le pise la cabeza enojado, no me di cuenta de que podían está bajo de los autos. Espero que ella no caiga en eso.
A tres cuadras me sentía mareado por la perdida de sangre en mis heridas. No podía poner alguna venda por la horda que me seguía. El pánico que sentía tampoco ayudaba.
Después de varias cuadras ya estaba por el centro de la ciudad. Nunca fue muy grande y eso jugaba a mi favor. Lo que no lo haci era ir cojeando y sintiendo los dedos fríos en mi espalda. Lo bueno es que son lentos, lo malo es que yo también lo soy ahora.
No duraría mucho mas. No sabía que me mataría primero, la perdida de sangre, convertirme en zombie, o ser desgarrado por una oleada de varias docenas.
Mi respuesta llegó cuando varios zombies rompieron las ventanas de un edificio y estás me cayeron en la cabeza, debieron haber cortado algún nervio importante o destruido una parte de mi cerebro o algún milagro oscuro por qué ví mi cuerpo caer al suelo aún conciente de todo lo que sucede.
El sonido de la carne siendo arrancado y masticado me dió un escalofrío o lo hubiera sido pero no sentía nada.
Eso solo sirvió para ver cómo me comían salvajemente mientras lo escuchaba y veía todo pero no sentía. Si hay algún dios, entonces me dió una muerte indolora.
Solo sentí sueño y lentamente me quedé dormido.
.....................
Desperté en una casa con una mochila. En la mochila un martillo, una bate, una bolsa de patatas frita. El dibujo del mapache en el frente de la mochila me dió mala espina.
"Bueno, otra vez volví" Mire mis manos. "Y como otra persona" Me levanté.
"Me preguntó si es una habilidad que siempre tuve o es por qué comenzó el apocalipsis" Lo pensé un momento pero decidí salir primero de esta casa, talvez encontrala y luego ver si puedo salir de knox.
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|
[WP] The electricity has been cut; there is no more running water; you can hear the dragging footsteps of the undead outside. Your only companion has just finished having a seizure. With confusion in his eyes, he asks you, “have we met before?”
|
"Have we met before?"
The question hit me like a punch in the gut, but I quickly shook myself out of that as I gazed sadly at the man I'd been friends with for over three decades. He had just come out of a Secondary Generalized Tonic Seizure, not the first since I'd been with him but this one had lasted longer that before. His vision slowly cleared and he looked around the dirty house we'd holed up in for the night.
"Yeah." I began, "for over thirty years, since highschool, we've gotten along like brothers. We shared that friendship with two others, long gone now. Their names were Eddie and Clayton. Do you remember them?"
I could tell he was still dazed. He was silent for a long time before finally speaking, "Their names sound like I knew them, but now I'm not so sure…"
I sighed, "Fuck, bro. Your memory is really foggin' up, huh? What do you remember last?"
"I… what are those noises? Are those… people out there?!" His voice rises slightly in fear.
I hated that the undead had that effect on him. To me they were just husks, empty bloated corpses that didn't know they were dead and needed a reminder. I needed him focused and aware, but not fearful. If he panicked things would get very bad, very very quickly. I checked the magazine in my handgun, twelve rounds. Patting my side, I found two mags. One was empty, twenty-nine then. Twenty nine rounds before blunt trauma was the only thing standing between us, and the hoard. I couldn't afford to fight with bullets, it would just draw more. Guns are a dinner bell to these insatiable walking nightmares.
"Yes, they were human once" I said, my voice hardening. "Do you remember The Walking Dead? That's what's going on. We need to lay low, I don't have much ammo left."
He glanced at the gun as I checked it over again.
"I remember a little bit. Don't let them bite you, that's how you get infected, right?"
"Yup. You definitely need to stay awake for a bit now, make sure you're alright to sleep normally. So ask me questions, I'll help you remember. I'll help both of us remember. Maybe we'll get lucky and survive this."
|
Le miro con una expresión complicada, furia por pensar que podría ser una muy mala broma, pánico por perder a quien me acompaño y miedo por tener que explicarle.
"Oye amigo, que pasa afuera" Me pregunta mirando las figuras tambaleantes afuera de las ventanas.
Miro con ella las figuras y doy un suspiro resignado. "Zombies" Contestó.
Ella tarda unos segundos más en procesar lo que dije.
Su expresión me da tristeza.
"Q-que?!" Casi grita pero talvez por qué tiene miedo que sea de verdad o el shock pero solo susurra.
"Hace unos nueve días comenzó todo, primero fue un olor desagradable en el aire, luego reportes de muertes en los animales de granjas y poco después los de casa y un día después fuimos completamente encerrados en cuarentena " niego con la cabeza. "Pero si lo que escuche en la radio es verdad" Saco un cigarrillo con un fósforo, la primera bocanada me hace querer toser. " Entonces todo el mundo está jodido".
Ella me mira con la boca abierta.
Quiere decir algo pero los sonidos de gemidos y pasos arrastrados la detienen.
"Cómo?" Fue lo único que dijo con dificultad.
Alzó lo hombros. "Dios, del espacio, talvez un arma química para matar ganado del enemigo". Parpadeo al decir lo último, esa parece una teoría muy probable.
Ella asiente con la cabeza, está en shock. Se recuperaría en unos minutos o aceptaría lo que pasa pero el sonido de los cristales rompiéndose la hacen encogerse de miedo.
Yo miro al pasillo. "Debe ser de la cocina" Me quito el cigarrillo de la boca, mala idea. "Bueno, ya probé el cigarrillo por primera vez, me falta beber hasta emborracharme pero no creo tener tiempo" Digo tranquilo.
Ella parece reaccionar a mi actitud.
"¿Por qué no tiene miedo?"
La miro con una ceja levantada. "Oh claro, perdiste la memoria" Recuerdo ese pequeño detalle.
Para su horror bajo la manga de mi abrigo y se ve una venda con sangre. " Fui mordido hace una hora, es posible que me falte poco para ser como uno de ellos" Señalo la ventana.
Ella mira mi herida y se aleja con miedo.
Le sonrió y saco un cuchillo que llevaba en mi cinturón. "Puedes sorprender a uno por detrás con cualquier arma afilada, es mejor perforar desde debajo del cuello para llegar más fácilmente al cerebro, o atarlo a un palo y hacer una lana casera". Dejo el cuchillo en la mesa y tomo un bate con clavos.
Ella me mira con desconfianza pero los ruidos de algo arrastrándose desde la cocina la ponen en alerta.
"Deberías de esconderte en algún armario, algunos han de entrar cuando salga gritando".
"¿Gritando?" Pregunta confundida hasta que hace la conexión y abre los ojos con horror. "Tu quieres-"
"No quiero, lo voy a hacer". Termino con una sonrisa loca saliendo corriendo a la cocina.
No escuché nada detrás de mi durante unos segundos hasta que el sonido de una puerta abriéndose y cerrándose me dieron la señal de que ella esta segura o está de camino a un lugar seguro.
El zombie en la cocina no pudo darse la vuelta cuando choque con el con todas mis fuerzas y lo comencé a golpear en la cabeza con el bate hasta que escuche un crujido. Sonreí.
Los sonidos de algo acercándose a la ventana me sacaron del momento.
Respire hondo.
Salte por la ventana gritando y con un equipo de música portátil atado a mi cintura.
Luche durante varios minutos matando a varios de ellos, empujando, pisando cabezas, empujando, no dejar que me atrapen. Di varias vueltas la casa para que todos los zombies me siguieran y no quedará ninguno o que quedarán pocos.
Fui rasguñado tantas veces que estaba seguro que lo que sea que convierte a las personas en zombies ya debía haber llenado gran parte de mi cuerpo. El malestar en mis músculos y las ganas de vomitar me daban buenas pistas de eso.
Fui mordido otra vez a una cuadra de la casa. Le pise la cabeza enojado, no me di cuenta de que podían está bajo de los autos. Espero que ella no caiga en eso.
A tres cuadras me sentía mareado por la perdida de sangre en mis heridas. No podía poner alguna venda por la horda que me seguía. El pánico que sentía tampoco ayudaba.
Después de varias cuadras ya estaba por el centro de la ciudad. Nunca fue muy grande y eso jugaba a mi favor. Lo que no lo haci era ir cojeando y sintiendo los dedos fríos en mi espalda. Lo bueno es que son lentos, lo malo es que yo también lo soy ahora.
No duraría mucho mas. No sabía que me mataría primero, la perdida de sangre, convertirme en zombie, o ser desgarrado por una oleada de varias docenas.
Mi respuesta llegó cuando varios zombies rompieron las ventanas de un edificio y estás me cayeron en la cabeza, debieron haber cortado algún nervio importante o destruido una parte de mi cerebro o algún milagro oscuro por qué ví mi cuerpo caer al suelo aún conciente de todo lo que sucede.
El sonido de la carne siendo arrancado y masticado me dió un escalofrío o lo hubiera sido pero no sentía nada.
Eso solo sirvió para ver cómo me comían salvajemente mientras lo escuchaba y veía todo pero no sentía. Si hay algún dios, entonces me dió una muerte indolora.
Solo sentí sueño y lentamente me quedé dormido.
.....................
Desperté en una casa con una mochila. En la mochila un martillo, una bate, una bolsa de patatas frita. El dibujo del mapache en el frente de la mochila me dió mala espina.
"Bueno, otra vez volví" Mire mis manos. "Y como otra persona" Me levanté.
"Me preguntó si es una habilidad que siempre tuve o es por qué comenzó el apocalipsis" Lo pensé un momento pero decidí salir primero de esta casa, talvez encontrala y luego ver si puedo salir de knox.
|
|
[WP] The electricity has been cut; there is no more running water; you can hear the dragging footsteps of the undead outside. Your only companion has just finished having a seizure. With confusion in his eyes, he asks you, “have we met before?”
|
"Yes, Cooper. We have met before. I am your friend."
Cooper lay there, still disoriented. He slowly started sniffing around.
"I feel strange..." he said. "I feel different. Oh... and I feel hungry! Is there food? I want food!"
I sat on the windowsill, looking outside. One of the inflicted was slowly shambling by."You are always hungry, Cooper. That is why you are now feeling this way. You ate something you shouldn't have eaten, Cooper."
"Oh." he said. "Yeah, that happens. I bet it smelled good. What was it? Was it poop?"
"No, Cooper" I answered him. "It wasn't poop you ate. You ate something very different. You ate the brain of one of them."
"Them?"
"The servants... well, not quite servants to you. Your masters. They died of this new sickness, Cooper. And they didn't feed you anymore. But your neighbor shot them. Splattered their brains all over the wall. And you ate their brains, Cooper. You ate them and you changed. But you will feel better soon."
Cooper didn't really seem to remember his previous life. Good for him - I still remembered them. I still remembered their touch. And I remembered the hunger after they died and we could not get out of the house.
"Friend?" Cooper called to me. "Friend, what is your name?"
I raised my left leg and started licking myself."My name is Cleo."
|
Le miro con una expresión complicada, furia por pensar que podría ser una muy mala broma, pánico por perder a quien me acompaño y miedo por tener que explicarle.
"Oye amigo, que pasa afuera" Me pregunta mirando las figuras tambaleantes afuera de las ventanas.
Miro con ella las figuras y doy un suspiro resignado. "Zombies" Contestó.
Ella tarda unos segundos más en procesar lo que dije.
Su expresión me da tristeza.
"Q-que?!" Casi grita pero talvez por qué tiene miedo que sea de verdad o el shock pero solo susurra.
"Hace unos nueve días comenzó todo, primero fue un olor desagradable en el aire, luego reportes de muertes en los animales de granjas y poco después los de casa y un día después fuimos completamente encerrados en cuarentena " niego con la cabeza. "Pero si lo que escuche en la radio es verdad" Saco un cigarrillo con un fósforo, la primera bocanada me hace querer toser. " Entonces todo el mundo está jodido".
Ella me mira con la boca abierta.
Quiere decir algo pero los sonidos de gemidos y pasos arrastrados la detienen.
"Cómo?" Fue lo único que dijo con dificultad.
Alzó lo hombros. "Dios, del espacio, talvez un arma química para matar ganado del enemigo". Parpadeo al decir lo último, esa parece una teoría muy probable.
Ella asiente con la cabeza, está en shock. Se recuperaría en unos minutos o aceptaría lo que pasa pero el sonido de los cristales rompiéndose la hacen encogerse de miedo.
Yo miro al pasillo. "Debe ser de la cocina" Me quito el cigarrillo de la boca, mala idea. "Bueno, ya probé el cigarrillo por primera vez, me falta beber hasta emborracharme pero no creo tener tiempo" Digo tranquilo.
Ella parece reaccionar a mi actitud.
"¿Por qué no tiene miedo?"
La miro con una ceja levantada. "Oh claro, perdiste la memoria" Recuerdo ese pequeño detalle.
Para su horror bajo la manga de mi abrigo y se ve una venda con sangre. " Fui mordido hace una hora, es posible que me falte poco para ser como uno de ellos" Señalo la ventana.
Ella mira mi herida y se aleja con miedo.
Le sonrió y saco un cuchillo que llevaba en mi cinturón. "Puedes sorprender a uno por detrás con cualquier arma afilada, es mejor perforar desde debajo del cuello para llegar más fácilmente al cerebro, o atarlo a un palo y hacer una lana casera". Dejo el cuchillo en la mesa y tomo un bate con clavos.
Ella me mira con desconfianza pero los ruidos de algo arrastrándose desde la cocina la ponen en alerta.
"Deberías de esconderte en algún armario, algunos han de entrar cuando salga gritando".
"¿Gritando?" Pregunta confundida hasta que hace la conexión y abre los ojos con horror. "Tu quieres-"
"No quiero, lo voy a hacer". Termino con una sonrisa loca saliendo corriendo a la cocina.
No escuché nada detrás de mi durante unos segundos hasta que el sonido de una puerta abriéndose y cerrándose me dieron la señal de que ella esta segura o está de camino a un lugar seguro.
El zombie en la cocina no pudo darse la vuelta cuando choque con el con todas mis fuerzas y lo comencé a golpear en la cabeza con el bate hasta que escuche un crujido. Sonreí.
Los sonidos de algo acercándose a la ventana me sacaron del momento.
Respire hondo.
Salte por la ventana gritando y con un equipo de música portátil atado a mi cintura.
Luche durante varios minutos matando a varios de ellos, empujando, pisando cabezas, empujando, no dejar que me atrapen. Di varias vueltas la casa para que todos los zombies me siguieran y no quedará ninguno o que quedarán pocos.
Fui rasguñado tantas veces que estaba seguro que lo que sea que convierte a las personas en zombies ya debía haber llenado gran parte de mi cuerpo. El malestar en mis músculos y las ganas de vomitar me daban buenas pistas de eso.
Fui mordido otra vez a una cuadra de la casa. Le pise la cabeza enojado, no me di cuenta de que podían está bajo de los autos. Espero que ella no caiga en eso.
A tres cuadras me sentía mareado por la perdida de sangre en mis heridas. No podía poner alguna venda por la horda que me seguía. El pánico que sentía tampoco ayudaba.
Después de varias cuadras ya estaba por el centro de la ciudad. Nunca fue muy grande y eso jugaba a mi favor. Lo que no lo haci era ir cojeando y sintiendo los dedos fríos en mi espalda. Lo bueno es que son lentos, lo malo es que yo también lo soy ahora.
No duraría mucho mas. No sabía que me mataría primero, la perdida de sangre, convertirme en zombie, o ser desgarrado por una oleada de varias docenas.
Mi respuesta llegó cuando varios zombies rompieron las ventanas de un edificio y estás me cayeron en la cabeza, debieron haber cortado algún nervio importante o destruido una parte de mi cerebro o algún milagro oscuro por qué ví mi cuerpo caer al suelo aún conciente de todo lo que sucede.
El sonido de la carne siendo arrancado y masticado me dió un escalofrío o lo hubiera sido pero no sentía nada.
Eso solo sirvió para ver cómo me comían salvajemente mientras lo escuchaba y veía todo pero no sentía. Si hay algún dios, entonces me dió una muerte indolora.
Solo sentí sueño y lentamente me quedé dormido.
.....................
Desperté en una casa con una mochila. En la mochila un martillo, una bate, una bolsa de patatas frita. El dibujo del mapache en el frente de la mochila me dió mala espina.
"Bueno, otra vez volví" Mire mis manos. "Y como otra persona" Me levanté.
"Me preguntó si es una habilidad que siempre tuve o es por qué comenzó el apocalipsis" Lo pensé un momento pero decidí salir primero de esta casa, talvez encontrala y luego ver si puedo salir de knox.
|
|
[WP] The electricity has been cut; there is no more running water; you can hear the dragging footsteps of the undead outside. Your only companion has just finished having a seizure. With confusion in his eyes, he asks you, “have we met before?”
|
“Have we met before?” She asked. It was hard hearing that from my own niece who used to live just down the street from me. It’s been a year since the apocalypse started. It started off slow and only in some regions but after a year, there’s only some outposts here and there that have made a recovery with the help of military officials.
“No, my name is William. I work for the police and am here to protect you from the creatures outside. But you have to do exactly as I tell you.” A blatant lie to my niece but it was a easier and quicker than telling her we were related and getting her to trust my words from a total stranger from her perspective.
“Where’s Mommy and Daddy?” She asked. A knot formed in my throat at the thought of my sister and her husband again. Flashbacks of seeing them on the floor blood and chunks taken out. “I’m going to take you to them but you have to trust me alright? If these creatures get to me or you, you won’t be able to see mommy and daddy.” I pick her up like I’ve always done before at her age and hold her tight. The creatures are at the front door of this abandoned house, we’ve gathered the supplies we could find and are ready to leave. There’s a large window that leads to the back yard. I quietly open it up and start to climb through.
“Alright, you need to stay quiet so the creatures don’t hear us, but if they are too close and seem to notice us, you need to let me know as soon as possible.” I tried to make good use of my time, explaining and continuing our progress to the nearest outpost.
I motion to her that we need to be quiet and she gives me a head nod and a sweet, fearless, little smile. I peek around the corner and I see an opening. I walk low to the ground to not get seen and make less noise as I make for the backyard of another home, then another.
Finally we made it out of that cul-de-sac and out towards the main street. There’s fewer creatures out here since not as many people are willing to roam in big open areas, less dead, less creatures to feast.
The outpost was about a day out but I can only walk so far for so long. Eventually it became night time and I found us a nice place to lay low again until morning. My niece as cheerful as ever would write down questions with some crayons and scratch paper we found and pass them to me so that I could write a response. Typical questions from a young girl who had no idea what was really going on. Most of the answers were lies or half-truths. Almost like a story being told to her through her questions. It was exciting for her. But she finally went to sleep while I managed to sleep on and off like I’ve been doing since the apocalypse.
She woke me up early in the morning writing down that she was hungry. I popped open a can of beans and gave her a spoon. She seemed disappointed but couldn’t really complain either. She ate the beans and we made our way out again. It was about 2 in the evening when we saw the outpost. Not having fun into any creatures along the way, my guard had been put down.
That was until the cacophony of groaning started to come out from the trees. Guard raised again, i new the only way we’d be able to make it through was running full speed to the outpost. I held my niece close and ran. I could feel a runners high in that moment, adrenaline pumping, my whole body knew it was do or die time. Even more evidenced by the bells being rung from the outpost. It was just as loud as the groaning from behind and beside. The creatures were closing in around us but I was in the zone, I was dodging and weaving around their grabs and blocks one by one. I looked up at the outpost at the forefront of the mob, I raise my other hand up smiling and start to call out to them. But as I start to yell.
“FIRE!”
‘ZYOOM’ just past my head. ‘ZYOOM’ another on the other side. I looked at my niece who’s head had already been shot off without me realizing. Dread. I stopped running. I could see it coming for me. Straight between the eyes. Then silence.
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Le miro con una expresión complicada, furia por pensar que podría ser una muy mala broma, pánico por perder a quien me acompaño y miedo por tener que explicarle.
"Oye amigo, que pasa afuera" Me pregunta mirando las figuras tambaleantes afuera de las ventanas.
Miro con ella las figuras y doy un suspiro resignado. "Zombies" Contestó.
Ella tarda unos segundos más en procesar lo que dije.
Su expresión me da tristeza.
"Q-que?!" Casi grita pero talvez por qué tiene miedo que sea de verdad o el shock pero solo susurra.
"Hace unos nueve días comenzó todo, primero fue un olor desagradable en el aire, luego reportes de muertes en los animales de granjas y poco después los de casa y un día después fuimos completamente encerrados en cuarentena " niego con la cabeza. "Pero si lo que escuche en la radio es verdad" Saco un cigarrillo con un fósforo, la primera bocanada me hace querer toser. " Entonces todo el mundo está jodido".
