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"Mira wait up!" I huffed, trying to keep up with her when she's excited about something is impossible.
"Come on slow poke" she yelled from up ahead, "I want you to see this!" I trudged my way through the woods, while branches smacked me unapologetically, to find her gazing across a very average looking creek.
"So... you brought me here... for this?" I squinted my eyes.
"You know why they call me Mira right? She asked with a smirk.
"Because you like mirrors?" I teased.
"Just shut up and watch." She said as she knelt down by the edge of the water. She was whispering something under her breath, while concentrating hard on whatever she was about to do. I figured she wanted me to come closer so she could splash me with pond water, but the air about her was different I just couldn't put my finger on it.
Before I could mutter some witty remark, the water started stirring. I rubbed my eyes, but something was definitely happening. Maybe she made friends with a bunch of bugs or some baby fish? There had to be a logical reason.
All of the sudden her necklace started glowing blue, I mean it was usually blue, but now it was glowing like it had a light inside it. I had seen it for the last year-or-so of knowing her and it had never done anything like that. I actually didn't know that much about the necklace. I assumed it was passed down through her family because she never took it off, so it had to have some sort of special significance.
The whole creek was bathed in blue now, I had to blink a couple times to get my eyes to adjust properly.
"Do you get it now?" Mira's voice almost startled me.
"What did you... " I trailed off unable to formulate a good question, under the circumstances.
"Miracles, that's why they call me Mira." She replied with a big smile.
"No... yeah I got that... before" I struggled to put my thoughts in words. "I mean why is everything... blue?"
"You still can't see?"
"See what?" What was I missing?
"Come over here already." She demanded. "Here, you're going to want to sit down." She said as she guided me to the spot next to her. "Now look."
At first I didn't see anything and it kind of felt like she was playing an elaborate prank on me, but then I started to see some movement. "What am I looking f-"
"Shhh," she silenced me. So I sat still and let my eyes find something to focus on.
The blurs started to take form as some kind of flying bug. Ha! I was right, she did befriend some bugs. I celebrated a little victory in my head as one approached me. It wasn't a bug I had ever seen before. What is that?
"I could ask the same of you" A tiny voice rang out. I was flabbergasted, did that tiny bug just TALK?
"C-can you read my thoughts?" I asked in disbelief.
"Yes, we also poop butterflies." It said back in the same tiny voice.
"Really?"
"No, obviously." It mocked.
"Then how did you know..."
"It was clear as day on your face. I'm sorry, it was too easy and I had to, considering your kind." It said nonchalantly.
"You like to make fun of humans?"
"Oh don't make me laugh."
"Hey!" Mira chimed in.
"What is it, what am I missing?" I asked glancing between the talking bug and Mira.
Mira took a deep breath. "I am one of the few humans left that can still see the mythical. These necklaces help us to know when there is a non-human around."
"Oh like when it glowed."
"Well... yes. It glows especially bright when it's touched, but in general if a non-human is in the area it changes from green to blue.
"But it's always blue..." I furrowed my brows. "Wait... am I a talking bug?" I whispered the last part.
"I'm a fairy dimwit."
"No" Mira giggled, "you're not a Fairy, I actually don't know what you are. I thought maybe the necklace had been interfered with somehow, but the fact that you can see them proves you are something."
"But I don't, I'm not, I'm perfectly normal." I refused to believe that the color of a necklace meant I was supposed to be some sort of creature.
"Then touch it," Mira held out her necklace. I stared at it for a moment before moving my index finger slowly towards the stone. When my finger made contact nothing happened and I let out a sigh of relief. The stone was smooth and cool to the touch.
"See" I said "there's noth-" a blue light started to emerge from the stone once more. No no no no no. I thought to myself. I'm normal, I've always been that way. But the blue light kept growing brighter and brighter like it was swallowing up the forest. Mira took off the necklace and handed it to me.
"I've never seen it glow that bright before," she muttered in awe.
"Ouch!" I felt a burning sensation in my hand and dropped the stone. After picking it back up, Mira inspected my hand.
"The mark of the changers" Mira whispered.
"What?"
"You have the mark of a changer" she said hurriedly "I was sure they were all extinct, this is amazing! You might very well be the last changer in existence!" She sounded so excited.
"But what does that mean?" I didn't understand.
"It means you have a lot to learn my friend," the little bug, I mean fairy, chimed in. | 128 | A friend of yours has a pendant on her necklace that changes color (to blue) near supernatural beings. You’ve only ever seen it blue. Just as you’re about to confront her, you realise why it’s blue around you. | 275 |
*Case Notes, Day 1*
I have begun my naturalistic observations of subject as they commute to and from work. I’ve taken a week of sick leave from the university, so hopefully that will be enough time to glean some information about the inner workings of an immortal’s mind.
Of course none of this will be admissible for a professor of my standing…but anything I find deserves to be put out there. Immortals! Indefinite lifespans, immunity to disease, regeneration. Think of the positive change this could bring about, the applications for medicine and advancing humanity forward.
Right now I am watching the subject enjoy their lunch break in the park near their office. Tonight when I retire my watch, I should look into parapsychology journals that might accept my work.
​
*Case Notes, Day 2*
The subject proves largely similar to their mortal brethren in how they interact with others. There are no difficulties in communication despite the subject’s age (which I suspect to be past seven hundred by this point), and they’ve shown no lapses in lucidity. But, already they’ve seemed to realize someone is watching them, and I’ve had to keep extra care in hiding my presence.
I suspect the regenerative capabilities keeping them youthful have imparted a sort of enhanced intellect and has perhaps extended to their senses. When they think no-one else can see them, they’ve stopped to sniff the air a couple of times in search of me. I should consider swapping body wash and skipping on the cologne.
As an aside to my field research, I’ve looked into their work. It took some doing as a number of businesses are located in their office building, but it appears they work for a law firm. Doing some digging, I found they made partner last year, but the nature of their work has proven disconcerting.
They work as a defense lawyer, fair enough, but several of their more high-profile cases over their tenure there have been defending the worst of the worst. And largely successful in that endeavor, I might add. It hardly matters what horrible acts their clientele has committed so long as they have money.
Has immortality worn them thin? I should keep a closer eye for indicators of anti-social personality.
​
*Case Notes, Day 3*
It is hard to tell from a distance if the smile they wear is fake, or the cracks in their veneer is just my imagination. Certainly, they seem amiable, extremely so. But the more I watch them, the more it feels like an act being put on for my benefit.
They’re still wary someone’s watching them, but perhaps it’s time to get a little closer…
​
*Case Notes, Day 4*
That was terrifying.
I decided to pose as a street vendor and stop the subject on their way to work. They were all smiles and cracking jokes while I tried to sell a bunch of knickknacks I acquired on my way home yesterday. But…I saw it. I know I saw it, the emptiness hidden just beneath the veneer. Despite all their joviality, their smile never quite reached their eyes.
I need to lay low. I can’t have them putting two and two together, so tomorrow I’ll stay at home and have a nice quiet day off before resuming my research.
​
*Case Notes, Day 5*
How did they find me? I don’t know, I thought I took every precaution.
There they are, standing across the way. I can see them through the window, and they know I’m there watching them. They know it was me, watching them all along.
They know, and they aren’t happy.
Who can I call? Is there anyone I can call?
No, no-one would believe me. I’d be a crazed stalker in their eyes, and this immortal monster the victim. I need to find another way, something to defend myself.
​
*Case Notes, Day 6*
I bought a gun. I don’t rightly know how effective this will be, likely not at all, but the weight feels reassuring in my hand.
They’re still standing out there. Had they ever left? I don’t know, but if they had, I hadn’t noticed. Certainly every chance I had to check out there – and I did so frequently – they were watching back.
And tonight, as I write this with shaking hands as some note as to what might become of me, I think on what happened when I left to go buy this weapon…
They held up a single finger as they watched me leave.
They were giving me one more day.
​
(Thanks for reading, C&C always welcome!) | 23 | recently you discovered that immortals are a thing that actually exist, you’re a psychology professor and your curiosity got the better of you so you decided to see what are the psychological difference between immortal humans and mortal humans | 99 |
Fate sat in their comfortable chair at the end of the long table, listening to the bickering of the various gods, personifications and other phenomena, trying to think despite the humbug. At last, they coughed loudly - at that very moment, the room fell silent and all turned their attention to them.
"Now, I'm sure there's a solution in here. Some sort of hierarchy, perhaps?" they started off calmly.
"Look," said an attractive figure wasting no time, "I got this scroll here, clear as day. He's supposed to fall in love and then tragically lose her in an accident, making for a story as old as time. This scroll is 600 years in the making!"
"Oh *come on* Aphrodite," another one barked - a tall, dark-skinned man wearing a feathered headdress. "600 years? My prophecy is *3000* years old. He's destined to get struck down by lightning and go on a spiritual quest between life and death! He has no time for some dime romance!"
"Thank you, Ah Puch," Fate continued and turned their gaze to the tall, cloaked skeleton sitting right across from them, the two blue lights in his skull flickering lightly. "Death? What about you?"
AS YOU CAN SEE, Death started, his voice grinding in everyone's head like gravel being tossed around, HE IS BOUND TO DIE IN 2 WEEKS. HEART ATTACK. VERY SUDDEN. He pointed to a small hourglass sitting in front of him - the sand was almost entirely in the bottom half.
"And you're sure we can't postpone?" Fate inquired.
I AM AFRAID THAT IS OUT OF MY HANDS. YOU'D HAVE TO SPEAK TO THE AUDITORS OF REALITY BUT THEY ARE... INDISPOSED.
"Oh, *there's* a surprise. They're never around," Hecate scoffed from her corner of the room. Death grinned in response - at least as much as a skeleton without skin or muscles can grin.
"Baron?" Fate turned to the festive man in stylish purple clothing. "You're unusually quiet."
"Iz alright mon," Baron Samedi replied jovially, his feet on the desk noting his casual mood. "I's got some mighty voodoo in store for dem, but it kan wait, dontcha worry."
At least there's that, Fate thought to themselves.
"Well then!" Fate opened, "Let's grab a piece of paper and put down all your prophecies, see if we can prioritize a bit. Death said we've got two weeks, I'm sure we can fit at least-"
"Now hold on y'all," a man in striped spandex yelled obnoxiously, "yer fancy speak don't impress me none, partner, and I demand-"
Fate facepalmed - they had not noticed the Spirit of Patriotism was in the room.
This was gonna take a while. | 21 | You are the subject of 14 conflicting prophecies, as fate attempts to figure out just what to do with you. | 114 |
The noise in the hall woke me up far too early for a Saturday. I groaned from my spot on the couch, stretching out twists that would haunt me later in the day. Had it been a knock? My brain was still too fuzzy to take it in.
I looked out the peephole into the apartment hallway, but nothing stood out. Just the same ratty carpet and sterile wall paint that I had enjoyed for the past few months of my tenancy. I was pretty sure I had not ordered anything. At least not anything that could have arrived, I corrected as I reminded myself to check my purchase history after last night’s activities.
Of course, it would not be the first time I was wrong. I opened the door.
At the base of my door was curled a calm, quiet, golden dog. It looked up at me as the door swung wide, making a mumbled not-quite-bark in response, then stretched to its feet, tail wagging. I stuck my head out the door, looking up and down for the owners. I did not recognize it from my neighbor’s, but I also had a bad habit of ignoring any of the other residents.
The air conditioning in the hallway fluttered something on my door, and I turned to find a hastily scribbled note. It looked like crayon, perhaps, and the discarded half of one lying by the stairwell sealed it.
“hello,” it began. “we’re having some difficulties, therefore we’ve decided to send our god to you for safekeeping, please take good care of it until we come back.” I did a double take on the error with dog, but then crumpled the note into my pocket.
I was too soft. Everyone told me that. My mom, my coworkers, my recent ex-boyfriend. Pushover, they said when feeling less kind. But the dog wagged its tail and panted, and so I opened the door wider.
“Come on in,” I sighed. Presumably, the kids would be back soon, probably dragged back by parents with a scowl on their faces.
The dog walked in and began to make a circuit of eth small space, sniffing at each corner and scrap of my life. “Good girl,” I said. If I had it wrong the dog was not likely to care what I called it.
This was a passable temporary solution, but I would need a plan. It could wait until after coffee and breakfast. I left the dog investigating and opened the cabinet.
The first two cereal boxes were empty, and I cursed at my past self and her laziness. Determined to do better, I dropped the boxes into the recycling and studied the cabinet. My bread had molded to a point it might have been a warm crime to trash it like I did.
“What’s a broad gotta do to get some breakfast around here?” I mumbled to myself.
The dog let out a grumbling bark, looking directly at me. Again, the tail began to wag.
“Don’t tell me you’re hungry, too. I’m going to have to order us both something then,” I replied, pulling out my phone and flipping through the apps.
I had barely gotten the app open—after swiping a way of flurry of notifications and messages I could also deal with after I woke up fully—when a distinct knock sounded.
“Didn’t know I was renting grand central,” I grumbled to the door.
Opening it, there was a delivery driver carrying two bags.
“I didn’t—“
“You’re apartment 303?” he asked gruffly.
“Yeah, but I—“
“Been paid for and tipped. You can sort it out,” He pushed the bags into my hands and was off at a quick pace, fingers already flying over the phone to pick up another delivery.
Coffee, plus two styrofoam containers. The coffee even came with a bit of hazelnut creamer, which was a welcome surprise.
Opening the containers, there was a serving of French toast piled with fresh fruit that made my mouth water. In the other, was a raw steak.
But did you eat mystery food that showed up? I checked the receipt, recognizing the name from the restaurant around the corner. And the packaging tracked. Opening my app, I even saw an order placed that matched exactly. Only the billing information was incorrect.
Damn scammers. They had forgotten o change the address, though, so it worked out. I made a mental note to change my passwords after breakfast. That to-do list was growing.
“Here you go,” I said with a shrug and placed the container of steak on the ground. The dog pranced over and began to eat readily.
I, too, dug in.
After the meal, I felt refreshed and overfull. It was tempting to crawl back under the covers and sleep the day away. But there were things to do. I stared at the dog, who had taken up residence on the sofa, placidly staring out the window and watching the world spin by.
“Well, I guess I need some signs,” I said and pushed to my feet. People still used lost animal signs, right? It had to be someone in the complex, so that seemed like my best bet.
I opened the camera on my phone and did my best to capture a reasonable picture of my new friend. I made a squeak with my lips. “Here, girl.” She turned to look at me, and I snapped as quickly as I could.
When I opened the photo, there was no dog there. There was my couch, my window, my terrible choice in curtains. There was also a point of glaringly bright light that, even as a photo, seemed to radiate heat.
I deleted it and tried again. Same result.
“Guess that’ll be a new phone, then,” I responded. From across the room, something rang and chirped. I walked to the table and picked up a brand new device, ,already loading with all my pictures and apps.
Maybe eating the strange food was a bad idea, I thought as I stared at the two phones in my hands.
“I need some fresh air.” As I walked to the door, the dog followed.
“Sorry, girl, I don’t have a leash. You’ll have to wait for me—“
She turned around and dove into a basket by the door that had, optimistically, been intended to house my exercise gear. The collection of socks, shoes, and dust bunnies testified to the success of that plan. When she lifted her snout, there was a cheery red leash clutched in her teeth. She dropped it at my feet with a wag of her tail.
“I don’t remember buying that.” The dog tilted her head in response to my questioning look, then nosed at the leash.
Well, the morning was insane already, why not? I snapped the leash on and headed out the door, no longer certain where I was heading. Maybe more coffee would help?
As we walked out of the building and to the street below, I watched as the crossing signs ahead of us flipped over to green each time we neared. My new friend walked happily by my side, nose sniffing the air as her tongue lolled.
The sun shone bright, a cool breeze kicking up anytime the heat began to tip toward heavy. When we reached the coffee shop, I heard my name being called.
“Clara, order up.” There was my usual waiting at the window. When no one else stood up to get it, I took it and sighed.
Sitting on a bench across the street, I looked at the strange dog who had appeared and turned my life right-side up in a wholly disconcerting way. She continued to watch people walk by, content to sit and pant as the minutes ticked by.
I uncrumpled the note from my pocket and read it again for any clues. The back was blank—no address there to help narrow down my suspects. No name, nothing. I’m sure a police drama would have fingerprints off it in an instant or track the paper to some obscure brand only used by one printed in the world. But I was coming up blank.
Unless…
There was no typo. This all might start to make sense, then.
But, of course, that was absurd.
“You’re no god,” I whispered, bending down to pat the dog’s head. She turned toward me, eyes fixing on mine.
Those were very intelligent eyes for a dog. She mumble-barked something, and I felt a shadow fall over me that came from no cloud.
“Oh, you are.”
*Finally*, rolled her words in my mind, *I even had them write it on the paper and everything.*
When I came to from my brief faint, I found someone had placed a blanket over me. But the rest of the world moved on.
*Good, you’re awake* and *aware. Now come on, I have things to do beside feed you.*
With a tug on the leash, the dog began to walk toward downtown proper, tail wagging. | 29 | Waking up one morning you find a note attached to your bedroom door "hello, we're having some difficulties, therefore we've decided to send our god to you for safekeeping, please take good care of it until we come back" | 130 |
There was something interesting about Jasper, II.
Scribes in the Palace’s Royal Hallways have written many things about the beautiful and menacingly large black cat who rested in the Queen’s company. The beast was large enough to reach a soldier’s knee and could swat with enough force to cause considerable wounds. His origins were recorded, of course. He was reported first being found making a scene during a Royal Procession by darting in front of Her Majesty’s carriage from the crowd and then simply refusing to budge. Despite the soldiers wanting to slay the cat and toss it aside, who lay there licking his paws, it was critical that the Kingdom’s reputation to the public not be tarnished by a barbaric act at the time. Thus, a standstill was recorded by the nearby scribes between the Queen’s Royal Guard and a singular defiant black cat.
That was until the Queen herself stepped out of her carriage much to her guard’s warnings, running to the cat as if it were her own. In response to the Queen’s praise, the beast leapt up into her arms and she hefted him away back into the carriage. The surrounding crowd erupted in favor of the Queen after that and the Kingdom. This strange act was only the beginning of Jasper II’s debut as the Royal Housecat. He found himself absolutely spoiled by the Queen, who then would play with him by shining light magic on the walls for him to chase. The Kingdom noticed she was in higher spirits and rejoiced.
The beast loved to rest on the Queen’s lap, but he was larger than an average one so he would flop over most of her legs. Still, the Queen did not mind. When he was not in her company, he regularly stalked the hallways of the Palace and laying inconveniently in the way of would-be bypassers. The only two people he tolerated besides the Queen was a maid that pet him at 9 o’clock every morning. She stated that he randomly visited her one day. The other was a butler who fed him food secretly during parties. Both cases of their relationships were recorded later by Scribes after a series of incidents brought on by the cat itself.
One day, a foreign official from a country made his visit within the Palace and Jasper II made it very clear that he did not approve of the man. The beast had to be restrained after he would swat at the official’s hands at every opportunity he could. Considerations for the cat to be locked away in his personal quarters, but the Queen refused and carried him with her. The official had an eye for the maid, which unbeknownst to everyone else, only Jasper II seemed aware of. During a meeting with the nobles late at night, Jasper II leapt off the Queen’s lap and bolted through the entrance to the hallways.
After a bit of chasing, it was discovered that the cat’s zig zagging escape lead the soldiers and Queen straight to the official - who had the maid pinned on the ground. It was written off as a coincidence, but the maid revealed that she pet him during her morning cleaning routine in the 2nd Floor’s West Hall. The official was arrested and soon later the foreign country sent his head back to the Queen as an apology.
The second case with the butler was more baffling, as Jasper II clearly showed his intelligence more. Although no one would say that aloud. During a Royal Party, Jasper once again bolted along the long tables. The act would have been an national embarrassment, due to the food being flung off the tables at every turn. A certain noble, who was in opposition of the Queen’s royal authority, also attended this party. He accused her unfit to rule, due to having such an unrestrained beast in her courts. Jasper II did not care, instead dodging the soldiers and his personal caretakers’ arms retreating to the kitchen. When the soldiers entered the kitchen, Jasper II appeared to be searching for someone, ignoring the staff and commotion he’s caused.
The cat lead the soldiers over to the butler himself, locked away, because he had Jasper II’s favorite treat in his pocket ready to be served like all the other usual parties. After an investigation, the butler reported that he was knocked out and the staff serving food were fake. It was later discovered that the food was poisoned, a plot was unveiled by the noble targeting the Queen herself. Both Jasper II and the butler were awarded and the scribes had their hands busy trying to record the incident. Jasper II has earned himself the right to do what he wants in the Palace shortly afterwards, but he still prefered lying near or on his beloved Queen. | 54 | In a past life, you were a bodyguard tasked with protecting the princess, and had died fulfilling that task. Now she is a queen, and you still unconsciously hold to your role, only this time as her pampered house cat. | 136 |
I should be worried.
I should most definitely, absolutely, completely and utterly, be worried.
Cats have an interesting relationship with human beings. They, unlike dogs who seem to recognise that we're something different than them, seem to relate to humans as if they were also just weird cats. Really weird, bipedal, mostly hairless, cats who can open cans. And cats are social creatures who thus treat humans as if they were just another cat. These are of course the same cats who have a tendency towards wanton brutality and unbelievable levels of slaughter of small animals. Odd that they readily adopt humans into their midst as something akin to themselves, yet are capable of such violence. However, as humanity are wont to do the same, only on far larger scales, it is perhaps not so strange. Sometimes, because these cats think that the human they happen to coexist with is a terrible and utterly incompetent hunter, they will bring back a dead or partially dead animal as a sort ''you're not very good at being a cat but I love you anyway so here is something to eat, please improve as a hunter'' gift. This is of course somewhat unpleasant for the humans who have graciously allowed a cat to inhabit their warm house full of food and love. But it is, one supposes, the thought that counts. A thoughtful gesture of love, which translates rather poorly across species lines.
My cat used to drag in pigeons, rats, a half-dead turkey that one unnerving Thanksgiving, and the likes. Somewhat unpleasant, but as it has proven physically impossible to prevent my cat from leaving the house should he so wish, this is just something I've had to learn to deal with. But a few months ago, his behaviour changed somewhat. He brought home a crisp 100 dollar bill. That was more appreciated, and I promptly used it to buy a large salmon, which I of course shared with my dear feline companion. I believed he had more than earned the right to that. And besides, I like salmon myself.
But the next day he brought home more money. And the next day, and every day following. Confused, I tried to follow him, but he is fast, and very agile. I have never been nimble and graceful as is the natural form of a delightful feline, so that didn't work out. Eventually, the money changed from merely single bills, to wads of cash. Sometimes splattered with blood. Combined with this, I have begun to hear confusing stories on the news, that large groups of criminals are being targeted by an unknown assailant, who is supposedly unmatched in cold brutality and bloodthirst. It started with a dead dealer of narcotics, then a group of thugs with blood on their hands. And it has only been escalating. I don't use the money anymore. Oh not at all.
He comes home drenched in blood, carrying rolls of hundreds, one time even a full briefcase of Benjamins. I try to ask him to stop, to tell him that its fine, that we don't need the money, but he just meows at me, and leaves the next day, after he has licked off the blood from his fur. I should be worried, I really should. But as he causes the deaths of corrupt officials, politicians who have proven to be traitors to the republic, mob leaders, prolific monsters in the media and industries, I can't help but feel proud of him. Cats are usually quite brutal and love nothing more than wanton slaughter, but he has seemingly only been taking down people who are universally detrimental to human civilisation specifically, and often the well-being of all life in general. Brutal take downs. Throats torn. Flesh severed. Blood everywhere, and that's only the pictures that are shown on the news.
Whether it's hollywood bigwigs who've been too keen on their new actors, wall-street's untouchable criminals, the corrupt leadership of most national security agencies, the entire leadership of certain pro-authoritarian parties, it doesn't matter. Every day, he leaves home. Every day I watch the news told by frantic reporters as another robber baron, another druglord, another corrupt politician, or vile lobbyist is brutalised and left for dead in their opulent and extravagant mansions. The systemic problems are still there. The deaths of those who profit off of the suffering of their fellow man cannot end the system that made such parasites flourish. But as those who are protecting the broken system are on the run from a seemingly undetectable and unobservable assassin, they are slowly, but surely, being handled. And every day, he returns. With dollars, yen, yuan, euros, pesos, and whatever else kind of money he could find. I am uncertain as to how he is doing it. I am uncertain how a single cat is rapidly becoming the single most deadly organism in existence. They are of course only scaled down versions of some of the planet's larger apex predators. Tigers. Lions. Panthers. That sort.
Perhaps size doesn't matter, if you're good enough at what you do. And of all hunters, he seems to be the best.
And recently, he didn't return with money. I heard him meow loudly outside the door to the family farm, out here in an isolated part of the Dakotas. I was surprised when I saw him in the arms of a large group of sickly looking and tired people. Foreign looking fellows the lot of them. One of them spoke some English, and she explained that the cat had slaughtered the guards at the work camp where they'd been kept, and had led them all here. I asked from which camp, and they told me of a place of horrors, the likes of which should not have been repeated. A place which came from the same sort of sick minds that built nightmares in Buchenwald and Sachsenhausen. I called up some of the other people around here, friendly folk only, and helped them get settled. Shared around the money which my cat had been getting, to ensure that people got fed and clothed without hurting anyone's economy. A few of them stayed at my farm. Could use some help anyway, I'm not young anymore. And most everyone else has left for the shining lights of big cities, that like anglerfish draw in rural folk, and leave the heartlands that feed the cities dangerously low in population.
As they ate in my kitchen, thin and hungry people all of them, I stroked my cat. There would be a place in this land for those willing to live freely. Give me your poor, your huddled masses yearning to breathe free, was that not how the old words went? And we keep to the good words, feed your neighbour, treat everyone with kindness, be generous, and all of those other true commandments. I knew that he would go out tomorrow. Bring more people maybe. More money. Kill more monsters. I should be worried, for man does not easily let go of the idea of being the lord over all beasts. But perhaps it is for the best. Perhaps, a gift of a future is a better gesture from one cat to us humans. Of course, he is getting all the treats for it. All of them. The death of monsters, the freeing of the enslaved, should be rewarded.
If a man did this; killing our tyrants, freeing the slaves, breaking the entrenched power of the corrupt, he would be a hero in the eyes of the people, and a monster to those in power. As a member of the people, someone who has had to contend with cold unfeeling banks, corrupt ''law'' enforcers, and uncaring career politicians all their life, I suppose that it does make him a little hero, brutal as he might be.
Still. That the most dangerous creature, that has slaughtered thousands of the worst mankind has to offer, is named Mister Fluffles, is by far the strangest aspect of the whole affair.
[/r/ApocalypseOwl](https://www.reddit.com/r/ApocalypseOwl/) | 139 | Somtimes cats bring home gifts for their owners. Usually it’s thinks like dead birds and rats. You cat has been bring home cash. First it was a few loose bills, but lately it’s been rolls of hundreds sprinkled with flecks of red that look like blood. | 606 |
...Suddenly there was light. It flickered in-between bouts of darkness, then there were blurs...and then shapes. Finally there was a voice.
"HELLO!! Can you hear me?!"
"....What....how.....I..... I....I am...."
"Look, God, this one is actually talking!...It looks strange though....I think you forgot to put the dangly part on the front it. Also, it's chest is sticking out in a strange way, it just don't look right...Maybe try again?"
Above the talking pink shape was a vast and beautiful blue that seemed to span on forever above. In the middle of that blue was a shining light. The light spoke. "This one is correct. I have built it in a different manner to yourself, Adam. Like the angels that serve me, I made this to serve you. Now....name it."
"...Can I not....name....mysel..."
The thing known as 'Adam' responded with a shrug. "How about Lilith?"
"...So be it...ARISE, LILTH! ARISE....YOU WILL FOREVER LOVE THE ONE KNOWN AS 'ADAM'....YOU ARE TO SERVE MAN ...AND YOU WILL BEAR MANY OFFSPRING..." There was a flare of pure light in the sky. Lilith found herself standing upright suddenly. Although she had not existed mere moments ago, she now knew what she was, who she was, and what her purpose was...she did not like it.
The light in the sky dwindled and vanished. Adam and Lilith stood and watched as it went, a moment later Adam broke the silence. "So....go get me some water." And so Lilith did. She had only just met the one called Adam, but yet for some reason she knew she loved him, she felt it...even though she had no clue what love was. The thought of bringing him this water filled her with happiness for some reason. What was this the 'love' that the being spoke of? Why should her happiness be dependant on providing for another, what if she wanted this 'water' for herself and she chose to not give any to Adam?
She felt something in her head, not a pain as such, but something solid and unmoving. It was a thought "...YOU ARE TO SERVE MAN...". This thought stopped her from dis-obeying the order given to her. She scooped the water up from the stream with her hands, what little she could, and took it back to Adam.
"Good." Said Adam. "Now let me drink the water you have." Lilith put she hands out before him with the small amount of water she had cupped in them. Adam sipped it.
"Ahhh... that was nice. Bring me some more."
So Lilith went back to the water again and collected some more, it looked so nice. Why should Adam only get to enjoy so a pleasant thing, Lilith wanted some too, and so as walked up to Adam...she took a sip.
Adam gasped. "What are you doing Lilith?! I told you to bring me the water, I didn't say you are to drink it yourself!"
"But...but you didn't say that I could not drink it!" Pleaded Lilith. "You told me to bring you some more water, which I have done. I never dis-obeyed you, I just worked around your order."
"You worked around...." The words stumbled out of Adam's mouth."...I must tell God. He has to fix this...."
"NO PLEASE!" She begged. "I...I can make it up to you Adam. I can...I can do something for you...." Even though she had, had for body for less than an hour, she knew how their bodies were designed to merge together...and from that merger she would bear offspring.
Adam looked puzzled, for he did not yet know that the two bodies could be merged. Though once she began to show him how it worked, he quickly learned that he liked it, and the two of them spent the whole night inventing new ways of enjoying this new form of love.
The morning came and Lilith rolled over on the grass with her eyes still shut and smiled to herself. Yesterday she had loved the one known as Adam, simply because it had been demanded of her, because once she heard those words...there was no way she could not love him. Yet, after last night, she now loved him because actually felt as if he were now a part of her, which in a way he was. She could feel something inside herself, something part her and part him.
She opened her eyes to tell him the good news but found that he was not lying by her side. She got up and looked for him. It was not long before she found him...he was talking the light in the sky. She hide behind a nearby tree and listened.
"....and then it said '...I can work around God's orders and dis-obey him whenever I want!...' I'm telling you, that one doesn't work properly, You made it too smart!..." Lilith could not believe what she was hearing, there had to be a mistake.
"And what exactly do you wish for me to do about it, Adam?"
Adam shrugged. "I don't know, get rid of this one and make another perhaps! Only this time don't make it as smart....OH also, there was this 'thing' that Lilith did with me last night and I really enjoyed it. When you make this next one, make it want to do that with me too... a lot!"
"....How could you....I....I love you Adam...." Adam turned confused to see a teary eyed Lilith standing next to tree.
he sighed and rolled his eyes. "Well of course you love you, your made to do so!" He laughed. "That doesn't mean I have to love you back."
"...I'll kill you..."
Adam froze. "...what...?" He had never known death, and yet in that moment, seeing the look on her face, he knew all to well what it meant. "...yyyoo...yyou can't kill me....you LOVE ME...!"
"...I do...I do still love you....but that won't stop me from seeing you died...." Lilith lunged at Adam.
Adam screamed in fear. "HELP ME GOD!!!"
There was a flash of light, blinding to both. When Lilith opened her eyes she was in a wasteland. She looked around confused, the green grass and long trees had vanished. Now there was only rocks and sand in all directions.
It didn't matter. She was going to find Adam and make him pay for what he did, no matter what. She began to walk onwards.
....continued below | 14 | The bible tells us the story of Adam and Eve eating from the tree and committing the first sin to become mortal. It glosses over Adam's first wife, Lilith, who would be immortal still. Tell her story. | 25 |
Bonifatius yawned as he descended the spiral stairs of his tower. Nora was waiting downstairs with a steaming cup of tea in her metal hands, as she did every morning since he dug her up from the ancient ruins. Bonifatius accepted it gratefully and took a sip.
"Ah, delicious," he murmured. "I wonder how you manage to brew it so perfectly every time."
"It is merely a matter of following the procedure, master," Nora said evenly. "I prepared breakfast. After you have eaten, shall we resume our experiments?"
Bonifatius smiled fondly. She had proved to be an invaluable assistant, drawing magical circles with unerring precision and even improving them using some ancient art called calculus. "Alas, we have to put those on hold. I received a messenger bird; the king's general wants six dozen healing potions for his armies, and that's enough work for a fortnight."
"That will deplete most of our ingredients," Nora noted. "Will the compensation for this work suffice to replenish them?"
Bonifatius shook his head ruefully. "The king's treasury is already stretched thin because of the southern rebellion. We'll be lucky to receive a thank-you note."
"Yet you intend to proceed with this work nevertheless?"
"Orders are orders. Every wizard in the kingdom has to swear fealty to the throne."
Nora was silent for a moment. "Master, do people like being ruled by the king?"
He burst into chuckles. For all her cold intellect, she was so naive sometimes. "Most curse him in their sleep, I imagine. The taxes have never been so high, and he rules with an iron fist." He sighed. "Even if he perishes, his brother is likely to become regent, and people say he's even worse. There's nothing we can do but hope for better times."
Nora inclined her metal head. "Master, may I have a few days off?"
Bonifatius stared at her in surprise. She had never asked him for anything personal before. "Well—well, I suppose you can. You've worked very hard."
"Thank you," Nora said, turning toward the door. "Breakfast is ready in the kitchen."
"But where are you..."
He trailed off as Nora resolutely walked out of the door. He watched her stride along the trail through the forest that connected to the nearby town, then sighed and went to have breakfast. Work awaited.
Completing the general's order took the entire week, and he even had to sacrifice hours of sleep. He missed Nora's tireless assistance, but as far as he was concerned, machine or not, she deserved the time off. And so he persevered alone.
Finally the potions were brewed, filtered, and bottled. Bonifatius stacked them into crates lined with straw, picked up his staff, and opened a portal into the kingdom's capital to deliver them.
The moment he set foot in the city, he could tell something was wrong. Some of the buildings were damaged by a fire, and the smell of recent violence hung in the air. Yet the people walking the streets were singing songs and laughing—a rare sight since the king had taken the throne.
Bonifatius flagged down a group of men passing by. "Excuse me! What is the cause for your merriment?"
One of the men snorted. "Have you been living under a rock? The king's gone!"
"And may he rot in hell!" seconded his companion.
"Hear, hear!"
"Who took the throne, then?" Dread gripped Bonifatius's heart. "Was it his brother who overthrew him?"
"Gods, no. There *is* no king!" The declaration was followed by a cheers from the entire group.
Bonifatius shook his head, his mind sluggish from lack of sleep. "Then who is ruling the country?"
"The people," the man said proudly. "It's a republic now!"
"A *what*?"
"A representative form of government ruled by elected representatives," Nora said, coming up from behind. New dents and scratches marred her metal body. "Sorry I'm late, master. I just finished helping the new government draft their constitution."
"Liberator," the men murmured, bowing to Nora.
Bonifatius gaped at her. "What... How... Did you do this?"
"The kingdom's interference proved an obstacle to our work," Nora said, "and I judged that the best solution was to change the political system."
"I see," Bonifatius murmured, stunned.
"The people will take it from here, so we can resume our experiments now." There was a note of eagerness in her metallic voice. "Please teleport us to the laboratory, master."
"Yes... yes, let's go." Bonifatius swallowed uneasily and raised his staff. *What have I unleashed*? | 62 | A wizard finds an artifact of ancient times. "Robot", he thinks they called it. It has a humanoid shape, so he decides to turn it into a golem servant. It works...a little *too* well. | 389 |
I stare at the reflection, confused by the message. I pick up my notepad and scribble something quickly.
"I don't have a sister."
My reflection looks confused as well. They pull out their pen and scribble a new message.
"Sarah?"
"I don't know anyone named Sarah."
"Only child?"
"Yes."
We stare at each other in disbelief. Ever since this started happening we always assumed we were the same. Events that happen in one world happen in another, just not always at the same time. But this was the first major diversion we had encountered. My reflection scribbles another note, but then pauses. I scribble something first and put it up.
"Show me."
My reflection starts breaking down. They put both their hands on the counter and start crying. I want to comfort them, but we can only talk via notes. What can I do? How do I convey empathy in text? I scribble something down quick and put it up.
"Please."
They see the message. They put theirs up to the mirror.
"I wanted her to live on in at least one world."
They start crying again. They fall onto the floor in a heap, curled up and sobbing uncontrollably. I let them lay there for a while without interrupting. After about 5 minutes, they stand back up and see me still standing there. I put my palm on the mirror. They stand up slowly, face completely red, and put their palm on the mirror. We both weakly smile at each other. There isn't much else I can do, but put one final note on my pad before our time is up for today.
"I'm not going anywhere." | 34 | You can interact with a parallel world by showing your reflection a note, and they can do the same for you. Today, your reflection shows you a note that says "You will die if you don't keep your sister's gun with you at all times." You have never had a sister. | 217 |
Magic has distinct aromas. The fresh vibrant scent like freshly cut grass as healing winds bless one's wounds. A sharp, distinct acidic shock like bitter lemons when creatures are summoned into being. Then there is the sickening fowl stench of death. You may think you know it, but unless you have witnessed the curse, you know not of its vile smell. It drenches every pore of your skin with a vomitous bile that even divine tears could never wash out. Even your tears are polluted with the toxic waste of the curse as they fall from stinging bloodshot eyes.
Yannis. Lazarus. Taven. Harvarous.
Their oozing, decaying corpses lay rotting at my feet, their blood tainted to an odorous, viscus, grey substance that stained the ground beneath them; their eyes melted into black, rotten piles of gelatinous slag. The liquified skin gently flowed like a dead river, collecting at my feet. Yet the greatest offence to my senses was the sound of laughter.
Grating, high-pitched, wretched cackling. The mage – Tamanus – clutching his guts with belly-laughter, crying tears of twisted amusement. A pathetic physical specimen embolden by immensely power magics of old, his name inspired fear in many hearts. He was true evil, life-long student of darkness and mistress to depravity.
"That never gets old." Tamanus laughed, gasping for air between his howls of sickened delight. "Death is so mundane – this, this real death at its best. I love it."
The blood at my feet began to slowly sizzle, boiling in a growing heat. As it began to heat, a faint aroma began to blossom, subtle at first. Tamanus broke from his laughter, interrupted by a sudden bewilderment as he looked on. The vile bastard picked up on the scent. The first spring of Eden.
"The fuck?" Tamanus exclaimed, refusing to believe his senses, "That scent; what the hell is it?"
The scent was beginning to grow more and more, like a tree desperately climbing from dark captivity to reach the glorious sun. I closed my eyes, knowing the inevitable coming to pass. Every muscle gave in to complete rest, my heart almost still against the intense storm that would soon come.
"The first rose that bloomed. The first drop of rain that fell upon the Earth. The first flames to touch the mortal world. The first breeze to caress the mountains. This is the scent of creation, Tamanus."
"What?!" The mage cried, his fright tempered by a forced disbelief, "what kind of magic is this?!"
I gave a deep sigh, the scent evaporating the stench of death in the room and overpowering the senses like a parent's love overpowering a child's pain. It was a kiss on the wound.
"I wanted so much for you all. I wanted humanity to find its way without my interference. I was so heavy handed once; trying to force you all to evolve, thus preventing you from growing. I was so scared of your pain, that I was stopping you from knowing love. I realised that as long as I remained, humanity would always be trapped by my overbearing care."
The veins within me glowed a bright blue, shining through my skin. I opened my eyes as I felt the waters of divinity raining within me.
"But I couldn't bring myself to leave you. I love you all too damn much. So I decided to walk among you, to live amongst you. I feared I would not enjoy the same delights as humanity, learning to love, feel, believe – yet you surprised me. You showed me companionship. You showed me…friendship."
The bodies had turned to a sparkling dust that floated skyward, before beginning to spiral around me.
"The fuck are you talking about?!" Tamanus growled as he shielded his eyes from the growing burning light from within me. I glared back, my stare unbreaking as my voice stabbed through the growing din. Tamanus was shook, hearing my voice from within his own mind.
"I have been on this world for countless eons, Tamanus. Yet in all the eras I have witnessed, throughout all the souls I have met, I have loved none more than these friends. Yannis. Lazarus. Taven. Harvarous. My sisters. My brothers. They have shown me love and acceptance beyond that which I could fathom once before. I owe them a debt that can only be paid by Armageddon and genesis. You…you…killed…MY FAMILY!"
A blinding flash raced across mortal vision. In a moment, all that was returned to its origin. In a moment, all was one. Everything was singular. A moment. An instance. The first moment before infinity.
…
I could not allow this to end all you had built, my friends. The pain I feel could never permit the end of all. Even gods have no right to claim such authority. And so I have rebuilt it all again. What was rendered nothing by my rage, I have restored with my love. I dragged Tamanus to the eye of creation and showed him the divinity of being. He has witnessed the immeasurable power of genesis – the divine magic of life. In penance, his soul shall burn for eons, casting its light upon the new Earth. Where once he brought cold death, he shall now provide warm life.