Ella me mira con la boca abierta.
Quiere decir algo pero los sonidos de gemidos y pasos arrastrados la detienen.
"Cómo?" Fue lo único que decir
|
|
[WP] The electricity has been cut; there is no more running water; you can hear the dragging footsteps of the undead outside. Your only companion has just finished having a seizure. With confusion in his eyes, he asks you, “have we met before?”
|
My wife, was dying, nearing her final days I made a deal with the devil to nake both of us immortal for us to live together forever, he agreed on the conditions:
I will not have any children, I will not document any memories together with her such as writing, photos, videos, etc except from my own mind.
I took this deal thinking that it wouldn't matter if we were both immortal. But it just made her live forever, he didn't cure her illness or anything, she was still ongoing dementia, with the only difference that it woukd revive and fix her back every time it killed her putting her in a seizure before she lost her memories again.
Every 2 years, I wasn't allowed to remind her of who I was, and I had to rebuild a relationship with her, every. Single. Time.
As time passed and the world began crumbling, eventually me and her were the only people left.
She'd wake up in an apocalypse after a seizure and see one person next to her, every 2 years. She'd look at me saying "Have we met before?" and I think about everything we've been through knowing I can't talk to her about it, I reply everytime with "No we haven't, it seems we're the only survivors"
|
Le miro con una expresión complicada, furia por pensar que podría ser una muy mala broma, pánico por perder a quien me acompaño y miedo por tener que explicarle.
"Oye amigo, que pasa afuera" Me pregunta mirando las figuras tambaleantes afuera de las ventanas.
Miro con ella las figuras y doy un suspiro resignado. "Zombies" Contestó.
Ella tarda unos segundos más en procesar lo que dije.
Su expresión me da tristeza.
"Q-que?!" Casi grita pero talvez por qué tiene miedo que sea de verdad o el shock pero solo susurra.
"Hace unos nueve días comenzó todo, primero fue un olor desagradable en el aire, luego reportes de muertes en los animales de granjas y poco después los de casa y un día después fuimos completamente encerrados en cuarentena " niego con la cabeza. "Pero si lo que escuche en la radio es verdad" Saco un cigarrillo con un fósforo, la primera bocanada me hace querer toser. " Entonces todo el mundo está jodido".
Ella me mira con la boca abierta.
Quiere decir algo pero los sonidos de gemidos y pasos arrastrados la detienen.
"Cómo?" Fue lo único que decir
|
|
[WP] The electricity has been cut; there is no more running water; you can hear the dragging footsteps of the undead outside. Your only companion has just finished having a seizure. With confusion in his eyes, he asks you, “have we met before?”
|
"Have we met before?"
The question hit me like a punch in the gut, but I quickly shook myself out of that as I gazed sadly at the man I'd been friends with for over three decades. He had just come out of a Secondary Generalized Tonic Seizure, not the first since I'd been with him but this one had lasted longer that before. His vision slowly cleared and he looked around the dirty house we'd holed up in for the night.
"Yeah." I began, "for over thirty years, since highschool, we've gotten along like brothers. We shared that friendship with two others, long gone now. Their names were Eddie and Clayton. Do you remember them?"
I could tell he was still dazed. He was silent for a long time before finally speaking, "Their names sound like I knew them, but now I'm not so sure…"
I sighed, "Fuck, bro. Your memory is really foggin' up, huh? What do you remember last?"
"I… what are those noises? Are those… people out there?!" His voice rises slightly in fear.
I hated that the undead had that effect on him. To me they were just husks, empty bloated corpses that didn't know they were dead and needed a reminder. I needed him focused and aware, but not fearful. If he panicked things would get very bad, very very quickly. I checked the magazine in my handgun, twelve rounds. Patting my side, I found two mags. One was empty, twenty-nine then. Twenty nine rounds before blunt trauma was the only thing standing between us, and the hoard. I couldn't afford to fight with bullets, it would just draw more. Guns are a dinner bell to these insatiable walking nightmares.
"Yes, they were human once" I said, my voice hardening. "Do you remember The Walking Dead? That's what's going on. We need to lay low, I don't have much ammo left."
He glanced at the gun as I checked it over again.
"I remember a little bit. Don't let them bite you, that's how you get infected, right?"
"Yup. You definitely need to stay awake for a bit now, make sure you're alright to sleep normally. So ask me questions, I'll help you remember. I'll help both of us remember. Maybe we'll get lucky and survive this."
|
Le miro con una expresión complicada, furia por pensar que podría ser una muy mala broma, pánico por perder a quien me acompaño y miedo por tener que explicarle.
"Oye amigo, que pasa afuera" Me pregunta mirando las figuras tambaleantes afuera de las ventanas.
Miro con ella las figuras y doy un suspiro resignado. "Zombies" Contestó.
Ella tarda unos segundos más en procesar lo que dije.
Su expresión me da tristeza.
"Q-que?!" Casi grita pero talvez por qué tiene miedo que sea de verdad o el shock pero solo susurra.
"Hace unos nueve días comenzó todo, primero fue un olor desagradable en el aire, luego reportes de muertes en los animales de granjas y poco después los de casa y un día después fuimos completamente encerrados en cuarentena " niego con la cabeza. "Pero si lo que escuche en la radio es verdad" Saco un cigarrillo con un fósforo, la primera bocanada me hace querer toser. " Entonces todo el mundo está jodido".
Ella me mira con la boca abierta.
Quiere decir algo pero los sonidos de gemidos y pasos arrastrados la detienen.
"Cómo?" Fue lo único que decir
|
|
[WP] The electricity has been cut; there is no more running water; you can hear the dragging footsteps of the undead outside. Your only companion has just finished having a seizure. With confusion in his eyes, he asks you, “have we met before?”
|
"Yes, Cooper. We have met before. I am your friend."
Cooper lay there, still disoriented. He slowly started sniffing around.
"I feel strange..." he said. "I feel different. Oh... and I feel hungry! Is there food? I want food!"
I sat on the windowsill, looking outside. One of the inflicted was slowly shambling by."You are always hungry, Cooper. That is why you are now feeling this way. You ate something you shouldn't have eaten, Cooper."
"Oh." he said. "Yeah, that happens. I bet it smelled good. What was it? Was it poop?"
"No, Cooper" I answered him. "It wasn't poop you ate. You ate something very different. You ate the brain of one of them."
"Them?"
"The servants... well, not quite servants to you. Your masters. They died of this new sickness, Cooper. And they didn't feed you anymore. But your neighbor shot them. Splattered their brains all over the wall. And you ate their brains, Cooper. You ate them and you changed. But you will feel better soon."
Cooper didn't really seem to remember his previous life. Good for him - I still remembered them. I still remembered their touch. And I remembered the hunger after they died and we could not get out of the house.
"Friend?" Cooper called to me. "Friend, what is your name?"
I raised my left leg and started licking myself."My name is Cleo."
|
Le miro con una expresión complicada, furia por pensar que podría ser una muy mala broma, pánico por perder a quien me acompaño y miedo por tener que explicarle.
"Oye amigo, que pasa afuera" Me pregunta mirando las figuras tambaleantes afuera de las ventanas.
Miro con ella las figuras y doy un suspiro resignado. "Zombies" Contestó.
Ella tarda unos segundos más en procesar lo que dije.
Su expresión me da tristeza.
"Q-que?!" Casi grita pero talvez por qué tiene miedo que sea de verdad o el shock pero solo susurra.
"Hace unos nueve días comenzó todo, primero fue un olor desagradable en el aire, luego reportes de muertes en los animales de granjas y poco después los de casa y un día después fuimos completamente encerrados en cuarentena " niego con la cabeza. "Pero si lo que escuche en la radio es verdad" Saco un cigarrillo con un fósforo, la primera bocanada me hace querer toser. " Entonces todo el mundo está jodido".
Ella me mira con la boca abierta.
Quiere decir algo pero los sonidos de gemidos y pasos arrastrados la detienen.
"Cómo?" Fue lo único que decir
|
|
[WP] The electricity has been cut; there is no more running water; you can hear the dragging footsteps of the undead outside. Your only companion has just finished having a seizure. With confusion in his eyes, he asks you, “have we met before?”
|
"Yes, Cooper. We have met before. I am your friend."
Cooper lay there, still disoriented. He slowly started sniffing around.
"I feel strange..." he said. "I feel different. Oh... and I feel hungry! Is there food? I want food!"
I sat on the windowsill, looking outside. One of the inflicted was slowly shambling by."You are always hungry, Cooper. That is why you are now feeling this way. You ate something you shouldn't have eaten, Cooper."
"Oh." he said. "Yeah, that happens. I bet it smelled good. What was it? Was it poop?"
"No, Cooper" I answered him. "It wasn't poop you ate. You ate something very different. You ate the brain of one of them."
"Them?"
"The servants... well, not quite servants to you. Your masters. They died of this new sickness, Cooper. And they didn't feed you anymore. But your neighbor shot them. Splattered their brains all over the wall. And you ate their brains, Cooper. You ate them and you changed. But you will feel better soon."
Cooper didn't really seem to remember his previous life. Good for him - I still remembered them. I still remembered their touch. And I remembered the hunger after they died and we could not get out of the house.
"Friend?" Cooper called to me. "Friend, what is your name?"
I raised my left leg and started licking myself."My name is Cleo."
|
My wife, was dying, nearing her final days I made a deal with the devil to nake both of us immortal for us to live together forever, he agreed on the conditions:
I will not have any children, I will not document any memories together with her such as writing, photos, videos, etc except from my own mind.
I took this deal thinking that it wouldn't matter if we were both immortal. But it just made her live forever, he didn't cure her illness or anything, she was still ongoing dementia, with the only difference that it woukd revive and fix her back every time it killed her putting her in a seizure before she lost her memories again.
Every 2 years, I wasn't allowed to remind her of who I was, and I had to rebuild a relationship with her, every. Single. Time.
As time passed and the world began crumbling, eventually me and her were the only people left.
She'd wake up in an apocalypse after a seizure and see one person next to her, every 2 years. She'd look at me saying "Have we met before?" and I think about everything we've been through knowing I can't talk to her about it, I reply everytime with "No we haven't, it seems we're the only survivors"
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|
[WP] The electricity has been cut; there is no more running water; you can hear the dragging footsteps of the undead outside. Your only companion has just finished having a seizure. With confusion in his eyes, he asks you, “have we met before?”
|
"Yes, Cooper. We have met before. I am your friend."
Cooper lay there, still disoriented. He slowly started sniffing around.
"I feel strange..." he said. "I feel different. Oh... and I feel hungry! Is there food? I want food!"
I sat on the windowsill, looking outside. One of the inflicted was slowly shambling by."You are always hungry, Cooper. That is why you are now feeling this way. You ate something you shouldn't have eaten, Cooper."
"Oh." he said. "Yeah, that happens. I bet it smelled good. What was it? Was it poop?"
"No, Cooper" I answered him. "It wasn't poop you ate. You ate something very different. You ate the brain of one of them."
"Them?"
"The servants... well, not quite servants to you. Your masters. They died of this new sickness, Cooper. And they didn't feed you anymore. But your neighbor shot them. Splattered their brains all over the wall. And you ate their brains, Cooper. You ate them and you changed. But you will feel better soon."
Cooper didn't really seem to remember his previous life. Good for him - I still remembered them. I still remembered their touch. And I remembered the hunger after they died and we could not get out of the house.
"Friend?" Cooper called to me. "Friend, what is your name?"
I raised my left leg and started licking myself."My name is Cleo."
|
"Have we met before?"
The question hit me like a punch in the gut, but I quickly shook myself out of that as I gazed sadly at the man I'd been friends with for over three decades. He had just come out of a Secondary Generalized Tonic Seizure, not the first since I'd been with him but this one had lasted longer that before. His vision slowly cleared and he looked around the dirty house we'd holed up in for the night.
"Yeah." I began, "for over thirty years, since highschool, we've gotten along like brothers. We shared that friendship with two others, long gone now. Their names were Eddie and Clayton. Do you remember them?"
I could tell he was still dazed. He was silent for a long time before finally speaking, "Their names sound like I knew them, but now I'm not so sure…"
I sighed, "Fuck, bro. Your memory is really foggin' up, huh? What do you remember last?"
"I… what are those noises? Are those… people out there?!" His voice rises slightly in fear.
I hated that the undead had that effect on him. To me they were just husks, empty bloated corpses that didn't know they were dead and needed a reminder. I needed him focused and aware, but not fearful. If he panicked things would get very bad, very very quickly. I checked the magazine in my handgun, twelve rounds. Patting my side, I found two mags. One was empty, twenty-nine then. Twenty nine rounds before blunt trauma was the only thing standing between us, and the hoard. I couldn't afford to fight with bullets, it would just draw more. Guns are a dinner bell to these insatiable walking nightmares.
"Yes, they were human once" I said, my voice hardening. "Do you remember The Walking Dead? That's what's going on. We need to lay low, I don't have much ammo left."
He glanced at the gun as I checked it over again.
"I remember a little bit. Don't let them bite you, that's how you get infected, right?"
"Yup. You definitely need to stay awake for a bit now, make sure you're alright to sleep normally. So ask me questions, I'll help you remember. I'll help both of us remember. Maybe we'll get lucky and survive this."
|
|
[WP] A dragon has set up its new territory, only to be met by a couple of people from the nearby villagers offering it a human sacrifice as to spare them from its wrath. The dragon literally just wants to vibe in this remote part of the kingdom.
|
“Are you sure this is the spot?”
From the way the guardsmen looked at each other, they were both more fearful of being wrong than they were of finding what they had spotted “yes My Lord, if you see over there just on the shore of the lake…under the tree. The second one to the right.”
King Julius Westervelt peered. His small beady eyes didn’t help him to spot what he was looking for, but as the breeze picked up and began to blow some of the branches, light glimmered of something. “There I see it.” his hearing was better “can hear it too.”
From across the lake, the deep bass rumbling of the snoring dragon carried across the water, scarlet scales occasionally shimmering as they were hit by the sunlight. “Big brute isn’t he?” the King said, rubbing his hands together “Are you sure we can’t subdue it? It would make a splendid mount…those idiot denizens of the Brentwoods would soil themselves in fear if I had such a beast.”
“Like you did yourself when it flew over the town?” a muffled voice said behind them. The prisoner had gotten her gag loose again. While several of the guards for a second looked like they might laugh, from the red fury on the King's face the urge was quickly stifled. Westervelt spun around, his mailed fist crashing into the shackled maiden, sending her to the ground in a heap.
"Insolent peasant! I rid myself of two problems today” The noise of the prisoners' chains jangling as she fell carried across the water, and on the other side of the lake, the dragon stirred. The King’s eyes widened as he saw the dragon move, while it was one thing to daydream about commanding such power-it was another to see one less than a hundred yards away. “H..hurry up. Get her secured and get ready to send the message” he shouted. As the dragon began to stretch as if waking up, he backed up, tripping over the bound prisoner, landing on his arse and scrambling backwards, his aide attempting to help him up onto his feet.
Trevor was one of the few who dared speak up to the King-probably because he was one of the few of his retainers who handled the finances for the kingdom's lands. “Sire, I think you may have misread the text, gifting a virgin maiden to a dragon to get it to leave was a fable from the reign of-”
The King waved him off. “If someone wrote it down, then it must be true. After all, I wrote that my authority comes from the Gods, and so it does.”
…”that's not how it works Sire-”Trevor began as the king turned, his attention span already stretched to the maximum. “Send the missive!”
One of the guardsmen trembled as he drew back a bow, a parchment tied to it. Sweat ran down under his helmet…he was one of the kingdoms’ better archers, but in this case, he HAD to miss his target.. He let fly, the arrow whistling across the lake, before embedding with a soft sound in the mud near the sleeping Dragon’s outstretched tail.
Mounting , he nodded approvingly at the aim “Good shot, i won’t have you flayed after all. You may sound the trumpets, after I’m away.” He spurred his heels roughly to his horse's flanks and rode away as fast as the plump steed could manage.
Watching his King ride away, Trevor turned. Unlike the Guardsmen, who were afoot, he had a donkey. “Well, you heard him. Blow the horn.”
The youngest guardsman, a thin boy of 13 who had been taken into service to cover his mothers tax debt, peered at the old man on the donkey. “What to I do then M’lord?”
“What else? Run away”
The other guardsmen were already moving, as was Trevor. With a trembling hand he lifted the trumpet to his lips and blew an almost but not quite completely off key fanfare.
---
It was a wonderful spot. Kikodawn had been looking for someplace out of the way to relax, and work on her studies. The Realtor was right-This little valley was perfect. A nice lake, fully stocked with fish, when she tired of those, there were mountain sheep up on the ridges over the valley. There was a fantastic cave, complete with a hot spring that had already been dug out and had bathing ledges set up. Bookshelves carved in the wall even. She was lucky to have gotten this place. She was low on the list for a lair, but the remote location near human lands put many dragons off. its prior owner hadn’t been back for several decades, An old blue dragon who went south to the tropical islands when his arthritis started to give him problems when he was in his late 800’s.
The only settlement that was nearby was in the next valley over-Gustavius had told her when he gave her the keys that he didn’t know much about the humans who settled there, but they mainly kept out of his business while he was here. It had taken her several weeks to clean the dust out, and the other day she overflew the human settlement while she was getting some exercise. It seemed bigger than Gus had said, but blues memories tended to go when they got close to a millennium.
She was half asleep, dozing as the breeze started up again. She stretched, pondering waking up-when a warbling brassy ‘tphhhhhpht” shriek startled her awake. She jumped to all fours, wings spread in case she had to take off-which promptly got caught in some of the overhead branches. With an undignified yelp she flailed backwards, landing upside down as the sounds of someone screaming ‘run away!” echoed across the lake.
Cursing and muttering under her breath she managed to roll upright, looking across the lake for threats. There was nothing other than a dust cloud from something leaving the area as fast as possible, an unconscious human on the other side of the lake tied to a tree, and a note tied to an arrow near her tail.
Glancing at the figure across the lake, she delicately untied the ribbon holding the parchment to the arrow. “Godsdamnit.” she muttered, recognizing the lettering on the paper. Humans. Shouldn’t have let her curiosity get the better of her the other day…
Skimming through it, she spread her wings and jumped into the air, gliding to the other side of the lake as she read “greetings, blah blah, my royal highness greets…typical…]Wait what? Sacrifice?” dropping the letter she covered her face with her scaled palm.
The soft moan near her feet reminded her of her ‘offering’. Easily snapping the ropes with her claws, she scooped the human up in her forelegs and jumped up, gliding back across the lake to her cave.
---
Emily opened her eyes warily. She was in a cave..and laying on a warm stone ledge covered by furs. She caught sight of something in the light from the crystals used to light up the cave, bright red scales reflecting the light. Despite her meaning to be brave, she was only a girl of 12, the sight of the dragon caused her to scream. As she did the dragon jumped, and with a metallic ‘bong’, a metal pot hanging from a hook near the ceiling banging off of the beast's head.
She almost wet herself when it roared…and cursed?
“Godsdamnit it…oww! What's with you people and sudden noises, don’t you know dragons startle easy!”
“Sorry , sorry, “ Emily whimpered, which oddly brought an annoyed looking expression on the dragons face
“It’s ok, just don’t do it again.” The dragon rubbed its’, no, her head. Emily wasn’t sure why she thought that, but it fit.
“Are you going to eat me now?”
“What? Eww. No.” The dragon replied, shaking her head.
Now Emily was confused “but …that's why they brought me here.”
“In chains and ropes, I saw. You’re kind of young to be a criminal.” Kiko turned back to what she was doing over a magically glowing stove, before turning around again, holding a comically small teapot and cup in her claw tips. “Tea?”
“Uh…” with a shrug she sat up “Sure. and I’m not a criminal. I spoke against the king…being under 14 the Bishop kept him from killing me for that, they sentenced me instead to be sacrificed to you for stealing bread. Better than flayed I suppose….uh, i’m sorry…” Her eyes widened as flame licked from the dragon’s nostrils, an angry rumbling filling the cave.
“Don’t be, you didn’t make me angry.” Kiko forced herself to calm, this was a child she was dealing with. “And you’re in no danger of being eaten by me. It’s considered rude to eat someone you can carry on a conversation with.”
Despite her situation Emily giggled. “Ok Miss dragon,
Kiko smiled, with not too many teeth showing-she had been around humans before “Kikodawn, or just Kiko, not miss dragon, I’m not a teacher anymore. Anyhow why don’t you drink your tea, have some soup, and tell me all about this king of yours…” Now she knew why no one else wanted this lair in a Human occupied area.
|
(This is the second time i'm writing this because I lost my first draft halfway through 😭😭)
"Ew. No ew. What are you doing?"
Humans were weird. And gross. Humans were weird and gross. Case in point, two soldiers stood in front of me, heavily clad in armour. One of them held a young girl in his hand, while the other held two cows.''
''Dragon, we have brought you a young virgin and two of our finest cattles as a peace offering. Let our kingdom remain in peace, and we'll bring more sacrifices for you. ''
One of the humans shouted, as the other one trembled in fear. Was that a stain on his pants?
''Oh god. Will you stop bringing me these 'gifts' if I attacked your village? I really dont like them, you know"
"If you attack us, our brave king will slaughter you."
"Huh. And where is he now?"
"He's... He- He wanted to give you a chance at peace before resorting to bloodshed. Accept the sacrifices from our wise king, or regret your decision forever"
I just wanted to retire in peace, away from all this medeival nonsense. I had never needed women and cattle back then, and I had no special need for them now.
"Fine, whatever. Leave them in the cave"
The soldiers barely entered the cave as they threw the sacrifices inside, and ran away.
I sighed and went about my day.
...
I had been looking through the hills, trying to understand the layout. As the sun began setting, I went back to my new abode.
I had forgotten about the girl, but saw her standing there. She looked petrified, but was desperately trying to put on a brave face.
''Might dragon. Just eat me please. Have mercy and end my life quickly'', she said. She proceeded to kneel down and lay her head on the ground, holding up a sword.
"What are you doing? Move.” I roared. I didnt mean to sound harsh, but I didnt want some human kneeling on my feet.
As she scrambled to rise, I continued.
''I do not wish to eat you. I just had my dinner, i'm full. You can go. It's not like I want you here, you were brought to me. Though I wouldn't suggest going back to that village. I mean, those guys just up and abandoned you, didn't they?''
The girl looked confused. ''I can go? Are you going to hunt me?''
''No! What did they do to you? Just go"
The girl didnt move. She just stood there, and then chucked out of the blue. ''So you dont want me either. Of course.''
Then she began sobbing. After comforting the now wailing child that no, she was lovable, I remembered why I wanted to remain in solitude for my retirement. God, these humans.
''Fine, you can stay with me. But you'll have to look after yourself. I won't be spoon feeding you. And not just because I cant hold a spoon.''
Over the next month, I became friends with Brise. She was an orphan. She was useful around the cave, keeping it neat and tidy. The would take care of the cows and milk them. She started a tiny garden being the cave. In return, I let Brise stay in my cave. Sometimes, I taught her swordfighting. We'd play games if I was feeling particularly jovial.
After one month, another girl and two cattle were sent. This time no soldier accompanied them. The woman held the cows and came inside the cave, ready to die.
Brise explained to her how I was on a diet, no humans, thank you very much.
Soon this kind of became my thing. My quiet retirement became more of a training camp for poor girls.
Brise taught the girls what I had taught her, when it came to a sword. Soon, there was enough cattle for the girls to start selling the surplus in neighbouring villages, away from their own homes.
All of the women present were free to go back, but rarely did they take me up on the offer.
Almost 10 years had gone by now. I had an army of women, who lived in my hills. I had wealth, cattle, and other useless things. Brise's garden had grown larger and larger, into a mini forest of plants and fruits and vegetables.
Brise came up to me one day.
"I'd like to attack my village.''
''Do you think your army is strong enough? The king has trained soldiers.'' I was worried for brise's safety. She was my foster daughter, as were all the other girls sent to me.
''My soldiers match them, if not surpass them, in skill. And training, they have learnt from the best''
Her sweet words made me smile.
''Then go, but dont forget me once you've conquered the world.''
...
She didnt forget me. After she left, the camp was lonely. The cave seemed too empty. A month after she left, she came back with 5 girls.
''I would like for them to prosper under your tutelage, dear father. After all, a queen must want the best for her subjects''
And the garden behind my cave prospered, as did the girls who came to me, and returned as fearsome warriors.
|
|
[WP] A dragon has set up its new territory, only to be met by a couple of people from the nearby villagers offering it a human sacrifice as to spare them from its wrath. The dragon literally just wants to vibe in this remote part of the kingdom.
|
"I watched as it happened."
The knight listens intently to my words. Several years ago, a village was decimated by what was thought to be fire. During that time, the kingdom was at war, and many of the bordering villages were razed by their enemy, and this village was written off as a casualty of said war. Upon closer inspection, however, they realized that only dragonflame could cause such utter destruction, and the Imperial City had sent him to investigate the possiblity of a dragon's lair nearby.
"I watched as the villagers welcomed the traveling merchant and his family. They pretended to browse his wares, but the only thing they were interested in was his pure and innocent daughter. I suppose they thought only a virgin could appease the 'evil dragon' that recently roosted in the mountains and did not want to sacrifice one of their own."
The knight shifts his gaze to my daughter. I look down at her, standing between me and the knight. I give her a gentle nudge.
"Celia, perhaps you can prepare some tea for the Sir Knight."
Sir Knight, still holding his shield, raises his arm. "I am fine. .....Please, continue."
I nodded at Sir Knight and look back at my daughter.
"Celia, perhaps you may want t-"
"No, I'm fine, Dad."
I hesitate for a moment, but decide to continue.
"I watched as they came for her in the night. The sun was beginning to set when the merchant family first arrived at the village, so it was understandable that they find lodgings.
I watched as they dragged her and her mother from the inn. I never saw her father during the entire incident. I found out later that they had slain him while he slept. They beat the poor woman until she had no more strength to hold onto her daughter, and as they ran their blades through her body, they ripped the poor girl from the bloodied and lifeless arms of the only thing she had left in this world."
I stop for a moment to look at Celia. I've always tried my best to save her from hearing about the horrors of the world. She was trembling slightly, but she stood steadfast. Such a brave girl.
"I watched as they tied her up and began to celebrate. It was almost like a festival to them. They danced and ate and made merry - shuffling all around this poor girl. She just sat there, staring at her mother's corpse that they casually left to rot where she fell.
I watched as half the villagers cheered as the other half grabbed the girl and began making their way to this very mountain. The moon was halfway through the night sky, and they must have thought that it was as good as time as any.
I watched as she struggled with her kidnappers, the murderers of her parents, this evil and delusional mob. They beat her until she can struggle no more and practically dragged her limp body up the mountain.
I watched as they threw Celia, wretched and broken, at my feet, all the while bowing and singing my praises
And I will admit, Sir Knight, that I watched with great pleasure as they toiled and churned when their flesh began melting from their bones."
|
(This is the second time i'm writing this because I lost my first draft halfway through 😭😭)
"Ew. No ew. What are you doing?"
Humans were weird. And gross. Humans were weird and gross. Case in point, two soldiers stood in front of me, heavily clad in armour. One of them held a young girl in his hand, while the other held two cows.''
''Dragon, we have brought you a young virgin and two of our finest cattles as a peace offering. Let our kingdom remain in peace, and we'll bring more sacrifices for you. ''
One of the humans shouted, as the other one trembled in fear. Was that a stain on his pants?
''Oh god. Will you stop bringing me these 'gifts' if I attacked your village? I really dont like them, you know"
"If you attack us, our brave king will slaughter you."
"Huh. And where is he now?"
"He's... He- He wanted to give you a chance at peace before resorting to bloodshed. Accept the sacrifices from our wise king, or regret your decision forever"
I just wanted to retire in peace, away from all this medeival nonsense. I had never needed women and cattle back then, and I had no special need for them now.
"Fine, whatever. Leave them in the cave"
The soldiers barely entered the cave as they threw the sacrifices inside, and ran away.
I sighed and went about my day.
...
I had been looking through the hills, trying to understand the layout. As the sun began setting, I went back to my new abode.
I had forgotten about the girl, but saw her standing there. She looked petrified, but was desperately trying to put on a brave face.
''Might dragon. Just eat me please. Have mercy and end my life quickly'', she said. She proceeded to kneel down and lay her head on the ground, holding up a sword.
"What are you doing? Move.” I roared. I didnt mean to sound harsh, but I didnt want some human kneeling on my feet.
As she scrambled to rise, I continued.
''I do not wish to eat you. I just had my dinner, i'm full. You can go. It's not like I want you here, you were brought to me. Though I wouldn't suggest going back to that village. I mean, those guys just up and abandoned you, didn't they?''
The girl looked confused. ''I can go? Are you going to hunt me?''
''No! What did they do to you? Just go"
The girl didnt move. She just stood there, and then chucked out of the blue. ''So you dont want me either. Of course.''
Then she began sobbing. After comforting the now wailing child that no, she was lovable, I remembered why I wanted to remain in solitude for my retirement. God, these humans.
''Fine, you can stay with me. But you'll have to look after yourself. I won't be spoon feeding you. And not just because I cant hold a spoon.''
Over the next month, I became friends with Brise. She was an orphan. She was useful around the cave, keeping it neat and tidy. The would take care of the cows and milk them. She started a tiny garden being the cave. In return, I let Brise stay in my cave. Sometimes, I taught her swordfighting. We'd play games if I was feeling particularly jovial.
After one month, another girl and two cattle were sent. This time no soldier accompanied them. The woman held the cows and came inside the cave, ready to die.
Brise explained to her how I was on a diet, no humans, thank you very much.
Soon this kind of became my thing. My quiet retirement became more of a training camp for poor girls.
Brise taught the girls what I had taught her, when it came to a sword. Soon, there was enough cattle for the girls to start selling the surplus in neighbouring villages, away from their own homes.
All of the women present were free to go back, but rarely did they take me up on the offer.
Almost 10 years had gone by now. I had an army of women, who lived in my hills. I had wealth, cattle, and other useless things. Brise's garden had grown larger and larger, into a mini forest of plants and fruits and vegetables.
Brise came up to me one day.
"I'd like to attack my village.''
''Do you think your army is strong enough? The king has trained soldiers.'' I was worried for brise's safety. She was my foster daughter, as were all the other girls sent to me.
''My soldiers match them, if not surpass them, in skill. And training, they have learnt from the best''
Her sweet words made me smile.
''Then go, but dont forget me once you've conquered the world.''
...
She didnt forget me. After she left, the camp was lonely. The cave seemed too empty. A month after she left, she came back with 5 girls.
''I would like for them to prosper under your tutelage, dear father. After all, a queen must want the best for her subjects''
And the garden behind my cave prospered, as did the girls who came to me, and returned as fearsome warriors.
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[WP] A dragon has set up its new territory, only to be met by a couple of people from the nearby villagers offering it a human sacrifice as to spare them from its wrath. The dragon literally just wants to vibe in this remote part of the kingdom.
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She had lived three thousand years, and seen much. She had seen empires rise and fall, kings brought low. She had seen adventurers shatter themselves against the forces of light and darkness, and fight until the howling end to preserve their kingdoms. There were very few things that could surprise her, anymore. Not the mistakes of her apprentices, nor the attacks of misguided humans that thought that *dragon* equaled *threat...* The latter were why she'd come to a place so remote as this. To have even a temporary reprive from dragonslayers, and to not have to talk down a knight every week before he got himself killed attacking an ancient dragon.
"So... you like the sacrifice? Right?"
Annenth had never seen this, though.
She had never demanded human sacrifices, before. She had never demanded animal sacrifices, either, or even as much as tributes of gold. She had demanded sacrifice from her pupils, but in a much less horrifying sense of the word; one could not become a sorcerer without giving up much. She did not begrudge her less successful pupils their failure to flourish in the Art. It was not for everyone, and leaving family and friends behind to study with an esteroic teacher for ten or twenty years did not appeal to anyone but the most dedicated of students. But it did *require* sacrifice, like any profession.
But she had never asked for a literal, bonafide human to be tied to a stake and waved about her snout like a haunch of lamb. Much less two. "Right?" The dirty man in front of her asked again, eyes hopeful. It seemed like he had decided to take her silence as contemplation, instead of the sheer confusion it actually was. The cronies behind him seemed to have much better heads on their shoulders, given their apparent nervousness at the fact she hadn't eaten the children they'd delivered her and left.
"These are children," Annenth said, after a moment. Just to clarify. The terrified younglings seemed to be brother and sister, judging from their appearances, but looks could be deceiving. She sensed no magic from them, but the sorceress had been wrong before. Perhaps they were shapeshifters, or demons, or something that would suggest that this wasn't what it looked like-
"They are," the dirty man said proudly. One of his lackeys looked between them. The woman looked up at Annenth, took in the way that her nostrils flared, the murderous look in her golden eyes, and the grooves that her great talons left in the mud and dirt beneath her as she leaned forwards, and started to edge away.
"Why have you brought me two children tied to a stake?" The dragon said. Every word pained her, but it would be irresponsible of her to act without finding out everything she could first. She had seen much, after all. In her youth, had done questionable things at the behest of questionable people who had convinced her that things were not as they seemed. A word here, a nudge there, and they had beckoned her wrath upon the innocent for the crime of looking shifty. Admittedly, a part of her simply wanted to believe that the people of this region wouldn't offer children up on a silver platter to her, but-
"So you can eat them, of course," the man said proudly. "And then you won't attack us or nothing." Annenth's eyelid twitched.
"And why are they gagged?" The green dragon asked. It was a struggle to keep her done cordial, and not one she overcame completely: a few of the man's followers backed away. Perhaps aware that attempting to back away would end poorly for him, the man cleared his throat instead of doing the sensible thing and running.
"Well, we thought that you might not like to hear them screaming, ma'am," he said, in the kind of tone that one used when talking about butchering chickens. Blood roared in her ears, and she leaned closer. *Now* he took a step back, suddenly quite aware that she was larger than a tavern, and quite a bit longer.
"What is your name?" Annenth asked pleasantly.
The man swallowed. "Douglas, ma'am," he said. "If you would prefer, uh, adults, we can do that." She cocked her head, and he continued to ramble. "The legends say dragons prefer the innocent, though, and..."
She snapped him up before he could finish his sentence. His brief screams were silenced in a matter of seconds. They were replaced by the crunching of bone and the tearing of flesh ground against teeth, but that too faded. The dragon looked down at the remaining humans, who stood frozen on the spot like rabbits gone still at the sight of a hungry predator. "I will not attack your village," she told them. Calmly. Very calmly. "Leave us."
They ran for it. She watched them go, and licked the blood from her lips. She did not enjoy the taste of human, but it had made more of an impression than simply cleaving him in two would have.
Annenth turned her great head to the children, whose eyes were wide with terror, and the dragon silently admitted to herself that it might have been better to make *less* of an impression in this case. "I will not hurt you, children," she promised, although her reassurances sounded hollow even to her. With a flick of her talons, the children tumbled to the ground, the ropes binding them split in half.
They didn't run. Perhaps they believed her. More likely, they were old enough to know she could catch them if they tried. "Come along with me," she suggested, as gently as she could. "You cannot go back, now. Nor do I think you would want to." As they scrambled to remove their gags, the two youths shot each other shifty glances that suggested she was right- they would not have been chosen as sacrifices if the village cared about them.
Annenth did not pick them up. If they had been less frightened of her, perhaps she would have offered to let them ride on her back, but such a gesture seemed more apt to terrify than pacify, at least right now. Instead, she turned and walked off as slowly as she could. The two glanced at each other, and began to follow her like ducklings waddling after their mother.
"Where are we going?" The girl said- the older of the two, she noted idly. Her words were suspicious. She couldn't blame her; she'd just devoured a man in front of them, after all.
"My home," Annenth said calmly. "You deserve a good meal and a bath after all of that. Then we will talk about whether you wish to stay with me, or if I should look into finding you new families. Your own are clearly unsuited to caring for children."
That got her an incredulous look from the girl, and a disbelieving one for the boy. If not for the situation, it might have been enough to make her laugh at the naked distrust on their faces. As it were, it just made her sad, and a little impressed they were brave enough to follow her anyway.
She hoped that they would stay with her. She liked having apprentices around, and it had been too long since she'd taken one. Or two, if they were both keen to learn.
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(This is the second time i'm writing this because I lost my first draft halfway through 😭😭)
"Ew. No ew. What are you doing?"
Humans were weird. And gross. Humans were weird and gross. Case in point, two soldiers stood in front of me, heavily clad in armour. One of them held a young girl in his hand, while the other held two cows.''
''Dragon, we have brought you a young virgin and two of our finest cattles as a peace offering. Let our kingdom remain in peace, and we'll bring more sacrifices for you. ''
One of the humans shouted, as the other one trembled in fear. Was that a stain on his pants?
''Oh god. Will you stop bringing me these 'gifts' if I attacked your village? I really dont like them, you know"
"If you attack us, our brave king will slaughter you."
"Huh. And where is he now?"
"He's... He- He wanted to give you a chance at peace before resorting to bloodshed. Accept the sacrifices from our wise king, or regret your decision forever"
I just wanted to retire in peace, away from all this medeival nonsense. I had never needed women and cattle back then, and I had no special need for them now.
"Fine, whatever. Leave them in the cave"
The soldiers barely entered the cave as they threw the sacrifices inside, and ran away.
I sighed and went about my day.
...
I had been looking through the hills, trying to understand the layout. As the sun began setting, I went back to my new abode.
I had forgotten about the girl, but saw her standing there. She looked petrified, but was desperately trying to put on a brave face.
''Might dragon. Just eat me please. Have mercy and end my life quickly'', she said. She proceeded to kneel down and lay her head on the ground, holding up a sword.
"What are you doing? Move.” I roared. I didnt mean to sound harsh, but I didnt want some human kneeling on my feet.
As she scrambled to rise, I continued.
''I do not wish to eat you. I just had my dinner, i'm full. You can go. It's not like I want you here, you were brought to me. Though I wouldn't suggest going back to that village. I mean, those guys just up and abandoned you, didn't they?''
The girl looked confused. ''I can go? Are you going to hunt me?''
''No! What did they do to you? Just go"
The girl didnt move. She just stood there, and then chucked out of the blue. ''So you dont want me either. Of course.''
Then she began sobbing. After comforting the now wailing child that no, she was lovable, I remembered why I wanted to remain in solitude for my retirement. God, these humans.
''Fine, you can stay with me. But you'll have to look after yourself. I won't be spoon feeding you. And not just because I cant hold a spoon.''
Over the next month, I became friends with Brise. She was an orphan. She was useful around the cave, keeping it neat and tidy. The would take care of the cows and milk them. She started a tiny garden being the cave. In return, I let Brise stay in my cave. Sometimes, I taught her swordfighting. We'd play games if I was feeling particularly jovial.
After one month, another girl and two cattle were sent. This time no soldier accompanied them. The woman held the cows and came inside the cave, ready to die.
Brise explained to her how I was on a diet, no humans, thank you very much.
Soon this kind of became my thing. My quiet retirement became more of a training camp for poor girls.
Brise taught the girls what I had taught her, when it came to a sword. Soon, there was enough cattle for the girls to start selling the surplus in neighbouring villages, away from their own homes.
All of the women present were free to go back, but rarely did they take me up on the offer.
Almost 10 years had gone by now. I had an army of women, who lived in my hills. I had wealth, cattle, and other useless things. Brise's garden had grown larger and larger, into a mini forest of plants and fruits and vegetables.
Brise came up to me one day.
"I'd like to attack my village.''
''Do you think your army is strong enough? The king has trained soldiers.'' I was worried for brise's safety. She was my foster daughter, as were all the other girls sent to me.
''My soldiers match them, if not surpass them, in skill. And training, they have learnt from the best''
Her sweet words made me smile.
''Then go, but dont forget me once you've conquered the world.''
...
She didnt forget me. After she left, the camp was lonely. The cave seemed too empty. A month after she left, she came back with 5 girls.
''I would like for them to prosper under your tutelage, dear father. After all, a queen must want the best for her subjects''
And the garden behind my cave prospered, as did the girls who came to me, and returned as fearsome warriors.
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[WP] A dragon has set up its new territory, only to be met by a couple of people from the nearby villagers offering it a human sacrifice as to spare them from its wrath. The dragon literally just wants to vibe in this remote part of the kingdom.
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"I watched as it happened."
The knight listens intently to my words. Several years ago, a village was decimated by what was thought to be fire. During that time, the kingdom was at war, and many of the bordering villages were razed by their enemy, and this village was written off as a casualty of said war. Upon closer inspection, however, they realized that only dragonflame could cause such utter destruction, and the Imperial City had sent him to investigate the possiblity of a dragon's lair nearby.
"I watched as the villagers welcomed the traveling merchant and his family. They pretended to browse his wares, but the only thing they were interested in was his pure and innocent daughter. I suppose they thought only a virgin could appease the 'evil dragon' that recently roosted in the mountains and did not want to sacrifice one of their own."
The knight shifts his gaze to my daughter. I look down at her, standing between me and the knight. I give her a gentle nudge.
"Celia, perhaps you can prepare some tea for the Sir Knight."
Sir Knight, still holding his shield, raises his arm. "I am fine. .....Please, continue."