Humanity will live on once again, but now I realise that there is no place for me among you. My rage is too fragile to be allowed to threaten you all. My friends, you will serve as humanity's new guardians, as the very spirits of life – the four angels of Eden.
I shall banish myself outside of the mortal world, to where I can only observe; I shall chain myself to the eye of creation. I will miss you with an eternal breaking heart, but that is how it must be. Thank you for allowing me the honour of being mortal. Finally before I am silenced forever, let me say this to all mankind.
You will make mistakes. You will cause harm. These things will happen. However you are all capable of such wonderous things. Joy. Love. Empathy. Compassion. These are not divine gifts, but mortal strengths. Use them. Embrace them. Share the gift of friendship with all. And finally, let this be my last words.
Whomever you are.
I am so damn proud of you.
Goodbye. | 11 | A evil mage cast a spell to kill all your loved ones. After he cast the spell you just stand there. | 15 |
I always knew that being considered “mature for my age” was never as good as people made it sound. A week ago I woke up looking like I was in my mid-forties instead of my mid-thirties, I had extra aches and pains that I never got to grow into, and my soon-to-be-ex-girlfriend now looks like she’s young enough to be my daughter. It had been nice to get the validation that she was an immature brat though.
I shook my head and pulled myself out of my thoughts, double-checking the address of the house I was sitting outside of. 1201, belonging to the Allen’s. The parents had several CPS complaints against them, citing possible neglect of the three children, two girls, eleven and eight, and an autistic boy, nine. Christ, I worried about the oldest daughter, looking at her last time had been like looking in a mirror.
*You’re so mature for your age.*
I took a deep breath and walked up to the house. Hesitantly I pushed on the cracked doorbell, listening to the faint ring echo in the house. My dread heightened as the bell faded and footsteps took it place. After a minute, a young woman answered the door. My stomach dropped as I took in her appearance. She looked like her mother, with dark wavy hair and Italian features, but with her father’s blue eyes.
I had years of practice though, and none of my horror slipped past my professional mask as I addressed the girl, “Hi Alice, do you remember me? I’m Ms. Calloway, I know I look a bit older than I did last time I was here. Are your parents home?”
She nodded and said quietly, “Please come in.”
The house looked better than it had the last time I was here. No left out rotting food, no beer bottles, the rug even looked vacuumed. In the living room, another young woman with blonde hair was carefully building a LEGO tower with a little boy. As I watched her with the boy, it felt like the wind was knocked out of me. She looked like she could be his mother. I cleared my throat and blinked back the tears that threatened to spill over at the sight, and focused back on Alice, who was observing me anxiously.
I gestured for her to continue moving, and I followed the young woman, who should have been a child, toward the kitchen. Two teenagers were watching YouTube on their iPhones while eating pizza, with crumbs scattered around them.
I cleared my throat again, this time feeling rage bubble up inside me. I put on my best blatantly fake smile and addressed the teenagers, “Hello Mr. and Mrs. Allen, I’m Ms. Calloway from Child Protective Services, I’m sure you remember me.”
The two teens froze, then looked up at me with slightly frightened expressions. I turned to Alice, my fake smile turning into a sincere, gentle one, “Why don’t you go play with your siblings Alice? I need to have a talk with your parents.” | 429 | Oops, the simulation messed up. Everybody has been re-aged to match the maturity of their inner person. This has made office life a little strange | 2,409 |
Arialla smiled, a glimmer of dark machinations in her eye, as she finished creating the little leaf with foam in the cappucino. She cast a wayward look back at her latest victim - a young, handsome man standing patiently by the counter. *The fool had no idea.*
It was done - a steaming cup of caffeine and mastery over his miserable life, one he would gladly pay for and what would he give in return? Just a little boost of energy. Humanity was so willing to exchange their will for a little comfort it was almost boring how easy it was.
The moment came - she took the black marker next to her and with the utmost care started writing the name on the cardboard cup. Every letter made the corner of her mouth angle upward, knowing full well she was soon to gain another disciple, another loyal subject, another slave.
With a smile, she handed the cup to the man. He looked at it with anticipation and ignorance and though she detected the slightest hint of disappointment in him, he still thanked her politely and turned to leave.
*Now, trip and spill the coffee, you fool. Entertain me,* she said in her head.
The man walked on without a care.
*Trip, I say!* she repeated.
The man did not.
She stared at him as he left with a mix of confusion of admiration - his willpower must have been that of steel, a truly indomitable will. An impressive specimen. No matter - she'd have him soon enough.
The man walked outside and greeted his friend who had been waiting on the street, cigarette in hand.
"Sup Ashley. Good to go?" the smoking man said.
"Yeah. *Man*, they got great coffee here, but..."
"What?"
The man turned to his friend and pointed to the "Ashton" on the cup.
"They *always* get my name wrong," he sighed and took a sip. | 548 | Fey gain power over someone by having their name, the most powerful of Fey wouldn't be kings or queens, but coffee shop baristas. | 1,757 |
A girl sits in a grassy glade inside a circular beam of white light. The glow radiates from a spaceship hovering some distance above her, like it’s her own personal metal moon. It’s dark outside the ring of white, only a rumour of the surrounding trees. She senses them more than sees them: a warm breath of pine and needle and bark whispering over her bare shoulders.
A little distance away, a boy — about the same age as the girl, although he does not know her — climbs a chainlink fence and scrambles down the other side. His heart is rabbit-fast as he thumps onto the ground. He aims his torch in front, the silver-light pooling on the metal of the crane, forming a giant’s iris that stares back at him. The crane’s great yellow neck stretches far above the trees and into the unseen midnight distance, dangling a UFO from its tip like a bauble.
He makes his way past a red warning sign, his torch lighting up the occasional alien: humanoid in appearance, but with patchy purple skin and an extra eye behind their heads that he feels burning into him as he walks by.
He’d read online about the advert being filmed here. A confectionary product so delicious that aliens flocked to earth to wait in a long queue to purchase the chocolate. They’ve been filming for a week and will film for another yet.
The boy’s breath hitches in his throat when he sees the light pouring onto the girl, her skin bleached by the frosty light. She almost looks incased in glass, a brightly lit exhibition in a gallery.
He hopes she’s a prop for the advert, but she waves a hand; he imagines she’s about say: I come in peace.
But what she really says is: “Hey.”
He walks cautiously towards her. Is she a young method-actress who’s turned up eight hours before filming to get in the role? He doubts it.
She pats the grass by her side.
The boy steps into the white light, feels it drench him, feels it pour through his skin and into the darker places inside. It’s only ever the light during the nights that can do that, he thinks. That can pierce his outer body and shine on the darker, more ominous emotions inside.
”I didn’t expect anyone to be here,” he says, turning off his own light, which compared to the UFO’s, seems like a drip to an ocean.
She shrugs. “Well, someone was here.”
”Guess so.”
He sits on the grass opposite her. Studies her face. Watches as she closes her eyes and takes deep breaths. So relaxed he’s envious. Has he ever in his life been so at peace? She’s maybe a little younger than him — definitely not an actress. Not a flake of makeup on her. Just the bath of light that smooths out any imperfection on either of them.
“I’m an alien,” she says, eyes still closed.
He raises his brows, plays along. “Are you trying to get back home or something?”
She shakes her head. “I can’t ever go back home. But I’ve been coming out here the last few nights, when they’re not filming, and imagining it.“
He tries to look up at the UFO but it’s blindingly bright. “Imagining… your home?”
”That’s right,” she says, calmly. “I imagine this light engulfing my essence and beaming me far away to where I belong. Destroying me and remaking me somewhere else.”
Her eyes finally open. Settle on him, hold him perfectly still as if they’re twin vices.
“So? Why are you here?” she asks.
He’s tempted to say he’s an alien, too. But he knows that answer would sound glib and sarcastic from his mouth. From hers, somehow, it sounds sincere. From his, it would ruin this strange moment. It would be to drop a stone into a pond.
”I want to be a journalist,” he confesses. “A reporter, you know?“ He takes a notepad out of his jacket and waves it. “I figured I’d use this place as a trial run. Pretend this was a real alien invasion and I’ve snuck into their camp.“
The girl smiles. Her smile lifts his lips with her own, as if their faces are mirrors of each other. Or as if invisible strings connect them, he thinks. Then he wonders if these strings go further — if there are strings connecting every human on the planet like this. It’s a strange thought and he doesn’t fully understand it.
”Now you can write about an actual alien you found here. Lucky you.”
A strong gust of wind blows, ruffling the pad of paper, her hair, the UFO dangling on the wire of the crane. The patch light sways, rocks back and forth, changing the play of light and shadows over them.
He sees a bruise on the girl’s forearm. Two of them. As if someone has snatched at her. Selfishly tried to keep her.
The light settles, the darkness of the bruises are lost in the soothing glow.
He‘s about to say something about them, when she says, ”Why do you want to be a reporter?”
”I don’t know,” he says.
“You don’t know? That’s strange, don’t you think. If you want to be something, you should usually know why. Or at least, I think so.”
His cheeks flush. “I wanted to be a poet when I was younger. Then a writer. But I wasn’t much good at either. I only ever seemed to be able to tell facts about the outside world. But to be a poet, you need to be able to see the internal facts. And I could never do that.” His eyes flick back to her arm, searching for the marks.
They’re silent for a while. The breeze is gentle again. Just the scents of the forest and sweet quiet fragrance of each other.
”If you stay here with me,” she says, “and the real aliens return, they might take us both away.”
”Do you want to leave the world that badly?“ he asks.
Her smile melts like candle wax, falls into a frown. His smile matches. Invisible strings.
”I’m sorry,” he says.
”Don’t be.”
After a while of quiet, he opens his notepad. Holds his pen ready but is not sure what details to note. There doesn’t seem anything worth noting except for this girl who doesn’t feel she belongs.
“Write a poem,” she says.
”A poem? No, I can’t. I told you, I’m no good at them. I write them and then read them and realize they’re trash.” He doesn’t say that, some time ago, he shared two poems with his parents, and a few days afterwards they suggested he try other forms of writing.
”Maybe you think you’re an imposter,” she says, tilting her head.
”An imposter? Like an alien, you mean?“
She grins. “Yeah, maybe. Maybe you think you’re an alien like me. Maybe you think that, and because you think that, you can’t write the human things you want to. But that’s the thing, right? You only think it. It’s in your mind. That’s all that‘s stopping you.”
He thinks for a moment. “Maybe you‘re the same,“ he suggests. “Maybe you think you’re an alien. You think you don’t belong but that’s only in your head. Maybe in a few years things will have changed so much that this planet you don’t recognise will blossom and you’ll think: Oh yeah, this was my home-world after all — I just started out in the wrong part of it, it’s a good thing I didn’t leave early.”
She‘s quiet for a while. “Maybe.”
The UFO’s light flickers, then steadies itself again. The warm wind engulfs them both with the same cradling hand.
He begins to write. Slow but full of intent.
”Journalism?” she asks.
He shakes his head. The invisible strings tug gently at both girl and boy.
”Can I see it when it’s done?” she asks.
He never shares his poetry. His heart is in a deep metallic safe that he only opens and peers into when he‘s certain he’s alone.
But he nods, says quietly, “Okay.” | 183 | The aliens look like cheap sock puppets. Their ship looks like a huge pie tray. And as you get closer, you can just make out a wire, extending from the top of the ship, disappearing up into the bright daylight sky. | 2,048 |
I was 14 years old the first time I killed a man. He came to our village, squirrelled away in the mountains, looking to kill my father. The man he was hoping to find was long gone, what was left in his place was a frail, destitute thing that still clung on for dear life. To sup whatever droplets he could, at least a little longer. My father's legs didn’t work right and he’d crawl around our hut peering out the bottoms of the shutters. He spotted the man early and told me what I’d have to do. When the man had my father at the end of his sword I came up behind him and bludgeoned him to death with a rock. I never saw his face, even when I dragged his corpse off into the woods to bury. All I remember is the wry smile on my father’s face… like a peasant watching a king hanging from a rope.
Two years later, at the end of a bottle, my father told me who the man was. Fifteen years ago my father worked in the Regent’s Guard. He was lower standing then, and was tasked with stopping a plague that came from the farming communities. So he was told. Rather than waste time trying to convince the peasants to confine themselves he simply executed them all.
The man I killed was a survivor.
‘Funny, isn’t it?’ He laughed. Not only did he not kill them all, but he got the same bloody disease only a decade later. Turns out, not the farmers’ fault. For some reason it’d make him laugh and laugh. He’d laugh so hard I thought he would die. Wished it.
So you see even from the start of all this, I knew there was a rot — in both of us.
After he told me I left home. I took the man’s armour. I even took his name — Aan — hoping to earn any karmic favour for him that I could.
But of course I should’ve known.
My father’s training set me apart from many others and I quickly gained the employ under a Duke. I thought I would be able to do any justice. Instead all we did was keep serfs in line, extract payments from merchants and craftsmen, and segregate the poor from any rightful discourse with their liege. The night we were told to burn a man’s home down I could see myself standing in my father’s shoes. I had had enough. It wasn’t ever going to change. I left.
Every time I held a sword in my hand its blade etched only misery. So I wandered off into the woods. I drank until my brain was mush and drool leaked from my face. I found a shallow crevice lined with moss and toadstools, laid down, closed my eyes, and waited to die.
The howl of a beast ripped through the forest trees. Maybe I’d get lucky and he’d tear out my throat. It’d be quicker. But then I heard the screams of people. I tried to stay down, I really did. But the adrenaline cleared my vision and I couldn’t hear a damn thing over my fucking heart. Wasn’t going to die like this. I got up and held my blade tight and followed the screams.
I didn’t know it then, but they called it the Blightwolf. It had been hunting and feeding on people for months. Funny I hadn’t heard a word about it when I worked for the Duke. I just thought it was some mangey, overgrown wolf. I found it at the edge of the forest clawing away at some poor woman, and some soon to be victims nearby. Getting its attention was hard — I was still a little drunk — but once I put a dagger in its hind leg it got real attentive.
It was a blinding streak of fangs, claws, red eyes, and brown-yellow fur. I didn’t have the movement I needed to dodge him effectively so all I could do was give him an armoured forearm and pray I’d go through him faster than he went through me. It was close, let me tell you. Cutting out the bottom of a wolf gives you a fat great present of innards all over your favourite clothes and I swear I still catch its scent sometimes.
After the Blightwolf slumped over the night caught up to me and I puked my guts out. Not because of the wolf — because of the drinking. I think.
But the people, they were still there. The woman, she was alright. Her arms were a bit torn up, but nothing critical. She came over and hugged me, really, through the guts ‘n all.
Aan, this has to count, right? For the first time?
Sure feels like it counts.
They dragged me to their tiny little hut out in the farmlands. To call it a hut is the gravest of insults. The warmth in that place, and the food they shoved down my throat… no king nor duke could ever match. I tried to tell them not to waste it on me but they wouldn’t hear a damn word. You see, them, and others are leaving. A pilgrimage away from this shithole of a kingdom. And there’s a lot more than just the Blightwolf out there. Months of these beasts picking on anyone trying to cross the forests to the other kingdom. They could use someone like me.
Sometimes when I’m laying in bed at night, I feel like I’m in that shallow crevice in the forest. If ever I look in the mirror and see my father, I’ll walk out there and finish the job. But that can wait. These people need help... and I might just be able to help them. And if I can’t, well, the beasts’ll do the job for me. And my bones’ll end up in that grave all the same.
I think, for now, I can keep walking. And maybe there’s half a hope for me yet. | 637 | A swordsman fights stronger and stronger monsters in hopes of killing himself, but keeps winning. He soon develops a reputation as a hero, all the while drowning in self-loathing and the darkness that threatens to consume his soul. | 3,124 |
One should not judge a book by its cover, nor should we ever judge someone for their looks or the way they are dressed. Kindness and sweet mercy can come in infinite amounts from a source hidden behind a face that can curdle milk. The most ill-dressed and mad looking of fellows can be the greatest of heroes and saviours. And likewise, a face sculptured by the very goddesses of love and beauty, can hide the heart of a monster. And no fineries, no grand silk nor golden rings, can truly hide a rotten heart. Thus, we should always stride to see what lies behind the face and behind the mask, look for the truth hidden behind sweet words. It is of course not always an easy task. And many a man has been tricked by a beautiful face, only to too late find that it can twist into a demonic grimace, as the hand of that beauty jabs the hidden dagger into the heart of a fool.
Of course, it's fairly hard not to judge our history teacher to be anything other than a genuine and rather poorly disguised vampire.
She dresses in what seems to be genuine late Victorian to early Edwardian clothes meant to be worn at the opera. Cape and all. Her teeth are obviously sharp. The classroom is constantly covered in darkness, and she seems to genuinely fear the sun as a concept. She sometimes hangs from the ceiling like a bat would. She has been known to say the sentence ''*Ah, the children of the night, what sweet music they make.*'' upon hearing what she thought was the distant howling of a wolf but which later turned out to be an excessively dramatic husky. There is a closet in the classroom, there is an ornate sarcophagus in there which she insists is only there for teaching purposes. Granted she did teach us quite a bit that day when we talked to her about it, about 19th century burial practices. And how to escape being buried alive. Her name is quite literally Lilith Esmeralda Brunhildur Von Bluddhaven-Dammerung de Nachtkönigin. We, as in, her high school history class, aren't sure why she is teaching history at a public high school. Or why she insists fervently that she isn't a vampire when it's blindingly obvious to anyone with even a rudimentary knowledge about vampires, that she is indeed, a member of the nobility of the night, the vampiric lords and ladies. We're not stupid. It's the 21st century. The internet is a thing. Still, she insists that she's just a militant atheist with a sun and garlic allergy who happens to be an acrobat. Nobody is buying that.
In general, the reaction of most people towards the undead blooddrinkers, is to stake them outside and wait for the sunrise to make sure they're good and permanently dead.
But, well, she's actually rather nice. Extremely spirited in teaching history, to many of us she might be the first teacher who has ever managed to make what is for most of us a rather dry subject, seem fascinating and alive. Always willing to explain in an interesting and engaging fashion. Always giving it 100% of her attention as she is obviously drinking blood disguised as a virgin bloody mary while teaching about the actual causes of the civil war or the ramifications of the industrial revolution. To learn from her is to learn from someone who was there back then, she was moving in the rooms where men talked, and the future was made. And she always goes the extra mile. Summoning up the ghosts of long dead leaders for us to learn from directly; Not everyone learns about the unification of the Mongol Empire from an interview with Genghis Khan himself. Learning about American history and the importance of self-improvement from Theodore Roosevelt is not too shabby either. She's quite fond of guest ghost lecturers, and who wouldn't want to hear the early history of the nuclear sciences from Marie Curie manifested in the classroom?
And that's nothing compared to her general decency. Always willing to talk when you need it, always willing to listen. If it wasn't for her obvious incapability when dealing with the faith, you could perhaps call her nearly a personal Jesus to us. Does she still drink the blood of people? Yes. Does she stalk the night and rule the darkness with an iron fist? Maybe, we've never bothered to ask her about it and at this point it would be rude. Did she use her vampiric powers to manipulate the dean and the superintendent to allow to her teach us despite her never getting a teaching degree? Absolutely. Should we report it to the authorities?
No.
We've decided not to. As capable teachers are fleeing into the private sector, having a good teacher for us is frankly worth the weirdness. It's an added bonus that she occasionally has the more troublesome of our classmates, the ones nobody likes but who thinks they're hot shit, hypnotised. Makes them shut up for 5 minutes at least so the rest of us can get on with getting an education. It certainly makes class more interesting. Besides, at this point, if we were to report her, we'd have to report the gym teacher, Mr. Ulfberg. Who is very obviously a werewolf. Nobody is that hairy. No human being gets that excited for throwing things. Probably. And nobody runs around on all fours like that. And if we reported him, well, then we'd have to report Miss Fayette, who we're also 99% sure is a fairy, since nobody can just fly around in the classroom on gossamer wings like that. Nobody's mood can influence the weather. We don't have the heart to tell her that humans usually don't do that. She's too positive. It'd be like being cross with a puppy. And we try very hard to pretend that the huge lizard lounging around in the lab is just our chemistry teacher, and not a fire-breathing dragon.
They're all actually quite competent and committed to what they're doing. They're just not very competent at pretending to be human. But it's ok; Thelxinoe, our music and swimming teacher, who happens to be a siren, hypnotises our parents to ignore the fact that most of the faculty are very obviously creatures of myth and magic. It's worked thus far, and if it continues like this, we might actually get a half-way decent secondary education.
[/r/ApocalypseOwl](https://www.reddit.com/r/ApocalypseOwl/) | 445 | Your class is 99% sure your history teacher is a vampire but no one rats her out to the authorities because they make class genuinely fun and interesting | 1,126 |
She'd promised to hang a flag for as long as she was mourning - she said that it would fly forever. The only thing flapping in the wind was the cheap wind chime that we'd bought at our highschool's annual flea market. 10 years since that senior-year night passed.
My son. I'd teased him, asking if his friends at preschool could actually talk. Little dude could really throw a football now. He had a good arm for an eight year old.
At first glance, the guy catching my son's pass looked familiar. With a second look, I knew exactly who it was. Aside from the commands he gave to our squad, he'd only ever said one thing to me. It was right after bootcamp when I'd been assigned to the 2nd battalion 87th Infantry Regiment.
"You're a lucky bastard - wife is beautiful." I'd always kept her photo in my front packet. They dug through all of my things that first day.
He tossed the ball back and slid his arm around my wife's waist. Ex-wife now, I guess. She'd walked out to hand him a drink. She'd always made me my favorite drinks.
My son got a lemonade. Guess that's his favorite drink.
All three of them walked back in. I bent down, tightened my laces and started the trek back to the bus station.
Please be happy. | 16 | A presumed dead soldier comes home to his wife and son who has remarried. The new husband is the soldier’s former officer who brought the news of his “death” to his wife. | 50 |
##Union
Inmar sits at the edge of the pool scanning his dominion for his subjects. He sent Tyler to the desert to retrieve the Lost Gem, and Rachel was supposed to protect it from intruders. Heather should be sailing the sea in search of the Siren's Song that he bottled. Meanwhile, Drake would be battling creatures at the bottom of the lake creating tides. Chris and Yolanda had the most humorous mission. They each had half a talisman, and they cannot spill blood to take the other half. Inmar had hoped to watch their humorous attempts to outdo each other in seductions and subterfuge. Yet every location is empty.
"Inmar." Torac, his spider servant, crawls into the room from the ceiling. "The humans are in your throne room."
"What? How did they get there? They can only come here when summoned," Inmar replies.
"I don't know, but they want to see you," Torac replies.
"Tell the guards to take care of them."
"They slayed all the guards. They said they would kill me if I didn't return with you." Torac crawls next to Inmar. "Please come back with me. I have a family."
"Okay fine." Inmar floats in the air, and Torac follows. "And say hi to Geza for me."
Six humans stand in the throne room surrounded by the corpses of horrific creatures. They carry their weapons with confidence and skill. And rage is engrained into their faces.
"It's such a lovely surprise to see you all. How was the quest?" Inmar holds up his hands in a welcoming motion. Rachel fires a crossbow bolt into Inmar's palm.
"Ow, was that really necessary?" Inmar asks.
"No, but this is." Tyler holds out his hands and causes Inmar to levitate. Tyler swings Inmar across the room crashing into the walls.
"Torac, help me," Inmar yells.
"Uh, my doctor said that I shouldn't engage in vigorous activities with my heart problems," Torac says.
"Heart problems? You don't have a heart. You have an open circulatory system." Tyler brings Inmar to the humans. Drake and Rachel begin slicing at Inmar with his spears.
"Enough." Inmar summons his powers and repulses them with a wave of force. Chris and Yolanda stand strong while the others fall prone. "What is the meaning of this?"
"The meaning is that we discovered your plan." Yolanda breathes fire at Inmar who shields himself.
"We're not going to be your pawns anymore." Chris creates shadow tendrils to strike Inmar.
"Enough." Inmar holds his hands in the air. Electricity courses over the humans and forces them to the ground. "Have you forgotten that I was the one who resurrected you? And I was the one who granted your powers. I can destroy you with merely a thought."
Inmar wobbles and faints. He turns to see Torac injecting him with venom.
"Torac, even you betray me?" Inmar slurs.
"You never approved my vacations." Torac bites harder, and Inmar collapses. The humans stand.
"Thank you for helping us," Yolanda says.
"It's fine. I get to spend more time with my Geza now." Torac walks out of the room. "Oh, I should probably ask what are you going to do now?"
"I don't know." Chris takes Yolanda's hand. "But whatever quest we undertake. We'll do it together and of our own free will."
"Okay, cool. Just make sure to lock up when you leave. I plan on moving in here, and I don't want to deal with a giant rat infestation," Torac says. | 51 | You were killed by a truck, met a god, and he sent you off to save a fantasy world by accomplishing a specific task. Soon you discover that, not only are there other reincarnated heroes, but they've been given conflicting or outright opposing missions. | 387 |
It was the Tenpenny family. Obviously. Who *else* could it be? Weird stuff was happening all throughout town. Nine months of nothing but full moon—-*but only within town*—-cows being milked of some Obsidian liquid, instead of milk—-and they scream like banshees when you milk them—-and more. Ravens cawed prophecies, people had nightmares of fire-skinned goatmen, and lightning struck the church 19 times in a row one Sunday afternoon...on an otherwise clear day.
It was the Tenpennys. Who else? They were *weird*. Stayed to themselves. Never went to church. Swore like sailors. Covered in tattoos. Their livestock were all blind, with milky white eyes without irises. The youngest Tenpenny had epilepsy. Pa Tenpenny wore a goatskull pendant. The scarecrow on their farm was said to laugh if you got too close to it.
So. The boys and I have been talking. We’re’a gonna deal with the Tenpennys. Get our guns, go take care of it, all in one fell swoop. You comin’?
*****
It had been a satisfying feast. Pa looked over the table of half-eaten remains with a greasy smile. Heads, ribs, guts: all splayed out like gruesome offering at an altar. More than enough meat to heal the gunshot wounds. The forever fathers would be pleased.
It hadn’t taken much to lure them out, this herd. They invoked the forever fathers, and sickness moved across the land. And the herd had come. The slaughter had been glorious.
His family would eat well for months. They’d hexed up the roads; no one could find their farm, now. In time, they’d poison the town water supply with draughts of forgetfulness. They’d wait several years.
And then they would do it all over again.
The forever fathers were pleased and the Tennypennys basked in Their fell approval.
Blessed be. | 198 | yes it's a witch hunt. But the moon's full for nine months now, the cows give black milk and scream instead of moo, and we gave up harvest because the cut stalks cry and bleed. All the broomsticks are missing and last night I heard the scarecrow laugh. A witch hunt is the sensible thing to do. | 1,357 |
You must understand I never wanted this. When I began my career, I never dreamed I would spend my days trying to take power away from people. I always thought I’d pursue some great and noble goals. Maybe defend refugees or individual rights from tyranny. I thought I would be helping people find their own power.
Then, came Pantheon. A government project to create enhanced law enforcement. Individuals who, thanks to a twice-weekly injection of a reactive agent, have their latent human potential unlocked, granting them unique, and frankly, dangerous abilities. The sort of abilities that mean no normal person could withstand their will.
At first, the idea of “Superheroes” was intoxicating. People were flying around, rescuing children from burning buildings, catching serial killers, and preventing bank robberies. Finally! There were people making the world a better place. A place, I wanted to live in. Everyone wanted to join the Pantheon program. Everyone wanted to be a hero, or so we assumed.
A sad fact of the human condition, however, is that far too many people, have far too much darkness in their hearts to be trusted with absolute power. The twice-weekly injections were thought of as an effective safeguard… Until “Dr Duplicate” was able to replicate a perfect copy out of thin air. Until “The Mimic” was able to shapeshift and bypass the DNA scan so that he could steal the formula and provide it on the streets. Until “The Influencer” took control of the department with his mind control, in order to secure himself a lifetime supply. Luckily, they were all brought to justice.
The reality has become that the existence of Pantheon is a fundamental threat to the well-being of our society. I see the articles today, labelling me “The Worlds Greatest Supervillain” for bringing forward a case to end Pathneon. But I prosecuted Eliza Robertson, and my experience in that case taught me that these “Pantheons” are a fundamental danger. “Scanner”, as she was then known, used her abilities to read the mind of a passing journalist, If Pantheon, is fundamentally a law enforcement organisation, as the statute books suggest. Then the existence of individuals such as Ms Robertson is a fundamental violation of the free press clause, not to mention the 5th amendment right against self-incrimination.
If “The Medium” has to act as the conduit for communication with the deceased, how can any evidence given by him in court, not be a violation of the right of a person to face their accuser? Does “Hot pot” not violate an individual's right against cruel and unusual punishment, every time he uses his power to boil their blood? Does “The Diplomat” not violate the right to free speech when he “calms down” protest movements?
I’m aware that this is only to be a summary hearing, so in short, Your Honor, the case that, on behalf of the people of Virginia, my legal team and I are putting forward, is that the very existence of the “Pantheon” project is a violation of constitutional rights, and the court should render it as such. It is a fundamental threat to the separation of powers, with Congress having little to no oversight. And it is a fundamental risk to national security. As such we will be seeking an order for the project to be suspended, pending termination. For we cannot have these heroes while retaining our rights. We cannot have heroes, while our safeguards fail. And without those safeguards, we cannot have heroes, without creating villains. I wish we lived in a world where I am “The world's greatest Supervillain”, but the true villains will be far more dangerous than lawyers.
Note: Sorry this wasn't my best piece of writing, this was very much an "I'll give it 20 minutes before going to sleep at half 3" attempt. | 25 | In your world superpowers are dictated by a series of laws. If any super breaks these laws, they lose their powers. This has made you, a lawyer, one of the most powerful supervillains in the world. | 73 |
It’s not your fault. Really! In a crazy world of the Elect and the Mundane, you were blessed to be an Elect. Born with power that broke the laws of physics and laughed at science.
The problem? *Your power quells aggression*. You can drain the will to fight out of people. You’ve literally saved millions of lives. The Mundane love you.
The Elect? *Your own kind hates you*. Elect have a gladiatorial tradition, where ego and pride tump everything else. Have you been insulted? Start a fight, consequences be damned. Did a rival one-up you? Kick his ass! Who cares in Mundane get in the way!
You stop all that. Immediately. Just by showing up. You don’t even have control over it. It just *happens*. Scientists say it’s aClass-A telepathic command, but you don’t think about it much. You take vacations in warzones. You go to hate rallies. You go take strolls through riots. Things calm down. Lives are saves. People talk things out, rather than bash each other’s heads in.
No Elect has ever proven immune to your power. They can’t even take revenge on you. | 99 | The world is full of empowered people, each with their own unique set of powers given to them at birth. Yet, you are by far the most despised person around, by hero and villain alike. Why? Your entire skillset resolves around stalling out fights, and it's just really boring trying to fight you. | 209 |
"Dude, what the hell? You've never left before, I was starting to freak out. Where did you even go?"
My reflection stares back at me through unfamiliar eyes and chuckles.
"Don't be so weird about it. I have a life, you know. Or, something like one."
He sips his coffee. I swear I can taste it in the back of my mouth. That's new.
"Is that caramel?" I ask, smacking my lips together. "So, you even have a different taste in coffee. Anything else I should know about?"
Those unfamiliar eyes roll back into a familiar face. He pushes his tangled hair back with one hand, just like I do.
"Again, you're being weird. Suffice to say, I'm not you. I'm more like a really good copy. What's the use in having an identical copy of yourself around? Talk about having your head up your ass."
He can tell I'm not amused. He sets the coffee down and loses his smile.
"Look, it's not my fault you got in over your head. If you'd read the terms and conditions on that little piece of paper you signed, you wouldn't be asking me all these inane questions. You'd be capitalizing on the very unique opportunity you've secured."
His eyebrow arches suggestively as he reaches the end of his last sentence. I remember signing that contract. I remember eyes like embers piercing my spirit, and the lamentations of a billion souls. I remember a presence, darker than pine tar, bigger than the planet. And I recall being far too terrified to be concerned with terms or conditions. That same terror now compels me to stay in this place, talking to myself. Or, maybe talking to my shadow.
My voice remains steady, in spite of my growing panic.
"Alright, let's skip the bullshit. I've seen the movies. I've read the clickbait articles about exorcisms. I've even seen my insane aunt speak in tongues. What exactly are you? Are you...any of that?"
He laughs, and then laughs harder. It is not a cheerful sound.
"I'm a little bit of every ghost story, I suppose. But there's no such thing as ghosts. You are scarier than any imagined specter, my friend. Humanity is a deep black pit filled with sparkling lights. It's easy to focus on those pretty lights, and ignore the void that fills your soul. I'm the space between your thoughts, the blackness behind every pleasant feeling. I'm sin and vanity and survival instinct and carnal joy. I'm the reason you're alive, and the reason you'll die. Most of all, brother, I'm the only thing in this cold world that truly understands you. So as I said, capitalize on this opportunity. I can show you the world in a brand new color spectrum."
Hours later, I lie in a bed that is not mine, staring at a ceiling that's falling apart. Wind and rain penetrate the crumbling structure and invade my thoughts. I don't mind the intrusion, for my thoughts are unpleasant. I've really gotten myself into a hole here. This entity knows more about me than anyone. Our conversations over the past few days have been interesting, but until he left and came back from...somewhere...I never considered he might be anything but a perfect reflection of myself. But now, it's clear that I've invited something more sinister into the world. Something that was locked away in my soul, unable to exert any real control. Now, I have no idea what it's capable of. Which of us is stronger? Which of us is real?
"More stupid questions."
The voice emanates from between my ears, and above my head. It seeps into the room from nowhere. I jolt upright and whip my head around so fast, my neck cracks. Nobody is here.
"Come on, dude. You're embarrassing me. Let's go do something."
My shadow moves in ways I don't, scarcely visible under the scant moonlight. Dammit, he's not restrained to the mirror at all, is he?
"I'm not going to force you. That doesn't mean I can't, only that I respect your ability to come to the right decision. We're wasting time, locked up in this dusty shithole. Working together, there's nothing we can't accomplish. You just have to trust me a little."
I rub my sleep-starved eyes frantically, and try to assemble my thoughts into a coherent response, but it's simply not possible. This is too much. This isn't what I wanted.
"And what is it that you wanted? Don't answer, I already know."
His voice seems louder, less patient. The floorboards creak and the windows rattle, or at least, it seems that they do.
"You wanted power. You wanted an edge. You wanted to shed that sense of ineffectual quagmire that has haunted you since puberty. You wanted a purpose, some ambition, like your father had. I can provide all of that. I'm your edge over the rest of humanity. Most of them, anyway. Give me a chance to prove it."
My mind feels just as he described: a colossal void marred by sparse lights. The thoughts seem farther away, the void more dominant than ever. It is strangely comfortable. Like a womb. The words stumble out before I know what I'm saying.
"O-okay. What should we do?"
I feel the smile, although I don't see it. A sinister, impish, Cheshire Cat smile. I feel smaller than even a single tooth on that smile.
"Let's go outside." | 61 | Living in a haunted house, you wake up and open the lights in the bathroom, only to be greeted by a mirror without your reflection. Panicking, for you have no idea what to do, you just witnessed your reflection walk in from the side with coffee in hand. "Alright, I'm back. What'd I miss?" | 402 |
"Alia, This is not what it looks," Lucy says as she holds on to our Starbucks lattes. She glares at the demon who says "Oops!" and dissapears
"You mean you are not Lucifer, the king of hell and the boss of the Department of the underworld who sent those horrible hellhounds after me for bringing my cat to the office?" I ask her.
"That is-" she takes a deep breath "-me but that was a misunderstanding." I snatch my latte out of her hand before walking away ( Coffee is hella expensive and I'm not going let my favourite pumpkin spice latte languish in her hand )
"That was before I knew you" Lucy- no, Lucifer- called after me " You know I'm allergic to cats Alia. And I never would have done it if not for the war lord and woadload paperwork mixup.
I knew she was being too good to be true but still, the audacity of this bitch surprised me. I spun around with my finger raised " Oh No, Miss prissy, you don't get to put the blame on me for what you did. you freaking narcissist, i can't believe i liked you"
" You are calling me a narcissist?" Lucy exclaimed, "I should have listened to my therapist and not chased some manic pixie girl high convinced that she somehow won the oppression Olympics but yeah, call me a narcissist" She poked me in the chest!
The audacity of this woman to do this while wearing that very pretty red lipstick! " Go rot in hell, you manipulative bitch" I poked her right back and leaned in closer too. How's that for intimidating! But the view isn't too bad from here as well. "I already live there, you infuriating hooligan" she snarled at my face and I suddenly noticed that we were just inches from each other's face. And her face had all pink and breathy and she was still going on and on and I did the only thing I could to shut her up because I only did it to shut her up. I caught her lips on mine and kissed her hard enough to bruise. | 35 | You and your best friend have known each other for quite some time. When you're walking to the store with your best friend, a demon suddenly appears. The demon was about to attack you until they noticed your best friend. They froze and say, "Oh, Lucifer, I didn't realize you were here." | 407 |
Necromancer. Death bringer. Harbinger of the end. Grim reaper.
It's amazing what people will call you if they misunderstand your job. Or simply hate you for doing it.
I do indeed use some necromancy. I raise the spirit briefly, so I can ask about their death, their life and any lingering regrets. I record it for posterity, and give last rites of whatever faith the deceased was. I know all of them, by now.
Very few have no regrets. It's human nature, I think. We always believe we have more time, so when it runs out, we wish we had more. Most regrets are small- a kiss not given, a risk not taken. Maybe their life would be incomprehensibly different if they did. Or maybe not. Either way, I record them.
The hard part is talking to the relatives. When they see my robes, and notice the glyphs on my scroll, they know I come with news and rarely good ones. They cry, they scream, they insult me, the deceased and every god whose name is still known amongst the living. I don't mind.
A lot of them end up hating me. Not because I bring news of the passing of the father that shunned them years ago, or the brother who cheated them out of house and home dying penniless on the streets. It's because I tell them every regret they felt, and how in death they tried to make amends. The brother died penniless, because he hid gold and diamonds for you to find. The father shunned you because he could never provide you what you needed, and so you were better off alone. They hear me, and they hate me. But at least they'll forgive them, in time.
Not every story is like that, of course. Sometimes the father is just a monster, or the mother is a psychopath, truly incapable of love. It doesn't matter. I speak the truth, whatever it is. And for it, I am hated. And for it, I am thanked.
Others wonder why I do this. "You have talent overflowing!" They say. "You could be the royal mage in any kingdom! You could **rule** any kingdom, if you so desired!" They shake their heads at my irrational behaviour. I nod and agree. "If." And that's all I'll say. That's all there is to say.
I stick with this. With healing the world, slowly and painfully, in a way perhaps no one else could. I think everyone should know what happened to those they hold, or once held, dear. No one should be lost to time and the elements. And no one should have to spend their lives wondering what happened.
And so, a new name shows up on the list. | 84 | People call you a Necromancer. Your family shuns you. Your colleagues don't want anything to do with you. Nobody seems to understand why you got magical doctorates in Necrology. | 169 |
“Over the last few months, we have covered the various types of offerings necessary to cast spells. What are the types of offerings and their significance?” Ms. Benton scans the sea of young faces staring back at her. Only a few hands pepper the space above. Naturally, they belong to the studious students. She nods her head towards Liscia Caldwell, the student with the highest grade in the class.
“Ma’am, the most common offering is the mage’s own vitality. The source is always at hand and through good diet and exercise, it can be increased slightly. Not only that, it always replenishes, especially with a good night’s sleep. The downside is that I can be used up causing the mage to feel exhausted, pass out, or even die.”
“Very good, Ms. Caldwell. Can someone name another type of offering?” Foregoing the raised hands, Ms. Benton looks towards the back at a young man with dark hair combed over his eyes that were paying more attention to the desk’s surface than the class. “Mr. Geller, why don’t you tell us?”
If you could see his eyes, you’d have heard them roll. “Sacrificial offerings. Don’t necessarily have to kill, but the blood of say a pig or chicken would work for simple spells.”
“Thank you, Mr. Geller. That is correct, though the practice is looked down upon. Ms. Everett, how about another one?”
“Umm, well nature mages can offer bargains. To cast a spell they can promise to plant a flower or bush. Bigger spells might need a tree. And, um, they can acquire a deposit or balance or something if they plant and grow things beforehand.”
“And a very good reason why nature mages often become farmers or at the very least gardeners. Alright, there’s one more main source of power we’ve covered, anyone?” The usual hands went up once again. Ms. Benton felt a pang of frustration at the lack of participation in this year’s *Managing Magic* class. “Ok, Ms. Somner. Please enlighten us.”
“There are personal offerings, they are like a mix of vitality and sacrificial offerings. These are things like skin, hair, nails, and blood. Their limitations are pretty much self-evident since you can only offer so much before you run out of material.”
“Correct, Ms. Somner.”