I nodded at Sir Knight and look back at my daughter.
"Celia, perhaps you may want t-"
"No, I'm fine, Dad."
I hesitate for a moment, but decide to continue.
"I watched as they came for her in the night. The sun was beginning to set when the merchant family first arrived at the village, so it was understandable that they find lodgings.
I watched as they dragged her and her mother from the inn. I never saw her father during the entire incident. I found out later that they had slain him while he slept. They beat the poor woman until she had no more strength to hold onto her daughter, and as they ran their blades through her body, they ripped the poor girl from the bloodied and lifeless arms of the only thing she had left in this world."
I stop for a moment to look at Celia. I've always tried my best to save her from hearing about the horrors of the world. She was trembling slightly, but she stood steadfast. Such a brave girl.
"I watched as they tied her up and began to celebrate. It was almost like a festival to them. They danced and ate and made merry - shuffling all around this poor girl. She just sat there, staring at her mother's corpse that they casually left to rot where she fell.
I watched as half the villagers cheered as the other half grabbed the girl and began making their way to this very mountain. The moon was halfway through the night sky, and they must have thought that it was as good as time as any.
I watched as she struggled with her kidnappers, the murderers of her parents, this evil and delusional mob. They beat her until she can struggle no more and practically dragged her limp body up the mountain.
I watched as they threw Celia, wretched and broken, at my feet, all the while bowing and singing my praises
And I will admit, Sir Knight, that I watched with great pleasure as they toiled and churned when their flesh began melting from their bones."
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“Are you sure this is the spot?”
From the way the guardsmen looked at each other, they were both more fearful of being wrong than they were of finding what they had spotted “yes My Lord, if you see over there just on the shore of the lake…under the tree. The second one to the right.”
King Julius Westervelt peered. His small beady eyes didn’t help him to spot what he was looking for, but as the breeze picked up and began to blow some of the branches, light glimmered of something. “There I see it.” his hearing was better “can hear it too.”
From across the lake, the deep bass rumbling of the snoring dragon carried across the water, scarlet scales occasionally shimmering as they were hit by the sunlight. “Big brute isn’t he?” the King said, rubbing his hands together “Are you sure we can’t subdue it? It would make a splendid mount…those idiot denizens of the Brentwoods would soil themselves in fear if I had such a beast.”
“Like you did yourself when it flew over the town?” a muffled voice said behind them. The prisoner had gotten her gag loose again. While several of the guards for a second looked like they might laugh, from the red fury on the King's face the urge was quickly stifled. Westervelt spun around, his mailed fist crashing into the shackled maiden, sending her to the ground in a heap.
"Insolent peasant! I rid myself of two problems today” The noise of the prisoners' chains jangling as she fell carried across the water, and on the other side of the lake, the dragon stirred. The King’s eyes widened as he saw the dragon move, while it was one thing to daydream about commanding such power-it was another to see one less than a hundred yards away. “H..hurry up. Get her secured and get ready to send the message” he shouted. As the dragon began to stretch as if waking up, he backed up, tripping over the bound prisoner, landing on his arse and scrambling backwards, his aide attempting to help him up onto his feet.
Trevor was one of the few who dared speak up to the King-probably because he was one of the few of his retainers who handled the finances for the kingdom's lands. “Sire, I think you may have misread the text, gifting a virgin maiden to a dragon to get it to leave was a fable from the reign of-”
The King waved him off. “If someone wrote it down, then it must be true. After all, I wrote that my authority comes from the Gods, and so it does.”
…”that's not how it works Sire-”Trevor began as the king turned, his attention span already stretched to the maximum. “Send the missive!”
One of the guardsmen trembled as he drew back a bow, a parchment tied to it. Sweat ran down under his helmet…he was one of the kingdoms’ better archers, but in this case, he HAD to miss his target.. He let fly, the arrow whistling across the lake, before embedding with a soft sound in the mud near the sleeping Dragon’s outstretched tail.
Mounting , he nodded approvingly at the aim “Good shot, i won’t have you flayed after all. You may sound the trumpets, after I’m away.” He spurred his heels roughly to his horse's flanks and rode away as fast as the plump steed could manage.
Watching his King ride away, Trevor turned. Unlike the Guardsmen, who were afoot, he had a donkey. “Well, you heard him. Blow the horn.”
The youngest guardsman, a thin boy of 13 who had been taken into service to cover his mothers tax debt, peered at the old man on the donkey. “What to I do then M’lord?”
“What else? Run away”
The other guardsmen were already moving, as was Trevor. With a trembling hand he lifted the trumpet to his lips and blew an almost but not quite completely off key fanfare.
---
It was a wonderful spot. Kikodawn had been looking for someplace out of the way to relax, and work on her studies. The Realtor was right-This little valley was perfect. A nice lake, fully stocked with fish, when she tired of those, there were mountain sheep up on the ridges over the valley. There was a fantastic cave, complete with a hot spring that had already been dug out and had bathing ledges set up. Bookshelves carved in the wall even. She was lucky to have gotten this place. She was low on the list for a lair, but the remote location near human lands put many dragons off. its prior owner hadn’t been back for several decades, An old blue dragon who went south to the tropical islands when his arthritis started to give him problems when he was in his late 800’s.
The only settlement that was nearby was in the next valley over-Gustavius had told her when he gave her the keys that he didn’t know much about the humans who settled there, but they mainly kept out of his business while he was here. It had taken her several weeks to clean the dust out, and the other day she overflew the human settlement while she was getting some exercise. It seemed bigger than Gus had said, but blues memories tended to go when they got close to a millennium.
She was half asleep, dozing as the breeze started up again. She stretched, pondering waking up-when a warbling brassy ‘tphhhhhpht” shriek startled her awake. She jumped to all fours, wings spread in case she had to take off-which promptly got caught in some of the overhead branches. With an undignified yelp she flailed backwards, landing upside down as the sounds of someone screaming ‘run away!” echoed across the lake.
Cursing and muttering under her breath she managed to roll upright, looking across the lake for threats. There was nothing other than a dust cloud from something leaving the area as fast as possible, an unconscious human on the other side of the lake tied to a tree, and a note tied to an arrow near her tail.
Glancing at the figure across the lake, she delicately untied the ribbon holding the parchment to the arrow. “Godsdamnit.” she muttered, recognizing the lettering on the paper. Humans. Shouldn’t have let her curiosity get the better of her the other day…
Skimming through it, she spread her wings and jumped into the air, gliding to the other side of the lake as she read “greetings, blah blah, my royal highness greets…typical…]Wait what? Sacrifice?” dropping the letter she covered her face with her scaled palm.
The soft moan near her feet reminded her of her ‘offering’. Easily snapping the ropes with her claws, she scooped the human up in her forelegs and jumped up, gliding back across the lake to her cave.
---
Emily opened her eyes warily. She was in a cave..and laying on a warm stone ledge covered by furs. She caught sight of something in the light from the crystals used to light up the cave, bright red scales reflecting the light. Despite her meaning to be brave, she was only a girl of 12, the sight of the dragon caused her to scream. As she did the dragon jumped, and with a metallic ‘bong’, a metal pot hanging from a hook near the ceiling banging off of the beast's head.
She almost wet herself when it roared…and cursed?
“Godsdamnit it…oww! What's with you people and sudden noises, don’t you know dragons startle easy!”
“Sorry , sorry, “ Emily whimpered, which oddly brought an annoyed looking expression on the dragons face
“It’s ok, just don’t do it again.” The dragon rubbed its’, no, her head. Emily wasn’t sure why she thought that, but it fit.
“Are you going to eat me now?”
“What? Eww. No.” The dragon replied, shaking her head.
Now Emily was confused “but …that's why they brought me here.”
“In chains and ropes, I saw. You’re kind of young to be a criminal.” Kiko turned back to what she was doing over a magically glowing stove, before turning around again, holding a comically small teapot and cup in her claw tips. “Tea?”
“Uh…” with a shrug she sat up “Sure. and I’m not a criminal. I spoke against the king…being under 14 the Bishop kept him from killing me for that, they sentenced me instead to be sacrificed to you for stealing bread. Better than flayed I suppose….uh, i’m sorry…” Her eyes widened as flame licked from the dragon’s nostrils, an angry rumbling filling the cave.
“Don’t be, you didn’t make me angry.” Kiko forced herself to calm, this was a child she was dealing with. “And you’re in no danger of being eaten by me. It’s considered rude to eat someone you can carry on a conversation with.”
Despite her situation Emily giggled. “Ok Miss dragon,
Kiko smiled, with not too many teeth showing-she had been around humans before “Kikodawn, or just Kiko, not miss dragon, I’m not a teacher anymore. Anyhow why don’t you drink your tea, have some soup, and tell me all about this king of yours…” Now she knew why no one else wanted this lair in a Human occupied area.
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[WP] A dragon has set up its new territory, only to be met by a couple of people from the nearby villagers offering it a human sacrifice as to spare them from its wrath. The dragon literally just wants to vibe in this remote part of the kingdom.
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*Part One of Two*
“Oh great dragon,” the bearded old man yelled up at the newly-dug hollow, “We offer you this virgin sacrifice, that you may leave our village in peace!”
“I’m not a virgin!” the intended sacrifice shrieked, kicking and biting at her captors. “Let me go, you inbred bumpkins!”
The old man winced, shooting a deadly glare at the woman while gesturing angrily at the men who were struggling to tie her to the post they’d stuck into the ground. “Silence the wench before she ruins everything!”
“Who are you calling wench, you decrepit old– mmmph!”
One of the men got a gag on her, swearing as he nearly lost a finger to her teeth for the trouble.
“I say again, great dragon, this *virgin* sacrifice, of supple flesh and high spirit, we offer in your honour! Please accept, and leave our village in peace!”
The ground shook as a long, drawn-out groan rumbled down from the hollow above. The sacrifice stared up at it, wide-eyed, while the men stumbled backwards, leaving their leader standing alone beside the post.
A large reptilian head emerged from within the cave, sending loose dirt tumbling down the slope. The dragon glared down at the assembled crowd, smoke drifting from its nostrils as it snorted.
“A sacrifice?” it sighed, raising a scaly eyebrow. “No. Absolutely not. I have had quite enough of such foolishness, thank you. Be off with you, I have no interest in your sacrifice *or* your village.”
Then the dragon withdrew, leaving the men scratching their heads and the sacrifice sagging in her restraints with relief.
The old man was left nonplussed. If the dragon wouldn’t take her, how was he to get rid of this trouble-maker? Giving the witch to a dragon was well and good, but coming back with her in tow, the sacrifice rejected? He’d be a laughingstock!
He turned to look at her where she hung from her restraints, her legs weak from terror. She looked up to meet his eyes and pulled at the ropes that bound her meaningfully, wordlessly asking to be released.
The old man’s eyes narrowed. No, he wouldn’t be having that. He had to take back control of the situation.
“Clearly our lord dragon is not hungry for the moment!” he proclaimed. “The beast will accept our offering in due course.” He stepped forward and cupped his hands to call up the hill again. “Your sacrifice awaits your pleasure, oh great dragon!”
“What?” the loud, deep voice replied. “I thought I told you all–”
As the dragon once again emerged from its burrow, steaming with annoyance, they turned their attention to the spectacle below again – to find the poor woman they’d strung up abandoned, shrieking through her gag and tearing desperately at her restraints.
Of the men, there was absolutely no sign.
The dragon blinked. It emerged fully, rearing up onto two legs to look around, its head turning this way and that as it scanned the forest surrounding its lair.
Nothing.
“Oh for the love of–” it rumbled, settling back down with a *thump.* It turned to look at its “sacrifice”, still trying their very best to rip themselves free.
With another snort of annoyance, the dragon began walking down the slope towards her.
The woman’s eyes went wide with terror as the dragon began to approach. She redoubled her efforts, pushing at the pole with her feet as she tore at the ropes, nearly flipping herself upside-down in her desperation. The dragon approached leisurely, its tongue occasionally flicking through the air as it approached, looking at her.
As its shadow fell upon her, the woman froze, so afraid she couldn’t move any more.
The dragon leaned closer, its maw opening wide to reveal sword-length teeth, glistening with saliva.
The sacrifice closed her eyes, tears spilling down her cheeks.
There was a deafening *crack* of splitting wood and she fell forward, her restraints abruptly severed. She gasped as she tumbled to the turf and looked up to see the dragon casually flinging the top of the post away to crash down in the forest hundreds of yards away. The woman took the opportunity to scramble to her feet and flee. She dashed pell-mell towards the treeline, breathing hard around her gag–
Then she tripped on the trailing ropes that still tied her hands.
“Careful now, little lady.”
A huge claw neatly caught her as she fell, closing around her torso and lifting her from the ground. She wriggled desperately, but she was held fast by the monstrously strong talons as the dragon lifted her to its face.
*This is it*, she thought, as that terrible maw opened before her again. *Now I’m lunch for–*
The teeth closed on the ropes, neatly tearing through the thick cords like knives through warm butter.
“There. Much better, don’t you think?”
The sacrifice boggled, dumbfounded, at the gigantic head as it inspected her, its warm breath tousling her hair as it breathed. The smooth scales glistened in the noonday sun, and the dragon’s huge eyes twinkled as it looked at her.
“You can take that cloth from your mouth if you wish,” it rumbled, amused. “I cannot imagine it being comfortable.”
The woman jumped, then reached to do just that, throwing the soaked, less-than-clean cloth away. “Uh,” she croaked, “did you get rid of the ropes to make me taste better, great dragon?”
The dragon snorted and shook its head. “Sandstone, no, I want nothing to do with eating humans, virgins or not, thank you very much! I know where that ends. You eat one, then another, so on and so forth, then some adventurer hears of a podunk village offering their young women to the local dragon for supper and before you know it they’ve gathered all their friends to slay you and loot your home!” The dragon thumped their tail and rustled its wings. “No, I came out here to get away from all that rot. To live in peace, bask in the sun, perhaps find myself a fine male and have some hatchlings. I did not even know there was a village nearby when I dug my burrow!”
“So…” the woman ventured, beginning to hope, “I’m free to go? You can put me down?”
“Oh, certainly, though I do believe introductions are in order at this point, since it does appear we are to be neighbours. I am Kamacite. What may I call you, little one?”
“Oh! I’m Falina, Falina Gloomwood!” she grabbed one of Kamacite’s talons and shook it. “Pleased to meet you, Kamacite! And thank you very much for not eating me!”
“Don’t mention it, Falina! Humans don’t taste particularly good anyway.” She set Falina down gently, then stretched. “Do you wish me to return you to your village, Falina?”
Falina, somewhat disconcerted by the statement, shook herself and scowled. “I’d rather not go back there, thank you, but I do need to go past my hut and grab my stuff before they get the idea to burn it down. And I should say goodbye to Linda…”
“Burn down your hut? Were you *that* disliked in your home village?”
“No, only by the elder – that walking corpse you heard do all the shouting before. He caught me and Linda in her bed and decided I was a witch who’d put a spell on her! That’s why he picked me to be your sacrifice!”
Kamacite tilted her head. “Did you put a spell on her? *Are* you a witch?”
“No! Yes! Both! Gah!” Falina threw her hands in the air. “I *am* a witch, it’s a respectable profession, but *no*, I didn’t put a spell on Linda, we just happened to love each other!”
“Ah, Linda is your mate! How delightful!” Kamacite bobbed her head. “Then we must go get her, of course!”
Falina blinked. “How?”
“Oh, I can think of a way…”
*End of Part One*
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"You mean... each of you has territory among humans as well as your homes up here?"
"That's right, Greg" Jurn says. "You think it would be fun just hiding up here all the time? You're actually known as 'the dragon that adopted a human', after Prie, who's territory that actually was, told us about you two. You know that she's the one who vouched for Alicia to stay, right? The elders were going to dismiss your pleas, Alicia, but Prie made it clear to them that whenever Greg freaks out, you're the one to calm him down. Prie stopped treating it as her own territory, but would still fly by from time to time. She said that separating you two would be the end of the Dragon Homeland!"
Greg lowers his head in embarrassment. "Come on, Jurn" I say, "cut him some slack!"
Jurn grins. "I'm sorry, Greg, we all know about your past... speaking of, territories are also where mothers raise their dragons until they're mature enough to be in the Dragon Homeland."
Greg perks up. "I remember where my mother's nest was. Has that territory been re-claimed?"
Jurn shakes his head. "None of us were sure it was ok. The dragon elders themselves said that we should not touch it. But she was *your* mother, there shouldn't be a problem for you."
Greg gives his thanks and we set off for the territory. After a while, Greg's eyes widen. "We're here" he says quietly, as he glides to a cliff. I have a look - remnants of a nest, a huge boulder having crushed it. Purple scales are littered everywhere. I can feel Greg getting tense. I rub his neck, but it's not enough; he's in confusion and distress. He breathes a large fire at the sky, as he cries out "MUM!" Then the tears start. "Alicia, I..."
"Don't apologise" I say quickly. "This... must be upsetting for you." Greg nods his head and goes to look for somewhere to set up. We find a nice field not too far from the nearby village.
"I know those symbols" I say, pointing to a picture on an archway leading to the village. "I've heard about them. We must be on the outskirt of the Narrgh Kingdom." I stare for a moment at the golden seed in the centre of a flower ring, when I notice someone coming up. It's a guy around my age. He looks terrified.
"Umm... Mr... dragon... sir? Plea... please don't hurt my village. You... you can just... eat me..."
Greg stands up. I'm confused for a moment, did this boy not see me? Looking at him, it doesn't appear he has, his eyes fixated purely on Greg. I hang back, hoping Greg can handle this. He begins to laugh. "Eat you? Why on earth would I do such a thing? Your village has no need to fear me. I am Greg, and this-" he pulls his arm forward slightly, tugging my leash a little, so I walk forward. "-is Alicia. She's been my emotional support for quite a while now, helping me with my PTSD." I shyly wave at the boy, who's staring at me in shock.
"Hi. So, umm... yeah, I decided to be his 'pet' to help him with his struggles, and he's... *protective* of me. Please make sure everyone knows that the best way to anger Greg is to try to take me away from him." The boy stares at us for several moments, then nods before running off.
Greg sighs. "It's like we forgot why we abandoned humans in the first place..."
I giggle. "Hey, they already fear you enough to offer a sacrifice, don't they? Besides, we have somewhere to retreat to if we ever need. This isn't going to be like when we were at the city; I swear at least half the people who tried to 'rescue' me had already seen us two together in the city!"
Greg lets out a chuckle. "I suppose you're right... and the problems started with Vlardic anyway. He's gone now and we're *far* from anyone who **could** have known him. There should be no problems." I nod when I spot something - the boy seems to be coming back, with who I guess are his parents. The dad speaks.
"We... saw what just happened. When you were spotted flying overhead, our son decided to offer himself to you, and while we didn't suggest it, we were proud of his courage. We were surprised when, while standing at the entrance to the village, we saw our son running back to us. What... what he said is true? You're not here to harm us?"
Greg stares at them. "**Touch Alicia and you'll regret it.** Otherwise, I hope we can all get along." He nods at them with a smile, to which the family bows in respect, before going back to the village. Greg looks at me, then decides to step between me and the village, wrapping his body around me protectively, his head facing the village. I give him a stroke.
Suddenly, what looks like the *whole village* is coming out! There's a man at the front. He clears his throat, as Greg coils himself around me further. "Great dragon" the man begins, "it is an honour to have your presence here. Please, tell us if there's anything you need. We would greatly appreciate your protection and wisdom in return."
Greg nods. "I'm not sure I can offer much in the way of wisdom, but as long as you respect me, I'll happily keep your village safe. It would be of great help if your village could provide the two of us with food. I can shed my scales, which I will happily give you in return."
The man bows, as does everyone else. "We do not have need of your scales, great dragon, but it would be our pleasure to provide you with our resources." The whole village turns around, with the exception of a few: the boy from earlier, a few kids with their parents, and a few other people.
The kids begin 'playing with Greg'. The parents are apologetic. "Don't worry" Greg responds, "they're not causing any harm."
Next is the boy, who looks red in the face. "Umm... I... may I... see... Alicia?" Greg narrows his eyes at him, to which he backs off in response. "I... I didn't mean..."
Greg huffs. "Remember, she's mine." He nods and Greg uncoils himself enough for the boy to come over to me. I begin to hear the others ask questions about his species and travels when the boy introduces himself.
"H... hi, Alicia, I'm... I'm Patrick..." I smile and shake his hand. "Nice to meet you" I respond. "Why are you so nervous?"
Patrick gulps. "I... I don't wa... want to offend..." I giggle as I complete the sentence for him. "Offend Greg? Trust me, if you've offended him, he'll tell you before I can. You know, that was really brave what you did earlier."