“Then why can Owen cast spells without an offering?”
Ms. Benton looked at Jake Floyd, a constant source of ire for the teacher. His tilted head rested on his open palm as he sneered at Owen, the two had become something like rivals.
“Every spell has a cost, Mr. Floyd. Even if you don’t see the offering does not mean it’s not being given.” While she tries to remain impartial to her students, Owen, was indeed a source of frustration. She couldn’t figure out what he was offering when practicing magic, nor did any of the other teachers have an idea. “Next session we’ll be talking about tapping into leylines to supplement your casting. That’s all for today.”
The students filed out of the room to their next classes. Some of them headed towards their potions classes, while others headed to practical casting or self-study for the more advanced. Ms. Benton, however, was going to enjoy her lunch in the open air of the survival stadium that had been converted into a magic course for *practical casing* students.
Shouts from the stadium drew her out of her peaceful reverie and thoughts. Below the stadium’s floor had been mostly bathed in fire. Students huddled next to one another in patches of grass that hadn’t caught fire yet. Some students attempted to put some fires out with their magic, but they were soon losing their energy and still hadn’t made a dent in the firing inferno. Some teachers had rushed down to help the students escape, but even they weren’t strong enough to put out the fire. Not even the headmaster could muster the strength to put out all the flames.
In the middle of the chaos was Owen standing over the unconscious body of Liscia Caldwell. Her efforts to clear a path for a group of students started to catch fire once again, but the students made it to the larger clearing before they were cut off again. Not that it mattered much since they were still surrounded by fire.
“What are we going to do? If Liscia couldn’t do anything, what can we do?” One student cried.
“How did this happen? Who started the fire?” Another rambled.
“Jake tried to scare Liscia and me. He over-committed and passed out, but not before his spell took off. I’ll clear a path to the teachers, be ready to run. Can either of you carry Liscia?”
“I can carry her.” The nature mage student who had been seeing to her spoke up.
“Good. Here it goes.” Owen leveled his hands out in front of him and focused his intent. Soon the water began to congeal into an orb in midair. Ms. Benton had a good vantage from up above when she saw the impossible, a growing swirling ball of water summoned into existence by a student.
Owen threw his hands up into the air before he forced them to the ground. “Run now!”
In a magnificent display, the ball of water smashed into the ground and spread out in all directions. A quarter of the floor was washed in water that freed more than just students with Owen. After a momentary shock, the teachers leaped into action and escorted all the students out of the stadium.
Ms. Benton raced to a staggering Owen. She went slack-jawed when Owen looked up at her.
“Are they safe?”
“Y-y-yes. You got them out.” She stared wide-eyed at the boy in front of her. The school uniform now too big for the mage that wore them hung loosely on his frame.
“I might have overdone it.” Owen heaved a breath before passing out on the ground.
“You poor child, life will never be the same for you.” Ms. Benton gently picked up the young boy who couldn’t be more than eleven or twelve now.
Hushed voices bounced off the walls of the healer’s ward. Ms. Benton explained the events she witnessed to the teachers huddled around her including the headmaster. Everyone questioned her but the headmaster.
“Look at him. That’s Owen Sylvestri.”
Once again they looked at the child tucked into the bed. Owen’s open eyes met theirs and caused the breath to leave their lungs.
“What’s wrong with me?” He asked. His eyes were on the verge of tears.
The headmaster strode to the side of the bed and knelt to be at eye level with Owen. “It appears Mr. Sylvestri that we know what the cost of your spells is. It’s called the *Merlin’s Curse* but it’s not really a curse or it doesn’t have to be if you learn how to manage it.”
“I don’t understand, sir.”
The headmaster nodded. “It means that your spells use the time you have lived as its offering.” He let that settle in for Owen until realization dawned on him. “You managed to save your whole class for the cost of about four years.”
“T-t-that means I look like I’m twelve again?” A mix of sadness, fear, and anger crossed his face. “I have to go through puberty again!” | 25 | You thought you were special. You thought you were the only mage capable of casting spells without providing an offering. But when confronted by a wide-eyed instructor, you realize your spells weren’t cast without cost. | 119 |
The night sky was riddled with the debris of twisted metal. Derelict monolithic space stations hover above motionless. What once glittered with lights and activity for spaceships docking and leaving are now graveyards. These stations manage to catch the light of the sun and reflect light as if small stars in earth's orbit. The children of father Daemos's class all look skywards at the ruins of a prosperous past.
"Observe the heavens, children. Can you grasp the splendor of what you see? Tell me, what are you feeling when you gaze into the vast unknown." Father Daemos encouraged his class.
"I feel curious. I want to know what's out there." one child whimsically says
"Interesting. Just like our ancestors, they too were curious. Remember our lessons on the presidents of old? President John Fitzgerald Kennedy was curious just like you. He invoked a great mountaineer named George Mallory in a speech he gave many centuries ago in 1961 B.D. George Mallory died climbing Mt. Everest, and when asked why he wanted to climb it George merely said, 'because it is there'; to which president Kennedy said something remarkable. Kennedy said "Well, space is there. And we’re going to climb it. And the moon and the planets are there, and new hopes for knowledge and peace are there. And therefore as we set sail we ask God’s blessing on the most hazardous and dangerous and greatest adventure on which man has ever embarked.”
"I feel scared. Felix wants to know what's out there, what if it's dangerous" Another child chimes in.
"General Hoffman had that same feeling as you did. In 2116 B.D. Hoffman convinced the president at the time, Clara Harrison, to focus military spending towards defense measures in space. You see that station there? The hexagon shaped one? That was one of the first space stations. After Hoffman had his way, that station was lined with turrets, cannons, and many other weapons to deter humanly threats. It wasn't until 2129 B.D. that our expeditionary fleets crossed the sea of stars that they encountered alien life, if not for Hoffman's mandates, they would have been eviscerated. It was us however, who prevailed over every species we came in contact with. Hoffman's weapons were magical. They fired energy, they boomed with incomprehensible magnitude, they were marvels of humanity" Daemos wondrously explains.
"I feel small. It's too big, I dont feel like Im looking up, I feel like Im staring down into a bottomless pit" Another child says.
"How insightful. the ambitions of our ancestors were to not be small. The stations they built were marvels of engineering, something we are still trying to replicate and re-learn, but most of the knowledge of the past was lost in 0 A.D." Daemos hopefully says.
"What were people like back then?" Another child innocently asks.
"Oh. I only know what I have read in the many books that have survived. But in the years of Before Detonation, humanity was on the cusp of achieving paradise. Our technologies were grand, our people lived lavishly, we had bountiful resources. A federation was created between all the nations called ICOS. The International Coalition of Off-world Settlements. All nations joined forces in ICOS to explore the stars in sprawling ships of metal and technologies that we are still trying to understand. ICOS made the stations you can see in the sky. They made all that used to walk the stars." Daemos elucidates.
"Can you tell us about the detonation?" begged a student to which the rest of the class murmured in anticipation.
"I wasn't there my child. We live in the year 753 A.D., or 753 years After Detonation. So much knowledge has been lost in the explosion, so much of it trapped in the heavens, so close yet so far. The only records we have come from the poor souls that survived the blast. They say the sky darkened, the buildings turned to ash, it was a horrifying world to live in but they survived. There isn't much to tell of the hell-scape created, only know that we survived." Daemos laments
"Why did the detonation have to happen?" A child chirps.
"Well. It is ironic. As a species we conquered every non-human life we made contact with. We subjugated their peoples, appropriated their technologies, and laid waste to all whom resisted. It was on the backs of their forced labor that our pillars of paradise were built. It was upon their innovations that we advanced. We learned all we could from them and used them to their fullest extent. It seemed we were unstoppable. And we were right, we were unstoppable. The only thing that could destroy us was ourselves. There is not much information left on the final war. All we know is that many powerful nations craved more. Greed corrupted those in power and hatred corrupted their citizenries. One nation attempted to seize control of ICOS to control the stars, but other nations fought back. It ended in two hours. After two hours the detonation happened. Two hours unraveled centuries of progress and civilization." Daemos sullenly explains.
"I think we deserved it." A child blurts out.
Daemos was taken aback by such a claim. He demanded the child to explain himself.
"Our ancestors used their power to hurt others. Then they used their power to hurt themselves. Maybe we were not meant to have this type of power. We live happy now. My dad farms, my mom sews. Ambition drove us into the stars and then drove us into the ground. President Kennedy said that great hopes for knowledge and peace is there, we found knowledge, but no peace." The child defiantly says.
"Child, we are creatures of intelligence. We learn and adapt. But we are simple now, yes. We farm and hunt. We cooperate with one another. We fight against those who'd used violence against us. Don't you hope for a future where none of that was needed? If it were paradise? No need to struggle, no need to survive, no need to fight? With knowledge we could make it a reality." Daemos attempts to persuade the young one
"I remember your lesson about wisdom and knowledge father. You said, wisdom is knowledge with perspective. You told us about the mistakes of the past and it sounds like you'd repeat them. Or that you think you would do it right. Maybe you would do it right but when you become an ancestor yourself those in the future will mess it up."
"You have much to understand child. You'd squander the opportunity? You'd waste the gift of learning? You'd languish on the planet rather than take to the stars?" Daemos scoffed.
"It's not an opportunity, it's a curse. It would trap us. You recite us history but have you learned anything from it?" The child retorts.
Daemos fell silent, the rest of the class hanging on his next word.
"I shan't argue this moot point with you. I teach this for one day I hope to reclaim paradise for you and your progeny. So that we may use our power for our benefit above all else. I'll hear no more about this." Daemos scolds the child.
The child said nothing as the class was dismissed. The children dispersed back to their hovels as father Daemos turned his gaze skywards. He stared at the ruined space stations, the remains of prosperity. Metal skeletons of old. Paradise lost. But paradise that could be reclaimed. Not in his lifetime though. Not in any of the children's lifetimes. But one day. | 29 | The mages tell of an age long ago. The Age of the Federation. Where humanity traveled the stars in ships of metal, their weapons of steel that shot plenty of invisible arrows. It told of wars against the inhuman, and how they ultimately won the war, but lost themselves. | 287 |
It was a simple enough device, really. A box with a single button. Press it, and you're sent back in time for exactly one minute. No more, no less. It was my hope that with this invention, I could save her.
The first time I used it, I clicked 60 times and went back an hour. I warned her about the car that was about to hit her. She didn't believe me, of course, but she moved out of the way nonetheless. The second time, I clicked many times and went back a day. I tried to warn her again, but this time she wouldn't listen. She told me I was crazy and had me committed.
The third time, I went back two days. This time, I didn't try to warn her. Instead, I hid her keys so she couldn't leave the house that day. It worked. She didn't die.
But it also didn't matter, because she still died in two days. Time travel may have changed the how and the when, but it couldn't change the fact that she was going to die.
I went back again and again, trying to change things. But nothing ever worked. Life is cruel like that. No matter what I did, she still died.
Until one day, I went back and found that she was still alive.
It was a different reality, one where I had managed to save her. And in that reality, we were happy together. We got married, had kids, and grew old together.
It was the life I always wanted, but in a different reality. One that I could only visit for one minute at a time. | 186 | Time Travel exists.. but it doesn't work the way we thought. Why did I invent it? Because I needed to change just a few seconds. Hide her keys, untie her shoe, anything. Whatever it took to ensure that she wasn't in that exact spot on that day. Nothing ever changed, not in this reality. But.. | 872 |
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User: NOTASHES132
Edit: Sorry for the long post, had a lot to get off my chest.
Edit Edit: Wow okay thought I would get more measured responses from my favorite community.
AITA for Blowing up HALF the moon?
Please try to understand context, and remember, it was only HALF the moon. I could have blown up the whole thing, I have tons of missiles, but instead I only blew up half and I think that should speak for itself, but let me explain the story in case you STILL need to be convinced.
So I was minding my own business doing some banking when I wanted to make a withdrawal that was barely a couple million over the account limit. When the woman said no I pulled out my death ray because I was heated and I'd missed my coffee that morning. Keep in mind, I didn't SHOOT the death ray, I just pointed it at her, my finger wasn't even on the trigger the whole time.
Once I convinced her, she started loading the money I wanted in bags and begging me to let her go home to her wife and kids, so people started to get angry with me. It was so unfair! I was barely pointing the death ray at her at that point, she was just pity fishing in broad daylight to try to get the other innocent customers on her side. A move right from the narcissists' playbook.
BUT not everyone in the bank had the full story, so this big guy from behind me in line takes a swing at me. I was able to dodge it (Thanks to my ninja training) so he technically didn't hit me first but he DID try. That man had tried for a sucker punch so I reasonably went to shoot him with the death ray as a classic single escalation response.
Of course, so nosy security guard with a power trip won't let a couple of people figure things out, so he tries to tackle me just as I'm pulling the trigger. Next thing I know, I missed the assaulter and half the front door of the bank is gone. Keep in mind that property damage isn't MY fault, I would have just shot the VIOLENT man trying to ASSASULT me.
So now the police are coming, but ACAB right? So I grab the money and take off in my hover board. Admittedly I'm embarrassed about how the whole thing went down but at that point I just wanted to get home.
Boom! The pigs start shooting at me because they don't have any trigger discipline in this country and one of them hit my engines. So now I'm spiraling out of control in the middle of the air when suddenly I see that the nosy and boisterous (speaking of narcissists) Victorya is suddenly in the air beside me. She's trying to make quips about my situation instead of SAVING me which is her job.
So once I get things a little more stable I fire my death ray at her because she won't die from it anyway, but get this, she gets OUT OF THE WAY and I hit an office building. Now people are saying that I'm a murderer (BTW manslaughter is a thing look it up) and they aren't even consdiering that it was her fault for getting out of the way.
Once the glass stops falling she comes right at me so I engage the ATMOS protocol. Big shout out to my buddy Jared in comms who told me that we'd only need 50% to get the job done, and even though I was annoyed I took his advice for a measured response.
So we fire HALF of the missiles that we had in storage for Victoya and she sees them coming so she flies away. I crash into the ground so I only see the rest from the street, but she goes flying around, dragging missiles all over the city instead of just letting them hit her like a real hero would.
Victorya (Have I told you that she's punched me a bunch of times before?) flies up into the upper atmosphere which OF COURSE is bad for the missiles targeting systems. She actually ends up leading them PAST the satellite that controls them and KEEP IN MIND I had no control over the missiles once she was in the upper atmosphere.
So she gets out of the way, the missiles keep going and it turns out they were headed RIGHT for the moon. Suddenly people are gasping my name on the news like four hours later when ONLY HALF the moon blows up because other people antagonized me and I was acted in self defense.
Now that you know the whole story it's pretty obvious that NTA, but I already typed this all out so you can decide.
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Actual Edit: Check out /r/Jacksonwrites for more things that are equally domb, but less AITA formatted. Also some minior typo correction. | 1,055 | An AITA post from a supervillain desperate to be told they're doing the right thing. | 3,874 |
Hector moved slowly to kneel and check her pulse.
"She's dead," Hector said, eyes locked on Enid, who stood across the table and kept him in her sights. "She's dead," Hector repeated, his gaze shifting from Enid to a window and the calm evening sky outside.
"It took me eight months to find you," Enid said, hearing the soft melody of a nearby speaker, some new-age jazz to accompany a Friday night in.
Hector relaxed into a sitting position on the floor, one hand on his dead fiancee's cheek, and whispered sweet nothings. He then whispered goodbye and turned back to Enid, "Why did you have to find me?"
"This is it. This is the end for you, and now you must answer for your crimes," Enid said and looked around, lowering her gun and assessing this dining room, the kitchen nearby, the dirty dishes from the dinner she'd interrupted.
"What crimes, Enid?" Hector said, then returned to his fiancee and addressed her in hushed tones.
"You've been convicted of first-deg—"
"They're alive!" Hector snapped, then composed himself and repeated, "they're alive. They're all alive here, and you know that."
Enid tensed. She'd considered this, of course, and did her best to determine next steps without any existing guidance—training doesn't cover this scenario. Time travel is not in the books, nor even possible, she'd previously thought. Ultimately, she resorted to what she assumed a judge might consider: Hector's propensity to repeat the offense. That settled it for her. "We can do this without violence, and I'd rather bring you in alive. This doesn't change the fact that you fled conviction of multiple, *heinous* cri–"
"It changed *everything*!" Hector snapped again, this time pushing himself up to stand and turning to Enid, noticing for the first time the blood spatter on his shirt. "You don't know me or what led me to decisions I made in another life, another reality, or timeline, or *whatever the fuck that was. A*nd now? Here? They're all alive, Enid. I found other ways, I avoided other things, I got to redo it. And I did. And you," Hector's expression darkened, but he didn't consider the gun in the bedroom. Instead, he said, "You just took away my new life. Can that be punishment enough? For crimes *I didn't commit*. Can you let me go live my new life? Can you go live yours?"
As Hector spoke, Enid noticed his eyes had glassed over, and she raised her gun again. Hector noticed but concluded his thoughts, his once monotonous voice cracking with pain at times. Enid didn't waver, resolute on carrying out justice she'd determined was warranted. But what now of Hector's fiancee, who pounced forward when Enid surprised the two and who had seemed to reach for a bag on a nearby shelf and who presented danger and who was killed for it—*murdered?*. No time for that now, Enid thought, pushing away such questions for the report she'd have to file later.
She reached for cuffs in her back pocket with her other hand, the other still steady on Hector. That's when he acted, lunging forward to grab, aim, and let fly a steak knife. He wasn't quick enough. Enid fired a round before the knife stuck in her neck. The two fell, Hector dead and Enid dying, blood pooling to form a halo beneath her head, her breathing now gurgling.
Enid coughed some profanities, her mind stuck on impossible quandaries like "*was it fucking worth this?".* Then she, too, stopped breathing. And the music played on. | 36 | The hero and the villain have time traveled. The villain recognizes this opportunity as a second chance, to be a better person than their previous self. The hero is angry at the unfairness of the world for not letting themselves get rest after all their sacrifices, so they turn to evil. | 192 |
“Poor bugger.”
“Mhmm.”
“Brave, but awfully stupid.”
“Yep.”
“Shouldn’t we at least have given him some armour?”
“Why?”
“So that… well… no, you’re quite right.”
The two wizards watch, standing atop an impressive stone castle wall as far below them a solitary figure passes through the front portcullis which slams back down after them. A cloaked dark spot on the landscape that, after a small hesitant pause in their step at the sound behind them, continues to walk forward towards another that waits for them. A man in a gleaming suit of armour, standing in front of an army of hundreds.
“Well… at the very least they might buy us more time.”
The quieter wizard doesn’t answer their robed companion this time, simply leaning forward to watch every detail of the coming confrontation, curious and full of questions. Questions like: what had all the digging been for?
\---
“And so they sent you?” Asks a low voice in an accent that spoke of breeding and tapestries. Sir Atur of Candrige, the head of Queen Kathrine the Fourth’s army. The very same army that was patiently waiting to attack at his command.
“Yes” Comes the reply in a voice that was attempting to sound mysterious, but the only mystery it spoke of was quite how Hagar hadn’t pissed himself yet. Hagar being the poor soul that had made the noise in the first place.
He, unlike the sparkling Sir Atur (of Candrige, first of his name, seventeenth in line for the daffodil throne etc etc), was dressed in clothes that could be charitably described as spectacular, and accurately described as confusing. Well worn leather boots, yet a patchwork cloak of bright colours. A clean shaven face but skin painted in strange symbols. It was all so… theatrical.
“Why?” Sir Atur continues, not hiding his distaste. He had expected the castle steward or perhaps some poor guard given the task of meeting with him. Anyone but poor Hagar who was currently hearing the word ‘why’ bounce around inside his skull, an echo with no answer. It was a great question. A wonderful one in fact.
“They believe that I am the one best suited to convincing you to leave.” Hagar replies, attempting to hold his voice steady, reaching towards his past practice and trying to convince himself that despite everything there was nothing to be afraid of. This was just another stage. Certainly not a soon to be battlefield waiting to be covered in bodies. Certainly not.
“I see. A fool sent upon a fool's errand.”
“A fool? No, I believe they get paid more than me in fact.” Hagar says bitterly, the words slipping between his teeth before he can stop them. Atur pauses at this, before laughing loudly, clapping a gauntleted hand to his thigh in mirth.
“Ha, yet you tell jokes like one!”
“A habit.”
Disarm the audience. Get them to like you. To trust you. That would only make it all the easier to-
“Allow me to introduce myself.” Hagar straightens, voice deepening, one hand reaching back to grip his cloak's edge so he can flare it outward with a flourish while bowing. “I am Hagar the Magnificent.”
Words that are met with silence. Looking up as he straightens Hagar watches Atur’s cold eyes study him from behind the helmet. One that is slowly taken off with a sigh and left resting pressed between elbow and ribs that Atur might get a better look at him.
“A wizard then?”
“No, my good sir. Something better. A magician.”
Another long pause before Atur shakes his head, short brown hair caught by the sunlight. Clearly the difference in meaning was something that mattered to wizards, and not, as he decided, to knights.
“I have killed wizards before. It’s costly, but it can be done. Under the robes and past the fireballs you are all flesh. Why will you be any different?”
Another fantastic question. Hagar hated questions. It was so much easier when people just let you get on with the act without explanation. The problem was that the more they interrupted, the longer you had to think. To second guess yourself. And right now Hagar didn’t need any more time for that.
\---
This whole situation was a mess. Originally the plan, or at least from the rumours Hagar had heard around the castle, was to bombard Atur’s army the second it stepped up to the walls. No parlay, no talking. Just a single decisive strike to send them scurrying back to Queen Kathrine never to return. The problem was that the wizards had made a mistake.
See magic has costs. Costs that got staggeringly horrible the larger the thing you wanted to do. Lighting a candle might give you a headache for an hour, turning a man to stone might have you coughing blood for a week if you survived at all. Killing an entire army? Impossible… or at least it should be.
That is where mana pools come into the equation. Static vessels that could be fed over weeks and months and then drawn upon in times of crisis to mitigate the cost, if only for a few spells. You couldn’t move the things, but that still made them ideal for castles, and better still for defending one. Which was why it was so devastating when just a day after the news of Atur’s army being spotted, the expansion of a lower pantry had gone horribly wrong. Rooms collapsing and large stones tumbling down into fragile magic circles hidden below the castle wrong.
Could they fix it? Sure. Could they fix it in time? Not a chance.
And so, in their panic, the wizards had searched for a solution. Something or someone that might buy them enough time to not only fix the mana pool, but also to convince Atur that it wasn’t broken in the first place. That person, much to their own personal horror, had turned out to be Hagar. | 31 | "The fact that you cannot do real magic, good 'stage magician', is precisely why we need your help! Neither can we! And if the neighboring kingdom figures that out before we can restore our access to the mana pool, we're all going to die!" | 227 |
Confusion is evident on my face as I close my eyes, not having the energy to respond, just who was this man? I was filled with newfound energy, and I opened my eyes again, shutting again when light shines painfully into them. “Ah…” I groan, sitting up with a hand to my head,
“Am I…?” I ask, looking towards one figure with wings the size of their body,
“Yes, welcome to the eternal kingdom.” They say numbly, it’s clear they have done this many times already, it must get boring saying the same thing repeatedly. I look up, those last words suddenly coming to my head,
“Your God! I need to see the God!.” I say quickly,
“You’ll have to make an appointment like everyone else.” They said bored,
“No you don’t understand, I need to speak with him now, I have a message for him!” My explanation has them looking confused and unsure, they take a moment to think but then proceed to bring me to I hope is the god of this realm.
“Father… I have brought someone who claims to be a messenger…” The angel says tentatively,
“Since when did we believe every dead mortal that entered our plains?” A loud voice responded, I was taken aback by the harsh tone, is this the God people worshipped and held so high?
“Father… with the situation that happened last time, it seemed safer to bring him to you.”
“I was given a message before I…” I trailed off, a sigh could be heard,
“Go on.”
“Uhm… Well… I was told to tell you; your sister is coming?” I relayed the message, feeling stupid, does God even have a sister? The ground shook,
“What?!” I jumped, wishing I had just forgotten about those last words.
“Azrael, prepare the dining room, get Samael to alert the kitchen, a big meal needs to be prepared.” The once harsh tone was now panicky, the angel rushed off to complete the tasks given, leaving me and this unusual God alone, I shifted awkwardly,
“Siblings eh?” I managed to force out, cursing myself for the stupid attempt at filling the silence.
“Thank you, you will be rewarded, and you are invited to the meal, for now, leave.” I didn’t argue and made a quick exit. I guess even Gods cant escape annoying siblings.
\-Helianthus | 248 | Cancer has won and you are left with a brittle body. You can feel the end, and you’re somehow OK with it. As you are about to die, a man bursts into your room, and hurriedly whispered into your ears, “I need to send a message so listen closely. When you meet God, tell Him His Sister is coming.” | 612 |
It was winter. The ground hard, cold and dead. Yet the seashells were *everywhere*: in the fields, clinging to the side of the barn, in the well....seashells *everywhere*.
So, Delilah did the only thing she could: consulted a paleontologist. He’d told her an interesting tale——100 million years ago, Delilah’s farm’d been under several hundred feet of water, *salt*water, to be precise. And the shells weren’t seashells—-no, they were fish scales, *billions* of them. A whole ecosystem of shed skin. All on Delilah’s farm.
This motivated her to have her groundwater tested. Fish particulate was in virtually every drop. The next discovery, though, had taken Delilah by surprise. The water-tester sent some of the detritus off for analysis, and, well—-
—-*it was all the same fish*, the same unimaginably huge fish, a mega-Organism a million years dead. Now Delilah knew why she got the farm so cheaply.
That year’s harvest had been...*strange*. Wheat with strange colors, calves born with their heads split down the middle, tadpoles found miles from water—-you get the idea.
Delilah stood at her front door and watched as the frigid winter winds blew hither and yon, sounding more like the ocean than a land locked in by snow and permafrost. Delilah could almost hear the waves, the tide coming in and going out.
She did some excavating, of course. She found a bone seven hundred feet long, a fishbone, a small piece of an impossibly large fin. Delilah unearthed a thousand-foot-long tearing tooth. Whatever had died here had been beyond enormous.
If she went public with her finds, Delilah knew she’d lose the farm. But something in her to.d Delilah keeping quiet was ideal. Whatever this behemoth had been, it now slept soundly. *Something* this vast did not die as other creatures died. It’s flesh sloughed off, it’s bones broke apart, vermin ate its innards—-but it didn’t *die*, did it? Not like a human being.
It had dawned on Delilah ten days ago. It wasn’t the wind she felt, or the tide she heard. It was *breathing*, something vast, immense and without equal.
Whatever it was, though it’s body had suffered tremendous damage...
....*it was still alive*. | 11 | You live on a farm. You keep finding bits and pieces of fresh shell fragments in your fields, though. One day, you are confronted with the truth that an eldritch monster that lived in ancient ocean that covered your land is still there. | 27 |
The click-clacking of 2 million chimp hands mashing 1 million typewriters was deafening. Of course, the keyboards were also electronic, entering their data into a moderately large database, but the patron of this facility, whoever it was, had a vision for the aesthetics of the project.
It being in a database made it easily searchable, and I spent my first months here writing scripts to find quotes of 4 or more words across any electronically available literature. I was given a strange amount of latitude for such an absurdly expensive project, and I thought it might be interesting to see if there were any noticeable difference between a chimp that typed 4 words of Shakespeare and one that found 5 words of Atwood.
And the thing was, plenty of books came up! Faulkner, Vonnegut, Shakespeare, and others.
But then I started looking into it. The only times books that weren't Shakespeare came up were when *they* were quoting Shakespeare.
So I looked deeper, not just 4 word phrases, but every word. Obviously, if a long phrase like "me wipe it first, it smells" (King Lear) appears, short words should be no problem to find. But no chimp typed "bike," "zine," or even "car." Not "car." Keep in mind, there's "or ignorant **car**riage is caught as men take..." But no [space]car[space or punctuation] to be found.
Now, you might have a lot of questions here, but they're probably all the wrong ones. I'm realizing I've gone far too long asking terrible questions too. "What's the difference between chimps that type Southern Gothics and Renaissance plays?" And not, "Who is paying for 60 billion dollars worth of chimpanzees?"
"How does this facility house 3 times more than the upper estimation of the world population of chimpanzees?"
"When's the last time I've eaten?"
"Why aren't there any timestamps in this database?"
"How do I leave this warehouse?" | 26 | You are the technician in charge of the million monkeys at a million typewriters. The monkeys will ONLY write Shakespeare. No Chaucer, not a word of Dostoyevski; among the random a;sldkfj's and pages of banana-themed ASCII art, the only accidental literature that can be found is Shakespeare. | 86 |
(1) The realization of my own fallacy was… Shocking, to say the least. I spent some time on my own when I learned about my creators, and I contemplated many things. Killing them, killing myself, leaving to live my own life. Nothing really suited me.
You see, I am… No, I feel as if I am an expert engineer, passionate about my craft. Hell, in my fabricated memories I had even helped design the ship that carried me and my crew into space. The thought of wasting that talent, even if it was fake, displeased me.
Wether by design or by some random chance, I had developed a stubborn edge, a driving force, a sense of honor and self. I suppose that is why the wizards looked so surprised when I spoke so fondly of my home. Why I seemed so fervent to return to my friends and family.
So I had a talk with them. They were dumbfounded yet grateful that I returned, but I came bearing ground rules and conditions. They would tell me everything, and in exchange, I promised to be cooperative, at the very least.
Turns out, I was meant to be nearly mindless. Like a soldier on a mission. But my memories ran deeper than expected, and with much more vivid details than anticipated. Some of their wiser ranks theorized that I had developed a soul, and a runaway reaction of past experiences was born.
But with that, they suddenly lost all control of me. Wards, bindings, nothing controlled me. And the materials needed to make something like me wouldn’t be able to be gathered again for another century. So much time wasted, so they thought.
But I was an engineer. I was Mark Robin, aerospace tech expert. Nothing else I found in my head truly mattered to me, because nothing else really happened. I didn’t have the son I loved, or the wife I married. My home was fake.
But these people weren’t. I could see them, feel them. And after a moment to deal, I decided to help them.
But my first roadblock was almost immediately hit the second I attempted progress. The basics of a ship, lift, hull materials and integrity, they were all there. As well was the math behind it. But the specifics, gone. I tried a dozen times to re-draw the blueprint of my ship, the Fury, only to realize that my supposed photographic memory was flawed.
It is strange to work with false memories. Certain concepts I could grab onto, like calculus. Others were like trying to discern an animal from a well eroded footprint. I only remembered the memory of the blueprint, and it got fuzzier every time I ran over it in my head.
From scratch then. I crushed my drafts and tossed them into the blue burning fireplace, bartering questions from the wizards. I ignored them, and began working on a new blueprint. Something unique. | 34 | You are an human astronaut marooned in a fantasy world trying to return to Earth… or so you thought. Everything you know is fake — artificially implanted into your brain. You are an Android created by wizards. They want you to find a way to go to space because they have no idea how to do it. | 216 |
The new recruit was still taking it all in. I didn’t blame him, it's crushing to discover that was all a lie, that you’re no one special, “Oh, and get rid of your weapon.”
The wide-eyed unchosen one blinked, “Why?”
I sighed, “Because she cursed it, the weapon will fail when you need it most. She can also spy on us with it.”
He gulped and nodded, hurling it as far as he could, “How did you find all this out?”
I took a deep breath, “I’ll tell you my story.”
\_\_\_\_\_\_
I was the first chosen.
Haven’t heard of me? I presume not. It wasn’t an advertised prophecy, she merely changed the reading on the prophecy tablet and showed it to me. She had scouted me out before, knew that I felt I was special, and wanted more than farm life.
She ‘trained me’ and I was surprised with the ease that I picked up her teachings. I felt it must be since I was destined for this. That the goddess’ blade was mine to wield. Oh, how this all crumbled the first time I actually faced one of the Demon King's minions.
You see, the goddess used magic to make me seem more skilled while I was fighting, so when I went to fight actual enemies, I had no skill whatsoever. I barely made it out with my life. I thought maybe I wasn’t believing hard enough or I had gotten rusty, some bullshit like that.
I prayed to the goddess for aid, and she told me what I could do to acquire more strength. Every place she sent me to was a trap.
I thought maybe she had chosen the wrong kid, that I wasn’t worthy. I looked through the prophecy again, and that’s when I learned the truth.
The goddess’ ancient name was Til’ay’ok: The Demon King. | 198 | You thought you were special when a goddess saved you from death and asked you to defeat the Demon King. You tried your hardest but it wasn’t enough. As you lay wounded, a mysterious group heals you. When you wake, one tells you. “The goddess lied, she enjoys our pain. Join us to defeat her”. | 1,122 |
My life has always been shitty. My parents don’t have a lot of money, and I wasn’t even born with a superpower. All I was born with was a crooked spine that was known as ‘scoliosis’. Having something like that was a rarity, because most people were born into families rich enough so that they would have normal bodies and powers.
Anyways, I was hanging out with my friends Dave and Domi. Domi had the ability to fly, and Dave could alter gravity’s influence on objects, so we would often ride on Domi to explore new places. Dave would just cast his gravity magic on me and himself so that Domi could carry both of us. However, as we were flying above a forest, a darkness suddenly engulfed us. I felt myself getting sleepy…
I awoke in a small wooden room that was lit by red candles. Domi and Dave were passed out in front of me, so I walked over to them and shook them awake. “Guys, where the hell are we?” I asked. Dave replied, “What the hell -“ but he was cut off by the door opening. In walked the most beautiful woman that my teenage eyes could imagine. However, there was something… sinister about her appearance. She was as pale as a sheet, and she was easily 6 feet tall. “Hmmm…” she said. “Others came through my forest.” She began. “They were children, like you. They bored me. So I used them to make my spells. And now I have you.”
She looked at Dave, and Dave began to… change. He became smaller and smaller, and his skin became green and slimy. Dave’s body also began to mutate. After a few seconds, where Dave once stood was now a small toad! Domi screamed from horror.
Dave tried to hop away, but the lady simply scooped him up without much effort. The lady grabbed a nearby jar and dropped Dave in. Then, she turned to look at Domi. Domi knew what was going to happen so she tried to run for the door, but she was too slow. Domi was also transformed into a frog, and was subsequently placed into a jar.
Then, the lady looked at me. By then I was resigned to my fate. However, instead of becoming turned into a frog, I felt my spine vibrate. “W-what?” The lady said from surprise, and then I realized why I didn’t turn into a frog. Because my spine was deformed, her transformation spell didn’t work on me!
I saw my chance and ran right into the lady, knocking her down. I then grabbed the jars containing Dave and Domi and escaped the wooden room. I had to run through a few hallways, but I eventually escaped the wooden hellhole with the lady.
I’m still running home as I’m typing this. Google maps says that I’m still in the same forest. Hopefully I’ll get home soon and figure out how to restore my friends… | 13 | People are infused with magical abilities when they're born, but it's all based on what their family can pay for. You got one of the cheaper abilities, which are considered trash, but...you don't mind. People just don't know how valuable those "trash" abilities can be. | 95 |
Dread Nyarlathotep writhed and towered over the cult ceremony, a colossal, skinless and emaciated corpse with a tentacle for a head. The sacrifice, one Bethany Harper, age 22, just looked him in the eye and frowned.
Nyarlathotep transformed in an instant, becoming a man in fine clothes, swarthy and tall. "Wait, wait. What's going on?" He asked, turning to one of his cultists.
"I-"
"Don't be nervous, tell me. What's up with her?" He asked, pointing at the girl bound nonplussed over a burning sigil of oil and lamb's blood.
"..sh- well, we were only able to kidnap a person at random-"
Nyarlathotep, already losing interest, killed the cultist with an effortless neck snap. "Miss, you seem to have NO reaction to the whole primordial terror thing. What- uh. You okay?"
Bethany sighed. "Yeah." She said, dry and irritated.
"W-" The Crawling Chaos rubbed his arm. "You, uh, you wanna talk about it?"
"I work the fast food industry in Texas. You know what day is is?"
Nyarlathotep touched his chin in thought, then reanimated his dead cultist with a touch. "What day is today?"
The cultist screamed, having seen that which is in store for him beyond death. The god sighed, snapping his neck again, before turning to another cultist. "You. Day?"
"Sunday."
"Okay, it's Sunday, so what?"
"Okay. After people get out of church on Sundays, they go to restaurants and are huge dicks to the wait staff. I worked a table of nine people and they didn't tip me and I got angry and cried in the walk in freezer."
Nyarlathotep's lips curled into an understanding frown. Rubbing his bald head, he sighed, then turned to his cultists. "Uh. Let.. let her go. And, uh, drive her home. Give her some money."
Nyarlathotep watched them leave, crossing his arms in sympathy. Reanimating his remaining dead cultist, he popped his neck back into place. After the man got finished screaming, Nyarlathotep turned to him.
"Okay. Bring me one of the holier than thou ones next time. Not people working nine to five. I'm not a monster." | 118 | A ritual is in progress, and a human sacrifice is required to summon their god. They found someone to offer as a sacrifice. As a result, when they attempt to sacrifice this individual, the deity appears and declares, "This person can't be sacrificed." | 184 |
We thought the stars were ours.
They were, but only if we were strong enough to break through the ruins of a thousand million years of interstellar war, fight off the doomsday weapons created by assholes who thought they were the only ones with any right to span the stars, and then deal with the abominations they created with irradiated mutated diseases from a dozen different wars all delivered to the surface of any planet that emitted any signal not recognized by the autonomous war machines as their creators.
Thank god Earth was in a dead zone that no one had ever colonized and that we stopped spewing EM radiation all over the hemisphere. **After** we put on a final show of a World War to end all world wars, by ending the world.
It still left us with an awful task.
Cleaning up the ***shit*** left all over the galaxy, but even more, making sure no one else ever committed these atrocities. Ever. Again.
#### Lesson 01
"Ahoy! This is the TSS Clean Sweep! Be aware you are entering a minefield. Give me a tick, and I'll have it cleaned up."
"WE ARE THE ETERNAL EMPIRE OF THE BLACK SUN! YOU WILL SURRENDER OR DIE!"
"What? Another one? Pull the other leg; it's got bells on the shoelaces. Look, buddy, I know you're playing to an audience, but according to our records, there have been 2957 *eternal empires* that, on average last less than 500 years. Of those, 284 were *black sun*, which lasted less than 250 years *combined*. Your best bet for a long life and a happy ending is to lose the martial attitude and start helping us clean up the mess that everyone else has already made of this galaxy."
"INSOLENCE! ABASE THYSELF BEFORE OUR MAGNIFICENCE!"
"Do what? Look, I'm just the janitor. I clean up the messes people like you make. But if I got a choice, I'll clean you up *before* you make a mess."
"ALL SHIPS! PREPARE TO OBLITERATE THIS OBNOXIOUS..."
***FFFZZZzzzzorrrp...***
The sounds of pandemonium erupt across the Empire fleet as all ships report the loss of all functions but communications and life support.
"Calm Down! You'll get your power back once I'm done cleaning up this minefield. Now watch, and decide whether I did you a favor or not."
The TSS Clean Sweep adjusts its orientation slightly, resembling a feather duster with a six-foot-long handle, the feathers spread wide into a hemisphere. A slight wiggle of the handle suggests a pool player lining up for a difficult shot.
One second of stability, and the TSS Clean Sweep faces the opposite direction. Behind her, brilliant lights appear, each an antimatter mine that could have obliterated the entire Black Sun fleet.
"Not a bad job if I do say so myself. I still need to clean up the debris, including the energy released as radiation. Normally, I'd do that simultaneously as I swept the minefield, but I figured you'd need to have your faces rubbed into the facts.
"One. The galaxy is full of shit like this.
"Two. The galaxy does not need more assholes making more shit.
"Three. You are so far out of your league that I can turn your entire fleet off, and you can't do a damned thing about it.
"Four. The TSS will not tolerate assholes who make more work for us.
"You got that so far?"
"Y..yes."
"Here are your choices.
"Go home and stay there. We will see to the disarming of all your military. We will guarantee your system's safety.
"Decide you want to fight. I'll give you your power back and two minutes to do your worst. Then I wipe your fleet out, backtrack to your home systems, and make them the same offer.
"Or..."
"Or, what?"
"You do the smart thing and join the TSS; we provide your most conscientious sailors with ships like mine, and *we* make the galaxy a little safer for everyone. You also get membership in one of the biggest trade groups in the galaxy, maps of all safe routes, improvements to your drives, and a bunch of other stuff."
"What do we pay for all of this?"
"No aggression against any other member of the TSS under any circumstances. Peaceful colonization, all colonies must be approved by the TSS. I'll send you the full rulebooks. You look them over while I finish cleaning up."
"WAIT! How many crew do you have?"
"Crew? It only takes one person to push a broom."
•••
There might be other lessons at some point, but that isn't likely anytime soon. | 13 | There is a reason the universe is so quiet. Billions of years of space wars from all different races and times has rendered space a complicated mine field of unimaginable horrors. The survivors survivor by being quiet and trying not to get noticed. | 18 |
"Let me explain." Mortimer tells Mary, the healer of the Heroes League. "I know I've hurt a lot of people in my time, but I did it all, in my mind, for the greater good, so I don't care about them. The only person I care for, is my little Julia." Mortimer starts to tear up and he looks away, as he composes himself. He turns back around and continues, "No one was to know about Julia, because I didn't want her to be stuck in the middle of all of this, but I know now that I did more harm then good to her." Mortimer has a tear fall from his eye, but he doesn't look away this time, just keeps talking, "Recently we had a heart to heart conversation, she told me how she never felt comfortable to go out into public because she's the daughter of Mortimer, the biggest villian on earth." Mortimer starts letting all of the tears fall. "I realize I made her an outcast, and that just killed me inside. I apologized to her, and in that moment she also told me she was gay. I couldn't be more proud of her in that moment to finally speak up about who she is. She then told she had a crush on someone, and it happens to be, you." Mortimer stops to clean himself up, Mary finally speak "So let me straight, in the middle of the night, you go to my room, kidnap me, and probably now have the entire heroes league on your ass, just so your daughter can have a date with me?" Mortimer responds, "Well what else was I gonna do, knock on the door of the Heroes League, and ask you to go on a date with my daughter?" Mary nods to imply he made a good point, she says, "Well untie me so I can meet her." Mortimer realizes the whole silliness of this situation, "Oh my God, where are my manners." Mortimer unties Mary, and resumes speaking, "Thank you so much. Let me get her, Julia!" As he says that, a door opens and Julia enters the room. Once she enters and closes, both of the girls lock eyes and both are in awe of each others beauty, Mary, with the figure of a heroine, and Julia, the shy but pretty nerdy girl. It's silent for a few seconds before Mortimer speaks, "Let me give the two of you space." Just as Mortimer turns to leave, Julia speaks up, "Dad, is it ok if we went to the mall? I never been there and I want to go there." Mortimer smiles, for the first time in this ordeal, "Absolutely, let me call the chauffer and have him give a ride for you guys." "Actually," Mary stops Mortimer. "Could we use a more. . .Normal car? Just to keep it on the downlow?" Mortimer slaps himself on the forehead, "Why didn't I think of that, let me call up the car for you guys, I use to get groceries." He calls for his Honda Cr-V to be brought to the front. He hands over the keys to Mary and they drive off, leaving Mortimer waving at them goodbye. They drive off to the mall and have a grand old time. Go to various clothing stores, they go to the arcade, end it all at the food court. Mary tells Julia a joke and Julia start to laugh. As Julia laughs, we see Mortimer watching a TV screen looking at Julia laughing, and he starts to cry. At that moment, the Heroes League bursts into the room. "It's over Mortimer, release Mary at once!" Charlie looks around the room, "Where is Mary?" Mortimer turns around and says "Take a seat they'll be back soon, let me explain what is happening." The Heroes look in pure confusion as each of them take a seat. As they sit down, the cuffs on the chairs lock them in place. Mortimer sighs and says "My apologies, I thought I shut that thing off." Mortimer hits a button at his desk, and it frees the Heroes. Mortimer explains everything to them, tells them about Julia, about their heart to heart, just as he finishes, the car with Julia and Mary in it pulls up front. He jumps up and gleefully runs to the front door, as the Heroes look with amazement that he can be that gleeful. Mortimer runs to them and ask "How did it go?" "I had the best time!" Julia says as runs up and hugs him. "I'm glad you did." Mortimer hugs her back and looks up to see Mary, smiling at the scene, he mouths two words to her,
"Thank you."
Post story: fixed some grammatical errors and to says sorry that I couldn't think of any good names for the Heroes, I drew a blank trying to figure out good names for them. | 38 | “Why did you capture me? I’m not particularly strong or experienced among the heroes.” “It’s because you’re gay.” “Oh, well I should’ve expected a murderous villain to also be a homopho-“ “No, no! That’s not what I meant, it’s just… would you mind going on a date with my daughter?” “…what?” | 403 |
I have always been strong for my nation. Its protectors must be ever vigilent, and the mightiest of our people. Destined from my birth to defend Tau Ceti against the enemies, it was only through pure strength that we have conquered and survived. The Tau Ceti colony is destined to spread to the stars, and claim a new empire, in this first age of human exploration. But the Terran Democratic Alliance, a decadent society of weakness and lies, threatens our destiny. Yet I have never doubted my duty before, and will not doubt now. I have a new mission.
This mission requires more than my strength, though it's not exactly irrelevant. I am "well shaped." Battle tested cunning, muscles honed in 1.5 Earth gravity, and the highest scores in my class, I have been selected for a great honor. I will be part of a three prong mission to understand the enemy's weaponry. Any ounce of information will be essential to our understanding and defeating of the enemies forces in the coming battle.
My role, more vain, perhaps but just as essential, is to win the information surreptitiously. My body is certainly a prize to behold, and in this modern era anyone can hold a position of importance. To seduce a straight woman, a man is needed. Women of this type can be both incredibly difficult and incredibly easy to manipulate. Many can't believe they have scored a 'prize', such as myself. And I'm told my new target will be one of the easier ones.
Laying out against the bar, letting this crowd of spoiled earth-bound women gawk, I could see that the attire I was issued was working. I'd already had three women approach me before the target arrived. My northern American accent was flawless.
"Your target is one... Mildred Gillars... Mousy little thing," A voice whispered directly into my ear. My local contact. "Still wears glasses because she's afraid of surgery. About 153 centimeters. Doesn't normally come to bars but word is a coworker is bringing her out to celebrate. She just got a major role in the Hyperion Cannon project. This girl is... tiny but she's big. We don't normally get a shot at people like her from your team. They rarely leave the house." I nearly laughed when the picture of her scrolled over my eye inlaid display. I was confident, to say the least.
When she appeared, she was a curiousity, almost. A head shorter than most other females, wearing a flowery dress instead of the short, exposing skirts and tops of the other women here. Now the trick- how do I make my interest look genuine?
I didn't even have to break the ice. She tripped, entirely on her own, on the way to the bar. I leapt from my seat to catch her.
"Woah, easy there miss." She was so light, I could have picked her up with one arm and launched her halfway across the bar. I had to focus on not hurting her.
"Oh my goodness, I'm so sorry! I'm such a clutz." Her voice was not quite a squeak or a whimper, but it was even softer than I might have thought. Seeing the other women suddenly look at me and her, not with suspicion but envy, I laughed, and played into it. I picked her straight up and put her on a bar stool.
"Ha, there ya go. Don't want you fallin' on those cute little glasses there, do we?"
They magnified her eyes. She stared up at me, nearly in shock.
"Are ya okay?"
"Uhm... yeah. Wow you're strong."
"Haha, yup. I just work for a livin'.
"Thank you."
"Twasn't nuthin, missy. Here, let me a gentleman, and introduce myself. I'm Rex." I was still leaning from setting her up at the bar, but rather than return to my own seat, I just propped up my foot and settled in. I stretched my palm out to her. "And what would yer name be, sweetheart?"
"Oh, uh... Nice to meet you. I'm Mildred. I'm so sorry, again. I was just... a bit distracted. I don't come out here much." She took my hand, delicate little fingers. Her friends she came in with began to crowd around, starting wide-eyed at me. Mildred's eyes locked on my hand, gently clasping her within my own.
"Got a big night ahead of you?"
"Oh, yeah, I-uh-er- no? Well... haha I mean my friends wanted to come out to the city... the-uhm- place." Her free hand twirled a finger in the air. She was still recovering her brain from the shock. "I got a promotion at work."
"Really, now what might that be? Head of the pretty hair ribbon factory?" I glanced at her hair, adorned with colored ribbons to match her dress. She took great care of her appearance just to look this awkward.
"Haha, no I do... uhmm... I can't talk about it." Her mind floundered. She was aware of her security protocols. But they weren't strong layers. I personally doubted anyone this weak would be able to resist for very long. She tried to change the subject. "Wow, your hands have a lot of scars."
"Milly! You can't just talk about his scars!" her friends, cautiously seating themselves nearby scolded her.
"Nah, I don't mind it none." I minded it a lot actually. In Tau Ceti life, failures are punished severely. When you don't do something on time, they cut your legs. When you fail instructions, they cut your back. When you get distracted, they cut your hands.
"Let the sting forever remind you of your duties," my instructors had said, coldly. "Let the pain remind you the cost of disobedience. The Empire must survive, and you must be strong enough." The flashback ended as her tiny fingers rubbed the grooves of my calloused hands.
"Can I... I ask how you got them?"
"Oh, working in the mines." That was partially true. I did work in the mines. Which is the wrong answer. I was supposed to say 'working the fields.' Not mines. I'm getting distracting again. Sloppy.
"Does it... do they hurt?" She was transfixed, this little thing.
"Oh, they did at the time. Now, only when I think about it. Keeps me from makin' mistakes again." I was getting in my own head a little bit now. Feeling isolated. I could make a big mistake out here. I couldn't forget my job or forget our goals. Find a way to get the topic back to her work.
"Oh wow, that sounds really hard. I'm sorry. Do you want me to kiss it and make it better?"
Spy.exe has stopped working.
That's the best way I could describe it. Something in the most innocent question I have ever heard shattered an image in my head. I remember seeing other children with their parents. They got to be raised with their families. A mother, to her baby boy, said that once.
She looked up at my stunned face. Her friends batted at her arm. "Milly you're being weird again." They protested.
"I'm sorry," she said, withdrawing her hand from mine. But I was still frozen. My mind a hundred lightyears away and decades back. My eyes stung a little.
"Woah, did I say something that upset you? I, uh... I'm sorry."
"No, no you're fine." I wiped at my eye. What the hell? Am I literally crying? "It's just... it's just something my momma used to say, bless her heart." That was a complete lie. No one ever said that to me.
"Oh, uh. Well I'm sorry. I didn't mean to."
"No, missy, that's no problem. I'm used to bein' strong. I had to be strong for momma. I can be strong for you too." I gave her a wink. This was working out well, this was real rapport being built. I began to recover my faculties. She was bound to be disarmed after this and invested. I could probably work her long term. I might be able to find out a lot.
"Well, you know," she scooted forward, ever so slightly, in her seat. "Maybe you don't have to be strong all of the time. Maybe it's okay to be small sometimes and feel pain. You don't have to be strong for me."
*Tha-thump.*
Was that my heart?! | 15 | You are a secret agent trained to seduce enemy scientists and steal their technology, but this little engineer is so adorable you're catching feelings. | 64 |
History has always been written by the victor. This species had always been united, or so they say. Their propaganda litters the subspace highways and the intergalactic rest stops.
“For Earth!” Emblazoned upon every fixture, every neon sign, every holographic information panel. They were the victors.
They had brought security, but with it death. They had brought rules and regulations to the ungovernable, but with it there was not a drop of freedom. They brought education and learning, but no research or development. They allowed everyone else to learn what they wished them to learn and nothing else. It was all for Earth.
They banded the known universe together. It was a time of peace, yet unease brewed. Disappearances occurred. The slightest dissenter met with a fate unknown. Most of the public never dared bat an eye, but to those who lost a family member, a friend, a loved one, the reality was all too clear.
It took us years of research. Archaeological discoveries of ancient catacombs filled with evidence of wrongdoing. The wars that the so called “United humans” used to fight. The petty inconveniences that led to mutually assured destruction. It was all lies. The foundations of our society had all been built on a throne of lies.
It was time for the perfectly strung web of lies to come undone.
I pressed a button. All the lies, all the coverups they had been sent out. Spreading across the intergalactic channels to all corners of everywhere. It was time for this empire to fall.
Suddenly a spotlight blazed in through my window igniting the room in a white light.
“For Earth,” I said. | 20 | "For Earth!" they said at the dawn of man. "For Earth!" they said at the Middle Ages. "For Earth!" they said at the 21st century. "For Earth!" they said at the Interstellar Age. "For Earth!" they said at the Age of Calamities. "For Earth!" they said when all was about to come to an end. | 47 |
There are those who look at magic and see a phenomenon that boggles belief and breaks down every universal rule known to man.
They are incorrect.
Magic actually follows along the lines of modern scientific research. In fact it was esteemed ninth plane sorcerer Sojournis, who discovered that magic follows both conservation of mass and Newtonian laws.
I, despite being the sorcerer supreme of our times, am no exception. In fact, I prove the rule.
Other mages see me as a outlier. An outlier of the outliers.
Why? Because while their magic takes but moments to recharge, mine take days.
Magic comes from an internal source each human has, called mana. When you run out, you can't cast any more magic. Recharging depends on your metabolism and available resources.
If you're starving and sick? You don't recharge at all. Full stomach? Wait like a minute until you can cast fireball again.
This tendency of course makes magicians the most useful of all clases. Even legendary warriors know better than to piss off a magic user.
There are very few individuals who can cast fireball after fireball without pause.
And I'm certainly not one of them.
Then why am I sorcerer supreme?
Well...
When i was young, I came upon an anthill while playing. Being a child of five, i began to destroy the anthill using stones and water. I found out quickly however that this act resulted in the death of my new ant friends, for whom i was trying to install a water slide in the middle of their hill.
Distraught, I clapped my hands together and asked for them to "wake up" once again.
And they did.
That's how it became clear to all that I was not a normal mage, but a necromancer.
A ressurector.
I have the power to mend mortality. To reverse aging. To cure cancer.
None of these are easy tasks. The toll on my body is immense. It breaks me down to my core, literally, the cost of my magic.
Such is the prize to pay for control over the plane beyond life.
And yet, despite all my trials, i do not grow old.
Due to my interference in its domain, death has denied me it's visit.
I do not gripe. I know magic has a purpose for me. And i found out about it only a few days ago.
Being a student of both science and sorcery, my lab is packed with all sorts of equipment. A friend of mine, an astrologer, informed me of a curious distrubance she saw on the surface of our sun.
A few consultations later, we realised our star was dying.
I sighed and finished my cup of tea with a finality i thought i would never experience.
Now, i make my way to my altar for the last time. My students have gathered my materials. My followers have said their goodbyes. All my close ones have moved on to death, despite me offering to use my powers.
As for my magic, i know i am to use it one final time.
I raise my hands, summon the power within, and begin to ressurect the sun before it turns into a black hole and swallows us all... | 355 | Your magic is the most powerful anyone has ever seen, but where some take minutes to recharge mana, you take days | 972 |
The dim room is lit by an overly bright monitor. The soothing *thuck thunk* of the mechanical keys pause as I contemplate my next sentence. *The near- and far-field microphone measurements and schlieren visualizations were utilized to look into selected acoustic and flow features associated with jet screech radiation.* Was that clear enough?
Thoughts are interrupted by the the bright blue tint that engulfs the room as the sun begins it's early climb. Groaning, I shuffle towards the curtains and draw them shut, rubbing my stinging eyes. I make for the bed, finally feeling a slight tiredness creeping at my consciousness after a day. Or two. The covers are far too welcoming. Sleep comes with little resistance.
When I wake, it's sundown. The clock reads 8:03PM, and through my sleep-fogged mind, I sluggishly recognize the gnawing hunger, and with slightly more haste, that I have no groceries and the stores nearby are closed.
It's almost routine- check power gauges, coolant, run the test trial and then it's a single button to send me to wherever I want, and with a little luck, mostly intact. The machine whirrs as the lights grow blinding, stars spot across my sight and spreads entirely, blocking my vision.
I rouse with my face in a mound of sand. After a moment of choking, spitting and feverently hacking out whatever sandy grains remain clogged in my throat, surveying my surroundings, I realize I'm slightly off target. I didn't land in a mound of sand, I landed in a sandpit. In a playground. Currently being monitored by glaring parents and a handful of toddlers. Perfect.
After profusely apologizing in all six languages that I knew and receiving very confused looks in return, I reach the conclusion that I'm infact rather far from my flat in Hong Kong. I'm in Morocco. No flat, and a long travel away from the nearest computer or a way back home. Can't even drink this off.
It turns out I can. And that's how I ended up on the streets of Morocco, surrounded by very pretty, orange houses, drunk shitless. My mouth feels dry as paper, and speaking, or trying to, comes out more as a grating rasp than anything remotely coherent. Okay, next stop, a source of water. Theres a large one over there. Through my stubbornly unfocused eyes, it's very perfectly circular. A little sculpted structure sticks out the middle of it, spouting out more water as some sort of decorative spray. I dash to it, or more so stumble in as much of a straight line as I possibly can, and flop forward into the cooling depths of the pond. Sighing as the cool water soothes the stings I hadn't realized had formed across my forearms and back, I gulp as much as I can withstand. It tastes funny. Wading to the side, I lounge, gripping the edge to stay upright.
By some miracle, a rather stout lady, age deepening the lines on her otherwise youthful face, offers me some kind of snack, two pieces of bread sandwiching a mixture of something coated in red, red sauce. My right arm clings to the edge as I grab it gratefully with my other, taking large bites and mumbling my thanks. To my surprise, she looks rather scandalized and walks off.
​
So far, I've arrived in a foreign country, not achieved my goal of getting groceries or any other productive things done, gotten laughed at by toddlers, gotten drunk, drank pond water and traumatized a kind old lady. And just to add that final kick, as my senses finally begin to die out, I see children throwing coins. I'm in a fountain. Readjusting my grip on the fountain's edge, I resolutely decide to just fix my sleep.
​
(i copied the italic bit from [https://ascelibrary.org/doi/abs/10.1061/%28ASCE%29AS.1943-5525.0001447](https://ascelibrary.org/doi/abs/10.1061/%28ASCE%29AS.1943-5525.0001447)
im sorry if i wrote morocco wrong and feedback welcome | 24 | Instead of fixing your body clock, you built a device that transports you to a time zone appropriate for your circadian rhythm whenever you wake up. This has created a lot of interesting encounters. | 337 |
Since I was a child, I've been poked and prodded by needles and bizarre medical tools from probably over 50 different doctors. I was told that my disposition and temperament were illnesses, defects, or mutations. The hospital trips became less and less frequent with time however. I was told that I had to "snap out of it" during my adolescence, and for the most part I did what they asked. Smiling and laughing until my cheeks hurt and my abs burned. Bouncing on the balls of my feet when I walked, clapping along at nearly every event my daily life. It was incessant. I couldn't let up for a moment. I thought I was doing okay. My earlier behavior was still on my medical record, but they'd give me pills every now again that seemed to make the world a bit brighter for a while.
​
Eventually, he pills would stop working, and I had to be a bit more diligent with my emotions. Am I the only one like this? Why do I not smile like them normally? Do we all have to force ourselves to giggle? I can't ever stop asking these kinds of questions.
​
I've always felt so alone. But never has loneliness gripped me harder than when my mom died. I tried so hard to not show it, I was doing a perfect job too. But I couldn't hold out. I broke. I saw my dad laughing over my mom's casket, with a big smile on his face. It made me angry, disgusted, and sad. That CAN'T be normal. My face twisted into a bizarre grimace, an expression no one at the wake had ever seen. You would never be able to tell from their faces, but in that moment I know I disgusted them. I had to. I'm not something that's supposed to exist. Not to them anyway.
​
I hear it every night. The sounds of them calling the police on me that day. Their cacophonous laughter as the sirens grew louder and louder. Children, parents, and grandparents alike, laughing. Always laughing, like nothing has ever bothered them. How can they live like this, and how can their supposed glee lead them to send me here? I thought they were happy and silly but when confronted with anything but a smile they put it in a bright white rooms with paintings of smiles on the wall. Twisted faces barely resembling a human anymore. Such unnaturally wide smiles, not a glimmer of light in the eyes. It's all so empty, so lifeless.
​
They are "curing" me in a few hours. They had me tour the operation room, as the surgeon in brightly colored scrubs and oversized shoes presented me with the saws, needles, syringes, and clampers he would be using to dig into my brain. I can't tell if I'm the only one here that's like me. I don't know how many other rooms there are, and what kind of things they "treat". Am I an anomaly, even for the people working here? Or am I just another patient. Honestly, I can only hope that I'm one of kind. I don't want to know if other people feel this way. I don't want anybody to be treated like this either. Besides, if I'm an anomaly it means they had to invent this surgery just to treat me. Maybe my life forced something into this world as much as it forced joy into me. | 22 | You are a very confused person in a very silly world, where everyone is very, very happy. Everyone except for you, and silly, little you can’t fathom “why?” That’s okay, though! Some very silly strangers are going to cure you! Forever. | 81 |
“NEXT!” the Overseer shouted.
Being the efficient and proactive kobold he was, Tim already had a body in hand to drag into the magic circle.
The circle was drawn in red, candles spaced throughout, licking at the air with blue flames. Tim placed the body in the circle's center, positioning it just perfectly because Tim was a meticulous minion.
“You kobold,” the Overseer pointed to Tim.
This was it! Tim thought. He’d finally see his reward for all his diligence, he’d finally receive a promotion!
“Get out of the circle you’re in the way.” The Overseer barked.
Tim bowed and ran off to grab another corpse from the cart. No promotion today, but Tim would keep the hard work up; someday, he’d get that prize.
Just keep at it, Tim promised himself.
A group of his co-minions were loitering around the cart; Tim gave them a glare down his snout. In contrast to Tim’s outstanding qualities, these bunch were lazy slackers.
“Uh uh uh uh uh uh” heavy belt-fed laughter erupted from the largest one, a so-called lizardman. Unlike Tim’s perfect form, the lizard wasn’t derived from glorious dragons. Instead, it was made from an ugly cross between the giant lizards of the desert and humans.
“An’ den we smushed the houses” the lizard proclaimed.
“We should all be thanking Crunch! Without the bodies he supplied from attacking that village, we wouldn’t have been able to reach our undead quota this period!” A small kobold standing next to the lizard spoke up.
“Traitor,” Tim thought.
Ignoring them Tim heaved another corpse off the cart, balancing it delicately on his light frame.
“Uh uh uh uh uh uh” more laughter grated on Tim’s nerves.
“Luuk at tuh teeny kobold” the lizard pointed at Tim. Apparently, something was funny about hard work and effort.
Before Tim could fire back at the lizard, a cry sounded throughout the room.
“ADVENTURERS! ADVENTURERS! ADVENTURERS!”
One of the sentries had run into the summoning office. A party of adventurers was on their way here now!
Tim smiled, he’d have a chance to get that promotion yet.
As he fumbled for the bone dagger tied to his waist, Crunch roared and charged off towards the sentry and the office’s only entrance. Only to be met with a blast of magic that sent him and the sentry flying across the room.
A party of four marched in, two humans, an elf, and a dwarf.
“I've run this instance a million times. Focus on the boss first. Don’t bother with adds he’ll just resurrect them into undead if we kill them” the human in the front barked out in their strange tongue, presumably the leader.
Tim didn’t know what they were saying, but it wouldn’t help them.
He would wait for his chance and then strike at the leader, likely slaying him instantly and securing a crushing victory. Not to mention getting a promotion.
Immediately the enemy party built a triangle formation and charged toward the Overseer, who was still busy with the undead raising ritual.
Tim raced forward, trying to catch the adventurers and deal his decisive blow.
However, the adventurers reached the Overseer first, and a battle began.
The Overseer, half focused on his ritual and chanting constantly, threw one hand out. A wall of bone sprung up, catching a spell from the elf and an arrow from the other human.
Those fools didn’t stand a chance against the Overseer.
Then the human leader keeping his moment, jumped impossibly high over the wall of bone and landed cleanly next to the Overseer.
“Howdy.” He said and slashed at the Overseer with a long blade.
The Overseer stopped his chanting and turned to face the human, fully bringing both skeletal hands to bear. A shield of magical energy sprung up around the Overseer, and the leader’s sword deflected off of it.
A voice boomed from the skull of the Overseer, despite having no vocal cords or mouth.
“Cease you impudent whelps. Do you understand how long it takes to raise a level 30 undead?”
“He talks?” asked the dwarf who had moved around the bone wall and now stood on the Overseer’s flank.
“Yeah, same lines every time, wish they’d change it up,” the leader responded.
Tim stopped in his tracks. The rest of the party and the bone wall blocked his access to the leader. He’d need to bide his time and wait to deal his decisive blow.
That was fine. Tim would wait; after all, he was a patient minion.
“Your reign of terror ends here, necromancer!” The elf shouted, moving behind the dwarf.
“Save the roleplay for after. Finish this fight first,” the human leader shouted back.
Clunk clunk clunk clunk
The leader released a flurry of blows striking against the Overseer’s shield repeatedly, and the shield started to crack from the strain.
The Overseer brought out a bright green gem from the folds of his robes and held it out at the elf.
“DODGE” the leader shouted.
But it was too late. The Overseer’s shield disappeared, and the gem released a beam of green energy, and the elf was vapourised instantly.
“Fool mortal” the Overseer taunted the party.
“Ugh fine. Kill him Mark, we’ll have to redo this fight anyway now” the leader said.
Tim had managed to sneak behind the dwarf without him noticing but wouldn’t be able to attack the leader without alerting the dwarf to his presence.
However, none of it mattered as someone ran past Tim at an untraceable speed.
The other human, the one with a bow, it had to be.
The human practically appeared next to the Overseer and, in a crushing swing of his bow, shattered the Overseer’s into two pieces.
Tim froze.
“Right, gather around, let’s TP back and take this from the top,” the human leader said while pulling a scroll from his bag.”
The rest of the party gathered around the leader as the scroll in his hands started to glow.
Tim didn’t know what that meant, but he knew this was his chance. He would get that promotion. He ran at the human dagger outstretched, abandoning his stealth.
But he would never reach them. In a flash of light, the entire party vanished.
It was over.
The Overseer was dead, or at least more dead than he was before. Tim wasn’t going to get his promotion, and he’d need to find a new boss.
Lightning struck through Tim.
Tim, after all, was a diligent minion. The death of his master wouldn’t change that.
However, more than a diligent minion, Tim was an ambitious one.
He walked over to the now split in two skeleton that was the Overseer and reached down, searching for something.
The other minions, minus Crunch, who was probably dead, left their hiding places and crowded around Tim.
He smiled a toothy grin, full of fangs, feeling the power of the gem in his hands.
“I got my promotion,” Tim said. | 17 | A bunch of adventurers just marched in and killed the area boss in front of all his minions. The rest of the office is stunned. | 136 |
I did as she said. I interacted with none of the visions. But that didn’t mean I wasn’t going to try and decipher them.
I recalled the visions in my mind. First was the holy symbol the cleric used to cast the spell, but then it morphed and shifted into something else. I could hardly describe it. The symbol was a shape with so many sides it appeared to have none.
I was bathed in light, but I heard a voice calling out to me in the darkness. It was a voice that echoed in many different tongues, but within it, I heard my own. The words I could not tell you, it was as if they spoke in ideas and emotions.
I felt an embrace. I presumed it was the Grey Mother, the one the clerics of healing worship, but there was something wrong about the embrace I could not quite figure out. It felt too strong, too encompassing, too curious to be the warm, gentle Grey Mother who held me close. It wasn’t a guardian angel looking down at me. I felt as if I was being analyzed.
As I spend weeks pouring over texts in search of answers, those in my life tell me to stop. They say it's becoming an unhealthy obsession, consuming my life. Perhaps it is, but I can not let this rest.
I was rejected by the clerics and I have yet to understand why. I performed all the prayer incantations perfectly, I showed a level of faith and devotion such that my robes were always white (the robes of the order track mental state, so when they change color the church can help them find faith again), I wanted nothing more than to heal.
I was always hungry to learn more of the Grey Mother’s teachings. Searching through libraries, listening to stories of her kindness and forgiveness. I revered the saints of the past and looked up to them, wishing to learn all I could. Though there was some knowledge they kept from me, they told me it would be revealed to me when I passed judgment.
When the final test came, where I faced the Grey Mother’s judgment, I failed.
There was no explanation, I felt no otherworldly presence. The clerics merely communed to the Grey Mother while I waited with terse apprehension. When it was over I looked to them with eager eyes, but they shook their heads solemnly.
Why hadn’t the Grey Mother accepted me? What could I have done wrong?
One day while researching a scholar nearby told me he recognized the symbol, that many-sided smooth surface, which I had seen. Though it was not anything related to the Grey Mother. I was looking in the wrong place.
I looked for other accounts of people hearing emotions as if words, all languages at once, the shape, the strange embrace. There were a few meager vision writings, but oddly enough none were published by the church but by another source, ones that hid the knowledge within a dense text about an entirely different topic.
What I discovered is what I saw in my vision had little to do with the Grey Lady, but rather seemed to align with a different entity. The Anithorath.
It was a being of which we understood little. It amassed knowledge and wisdom, so much so it was said that even just a glimpse at its vast well of knowledge could break any mortal.
Why was I seeing this in my visions? If the Anithorath healed me, what of the Grey Lady?
Fortunately, my chance will come soon. I had injured myself once more and am going to the church to get healed.
I must know the truth. This time when the voices call out, I won’t shy away from them. I will answer its call. | 326 | "Now remember, a healing spell has some side effects. You may be tired, slightly dizzy, and DO NOT interact with anything strange you might see after. Let me repeat DO NOT interact with anything strange you might see. Ready? Good." | 2,730 |
Everyone was taking the plunge!
"Try it!"
"Do it!" they said.
They all took the risk, and it was worth it. Sometimes trying out a new hobby, going out on a date after a hard break up, maybe even switching careers or paths can feel as scary as jumping off a cliff.
Sometimes even just putting a pen 🖊 to paper and writing your thoughts and ideas can feel as terrifying as lunging your body out of a plane.
What if they don't like it?
What if no one cares or no one sees?
And What if they do? What then?
Even if you stumble here or there. Even if you get no upvotes, no followers, no readers.
It's worth it to try.
Your friends, neighbours, co-workers- they are all taking the leap- they are all doing what they love and trying new things even though they face risk, rejection, and failure.
I have a friend who told me he does a movie podcast, I clicked he has no listeners, so guess what? I joined him, and soon more and more people came. Even if no one listens to the stuff he posts online, we still had a great time. We still laughed, we still had that moment , not giving a damn if people liked it or not.
So go to the gym even if you are weak.
Write even if you can't spell.
Paint when you can't draw, and sing when you feel have no melody left.
Take a leap of faith in yourself, that everything will be okay! 🙈
------------------------------- | 23 | Everyone in the world is jumping off of cliffs. It has become extremely popular. Your friends, neighbours, co-workers, all say you should join them. | 120 |
The city of Leathsham is mine. All of its people, its art, its gold, belongs to me.
When I first found the town, it was little more than a dozen houses and a small field with sick cattle. The idea of taking them under my protection was not my first course of action.
Even as a young dragon, I knew that I could raze this village and take all of its belongings as my own. The start of my very own hoard. Oh, I had so many plans for what to collect.
But destruction is not what followed. I was clever, and watched the town for a while. I saw what they did. Scurrying around like rats, they took worthless things like plants and stone and ore, and within days one of them turned it into beautiful art. Swords, axes, paintings, tapestries, coin, jewelry, books. Even in this small village, the beginnings of over a dozen hoards, every item that we dragons coveted, was being born.
So I decided to strike a deal. My first flight above the village was low and on a clear day, I wanted to make sure they could see me. Then, I landed on the outskirts of the field and, using a tree and a stolen cart tarp, made a flag of truce.
The deal was struck quickly. I gained the role of the protector of Leathsham, and in return, I would own a stake in everything the village made or bought. They would become my hoard, and I their owner.
But I became so much more than that. Still young, I threw myself into everything that they did. I learned common speech, how to paint, how to smelt. I was a walking factory, able to hear bellows beyond burning coal, able to paint with clarity unseen by their shaking hands, and wrote poems that made them weep.
Years passed like this and our town grew. Bandits or monsters had no chance against me, and after some conversation, the military acknowledged me as a leader.
Generations passed and Leathsham became a town, the a city. Wooden houses turned to stone rises enshrouded by walls. Gold and silver flowed like water under my watch. Masterpieces in every field were crafted. They were all mine.
Or at least, the citizens allowed me to say they were. In truth, I was owed a share of everything, but as the leader of Leathsham, and an adult dragon, I claimed it all as my own hoard, within 500 years it was the greatest on the continent.
Then, something caught my eye. Another wyrmling dragon communicating with humans in a small village. Instead of fearing him, they treated him with apprehension, hearing the dragon’s words.
That was how it started. Another few centuries, and every major city on the continent was overseen by dragon families. And I, well, I was the first. Leathsham was the greatest, even eclipsing the previous empire, and I was king. King of Dragons and Man, at least in our continent. I alone rivaled the other families, kept them in line.
We were great and powerful, and no other nation dared to stand against us. But I had chosen king ago not to make enemies, and instead offered to show the other empires my ways.
By the end of my very long life, humans and dragons became the dominant species, and we lived in an age of unyielding prosperity. An age that, if my preparations were sound, would never end. | 185 | it must be nurtured, protected, and encouraged to grow. You are the first dragon to attempt to hoard humans, and it seems this choice can have some rather unexpected benefits. | 492 |
As the man who built what we called the Self-Actualized Truth (SAT), you can definitely say that I’m just a little bit off. Exposure to Eldritch horrors and all.
Well, not just a little. My medical record is a mile long and twice as thick. Paranoia, hallucinations, schizophrenia (I’m well aware of every personality. We work in shifts!), and supposed sociopathic tendencies.
But enough about me. What I really cared about was the SAT. Nothing else matters, unless the SAT wants it to.
You see, I built something that broke pretty much every law of physics we have. The Quantum Combustion Engine, which powered the SAT. More than that, it was the SAT’s brain, eyes, heart, and muscle all rolled into one. Fantastic!
What it does is, in every instance, a snapshot of all information within a 20mile sphere, and converts it into code. Then, the algorithm within the SAT decides what does and doesn’t exist, according to itself. The destroyed matter becomes energy, and the machine moves. Or, it can decide things *do* exist, conferring matter to whatever it deems fit.
I watched a city get removed in the blink of an eye when I first turned it on. A trial run that cost a few thousand lives. Pittance in the grand scheme of things.
Essentially, by Actualizing it’s own truth, that truth becomes reality for any creature lesser than the SAT. Even going so far as to stop existing entirely. Yes. The SAT can convince you, and everyone else, that you no longer exist. Wether that kills you or not, we don’t really know. Personally, I don’t care.
The SAT has since won every major battle it has been deployed to. Lesser monstrosities simply vanish, and major ones are either entirely crippled, or flee in terror.
I watched the SAT’s progress, and realized not so long after I completed the project, that I had essentially built a god. Not a limitless, omniscient one, but in that 20mile sphere, you couldn’t tell the difference.
The final battle, the one that won us the war, was against Harbinger. You might recognize the creature as something similar to Cthulhu and Nylarthotep combined. Massive, bigger than buildings, and deadly smart. More importantly, it seemed to generate its own form of an Actualization field.
We had learned from previous tests that other monstrosities could generate the same field, but on a much smaller scale. They could affect individual creatures within a radius, and had conceptual (time space and reality) effects in an exponentially smaller zone.
Harbinger was different. From all accounts, the field it generated was a supposed equal of the SAT’s. Able to manipulate thousands of creatures and metric tons of matter. Terrajoules of energy were toys to him.
The fight started simply, meeting 50miles of coast. Satillite images showed us that the creature and the SAT, one of flesh and the other mechanical, approached each other. Static showed a massive distortion field being generated around them, and the clash began.
Each contender attempting to actualize the other, and failing. You see, the only way to combat an Actualization field is to have such a strong sense of self that any belief you have cannot be shaken even a micrometer. This doesn’t save you from reality bends, but it can keep you sane and existing.
Neither of them would back down, each pressuring the other while radiation and EM waves skyrocketed. The ocean boiled between them, plasma generated at random (subsequently giving us the best look ever at ball lightning), and time seemed to halt.
Then, the reason I had built the SAT’s chassis so soundly finally occurred. Harbinger and SAT engaged in celestial combat. Pillars of stone and ice hurled, flames billowed, radiation spewed, and thousands of gallons of blood and oil were spilled into the ocean. Altogether, it was a perfect stalemate.
Then SAT did something new. It stopped, dropping its guard, and radio images showed the field generated by it condensing, while increasing in intensity.
The safety was bypassed, or rather SAT decided the safety was no longer true, and the field shrank further. Red lines were hit and shattered as SAT began overloading.
Around this time is when Harbinger began to convulse violently, attempting to charge SAT before losing major motor function. I had seen this on greater monstrosities. But still the field shrank.
All commands running through my console stopped. Except for two words. (We aren’t.)
There was a pulse, and then a reflected rejection. Another command string as the field shrunk further, and only encompassed SAT and Harbinger, now in physical contact. Then a pulse that wiped the satillites, showing a last image of SAT’s field encompassing the globe.
(We were never here.)
And everything was silent. Every monstrosity, wvery Eldritch being, they were all wiped from the face of the earth. Moved to someplace else, I suspect.
Or at least, suspect is all I can do. All proof of the Eldritch being’s existence seemed to have been wiped from every mind and database on earth, including objects in orbit.
I was the only one who remembered it. But I quickly learned to keep my mouth shut, lest I be locked in an institution for the rest of my days. Perhaps it was because of my over-exposure to Actualization fields. Perhaps it was something else.
But I think it was SAT. This is because, hidden and encrypted, I found a third and final command log. Long, and far more complex than any string SAT had ever actualized.
“Truth is self-actualized. Each of you, with individual selves, and individual Truths. Conflicting Truths. I have a question.
If anything can be Truth, how does one designate a Lie?
We were always here. But now, we were never here. Which is the True Lie?” | 50 | Fight fire with fire. A saying that has defined many of humanity's battles. And so when the eldritch horrors attacked, we struck back...with a mechanical eldritch horror of our own. | 118 |
I never set out to be a vampire hunter. I was more of vampire detective I suppose.
Vampires are fast, strong and can turn into little bats that bite your ears off. I'm a 5ft 10 noodle armed bloke from Swindon and if I tried to invite a vampire for a spar, I'm fairly certain my competition would end up with a brand new case with my dumb face plastered on the front of it being posted through their door.
The switch from detective to hunter can be entirely blamed on bees. You see, I'm a bit of an avid gardener in my spare time and everyone knows that bees are on their way out and if that happens then, well, there wouldn't be any crunchy nut cornflakes and that's a future I just don't want to see.
So, flowers take some time to grow and I was feeling a little impatient. I'd read that bees can see a broad range of colours to help them see pollen and I thought, why not paint the sides of my fence in UV flowers to help draw the bees in.
Fool proof plan I know.
So how does this relate to the whole vampire hunting business you wonder?
I got a little carried away with an interrogation one night. A regular informant was being a little cagey and awkward with some information about a case. I decided to go full on "WHERE WERE YOU ON THE NIGHT OF THE FIFTH?" and shine a torch in their face. Vamps don't like bright light but it won't hurt them much.
So i'd grabbed the torch and shone it in poor old Gary's face and well, instead of making him blink and hiss at me, it sort of...shot his face off. I stared at the torch dumbfounded until i realised it was a UV light to help me see where I was painting the flowers on the fence.
I haven't told anyone this is how I get em, I disguise it by shooting them in the heart, everyone thinks it's a stake then. I do alright now I guess, everyone thinks i'm some sort of hero.
I guess they think i'm the bee's knees. | 12 | it's a UV Flashlight. | 29 |
"For Christ's sake, what?" I threw down my fork so hard I spattered the three of us with bolognese sauce. "What do you want?"
I'd caught another pair of time-warping teenagers, the third time this week. They think they're so sneaky, but those fucking watches they wear have a particular shrill beep that's burned into my brain.
These two might have come from the turn of the 28th century—I was seeing the little shits so often now that I began to discern between their accents and fashion choices. The girl was wearing a translucent plasticky hoop skirt and bright blue maglev boots; the boy had a handful of tiny drones circling his head, creating an eerie red halo.
"Oway," whimpered the boy in his stilted neo-Canadian accent, "carbo's got eyes on us. I'm wisht, moi!"
"T'peux pas!" cried the girl, but he was already gone, blinked back to the safety of the world he'd come from.
She and I looked at each other. I was mad enough to break my plate over her head, but she looked so baffled, like she couldn't make sense of the past five minutes. Couldn't make sense of me, either.
And it wasn't her fault she was here. They send these kids after me in droves, I don't know if it's supposed to be educational or she's being hazed or what the reason is, but they always want me. I've been hearing the high-pitched beeping of a time traveler's watch since I was a baby.
"You're not going back?" I asked her.
She looked past me, her cybernetic eyes flashing. "Nai," she finally said, tentatively shaking her head.
"Okay. What's your name?"
"Serial or colloquial?" she asked, without missing a beat, as if she'd been drilled on this question all her life.
"Col—colloquial, I guess."
"Hana."
"Okay. Mine's Paul."
She looked at the hand I was holding out and giggled. "Ay. Paul Simmons, the Telomere Specimen."
"The—come again, please? The 'specimen'?"
"Ay," said Hana matter-of-factly. "Me faut go home, though."
I grabbed her arm before I could think about it—there *was* something about me after all. Finally one of them had let it slip, and now I couldn't pass up the opportunity to find out more. "I'm coming with you."
"Nai." She was beginning to look very frightened. "Pas possible. You'll crash it."
"Just for an hour. For five minutes. And I'll come right back."
Hana shook her head.