Patrick appears to relax. "Thanks. I guess I read too many stories, huh?" He chuckles. "I'd do anything for my village. Once the mayor heard that Greg wished no harm, he decided he wants to make friends with Greg. After all, you can't get a much more powerful ally than a dragon."
I grin. "You're right about that! Greg terrifies *me* sometimes! But... I really want to help Greg as much as I can. He needs me. I get scared, sure, but he can't help it..." Patrick nods.
"You know, what you do is pretty brave as well." I blush. "Thank you, Patrick."
Before we can continue, Greg picks Patrick up. "Everyone else has left. I trust you'll do the same?" Patrick nods quickly. "Good. Remember, if you ever want to talk to Alicia, you'll have to go through me. Do *not* approach her without asking me first." Patrick once again nods quickly, and Greg puts him down, as he once again curls himself around me protectively. Patrick bolts for it, making Greg laugh. "Didn't mean to scare him..."
I watch him with concern. "I don't think that was necessary..." Greg looks at me.
"I had to make a statement. Anyway, the village is aware that I won't always be here, but I'll be around often. We can sleep here tonight, it's already nightfall anyway. We'll go back to the Dragon Homeland tomorrow afternoon." I nod and Greg proceeds to wrap me in his arms. I curl up against him and begin to drift off to sleep.
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This story is a part of my series, [Dragon's Pet.](https://www.reddit.com/r/StoriesbyCrystal/comments/x46g40/dragons_pet/?utm_source=share&utm_medium=web2x&context=3) Please check it out!
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[WP] A dragon has set up its new territory, only to be met by a couple of people from the nearby villagers offering it a human sacrifice as to spare them from its wrath. The dragon literally just wants to vibe in this remote part of the kingdom.
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The dragon, laying in his den, recoiled in disgust as I was presented to him, bound and gagged.
This was wrong. He was not receiving it well. I’d thought this might happen. I’d voiced my concerns as such. “We don’t know enough about the situation. He may perceive this as an attempt to control him. If dragons are as blood thirsty as they say, this will not appease them. If they are not-“ but that was when the village elder silenced me. That was when he had me bound for speaking out of turn. That was when I was decided to be the first sacrifice.
The elder’s plan was already sinking before us. We could see it in the eyes of the beast and the wincing of it’s silvery livery. But how wrong we were we could not have known until a voice uttered from that great maw…
“Dude. Gross. I mostly eat, like, fish and stuff. Some algea. Roots… uh… not human.”
I looked at his claws and tried to speak, but the gag prevented me. The elder, feeling his standing slipping amongst the throng of people, used force. He hit me with his staff, and told me to be silent.
I was a proud man, a provider for my family, a protector of my beloved… but I could feel the winds changing. I played up the hit and yelped. I looked at the dragon. I cowered at his great paws.
“Oof, yeah, like don’t do that. That’s not right, man. You should… you know, untie him and stuff. I’m not eating him.”
My wife leapt from the crowd and untied me before even my handlers could think about what was best.
Once free, the dragon asked “what were you saying?” The elder was babbling, but was being ignored now.
“Webbed feet!” I proclaimed. “You’re a swimmer! I thought I saw you in the lake once.”
“Dude! Yeah I love it here! That lake is awesome. It’s huge. Are you… like okay? And stuff?”
“I’m… I’ll be fine.” I glared at the elder. He tried to retreat into the crowd but found no refuge.
“Hey!” I thought, “I’ve got an idea. What if we, you know… give you stuff in exchange for other stuff. Like fish.”
He was intrigued, but clearly not a fan of us as home intruders. “What, like… a job?”
“Nah, more like a trade. There’s a ship that sunk to the bottom of the lake. Ages ago. It had gold in it. I bet you could trade that. You like chicken?”
“Oh man, I think I saw that ship. I wish I could show you it, it’s so cool down there. But… nah see cchicken feathers get all caught in my throat.”
“A little extra, and I’m sure people would pluck it for ya! The gold is as good as lost to us, so you barely have to do any work, you know.”
“That’s not a bad idea, I guess. You know I left because I wasnt big on the idea of a hoard… but I guess of it’s there…” he still seemed unsure of the idea. I needed to sell him on it.
“Well I ask because we fish from the lake too, and I’d hate to over fish.”
A great claw pounded the ground. “I had not even thought about it, you’re so right! Gotta keep fish in stock! So true.”
“We can make an agreement! We will only fish so much from the lake, you know, every year, and in turn we’ll share some chicken and… it sounds like you eat vegetables too?”
“Uh huh, yeah gotta get some balance in your food. Totally helps with digestion.”
“Of course!” I had him. We prattled on for some time, with my wife tending to a few wounds, here and there finding time to glare at those that betrayed our family. The dragon and I discussed our love of the lake, of summer sun spots and the glow of the fire on a cold winter. The crowd stayed and listened, awe struck, until it was time to leave.
My wife, Gods preserve her, and ever the opportunist, spoke up the moment we all left the cave. “All in favor of making my husband, who saved all our lives after you ungrateful lot tried to kill him, the new village elder? His quick thinking and selflessness tried to warn all of you, but you wouldn’t listen.” The Ayes became a resounding majority.
Still clutching the gag from my mouth, she threw it at the old elder. “You best bite down on that the next time you speak out of turn, you old, worthless codger.”
As she returned to my side, all I could think was… “At least… I *think* that was him I saw at the lake. We don’t have enough chicken to feed two dragons.”
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"You mean... each of you has territory among humans as well as your homes up here?"
"That's right, Greg" Jurn says. "You think it would be fun just hiding up here all the time? You're actually known as 'the dragon that adopted a human', after Prie, who's territory that actually was, told us about you two. You know that she's the one who vouched for Alicia to stay, right? The elders were going to dismiss your pleas, Alicia, but Prie made it clear to them that whenever Greg freaks out, you're the one to calm him down. Prie stopped treating it as her own territory, but would still fly by from time to time. She said that separating you two would be the end of the Dragon Homeland!"
Greg lowers his head in embarrassment. "Come on, Jurn" I say, "cut him some slack!"
Jurn grins. "I'm sorry, Greg, we all know about your past... speaking of, territories are also where mothers raise their dragons until they're mature enough to be in the Dragon Homeland."
Greg perks up. "I remember where my mother's nest was. Has that territory been re-claimed?"
Jurn shakes his head. "None of us were sure it was ok. The dragon elders themselves said that we should not touch it. But she was *your* mother, there shouldn't be a problem for you."
Greg gives his thanks and we set off for the territory. After a while, Greg's eyes widen. "We're here" he says quietly, as he glides to a cliff. I have a look - remnants of a nest, a huge boulder having crushed it. Purple scales are littered everywhere. I can feel Greg getting tense. I rub his neck, but it's not enough; he's in confusion and distress. He breathes a large fire at the sky, as he cries out "MUM!" Then the tears start. "Alicia, I..."
"Don't apologise" I say quickly. "This... must be upsetting for you." Greg nods his head and goes to look for somewhere to set up. We find a nice field not too far from the nearby village.
"I know those symbols" I say, pointing to a picture on an archway leading to the village. "I've heard about them. We must be on the outskirt of the Narrgh Kingdom." I stare for a moment at the golden seed in the centre of a flower ring, when I notice someone coming up. It's a guy around my age. He looks terrified.
"Umm... Mr... dragon... sir? Plea... please don't hurt my village. You... you can just... eat me..."
Greg stands up. I'm confused for a moment, did this boy not see me? Looking at him, it doesn't appear he has, his eyes fixated purely on Greg. I hang back, hoping Greg can handle this. He begins to laugh. "Eat you? Why on earth would I do such a thing? Your village has no need to fear me. I am Greg, and this-" he pulls his arm forward slightly, tugging my leash a little, so I walk forward. "-is Alicia. She's been my emotional support for quite a while now, helping me with my PTSD." I shyly wave at the boy, who's staring at me in shock.
"Hi. So, umm... yeah, I decided to be his 'pet' to help him with his struggles, and he's... *protective* of me. Please make sure everyone knows that the best way to anger Greg is to try to take me away from him." The boy stares at us for several moments, then nods before running off.
Greg sighs. "It's like we forgot why we abandoned humans in the first place..."
I giggle. "Hey, they already fear you enough to offer a sacrifice, don't they? Besides, we have somewhere to retreat to if we ever need. This isn't going to be like when we were at the city; I swear at least half the people who tried to 'rescue' me had already seen us two together in the city!"
Greg lets out a chuckle. "I suppose you're right... and the problems started with Vlardic anyway. He's gone now and we're *far* from anyone who **could** have known him. There should be no problems." I nod when I spot something - the boy seems to be coming back, with who I guess are his parents. The dad speaks.
"We... saw what just happened. When you were spotted flying overhead, our son decided to offer himself to you, and while we didn't suggest it, we were proud of his courage. We were surprised when, while standing at the entrance to the village, we saw our son running back to us. What... what he said is true? You're not here to harm us?"
Greg stares at them. "**Touch Alicia and you'll regret it.** Otherwise, I hope we can all get along." He nods at them with a smile, to which the family bows in respect, before going back to the village. Greg looks at me, then decides to step between me and the village, wrapping his body around me protectively, his head facing the village. I give him a stroke.
Suddenly, what looks like the *whole village* is coming out! There's a man at the front. He clears his throat, as Greg coils himself around me further. "Great dragon" the man begins, "it is an honour to have your presence here. Please, tell us if there's anything you need. We would greatly appreciate your protection and wisdom in return."
Greg nods. "I'm not sure I can offer much in the way of wisdom, but as long as you respect me, I'll happily keep your village safe. It would be of great help if your village could provide the two of us with food. I can shed my scales, which I will happily give you in return."
The man bows, as does everyone else. "We do not have need of your scales, great dragon, but it would be our pleasure to provide you with our resources." The whole village turns around, with the exception of a few: the boy from earlier, a few kids with their parents, and a few other people.
The kids begin 'playing with Greg'. The parents are apologetic. "Don't worry" Greg responds, "they're not causing any harm."
Next is the boy, who looks red in the face. "Umm... I... may I... see... Alicia?" Greg narrows his eyes at him, to which he backs off in response. "I... I didn't mean..."
Greg huffs. "Remember, she's mine." He nods and Greg uncoils himself enough for the boy to come over to me. I begin to hear the others ask questions about his species and travels when the boy introduces himself.
"H... hi, Alicia, I'm... I'm Patrick..." I smile and shake his hand. "Nice to meet you" I respond. "Why are you so nervous?"
Patrick gulps. "I... I don't wa... want to offend..." I giggle as I complete the sentence for him. "Offend Greg? Trust me, if you've offended him, he'll tell you before I can. You know, that was really brave what you did earlier."
Patrick appears to relax. "Thanks. I guess I read too many stories, huh?" He chuckles. "I'd do anything for my village. Once the mayor heard that Greg wished no harm, he decided he wants to make friends with Greg. After all, you can't get a much more powerful ally than a dragon."
I grin. "You're right about that! Greg terrifies *me* sometimes! But... I really want to help Greg as much as I can. He needs me. I get scared, sure, but he can't help it..." Patrick nods.
"You know, what you do is pretty brave as well." I blush. "Thank you, Patrick."
Before we can continue, Greg picks Patrick up. "Everyone else has left. I trust you'll do the same?" Patrick nods quickly. "Good. Remember, if you ever want to talk to Alicia, you'll have to go through me. Do *not* approach her without asking me first." Patrick once again nods quickly, and Greg puts him down, as he once again curls himself around me protectively. Patrick bolts for it, making Greg laugh. "Didn't mean to scare him..."
I watch him with concern. "I don't think that was necessary..." Greg looks at me.
"I had to make a statement. Anyway, the village is aware that I won't always be here, but I'll be around often. We can sleep here tonight, it's already nightfall anyway. We'll go back to the Dragon Homeland tomorrow afternoon." I nod and Greg proceeds to wrap me in his arms. I curl up against him and begin to drift off to sleep.
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This story is a part of my series, [Dragon's Pet.](https://www.reddit.com/r/StoriesbyCrystal/comments/x46g40/dragons_pet/?utm_source=share&utm_medium=web2x&context=3) Please check it out!
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[WP] A computer game boss grows tired of fighting and takes up a normal job as an office worker. Life is great, and they make many new friends—until the day someone accidentally triggers their next phase.
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"How does this thing work?" Andy complained, seemingly punching random buttons on the fax machine. *Beep-Boop* the fax machine replied, as it always did.
"Ugh," I sigh, brows furrowing. My life has been going great since I got this office job, but If I had one complaint...
I glance - no, *glare* \- at Andy. Every morning it's the same thing. Andy walks up to use the fax machine, presses some random buttons, and acts surprised when nothing happens. *If only he was part of a raid party*, *I'd kill him first*, I think, a smile growing on my face.
Then. Suddenly.
**\[Hidden requirement met: Reset boss aggro 100 times. Boss successfully enraged.\]**
"Wa...wait!" I cry out, but it's too late. My muscles begin to grow ten-fold, ripping through all of my clothes as I grow in size. My skin turns red, and my passively generated flames begin to incinerate everything around me. I can't help but grow angry, my eyes turning red.
"THIS.." I roar, my crazed eyes looking for Andy, "IS ALL YOUR FAULT!"
...
"Ah, got it." Andy says, apparently oblivious to what has just unfolded. *Beep boop beep beep boop*, replies the fax machine happily.
As Andy turns around, he stares at me quizzically. His stupid gaze is so... well.. *stupid* that it stops me in my tracks.
"Are you alright, Jim?" he asks.
*Huh?*
I shake my head, and as I look around I realize that the office... isn't in ruins. My skin isn't red either, I'm back to normal.
I shudder, a bead of sweat rolling down my face. "Wha... What are you talking about, Andy?" I manage to reply.
"Well.. you've just been staring off into space for a minute there." Andy says. "Is everything all right at home?"
"Oh... yes. Sorry.... You know how things are." I say.
*Was I imagining it?*
"Right... well, I'd better get back to work then." Andy coughs.
"Oh... Okay. See you next time."
**Dun dun another day in the office coooomplete**
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(On a phone so don’t mind my grammar) A player steps onto the battlefield, looking for the so-called “hidden boss”
“He’s supposed to spawn here, did I get the wrong place?” The player wondered
The player walked around, not knowing the hidden boss actually took an office job ever since he was discovered. Suddenly a demon-like figure appears in the middle of the battlefield, he had a long and slim body and a handsome face.
“Who summoned me?” The boss said in an almost friendly voice.
“Uhh- I did.” The player responded, confused.
The boss sat down “My name is Mao, but I don’t fight anymore”
“Huh? But aren’t you supposed to be the boss that gives the legendary demon sword when defeated?”
“Yes, but I took an office job. If you’re looking for the sword just take it” Mao sighed, handing over the sword.
“Alright then, best be going” The player took the sword, pitiful but happy they didn’t have to fight. As the player left the battlefield Mao returned to a more docile looking form, although still having an intimidating figure.
Mao teleported back to earth, hoping he will never have to return to his home.
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[WP] Your superpower is that you can stop time, but you're paralyzed when you do it. Unfortunately there is now a bullet a few centimeters from your head. You can stay frozen as long as you want, but the second you start time, you die.
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When I woke up this morning, the last thing I expected was a bullet flying towards me. But here I am, in the middle of an alleyway, bullet just a few centimeters away from my head.
I should be dead. I will be dead, if i ever unfreeze this moment. I’m stuck, unable to move, and not in the “i’m terrified for my life” way. In the, “I literally cannot move” way. Curse this stupid power. What’s the point of freezing time if you freeze with it?
There isn’t really anything I can do. I can prolong the moment, sit with my thoughts for the rest of time, or i can just let it hit me. The chances of getting out of this alive are very unlikely.
Maybe I could duck? No, it’s to close, I wouldn’t make it in time. I could scream? Maybe. Would anyone hear? Probably not.
What does death feel like, I wonder. Will it hurt? Will i be able to feel myself fall to the ground? How long will I have to be in pain, laying on the dirty concrete floor?
But my main question is why. Why? Why did this happen to me? Why was I cursed with this ability? Why couldn’t I have just died and gotten it over with already? Waiting wasn’t doing anything, that’s for sure.
I took one last long breath, and closed my eyes. Goodbye world. Goodbye life. This is the end.
I snapped my fingers, and the last thing I heard was my own scream escape my mouth.
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I imagine death so much it feels more like a memory.
Is this where it gets me, on my feet, sev'ral feet ahead of me?
I see it coming, do I run or fire my gun or let it be?
There is no beat, no melody..
Burr, my first friend, my enemy.
Maybe the last face I ever see.
If I throw away my shot, is this how you'll remember me?
What if this bullet is my legacy?
Legacy, what is a legacy?
It's planting seeds in a garden you never get to see.
I wrote some notes at the beginning of a song someone will sing for me.
America, you great unfinished symphony, you sent for me!
You let me make a difference, a place where even orphan immigrants
Can leave their fingerprints and rise up!
I'm running out of time,
I'm running, and my time's up!
Wise up, eyes up!
I catch a glimpse of the other side!
Laurens leads a soldiers' chorus on the other side!
My son is on the other side!
He's with my mother on the other side!
Washington is watching from the other side!
Teach me how to say goodbye!
Rise up, rise up, rise up, Eliza!
My love, take your time.
I'll see you on the other side.
Raise a glass to freedom…
(-Lin Manuel-Miranda)
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[WP] Your superpower is that you can stop time, but you're paralyzed when you do it. Unfortunately there is now a bullet a few centimeters from your head. You can stay frozen as long as you want, but the second you start time, you die.
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Everyone always thinks being a twin is so great.
At this point it's easy to predict the comments. Oh wow, what's it like being a twin, y'all must have so much in common, and, my personal favorite, are y'all identical.
Considering he was born with XY chromosomes and I was born with XX, we are decidedly not identical. In fact, we have almost nothing in common besides our birthday. I love him and I'm always happy to help when he needs something, and he'd do the same for me, but it's not like we're the best of friends like everyone expects us to be. Really, the only twin thing we have going on is our powers. Or shall I say power, as in singular power that only really works when both of us are together, because of all the stereotypical twin things we could have gotten, the one thing we have is a single power split in two.
I can stop time, but I can't move when it's stopped. I'm perfectly aware, but I can't even move my eyes, which seriously sucks. He can move through the stopped time like it's not stopped at all, and doesn't get hungry or thirsty or tired or anything, but he has no ability to stop or start anything on his own. Most of our lives, all we used it for was to give him more time on tests so he could take a walk and get some energy out and really take as long as he needed.
Today though?
Today a supervillain decided he wanted to rob a bank. That would have been fine, if a little inconvenient for my hope to finally open a savings account. There are protocols in place to deal with that and get the super bad guys away from crowded areas to minimize loss of life. But no, that wasn't good enough for some trigger happy wannabe nincompoop of a vigilante who probably never bothered to learn proper firearm safety, considering that he shot me. Or is shooting me. Or will shoot me, considering time is frozen and no bullets have hit me yet.
Reflexively freezing time was the only reason I was still whole and bullet free, but without the ability to move anything, I was stuck. Unfreeze time and I die. But my brother doesn't know where I am. I don't know where he is. I think we're in the same city, but if we're not, it might take him the equivalent of years to find me, realize why I'm keeping everything frozen, and save me.
I hope it won't take that long. I hope location sharing still works when time stops moving. I suppose I'll just have to wait.
I hate waiting.
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*well, this Is a real pickle ive gotten myself into*
I stood there, totally frozen in place, eyes fixed on the bullet hanging in mid air mere centimeters from my skull. Now, a little context. I found I have the power to stop time itself a few weeks ago. I was sitting on my couch, when a baseball broke through the window. To my shock it froze in midair. Unfortunately I also found out I can't interact with anything. At all. I can think, move my eyes, but that's about it. Kind of a shitty superpower to get huh?
Anyway, ever since I've been trying to figure out how to improve my power, though I haven't gotten far. Whenever I come out of this I usually throw up, amd can't really think for a while. My mind fills with molasses basically, or that's what it feels like. I still haven't been able to move while activating my power, and so today I went out to find a private spot in a junkyard to practice.
Turns out, there was a drug deal going on in said junkyard. They pulled a gun on me, and I froze time. So now that we're all caught up, I'm just staring at this bullet. I know I can't do anything, I can't move. I can't change what's about to happen. Which kind of sucks. I was planning on becoming the first superhero! Freeze time, stop robberies once I figured out how my power worked. Maybe help solve murders, I bet it would be REALLY handy on catching them. Oh well.
Guess I should unpause time huh? I mean, nothing I can do. Haven't figured it how to properly use this power. Though I think i figured out how to move my head a little, managed to turn it about half a centimeter to the left. Not enough, but it was progress. Guess I achieved what I came here originally to do, improve. Well, guess this is the end of my monologue, goodbye me, and my shitty superpower. I close my eyes and restart time.