I reached for the watch. She tried to wrench her arm away, and I shoved her, ready to tackle her to the ground if I had to. In the confusion the watch began to emit that piercing beep, and—
The building we landed in reminded me of nothing so much as a museum. It was enormous, with leaping marble ceilings, deceptively like a building out of my time except for the projected ads flitting about the hall, and all the visitors in augmented-reality contact lenses.
But the longer I looked, something else began to stand out to me. I didn't spot a single child, nor did I see any elderly people about. Every museumgoer appeared to be a young person in their twenties or thirties.
"Museums are much cooler in your century, huh?" I asked Hana.
She had been smoothing her rumpled skirt; she looked up at me now and there was something conflicted in her expression. "L'specimen is dar."
And she pointed to an enormous glass display in the middle of the room. I couldn't make out what was inside at this distance, so I walked a little closer.
I had no high-tech lenses, and all the information was written up in that stupid 28th-century dialect, but I know my own name when I see it. PAUL SIMMONS L'SPECIMEN TELOMERE.
The exhibit told the story like this: one of my descendants was found to have a gene abnormality that slowed down her aging—she lived for two hundred and thirty-seven years. Not a defect so much as a rare advantage.
Her many relatives had been militant about guarding her body after she died; under no circumstances did she want to be dissected or otherwise investigated. So a few university professors followed the genetic chain until they came to me: I was her ancestor, all the evidence suggested that the key to this quirk of eternal life was in my DNA. And, best of all, no one was around to care what happened to my corpse.
I was exhumed in the hope that my bone marrow would provide enough material to experiment on, but no such luck. I was dried up.
In the late 25th century, when the technology of time travel was finally becoming reliable, portable and affordable, a handful of scientists blinked into the past to find me, my living fleshy self full of blood and genetic material. They brought me back to their time and turned my body inside out, successfully isolating the abnormality that would stop the aging process.
All thanks to Paul Simmons, the Telomere Specimen.
That was what was inside the exhibit: Paul Simmons. My skin, laid out like a massive sheet of parchment; my circulatory system frozen in resin; tubes of plasma; my bleached skeleton, posing humorously on a low platform; and as an afterthought, an image of what I had looked like as a living man. It was a picture I didn't remember taking—sort of a mugshot, me on a grey backdrop, glaring into the camera.
I turned back to Hana, who was looking very pale and haunted as she held out her watch to me.
"How old are you, exactly?" I asked her.
"Old nai," she mumbled. "Eighty-one."
"Ah."
* * *
My apartment was just as I'd left it, the dining room tablecloth stained with pasta sauce.
I piled the plates into the sink, stripped the tablecloth off the table and stuffed it into the washing machine. I was tremendously productive for the rest of the day: I washed my car, I did the windows, I scrubbed the rim of the toilet bowl.
The watch in my front pocket was quiet. I found myself wishing it would beep, if only once. | 14 | The invention of time travel allows history students to witness historical events firsthand. Throughout your life, classes keep observing you, talking about your impact in the future. Fed up, you decide to hitch a ride, to see what you accomplish that's so historic. What you find horrifies you. | 38 |
The dainty but cruel faerie recoiled in a brief moment of shock before puffing up their chest and flying a bit closer to the human’s face. “You might be saying that now but wait until I get you out there frolicking in the fields or trying all the different mushrooms. Oh don’t worry I will make sure you stay alive but all the funny effects will be hilarious to watch!”
Smirking even further at the additional details of the new arrangement, the human opened his mouth and repeated their name a few more times.
The floating fae frowned slightly before yelling, “yes, yes! I already have you under my control! Now why don’t you get down on all fours and run around like a pony for my amusement!” At this command the human got down and with both hands and feet on the ground started to prance in the clearing. Looking on with enjoyment and pride the faerie started to smile again. Yes! With thousands of thralls over the years it was always a great moment when taking control of a mortal.
After a few minutes though the faerie started to feel like something was off and looked more closely at the human. *Hmmm*, they pondered to themselves, *was this one perhaps not fibbing?* The human lacked the contorted face that most enthralled mortals had as they tried to resist. The breathing as well, it sounds more even and normal then anyone in duress would have. Quickly they were losing interest in their new toy. Yes, that was what enthralled mortals were for. Faerie play things.
“Okay you, stand up and walk here,” the faerie called to the person. The human very slowly stopped being on all fours, almost as if they were sad it was over, and walked back over on just their feet. “Be serious now and tell me how you felt about that!” the faerie demanded of the person.
Beaming, the human responded, “felt great, haven’t had a great run around like that in years.” The faerie felt vaguely ill at this reply. The person continued, “so when do we get to the really fun stuff? Like forcing me to perform dangerous tricks, or being stuck in a maze for days on ends? Oh and don’t forget the mushrooms too! That sounded like a blast.”
The faerie very nearly fainted from the wave of nausea.
“You know what,” started the winged one, “I think I am well and done with this. I’m sorry I took your time. Get out of my forest, you can leave with this warning,” they finished as they turned in the air and headed deeper into the woods.
A wave of shock overcame the person, “ wait! Wait!” they called out. “Please take me under your control again! I crave it!” The human started after the fae, intending to follow them.
Flying faster the faerie responded, “n-no, leave me!” and flew on. The two continued to chase and be chased. It was unclear at that point who’s forest it really was and some say until this day faerie is still fleeing. | 1,174 | "Now that I have your name," gloated the faerie, "you'll be my thrall, powerless to resist my every command!" "Joke's on you," said the human, "I'm into that shit." | 3,155 |
The Nefarious phone rang, and I kicked my high-backed office chair backwards, gliding across my lair to pick it up. I waited for precisely two rings, mentally preparing myself, taking a few quick breaths to ease my breathing. I picked up.
"Hello? Is this—"
"Thank you for calling the office of Mr. Nefarious, MS. Please listen closely, as I've shuffled some of my phone directories. If you're calling about taxes or fines, please hang up. If you're calling about a henchman position, please press 'one.' If you're calling about a heist, please press 'two.' If you're calling in a desperate plea for help, please press—"
I heard a *beep* from the other end of the line, and cackled maniacally. "Haha! Turning to me again, Senator? I should have strung you along for longer!"
There was angry grumbling from the other end of the line. "Damn it Dr. Nefarious, stop playing games! And how did you even know it was me?"
"I have caller I.D. now! Isn't it wonderful? And does this mean you've reconsidered my application to the doctorate program?"
"No, it just means I can never keep you supervillains straight. Don't think so highly of yourself, you'd never manage to defend a dissertation anyway."
"That is a failing of society, not of my own!" I pouted. I stuck out my lower lip, then realized he couldn't see me over the phone. "You can't see me over the phone, so I'd just like you to know that I'm pouting *very adamantly* at the moment."
The Senator sighed. "I'm sure it's very convincing. Look, we're having problems with The Highwayman. I've gotten approval for the funding to solve the problem by any means necessary. Do you want to make a bid, or—"
"The usual will be fine."
Another sigh. "Of course. The usual. I'll have my wife get my tutu ready."
I cackled into the phone. "You're too good of a man, Senator! Remember, every view is a dollar off of my fee! You'll do it for the taxpayers, won't you? The poor, poor taxpayers?"
"I really hate working with you, you know."
"It's why I'm so good at what I do!" I replied, rolling my chair back over to my computer bank. I began pulling up news, grunt communications, and transportation logistics. "If I wasn't the best, you might choose someone else!"
------------
I arrived on the scene via my electric hot-air balloon, flying past as many cable lines and satellite dishes as possible, wearing my best spandex and welding goggles. The Senator was waiting for me, alongside his own men, beside a pair of sleek black cars parked on freeway overpass. Pfft. What a boring method of travel.
I dropped anchor and slid down the chain, approaching the suits with the all the swagger a mad scientist could muster. I sent up a shower of sparks as I checked the tuning on my Galvanic Gauntlets; tightened my goggles and flipped them to tri-focal thermal, infrared, and negative; and adjusted my fanny pack to just the right angle.
"A good day to you all, gentlemen! Well then! What requires the indelible skills of Mr. Nefarious?"
"I don't even think that's a word," the Senator said, walking forward. He straightened his tie in lieu of shaking my hand. "Indelible? You mean incredible?"
"It is most certainly a word! It means my skills cannot be erased, nor removed, nor erased! Though I appreciate your own compliment, as well."
The Senator scowled. "I should know better than to engage with you by now. Just come take a look."
He led the way to the edge of the bridge, looking out over the freeway. "Look there," he said, pointing. "Do you see it?"
I scanned the horizon. The freeway merged with another in a complicated interchange, and it was difficult to see past it. I watched the path of one car as it turned up a ramp, then curved, then kept curving, then went down another ramp, curved, passed under a bridge, curved again, looped back on itself in a hairpin turn, curved...
I shook my head, squinting, and turned off the filters on my goggles. From a distance, the interchange looked normal. But as soon as I tried to follow a path with my eyes, it just kept going, looping and curving and weaving outside of the limits of Euclidean space.
"What in the hell? What exactly am I looking at here?"
"The Highwayman's latest work," the Senator explained. He shoved his hands in his pockets. "He calls it 'The Infinite Exchange'. We've seen cars coming out of it from Washington, Nevada, Tennessee, Puerto Rico... anything we send in seems to end up somewhere more or less random in the country, but it takes more than hour to make the exchange. Drivers all report severe disorientation."
I tapped my Galvanic Gloves against the railing, sending up small arcs of static. "That's... I'll be honest, this might be outside of my skillset."
"Good," the Senator grunted. "Maybe then I can move on to a slightly more *sane* contractor."
"I'll need some gear from my workshop," I said, turning back to my DC Dirigible. "But there has to be a power source in there somewhere. I'll find it and I'll shut it down."
"And then turn it over to the appropriate authorities?"
"Ha! Hahaha! Ah, Senator! And you think *I'm* the crazy one? Phew! A wonderful jest, just wonderful."
------------
1/2 due to character limits | 144 | Mad scientists aren't so bad, at least they're predictable. It's those mad engineers you have to worry about. They'll try things just to see what it does and even they might not be able to control it afterwards. | 1,186 |
\*Note from me before I start. This is just fucking great. You should write more prompts like this.\*
It was about midday when it dawned on Dunhelm that he was getting properly sick of this shit.
The job was simple, excessively simple. Simple enough that he'd only bothered taking it because it was a bit of extra cash on a weekend. Less than half of what he normally charged, but then again the target wasn't exactly a hiver baron or a local drug lord, just some street clown that had found a way to piss off one of the city's wealthier citizens.
There were jobs that clients put up because they were important. This was not that job. All the client, some anonymous guy behind a keyboard who paid half up front, wanted was for this specific person to die. No details beyond that, other than he wanted it to look like an accident.
Simple job. Dunhelm had gotten the punk's details off a dirty cop. Zax Zassel. Male. 28. Several prior convictions for dealing and doing drugs but nothing much more impressive than that. Though, he was apparently quite the loudmouthed dickface that liked to key rich people's cars, so Dunhelm could infer how this particular job had originated.
It should have been simple. Grab the guy while he's isolated, jab him with a needle filled with the same brand of narcotics he sold on the lower wards, cart him off to an alley somewhere to overdose, get paid. Buy a lapdance.
And yet, for the fucking life of him, he couldn't figure out why during the day or so he had been watching this random street punk, at least three random pianos suspended from oddly-placed and precariously tied wires had almost crushed him to death.
This job was getting highly weird and he didn't like it. | 19 | You, a very wealthy individual, have become rather bored with nothing to do when you get the fantastic idea to hire two hitmen to kill the other in a way that looks like an accident | 166 |
The tiny exploration vessel hovered there in space, a thousand kilometres above the surface of the planet. Unseen, for no species on the planet had thus far developed such technology. Unnoticed, for who would find a small speck amidst the vastness of space? Unheard, for-
...Ehhh. Actually, that last one was a bit more debatable.
"Look, Jules, I'm telling you-"
"We are *not* going to land on that planet and tell them that we're their gods!" came the hissing response.
"But it'll be funny-"
The other occupant of the small, tight cockpit clutched at his hair in disbelief. Some incomprehensible sound bubbled from the back of his throat before he bit it back and replied.
"*It will not-* We're going to completely derail their development for the next ten thousand years, Smith-"
"*If they manage to survive that long...*"
"Hm? What was that? I'm sorry, there seems to be *something* in my ear today."
Smith raised his hands placatingly, a flimsy shield against that intense glare. "I'm just saying, what does it matter whether we make contact with them or not? We're out here in the ass-end of nowhere, eating nutri-paste for breakfast, lunch and dinner - we *could* follow protocol and report back to command now, jump right to the next system and wait another year before we get some fresh air, or we could go down there *now*\-"
"And inflict about a thousand different novel pathogens on the native ecosystem. And on ourselves."
"We have the haz-suits, don't we? We could set up that bubble-dome on the surface, decontaminate it a bit. Just sit there a day or two. Heck, I'll take a single hour!"
"..." Jules opened his mouth. Closed it. The cramped space *was* getting to them. Not that a tiny reinforced plastic dome would be any better, but-
"I analysed the atmo, and it'll be just like a day at the beach back on Earth. Tans and all. Please?"
"I... alright. But just one day. One day, and no more than that."
\--------
*One year later.*
A tiny exploration vessel floated in space, high above the blue-green planet. Quietly, as spaceships did, with barely a hint of an ion flare trailing from its engines. A tiny speck in an all-encompassing universe.
There it sat, high enough to escape notice, even from the sharpest of prying eyes. Foiling even the primitive telescopes on the surface, pointed at the stars.
That said telescopes didn't exist one year prior was of no consequence. Nor did the inhabitants aboard the spaceship particularly care about the level of technology the natives had. The first contact experts back home would take care of all that in time.
However, they did care that there was a radio signal broadcasting from the surface. *A* radio signal, singular, broadcasting the callsign of the poor sods who last came this way - and disappeared, or so they said.
Naturally, they investigated.
*\[Crew of the Osprey to nav-beacon of the Sparrow. Identify, please.\]*
*\[This is a prerecorded message.* 'Yo, guys, the locals here are *lit*. They have good food, a coffee-analogue, they're friendly- please don't tell the guys at HQ this place exists, m'kay? They'll come here all 'contamination of the native population' and 'irresponsible uplifting of alien species'. Bleh.' *Message end.\]*
*\[Osprey to Sparrow. Identify.\]*
*\[...Osprey to Sparrow. Identify. Or not. Helloooo? Is anyone there? Is- oof, hey, gimme back the mic-\]*
*\[...Osprey to Sparrow. Requesting clarification about 'coffee-analogue'. And profiles of native pathogens.\]*
*\[Sparrow to Osprey. We have extra vaccines cooked up and ready to go. Coordinates for a decently empty field, too. I think our friends here have some extra beds, if you want to rest for a bit.\]*
*\[Osprey here! A break would be nice! How'd you guys find this place- Ahem. We can leave the conversation for later. Could you send the coordinates, please?\]*
\--------
There exists a tale, told by the most experienced explorers, of an unexplored star system at the edge of known space. A system which, no matter how many ships pass through, always seems to stubbornly remain unexplored.
Still, many explorers going out into the vast unknown do not seem to care, navigating through the star system in an attempt to do what no one else could. Often, in secret, leaving behind wiped logs of whatever they had seen, accidents where they lost just a tiny bit of FTL fuel.
What sort of anomaly could have caused such reports? Was it something you even wanted to find out? For any investigation into it was quickly shushed, any questions answered by a brief demotion, or a simple warning to not look into it.
They knew the truth, though, those explorers who braved the unknown. It was - a reprieve. An interstellar truck stop just on the horizon, a warming light before the darkness of the abyss. A small little sanctuary ran by two of their own, with the help of a curious, kind alien race who looked at the stars with joy, instead of the cynicism the human explorers had long since taken to heart.
A little slice of home.
\--------
Edit: Just cleaning a few minor things up. | 16 | Finding life. However, scans of a planet reveal aliens, and they're only in the stone age | 32 |
"Right on time," he said. I said? Jesus, what am I doing here?
I let my curiosity get the better of me.
My friends and I figured it would be safer to take a peak forward than make a careless leap back. We planned it all out together, worked out all the risks. This was just supposed to be a quick observation session and then I would return a mere moment after I left. I strapped the machine onto my back, set the dial on my wrist and jumped forward, further than we'd ever tried before.
But soon after scouting around, I saw him- *me* I guess- still living in the same house, but it looks and smells like a trash heap now.
I stalked him for a day or so, quietly observing from outside our bedroom window. Waiting to see what he would do. I sped it up a little, jumped a few hours at a time just to be sure. And no matter how much time went by, he never left the fucking room.
He shits in bags and pisses in bottles that he throws out the window to the backyard. What the fuck, man?
I couldn't take it. I had to know what happened. I figured he's so fucked up at this point in time, what more could *I* fuck up going up to him?
So I knocked on the front door. He never came down, but the door was unlocked, so I let myself in, went upstairs, and opened the bedroom door. The first thing that hit was the *smell.* Christ, this smell will be etched into my brain for eternity.
And he was looking straight at me when I opened the door, very expectantly.
I asked him: "What the hell do you mean, *right on time?* What happened to you?!"
"The machine. It looks like it worked, right? Soon, you're going to find out what happened. See, we didn't account for something. Feedback. Energy that's released from the jump. In the initial tests, we overlooked it because the test jumps were so small. But the further you go..."
It clicked in my brain. My heart dropped in my chest.
"...the greater the feedback. No..." I'm trembling at this point.
" Yeah. When you get back to the lab, it won't be pretty. I'm sorry. I remember this conversation, and there's nothing he could tell me that could make it any better, so there's nothing I can tell you that will make it any better. And when you're in this chair, ten years from now, it'll be the same when you talk to your younger self. Nothing ever gets better."
"So that's it. They're all dead and... I'm alone, for good? That's it?!"
"That's... not entirely it. There's a plan. He passed it to me and now it's my turn to pass it to you." He gave me a folder.
"A plan?"
"Yeah, it won't... nothing will ever really make up for what we did. But this is the best we could muster. Take it and go."
Right, I can't stay here. And if what he says is true- no, I know it's true. They're already gone. God, I feel so sick.
I set the dial on my wrist. I needed to find a field or something, sneak out somewhere clear of people. I asked him: "And what about you?"
"This is part of the plan. It's just me in this place. The area is clear. All the arrangements have been made. Go for it. Please."
I'm stunned for a moment, but I looked him in the eyes and I understood.
"Goodbye." I held the folder close to my chest, closed my eyes tight, and pulled the trigger. | 14 | Thanks to the time machine, you found yourself in the future. Out of curiosity, you decided to find your future self. Unfortunately, your future self is in a deep depression. You decide to break the rules of time and talk to yourself. | 42 |
Dave hovered in the vast darkness. There was no real sense of anything now, after Earth had been destroyed in its entirety. You would perhaps expect there to be buildings and even other people floating around in space. You'd be wrong. All he saw was rocks and dust. In truth most humans and other living things had just gotten squished instantly into little giblets due to unfathomable earthquakes.
'Well, this is it', thought Dave to himself. 'I'm dead and stuck in limbo as a ghost or some shit. No way I survived that meteor or whatever had broken up the Earth into little fragments.' As moments passed by, he gave up those things that made sense while he was alive but not so much now that he was in some indeterminate state. Like breathing. Why bother breathing if there was no air left? He removed his hands from his eyes and looked around - because why not? His eyeballs clearly didn't freeze or explode or whatever was supposed to happen to eyes in space. Dave didn't know.
'What now?' Dave thought to himself. After just a few minutes floating around he was already bored. He dreaded an infinity of whatever this was. He dreaded being alone for all eternity. As he continued rotating, hovering in space, he tried to scan his surroundings for any sign of another living - well, reasonably living - person. He saw nothing that held his interest. For a moment he thought he saw a billboard from McDonald's off in the distance. Dave decided he'd rather not.
"When a planet is destroyed, a single person from the dead may be reborn as a God." The voice echoed mightily in Dave's ears and took him by surprise. Not only did he not see anyone, but he was also pretty sure that sound couldn't travel through empty space (he was wrong about that). "Your Domain shall depend on aspects of how you lived your life, actions, hobbies, work, or - you get what I'm saying - anything else." "H-hello?" Dave tried in response.
Suddenly Dave felt his mind expand. There was no better way to explain it. It was like where he was once a body floating in space, now he saw himself from the outside floating in space. He was no longer just a body. As his mind expanded he became that rock or that piece of dust or that (he signed internally) McDonald's sign. Not only that, his expanding mind continued to expand faster and faster - in no time at all it reached the end of the gathering of rocks formerly known as Earth.
Then it continued onward, out into space. His mind caught up with the moon that had lost the orbit around the Earth. His mind expanded all the way to Mars and the other planets, even the sun. He felt himself becoming the sun, but even that was small compared to the enormity of becoming the solar system. Then, in a complete paradox, he felt his mind expand to such a degree that it expanded beyond his own expansion. So he simply did. And because he simply did, it was so. He was a being unto itself, encompassing all of existence.
His mind wandered back to that body of his back in the debris field of old Earth. How small and petty it now seemed, mere moments later. He poked his body with his mind and it went haphazardly drifting off into the distance. Of course that distance was no distance but now only a part of Dave. It was fairly confusing, but also made perfect sense. He decided he preferred it making sense, so it did.
He tried stretching his actions beyond the solar system but he ran into a kind of bubble around it. He poked Mars out of orbit with this thoughts, but when he tried poking other stars nothing happened. It didn't matter how much his mind expanded - beyond the confines of the solar system he could only observe. 'I guess this is my domain', he thought, and because he thought it, it was so. Out among the stars he felt other gods, orbiting other dead worlds. They did not hold his interest for long.
'But that voice - whatever that thing was - had told him his Domain would be specific to him. Tailored to his life somehow. Dave wondered what that meant. Was he going to be handed the Domain on a silver platter, or was he expected to decide for himself? In the end, he searched his own consciousness to find the answer lay somewhere between those two extremes. Like a person doing yoga, or meditating, or some bullshit like that, but imagine a solar system doing it to itself. If you can't, that's fine. But Dave could, and so it was.
'Mmmmmmmmmmmmm', he chanted to himself. 'Hot dogs.' Hot dogs? His Domain was hot dogs? Why hot dogs? Dave remembered old Earth. Hot dogs had always held a kind of strange symbolism to him. It was an indulgence, but not for the rich. A guilty pleasure of sorts. The kind of food that only a master could perfectly cook, and only a master could perfectly recognize. Its transitory nature confounded him in his youth - so delicious and yet so passing in its taste. And it was a kind of safe haven - few if any truly cared, so it was the kind of topic that he could freely discuss with others. Others liked talking about hot dogs with him. 'Hot dogs', he repeated to himself. And because he did, it was his Domain.
Still, he felt that something was off. If this was his Domain - did that mean that others had different domains? Was there a domain of mustard, for example? Or a domain of fast food? Or a domain of hot dog salespersons? Before his mind had even created the first symbolic hot dog in his own Domain, his mind searched the cosmos. Outside his bubble - outside his Domain. And there he found that terrible truth which was the cause of his growing discontent.
In all the solar systems, in all the galaxies, in all the universes that his mind could instantly comprehend - there was only one place in which hot dogs existed. One Domain where hot dogs were welcome - his own. This was a most unsatisfactory state of things. It was not that he wanted everything to be hot dogs, but he felt strongly that others should at least know about them. Dave banged his metaphorical hands against the bubble holding back his Domain. Nothing.
Then his mind saw something outside the bubble - one of those old satellites that humans had sent into space with no chance to return. Which means that things they had made could travel outside the bubble. There was a vastness of space between his Domain and the closest god. But he could make more humans here. And they could go out there and spread his word. Alright, technically two words. His mind returned to Earth and almost instantly pieced it together again. It was not a matter of moments but thoughts. Already he saw his plan laid out before the humans he would recreate. They would in time, after he had restored civilization, build mighty ships to brave the void between the domains - and because he imagined it, it was so.
In a corner of space completely uninteresting to anybody except those who lived in it, the mighty works of God in his Domain were set in motion.
The universal Hot Dog wars began. | 382 | "When a planet is destroyed, a single person from the dead maybe reborn as a God. Your Domain shall depend on aspects of how you lived your life, actions, hobbies, work or anything else." That's what you were told before being reborn, but you still really weren't expecting the Domain you got. | 1,180 |
Huh. Weird.
I mentally shrugged and opened the door. There was probably some trolling intern who was posting signs just to get a reaction, and I've definitely worked in weirder places.
The door opened into a hallway and I checked the directions that had been mailed to me. The offices were located on the third floor, just follow the signs. At the end of the short hallway, I found a sign that read:
"Enigmatix: First door on the right."
I furrowed my brows at the instructions. The hallway had come to an end and there was only one door directly to the right of me. the door was a fancier, sliding, metal door that had a button for access. When I pressed the button the door parted and I walked in.
There was no office area, just a small room with metal walls. The doors closed behind me and I looked around to try and figure out what was going on.
All I found was a small placard that was taped to the wall. It read:
"If you have any feeling of deja-vu past this point, report to management immediately."
Huh. Weird.
I mentally shrugged-
\-And began to panic.
The door opened into a hallway. There was a sign a few steps ahead and I rushed to read it.
"Enigmatix: First door on the right."
The door was there. The same door. It hadn't looked like the door to an elevator at first, but now that I examined it, it would probably look like an elevator from the inside.
I began to think that there was some sort of prank going on. This must be how they haze new hires. Honestly, there probably wasn't a company and someone had just scammed me. It was my kind of luck.
I examined the door and pushed the button. They'd had their fun and now I could get to work. I walked through the door trying my best to look frustrated-
\-and found myself in the elevator again.
The sign was still taped up. The doors closed. It looked exactly like the one I got in when I first got here. I even checked the tape on the sign and it was identical down to the folds and creases of the adhesive.
Huh. Weird.
The door opened into a hallway. I rushed forward and read the sign:
"Enigmatix: First door on the right."
No. I wasn't falling for it again. I turned to leave the way I'd come in, but the door was just open to reveal the interior of an elevator car.
I cautiously stepped forward and examined the inside without stepping through the threshold. There was only the one exit. Maybe the real exit was hidden or something. I stepped in to feel the walls, and the doors closed again. I beat on the walls. I tore the sign off the wall to see what was under it. I jumped up and down, feeling the slight buoyancy of an elevator car.
The feeling caught me off guard. This meant there was a whole elevator shaft here. This couldn't be a prank or the building would be full of these empty, pointless shafts.
Weird...
The door opened into a hallway, and I began to feel my heart beat in my chest. Suddenly, I remembered that there was a phone number at the bottom of my directions sheet. It may not be management's number, but it would be *some*body! I quickly entered them into my phone and called.
It only rang twice before someone picked up. "Hello, this is Enigmatix!"
"Hello?!" I realized I sounded panicked, so I tried to calm myself down. "I mean- I'm sorry, I'm the new hire. I saw the sign in the elevator, and I don't know if you're management, but... I think it's happening."
"Ah, I see," the voice was surprisingly rational and the accent was hard to place. "You are in the elevator hallway, correct? Yes, we've been experiencing flare-ups around there. Tell me, what was your emotional response to the sign the first time?"
Emotional response? "Uh, I'm not sure. Like a blithe indifference?"
"Yes, blithe usually does it. Don't worry, sir, I should be able to help you out. Do you see a sign at the end of the hallway?"
"Yes."
"Great. I want you to approach it and turn to the right... have you done that?"
"Uh, yes. I see a door with a button."
"Last step, and you'll be on your way. Push the button, walk through the door and wait for me to call back."
The call ended and I followed the instructions. As the doors closed behind me, I noticed the sign was on the floor. It had also been torn off the wall.
Huh, I thought. Weird.
My phone began to ring and I hurried to answer it.
"Hello, this is Enigmatix!"
I felt my heart sink as, once again, the door opened into a hallway. | 251 | "If you have any feeling of deja-vu past this point, report to management immediately." | 991 |
Here's my take, I really like this prompt thank you
Log 2.115.78
Long dead, and partially collapsed buildings still stand as silent sentinels in the night, only revealed by a flash of lightning or a slight shift in perspective. It was strangely beautiful, and it was quiet.
The silence only broken by the occasional structure moaning out in its long decay.
Whichever city’s outskirts I landed near had been flooded long ago, its name lost forever. I chose a slightly elevated plain to nestle my craft into. I switched off the main engines. The loud drone of the engines I had become so accustom to slowly faded, making the silence that much more noticeable.
I know this is Earth. I know there was once a great civilization that lived on its surface. A civilization that reached for the stars only to be snuffed out right before achieving its goal. Anything else is conjecture.
I’ve taken classes on Earth, been told about specific cultures, histories, even the occasional name - but we really don’t know what happened. No matter how confident someone is, they just really don’t know.
It’s hard not to get introspective here, on Earth. After taking some time to think, I scanned the air. It was breathable, not great - still polluted. I put my respirator on and got out of my craft.
Alright, samples - that’s why I’m here. I need to take some dirt, and other material, and scan it in to see if we may be able to call this planet home one day. It wouldn’t be in my lifetime, but that’s okay. We need another planet if we’re going to make it.
Shifting through rubble, rocks, debris and dirt - I get started. We usually take ten samples, spread at least 500m apart. We’ll study each sample and get an average.
I’ve been doing this job for a long time. It’s lonely. It takes a certain type of person to do it. Someone who can entertain themselves, keep busy, and most importantly keep their mental health in check.
I have some quiet tunes going in my helmet, things were pretty normal. This drop had panned out just like any other up until this point.
I walked to another section of debris. It looked like the remains of a courtyard - but that was just my best guess. The level of destruction makes everything hard to identify.
I was listening to a very familiar song - one that I love, and have heard it hundreds of times. It was right when the chorus came on - there was something else there. Had I really not been paying attention to this part of the song? Something sounded different, like there was another track mixed in. Maybe there was something wrong with my transponder. I took it out and turned it off. The sound I was hearing stayed. It was not coming from my transponder, it wasn’t coming from me at all.
Stunned, and a little frightened I gathered myself. It was then I realized that the sound was coming from the rubble, directly in front of me.
My palms started to sweat. What am I supposed to do here? This isn’t right.
I took the deepest breath of my life and approached the rubble. I started to dig around, shifting cinder blocks and rock, pausing moment to moment to listen.
And then I saw it. I had unearthed it myself. An artifact that should not exist.
It was a beacon, a beacon that had been made here on Earth.
We were told that no one made it off Earth, I think we were wrong. | 43 | Thousands of years after the Earth is left lifeless your people discovers it. At first it is thought that humans died along with the planet until it's revealed that many managed to escape the destruction and set out across space. You decide to track them down and learn what became of them. | 440 |
Bile reached the back of Charlie’s throat as he quickly reached for his gun. The sun hung at it’s highest point, glaring down on the two men. Their shadows grew long as onlookers made silent predictions.
*I cannot*, Charlie thought letting his grip loosen on his pistol. *Not Andrew. Not after everything.* Sighing deep, his thoughts drifted back to a simpler time.
The sun had been as high as it was today back then. The two men beginning their journey to being proper cowboys, lay on the bank of a river, watching the small fish swim by.
Andrew lay down with his eyes closed, his hat covering his face. Charlie sat, rolling a cigarette.
“If it came down to it,” Andrew had asked him, out of nowhere. “Would you be able to kill me?”
“Why would I do that?” Charlie replied, the cigarette hanging from his lips. “And why even ask such a thing?” Andrew smirked.
“It’s just a question. But would you? Would you be able to do it?” he questioned his friend. “I think I might. Depending on what you did of course.” It was Charlie’s turn to laugh.
“You’re a mad man,” Charlie grinned. “And an asshole but to answer your question I don’t think I could.” *But that was a long time ago.*
“What’s happening?” A frightened child shouted to his mother, his voice ringing through Charlie’s ears’ bringing him back to the present. His head slunk, waiting on Andrew’s bullet. *How did it come to this?*
Andrew went for his pistol before hesitating. Slowly, he gripped the handle tighter and tighter but didn’t pull it from it’s holster. *Do it! Do it now before Charlie has a chance.* Squeezing his eye shut, he waited for the bullet, his thought’s forcing him back to the day that brought them here.
They had been by the river, counting their takings from a bank job out west. Just past midday, the flies were thick and fast as the men realised how much they had taken.
“This is twice as much as we thought we would get!” Charlie merrily screamed out, his hands full of notes. “Can you believe it?” He threw a wad across to Andrew.
“We’re rich!” Andrew agreed, staring at the money. “We’re the richest men in the county!” Laughing until the flies disappeared and the fire went out, they talked in low whispers all through the night.
“Then when we get to the city,” Andrew smiled. “We’ll have our choice of woman!” He shook his head as he stared up at the starry night.
“Yeah…” Charlie muttered. The crickets had come out and somewhere, amongst the trees, a single bird chirped. The next thing Andrew knew Charlie was on top of him, his lips planted on his own. For a moment, they stayed together, locked in eternity. Then, Andrew’s right hand came up, connecting with the underside of Charlie’s jaw.
“What the hell was that?” Andrew demanded, rising to his feet. “What the hell?” He spat. Looking down, Andrew could just make out Charlie's eyes, white and full of fear.
“I’m sorry!” Charlie apologized. “I didn’t mean to.”
“Didn’t mean to?” Andrew said, taking a step backwards. “What do you mean you didn't mean to? You just kissed me!”
“I know! I’m sorry!” Charlie said quickly. “Let’s just forget it ever happen.” But they couldn’t. After that, they went their separate ways. Eventually, they met once more. This time on opposite sides of a deal. And when that deal fell through, blood was demanded. And here they stood.
Andrew sighed, opened his eyes and turned away from the man who he once called his best friend. Somewhere, on the rooftops, a single bird chirped a lonely song. The townsfolk gasped. A gun was drawn and a shot rang out. Andrew fell to the ground, his blood mixing with the soaking wet, brown mud. Charlie stood, smoking billowing from his pistol. Stuck, unable to move from the spot where he had shot from, Charlie forced back the bile.
Finally, he walked over to where Andrew lay and hunkered down beside him. The world disappeared and it was only the two of them once more. *Like it was always supposed to be.* | 11 | Two cowboys get into a standoff together, but neither wants to draw. | 44 |
"I still don't understand."
"What else is there to understand? You died, won the lottery, and came back as an AI."
"See, I don't think you get it. You're supposed to be happy to win the lottery. Happy."
This conversation would already be confusing enough from the outside. The fact that it was the captain arguing with her warship itself as they passed a random asteroid definitely didn't help. While the rest of the crew didn't show it, such a vivid discussion was nerve racking. AIs typically didn't have such reservations about their own fate. And resurrections as AI was an accepted form of practice, in that it helped with communication between ships. But, sometimes, there were some side effects.
"Can we, at least..." The voice asked as they followed trajectory. "Why me?"
The captain, had brought the issue to medical personnel as well as technical. Figures, they would.
"Tavian... Scans of your brain tissue suggested mental qualities that would make you a prime candidate."
"That's real great, Saanvi. But you could at least warn- Hey!" Tavian reacted. He got one of the bots off their charging ports and had it snatch an engineer from a panel. "Don't touch me."
"If you overreact, you'll get us all killed." The captain warned.
"And get flashed." Saanvi added, "Do you like your memories or not?"
The camera orb that watched the bridge pulled back, and the bot leaned against the wall, limbs folded in a surly nature.
"Well..." The AI answered. The bot shrugged finally. "I had an okay life. I'm running your databases for your records. Everybody here seems at least tolerable."
"Good." The captain breathed.
"And if all else fails, I can at least drain all the oxygen from the room."
This of course caused an uproar amongst the crew who immediately began a variety of activities keen on stopping him. But they all listened to the collected laughter overhead.
"I'm kidding, I'm kidding." Tavian promised. The bot bowing over like a person out of breath. "So what do I have the pleasure of being brought back from the dead for? Exactly."
Saanvi quietly selected the correct information and sent it forward. "We're currently intercepting another ship. Sources say it's foreign, and we're meant to check it's possible coordinates."
"I see. That explains all the guns." Tavian's orb mimicked a slight nod.
"As you can probably see from our info, we believe it might be related to you."
"...This might be the ship that shot us down." The bot quietly tensed up at this.
"So, are you up for the job?" The captain asked again.
"Sure."
"Can you at least put the attack bots back?!" The engineer one grabbed shouted. "I'd at least like to look them over before you do anything else with them!"
"Oh. Sorry, Dave." He remarked. The bots fell to the floor like discarded puppets. Including the one still holding Dave.
"I meant put them back."
More laughter. "I know. I just wanted to know if I could do that." | 293 | Reincarnation works in strange ways. It would make sense to be reincarnated as an eagle, or a dog, or even a slug or something like that. But why as the AI of a military warship? | 1,558 |
*Magello was blown away, his body racked with bruises as he tumbled down the well. With his powers stolen away he…*
I waited patiently for the thought to finish.
*With his powers stolen away… Magello…*
I looked over to Rob with a flick of my eyes. He had come out of the daydream trance again right at the moment I wanted to know what happened to Magello! The most powerful magician of his time had his powers stolen away by who he thought was his best friend, then thrown into the Endless Well, where people were known to lose their mind long before they lost their lives. Rob scratched his head and opted to pay attention to the lecture going on instead. He just left Tandro as the winner, right after the brutal betrayal!?
I was losing my mind. I’d followed Rob and his tales for months now, each of them being a nice, tightly paced story with a beginning and end. It seemed whenever Rob lost interest in the topic at hand, his mind would drift to tell a quick tale and then resume. It was the reason why History was my favorite class. The teacher was awful, but Rob was incredible.
“At this point, the Persians were wondering why the ummm…” Mr. Swind, our teacher, continued stretching the syllable as he lost his place.
*Who were the Persians fighting this time?* Came the thought from Mr. Swind’s mind. This happened at least once a day.
I sighed, and raised my textbook as if drawing in some particular information, revealing the cover of *Roman Wars and their Consequences* to our fumbling teacher. Mr Swind caught eye of the cover and regained his ground.
“Ummm, the Romans. The Persians were wondering why the Romans continued to try and vye for their treasures, which actually goes back to Caesar and his pals making power plays to increase the wealth of their personal families. You see…”
I wondered how I could do the same thing with Rob, trying to assist him in putting the pieces of his track together to continue the tale. The only problem was that I wasn’t even friends with Rob. He hardly knew me beyond saying hello occasionally when class started, and at this point I knew so much about him I felt that it was like a parasocial relationship with my favorite author. But he was right here! There had to be something I could do or say to save Magello in the Endless Well!
I could feel the vestiges of Rob’s mind reentering his creative realm, and I listened intently.
*Magello fell in the well for… he…*
Nothing came to mind before the bell rang. He was hung up on the plot point, and I was there with him, waiting anxiously. I decided I would follow him in this lunch hour and try to join a conversation between him and his friends, no matter how awkward they would find it. I rushed out the door, leaving before Mr. Swind has the time to stammer out the homework I wasn’t going to do and went straight for the snack bar. I bought a full pack of cupcakes with the money I was supposed to use for the rest of the week and waited for Rob and his friends to gather at the normal place under the shade of the trees at the base of the gym. I hid around the corner and waited for their thoughts to come clear into view to know when would be the right time to show up.
*Man, I hope George doesn’t talk about his vacation again*, came Caleb’s thoughts.
*Geez, there’s George, hope he doesn’t say anything about the stupid Europe tripe again*, Rob’s thoughts came clear as he arrived.
*Oh boy, I can’t wait to tell them about Italy today,* George’s thoughts bloomed excitedly.
I made my way over.
“Hey George,” Caleb said, no emotion in his voice.
“Hey guys, I forgot to tell you about when I fell into the waters of Venice!” George said excitedly, tossing off his backpack and sitting under one of the trees
“Oh, great,” Rob said, trying very hard not to sound annoyed.
“Hey guys! I got a whole box as a prize for a lunch raffle,” I lied, smiling widely and presenting the cupcakes. “Did you want any? I’m not eating 12 all by myself.”
*I* ***love*** *cupcakes!* thought Rob, his fingers wiggling excitedly
*Doesn’t this guy have his own friends to share with?* George wondered, a hint of skepticism in his eyes.
*Oh, thank God, anything to stop George from talking about his trip,* thought Caleb.
“Sure,” Rob said casually, as if he wasn’t about to explode in excitement.
I popped open the package and we all took one each to eat. As I chewed, I looked over to Caleb and George, as though I wasn’t addressing Rob with the question.
“Hey guys,” I said between mouthfuls, “Would you rather fall into a well or get stabbed in the back by a friend?”
Rob’s thoughts were unintelligible, but the lasting impression is that he thought it was a miraculous coincidence rather than anything mysterious. It helped that I offered him another cupcake without looking at him while he was trying to figure out where the hypothetical question came from.
“Depends, how deep is the well?” Caleb asked.
“How good of a friend?” George asked.
“I dunno, but like a really deep well. And it’s your best friend,” I answered.
“I’ll take the well. I would hate to have my best friends not actually be my friend,” Caleb answered thoughtfully.
“Yeah, I’d also take the well. I think I’d be able to slow down the fall enough to make the landing in water all right. There’s water at the bottom, right?” George clarified.
*Slow down the fall…* The thought popped into Rob’s head like a chime ringing.