-Bang!-
*everything's dark, Guess this is death. But...why do I still feel...normal? Kinda hot actually- oh God is this hell? No, cause I'm sure I'd be in a lot more pain.*
I slowly opened my eyes, one at a time. I was sitting in my living room, staring at my TV. And then I heard a crash, and the familiar feeling of time freezing a around me...
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[WP] "You're a monster! You're pure evil!" Shouted the Hero. "Monster? Evil? Me? So the man who brings security to the Empire, cleans the nobility of corruption, ends war and hunger and punishes criminals is evil, while the man who throws it into chaos and suffering is noble?" The overlord replies.
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"Do you understand now?" The emperor's voice was low and steady. "The order of my empire is what keeps us all safe. It is what allows us to sleep at night, knowing that our crops will grow, that our children will be safe. If I were to be slain, who would take my place? Chaos. The world would be plunged into darkness. And new men of power would rise from that darkness and the people you so wish to save would be slaughtered like animals."
"You are a killer," the hero said. "You are not a protector. You are a monster."
The emperor stood up from his throne and strode down the steps. He was a tall man, and his strides were long and powerful.
"And you are a fool," he said sternly. "You have no idea what this empire needs. You have no idea what your own function is. You have no idea of the consequences of your actions."
"And you know what is best for them? You? A tyrant? A murderer?" replied the hero.
"A man who cares for his people. A man who is willing to do what is necessary to save them."
He stopped a few feet in front of the hero, so close that the young man could smell his breath.
The emperor smiled, baring his teeth.
"You are a monster," the hero repeated.
"I am necessary." The emperor said. "To create order, you must accept that sacrifices must be made. The strong cannot sacrifice themselves for the weak. The noble cannot sacrifice themselves for the ignoble. The weak, the ignoble, these people must be sacrificed for the greater good. That is an unfortunate reality of this world. But if you are powerful, and clever, then you can limit the amount of deaths, and save those who would otherwise be swept aside. You can be a real hero."
The hero raised his sword. "And so can I."
The emperor moved faster than the hero expected. He struck with the side of his hand, catching the hero in the throat. The hero staggered as the emperor caught him by the arm and threw him against the ground, but he scrambled to his feet, sword held high.
"You are strong," said the emperor. "But you are alone."
The hero turned and saw the guards rushing toward him. There were at least a hundred men, each armed with a sword and shield. The hero pulled his sword, ready to fight.
"If you will not serve," said the emperor, "then you must die." With that the emperor turned his back on the hero and reascended his throne.
The guardsmen rushed the hero. They surrounded him, attacking from all sides. The hero moved quickly, his sword slashing out to block one man's sword and then another's. He parried one blow, blocked another, but the sheer number of guardsmen was too great.
"A hero like you. A false hero. A hero of the weak and frail minded is useful insofar as you instill hope in the downtrodden masses."
The hero felt the tip of a sword slice at the flesh of his arm. He parried the blow and turned. Another guardsman was coming for him. He could not lose his focus. The hero turned and slashed out, catching the man in his neck. He staggered back, bleeding.
"I'm sorry," the hero said. The guardsman fell to the ground, dead.
"The people need a beacon to follow, a person to look up to. And that person was you. But only for a while. Now I will find someone new to let rise up. To instill into them false hope that keeps them toiling away."
The guardsman were rushing at the hero, one after another. They were overwhelming him. The hero parried the blows, blocked the thrusts, but still they came. He was growing tired. The emperor was right. He was alone. The guards were too many. Even for someone of the hero's skill, he could not keep this up for long.
"I don't need you any more," said the emperor.
The hero raised his sword, covering his face with his arm, but the blade caught the side of his neck. He stopped, the cut was deep. The blood gushing from his neck, the hero could feel his strength … it was diminishing.
"No one will remember you, hero. No one will remember your name."
The hero fell to one knee, and then fell
***
r/greypuffin
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"So, Naytar, here's the plan. My father does not belong in any sort of position of power. If his kingdom is to join my empire, it will no longer *be* **his**."
I nod, listening. "It seems like you put a lot of thought into this, Lord Drowl, but... shouldn't you give your father a chance?"
Drowl shakes his head. "Put yourself in my shoes. You're constantly bullied by your dad and older brother because you're 'lesser'. You prove yourself to be better than your brother. **THEN** you get your father's respect, and he wishes to join in with your success. Does he care about anyone around him, or does he only care about himself? Yes, I'm doing this for revenge, but my revenge is directed at a selfish, greedy, power-hungry bully. I know the kingdom well. People have everything they need... and just that. Nothing more. I don't want to leave him in charge."
"I see your point, sir. So who should take over the kingdom?"
"I trust Daniel even less than before after he threatened your life. He's never leaving Miser Tower."
I get caught off-guard. "That's where you sent him?"
Drowl grins. "I made sure to let the guards know. He should be there by now. You know very well he's not escaping." I nod. Miser Tower is inescapable. At one point in time I tried to send Drowl there, but things didn't go according to plan...
"I'd recommend you for the position, but I'm not losing my second-in-command, you're too important!" he continues, and begins laughing. I smile shyly - I'm not used to this sort of praise despite being a hero.
"I- I appreciate your consideration, sir. Is there... anyone else you had in mind?"
Drowl begins pacing. "I'm not sure... it needs to be someone we both know we can trust..." suddenly, he appears to have an idea. "Naytar, you're going to disagree with me on this, but please hear me out on it... it's someone who, no matter what, sticks to their convictions, beliefs and promises."
I freeze. "You... you mean... ***him***???" Drowl nods.
"We can at least talk to him, right?" I give it some thought...
​
Drowl and I are rolling up to his father's kingdom in the lead tank, with an army of tanks behind. He's hoping to intimidate his dad into a surrender. As we get to the entrance, I step out. I want to have a look at the kingdom myself.
Guards are patrolling the area. The people... don't seem happy... I notice a small child huddled against a wall. I approach him. "Are you ok?"
He stares at me wide-eyed, clearly scared. "Mu... mummy couldn't pay the scary men... she was taken..."
"...What?"
A guard comes up to me. "She didn't pay her taxes. She's working for the king to pay what she owes."
"Where's his dad?" I ask sternly.
"He doesn't have a dad."
I'm seeing red, but Drowl puts a hand on my shoulder. "I always hoped I could hep my brother make a difference... I always knew my father wasn't honourable... he does what he can to get his citizens to pay what they owe..." he begins tearing up.
"Lord Drowl? Are... are you sure... you being bullied was the reason for you wanting an empire?"
He looks at me. "It was what drove me out... it was the reason this whole time... to prove myself better than my brother... I completely forgot about the turmoil that the citizens are forced to face..."
The guard clears his throat. At this point I notice that our MVP has shown up. Clubber. After chatting to him, he vowed to work for the kingdom. His reputation is scary, but it seems as though he really has values, and he'll stick by them no matter what. That's why he became a villain, and why he's here now.
"You are... Lord Drowl, sir? Your father, I mean the king, has been waiting for you. Please, follow me."
We go inside the palace. Drowl's father appears confused, but keeps his focus on his son. "My son... I am-"
"Stop it right there, Yurk. I am not your son. Not anymore. I am Lord Drowl, and you will address me as such."
Yurk smiles. "But I'm not going to be working under you, am I? I wish to join your empire, and because we are family, we were going to rule the empire together."
Drowl, Clubber and I all stare at Yurk, gobsmacked. Then Drowl bursts out laughing.
"Yurk, are you feeling ok? Maybe you need to get your head examined? I would rather die than rule with you! I have Naytar. He is enough. If your kingdom is to join my empire, you will have to surrender to me and step down!"
Yurt looks furious. "*That's* how you treat people? You're despicable! You at least wouldn't do that to your dad, would you?"
Drowl grins. "You have it the wrong way around. Most people get to keep their position. *You're* the **exception**."
"WHAT? YOU'RE A MONSTER! YOU'RE PURE EVIL!" He turns to me. "Tell him, Naytar!"
I smile. "Lord Drowl cares about his empire. Everyone has security. Everyone feels safe and has everything they need. Lord Drowl distributes resources as and when needed. People in need are no longer allowed to be looked down on or ignored. Crime has gone down by miles. Everyone has begun to learn to trust him. He's holding his end of being a fair and just ruler, asking for little in return for his generosity. What do *you* do for *your* people?"
Yurk stammers. "My- my people have e... everything they ne- need..."
I glare at him. "**They don't.** Right now, there is a little kid with no mum and no home, because you are forcing his mum to work directly for you just because she couldn't pay her taxes."
Yurk takes a deep breath. "If you live in my kingdom, you pay taxes."
"I'm sure the people would love it if they didn't have to. Right now, we have an army just on your doorstep. We won't fight you, no use starting a war. But the people will be asking questions. When they find out their contribution to the empire is minimal, they'll want your head."
That seems to set Yurk off. He's terrified. "WAIT! But, I... I can't join..."
Drowl steps forward. "If you surrender, I can keep you safe, even reunite you with Daniel. If you don't, well, I hope you survive the rebellion!"
Yurk goes ghost white. "WAIT! I... I surrender. Yo... you win..." Yurk at this point gets on his hands and knees. Drowl nods.
"I thought you'd see reason. Make the announcement. Clubber will lead in your place, under my empire."
Yurk sighs, stands up, and walks out of his palace... to see an angry mob.
Once the announcement is concluded, Clubber and I get to work on fixing the many, many mistakes that Yurk made. Drowl is taking his father back to the capital city. He'll never experience freedom again.
\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_
This story is a part of my series, [Dreams of an Empire.](https://www.reddit.com/r/StoriesbyCrystal/comments/x9xqe3/dreams_of_an_empire/?utm_source=share&utm_medium=web2x&context=3) Please check it out!
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[WP] "You're a monster! You're pure evil!" Shouted the Hero. "Monster? Evil? Me? So the man who brings security to the Empire, cleans the nobility of corruption, ends war and hunger and punishes criminals is evil, while the man who throws it into chaos and suffering is noble?" The overlord replies.
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"Your reign of terror ends now." The young man in the white cloak sliced down, splitting one of the royal guard in half with no resistance. "I've called forth the edge blade of the Angle blood, and it has answered my holy call. You cannot stop me."
The overlord made a pitying face. "You mean my reign of order? My jobs program? The children's charities?" He held up a commanding hand from his fried chicken dinner. The guard marching to attack the intruder next stopped. "Let's see if we can do this without any more of that."
"You only seek to lull them with bread and circuses, hiding the fact that you are the lowest of thieves. You've killed the king, banished his children past the four keystones, but you did not know of me or my mother. I'm no lonely Farmer, I am the true edge, the angle heir to the fractal kingdom of Riverdivia."
"You clearly missed my pamphlet that explains my 5-year plan to dismantle the monarchy and establish the House of commons, at which time they will elect a prime minister that will replace me in my duties." The overload wiped his mouth and stood, dusting himself off.
"You would see all this country was founded on tarnished. I will not stand for it!" The farmer Prince roared and sliced down with his blade again. It bounced off the overlord like it was made of wood, clattering to the ground.
"Is that so? Have you read much of the history of the Kingdom? You're a great great grandson of the real tyrant, Isosceles the first. The lascivious old coot took a wife from each duchy of the Kingdom, expelled the foot washers his men didn't butcher in the streets, held his geometric magic over the world, a sign of his righteousness. All I did was figure out the trick."
"And what's that?'' the prince asked.
The overlord picked up the magic sword, the source of all the Royal magic of Riverdivia. "It only holds power over the people that believe in it." He snapped the sword in half and threw the pieces in the fireplace where they began catching and burning, expelling smoke in shadows of cubes and twisting triangles. "Seize him, and see him tried for the crimes he committed attempting to destabilize the realm."
/r/surinical
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"So, Naytar, here's the plan. My father does not belong in any sort of position of power. If his kingdom is to join my empire, it will no longer *be* **his**."
I nod, listening. "It seems like you put a lot of thought into this, Lord Drowl, but... shouldn't you give your father a chance?"
Drowl shakes his head. "Put yourself in my shoes. You're constantly bullied by your dad and older brother because you're 'lesser'. You prove yourself to be better than your brother. **THEN** you get your father's respect, and he wishes to join in with your success. Does he care about anyone around him, or does he only care about himself? Yes, I'm doing this for revenge, but my revenge is directed at a selfish, greedy, power-hungry bully. I know the kingdom well. People have everything they need... and just that. Nothing more. I don't want to leave him in charge."
"I see your point, sir. So who should take over the kingdom?"
"I trust Daniel even less than before after he threatened your life. He's never leaving Miser Tower."
I get caught off-guard. "That's where you sent him?"
Drowl grins. "I made sure to let the guards know. He should be there by now. You know very well he's not escaping." I nod. Miser Tower is inescapable. At one point in time I tried to send Drowl there, but things didn't go according to plan...
"I'd recommend you for the position, but I'm not losing my second-in-command, you're too important!" he continues, and begins laughing. I smile shyly - I'm not used to this sort of praise despite being a hero.
"I- I appreciate your consideration, sir. Is there... anyone else you had in mind?"
Drowl begins pacing. "I'm not sure... it needs to be someone we both know we can trust..." suddenly, he appears to have an idea. "Naytar, you're going to disagree with me on this, but please hear me out on it... it's someone who, no matter what, sticks to their convictions, beliefs and promises."
I freeze. "You... you mean... ***him***???" Drowl nods.
"We can at least talk to him, right?" I give it some thought...
​
Drowl and I are rolling up to his father's kingdom in the lead tank, with an army of tanks behind. He's hoping to intimidate his dad into a surrender. As we get to the entrance, I step out. I want to have a look at the kingdom myself.
Guards are patrolling the area. The people... don't seem happy... I notice a small child huddled against a wall. I approach him. "Are you ok?"
He stares at me wide-eyed, clearly scared. "Mu... mummy couldn't pay the scary men... she was taken..."
"...What?"
A guard comes up to me. "She didn't pay her taxes. She's working for the king to pay what she owes."
"Where's his dad?" I ask sternly.
"He doesn't have a dad."
I'm seeing red, but Drowl puts a hand on my shoulder. "I always hoped I could hep my brother make a difference... I always knew my father wasn't honourable... he does what he can to get his citizens to pay what they owe..." he begins tearing up.
"Lord Drowl? Are... are you sure... you being bullied was the reason for you wanting an empire?"
He looks at me. "It was what drove me out... it was the reason this whole time... to prove myself better than my brother... I completely forgot about the turmoil that the citizens are forced to face..."
The guard clears his throat. At this point I notice that our MVP has shown up. Clubber. After chatting to him, he vowed to work for the kingdom. His reputation is scary, but it seems as though he really has values, and he'll stick by them no matter what. That's why he became a villain, and why he's here now.
"You are... Lord Drowl, sir? Your father, I mean the king, has been waiting for you. Please, follow me."
We go inside the palace. Drowl's father appears confused, but keeps his focus on his son. "My son... I am-"
"Stop it right there, Yurk. I am not your son. Not anymore. I am Lord Drowl, and you will address me as such."
Yurk smiles. "But I'm not going to be working under you, am I? I wish to join your empire, and because we are family, we were going to rule the empire together."
Drowl, Clubber and I all stare at Yurk, gobsmacked. Then Drowl bursts out laughing.
"Yurk, are you feeling ok? Maybe you need to get your head examined? I would rather die than rule with you! I have Naytar. He is enough. If your kingdom is to join my empire, you will have to surrender to me and step down!"
Yurt looks furious. "*That's* how you treat people? You're despicable! You at least wouldn't do that to your dad, would you?"
Drowl grins. "You have it the wrong way around. Most people get to keep their position. *You're* the **exception**."
"WHAT? YOU'RE A MONSTER! YOU'RE PURE EVIL!" He turns to me. "Tell him, Naytar!"
I smile. "Lord Drowl cares about his empire. Everyone has security. Everyone feels safe and has everything they need. Lord Drowl distributes resources as and when needed. People in need are no longer allowed to be looked down on or ignored. Crime has gone down by miles. Everyone has begun to learn to trust him. He's holding his end of being a fair and just ruler, asking for little in return for his generosity. What do *you* do for *your* people?"
Yurk stammers. "My- my people have e... everything they ne- need..."
I glare at him. "**They don't.** Right now, there is a little kid with no mum and no home, because you are forcing his mum to work directly for you just because she couldn't pay her taxes."
Yurk takes a deep breath. "If you live in my kingdom, you pay taxes."
"I'm sure the people would love it if they didn't have to. Right now, we have an army just on your doorstep. We won't fight you, no use starting a war. But the people will be asking questions. When they find out their contribution to the empire is minimal, they'll want your head."
That seems to set Yurk off. He's terrified. "WAIT! But, I... I can't join..."
Drowl steps forward. "If you surrender, I can keep you safe, even reunite you with Daniel. If you don't, well, I hope you survive the rebellion!"
Yurk goes ghost white. "WAIT! I... I surrender. Yo... you win..." Yurk at this point gets on his hands and knees. Drowl nods.
"I thought you'd see reason. Make the announcement. Clubber will lead in your place, under my empire."
Yurk sighs, stands up, and walks out of his palace... to see an angry mob.
Once the announcement is concluded, Clubber and I get to work on fixing the many, many mistakes that Yurk made. Drowl is taking his father back to the capital city. He'll never experience freedom again.
\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_
This story is a part of my series, [Dreams of an Empire.](https://www.reddit.com/r/StoriesbyCrystal/comments/x9xqe3/dreams_of_an_empire/?utm_source=share&utm_medium=web2x&context=3) Please check it out!
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[WP] As a dwarf, you always thought it stupid that humans try to draw the sword from the stone. The answer is obvious, mine the sword from the stone.
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"Have you ever seen something so beautiful in all your life?" asked Princess Anabella as she clasped her gloved hands together.
"What, the dwarf?" asked Rina, lady of the High Court, pointing to the stout faerie merrily humming away as he repeatedly swung his pickaxe at the stone which kept a shimmering blade its prisoner.
"Not the dwarf, idiot. The sword." Anabella spread her arms wide. "Once he frees it, our smiths will copy it, and our enchanters will study the spell so we may cast it ourselves. Our army will be the strongest in the entire world!"
"Bloody stupid enchantment it is," Drog the dwarf muttered just quietly enough to escape the power-hungry Royal Court's ears. The prophecy was well-known throughout the continents' kingdoms: *The blade, once pulled from its rocky sheath, shall ne'er be defeated.* Simple. To the point. No fine print or hidden enchantments. And that was precisely why it was so sought-after.
Finally there was a great cracking noise as the rock split in two. The glowing sword clattered to the ground. Cheers arose from the members of the Royal Court.
"Ye have yer fancy-pants sword, Princess Anabella." Drog slung his pickaxe over his shoulder. "I should hope you hold up your end of the bargain."
"We will reward the Dwarven alliances quite handsomely for your efforts," she said.
"Aye, but before I leave--I should let you know that the sword is worthless junk."
The entire Court gasped as one. Princess Anabella stepped forward and shook with rage.
"Just like a bloody faerie to have a trick up his sleeve," she shouted.
"No tricks, your Highness. Fetch your finest knight for me to spar, and I will show you."
Glances were exchanged around the members of the Court, but eventually Drog and Fernando the Dragonslayer stood in the center of the castle courtyard, Fernando with the shimmering blade and Drog with his pickaxe. The Court stood by with tense faces and fingers laced together, unsure if they would lose a knight or witness a Dwarven slaughter.
With a mighty yell, Fernando rushed towards Drog swung. Drog simply ducked and swept his pickaxe at the Dragonslayer's feet. The knight fell to the ground as the legendary blade slipped from his grasp. It sailed through the air before lodging itself into another boulder.
"The blade, once pulled from its rocky sheath, shall ne'er be defeated." Drok slung his pickaxe over his shoulder once more as he recited the prophecy. "The *blade.* It says nothing about the knight holding it."
r/MyloRolfeReads/
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Ti-Ag ran his hand along the fault of the stone, unspoiled by the strange blade stabbed through it. No, that wasn’t right, was it? The sword had come first, crystal budding around it. Bizarre, indeed.
“Figured you would find the interesting,” Bassel the landlord said. “The great prophecy states that whosoever can free blade from its prison shall reunite the shattered great dominion of man. Many men, and some women, travel here just to give it a tug.”
“That so? You know, the dominion wasn’t so great for my ancestors, forcing us to live above. Unnatural,” Ti-Ag said, taking out his craftsman’s hammer. He retraced the stone, checking it was really as simple as it seemed. One well-placed tap, one more, and then, sure enough, the stone cracked, splitting right along where it met the sword, which clanged to the ground.
Ti-Ag picked up the sword, giving an awkward wobble of his head. Bassel stood wide-eyed and held out a shakey hand.