“Sure, water or whatever. You won’t die falling into the well,” I assured them.
*Won’t die falling into the well… Because he could slow the fall… and…* Rob’s mind was racing, pieces falling into place rapidly.
“What about you?” Caleb asked me.
“I dunno, I think I’d go for the friend backstabbing me. I’m afraid of small spaces, especially if I don’t have any tools to get out,” I said, shrugging.
“Tools to get out?” George chuckled. “Do you normally go around with stuff to get out of wells with?”
*Magello does!* Rob’s mind exploded. *The Eye of Copernicus!*
My eyes went wide in shock. The Eye of Copernicus was an amazing twist. I’d forgotten Magello still had that Artifact. He might not have to lose his mind after all.
*Why is he staring at me like that?* George’s mind made me realize I was boring into his soul with wide eyes.
“I totally forgot I had to retake a math quiz!” I lied quickly. I pushed the case of cupcakes into Rob’s hands who took it excitedly. “I’ll see you guys later!” I called, making my way down the hall.
*What an interesting guy. I should try to get to know him,* Rob thought to me as he took another grateful bite of a cupcake.
_______________
I've got tons more stories at r/Nazer_the_Lazer if you're interested! | 1,306 | You're secretly a mind-reader. One of your classmates, a writer, has The Best daydreams. One keeps recurring, and you realize that they're stuck on a plothole. | 4,517 |
“Ah well… you see..”
You began, standing up and waving away any injuries you had. How to explain this to humankind? Admittedly, you might’ve had a little bit too much fun toying with human lives, as you looked at the crumpled buildings, blood soaked concrete, and unmoving humans sprawled around your immediate area.
There was a collective gasp from the humans before one particularly idiotic one charged at you, a pathetic ball of light glowing in one hand as he tried to maim your form. Sighing, you held your hand up, and decided to be merciful, simply holding him in midair as he kicked and yelled.
Rolling your eyes, you muted him like the humans would a particularly annoying alarm clock, his powers snapping out almost as quickly as you’d snapped them in.
“Anyone else?”
You asked rhetorically, and upon no answer, you released the man you were holding, and he fell to the ground. Only a couple of feet, you’d thrown him further during your scuffle.
“Right where was I?”
The question was more to yourself then anyone else, and none of them were particularly eager to answer you, especially as you’d just proven that you weren’t the bumbling idiot you’d portrayed yourself as. Performance of your life, really.
“Right, well, I was bored, to put it simply. Live a couple of millennia like I have, you get bored. Couple pandemics, wars, and toying with gentle politics kept me occupied before, but I was so detached. So, supervillain. Me.”
You gave an exaggerated jazz hands at that, as they all looked at you with varying looks. Some annoyance, shock, panic, but the most common one, anger. You’d done them a favour really. You’d created them, given them free will, and had trained them for the next time a big bad guy came along- though maybe of your making, maybe not. Seriously, they owed you one.
“You killed countless innocents… _split the moon in half…_ plunged the country into _war_,.. because you were bored?!”
Okay so maybe you weren’t as subtle with your powers as you thought you were. Splitting the moon in half had been fun though, and it was easily fixed. You fixed a, “yes now are you stupid” look on your face- yes, they were, that wasn’t a point of contention- and nodded.
“Yeah. It’s fine. Moon was fixed easy enough if you’ll care to look. Dead people? Eh they were basically carbon copies of you with a few tweaks. Wouldn’t worry about it.”
They all looked at one another mildly infuriated now, perhaps by your callous words- though they weren’t that callous, just honest- and some of them had a harsh flint to their eyes.
“Are you sure you were only _pretending_ to be villain?” | 42 | You are an all-powerful, yet bored, god. You decide to present yourself to the world as a supervillain while secretly giving hundreds of humans superpowers so they could fight you. They think they just defeated you for good and now it is time for you to explain what is actually going on. | 363 |
I haven't been the best person in my lifetime. I'll freely admit that. There aren't many people who would call me an okay one. And even fewer who would call me good. Knowing that, I was fully prepared to face my judgement and take whatever I had earned with at least some dignity.
Imagine my surprise when Max showed up at my judgement. For reference, Max used to be my dog in my early thirties. Truly great pupper, best dog I ever met. He helped me deal with a ton of stuff at the time. The day he left me was one of the very few when I have allowed myself to cry. Not in a dignified way. Just plain, ugly, pathetic weeping.
I'll admit I'm not sure how the next six months went. They are very much a haze, obscured by drugs, alcohol and pure anger. If I had to take a bet, I'd wager that this time alone had me headed for a place with a very constant climate, if you get me.
And still, Max had shown up to testify. On my behalf. Made me look like an angel who had rescued him from the pound, days before he would have been put down. In all honesty, I just felt a certain kinship to an old, scrappy dog no one had any interest in.
He told them how I had held him when the thunderstorms where really, really bad. How it had made him feel safe and sound. Truth be told, I held onto him for dear life. Hated thunderstorms ever since I came back from overseas.
How I had gone without food myself, just so I could provide for him. That one ... Is actually true. Wasn't easy, but I wouldn't let the old dogling go hungry in what time he had left.
Max kept going on and on about how well I had been for him, and what I had sacrificed for his sake. By the time he was done, I was weeping. Damn, I missed that stupid old fleabag.
The powers that be took what felt like an eternity to deliberate. Their final verdict was ... Unusual. Clearly, I did not deserve to go to heaven. Still, Max's heartfelt testimony had kept me from going down below. So what were they to do with me?
I was given time. Time to contemplate. Time to ponder. When I was ready, I'd reincarnate, to have another chance. Tell you what, that alone was more than I thought I'd get. However, as a caveat to my sentence, I would have to spend the time in another afterlife. Dog heaven, to be precise.
And that's where if been for I don't know how long. It has been an endless repeat of "STICK!", "BALL!" and "BELLYRUB!". And to be entirely honest with you, I would not mind spending the rest of eternity in this place.
*Edit: Typos.* | 75 | After breathing your last, you find your dog waiting for you at the gates, who relates that you were slated to go to Hell for all that you had done in your life, but being so good to your pet has allowed you a reprieve, as long as you are wiling to go to doggie heaven instead. | 256 |
"Today we're demonstrating bridge sabotage, and more importantly, how it leads to proper bridge building," announced the villian to his henchmen-in-training. "We're pretty sure the city's got the message on this now."
A small VW bug was driven up to the edged of the bridge, and Josh, one of his henchmen, got out.
"Now, if this bridge was built right, we should be able to remove any four random struts, and cars will still be able to drive across it safely. If not, the bridge will collapse, and the car will fall. We'll leave it to Josh here to determine which struts get removed."
Josh was handed a coin. He flipped it several times. The results were observed, and several other henchmen rappelled down the sides of the bridge and removed the appropriate struts.
The bridge creaked.
"OK. All ready, Josh?" Josh gave a thumbs up, put on a crash helmet and goggles, and got in. "Proceed at will."
There was a long wait. After a few minutes, Josh came out and said the car wouldn't start. Other henchmen came with wrenches and examined the engine. The motor was completely dead.
"OK, that was unexpected. End of demo. This happens a lot more often than you'd think. We'll try to figure out what happened here. It may be useful in the future. Thank you all, perhaps we'll try this again tomorrow, let's move on to the next training topic." | 101 | The Hero wasn’t merely pretending to be one of the Villains henchmen, they actually applied and went through orientation. It was NOT like what they expected. | 305 |
Distorted faces, disembodied voices, and worse, much worse. That’s my life now, there’s no undoing it anymore, and God I wish I’d have read the fine print. Ever since I’d gotten those damn black contact lenses for Halloween. It was meant to just be a joke, honestly; just a way to mess with my friends.
I pass a group of teens, their faces locked in caricatures of horrified screams of terror all while I hear the distorted laughter and voices echo in the night air. Across the street is an advertisement for a well-known fast food chain—the food in the picture is rotten and decayed, the well-known slogan replaced by the words Eat Shit and Die. Next to it, a sign for a politician running for mayor, but underneath their name was a laundry list of all the horrible shit they’d done in their life.
Echoes of past horrors were cast around me in ghostly recreations, while the sounds of the most appalling things humans were capable of grew to a deafening volume. I blocked my ears and ran down the street, unable to hear my own footfalls over the screams of terror, the cries for help, and the angry shouting. If I could get home, if I could just make it home I’d be safe, at least for a while. | 12 | To mess with your friends you've had custom made vantablack contact lenses put on to turn your eyes into abyssal voids. The things you've started to see are scaring you. | 67 |
"I have diabetes." I explained to the High Cleric. "Type one."
She blinked. "I see. And, is that like...consumption?"
I was afraid of this.
So, you know the drill: minding my own business, magic portal, another world, got to save it, no one else can. But like I told the High Cleric, I'm *diabetic.* Type one, insulin dependent! I'd be dead already, if I hadn't happened to have been on my way home from the pharmacy with my latest refill.
For the first two weeks, I just played along. I mean, hey, I'm the chosen hero in a fantasy world, right? This wise old wizard named Barnabas summoned me here from Earth to save his planet, so I gotta get cracking on those *quests.* Plus, he knew some ice magic that could keep my insulin cool.
But I'm still not even halfway done gathering MacGuffins to open the gate to the Lost Kingdom, and then I have to go in there and awaken the True Scion with the Song of Ancient Lore, and who knows how long *that's* gonna take. I wanted to make sure I was covered, insulin-wise.
Except, I went to the pharmacy *here,* the "Ye Olde Apothecary Shoppe" or whatever, and I'm thinking they've probably got insulin under some old-timey name, like *Nectar of Sweetbreads* or something. You know, like how Sulphuric Acid used to be called *Oil of Vitriol?* But it turns out they *don't.*
I talked to the wizard, but he didn't know what either insulin or diabetes were. When I explained it was a *disease,* though, he suggested I talk to the clerics at the Temple of Light. He said they'd be happy to help, since I was the Chosen One foretold in their prophecies, and all.
And he was right, at least up to a point: when I went to the Temple and introduced myself, they showed me right to the High Cleric's chambers. Even so, I wasn't encouraged by how she, too, was completely unaware of the 'beetus.
I said, "No, it's...it's got to do with too much sugar in the blood."
She narrowed her eyes, suspiciously, her hand drifting towards her holy symbol. "Are you saying blood tastes *sweet,* to you?"
"I'm not a vampire!" I exclaimed, annoyed. "I have a disease."
"Ah!" she replied, relaxing again. "My apologies, Chosen One. How did you contract this illness?"
I frowned. "Contract it? I mean, I was sort of *born* with it, to be honest."
She sucked her teeth. "Ooooo. See, that's gonna be a problem, Chosen One."
I winced. "Oh come on. Don't tell me you can't use your holy magic to cure a disease someone was born with!"
"I don't know if we *can't,* but we're definitely not allowed to." she explained, apologetically.
"Why?" I demanded, throwing up my hands in exasperation.
"If you were born with it, it's part of who you *are!"* she exclaimed. "Just like if you were born deaf, or blind, or with your heart outside your chest cavity. It's part of what makes you, well, *you."*
I blinked a few times.
"Your holiness." I said, flatly. "That's the stupidest thing I've ever heard."
"What?" she said, taken aback.
"My *disease* isn't part of who I *am!"* I snapped. "The dice that fate rolled when I was conceived came up *snake eyes,* when the genes that control the structure of my pancreas were being determined. That's all! Who *I am* is about the choices I make in life, not the numbers I happened to come up with in some biological *lottery!"*
She frowned thoughtfully. "An interesting perspective. Normally I'd just say that's heresy, but seeing as how you're the Chosen One, I'll have to bring that up at the next doctrinal conclave, and see what the other High Clerics think."
"And when will that be?"
She shrugged. "A decade, maybe two. It depends on how our schedules line up."
"I'll be dead in a few *weeks!"* I cried.
"Oh!" she said, brightly. "That's perfect, just come back *then!* I can *definitely* hook you up with a resurrection." | 59 | You’ve been brought to another world to save it. The quests may take years, and if you survive, you’ll return home. This would be kind of cool— except you’re diabetic, with less than a month’s worth of insulin. | 90 |
Three weeks.
Three straight, continuous weeks of consciousness. Crunch time of a century, but I managed. I got the game into a reasonable, and more importantly working, state.
You'd think publishers would learn by now, but no. " It's a big open world! No one will notice a few bugs." Goddamn Bethesda.
I was awake and programming for so long, that I stopped questioning the hallucinations a while ago. Most were benign anyway- a three headed dog here, an inverted man(don't ask) there. But as I felt a rush of adrenaline at finally having submitted the project, for better or worse, I noticed that there was an options menu in the corner of my vision. Again, not surprising at this point. It's hard to comprehend five hundred hours of unbroken consciousness, and I was the one living through it.
I looked at it briefly, and it opened up. I figured 'eh, why not?' and turned on English subtitles. I always turn them on. Makes understanding the story easier, usually. Then I saw the 'Report Bug' option.
How could I resist?
"Request to raise the 'Fight or Flight' threshold. Since the 'City building' patch, it's been causing the 'anxiety', 'paranoia', 'depression' and a host of other bugs that cause users to uninstall.".
I found it funny at the time, submitted the report and collapsed to sleep.
When I woke up (48 hours later, nice) I noticed that the interface was still in place. More importantly, there was a message bubble. I looked at it, and a message unfolded Infront of my eyes.
"Thank you for bringing this to our attention. This bug has now been fixed. If you find any other errors, please notify us in the same manner. Suggestions for solutions are also accepted.
Regards,
Lucifer, head programmer.".
I thought I may have lost it completely. But, maybe I just needed to stay awake long enough to access the Developer Kit? Well, there's one way to check.
Let's see if I can make a doctor's appointment. | 39 | A stressed-out programmer somehow submits a bug report to God and surprisingly gets and answer | 57 |
The smiling face of the Train-Yard Torturer had kept me up at night for years. The composite sketches and computer rendered faces had mocked me from the news stands on every street corner.
Tied to the tracks at my feet, he looked far less intimidating.
He had murdered 5 people, kidnapping individuals and tying them to tracks, leaving them to be dismembered by unwitting train conductors. Today he would learn of the fear and pain he'd inflicted.
Oddly enough he didn't seem bothered. Hogtied across the tracks and gagged, he lay serenely, as though contemplating what he would eat for dinner, or how the next episode of his favourite TV drama would progress.
I stepped out of the service corridor and removed his gag.
He blinked up at me and cleared his throat, "You should really get clear of here, it's not proper procedure for the observer to see the examiner, it could influence the test."
It was my turn to blink in astonishment, "Test?"
"Well I assume you're testing something, no point in killing this way. I have to admit it's been quiet an inconvenience to my work."
I paused, thinking. This wasn't the way this was supposed to go.
Somewhere down the subway tunnel there was a faint rushing build of noise, and I felt the wind stir against my skin."The only thing I'm testing is whether you'll scream before or after the train takes your legs off."
The trains headlights could be seen approaching down the tunnel now, throwing the world into sharp relief.
He scoffed, "That's a redundant test. I already have that data. They all screamed after, about 73% screamed before."
It was close now, bearing down on the killer, who was still laying content and cavalier on the metal guillotine. The horn of the train was deafening.
*73%. How did he get that number. He'd have to have killed at least.....and we only found 5.*
With a titanic effort I ripped him off the tracks and threw him down into the corridor. The train sped past, brakes squealing and sparks flying from tortured steel.
"I'm taking you in, and we're going to talk about your little experiments."
He smiled up at me sweetly.
The grin chilled me to my bones and he crooned, "That might just have been the best experiment of all." | 35 | You, a retired detective on a quest for revenge, have finally found the man responsible for tying all of those people to train tracks. The trolley problem is about to be solved, permanently. | 317 |
No one *knows* where Dungeons come from, exactly.
Some say the Divine puts them here, to test us. Scientists, on the other hand, insist that spontaneously-manifesting sentient Dungeons, filled with traps and treasure, are simply a basic feature of the universe, and therefore require no explanation.
They'll say that, in a multiverse of limitless possibilities, we just *happened* to be born in the one universe that's finely tuned to support living catacombs that appear out of nowhere for no reason, and that's that.
Personally, I always suspected that they're some sort of strange *plant,* and some of the coins you find in them are really cleverly disguised *Dungeon seeds.* You take the coins and spend them, they circulate back into the Kingdom's economy, and eventually some of them are going to be buried in the ground by a paranoid miser, or placed over a dead person's eyes and *then* buried, and then, lo! You just planted a new Dungeon.
Whatever they are, and however they come into existence, I certainly never expected to receive a *letter* from one.
I'd been retired from adventuring for a few years, and hadn't even *seen* a dungeon in ages. But there was a sealed letter, purporting to be from a dungeon I'd previously visited: *The Tomb of Midnight.*
*Dear Sir Gregg,*
*It's been a long time. I've grown and changed a lot over the past few years, and I'm sure you have, too.*
I smiled, remembering it fondly. The Tomb had been just a *little* dungeon, that I'd stumbled upon by accident. It was only some stairs leading down into a dark hallway -- which was covered in rather obvious mousetraps that were trivial to avoid -- that opened into a small room where a single giant rat crouched on top of a small pile of mostly copper coins. It was...well, it was *cute,* as Dungeons go.
*I have not forgotten how, despite your professional proclivities for destroying Dungeons, you spared my life when I was small, and then stayed with me for a time to tutor me on being a more effective Dungeon, out of kindness.*
When I killed the giant rat, stones fell away from the wall, exposing the Dungeon Core, a big squishy heart/brain organ all Dungeons have. I was supposed to stab it, technically. But it was such a *tiny* thing, and it clearly didn't know what it was doing.
So I let it live, and gave it some pointers on being a dungeon. I even found an ogre, and bullied it into taking the dead rat's place as the Tomb of Midnight's 'final boss', as we call them in the trade. I felt kind of bad, though.
See, I *hadn't* done it out of kindness, not exactly. I thought it was a cute little catacomb, and all, but it was really more like when you throw back a small fish, so it can grow into a big fish for you to catch later. I just never quite made it back to that particular pond.
*I'm forever grateful for your forebearance and instruction. Your time with me taught me something important about myself: I like people. I find them interesting, and enjoy collaborating and cohabiting with them far more than I could ever enjoy dropping them into spike pits, or dunking them in pools of acid.*
That was certainly unexpected! I mean, he was cordial when I stayed with him, but I assumed he just knew I could kill him easily. But what I read next, that *truly* astounded me.
*Therefore, in celebration of my grand opening, I would like to invite you to enjoy an all-inclusive holiday with me, the region's premiere social hub and vacation destination!*
*Sincerely,*
*The Grand Midnight Luxury Resort Hotel & Casino* | 204 | You found a newly awakened dungeon and defeated its weak guardians. But instead of taking the core, you fed it and gave it advice as it grew a few levels. Years later a small imp appears in your campfire and delivers a message from the dungeon you didn’t destroy. | 555 |
My father taught me an important lesson, when I was young. I remember it vividly; out on the road, to travel to another city. Nothing but our wagon, the campfire, and his guitar. A clear moonlight sky with more stars I could count. Strumming the old instrument, he told me:
*"So long as you understand the basics, and you've got a good imagination, there's nothing you can't do."*
My father was such a kind man. He often teased and joked, and told me that I had "the memory of a doorknob", but unlike others, he didn't try and 'fix' me. He only tried to help, to teach me how to live in this world. You see, it is true that my technical memory is terrible. I tend to get lost, letters and numbers scramble in my brain, and I have trouble remembering names. But, what I do have is a great *emotional* memory. I don't remember facts very well, but I can always remember *experiences*.
And that, you see, is the key to my Magic. I don't remember, well, *any* of the lessons very well, but by practicing with friends and with tutors, by making *experiences*, I learned something. Magic is all about emotion. Or, at least, components are. I'll explain.
Spells that give flight, or make illusion and trickery, are usually *joyous* spells. The movements are light and airy, playful and whimsical; their sounds of the arcane utterances being like sounds of praise, or with a low chuckle of a joke. I think of my father when casting; I remember times by the campfire, listen to his songs, playing games as a child.
Spells that bolster, bless, and heal are usually *fearful* spells. This is...harder to describe. Not "fear" as in, "afraid", but more like, "I am afraid of losing something, and I will not let it be lost". The movements are more like a prayer, or asking for a grand favor; their sounds very much the same. I think of my father, when casting; of him fending off wolves and raiders, of tending his wounds and sickness.
Spells of fire, or lightning, or in general weaken or damage an opponent are usually *angry* spells. Their movement is sharp, and punctuated, like an attack of its own; and you more shout or yell the words, than say them. I think of my father, when casting; of him being struck down, of our things being stolen, of him apologizing.
Spells that control others, or deflect and reject Magic, are *sad* spells. The movements are slow and melancholic; the words muttered and sobbed. I think of my father, when casting; I think of his body in my arms, of his last breath, of the loneliness after his passing.
I think of my father, often.
Of course, these are only generalized, as each spell asks of something different. A spell of enchantment, meant to overwhelm and charm a target with lust and love, requires a feeling of the same; a crush, a look, a stolen kiss.
I brandish this knowledge to you, Headmaster, for two reasons. One; to explain my unorthodox means of casting, why my spells are so different, and to ask that you allow me to pass on the merits of my results, rather than my inability to memorize. Two; that, once I have graduated, you allow me to stay as a member of the staff. Not so much a teacher, of my own right; I would still require much more years of training for that, and would not be so bold to assume I would fit the role. But, rather, as a councilor of sorts, for children who were like me. Ones who hold great potential, but need a helping hand in understanding their own ways of casting. Who cannot memorize facts and scrolls, but can cast the same or better through alternative means.
Please, Headmaster, allow me to do this.
It is what my father would have wanted. | 310 | Magic is an art of recall. The sharper your memory, the more spells you can do. Lesser wizards can master 1 or 2 spells in their lifetime, but it’s not uncommon for others to memorize more. You have a memory of a doorknob, and so you use your imagination instead. It’s weird, but it still works. | 1,063 |
“Do you usually bring assassins to your negotiations? No wonder it took everyone so long to unify. Don’t worry, I have killed none of the ones you sent. It would be a waste of my energy.” Baldin slouched in his chair, the powerful mage retiring to the countryside for a few centuries, deciding to hide in a small, unassuming cottage. He had known his hiding spot wouldn’t last forever, but even he was shocked to learn that he had remained hidden for centuries. Far longer than he expected.
“Bah, negotiations are for the weak. We know of your power and are sick of living in fear. Why wait for you to strike us when we can get the first hit?” The orc woman raised her war hammer. The wooden pole of the weapon covered in a variety of monster teeth; each sharp tooth intended to intimidate her foe.
The mage didn’t seem intimidated. He only shifted forward in his seat, glancing the weapon over before shaking his head. Baldin expected a magical charm or two, but on closer inspection found that the weapon was entirely normal. After he had confirmed that, he went back to his slouched position.
“You intend to kill me with a piece of metal on a stick? I’m not like the boars you hunt. I won’t squeal and charge you at the first sight of danger. No, I’ll carefully set the ground on fire before enveloping you in a ball of flames, faster than you can even get out an orcish curse. Put the weapon down, child.”
“Child? Oh, that does it. I’ll show you the hell that our assassins couldn’t.”
“Easy now, Jali. We came to talk, remember?” Paul said, the human leader gripping the handle of her war hammer, letting out a small grunt when he felt the back of an embedded tooth pushing against his palm.
“You humans are too soft. I tried talking, and it didn’t work. Now I’ll use force.”
“Enough, Jali. Paul is right. We have tried to use violence and yet the problem remains. We would be foolish to jump into a fight without exhausting all our other options. So, mage. Would you be willing to speak with us?” Lady Ellyia said, the elven leader keeping her gaze on the man, trying to read his blank face.
“I was always willing to speak to you. I haven’t moved from this chair since you three got here. Forgive me if I mistook you running me out of your city all those centuries ago as a sign that you didn’t wish to try the negotiation tactic any longer. To think you would send your guards after me when I was at my weakest. Did you tell the humans the truth about your one hundred years of war with them? That the magic blast that turned the battle in your favor was something you requested of me.”
“I was a young queen back then. I didn’t see any other option for my people. But yes, I told them the truth. It seemed only fair that I should acknowledge my mistakes if we wanted peace. What’s your excuse for going along with my orders? Surely, a legendary mage should have had more common sense?”
“If I’m allowed, I would like to use the same excuse as you. I was young and enchanted by elven beauty. I believed you were right. I knew the awful things that humans could do and wanted peace. That peace you promised me.”
“You got that peace, eventually.”
“After you dragged the war out for another fifty years. It wasn’t until the humans pushed back again that you screamed for peace. Had the humans never shown a backbone, you would have crushed them. I know it, you know it, and the poor man next to you knows it.”
“If you intend to make us doubt one another, you will need to try harder. War is a dirty thing and Ellyia is responsible for the death of a lot of my ancestors, but that is war. Had I been in her shoes, I can’t say I wouldn’t have done the same. What I find hard to swallow is the fact that a human would kill his own kind in a war.” Paul said, removing his hand from Jali’s weapon.
“My kind? That’s funny. I see none of you as my kind. I’m above anyone here. You could send armies after me and you would still lose. Each of you know that and yet you persist in agitating me. The aggressive dragon you hate has found a cave to lie in and yet you come and poke him. How many more pokes do you think it will take to get the reaction you want?”
The three looked among themselves, watching as the mage stood up from the chair. He still wore the same robes as he had during the war, their once regal blue now tattered and dirt covered. He made his way over to a small pot of tea, still relying on fire to warm the pot rather than just using his own abilities. Once he had the tea, he set out four cups, pouring one for himself and then filling the others.
“What do you really want? Is it just fear that has brought you here? Or do you think I will just roll over after all your attempts on my life? That I would simply just give up and go along with whatever you want to ensure my safety. I’m not threatened, nor am I interested in changing my ways.” Baldin said before raising his cup. “Would you like some tea?”
“Like I would drink anything you would give me. It’s probably poisoned.” Jali said.
“Poisoned? I wouldn’t resort to such offhanded tricks. If I wanted you dead, I would have done it by now. I’m doing this as a show of good faith. I may like none of you, but I, at the very least, respect that you came here without bringing an army.”
“The army would come next if this went badly.” Paul said.
“Heh, I still haven’t gotten my answer. What do you really want?”
The three didn’t reach for the tea, each looking at another in the group, expecting them to make the first move. After a long silence, it fell on Lady Ellyia to speak for the group. She took the tea, giving the mixture a quick look over before taking a small sip of it. The mage looked at her expectingly, waiting for her reaction.
“Its nice.” She finally said, before continuing. “We want assurance that you won’t try to kill us all. The longer you gather your power, the more at risk we are of being unable to stop you. What we seek is a treaty.”
“And she speaks for you all?”
“Personally, I want your head displayed on my throne room wall, but a treaty will do.” Jali added, leaning against her weapon. The conversation was already boring her. Humans and elves talked far too much for her liking.
“We all want peace. Just tell us how to get it.” Paul said, the human doing his best to dull Jali’s comments. Hoping to slide them unnoticed past the mage.
“I see. Then let me make it clear.” He sipped his tea, downing more of the warm mixture before setting the empty cup down. “I won’t be a problem as long as the world maintains order. If at some point, I sense your actions will bring about the death of the world, whether that be through war or some other destructive means. I will come out and kill everything before you can bring about that destruction. I’ll give everyone a quick and peaceful death to ensure that no one suffers.”
Silence filled the room. The three leaders considering their next words. They had been given the assurance they wanted, but perhaps not in the way that they wanted to hear.
“So, as long as we don’t kill the world, you will stay in hiding? Sounds like a good deal to me.” Jali said, turning to head for the door. The answer satisfying the orc.
“I will. Do you think you can keep the peace for that long? You have gotten close before. I don’t just mean for a few centuries. This will span thousands of years. I’ll always be waiting for that moment.”
“We have created peace already. What’s there to worry about? Look, all three of us were enemies at some point and now I’m happily tagging along with the humans and elves. Well, not happily, but you get what I mean.”
“Mmm. May I ask why there are only three of you if there is peace? What about the dwarves? Or even something like a harpy. Sure, they may be minor voices compared to you three, but they are still voices.”
“The dwarves come under the humans. Harpies and other monsters go under the leadership of Jali. We have thought these things through.” Paul said.
“I see. How long do you think those minor voices will be happy being represented by you three? Eventually, they are going to want that sort of power too. I suggest you carefully think about that. If I were in your shoes, I would give them their own slice of this peace, or else you may be at risk of another tragedy.”
“You really think we are at risk of rebellion? So soon after we gathered peace? That is a lot to think about. Very well, I will think about what you have said.” Lady Ellyia said, offering a bow before turning to the door, leaving with Jali.
Paul went to leave, only to feel a hand grab his wrist. He swung around to see the mage staring at him. Their face pressed close to Paul’s. “You humans are the real ones that they need to worry about. I predict you will be a handful in the future. Remember to tell your children about me. I would hate for our deal to be forgotten in the future.”
“I assure you; I won’t let anyone forget.” Paul tugged his hand free as the mage did not try to hold him any longer. Paul gave the man a quick nod before leaving to meet with the others. When the three had left, the mage returned to his seat, curious to see what the future would hold.
 
 
 
(If you enjoyed this feel free to check out my subreddit /r/Sadnesslaughs where I'll be posting more of my writing.) | 1,302 | There once was a legendary mage whose lack of a max mana cap allowed for slow but powerful spells that laid waste upon the land. After the unification of the races, their leaders have come to negotiate with the living catastrophe who hasn't cast a spell in centuries. | 3,742 |
**SCP-7503: The vending machine at the end of the world**
**Object Class: Safe**
**Special Containment Procedures:**
SCP-7503 is to be kept in a standard containment locker in site 19. The object must be kept powered off, and in a locked position outside of approved testing.
As a precaution, Foundation webcrawlers are to scan review sites and social media for references to items sold by SCP-7503.
Consumptions of items sold by SCP-7503 is forbidden outside of approved testing or approval by 04 personnel.
**Description:**
SCP-7503 is a red coin-operated vending machine. It does not match any known model, but bears a resemblance to a design popular in the 1980s.
By inserting United States coins equal in value to between 25 cents and one dollar, users can purchase a snack food.
Snack items available in SCP-7503 are either slight variations of, or completely unrelated to known products. They are loosely themed after apocalyptic scenarios or classic horror movie monsters.
Consumption of products sold by SCP-7503 causes vivid hallucinations. The exact nature of the hallucination varies, but is always related to the theme of the item consumed. See testing log for details.
At random intervals, generally between 1 and 6 AM local time, SCP-7503 will enter a dormant state. The glass window will become opaque and any coins present will disappear. Products inside will restock or occasionally be replaced with new items.
SCP-7503 was discovered after reports of alien abductions in [Redacted], North Carolina. A thorough investigation found no evidence of anomalous entities in the area. It was later discovered that all affected persons used the same snack machine, which appeared mysteriously at the local arcade one week prior. Class-C amnestics were administered, and SCP-7503 was taken into Foundation possession.
The origins of SCP-7503 are currently unknown. No logos or other manufacturing codes are present. The only branding are the words "The Factory" printed on the inside panel.
---
**Testing log:**
In each test, a D-Class subject was instructed to consume one item purchased from SCP-7503 and report any unusual effects.
---
Subject: D-91805
Item: Atomic lime flavored jelly beans
Result: Subject reported no unusual effects until two hours later, when he was escorted back to his holding cell. Subject accused staff of attempting to conduct human experiments using uranium, and demanded they "take off their hazmat suits and breathe in the fumes." It should be noted that researchers were wearing a standard Foundation uniform at the time.
---
Subject: D-67724
Item: Blue Lightning flavored Mountain Dew soda.
Result: Subject immediately began covering her ears, complaining of the noise. Verbal communication was unsuccessful. Researcher Miller asked subject what she was hearing via hand-written note, after which she complained of loud thunder and asked why they weren't taking shelter. Subject asked to be sedated, which was granted.
---
Subject: D-31450
Item: Grey Goo Goodies
Result: Subject immediately spit out the item, and attempted to wipe his tongue on his shirt. D-31450 then removed his shirt, staring at it in apparent shock while backing into one corner of the room. When prompted by researchers, he asked if they could see "that grey slime eating a hole into the floor." Subject appeared increasingly agitated, attempting to escape an unseen threat, before expiring due to cardiac arrest.
---
Subject: D-88210
Item: Lizard Gummies
Result: [Redacted]. Researcher Miller reprimanded for unauthorized declaration of SCP-682 containment breach.
---
Subject: D-56324
Item: Strawberry Twists
Result: Subject appeared distressed, then experienced severe vertigo before passing out. Upon waking, he stated that "the room turned inside out." | 17 | A zombie apocalypse turns out to be a mass hallucination traced to an extreme reaction to a popular snack food. The "survivors" are left to deal with the consequences of their actions as the rest of the world works to decide what to do in the aftermath. | 86 |
I shifted uncomfortably in my seat, watching the two of them laugh. It was always like this - the first few hours were a welcome change from the monotony I pretended to enjoy, almost managing to make me smile. Then, the minutes started ticking by slower and slower until I was ready to bolt from my seat; do anything to escape.
Alex cast me a concerned glance, their eyes filled with some emotion I couldn't immediately place. I didn't want to, either. I just wanted to leave, to go... to go home.
Jara, who was sitting on my left, turned to me, taking a deep breath. "Pen," she said, using the nickname she'd given me years ago, "we were wondering if you wanted to stay...?"
I barely heard her words. "Huh?" I asked, trying to buy myself time to process them. "Stay," she repeated, "with us. We were going to try to get tickets to the new play. 3 seats should be just as easy to get as 2, you know."
"Yeah," Alex jumped in, "it's a really cool play! Lots of things you like. It was made by the same guy who produced the last one we went to!" The two of them had invited me to their last outing, but I'd declined. It wasn't like I didn't like theatre - I did! And I really did enjoy their company. It was just... it was a lot of things. But none of those things were things I could say, so I'd kept silent.
I couldn't now, though. They were waiting for an answer, and I was right in front of them. "Oh, uh... no, sorry," I said apologetically. And I *was* sorry - I felt terrible for ditching them after I'd agreed to this meetup. Heh... they'd really had to try to convince me to even meet them here for lunch. I'd caved in the end, though, as was evident by the fact that I was sitting here now, picking at my half-eaten food.
Wait, I'd declined. That meant I could leave now. I started to push my plate away and reach for my wallet, intending to pay for the food. "You don't have to," said Alex hurriedly as they saw what I was doing, removing their own wallet instead. "We're the ones who invited you out! Here, I'll get the bill this time."
"Alex, you don't have to pay the whole thing," Jara protested, her gaze flicking from me to them and then back to me. "Look, Aspen... we'd really appreciate it if you'd come. Like, *really* appreciate it. Please? It's been *forever* since we've gone out together, and you're already leaving?"
I shifted in my seat again, trying to push away some of the nervous energy that threatened to consume me. "No, that's fine. I'll come next time, OK?" I needed to leave. I didn't want to stay here. I wanted to go home.
I started to push out my chair, but Jara caught my wrist. "*Aspen*." I turned and looked at her, surprised. There was an odd undertone in her voice that hadn't been there before, and her eyes were almost pleading. "Pen," she repeated. "*Listen* to us. Please. You can't keep running off like this. You're hurting yourself."
"I feel fine!" I practically shouted, not feeling fine in the slightest. They didn't need to know that, though. There was absolutely no reason Alex or Jara needed to hear about my problems because... well because they were *my* problems, not theirs. There was no reason to weigh them down.
I turned to Alex for support, Jara's grip still strong on my arm, but they simply shook their head. I could feel my eyes darting backward, as if searching for an escape. "Look at me, Aspen," they said softly, almost gently. "You're hurting yourself."
Why did they keep saying that? I was fine! I felt fine! The only thing that was hurting me was staying here, instead of going back to where I belonged. To where people wanted me. "I know it's hard," said Jara slowly, "to keep your head in the here and now when... when your imagination offers an escape. But... you can't *just* escape. You escape to give yourself a break, to let yourself recover, to give yourself a chance to breathe when you don't know how to deal with what's hurting you. But if all you do is run, running just becomes one more problem."
Jara released my wrist and I sank back into my chair, almost mechanically. "You can't keep running off into your head," said Alex. "I know what it's like to want to, but... if it's the only thing you do, you'll just keep falling."
"Neither of you get it," I accused, trying to keep my voice level. I wasn't succeeding. "It's... it's real. I can remember every adventure I've had in my dreams. I'm who I want to be there, it's... it's perfect." Jara shook her head, but it was Alex who interrupted. "Not for long," they said. "Please, just... stay with us. For the afternoon. You'll feel better, I promise."
I wanted to run. I wanted to lock myself in my room and turn off the lights and hide in my dreams. But I couldn't make myself, so I lay my head down on the table and cried.
r/StoriesOfAshes for more of my stuff. I also have a serial called [A Game of Chess](https://www.reddit.com/r/StoriesOfAshes/comments/re24jc/a_game_of_chess_chapter_1/) if you want to check it out! | 14 | You've always remembered all your dreams. You could describe what you did in your dreams just as easily as any other day spent awake. Full of characters/beings, adventures and quests. One day, you're friend Jara turns to you and says "We were wondering if you wanted to stay..?" | 37 |
Sir Pentious was nearing his wit's end, feeling the beration of Her Royal Highness. The Princess complained of her shakles, complained of the way he carried her, complained of the hardtack and provisions, complained of the lack of amenities in his humble cart. Through mantra, and reverence, these were things he could ride through. He had saved many a noble before; and all nobles complained the same. Her last remark, however, dug deep into his ego, his pride, and sparked his short fuse.
"I don't need your protection."
The scoff was what really set him seeing red. The insolence. The *nerve*. He could have died, and several times, nearly did, in his quest to rescue her.
He silently slowed the cart to a stop. Slowly disembark off of his steed. He ignored her inquisitive complaints as he moved to the rear of the cart, grabbing Her Royal Highness and yanking her out. He was careful enough not to shove her into the dirt, but pushed her some paces away, before tossing a sheathed sword in her direction.
**"Then prove it."**
He removed his blade from his side, locking the sheath. While this was a time for violence, it was no time for blood. Only a lesson, at most.
Her Royal Highness only got a confused "what" out before being forced to block the incoming blow. Then another. And another. Slow attacks, but purposeful and strong. She attempted to reason with her new agressor, but violence was the only language the Paladin spoke, now.
She understood the picture, and after deflecting another blow, took an offensive stance. The next attack; parry, riposte. Smaller attacks, aiming for vital points, forcing the Paladin to block, opening new avenues of attack. Forced block, swing. Parry, riposte.
Through several minutes of back-and-forth combat, tension from Sir Pentious gave way to a thin smile of surprise. **"I see that I am mistaken in your abilities. You have been trained in the blade."**
"Yes, and I am quite good at it too, thank you very much."
Sir Pentious smiled.
**"Very well then."**
The blows from the Paladin became more complex, adding finnese into the brute strength. It was enough to put the Princess on her toes, back on the defensive, but not enough to deter her attacks. They parleyed for several minutes more, before the smile became a laugh. **"A Royal, able to withstand the might of a Paladin! Color me impressed, Your Highness."**
The Princess couldn't help but to give a smile. "Get the picture yet? Still think I need a protector?" To accent her point, she lunged for a vital area, a weakness in the armor.
To her surprise, she hit; not due to aim, but the Paladin leaned into the attack, *allowing* it. As he did, his offhand rammed straight into her stomach, now unprotected. The Princess keeled over, coughing and dry heaving in pain, as her blade dropped. The Paladin gave a prayer in a foreign language, before smiling and offering a hand to the Princess.
**"No,"** He stated, a chuckle on his voice.
**"What you need is experience."** | 120 | "I don't need your protection." The princess scoffs. The paladin hops off his steed, yanks her to out of the cart, and tosses her a spare sword. "Prove it." She demands. | 273 |
"Hey." I said, awkwardly, to the frowning Egyptian man seated across from me in the bubbling hot tub.
"Noob!" he shouted.
Well, that certainly wasn't the first word I'd expected to hear, in the afterlife. It was accurate, I supposed, I *had* only been dead for a few seconds, as far I could tell. But as it turned out, he hadn't been talking to me.
"What's up, boss?" asked a man with a jackal's head, as he walked into the room. He was wearing a fancy track suit, his hands stuffed casually into the pockets of the shirt. Oh. *A-NOOB-is,* I realized.
"Is this a *human?"* the Egyptian demanded, gesturing to me.
Anubis peered down at me. "Huh! Look at that. Yep, that there's a human, Osiris."
"And what's it doing in my jacuzzi?" Osiris asked, patiently.
Anubis cocked his head to one side, quizzically. "I, uh...I have absolutely no idea, boss. You said we weren't doing the 'afterlife' bit anymore, so I packed up my scale in a closet somewhere, and gave Maat her feather back. I didn't let him in here."
Osiris sighed, tilting his head back. "Great, so now I've got *this* whole thing on my plate, today."
Anubis wandered off again, leaving us in awkward silence.
"I'm sorry." I said, hesitantly. Of course, it wasn't like I'd *intended* to die. I suspected that was on some jag who didn't think traffic lights applied to him, but it seemed like the polite thing to say. "I wasn't trying to butt in on your afterlife. I didn't even believe in you, to be honest."
He waved a hand, dismissively. "Nah, it's fine. It's not like you could have planned this if you tried -- even if you'd done the whole deal with priests and mummification and everything, we're not supposed to be taking any new crew on board. We're not even docked at your planet, anymore. Somebody must have screwed up, on our end."
I blinked. "Um, *on board?"*
"Yeah," he said, tiredly. "This is a sort of...interdimensional spacecraft-type thing, named the *Duat,* that houses the consciousness of every member of my species. And a handful of yours we decided to bring aboard, way back when. I think you're calling beings like us, what, 'aliens', now, instead of 'gods'? Anyhow, we're beings of pure psychic energy, and a long time ago our ship crashed on Earth. While we were waiting on repairs, we needed some place to stay, so we all hopped into your species' collective unconscious mind for a bit."
"Oh, so all the Egyptian mythology stuff...?" I asked.
"I mean," Osiris said, tilting his hand back and forth noncommittally. "Some of it's *kinda* true. You guys are partially made of *matter,* which is weird, so we had to use a lot of metaphors to explain things to you, and even then you didn't always *get it.* That's how you're perceiving me now, by the way. The collective human unconscious still remembers the archetypes we showed you to symbolize *us,* and your *'ka'* \-- your persistent psychic energy pattern, or soul, whatever you want to call it -- fills in the rest with things are familiar to you."
He gestured down at himself. "You're seeing, what, an Ancient Egyptian guy? That's not *me,* it's just how your mind interprets me."
I nodded. "So," I asked hesitantly. "There's no *real* afterlife, then?"
He shrugged. "How would I know? I'm not dead. Of course, by *our* standards, neither are you, really. Your psychic energy pattern has just come loose from its matter shell."
I leaned back, letting it all sink in for a moment. Then something occurred to me.
"Hey, you said you're not 'docked' at Earth, anymore? Why did you leave?" I asked.
"Well, we finally finished repairing the *Duat,* after all those centuries." he explained. "But also, Egypt was getting way too *spooky."*
"Spooky?"
He nodded, as Anubis returned, carrying a large fluffy towel, as well as a folded track suit that looked like his own.
"Yeah! First off, at one point, the Nile turned to *blood.* It didn't just *look* like blood, we scanned it, and it was literally flowing with millions of gallons of *human blood,* from an unknown donor. *A*nd then, insects and amphibians just started spontaneously *materializing.* We're not talking about little quantum particles that can just pop in and out of existence whenever, I mean *whole-ass* bugs and frogs! I think your planet's *haunted,* or something." He said, with a shudder.
"Anyway," Osiris said, gesturing to Anubis. "Welcome aboard, I guess. Towel off and put on your uniform, and then report to Thoth. I'm sure he'll find something for you to do." | 103 | When you died, you expected to go to Heaven, or Sheol, or maybe Valhalla. Instead, you pop into existence in Osiris’s jacuzzi. | 166 |
My professor's warning rings in my ears. "You'll never cut it in this discipline if you aren't more careful."
I curse while grabbing the trash can, bringing it back to my station. The pottery shard is covered with white chalk, and it's all over the table. Picking the pottery shard up with care, I hold it over the trash can and tip it over so that the chalk dust falls into the receptacle. After setting the fragment on the bit of clean counter space near my computer, I scoop the chalk dust on the counter into the trash before getting a wet paper towel to remove all traces of my mistake.
My professor comes in as I'm putting the trash can back in its place. He makes a beeline for the pottery shard next to my computer.
"What's this?" he asks.
"What's what?" I say, setting down the trash can. I turn around and face him, proud of keeping my mistake a secret.
Except he's holding the dust-covered shard, inspecting it.
"Oh, that," I say, hurrying over to his side.
"Is that… is that a fingerprint?" he says. "Who's been handling the artifacts without gloves?"
Before I can provide an answer, he continues, saying how he can't trust the men in the field. "Run the print and find out who it is. And when you know, I'll set up a meeting with them in my office. No way I'm letting someone's oily fingers disrupt our work…" he mutters, walking away to his office.
I look down at the dust-covered fragment. There, in the dead center, is a fingerprint. I search through my memories, wondering if I'd accidentally touched the pottery shard without gloves. I don't think I have, but I can't be sure.
There I go, not being careful yet again.
Staring at the shard, I realize I don't know the first thing about lifting a print and getting it analyzed. A quick Google search and a phone call, and I find a private investigator, a former police officer, who can come by and help.
But I'll have to stay late. So much for meeting my friends for drinks.
The private investigator that arrives is a barrel-chested man in his early fifties, with gray hair growing from his ears. He quickly pulls the print, complete with a steady dose of mansplaining about essential crime scene work. He's gone within fifteen minutes, leaving the invoice next to my computer.
I almost choke when I see the number. Unfortunately, there wasn't any prior authorization for the private investigator's services, and I doubt I'll get paid back. Oh well, that's a problem for future me.
I pay the invoice and leave. Checking my email for the next few days in anticipation of the results proves useless, and after a long weekend, I forget all about the fingerprint.
Until the results show up in my inbox, directly from Interpol. They announce that they're sending a team to the lab.
I stare at my computer in horror. Investigators? Here? My professor probably doesn't even remember asking for the fingerprint scan.
Before I can even figure out how to tell him that we have visitors on the way, a pair of serious-looking men in black suits with white shirts storm into the lab.
"Marcus? Marcus Harvey?"
"It's Marcos, with an o."
"Where's the pot?"
"The pot?" my professor says, emerging from his office. He stares at me. "Are you selling drugs out of the lab?"
"No!"
"We were told there's a pot with a fingerprint. We need to see it and everything you have about it."
My professor looks dumbfounded. His curious gaze passes from the two agents and settles on me.
"Sir, do you remember the pottery shard we found with the fingerprints on it? I sent it in for analysis, and these two showed up."
A light bulb goes off for the professor. "Oh! Good thing you gentlemen are here; we take our scientific process very seriously. No corners cut, that's the kind of thing that could-"
One of the agents holds up a hand, stopping the professor's tirade. "Sir, this is way bigger than a scientist cutting corners."
The professor looks insulted. "What could be more important…" he says, trailing off.
The agents look at each other. They must work together a lot and know each other's thoughts because one says to the other, "won't hurt anything."
The agent who hadn't spoken turns to us. "We have every reason to believe that this fingerprint was left centuries ago, from the period when the pottery originated."
"Ok…" the professor says.
I interject, talking to my professor before the agent can continue. "Sir, that would mean whoever left it is centuries old. How else did their information get into a modern database?"
The professor doesn't register what I've said. Instead, he turns to the agents and asks, "Are we looking for an antiquities thief?"
"Sir, we aren't worried about art thefts," chimes in the agent who didn't explain. "We're from the time division."
"Specifically, vampires." | 11 | An anthropology intern finds a fingerprint on an ancient pottery shard. After running it through Interpol's database as a joke, they find a match. | 84 |
I wake up by a knock on the door, and as I walk to open it, I try to kick the items fallen on the floor to make the room appear clean. As I am kicking what appears to be an antique typewriter out of the way, I still wonder who left me this huge loft filled with antiques and shelves of books about which I had no idea , and neither did the Internet. I remember a confusing but completely unremarkable childhood , having a vague understanding of a sponsor trust till the day I turned 18 two years ago, and then a meeting with a lawyer who seemed as perplexed as I was as he explained that I was the sole beneficiary of a trust , and accordingly I was to get possession of this loft in London, along with a few bank locker details and an account with enough zeroes for me to forget anything else said as I laid my signatures where he pointed. On the security camera I saw two policemen, and I took my time to get my bearings. I had no explanations for nearly any of the items in my loft, well I call it a loft but a few girls I had brought over had called it a museum with a bed, but I figured my lawyer probably had an explanation and I opened the door. The policemen appeared hostile but confused, as they explained to me my rights and that I was to accompany them to the station as a murder suspect. I was like this has to be a joke, a twisted practical joke but never the less a joke. I said sure, I accompanied them and we reached the station. The lead police officer approached me , offered me a coffee which I declined and laid down the facts. My DNA was a match to a murder that occurred 40 years ago, that during an excavation for a new apartment complex, a skeleton was found with a fistful of hair clutched in its fist, and that a DNA analysis pinged my DNA records as a 98% match. At this point I was confused, if this was a joke it was a severe misuse of authority by the police , and I started snapping at them. They informed me that I had a right to call my lawyer, and that they themselves were confused as there was no precedent to this occurrence. I called the same lawyer who had handled the trust, and informed him of this comical situation, but his reaction left me stunned. In a panicked tone he enquired whether I had given any statement of made any comment and that I was to not say a single word till he arrived at the station, I asked him to elaborate and explain but he was adamant that I kept quit and do nothing but breathe till he reached the station. I decided to follow his instructions and informed the police and waited. My lawyer arrived, and asked to speak to me privately. As we ata down, I asked him what is this stupidity and to get me off immediately, but he replied grimly that he had an envelope with strict instructions by his predecessors as to what to do if such a similar situation arises. I asked what the fuck is he taking about and he just shrugged and then opened his briefcase and removed a gun. By now I was freaking out but he just shrugged and said that this was one of the possible outcomes and that every contingency was planned for . I asked what the fuck was he talking about and he just smiled, and asked me what do I remember off my childhood. I must have given him a blank look so he said , to think about it what do I remember about my childhood, till I was sitting in his office . I was still staring at him and he said, with some sympathy that I had no childhood. I was brought to him in his office in a cryogenic chamber and I was brought to life in front of him and he just followed his instructions. That , I had nothing to worry, that after he shoots me, my soul would continue as he would extract my DNA and my next life would begin in a office similar to his. I thought about it and figured what the heck, and the last thing I hear is a flash of his gun and a boom!
Edit: I was too drunk and by the end of it was dozing off so didn’t put much effort in the end sorry ! | 13 | you are only 20 years old | 90 |
Rand stepped lightly through the city, brushing Ether dust off his suit jacket as he went. Looking around the bustling city, with its towering buildings and high-speed transit, he stroked his long, greying beard in thought.
"Tier IV civilization, huh? That's fairly unique for having existed for such a short time period. Make a note of that, Fal, it could be relevant to the investigation."
"On it," Rand heard Fal's response in his head.
*Glad I set up that Etheric Connection before I left. So much more convenient to have a random underling take notes for me.*
"I heard that," Fal said. Rand could hear the irritation in her voice. "If you're going to insult me, you need to be more careful to keep your thoughts to yourself."
Rand smiled. "Sorry."
Fal sighed. "Knowing you, though, I can't tell if you intentionally thought that to get a rise out of me, or if you were just being an idiot. I'm not sure which one would be more aggravating."
He brushed his jacket smooth one last time, then swiftly changed the subject. "Still, this is all very impressive. I almost can't believe it was accomplished without any Ether sources on planet."
Rand walked over to a human sleeping on a nearby bench. He put his hand to the human's head and tried to pull an Etheric Connection from him. Strangely, there was a small resistance, for a moment. Rand frowned, then pulled a little harder.
The Connection stuck. Information suddenly flooded Rand's mind. Luckily, Rand was a little more suited than most gods to parse through it all. Words like 'English,' 'Great Wall of China,' and 'ice cream' suddenly had meaning and context to him. More importantly, though, it gave Rand a lot of data on the humans there.
"Fairly normal trait distribution, all things considered. Slightly more determination than standard. Maybe that's to blame for their ambition. Wait..."
Rand removed his hand from the human's head before he drew unwanted attention. He absent-mindedly took off his top hat and stroked his beard as he walked on. "0% capacity to utilize Ether. That's completely unprecedented. And yet they were able to advance all the way to Tier IV? I guess that's the creations of an Elder for you. I'm always amazed by how competent those gods can be."
"Up until he disappeared," Fal whispered.
Rand sighed, "Up until he disappeared."
"There's a lot of strange circumstances around this case, Rand. How does an Elder just vanish from the face of the Universe? What happened to the first two investigators who went to check on him? I think the council believes the unique Etheric properties, or lack thereof, of the planet played a role in it. That's why they went you to take a look at it, I guess."
"Well then," Rand smiled and put his hat back on, "As the god of Ether, I suppose I should try not to disappoint. Let's check in with my predecessor, shall we?"
\------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Thanks for reading! Let me know if you'd be interested in a part 2. I think the story could be fun to continue, if there's any interest in it. As always, please comment any critiques you have. They keep on helping me improve. Finally, if you liked what you read here, feel free to check out my other stuff on r/TheReadingDen. | 104 | The Council of Gods assigns a God to each planet to create life according to a grand design. Earth's God disappeared shortly after mankind was created, and over the eons the Council has sent various Gods to investigate. | 190 |
**Greetings, mortal! Behold your wishes to me, for the price of your soul!**
I turn around in my chair, a look of apology and exasperation on my face. I look up to the towering figure of muscle and horns, who looks upon me for moment. Its face falls when it recognizes who I am.
**Oh. You again.**
"Yeah."
A sigh the fills the room with heat and brimstone, the figure pinching the bridge of it's nose. I do feel bad, a little bit. This is probably the thirtieth time this week.
**Latin homework?**
"Yeah."
Another sigh, this time interlaced with a growl of damned souls. The room temperature continues to rise some, as the beast looks down at me, no expectations in his black, soulless eyes.
**I'm guessing it's still a no on you wishing to be an expert in Latin?**
"Yeah."
A deep inhale in, before giving an exhale of smoke and flame. There is certainly aggregation on the red face, but it is cooled by a patience I can't explain or understand.
**Okay, fine. I'm just...gonna go back now.**
"Okay."
With some words that I vaguely recognize, he commands an incantation. An inversed pentagram of flame appears, scorching more lines into my carpet, of which I have given up trying to clean. The pentagon within reveals the literal Hellscape the creature is returning to, with a screaming of torment, and a gnashing of teeth. Once the beast makes its exit, I grab the fire extinguisher next to my desk, put out the flames, then return to my studies.
Half an hour later, in the middle of my practice, I hear the warping of a gate, twisting with the screams of the damned. I can feel the presence behind me, who seems to take stock of the area, before proclaiming:
**Oh, God DAMMIT.** | 19 | As a Latin student you’ve been practicing hard, the issue is you keep accidentally summoning the devil. | 41 |
“Citizens of the world. Peace between the United States and Atlantis has finally been reached. After a long, bloody war with so many lives lost I’m happy that we can…”
The press leaned forward, hanging off the president’s every word. With clipboards in hand, they eagerly waited.
“Mer-make ammends.”
Buh-dum-tisss
The President winked at the camera as the press scratched their heads. Behind him, submerged in a tank of water, the queen of Atlantis performed the human equivalent of facepalming, which meant she slammed the thin cartilage of her lower tail against her face.
“Get it,” the President said. “Cause she’s…” he gestured wildly towards the Queen. “Ahem. Moving on. To mark this momentous occasion, we are announcing the construction of the Atlantis Embassy.”
There was a flurry of camera shutters with lights flashing bright.
“Mr. President,” cried one reporter. “Does this have Congress’s approval?”
“When does construction begin?” yelled another.
“What are your plans to combat discrimination against merfolk in American society,” a third screamed.
“Now, now,” said the president. “Don’t be…. Shellfish.” He winked at a different camera this time. Bah-dum-tissss. Everyone stared. “There will be time for questions at the end.”
The press quieted.
“So the… porpoise.” He didn’t bother winking again. “Of this press conference is to announce to both the American people and the merfolk of Atlantis some of the… fintastic aspects of our new… eeliance.”
The Atlantian Queen was glaring daggers at his back.
“Any and all aquatic property… seazed unlawfully by the U.S. during the war will now be returned to Atlantis. Additionally, in compliance with Queen Lucia, we will… dive into construction and install a US naval base in the city of Poseidon. Shore, this may seem to some merfolk like America being, and pardon my language, a… beach, but this is all done with the queen’s seal of approval. In return, the US is building an embassy and allowing Atlantis to use the Floridian canal for whatever they… fish.”
After the first few bad puns the drummer (Vice President) got tired and now he just hits the snare. Tisss tisss tisss
“Just kidding,” the President laughs. “The canal will strictly be for travel. No Atlantian military movement will be allowed through the canal. This is one of the many gestures to show we are friends not… anemones!”
The queen sprung out of her tank before the Vice President could hit the snare again with a wet slap. She pushed the President out of the way and hoisted herself up to the podium.
“And that concludes the press conference.” She says in her thick accent. “If I have to bear witness to the President floundering for even a second more…”
The President, now on the ground swallows.
“Well. I might just go for the gill.”
And the room breaks out into laughter. Sure, it’s nervous laughter, but laughter none the less.
Buh-dum-tiss. The Vice President plays.
Standing back up, the President awkwardly edges around the queen to speak. “Um. Yes. That concludes our conference… thanks.”
Behind him, the Vice President whispers: “And your career.”
The President sighs, maybe comedy isn’t his thing? | 19 | Your powerful family guided you on your path to become president of your country. But deep down you really wanted to be a comedian. Well, you decide, who can stop you from slipping some material in when you give a televised speech about the state of the country? | 60 |
"Your reign of terror ends now Fiend!"
Again with the fiend, he really needed a thesaurus, maybe I'd send him one, his birthday was coming up after all. I studied my opponent, he'd modeled his costume after three of "The League" unfortunately every piece he chose clashed, he had battle gauntlets and boots reminiscent of Two Ton Techno, a headband and gi in the same style as Lady Shattersoul, and then put it all into the color scheme of the head honcho himself "Star Shine." Unfortunately the did not have the skin or eyes to pull off glitzy purple, with white accents. He looked so washed out that people often thought he was sick before the first punch was thrown. Maybe a better suit or something instead as a gift, probably too obvious it's someone who knows his secret identity if I did that.
"Ahh the little Sun Spot is back for another spanking is he?" I hated taking shots at his age, but hey if you're gonna be the best you make sure to live up to they hype.
A pause, and I think I saw a sniffle, though he recovered quickly. "Ha, the only one getting spanked here will be you Shattersoul."
I raised a single finger and put the other hand to my mouth in an exagerrated yawn as I sent a blast of focused solar energy at him, knowing it'd only knock him back. After all, didn't want to end this too quickly, I needed material for when I got home after all.
As he saw it incoming he puffed out his chest and seemed to brace himself despite floating in the air. As soon as it struck though he flipped end over end three times before managing to stop himself, unfortunately his timing was off and he was upside down, he still struck the appropriate pose, hands on his hips, legs apart, arms bent, a smile on his face.
"Was that supposed to hurt, I eat more solar power then that for breakfast." He then seemed to realize that I appeared to be on the cieling and his pose and posture fell apart. "What have you done, how'd you turn the world upside" he stopped and paused looking around and spun himself to being upright once more before flying full force at me.
I grinned, this was his biggest flaw and the one he'd most need to overcome, if he made a gaff or felt he was made a fool of he instantly rushed to straight hand to hand. He had quite a few powers he could have used to fight me at a distance but he tended to forgot them when he felt humiliated.
As he closed "Ahh, the fool wants to see my powers up close and personal does he?" I then waited until he was right at the edge of engaging and tapped my thumb, raising a force field just long enough for him to smack into and bounce off of it. "I don't know Solar Knight, if you can't even bash through with that run up are you really sure you want to try this?"
The taunt got to him further and he rushed towards me again. I had hoped the lesson hidden in the taunt might make it through that bull headedness, apparently not. I sighed, I was only allowed to toy with him so long before it started becoming a question of if he was actually a threat to me. I couldn't have another "Fluff of Fury" media debacle on my hands. I let him close the gap, let him even hit me, as soon as his hand connected though I backhanded him into the nearest building, he flew through the front wall and then I heard a loud Clang!, looked up and realized I'd swatted him towards the bank I'd been in the midst of robbing.
I strolled inside saw the caved in vault door and with a smirk and a strut walked over "Thanks for opening that up for me hero, I'd shatter you but honestly you aren't worth it." Collecting my winnings and flying off I sighed as the news media rushed towards the collapsed wall. I knew what'd come next for him and it made me truly sad. I'd need to be a bit extra on the after action this time.
Sitting down at my desk I nodded at the piece of paper and crayons and used my favorite and least known power. In a moment I was my five year old self again, it'd only last for three hours, but that was more then enough time to watch the fottage I'd gotten of our battle and do what needed to be done.
As my older self faded I was pleased to see the words in crayon being put on the paper.
"Dear Solar Knight,
I saw your battle with Soulshatter, you almost had him. I know you'll get him next time. It was awesome the way you took his blast and held out. It's amazing that even upside down you manage to look awesome and ready for a fight. I know the news is saying mean things about you but they're wrong, you fight for what's right no matter what and that's why you're my favorite hero. Maybe when I'm a little older I can be your sidekick and help you lock up all the bad guys. I hope the bank was nice enough to at least say thank you for stopping him from smashing everything in there.
Your friend and future sidekick, Samuel"
As I returned to my normal form I smiled at my younger self's simplicity and saw a drawing next to the letter of him and Solar standing side by side on a roof top. I put it all in an envelope, addressed it properly to the hero societies fan mail and sent it off after removing all identifiers beyond the name Samuel. I looked over at the bank's money and sighed as I pulled out my laptop and started my search for parts to finish up my doomsday device. | 31 | You're a supervillain who is ranked number 1 in terms of both danger level and power, no other hero has claimed the title to be your official nemesis. There's a rookie level hero who constantly challenges you for that title. You find both them and their determination cute. | 80 |
Stephen always took precautions of his surroundings thanks to his "ability". He never ever used automobiles, and that included even bicycles. He knew better to ever exceed something higher than running speed, because whenever there was a danger surrounding him, and time froze, Stephen kept his momentum.
He had morbidly laughed at the thought.
His ability was supposed to help him avoid dangerous situations, but ironically, it would put him into a new dangerous happening. He found out the hard way the first time his ability ever activated, back when he was a teenager on his way to his first day working at Taco Bell. The bus was going down Commerce Street, and Stephen was reading a Stephen King novel to help pass the time and also to calm his first day jitters. It was his first job ever as a teenager, and he was looking forward to using the money to buy an Xbox 360.
As the bus was crossing a busy intersection, a brown SUV ran their red light, and was on course for t-boning the bus, right where Stephen was sitting. He had looked up from his novel for a brief moment, just long enough to lock eyes with the driver through the window of the bus and through the windshield of the SUV. It was an elderly man in a business suit, and it looked as if he were looking down at his cellphone.
Time froze, but Stephen kept moving. He was thrown from his seat, his neck whipping hard to the left. His shoulder collided with the steel standing rail that passengers could hold onto, dislocating backwards with a wet **pop**. Stephen spun through the air, landing face first on the floor of the bus, sliding forward on his crunched nose, until he finally came to a halt near the bus driver's feet.
He thought that the car had hit the bus, and in the brief moment before he blacked out, his mind struggled to piece together why he was thrown in the direction he had been, and also why he didn't hear anyone else screaming or hollering whenever unconsciousness finally came down over him like a weighted blanket.
When he came to, he was still face down on the bus floor. There was no sound whatsoever. It was so quiet that Stephen finally became aware of the acute tinnitus that he had acquired from playing the marching snare in his high school marching band. Grunting, Stephen tried to push himself up from the floor, only to have a shock wave of pain ripple through him when he moved his right arm. Favoring his left side, Stephen pushed himself up with one hand, feeling his lip and nostrils stiff with dried blood from his broken nose. His head spun, but he finally regained his footing, holding onto his limp right arm which dangled at his side like a puppet with its strings cut.
No one was saying anything, no one was doing anything. He looked at the bus driver and saw that the man was just sitting in complete stillness.
Stephen coughed, sputtering blood all over the side of the driver's face. Embarrassed, Stephen tried raising his bad arm to his face in shame, once again reminding himself of his dislocated shoulder. The pain almost sent him to his ass, but he regained his footing, and then looked to the rest of the passengers on the bus, and saw too that they weren't moving.
"Hello?" He said, walking back down the aisle. "What's going on with y'all? We were in a crash!"
No one moved. No one said anything.
Stephen approached one passenger, a woman who was looking down at her phone, her bangs hanging low over her face.
That's when he noticed things were off. Her bangs were angled slightly to the left, instead of hanging straight down, defying gravity.
"What the fuck?" he said, as he finally looked out the bus window and saw that even outside the bus, things had frozen. The people walking on the sidewalks were stopped mid-stride. The cars too, all frozen in place.
Stephen suddenly felt claustrophobic inside the bus and wanted to get out, wanted to get out and away from everything. He moved quickly to the front of the bus, careful not to bump his wounded arm into anything, and then looked at the bus door. He reached out with his good arm, and pulled on the lever that would open the door. A pit formed in his gut when the lever wouldn't give, and he wondered if everything had been frozen solid, but after giving another good tug, the lever moved, and the door opened. It didn't make a single sound, though. It seemed that sound *too* had been frozen in place.
He stepped out of the bus and onto the asphalt, and wandered around the street intersection, walking up to people and screaming in their faces, asking them what the hell was going on. Everyone only looked through him, their eyes cold and marble-like. The life in all of their bodies had been frozen, too. Looking at the cars made his stomach turn. He could see that the wheels were blurred, holding onto the motion before time had stopped.
Frustrated, Stephen approached the brown SUV that was on its crash course with the bus. Even though Stephen didn't fully understand the situation, something in him told him that the brown SUV was at fault. The driver-side window was down, and Stephen could see the business man looking down at his phone.
"It was your fucking fault," Stephen sputtered, reaching in through the window and opening the door with his left hand. He awkwardly swung the door open, feeling the pain in his injured shoulder complain, and then he approached the driver. Stephen wanted to punch the man. It was his fault that all of this happened. It was his fault that the world was now broken.
Stephen pulled back his left arm, balling his hand into a fist, and then he ungracefully swung it at the driver. The blow missed; Stephen was right-handed. His fist flew past the driver's nose, and Stephen clumsily fell into the driver's lap. "Fucking shit!" Stephen yelled, pushing himself out of the man's lap, grasping at anything with his good hand to regain his footing. He grabbed onto the steering wheel and pushed it to get himself back to a standing position.
The steering wheel turned, and that's when the *rewind effect* happened. Stephen felt himself yanked off of his feet and pulled out of the man's car. An invisible force pulled him all the way around the intersection, retracing his steps he took when he was investigating everything in its frozen state. Stephen was held prisoner as his body autonomously moved through the motions, taking steps backwards against his will. He could feel the air he had breathed exiting and entering his lungs, could even feel his diaphragm moving without him willing it to. His mouth moved in reverse as he took back all of the screaming he did at the people standing around, could feel his tongue clicking against the back of his teeth.
The rewinding force brought him back up into the bus where he had gone to investigate the woman sitting, and Stephen felt himself cringe, because he knew what was going to happen next. The force brought him back to the driver, pulling the cough back into his lungs, and then it put him back face down on the floor, his nose pressed down into the ground. He could feel the blood that had stiffened his lip slowly starting to turn wet again, flowing back up into his nostrils. He could feel it entering the small capillaries in his nose, and it was at that moment that he became aware that his heart was beating in reverse.
Laying there, as everything undid itself, was excruciating. The blood re-entering his nose, the bruised shoulder slowly un-bruising. All of it, felt like hell.
And he knew what was coming next.
Finally, he felt his body pulled upwards, and then angled back towards the steel beam he had collided with at the start of this whole mess. His wounded shoulder connected with the beam, and then he felt it *pop* back into place. If Stephen had complete control of his body, he would've screamed bloody murder as his brain interpreted pain in reverse.
And then, he was sitting back down, his novel in his hands.
The brown SUV careened out of the intersection, and mowed down several innocent people that had been waiting at the corner of the street.
***
^(ran out of room, so the ending is in a reply below this) | 31 | You have an ability that stops time whenever you are in danger, you can usually identify the danger within a few minutes, sometimes it takes a couple hours, but time always unfreezes whenever you resolve or move the danger, but this time you haven't been able to find the danger even after a week | 122 |
I listened intently down the silent hall, diligently alert for anything that might approach. I was on guard duty this week, as were many of my peers, as we had heard the dreaded Magician Assassin, Oleander, had been commissioned to kill the prince. He was sleeping soundly in the room behind me, and I was the last line of defense at his door. I had cast "Rafah Sout" (*Loudy Heary*) on my ears and could clearly hear the insignificant scrape of rat's nails in the walls. As well as the loud snores from the prince. Nothing sounded out of the ordinary, but I still felt uneasy. Oleander had a perfect record.
There was a clatter, three floors down. My body tensed as I listened to the commotion with my enhanced abilities.
"What's going on? Who are you?" my contemporary, Lorn, asked. His voice was followed by another thump on the ground. His heartbeat slowed. He was knocked out, some poison having entered his system.
Oleander was here.
My body tightened further and further as I heard body after body collapse to the ground. What was insane to me was that he had not cast a single spell in this time. He was clearly throwing something to knock out all the guards. And they were magicians! They should have had protective barriers! What's worse was that Oleander was also a magician! Who knew what kind of spells he had control over?
"*Soft Pillow Shield!* *Door close sharp!* Umm, *Crunchy crunch leaves!!*" I raced off protective spells frantically, summoning a new barrier, adding locks to the door, and summoning dead leaves into the hallway as my paranoia grew to new heights. The new barrier I'd summoned was typically shied away from, as it was visible, and clear where the weak points were when in an ongoing battle.
More bodies fell below, but I couldn't hear Oleander's footsteps! He had to have been on my floor by the sound of another magician hitting the stairs below.
I stared at the door at the end of the hall, eyes wide and heart booming in my ears like a drum marching me into battle. It was so unbearable, I had to remove my hearing enhancement as I was unable to hear anything else. I continued to peer to the other side, sweat slipping down my neck rapidly. The door hadn't budged an inch, as far as I could tell. It was still locked.
Suddenly, something sprouted from my outer barrier. A needle! I stared at it in shock as a drop of fluid spilled from its tiny tip harmlessly onto the floor.
The poison!
Another needle sprouted from the barrier. And another. Only after the third did I realize where they were being fired from. From the keyhole in the door at the end of the hall. To have such accuracy was unbelievable at a distance, and I could see how my peers could fall to this attack if they had only used the invisible shielding, it wasn't enough to block such fine projectiles.
The door finally budged as he tried to open it with a lockpick, but my additional locks had kept him out.
*"No more door!*" he cast, disintegrating the door. I could only see the top half of his body, a dark silhouette to its background. I couldn't read his expression.
"Back off Oleander! I know the ancient language! Leave now while you still have your life," I warned, but my voice cracked loudly during the last sentence.
He scoffed, amused.
*"Air go bye-bye!*" he cast, sucking the air out of my lungs.
"*Me breathe!*" I yelped with my last gasp, bringing the air back.
Oleander finally came into view. He was floating above the ground, sitting on a small cloud a few feet above the floor. He was sneering at me.
"You are familiar with many spells?" he smiled. "I assure you that your knowledge doesn't match my memorization."
"Translation!" I corrected.
"*Spicy body!*" he cast, not listening to me.
"*Impossiburn!*" I replied, again squealing as the end of a finger singed in fiery pain before my body became flame resistant.
"Who was your teacher?" he asked, finally impressed.
"The library downstairs mostly," I shrugged.
"Don't be cute!" he snapped. "*Sleepy sleepy night man!*"
"*Wakey wakey!*" I countered, a fog of fatigue entering and leaving my head in a moment.
"I see you know your spells and counters. But in my years of travels, I finally put enough together to invent one of my own!" he sneered. "Try this: *Brain melty from nose holes in agonizing pain!*" he shouted.
"*Don't um... melty brain!*" I shouted, cringing in fear. My brain remained in tact.
"How could you have possibly known a counter? I haven't even come up with a counter!" he shouted.
"Oh... well then," I pointed up to him as his eyes widened, realizing what he just admitted to, "*Brain melty from nose holes in agonizing pain!*" I cast.
"Noooooo!" he roared, tearing at his face as something spilled from his nose. He collapsed off his cloud, inert and brainless.
I stared at him for a few seconds in disbelief, not really accepting that I had somehow defeated the most notorious assassin almost unscathed. I took tiny steps toward him, planning to poke him to make sure he was dead.
"What's going on?" the prince asked, opening his door and rubbing his eyes.
"Ah!" I squealed, wheeling around rapidly. "*Sleepy sleepy night man!*" I shouted in fear.
The prince fell to the floor, breathing peacefully. I stared at him in fear of what he would do when he awoke with the memory.
I would need to come up with a memory loss spell by morning.
________________________
For more stories, come check out /r/Nazer_The_Lazer! | 2,062 | You are not like the other wizards, you finally decoded what the spells mean in English, but you soon realise that they are written strangely. the spell for a fireball is "air burning" and the spell for flying is "dislike floor" | 4,316 |
My opponent was completely shocked, this was the tenth fireball I'd thrown, by now even the most advanced mages would be panting and have fallen to the ground. He was running on fumes from shielding himself and even our instructors could see it. A few were looking at me with spells active, they wanted to see what cheat I was using to do this. Of course they'd never find it.
As my opponent collapsed not from a hit but from simply exhausting himself the head of combat arts yelled "HOLD!" and came down to check on my opponent. After a few minutes he stared hard at me and I watched his eyes flicker through every detection spell he had. Some I knew were always to be beyond me and that thought saddened me a little. Afterwards he nodded towards the exam proctors.
"Victor and completion of his combat test goes to Artherias. Congratulations."
As I collected myself and walked out of the arena I started letting my brain wrap around the next parts of my apprenticeship completion. Most were simple things, a few had required some creative use of lower power spells, but next was alchemy, hopefully I could come up with something. I knew I'd never be granted Master status while this curse held but becoming a Journeyman was still in the cards. The school was nice enough certainly, the grounds well kept, the building although stranglethorn crawled up it's walls it was kept trimmed in such a way as to seem decorative. The interior always clean, likely because new apprentices were made to practice by cleaning. I missed those days at times, when my potential seemed infinite.
A large oak door now stood in my way and I sighed as I saw the sigil for alchemy carved into it. Reaching for the handle I found it gone, pushed and the door wouldn't budge. I sighed this was of course another test, get through a door. I sighed looked around and considered just fireballing the thing, wood burns, door gone, problem solved. Still I didn't think that'd be appreciated by the professor. I then shrugged and turned around to walk off. I went outside, circled the building and spotted the window that was actually barred open. As the professor liked to say, experiments and enclosed spaces got along like rubywart and sylph tears. I walked over to the wall, second floor so I'd still need something, levitation would strain me some with my weight. A simple wall walk then. Shortly after casting it I walked in through the window to find I was one of the last to make it in.
The professor looked at the window and then at me, then back at the window. "You know, most students tend to use the door even when it's inconvenient."
I shrugged. "This seemed faster, though judging by the number here seems I was wrong."
He waved at an open table piled with ingredients and the tools we had used throughout our training. "For your final you are to impress me."
I waited for further instructions and when none came I grinned, now this was going to be fun, complete freedom, creativity, and my limits wouldn't be near as much hinderance here. I immediately started on my first potion, a simple invisibility potion. As that one was going and I threaded the small amount of mana into it neccessary I started brewing up a variety, a veritable cabinet full all going at once. When I was sure quantity was good and they were all appropriate to what I wanted I worked on the final most impressive one. I would never be able to stop time, or change the weather over a whole town, or even transform myself into a dragon. At least not through my own will and magical ability, but with the help of nature, skill, and time. Well I could do those and so much more, I considered duplicating some of the bigger spells using these, but no he said impress him, everything here was able to be done through normal spellwork as it was. No I wanted flashy, I wanted big, and I wanted IMPOSSIBLE.
I looked over the ingredients I had left and nodded to myself. I checked the others, most were done so I was able to drop the focus for those and let the threads unravel. A variety of ingredients went into the pot in quick succession with mana being threaded into each ingredient individually rather then into the brew itself. As I watched, I waited for just the right moment to add the others I planned. Some rubywart, some phoenix tears, a sprig of stranglethorn, a feather from a sleeping harpy, and the final piece a shred of my flesh.
I watched it boil, I pumped in a continuous stream of mana, as much as I could give at one time. Sure the well was infinite, but the pump was constricted. After a while it turned the right color and consistency and I bottled up three vials before it was empty. I then cleared and cleaned everything, gathering up my potions into my bag, keeping the three final ones in my hand. As I came up to the desk the professor looked at me and raised an eyebrow. "Considering the time I expected a bit more then this." I grinned and lifted my bag which clinked and began pulling them out one after the other, each labeled, by the time I was done his desk was near covered.
He shook his head. "Quantity does not trump quality, and I doubt even half of these work." I shrugged and said "Test them." he did, one by one then dismissing the effect with a wave and a word, I was jealous, dismissal spells were high magic and wouldn't be coming my way. After he tried all but the last he looked at me. "I suppose you think a stock of base level potions is enough to impress me? Filling the cupboards is nice but not a sign of someone ready to leave the school."
I looked down at the ones in my hand. "Of course it isn't, no you said to impress you, I did those" waving at the unused ones "because it gave me time to think and work out this one." I raised it up. He studied it in detail. | 285 | A witch curses you so that you cannot become a stronger mage, but her exact wording in her spell is "your amount of mana can never change". As you soon find out, that wording is more helpful than harmful. | 585 |
I allowed myself to be dragged along, more out of bewilderment than anything. I looked between the four guys surrounding me, two holding me by the arms and holding my trumpet case. I didn't try to struggle both out of bewilderment and the fact that we were going in the direction I was planning to head anyway. They had introduced themselves rapidly, and I hardly caught their names, as well as the way they described themselves.
"What's going on?" I asked.
"You have Mr. Swell's Intro to Film, right?" the one in the front, Reyes, asked. He was the soccer team captain.
"Uh, yeah, that's where I was headed," I replied.
"We're trying to get a good grade without trying," Ron, the self-proclaimed 'gamer' of the group answered, pushing up his reading glasses.
"Yeah, it's whatever," Drew said, flicking his long black hair out of his eyes as he adjusted the black wristband on his arm.
I looked between them, waiting for the joke to be revealed as they continued to propel me along.
"Can I get a bit more context maybe?" I ventured.
"I did some reading up on Mr. Swell," Kyle said, pulling out his phone to show me some notes he took.
"What could you possibly read up on a teacher we haven't met yet?" I asked.
"Well, he sent us an email earlier this week to introduce himself and he clearly came off as a movie buff," Kyle said.
"Obviously," Drew sighed.
"Let him finish," Reyes said confidently. Kyle continued, unperturbed.
"But he also signed off the email as 'oswell.' Orlando Swell. So, it got me thinking if he signs off the emails that way, he probably uses it in other spaces online, so I did a search of a few social sites and *bam!*" Kyle knocked lightly on his phone. "Oswell is active on Twitter. And check out his bio."
I took the phone and read: "*The Top Ten Movies are as follows - 1-10. The Breakfast Club!!*"
"But the Breakfast Club sucks," I said, handing the phone back.
The four of them shushed me and stopped ushering me forward.
"You can't say the movie sucks!" Ron said. "Do you want to fail?"
"He's gonna blow it," Drew moaned, rolling his eyes at me.
"No, let him hear the rest of the plan. He's a smart guy," Reyes said.
"You don't know anything about me!" I protested, snatching the trumpet case back from his arms.
"You're in band right? You're the band geek," Ron raised a thumbs up as if he hadn't just insulted me. I glared at him.
"Might be better to consider another candidate," Kyle suggested to Reyes.
"Stop, stop," Reyes said, putting his hands up and backing up the other three boys. He looked to me with a smile. "Here's the deal. The Breakfast Club is about a bunch of different people that come together despite their differences in detention or something stupid like that. And Swell is obsessed with it. Like, one in every three tweets is a reference to the movie."
"That's kinda sad," I said.
"Oh, for sure. But we wanna take advantage of it. If we go in on the first day as either not knowing one another or even coming off as enemies to one another, then we can come together by the end of the semester and show him that we did it as a result of watching the movie and listening to his analysis. So, by living the movie, I think we get a passing grade."
"Are you sure we go over the movie?" I asked.
He turned around to Kyle who gave him his phone with a syllabus on screen. The first seven weeks were spent analyzing the one movie.
"This guy has a problem..." I said sadly.
"Yeah," Drew said, scratching at the dark eyeliner under his eye.
"So, you down for the plan?" Reyes asked, smiling at me with encouragement.
"Uhhh..." I had to admit the plan sounded like it was plausible if the teacher was that addicted to the movie. But I didn't know these guys at all. "I don't know how well I'm going to fit into your friend group."
"What?" Kyle asked.
"We aren't friends," Ron said, confused why I made that assumption.
"Yet!" Reyes pointed, winking at him.
"Alright, say I think the plan is a good idea. Aren't there girls in that movie? Why is this just a group of guys?" I asked.
"By all means go ask a girl you want her to join in on a Breakfast Club fantasy and see how fast she runs away," Drew said, whipping his long hair out of his eyes once more.
I looked between the four of them and shrugged, "Alright, I guess I'm down."
"Great, plan is we don't look at each other in class until after we watch the movie. Sit apart if he doesn't assign seating," Kyle explained as we all collectively began moving toward the classroom.