Ti-Ag handed it over to the human, “not a bad blade, but hopefully, now that a dwarf of all people fulfilled your prophecy, all this reforging the dominion business can be done with. Bassel?”
The human was staring at the blade in his hands, twisting it to catch the light. “Your father was good to me,” he finally said. “I owe him and his kin a fair lot, so I’ll give you a day to leave the city.”
“What, just after I moved in? What kind of-” Ti-Ag said.
“I’ve done it!” Bassel yelled, running towards the center square. “I have pulled the blade!”
People began to funnel from their homes, cheering and crying. Someone seemed to have fireworks at the ready for just such an occasion. The crowd lifted up Bassel, chanting his name.
“Well, if that isn’t no small bit of shit,” Ti-Ag said, pushing through the growing swarm.
/r/surinical
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[WP] As a dwarf, you always thought it stupid that humans try to draw the sword from the stone. The answer is obvious, mine the sword from the stone.
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A pilgrimage to the imaginatively named town of Sword-in-the-Stone was a rite of passage in every young Angle's life. Come of age and travel across the kingdom to test your worthiness, and hope that you would be the one who could free the eponymous sword and become the rightful King or Queen of the Angles.
Brinda had come to Sword-in-the-Stone for that very reason, against the wishes of her parents who felt they had already wasted far too much money on similar journeys for three previous children. But Brinda had grown up on stories of such journeys, listening eagerly as her elder siblings recounted the story of their own attempts, and dreaming of one day placing her own hands on the hilt of the magical sword of Arthur, which would no doubt slide free from the rock.
She had spent long nights weighing up the competing merits of the town's two inns, which stood opposing each other around Sword Square, and debating which she should stay in. The Might of Merlin was said to have the better ale, but more lice than the The King's Sword. All the best stories seemed to have their start in the Might of Merlin, but after two weeks on the road, and too many nights in bad inns, she was now firmly in favor of The King's Sword.
She had arrived in the town in early afternoon. The town had sprung up around it's central attraction, and the main road led her straight to the central square and the two inns that stood watch over the stone.
One of Brinda's brothers had told her that the line of aspirants had stretched around the square, but today the place was empty save for a lone street sweeper.
It was also empty of any sign of a sword in a stone. Where there should have been a large rock in the center of the square was now just a bare patch of ground.
Brinda approached the street sweeper. "Um, excuse me, sir, but is this where I find the Sword in the Stone?"
The man looked at her glumly. "Gone."
"What?"
"Gone."
Brinda felt a pang of fear. "Somebody was able to take the sword?"
"Aye."
She looked around again. "But where's the stone?"
"Gone," said the old man, even more glumly, and went back to sweeping.
Brinda wondered if taking the sword had been as hard for the presumptive new ruler of Angland as it was to get words out of this man. She tried one last time, "Who took it? The sword, I mean, not the stone."
"Dwarves," said the sweeper. Then he jabbed the handle of his broom in the direction of the Far Mountains, and with an apparently Herculean effort added, "Took both."
---
The Far Mountains had lived up to their name. They had not seemed that far from Sword-in-the-Stone, perhaps a day's ride, but it had taken her a whole week to make it to the foothills, and two more days to lead her horse up the increasingly narrow path that was said to lead to the halls of the dwarves.
The air was thin, and Brinda was breathing hard when she rounded the corner and found herself in front of a huge doorway carved into the side of the mountain.
There was a single short figure standing outside the door, helmet pulled down low over its brow against the rain.
Brinda walked up to it. "Hello."
The figure grunted.
"Is this the Hall of the Mountain King?"
Another grunt. Brinda had long since decided that the further north one traveled, the fewer words anyone spoke. Perhaps this was the very edge of the world.
"I'm, er, here because, well..."
"You're here about the sword," the dwarf said.
"Oh. Well, yes. How did you know?"
The dwarf snorted. "I suppose you think you're the first?"
"Oh," Brinda said. She had not met any other travelers on the road north, and had begun to hope.
"Well, don't just stand there in the rain. Better come in and dry your horse before you head back down the mountain."
"Back?" Brinda said. "But I only just got here. Besides, I was hoping to see the sword."
"Hrmph," said the dwarf. "Hoping to steal it, d'you mean?"
"No," Brinda lied, but her face flushed.
The dwarf took off it's helmet, and long hair cascaded down onto rain splashed chain mail. A beard-less face looked up at her and smirked knowingly.
"You're- you're a girl," Brinda said, both surprised and seeing a chance to change the subject.
"A woman," the dwarf corrected. "Seeing as you're also a woman, albeit a young one, I'm a little surprised at your surprise."
"Oh no," Brinda said, and flushed deeper. "It's just, well, in the stories there are never dwarven woman."
The dwarf looked at her speculatively. "Ah, stories. Famous for always being true, stories are." She looked up at Brinda, and then suddenly sighed. "Come on young lady. Your horse looks almost dead from cold, and you from hunger. Your rub down your horse, and I'll get you a bowl of soup to warm you up."
---
Brinda sat at the stone table, and ate the hot soup at fast as she could without scorching her mouth. The dwarven woman sat across from her, occasionally glancing out at the deserted path up the mountain, but mostly watching the human eat.
When the bowl was empty, the dwarf said, "So you'll be off now."
The rain was coming down harder now, lashing the mountain side as gusts of wind swirled over the crags.
"I suppose so," Brinda said. She hesitated, wanting to ask a question that had been burning on her tongue nearly as badly as the soup. "So what will you do with the sword?"
"Is that any of your business?"
"No, but..." A thought struck her. "If one of you is the rightful King or Queen, then I should like to pay homage to my new ruler."
The dwarf snorted. "The rightful King?"
"Or Queen."
"Because of a sword?"
"It's not just any sword," Brinda said defensively. "It's the sword of Arthur, given to him by the Lady in the Lake, and sealed in the stone by Merlin to await one worthy enough to free it."
The dwarf snorted. "What did I tell you about stories?"
"Well, this one is true," Brinda said. "It has to be, otherwise... otherwise..."
"Otherwise you came all this way for nothing," said the dwarf, but gently.
Brinda looked at her helplessly.
The dwarf sighed. "Do you know why Merlin put that sword in the damn stone in the first place? No, I mean do you know why he claimed that only the true ruler would be able to pull it out? Because when Arthur died without an heir, all the barons fell to squabbling about who would be the next king. But Angland was still at war back then, so Merlin put the sword in the stone to stop them arguing for long enough to defend their borders."
Brinda frowned. "But what if one of the barons had been able to draw the sword?"
"Ah," the dwarf said knowingly. "Merlin, being a wizard and thus a crafty bugger, melted the sword so that it fused to the rock."
"But then nobody would ever be able to draw it? Didn't Merlin want there to be another King?"
"Or Queen," the dwarf amended, and winked. "Perhaps. Who knows. Rather inconveniently, he died, or disappeared (nobody's quite sure, since they never found his body) before he could undo the spell."
"So all this time we've been trying to achieve an impossible task? Did the dwarves know?"
The dwarf grinned. "Wasn't hard to see that the rock had been melted if you know a little about geology. Oh don't look like that. Sure, it gave us a few chuckles over our ale on the long winter nights, but it seemed to give you lot something to do that would keep you out of mischief."
Brinda fought down her indignation, and asked in a voice of forced calm, "So how did you manage to draw the sword then? I didn't think dwarves could cast spells."
"There are many kinds of magic," said the dwarf. "And the best kind, in my opinion, is the kind you do with logic and elbow grease."
"Meaning?"
"Meaning," said the dwarf with the patience of explaining something to a child, "that we chiseled down the rock and took the sword. What was left of it."
"It was a magical sword," Brinda said. "Hardened by sorcery to pierce the thickest armor-"
"And left out in the rain and the snow and goodness knows what other kinds of weather for over two hundred years," the dwarf said. "It was more rust than metal at this point. Frankly it's a wonder it hadn't disintegrated into pieces when some young fool yanked on the hilt."
"So you're going to repair it?" Brinda asked hopefully.
"Honey," said the dwarf pityingly, "it was melted down for scrap."
Brinda said nothing for a long while. "But why?"
The dwarf shrugged. "That's for the Mountain King to know, and you and me to speculate. But-" she lowered her voice, "-just between you and me, I've been hearing worrying news about the kingdoms to the south. Rumors of invasion. And how the Regency of Angland is divided by internal power struggles and lack of leadership. Perhaps this will... reset the field."
"So this is all just politics?"
"It ends," said the dwarf, "as it began."
---
More stories at /r/jd_rallage
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Ti-Ag ran his hand along the fault of the stone, unspoiled by the strange blade stabbed through it. No, that wasn’t right, was it? The sword had come first, crystal budding around it. Bizarre, indeed.
“Figured you would find the interesting,” Bassel the landlord said. “The great prophecy states that whosoever can free blade from its prison shall reunite the shattered great dominion of man. Many men, and some women, travel here just to give it a tug.”
“That so? You know, the dominion wasn’t so great for my ancestors, forcing us to live above. Unnatural,” Ti-Ag said, taking out his craftsman’s hammer. He retraced the stone, checking it was really as simple as it seemed. One well-placed tap, one more, and then, sure enough, the stone cracked, splitting right along where it met the sword, which clanged to the ground.
Ti-Ag picked up the sword, giving an awkward wobble of his head. Bassel stood wide-eyed and held out a shakey hand.
Ti-Ag handed it over to the human, “not a bad blade, but hopefully, now that a dwarf of all people fulfilled your prophecy, all this reforging the dominion business can be done with. Bassel?”
The human was staring at the blade in his hands, twisting it to catch the light. “Your father was good to me,” he finally said. “I owe him and his kin a fair lot, so I’ll give you a day to leave the city.”
“What, just after I moved in? What kind of-” Ti-Ag said.
“I’ve done it!” Bassel yelled, running towards the center square. “I have pulled the blade!”
People began to funnel from their homes, cheering and crying. Someone seemed to have fireworks at the ready for just such an occasion. The crowd lifted up Bassel, chanting his name.
“Well, if that isn’t no small bit of shit,” Ti-Ag said, pushing through the growing swarm.
/r/surinical
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[WP] As a dwarf, you always thought it stupid that humans try to draw the sword from the stone. The answer is obvious, mine the sword from the stone.
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A pilgrimage to the imaginatively named town of Sword-in-the-Stone was a rite of passage in every young Angle's life. Come of age and travel across the kingdom to test your worthiness, and hope that you would be the one who could free the eponymous sword and become the rightful King or Queen of the Angles.
Brinda had come to Sword-in-the-Stone for that very reason, against the wishes of her parents who felt they had already wasted far too much money on similar journeys for three previous children. But Brinda had grown up on stories of such journeys, listening eagerly as her elder siblings recounted the story of their own attempts, and dreaming of one day placing her own hands on the hilt of the magical sword of Arthur, which would no doubt slide free from the rock.
She had spent long nights weighing up the competing merits of the town's two inns, which stood opposing each other around Sword Square, and debating which she should stay in. The Might of Merlin was said to have the better ale, but more lice than the The King's Sword. All the best stories seemed to have their start in the Might of Merlin, but after two weeks on the road, and too many nights in bad inns, she was now firmly in favor of The King's Sword.
She had arrived in the town in early afternoon. The town had sprung up around it's central attraction, and the main road led her straight to the central square and the two inns that stood watch over the stone.
One of Brinda's brothers had told her that the line of aspirants had stretched around the square, but today the place was empty save for a lone street sweeper.
It was also empty of any sign of a sword in a stone. Where there should have been a large rock in the center of the square was now just a bare patch of ground.
Brinda approached the street sweeper. "Um, excuse me, sir, but is this where I find the Sword in the Stone?"
The man looked at her glumly. "Gone."
"What?"
"Gone."
Brinda felt a pang of fear. "Somebody was able to take the sword?"
"Aye."
She looked around again. "But where's the stone?"
"Gone," said the old man, even more glumly, and went back to sweeping.
Brinda wondered if taking the sword had been as hard for the presumptive new ruler of Angland as it was to get words out of this man. She tried one last time, "Who took it? The sword, I mean, not the stone."
"Dwarves," said the sweeper. Then he jabbed the handle of his broom in the direction of the Far Mountains, and with an apparently Herculean effort added, "Took both."
---
The Far Mountains had lived up to their name. They had not seemed that far from Sword-in-the-Stone, perhaps a day's ride, but it had taken her a whole week to make it to the foothills, and two more days to lead her horse up the increasingly narrow path that was said to lead to the halls of the dwarves.
The air was thin, and Brinda was breathing hard when she rounded the corner and found herself in front of a huge doorway carved into the side of the mountain.
There was a single short figure standing outside the door, helmet pulled down low over its brow against the rain.
Brinda walked up to it. "Hello."
The figure grunted.
"Is this the Hall of the Mountain King?"
Another grunt. Brinda had long since decided that the further north one traveled, the fewer words anyone spoke. Perhaps this was the very edge of the world.
"I'm, er, here because, well..."
"You're here about the sword," the dwarf said.
"Oh. Well, yes. How did you know?"
The dwarf snorted. "I suppose you think you're the first?"
"Oh," Brinda said. She had not met any other travelers on the road north, and had begun to hope.
"Well, don't just stand there in the rain. Better come in and dry your horse before you head back down the mountain."
"Back?" Brinda said. "But I only just got here. Besides, I was hoping to see the sword."
"Hrmph," said the dwarf. "Hoping to steal it, d'you mean?"
"No," Brinda lied, but her face flushed.
The dwarf took off it's helmet, and long hair cascaded down onto rain splashed chain mail. A beard-less face looked up at her and smirked knowingly.
"You're- you're a girl," Brinda said, both surprised and seeing a chance to change the subject.
"A woman," the dwarf corrected. "Seeing as you're also a woman, albeit a young one, I'm a little surprised at your surprise."
"Oh no," Brinda said, and flushed deeper. "It's just, well, in the stories there are never dwarven woman."
The dwarf looked at her speculatively. "Ah, stories. Famous for always being true, stories are." She looked up at Brinda, and then suddenly sighed. "Come on young lady. Your horse looks almost dead from cold, and you from hunger. Your rub down your horse, and I'll get you a bowl of soup to warm you up."
---
Brinda sat at the stone table, and ate the hot soup at fast as she could without scorching her mouth. The dwarven woman sat across from her, occasionally glancing out at the deserted path up the mountain, but mostly watching the human eat.
When the bowl was empty, the dwarf said, "So you'll be off now."
The rain was coming down harder now, lashing the mountain side as gusts of wind swirled over the crags.
"I suppose so," Brinda said. She hesitated, wanting to ask a question that had been burning on her tongue nearly as badly as the soup. "So what will you do with the sword?"
"Is that any of your business?"
"No, but..." A thought struck her. "If one of you is the rightful King or Queen, then I should like to pay homage to my new ruler."
The dwarf snorted. "The rightful King?"
"Or Queen."
"Because of a sword?"
"It's not just any sword," Brinda said defensively. "It's the sword of Arthur, given to him by the Lady in the Lake, and sealed in the stone by Merlin to await one worthy enough to free it."
The dwarf snorted. "What did I tell you about stories?"
"Well, this one is true," Brinda said. "It has to be, otherwise... otherwise..."
"Otherwise you came all this way for nothing," said the dwarf, but gently.
Brinda looked at her helplessly.
The dwarf sighed. "Do you know why Merlin put that sword in the damn stone in the first place? No, I mean do you know why he claimed that only the true ruler would be able to pull it out? Because when Arthur died without an heir, all the barons fell to squabbling about who would be the next king. But Angland was still at war back then, so Merlin put the sword in the stone to stop them arguing for long enough to defend their borders."
Brinda frowned. "But what if one of the barons had been able to draw the sword?"
"Ah," the dwarf said knowingly. "Merlin, being a wizard and thus a crafty bugger, melted the sword so that it fused to the rock."
"But then nobody would ever be able to draw it? Didn't Merlin want there to be another King?"
"Or Queen," the dwarf amended, and winked. "Perhaps. Who knows. Rather inconveniently, he died, or disappeared (nobody's quite sure, since they never found his body) before he could undo the spell."
"So all this time we've been trying to achieve an impossible task? Did the dwarves know?"
The dwarf grinned. "Wasn't hard to see that the rock had been melted if you know a little about geology. Oh don't look like that. Sure, it gave us a few chuckles over our ale on the long winter nights, but it seemed to give you lot something to do that would keep you out of mischief."
Brinda fought down her indignation, and asked in a voice of forced calm, "So how did you manage to draw the sword then? I didn't think dwarves could cast spells."
"There are many kinds of magic," said the dwarf. "And the best kind, in my opinion, is the kind you do with logic and elbow grease."
"Meaning?"
"Meaning," said the dwarf with the patience of explaining something to a child, "that we chiseled down the rock and took the sword. What was left of it."
"It was a magical sword," Brinda said. "Hardened by sorcery to pierce the thickest armor-"
"And left out in the rain and the snow and goodness knows what other kinds of weather for over two hundred years," the dwarf said. "It was more rust than metal at this point. Frankly it's a wonder it hadn't disintegrated into pieces when some young fool yanked on the hilt."
"So you're going to repair it?" Brinda asked hopefully.
"Honey," said the dwarf pityingly, "it was melted down for scrap."
Brinda said nothing for a long while. "But why?"
The dwarf shrugged. "That's for the Mountain King to know, and you and me to speculate. But-" she lowered her voice, "-just between you and me, I've been hearing worrying news about the kingdoms to the south. Rumors of invasion. And how the Regency of Angland is divided by internal power struggles and lack of leadership. Perhaps this will... reset the field."
"So this is all just politics?"
"It ends," said the dwarf, "as it began."
---
More stories at /r/jd_rallage
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"Have you ever seen something so beautiful in all your life?" asked Princess Anabella as she clasped her gloved hands together.
"What, the dwarf?" asked Rina, lady of the High Court, pointing to the stout faerie merrily humming away as he repeatedly swung his pickaxe at the stone which kept a shimmering blade its prisoner.
"Not the dwarf, idiot. The sword." Anabella spread her arms wide. "Once he frees it, our smiths will copy it, and our enchanters will study the spell so we may cast it ourselves. Our army will be the strongest in the entire world!"
"Bloody stupid enchantment it is," Drog the dwarf muttered just quietly enough to escape the power-hungry Royal Court's ears. The prophecy was well-known throughout the continents' kingdoms: *The blade, once pulled from its rocky sheath, shall ne'er be defeated.* Simple. To the point. No fine print or hidden enchantments. And that was precisely why it was so sought-after.
Finally there was a great cracking noise as the rock split in two. The glowing sword clattered to the ground. Cheers arose from the members of the Royal Court.
"Ye have yer fancy-pants sword, Princess Anabella." Drog slung his pickaxe over his shoulder. "I should hope you hold up your end of the bargain."
"We will reward the Dwarven alliances quite handsomely for your efforts," she said.
"Aye, but before I leave--I should let you know that the sword is worthless junk."
The entire Court gasped as one. Princess Anabella stepped forward and shook with rage.
"Just like a bloody faerie to have a trick up his sleeve," she shouted.
"No tricks, your Highness. Fetch your finest knight for me to spar, and I will show you."
Glances were exchanged around the members of the Court, but eventually Drog and Fernando the Dragonslayer stood in the center of the castle courtyard, Fernando with the shimmering blade and Drog with his pickaxe. The Court stood by with tense faces and fingers laced together, unsure if they would lose a knight or witness a Dwarven slaughter.
With a mighty yell, Fernando rushed towards Drog swung. Drog simply ducked and swept his pickaxe at the Dragonslayer's feet. The knight fell to the ground as the legendary blade slipped from his grasp. It sailed through the air before lodging itself into another boulder.
"The blade, once pulled from its rocky sheath, shall ne'er be defeated." Drok slung his pickaxe over his shoulder once more as he recited the prophecy. "The *blade.* It says nothing about the knight holding it."
r/MyloRolfeReads/
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[WP] As a dwarf, you always thought it stupid that humans try to draw the sword from the stone. The answer is obvious, mine the sword from the stone.
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A pilgrimage to the imaginatively named town of Sword-in-the-Stone was a rite of passage in every young Angle's life. Come of age and travel across the kingdom to test your worthiness, and hope that you would be the one who could free the eponymous sword and become the rightful King or Queen of the Angles.
Brinda had come to Sword-in-the-Stone for that very reason, against the wishes of her parents who felt they had already wasted far too much money on similar journeys for three previous children. But Brinda had grown up on stories of such journeys, listening eagerly as her elder siblings recounted the story of their own attempts, and dreaming of one day placing her own hands on the hilt of the magical sword of Arthur, which would no doubt slide free from the rock.
She had spent long nights weighing up the competing merits of the town's two inns, which stood opposing each other around Sword Square, and debating which she should stay in. The Might of Merlin was said to have the better ale, but more lice than the The King's Sword. All the best stories seemed to have their start in the Might of Merlin, but after two weeks on the road, and too many nights in bad inns, she was now firmly in favor of The King's Sword.
She had arrived in the town in early afternoon. The town had sprung up around it's central attraction, and the main road led her straight to the central square and the two inns that stood watch over the stone.
One of Brinda's brothers had told her that the line of aspirants had stretched around the square, but today the place was empty save for a lone street sweeper.
It was also empty of any sign of a sword in a stone. Where there should have been a large rock in the center of the square was now just a bare patch of ground.
Brinda approached the street sweeper. "Um, excuse me, sir, but is this where I find the Sword in the Stone?"
The man looked at her glumly. "Gone."
"What?"
"Gone."
Brinda felt a pang of fear. "Somebody was able to take the sword?"
"Aye."
She looked around again. "But where's the stone?"
"Gone," said the old man, even more glumly, and went back to sweeping.
Brinda wondered if taking the sword had been as hard for the presumptive new ruler of Angland as it was to get words out of this man. She tried one last time, "Who took it? The sword, I mean, not the stone."
"Dwarves," said the sweeper. Then he jabbed the handle of his broom in the direction of the Far Mountains, and with an apparently Herculean effort added, "Took both."
---
The Far Mountains had lived up to their name. They had not seemed that far from Sword-in-the-Stone, perhaps a day's ride, but it had taken her a whole week to make it to the foothills, and two more days to lead her horse up the increasingly narrow path that was said to lead to the halls of the dwarves.
The air was thin, and Brinda was breathing hard when she rounded the corner and found herself in front of a huge doorway carved into the side of the mountain.
There was a single short figure standing outside the door, helmet pulled down low over its brow against the rain.
Brinda walked up to it. "Hello."
The figure grunted.
"Is this the Hall of the Mountain King?"
Another grunt. Brinda had long since decided that the further north one traveled, the fewer words anyone spoke. Perhaps this was the very edge of the world.
"I'm, er, here because, well..."
"You're here about the sword," the dwarf said.
"Oh. Well, yes. How did you know?"
The dwarf snorted. "I suppose you think you're the first?"
"Oh," Brinda said. She had not met any other travelers on the road north, and had begun to hope.
"Well, don't just stand there in the rain. Better come in and dry your horse before you head back down the mountain."
"Back?" Brinda said. "But I only just got here. Besides, I was hoping to see the sword."
"Hrmph," said the dwarf. "Hoping to steal it, d'you mean?"
"No," Brinda lied, but her face flushed.
The dwarf took off it's helmet, and long hair cascaded down onto rain splashed chain mail. A beard-less face looked up at her and smirked knowingly.
"You're- you're a girl," Brinda said, both surprised and seeing a chance to change the subject.
"A woman," the dwarf corrected. "Seeing as you're also a woman, albeit a young one, I'm a little surprised at your surprise."
"Oh no," Brinda said, and flushed deeper. "It's just, well, in the stories there are never dwarven woman."
The dwarf looked at her speculatively. "Ah, stories. Famous for always being true, stories are." She looked up at Brinda, and then suddenly sighed. "Come on young lady. Your horse looks almost dead from cold, and you from hunger. Your rub down your horse, and I'll get you a bowl of soup to warm you up."
---
Brinda sat at the stone table, and ate the hot soup at fast as she could without scorching her mouth. The dwarven woman sat across from her, occasionally glancing out at the deserted path up the mountain, but mostly watching the human eat.
When the bowl was empty, the dwarf said, "So you'll be off now."
The rain was coming down harder now, lashing the mountain side as gusts of wind swirled over the crags.
"I suppose so," Brinda said. She hesitated, wanting to ask a question that had been burning on her tongue nearly as badly as the soup. "So what will you do with the sword?"
"Is that any of your business?"
"No, but..." A thought struck her. "If one of you is the rightful King or Queen, then I should like to pay homage to my new ruler."
The dwarf snorted. "The rightful King?"
"Or Queen."
"Because of a sword?"
"It's not just any sword," Brinda said defensively. "It's the sword of Arthur, given to him by the Lady in the Lake, and sealed in the stone by Merlin to await one worthy enough to free it."
The dwarf snorted. "What did I tell you about stories?"
"Well, this one is true," Brinda said. "It has to be, otherwise... otherwise..."
"Otherwise you came all this way for nothing," said the dwarf, but gently.
Brinda looked at her helplessly.
The dwarf sighed. "Do you know why Merlin put that sword in the damn stone in the first place? No, I mean do you know why he claimed that only the true ruler would be able to pull it out? Because when Arthur died without an heir, all the barons fell to squabbling about who would be the next king. But Angland was still at war back then, so Merlin put the sword in the stone to stop them arguing for long enough to defend their borders."
Brinda frowned. "But what if one of the barons had been able to draw the sword?"
"Ah," the dwarf said knowingly. "Merlin, being a wizard and thus a crafty bugger, melted the sword so that it fused to the rock."
"But then nobody would ever be able to draw it? Didn't Merlin want there to be another King?"
"Or Queen," the dwarf amended, and winked. "Perhaps. Who knows. Rather inconveniently, he died, or disappeared (nobody's quite sure, since they never found his body) before he could undo the spell."
"So all this time we've been trying to achieve an impossible task? Did the dwarves know?"
The dwarf grinned. "Wasn't hard to see that the rock had been melted if you know a little about geology. Oh don't look like that. Sure, it gave us a few chuckles over our ale on the long winter nights, but it seemed to give you lot something to do that would keep you out of mischief."
Brinda fought down her indignation, and asked in a voice of forced calm, "So how did you manage to draw the sword then? I didn't think dwarves could cast spells."
"There are many kinds of magic," said the dwarf. "And the best kind, in my opinion, is the kind you do with logic and elbow grease."
"Meaning?"
"Meaning," said the dwarf with the patience of explaining something to a child, "that we chiseled down the rock and took the sword. What was left of it."
"It was a magical sword," Brinda said. "Hardened by sorcery to pierce the thickest armor-"
"And left out in the rain and the snow and goodness knows what other kinds of weather for over two hundred years," the dwarf said. "It was more rust than metal at this point. Frankly it's a wonder it hadn't disintegrated into pieces when some young fool yanked on the hilt."
"So you're going to repair it?" Brinda asked hopefully.
"Honey," said the dwarf pityingly, "it was melted down for scrap."
Brinda said nothing for a long while. "But why?"
The dwarf shrugged. "That's for the Mountain King to know, and you and me to speculate. But-" she lowered her voice, "-just between you and me, I've been hearing worrying news about the kingdoms to the south. Rumors of invasion. And how the Regency of Angland is divided by internal power struggles and lack of leadership. Perhaps this will... reset the field."
"So this is all just politics?"
"It ends," said the dwarf, "as it began."
---
More stories at /r/jd_rallage
|
The sword in the stone. Everyone and their mother knew the story of the sword in the stone. It was ridiculous, that a system of government should be decided by what scrawny child could draw a sword out of a stone. And that wasn't even the worst problem. No, the worst of it was that there were a sight too many swords in stone.
Here's what I mean. You have a kingdom, a king and land all the usual stuff. Now, oops the king's dead and there's no heir. Then, often on the very next day a sword and stone appears. Just thumps down into the middle of everything, and everyone runs around trying to find the person who can pull the sword out, who is destined to rule. It's rather annoying, takes all the peace and quiet out of life. Multiply that by however many kingdoms in the world you live in and there's a lot of nonsense happening.
Like just recently, our king died, "by accident" and sure enough, a sword and a stone appeared. Not in the very center of town, where it would be much more accessible, no it materialized right outside my blooming house. Right in my front yard. On top of my fountain, crushing it to bits. I was proud of that fountain, it was one of the first things I'd ever carved. A curse on all swords in stone.
It took all of three seconds before the first claimant showed up. I honestly think that they must have had spies watching the entire town. After an hour of grunting, sweating and some very inventive curses, they left. So it went for the rest of the day. There were lineups around the block at some points. Finally, late into the night, everyone went away. And I got to work.
The humans all believed that they needed to draw the sword from the stone. That was a bit ridiculous, and I never quite knew how that got worked into the story. Every dwarf knew the proper answer was to mine the sword out. That was how you normally got metal out of a rock; though there were a few more steps when it was in its raw state.
So with pick and chisel, with a hammer and my own brute strength, I would have this sword out easily tonight. And tomorrow, I might actually be able to have my usual midday nap. I worked quickly, but as quietly as possible. But not quiet enough. As I was close to finishing, a small voice piped up from the other side of the rock.
"Whatcha doing?"
I nearly used one of the curses from the first claimant as I dropped my hammer onto my toe. Around the corner of the stone, a short figure materialized, holding a lantern to light their path. My eyes, accustomed to the dark, smarted at the sudden shift. It was a human child, that much was obvious by their short stature, and lack of beard. Though I suppose it could be an adult human female, they don't grow beards either. An odd oversight of genetics I suppose.
"I'm getting rid of this fu— bloody sword. I will have no peace until it's gone." I growled, trying to sound fierce. The child didn't flinch. Brave or stupid, I couldn't tell.
"But everyone will come looking for it. They won't stop until they know who is supposed to be king. Do you want to be king?" They asked.
"Do you?" The admittedly childish rejoinder jumped out of me before I could stop it. But instead of sticking out their tongue, or giving an equally silly answer, the child tilted their head to the side. As they thought, I continued my work chipping away at the rock.
"No. Too much power. But I do want a sword. And if you aren't doing anything with that one..." I couldn't help the chuckle that came out of me at their words. Opportunistic little bastard this one. A bit like me, when I was young.
"You'd like this sword, but you don't want to be king. Then you're going to have to leave this kingdom. Are you prepared to do that?" I looked up as I asked the question, my hands still working their repetitive motion. They stilled at the expression on the child's face. It was sheer pain, so fast I couldn't swear to have seen it. But I knew what that expression denoted, knew that if I saw the child in the daylight I would see the bruises, see the malnutrition, see everything the darkness hid.
"Yes. There's nothing for me here." Their voice quavered but held strong at the end. Against my better judgment, I found myself liking this kid. I nodded at them and began chipping away at the stone again. Before another hour passed, I freed the sword from the stone. Hefting it, I could see the workmanship. It was a good sword, serviceable and not too ornate. The child drew closer, and I handed it to them.
The tip plowed into the earth instantly. They had never been trained, didn't have any muscle mass, nothing. Besides, it was a sword for a grown man, not a scrawny kid. They looked at me, eyes full of defiance as if they expected to me to take the sword back. I shook my head.
"Wait here." I moved back into my house, taking stock of supplies, and throwing things into a rucksack. I wasn't sure what human children needed nutritionally, but if it was good enough for dwarves, hopefully, it would be good enough for them. I walked out, slamming the door behind me, hearing the levered bar fall into place, locking the house. The child, by some feat of strength, lifted the sword, pointing a quavering tip at me.
"Don't be ridiculous," I said, moving around them and liberating the sword from their grasp. Swinging it onto my back, I went to the front gate. The child made a small sound, somewhere between a cry and a shout. I looked back at the tiny figure standing in their little pool of light.
"Well? You coming or what? We're going to need to leave now if we don't want people to suspect. Shake a leg, kid." I couldn't keep the gruffness out of my voice, the child would just have to get used to how I spoke. A gamut of emotions ran across their face before they ran up to me.
"You mean— You're coming with me?" The hope in their voice broke my old heart just a bit.
"Of course I am," I growled. "You can hardly go alone, can you? Little defenceless child like you. Now come on. We're losing the night."
They followed me, a smile on their face, perhaps the first genuinely happy emotion I'd seen from them this night. We walked in silence until we left the town far behind us. Then, as is common with children, they asked a question.
"Where are we going?"
"We're going to see a cousin of mine. A blacksmith by trade. He's always been the more adventurous one and he'll know what to do about you and this sword." I said, as the child looked at me worriedly. Shaking my head, I patted them on the head.
"Don't you worry kid. They're a lot nicer than me. Remind me to tell you about the time they met and helped the spirit of a volcano. It's a corker of a story." The child nodded, worries assuaged for now. As we moved through the night, the moon and a single lamp lighting our way, I sighed.
I probably wasn't going to be getting my midday nap for a long time.
​
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[WP] You are a superhero, but you would really rather just live a peaceful life. So you fight every superpowered person in your home city, hero and villain alike, until they finally leave or die. Your home city is the safest around, but still you have been declared one of the worst villains alive.
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Ever since I can recall, I had always been good at acting as other people.
When I was but a cast-off abandoned child in the alleyways, I learned how to act as a golden child; becoming the most innocent face in a group as I stole whatever I needed to survive. As time went on however, my skills improved and so did my ambitions; by the time I had hit my teenage years, I wasn't just stealing just to survive, but to live, to feel and become a actual living human being! I had even built myself up a homely hideout of all my "repurposed" goods in the back of a decrepit warehouse. No matter how much I took however, I was never happy, my hoard of goods was never large enough to satisfy me.
Imagine my surprise when I was found out by the baker's couple one day as I was stealing my weekly supply of bread from their bakery; my actions had been executed perfectly as always, my face pure and honest as the day itself, the only stop in all my movements that day having been me watching as a family with a young child bought and enjoyed their freshly-made bread. I had always known the bakers to be a kindly couple, they had even given me clothes and a hot meal in my less experienced days. To this day, I still wasn't certain if the it was them who found me, or if I wanted to let them find me.
And for a time, I became their child; they even gave me a name, a name that I didn't "steal" for myself; Sam. And for a moment in my life, I was finally happy. I wasn't acting anymore, I was just... me.
It all ended the day the world awoke to the power of Supers.
Chaos and destruction in the streets as Supers fought one another for dominance in the streets.
The bakery I had called home for half my life burning down before me; my parents still trapped in the rubble inside.
The endless emergency service sirens going on all night, into tomorrow, the day after, the week after, the month after; I wasn't certain when they stopped.
In the end, everything I had was lost with the Awakening, and I was back to being a alley rat, a nobody.... And in my despair, I decided to fight back against the Supers with what I knew best; my acting abilities.
Imagine my surprise....
...
..
.
MODERN DAY
The empty streets shake violently as two Supers combat each other in fierce battle. From the ground, the Superhero Quakestorm rearranged the street as he used his strength to turn the entire earth as a weapon against his foe; while flying from the sky, the Supervillain Ar-Sunist danced brightly within the sky, expertly dodging Quakestorm's earthen fists while countering with explosive blasts of flames.
As the two danced in a symphony of earth and fire, they bickered against one another as well.
"AR-SUNIST! YOUR EVIL ACTIONS END HERE TODAY!"
"QUAKESTORM!! IF I HAVE TO PUT YOU DOWN LIKE THE DOG YOU ARE, SO BE IT!!"
As the very ground and sky blurred into a mixture of destruction, the Ar-Sunist dodged a thrown rock, maneuvering himself into an old decrepit warehouse, followed closely by Quakestorm smashing his way through the warehouse walls, expelling the light of the day into the darkness of the building.
"Why are you here in City 29, Ar-Sunist?!"
"Why else, you fool! I intend on recruiting the Worst Super in the world into the Legion of Doom, and together, we shall defeat every Super in the world and conquer it for ourselves!"
"I will never let that happen! Not as long as I live!"
"Then you shall perish! SOLAR FLARE!"
"EARTHEN WAVE!"
As the two moves smashed into one another, the flames expelled by the Ar-Sunist gave way, defeated by the rolling wave that smashed itself into the Ar-Sunist. Quakestorm marched himself close to his defeated rival.
"I'm putting you away for good."
And to this, the downed Ar-Sunist began laughing through his painful injuries.
"Oh Quakestorm, you utter fool! You've fallen into my trap!"
All of a sudden, Quakestorm felt a gaze on his back, and he turned around to see a shadowy figure standing within the entrance of the broken wall.
"What are you doing here citizen! You should be evacuating with the rest!"
The shadowy figure only stared back, before answering, "I am no citizen, Super. I am the doom of your kind."
"In league with Ar-Sunist than?! I'LL PUT YOU AWAY AS WELL!!"
But as Quakestorm attempted to punch the shadowy figure, his punch was grabbed.
"You Supers are always the same; so certain of yourself."
All of a sudden, Quakestorm was pulled towards the figure, the figure's right hand grasping Quakestorm's forehead.
"You don't deserve your powers."
"W-What are yo-GRAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA-"
Quakestorm screamed as he felt a force seem to flow out of him, his limbs spasming in shock as he lost control of his senses. When the figure finally let go of Quakestorm, the hero tumbled backwards onto the floor.
"So, Maskuerade I take it?"
The figure known as Maskuerade moved their sight from the fallen Quakestorm to the rising Ar-Sunist.
"I represent the most powerful groups of Villains, and I want to recruit yo-"
And Maskuerade kicked the ground, causing a wave of earth to rise and knock the Ar-Sunist onto the ground; another kick caused earthen shackles to chain the Ar-Sunist's limbs.
"Hero or Villain, what makes you think you can avoid retribution?"
The Ar-Sunist could only stare in horror as Maskuerade flexed their right hand, stepping forward to reveal Quakestorm's own facial features on theirs.
"W-Wait please! I can help you! Don't do th-"
Maskuerade's hand shot forwards, soon silencing the Ar-Sunist's complaints; and as the screaming stopped, Maskuerade stood up, staring in the silence of what they done, and left the warehouse.
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[NSFW-sorta, language.]
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I've learned to tell when they're coming.
It's usually when I'm doing something I enjoy. Last time, The Avenger stopped by when I was painting in my garage...let's just say I had a new color scheme when he *left.*
This time, it was a peaceful, fun evening at karaoke. The bartender had me underneath so many sake bombs she was running out----and then here comes Fuckface McGee, stomping in with something to prove. He slammed one gloved hand on the bar and murmured something I didn't hear or care about...pointing to me, face a thunderous purple.
"Hey, man, get outta here. She's busy. You mind?"
"YES, I MIND! You're just gonna let----For God's sakes, that's Threnody! Right there! You're gonna let that bloodstained bitch hang out here, like she hasn't murdered or mutilated everyone who looks at her?"
*Here we go....* Inwardly I cringed, halfway through Stairway to Heaven and in no mood to suffer yet another fool. The guy was young, insolent, clearly another do-gooder with a chip on his shoulder. Who cared. And for that matter, who asked?
"Get over here, you slime! Fight me!"
*"----Yes, there are two paths you can go by, but in the long run.... There's still time to change the road you're on----"*
Masses of people in the bar, people who knew me from before...back when I'd been the only one standing between them and death. Now I'd become a wanted poster on every continent, every city but this one. Kinda stung.
But then, I had my people, this dumbfuck had no idea what my body count was, and maybe it was better that way.... Silently I thanked my only god for him being a "hero". At least it'd be easier to ignore him.
"Come on, Threnody! Get off the stage!"
I tasted my latest drink.... She'd run completely out of sake. This was pure-D *ethanol.* Not a bad choice, and right about now, I absolutely needed it. The rising guitar solo drowned out his voice.
Turning for a second to drag on my cigar was a bad idea. The microphone went flying out of my hand, one male fist crashing into my jaw.
*"You're gonna pay for this, you c----"* Not that kind of language, not here...and never during my self care. I knelt to grab the mic, other hand finding my glass.
Right in the eyes! The solo was about to end, my lighter was full, and I'd had enough. I lunged with one hand and ran the mic hard.
*"AND AS WE WIND ON DOWN THE ROAD----"*
Shrieking. Screaming. Eyes were ablaze, his hair leaped with flames. Blindly he sought the air, fists flailing for blood.... Why wouldn't they leave? Why the fuck couldn't these people stay away from me?!
*"----THERE WALKS A LADY WE ALL KNOW-WHOA----"* A hard kick sent him crashing backward onto the pool table. Pool cue, right through his throat. Eight-ball made a fine cudgel in my white-knuckled hand. *"WHO SHINES WHITE LIGHT AND WANTS TO SHOW----"*
His breaths were squawking through his nose, his bloody gurgles barely audible under the wall of sound.
*"HOW EVERYTHING STILL TURNS TO GOLD----AND IF YOU LISTEN VERY HARD----"*
Another fucking day. Another fucking hero. More blood on my hands. Didn't matter in the end.
*"----WHEN ALL ARE ONE AND ONE IS AAALLLL----TO BE A ROCK, AND NOT TO RO-WHOA-WHOA-WHOOOOALLLLLLL----"*
Frankly, I'd grown tired of it all. I couldn't eat, sleep, or even piss without these people bothering me. Whoever this was, he hadn't even gotten as far as his name.... Human in the end, face smashed to nothing, eyes glazing over as he bled to death on aging green velvet.
*"And she's buying a stairway......to Heaven."*
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