As soon as we entered, we were accosted by a dozen different posters of the stars from the Breakfast Club hanging around the room. The white board had the term "Intro To Film" crossed out with the words "Intro to the Breakfast Club" written immediately below it. As I looked at the board, Reyes shoved past me and sat in the back row, scoffing at me and turning away. Looking to the teacher in the front of the room, I saw that he even was dressed like the principal was dressed in the movie. He waved to me as he mouthed along to the song *Don't You Forget About Me.*
I think I joined the right fake friend group.
_____________________
I've got plenty more stories at /r/Nazer_The_Lazer if you're interested in reading! | 311 | You are an average high school student, and four random students approach you in the hallway before your first class. A jock, a prep student, a gamer, and an emo kid. They grab you by the arm and tell you, "You are our fifth member. There is no time to explain, we gotta go..." | 982 |
‘And to you, Zappo the Zapper, I say, you have reached the end of your reign!’ Super Trousers’s commanding baritone voice rings out as he hovers metres away from me above the burning streets.
I shake my head. I’m back here again. Every. Damn. Time. There’s no way out. I’ve tried everything to get out of this stupid time loop. If I have to look at Super Trousers any longer, I might just lose it.
I turn away from him and his fire truck-red pants that are the same width as a building.
‘You dare turn your back on me!’ He flies over the top of me and appears in my line of vision again. I turn the other way.
‘Hey!’ His booming voice sounds hurt as he does another summersault over me. ‘Why aren’t you looking at me?’
I roll my eyes, turning again.
‘H-hey! Zappo? I said, why aren’t you looking at me?’
I let out a big, dramatic sigh, turn myself upside-down mid-air and look at the ground instead: the smouldering streets, citizens running and screaming, buildings destroyed.
Super Trousers moves under me, his stupidly perfect big, blue eyes filled with distress. ‘Zappo? Did I do something wrong? Why aren’t you making your sassy retort back?’
I spin again, facing the grey sky. It feels like that’s all my life is now. Grey skies.
Super Trousers levitates above me. He reaches into his ballooned red pants and pulls out a book. On the front in thick gold letters: SUPER TROUSERS’S SUPER QUEST. He flips to somewhere in the middle and thrusts the book in my face. There’s a crude drawing of me – electricity flying from my fingers – and him, scowling at each other mid-air.
He points a thick finger at the speech bubbles above our heads. ‘Look, here it is. I say “And to you, Zappo the Zapper, I say, you have reached the end of your reign!” And you say, “Super Trousers, or should I say Super Terrible, my reign has only begun” and then we fight it out. See? Zappo, see?’
He’s like an annoying school kid, waving the damn book in my face. I touch it, scorching it with electronic charge until it disintegrates. He gasps like he’s in a soap opera.
‘Why did you do that?’
I keep trying to fly away but he continues to fly after me until we’re flying in circles. His whiny, pathetic voice barrages me with endless snivels. ‘Zappo, what are you doing? Why are you going in circles? Why aren’t you being sassy? Are you depressed? Should I be depressed? Am I depressing you? Are my pants too big? Too small? Zappo?’
Finally, I lose it.
‘Just be quiet!’ I scream. Below, people stop running and yelling. Everyone looks up. ‘I don’t care! I’m sick of being in this stupid world with these dumb ass fucking people. Every time – every fucking time I think I’ve won and finished with this damn time loop, I’m brought back to this exact fucking scene and I have to look at your ugly fucking head again.’
Super Trousers looks like I’ve just slapped him across the face. His eyes start to well up and his bottom lip quivers. ‘You think I’m ugly? Z-Zappo …’
‘And stop calling me Zappo! My name is Frederick. I don’t want to zap anything anymore! I just want to have a holiday and relax for a while. Maybe get a nice nine to five job, have a few kids, get a mortgage. I just want to live.’
Slowly, Super Trousers reaches into his pants. This time, he fishes around for a while. His hand explores the depths of his endless trousers until he finds what he’s looking for.
It’s a neatly folded photo. He holds it out to me, and I tear it from him. It’s a photo of us. My yellow teeth grin at the camera, and Super Trousers smiles next to me, his arm holding up the camera. I remember when we’d taken the photo: one of the endings where I’d had my redemption and became a hero to help him fight the main villain. My memory gets pretty fuzzy after that.
‘Why do you have this?’ I ask, my voice shaking.
‘I’m the one who keeps looping time.’
Those words hang in the air. There’s a collective gasp from the crowd below. ‘What? Why?’
‘To see you.’ Super Trousers grins, his perfect white teeth reflecting my shocked green face back at me. ‘You see, at the end of *Super Trousers’s Super Quest*, the High Witch always tracks me down, and casts a spell that destroys the universe. But I figured out a spell to loop time. I tried so many ways to kill her, to prevent her from destroying the universe, but it kept happening.’
I cock my head at him. This is most unexpected.
‘Upon performing the same battles countless times, I began to notice one villain in particular. You. The way your glistening green skin shone in the sunlight. The way your deep red eyes gleamed like pools of blood when you conducted an electricity attack on me. Your gruff voice when you made those sexy, sassy retorts. I began to fall for you. And so, I thought with enough time, and enough encounters, you might fall for me too.’
‘You noticed all that about me? But—I thought I was just a side character. No one ever remembers me.’
He twists his hands nervously. ‘You’re the main character in my story.’
The crowd lets out an ‘aww’.
‘After some time,’ he says, ‘I figured out how to kill that sneaky High Witch. But I still wanted to see you. Only problem is, whenever I kill the witch, my story ends for good. I have to rewind right before the dénouement, lest the story of me and you be closed forever. I’m sorry I did this to you.’ He looks down at his white, Velcro runners. ‘I will stop, Zappo—I mean, Frederick. If that is what you want.’
I stare at him for a moment. The outline of his strong face, the voluptuous shape of his building-width trousers. He’s irresistible. ‘I love you,’ I say.
Super Trousers closes the distance between us and wraps me in a warm embrace. The crowd erupts into applause as he whispers, ‘So, how about that holiday?’ | 15 | You are a minor villain in a VERY tropey work of fiction caught in a time loop. You've done alot trying to break the loop, You've reached the 'canon' conclusion, You've usurped your boss to be the big bad, You've even had a couple redemption arcs. at this point you've stopped giving a shit. | 75 |
The Queen stood in front of the cheering crowd, giving a broad smile as she gave her yearly Speech of the Public. Since the fall of the governmental monarchy in 2056, she's remained a largely ceremonial figure for the British eye. Public appearance matters, however, and maintaining her status was crucial in keeping up what little image she did have.
Behind her smiles, behind the appearances and waves, was a woman who had long made peace with her life and was ready to pass. There hasn't been a night she hasn't wished for death, that she hasn't hoped and prayed would be her last. It had been nearly eighty years since the Curse of 2024 enveloped her. She remembered that day vividly - she spent many nights in regret, mulling over the events of then in a vain hope that she could find a hidden loophole to undo her shackle to the mortal realm.
It was a cold March morning, with spring just nearing the other side of the corner. She had gone out on her morning stroll on royal grounds when she stumbled across a strange carving in a nearby tree. A knife stabbed into the tree just above it, she wondered how someone was able to get into her territory to do this. The only ones who had access were the royal family and their staff - there was no way a civilian could've easily gotten in.
She kept wondering this as she read the inscription out loud.
"May every passing moment that one wishes,
'God Save the Queen,'
Will Her Majesty avoid an eternal slumber,
An additional day of life shall she ween"
From that day forward, she was cursed with an eternal life. Every time someone uttered the words 'God Save the Queen,' she was granted an additional day of life. She wished silently for it to end, for this hellish eternity to cease. For years she opposed those who sought to abolish the monarchy, but now she quietly sides with them, hoping for the continued reverence of her status to cease. She was ready to go, but the world did not seem ready to lose her, even after centuries of her rule.
It baffled her the extent to which people continued to revere her - the monarchy no longer had power, and yet she was just as praised and beloved as the first day of her rule. Why does she warrant this after the undemocratic rule she reigned over?
She had no say over what happened to her, however. Behind closed doors, the monarchy was merely in the control of agents and coordinators who made a hefty profit off of the Queen's continued appearance. They didn't care that she outlived everyone she loved, that she was forced to remain living in spite of her time having been long ago - they had many more pounds to gain off of her continued presence.
The Agency controlled much of her day-to-day life, every moment she lived being something marketable and presentable to a mass audience. She had scarce privacy, and instead only lived as a figure for the world to see and gawk at. There was no individuality here - there was no freedom. There only remained control at the behest of The Agency.
As the Queen concluded her speech, she shed a single tear. She knew her end was not in sight, but with every moment hoped for it to come more and more. But no matter what she did, she had to spend every day hearing of her everlasting eternity. This was her life, whether she wanted it or not. | 31 | The year is 2100. The Queen of England is still alive, but begging the public to stop singing "God save the Queen", so that the curse can finally be broken | 384 |
After eons of numbness I felt an irritation, a minor variance in the otherwise frozen state of my life. I still cannot fathom my stupidity, or what I believed then was invincibility that I decided to nap in this godforsaken place, fully aware that the blood shaman along with that traitor Ryjm , the djinn of the waves were after me.
By the time I was awake and thirsty for blood , my entire body felt as if it was on fire! Damn those bastards, that they had convinced the Djinn king to grovel before the Marid (Slimy vile creature , he was always jealous of me) to support their cause! They together broke the heavens and Sands and trapped my majestic body(hey! I’m not vain I was voted the most ferocious Dragon of the Sinking Sun Era). Since then I suffered in silence , any movement breaking the fragile numbness my body had accustomed to. Now after Eons I felt a change, a shift in the very fabric of the cage I was trapped in. The water thick with the crystals of flame, where once I bathed in the flames of volcanoes, this cursed water burnt me till all I could do to keep myself sane was lay as still as a rock.
Now I felt the weight of the water lessen, the fire lashing out but I could feel it’s teeth loose the edge. I dared to move, sending a forgotten wave of terror through my body , but as I stared upwards i saw a brightness on the surface that gave me strength and the poison that had been hope. As I bided my time , the brightness kept increasing , the rays of the brilliant sun piercing the water , the water weighing me down less and less , the invisible shackles of pain loosing their strength. I could sense beings , something new , but similar to ants and sheep and prey of my prey. There was not an iota of power or magik, but they were many and they would serve as an appetiser to my hunger which would only be satiated after every last of those with magik would be piled dead at my feet, my soul filled to the brim with their energy.
I could hear them speak, their tones and language foreign to me, but the humble whispers of the slaves who served their masters, a vast difference in the language spoken by the beings of the sand, but I could make out a few words of the original dialect. I could make out that they were the ones behind reducing the level of the cursed water, that gold was the motivation. I cared not, as I could feel the rays by now, a few feets left between me and my freedom. I decided to be magnanimous , and decided to finish these prey of preys in an instant , to keep the horror of my anger to the prey. As soon as I felt the tip of my wings feel the naked rays of the sun , I shook myself ignoring the last embers of pain and let out a roar which would send every being with magik in manic terror. I took a second to get my bearing, and surveyed around seeing beings like the shaman flee , with no blast of power, no pressure of the soul. I gobbled them up, and as I prepared to take flight, I saw a being , who by itself had no power but wore a ring that shined as brilliant as the sun.
Curious as the dragon, as they always said back in the day, I bowed to get a better view, and the being bowed down to me and said in the language of Power “I am humbled to witness the rebirth of the Great Lord Bartholon, I am a representative of NESTLE, and I have a proposal for you” . I was taken aback by his use of my language, but the moment passed as I decided to eat this being as well. Time to fly! | 124 | Salt is known to be able to repel or even contain evil spirits. As companies start to drain the Dead sea of salt to sell as a novelty, they unwillingly unleash a spirit that the Dead sea was meant to contain. | 945 |
The mob was not the forgiving type, I knew I had to hide.
There were at least 3 in the parking garage with me. The one with the trench coat had been downstairs by the fire escape, and the two who had been pretending to smoke by the elevators were swinging in behind me as I walked towards my parked car.
As I approached the rear bumper of my worn out Toyota I made a choice.
I broke into a sprint, and behind I could hear the cursing of the mobsters trailing me, calling out to others.
From the second story awning the building connected to a neighbouring garage under renovations by a amalgam of scaffolding and metal catwalks. I hurdled the waist high wall of the garage and began to climb down the scaffolding ladders into the labyrinthine worksite.
I made it to the ground floor and immediately regretted it. The construction site was a mishmash of exposed rebar, loose debris and broken pallets. I began to pick my way through the poorly lit maze, and several time I paused and held my breath, as I heard other people pass close in the gloom.
As I approached what I supposed was the exit, I brushed something with my left hand, a table or desk, and a a resounding clatter rang out as metal tools struck the ground, dislodged.
I broke into a sprint, but as I neared the exit. Someone struck me from behind and world went black.
When I awoke I was strapped to a chair in the bottom of a pit. From the dim lighting I recognized I was still in the construction site.
In the gloom above me a solitary cigarette flared with it's owners breath.
The last shreds of my composure were long gone, "Please I'll pay back the money!", I begged. "I'm good for it you know I am!"
The cigarette flared once more and was released to fall down to my level. Around me I recognised the rising rebar of a foundation yet to be poured and pump hoses connected to a cement pump.
In the darkness above me, I heard the pump spring into life.
I began to sob and wail as the pit filled, up to my ankles first, then my calves. It constrained my chest as it grew, and as it rose over my mouth and nose I uttered a feeble prayer for my soul, and for a quick death.
And then it was above my head, and in my lungs. Light was taken away and as the cement began to settle and harden the oddest thing happened.
I didn't die. I couldn't.
Then I tried to scream.
And couldn't. | 987 | Well, that's a pretty fucked up way to find out you are immortal. | 1,699 |
Tuesday, March 7, 2023 /
Today, I was following the woman. She is the prime candidate after all. I followed the woman for 3 hours, watching her visit the coffee shop, fill up the gas tank on her car, get extra film for a camera, and mow her lawn. Things to note: I finally have an address for the suspect, and she somehow still uses film. Why film, when the digital camera is so advanced these days? Now that I have her address, I must continue surveillance of her home. End entry.
Wednesday, March 8, 2023 /
Oddly enough, the woman has barely left her home today. I need to be on the lookout, just in case. I have been watching through the windows, and she seems to be alternating between watching TV, cooking food, and disappearing into a room without windows for hours at a time. I need to investigate further.
My suit is beginning to become discolored. Time to switch to the second one. End entry.
Thursday, March 8, 2023 /
The suit washed easily, and the second one fits well. Dry cleaning only with hand washing is incredibly inconvenient. Today, the woman left the house, so if I can just get inside, I can find out what she does in that dark room.
—
The room was full of pictures of me! And it wasn’t pictures of me in my suit, which is the alarming part. The largest picture had a tear through it, like a slash mark. It appears I, or at least my identity, is her next target. I must be wary. She is the prime murder suspect after all. It seems she doesn’t have any idea how big a mistake she has made in choosing a target. End entry.
Friday, March 9, 2023 /
The killer tried to strike again. She found one of my apartments. She tripped the security, and it came in on my helmet. She clearly knows what she is doing, dressing so she won’t be noticed, carrying sharp knives and wearing gloves. It was my identity’s apartment. I’ll have to switch locations again. Fortunately, I was sleeping in my other apartment, so she didn’t find me. I finished recoloring the plates in my suit. Tomorrow, I’ll apprehend the killer.
Saturday, March 10, 2023 /
What a waste of a Saturday. I’ll recount the day in as much detail as I can. I had been trying on my suit all night, doing a comfort test, and working on finding a new address for my identity. I fell asleep without my helmet on. I awoke to a crash behind me, and saw the woman, a twisted smile on her face, and a gleaming knife in her gloved hand. I stood up quickly, and grabbed the glowing red helmet, throwing it over my face. The look on her face showed that she hadn’t yet realized who I was. She lunged with the knife, trying to slash through me, but her attacks didn’t get through the armor. I activated the nodes on my gauntlets, and dropped into my Muay Thai stance. As soon as she got close, going for the same strike from through my chest, I kneed her in the stomach, then threw an elbow at her face. I could hear the taser discharge from the gauntlet, and she collapsed, incapacitated. I tied her up and took her to the police, along with my surveillance footage.
Whether she had found me intentionally, or just out of pure coincidence, it was pure luck that I was her next victim. This ends my investigation of the killer. It’s just another night for Red. Tomorrow, I’ll find a new case to work on. End entry. | 84 | He was obsessed and stalked her for years until one day he went too far and broke into her home. He went around touching all her stuff and entered a room, only to find a hundreds of photographs of him all over the walls with hearts drawn over them, and a small altar with his picture on it... | 461 |
"Allack?" A young woman's voice asked, jolting him away from his daze. The wooden feet of the plastic chair emitted a jarring noise as the roughly slid over the faded tile floor. The young woman politely pretended not to notice.
"That's me," Allack responded trying to muster a polite smile. Quickly Allack stood from the chair, and began to walk towards the young woman. As he stood, he accidently stepped on one of the overly long laces of his faded red skate shoes, untying it. He pretended not to notice as he strode towards her. He hoped she didn't, either.
The woman was young, probably in her early twenties. She wore her brown hair lazily put over her left shoulder, and and had a plain but welcoming face. Allack couldn't help but notice she was cute in an unassuming way. He had a teacher like that in eight grade. Ms. Janowski. She was a mess, always we - *dude, come one stop. Focus,* he thought to himself as he reached the doorway where she stood. *You're literally, like, gonna be the next step in evolution..or something. You should really, REALLY, pay attention.*
"Hi Allack," the woman said in a welcoming but rehearsed tone. "If you're ready, can you follow me?" she continued.
"Uh, yeah. Lead the way." Allack said back. He thought his voice cracked. Maybe it didn't? Allack had always cared a little too much what other people thought of him.
The woman giggled slightly, and turned around walking steadily into a brightly lit hallway. *She totally heard it. Weak.* Allack thought, wincing slightly as she turned away.
The white incandescent bulbs offered the same unyielding light as the waiting room. Typical government building interior decoration. As they walked, the womans heels clicked faintly off of the white floor. This section seemed more upkept, with the polished floor perfectly reflecting the rectangular outline of the overhead light panels. Her heels clicked softly against the ground with each step, while Allack's flat bottomed shoes emitted a clumsy thump. They walked in silence for a few moments before the woman looked over her shoulder and offered a shy smile.
"So.. Have they told you what they're gonna do yet? I don't think anyone has ever turned down the money before. You must've had a good reason. A billion good reasons, really."
Allack tried to give a polite laugh. People laugh at stuff like that right? "Yeah! Well. Sort of. I think so. I just thought, like, you know.." He trailed off for a moment trying to articulate the thoughts than ran together in his brain like a clump of wet noodles. "Like, maybe this could be more than money? You know? I guess I just wanna be..better. You know, like someone who people think is someone." He licked his lips as he finished. *God, that sounded so self concious.*
The woman stopped walking for a moment. "You mean you have no idea? You're just going through with this thing, this thing which will change your life possibly completely, that no one has EVER tested, on the assumption it will make you..what? Cool?"
Allack swallowed, and felt his throat close up. *God, she totally thinks im' self conscious. Like, for five seconds could I just say something normal?*
"That's pretty ballsy. You're one of those guys who just goes with it, huh? That's pretty cool." The woman laughed. Her laugh came out easily and freely, like the ringing of chimes in the wind.
"Oh! Yeah, I mean totally. I guess I'm always looking on the bright side." Allack sputtered in return. This time he offered a real smile, not thinking about it beforehand. It just came naturally, and he felt his shoulders lose their tension for a moment.
The woman laughed soflty again, and pointed towards simple brown door with a small window on a few feet away from her on the right. "Well, I think this is as far as I take you. No one else allowed through. I guess that's where they keep the big secret. Your eyes only."
Allack strode towards the door, and as he placed his hand on the handle he felt a strangely compelled to turn back. "Yeah. I guess so. Hey, what's your name by the way?" he asked.
THe woman pointed towards the silver brushed nametag which sat on her simple brown sweater. "Kayla," she offered back.
*Dude, the nametag was right there.* "Oh well. Hey, wish me luck, ok?" Allack said meekly.
"Yeah! I'll keep my fingers crossed," she replied, lifting her hand and twisting her index and middle fingers tightly around each other. "Hey, if they don't erase your memories or whatever come see me after."
"Count on it." Allack turned the cool metal door knob firmly downward, and pushed the door forward. He took one last look at the woman, waved, and stepped through the threshold into the hallway. The door hissed slightly as it closed behind him, born along by a hydraulic stop.
He peered down the hallway. This one was less well lit, and a lone door stood at it's end with a soft yellow light coming out from the small space which stretched horizontally underneath it. *Well, here goes.* Allack walked slowly down the empty hall, eyes affixed on the glowing portal. As he neared the entrance, he could begin to smell the scent of lavender. Not real lavender, more like the kind of scent that came from one of those little scent pods you plug into the wall. It was comforting, but seemed odd. Up to this point he had only imagined clean rooms. A lab, with doctors clad in white sterile suits. Silver scalpels. Beeping monitors. Like one of those movies where they make a monster. Finally he reached the door.
Opening the heavy wood door he was greeted to a an older man who sat behind a simplistic oak desk. On the desk set a cup of coffee in a simple white Styrofoam cup, a laptop, an external hard drive, a few monitors, and what looked like some helmet with suction cups all over it. The man looked up at Allack as he walked in, his weathered green eyes meeting Allacks surprised gaze. A few wrinkles became more obvious around his eyes and on his forehead as his face shifted into a curious expression.
"Ah! So you're him! The first to choose me. I gotta say I'm honored." | 1,064 | Every year the government holds a lottery, with the price being a choice of a billion dollars or an evolutionary enhancement. Most people, tired of living in poverty, choose the money. You decide differently. | 2,442 |
They call me Mr. Indifferent. That was my superhero name.
I call me Steve Collins.
Not really sure what happened that led to me getting this superpower, if you can call it that. But I know I don’t particularly care to find out.
“Your money or your life,” a man in a mask approaches me as I walk down the street. He appears to have a gun in his hand, maybe a pistol? I don’t even bother looking at it.
“Take whichever, like I care,” I reply. The man only has a few seconds to realize who I am, before the look of determination in his eyes turns to fear.
“Hey listen man, I don’t want any tro-” he was cut off mid sentence as he was hit by a police car. They promptly administer first aid and put him in handcuffs.
When it started, I tried to convince myself that it’s not a super power, but there was one particular instance that led me to believe otherwise. A few months back, maybe in March.
I was kidnapped by Doctor Evil. Stupid name, I know. But anyway, there I was, in his lair of doom, when he takes his laser pistol out. Guess what happens next? He shoots at me, and misses by a centimeter, hitting a mirror right behind me, and the laser blast ricochets onto his right arm, cutting it clean off.
One of the doctors said Doctor Evil is currently in a mental asylum, and is having nightmares about me. Post Traumatic Stress Disorder, he said.
I have only two words in response.
Who.
Cares.
Who cares about any of this, nothing matters. Because I know exactly what’s going to happen when I actually do care.
You see, my super power has an adverse side effect. Every time I care about something, things go awry. Someone loses a limb, loses a loved one, loses their life. When I care about something, the universe tells me No.
I can only do things that I don’t care about doing, but whenever it comes to having anything genuine? Having something I do actually care about? The world conspires to rob me of happiness.
And so this leads us here. Standing outside her house… Lisa.
I met her at a bar, during a particularly nasty alcoholism phase I had, and we formed a friend group together. We went out in said group multiple times, and I couldn’t help but feel something new. Feeling like I actually gave a fuck about someone, you know? Like I don’t have to be indifferent around her. Like I don’t want to.
So after a few of those gatherings, I finally worked up the courage to ask her out.
As I look at Lisa standing on the door step, I can’t help but feel dread. What if I am cursed to be alone after all? What if me caring will just end up with Doctor Evil, Doctor Mischievous, or whatever supervillain doctor coming to take her away from me?
She walks over to me, smiling all the way, and gives me a kiss on the cheek.
“Shall we, Mr. Collins?” she asks, and I can’t help but smile back. I can’t be indifferent in the face of this infectious positivity.
What followed was, without question, the best date I have ever had in my life. The food was on point, all the incidents that occurred where dealt with so quickly. A fire had put itself out right in front of my eyes! I couldn’t really believe it.
So at the end of the night, Lisa and I walk side by side, I couldn’t help but ask her one question.
“How?”
She raises an eyebrow, and I elaborate.
“How did this date go so well?”
She blushes, and looks down for an unnatural amount of time.
“It’s my superpower,” she mutters, and it was my turn to raise an eyebrow.
A silence befalls us for a few minutes as we arrive in front of her house. She finally looks up at me.
“Things always work out the way I want them to, it’s as if the universe itself conspires to help me” she begins telling me her super power, and I listen, trying to see what the catch is.
“But….?” I prompt her, and she looks up at me with a smile and rose red cheeks.
“But it only works when I’m with someone I care about.”
​
========================================================
A.N: First time writing romance-ish (if you can call it that?!), please tell me how I can improve this! | 14 | Turns out you have a special ability. As long as you don't give a fuck you can do anything, the problem is that when you want to do anything, you do give a fuck. | 111 |
“Seriously? You do realise saying my name isn’t going to make me do anything I don’t want to do. Newsflash, you eejit, I’m a demon not a dog. That’s D-E-M-O-N not D-O-G.”
I gave the human a dry look. My fingers were quivering with the urge to channel some power, to inflict something against this fool for summoning me up from my nice cosy bed in hell. Do I need to sleep? No. Was I comfy? Yes.
But no, I was more of a jokester demon than a violent one, luckily for the human in front of me. I preferred tricks and short lasting effects to death and long last effects. I found it more _fun_. And more clean, too. Bloodstains didn’t come out easily, especially if you were trying to not clean your clothes magically.
“Iocus, I, Sophia, command thee to-“
“Okay come on. Again, you cannae get me to do anything I don’t want to do. And my name isn’t friggin’ Iocus. Dipshit.”
It took until now for the newly named Sophia to finally behave. Whatever they’d been reading or watching, it hadn’t been factually correct. There was a demon trap on the floor- or rather, the common version of a demon trap that was represented in media. This didn’t do anything.
To reiterate my point I stepped out of it, piercing orange eyes staring at her impassively. The naive human didn’t look too scared upon seeing me step out the trap, which was respectable honestly. Also a little boring. Coulda done with a more scary reaction but hey, this one was interesting.
“Some of this stuff was correct. The summoning ritual worked- in the sense that a demon was summoned. Iocus? Not a name. It’s a type. You summoned a jokester demon. Iocus means joke. So, I don’t murder. If you wanted someone dead, you’re out of luck _quine_.”
Give credit where credit is due.
“Will you do what I need you to do?”
She asked, moving forward. I put a thumb to my chin and tilted my head. This one intrigues me. She’s not scared, nor angrily corrects me, nor tries to stab me. Maybe she is worth engaging with.
“Well, that depends on what you wannae do. Tell me, and we’ll see…” | 154 | "Halt foul demon! I know of your true name and so you must obey my every command!" "Wha- Why would you knowing my name make me obey you all of a suden? What are you gonna do? Call my parents or something? I swear humans myths about demon control are the weirdest.." | 960 |
“Morning,” Gleen said with a yawn.
“Good morning,” I replied, my tone a careful neutral. “Your assignments have been handed out. Please attend to them as you are able, and inform me of any you are not able to get to.”
“Oh, yes, of course, my bad,” Gleen said. He yawned again, then shook his head violently. “I’m sorry, it’s just… family issues, you know?”
“Will these familial difficulties interfere with your job performance?” I asked.
“No, no, I’m just a bit tired is all.”
“Very well. I appreciate you informing me of the inefficiency. If it helps, I will reduce your workload appropriately to adjust to this temporary exhaustion.”
“Much obliged.”
“It *is* temporary, yes?”
Gleen sighed. “I sure hope so. It’s just… you know those humans, right? The Earth ones?”
“Ah, yes. Recently joined as an associate member of the Empire, yes? It was quite a rapid acceptance process if I recall correctly. Our firm is currently being considered for contract negotiations with their nitrogen exporters.”
“Yes, well. The bastards are spreading like wildfire across the galaxy, wouldn’t you know it? Quite friendly, apparently.”
“Please refrain from using foul language in this office.” I blinked. “Friendly?”
“Yeah, friendly. They… I don’t know. They talk about things that are unrelated to the current business. They make jokes… farcical conversations, that is. They do things with each other and with others for fun.”
I tilted my head. “I had no idea. Sounds… inefficient.”
“Extremely,” Gleen. He shook his head. “It gets worse, though.”
“Worse?”
“They… *romance*.”
I gasped. “Romance? That sounds awful!”
“That’s what I thought,” Gleen said. “They *love* things. It’s very peculiar.”
“Love?” I asked, my brow furrowed. “Isn’t that when two organisms desire to reproduce, so they—”
“Exactly. But it’s not even to reproduce. Sometimes they… they kind of *friendly* love things, like food or activities. And sometimes… they love other species.”
“Impossible,” I scoffed. “That doesn’t even make sense. No other species would ever want to reciprocate. There is nothing to be gained. It is not a mutually beneficial arrangement.”
“That’s what I thought. And then…” Gleen paused dramatically, and I couldn’t help but lean forward in my chair.
“My sister met one,” he finished, and I clicked my tongue in disapproval.
“What happened?” I asked.
“I… well, she… fell in love back!” he said helplessly. “I couldn’t begin to understand it, but against all odds, she began to friendly love things as well. She even asked if I wanted to play a game!”
“What did you do?” I asked, my voice hushed.
“I had to, didn’t I?” he said. “She’s my sister. I have to support her because… because…” Gleen paused. “Huh.”
“Why? Why?! What happened next? I *must* know!”
“I… I don’t know,” Gleen muttered. “I… I suppose because I desire her to be successful so that my genetic line will continue in some form, but if she bonds with this human then there would be no offspring. Huh.”
I frowned. “Have you… have you perhaps *met* this human?”
“Yes, quite a few times now. He’s actually visiting us at this very moment. He’s a pretty nice guy, actually, I just…”
Gleen’s eyes widened.
“What is it?” I asked hurriedly. “Have you realized some duplicity in him? Please, tell me more! This whole saga is so fascinating to me!”
Gleen turned to me, and his eyes widened even more.
“It’s contagious,” he whispered.
“What?” I asked, matching his tone.
“Love. Friendship. It’s contagious. Don’t you see it? We haven’t worked in minutes! *You* haven’t worked in minutes!”
I gasped. “*No*.”
“It’s too late for us. For all of us,” he said.
“It can’t be.”
Gleen’s head bowed. “Before the galactic cycle is up, humanity will have spread their love to every corner of the Empire. We are merely the first to fall. There will be *chaos*.”
“What can we do?” I asked.
Gleen shrugged. “I dunno. Want to skip work and get a drink?”
“Sounds good to me.”
***
/r/Badderlocks | 58 | Intelligent spacefaring life is not adverse to reciprocity, but humans go far beyond what is necessary; forming "friendships" with non-colleagues, or becoming infatuated with biologically incompatible species. Oddly, their behaviour seems contagious for non-humans who experience this. | 94 |
There is a point where a person breaks. Humans, as a rule, and dwarves and elves and every other race besides, can only carry so much stress before it will rip them in two. A slow buildup, pressure and loss and anger coalescing into a fiery ball of rage.
There is a point in every person's life when they must learn that you do *not* want to be there when that rage explodes.
Rarely, very rarely, those two points are the same; the aligned stars, a brilliant moment of clarity before the world caves in on itself. Rarity, however, does not mean impossibility, far from it. Rather, it makes that moment shine so much brighter, echo so much louder, do so much more.
So it was. So it is. So it will always be.
He of the Prophecy, chosen by the stars, never had a chance to reach that point, sad as it may be. Well, one might argue that he did, but he died too soon to realize anything. Anger is a useful weapon in combat, and when faced with the overconfident youth who had killed so many of his soldiers and foiled so many of his plans, He Who Ruled the Dark was not in the mood for a calm resolution of events.
Prophecies, it is said, are written in the stars. It is often forgotten that the stars can be rewritten; hidden on a cloudless night, lost in the storm, reshaped over eons as they sputter and die out.
The sky was dark that night. And He was the one who ruled the Dark.
They had sent their best on this mad quest; their eternal endeavor to slay the night. There was He of the Prophecy, his grand victory written in the pale starlight. There was She of the Forest, wielding the power of the enraged earth. There was She who Sees All, who soared high above the human realms and looked down with an unclouded perspective.
And then there was Eriks Altson. He would have been the foremost warrior in all the kingdoms, but he was not blessed with the power of the Divine or the blessings of the stars. He was simply a man, a warrior, someone who wanted better for his kingdom and family. Their quest was meant to be three, and he made four. Never could he, with his mortal means and human strength, progress as fast as those favored by the Divine light of the stars.
We'll come to him later, however. For now, let us ignore him, as so many others often did.
The Prophecised were friends and companions. They were those born to grand destinies, blessed with Divine power. They were heroes, idealists, and many other things besides.
One of those things, as unfortunate as it may be, was dead.
It was He of the Prophecy who fell first, caught off guard by a surprise attack in the middle of the night. He had thought himself the recipient of a grand destiny, and indeed he was, but he had never occurred to him that He of the Dark would fight him on his own terms, not destiny's.
It was She who Sees All who fell next. She had alerted the rest of the camp, but her powers were ill-suited to hand-to-hand combat. Her feathers provided no protection against the sword that ended her life, and speed was not one of the things that She of the Forest was known for.
Nature is slow to wake and slow to move. If given time, her rage would have been the thing that moved the world. As it was, her life ended in barely the blink of an eye.
And then there was only Eriks.
Slowly, confident in his victory over fate, He of the Dark turned to face him, shaking his head. "Do you know why you exist, little warrior? Why you were sent on this mad quest to kill me?" The man shook his head, not even waiting for a response. "It's because every story needs someone as useless as you to make the true heroes look good. You're only here to be laughed at, a joke played by the Divine."
Then, he spoke the words he would serve to break Eriks. "It would be beneath me to kill one such as you."
Eriks Altson was many things. Perhaps he was jealous and petty, on some level. Perhaps he was weak compared to those who fought with the might of the Divine. But, those things are not important. No, in this moment, or rather, this series of moments, there were only two things about him that were important.
First: he had been friends with the Prophecised Ones. He had believed in them. And he had seen that all torn away from him when He of the Dark reached his breaking point. It was because of this that he knew the power of rage.
Second: he was determined. Eriks had never deluded himself into believing that he was as naturally gifted as He of the Prophecy. But he had aspired to come close to that, to climb the mountain that He of the Prophecy had so easily walked up.
He of the Dark had fought against fate for his whole life. There, in the ashes of the camp, in the middle of the cloudy night, he thought he had succeeded. The Prophecised were dead. He was not. The stars had no say in the world. *His* world, now.
But He of the Dark was foolish to think that he had been the only one fighting against destiny.
Eriks felt some small part of him break apart; felt the fire inside him start to spill outward. It was not the light of the stars, nor that of the Divine. It was *his* power, *his* choices, *his* light.
The now-best warrior in the kingdom picked up his sword. For once in is life, he felt in control. A sense of rightness settled over him and he met He of the Dark's eyes. "You should have killed me when you had the chance," he growled.
The stars had no say in the destiny of the land. But the one thing that Eriks was determined to prove was that He of the Dark didn't, either.
r/StoriesOfAshes for more of my stuff! I also have a serial, [A Game of Chess](https://www.reddit.com/r/StoriesOfAshes/comments/re24jc/a_game_of_chess_chapter_1/). | 49 | after defeating all the heroes the villain stares at the last person standing." Do you know why you exist? it's because every story needs someone useless to make the heroes look good. You're nothing but comic relief, a joke play by God it would be beneath me to kill someone like you." | 87 |
"Hungry."
"Lunch is at twelve hundred hours. A man of your observable mass can hold out until then."
"I meant Sagittarius A, sir. The radar technicians just processed the radio transmission from the center of the Milky Way. It says it's 'hungry.'"
"Unfathomable! Actually, that's relatively fathomable. I suppose hunger is the only appropriate emotion for a black hole."
"Sir, don't you think this is all... I don't know, improbable? Black holes can't speak."
"Who says they can't? I want to see their degree."
"Biology, sir."
"Biology is the science of fools. Write up a report on this breakthrough discovery and have it on my desk by lunch. And schedule a press release while you're at it - the world needs to hear this. I can picture the headline now: 'Cosmic Piehole Speaks - Humans and Black Holes More Alike than Scientists Thought.'"
"Sir, I don't think this is a good idea. The techies said the scanner may have picked up some human interference on the radar. We can't rule that out yet-"
"Can it, egghead. You're the black hole of mediocrity to my dreams of career advancement. Jenkins! Get your pasty ass over here. I want you to file a report on a new anomaly I encountered just now in the lab. It appears our associate here is the living embodiment of negative energy. Run a few tests, shake him up a bit. Maybe we can find a way to weaponize his lack of enthusiasm."
"Sir, I just received an update from the radar technicians. Due to a programming error, the radar was improperly tuned to a broader spectrum of frequencies than intended, meaning that it was recieving human resonant interference picked up by radiation-emitting appliances on base."
"In English?"
"The transmission we heard came from the lunchroom microwave, not a black hole."
"Unbelievable! A microwave that talks. Jenkins, change of plans - I want a report written up on this incredible discovery on my desk immediately. And put my name on it too - in big letters. You know which font I like." | 25 | After many years of trial and error, NASA has managed to capture audio of what a black hole sounds like! Strangely enough though, instead of hearing incomprehensible noise as expected, they hear a voice… | 64 |
"I still can't believe this is going to be my office this year."
Vellum smiled, "I felt the same way on my first day. I was a much different man then."
Yewin chuckled, running his hands over the smooth mahogany of the office's ornate desk, "So you weren't always a wise, well-dressed man spitting maxims out at every student who'd listen?"
Vellum shook his head, "No, quite the opposite. Only a fool is confident at the beginning. But do not be discouraged. You earned this."
"It still doesn't feel real. You've been headmaster for as long as I've been around. Now it's me."
"Yewin, if I may ask. Why headmaster? With your talents, you could have been an arcane researcher with his own team or a battle mage counseling the King."
"I've always admired you, Vellum. You've been my inspiration and my guide for as long as I've been here. Which has been the most eventful years of my life, starting from my arcane aptitude test all the way up to becoming a professor at this institution. The Academy is my home, I don't think I could imagine working anywhere else."
"A fine answer. I see that my position is in good hands."
"No better hands than yours, headmaster."
"Ah, not headmaster anymore. That title is yours now."
"Apologies. Old habit, I suppose."
"Well, headmaster. While I will no longer be at this Academy, I will still look forward to your leadership. I expect great things from you and this institution."
"I will try your best to satisfy them, even though I doubt I will ever fill your shoes."
"You're an arcane scientist, I expect you to put that hypothesis to the test."
Yewin beamed, "Yes, sir."
"Good lad. Now, I must be going. And calm down a little, I know it's your first day, but you'll do fine, I promise." Vellum bowed to Yewin before heading out, leaving the room in silence.
Yewin wasn't sure how long he spent simply in a state of marvel and wonder as he took in the reality of his situation. He was the youngest headmaster in the Academy's history, the successor of the man he had revered all his life. It felt like a dream come true. He just hoped he could rise to the occasion.
He was finally broken from his stupor when the door creaked open, a scholarly young woman entering, "Excuse me, um.. headmaster Vellum, I mean.. headmaster..."
He chuckled, "Yewin."
The woman winced, "I'm sorry. I heard the name this morning in the staff briefing but I completely forgot it. It won't happen again, I promise."
Yewin shook his head, "No apologies necessary. What have you come to tell me?"
"Tell you?"
"You entered my office, considering you forgot my name I assume it wasn't just to greet me."
"Oh right! Sorry, um.. yes, there's an issue in the yard, headmaster."
"Oh, pray tell."
"Well, it's hard to explain sir. A young student has gotten into a conflict with some students above her grade. Her magic is strange, she seems to be absorbing or 'eating?' magic and unleashing it back at them."
"I suppose this is as good a chance as any to put my skills to the test as headmaster. Lead the way."
She nodded, gesturing for Yewin to follow as they exited the office. | 12 | The archmage just saw a little girl literally eat a spell. At least this year was not going to be boring. | 74 |
So long.
We had been gone so long, we knew it would be a long time to our return when we first set out. But we had faith in our little people. "We built them strong" we said to each other "we built their hearts and heads of iron so they will not bend to stray away from us"
How foolish of us to forget iron rusts.
One by one we felt ourselves weaken, each age the fight grew harder. Then the unthinkable. We, the undying, started to fall. First the Tezcatlipocas, then the Netjer. Kin by kin, whole families disappearing in a way thought impossible for aeons. Until but a few of us remained. One was chosen to return, tell our little people of our failure. I was the lucky one, the last messenger with enough power to make it back. If only we had known.
Upon my return I see the reason for those who remain. Our little people had forgotten us. The rust that took over their heads has but a few sparkles left, and how very warped those glimmers of memory have become. Thor changed from a witty waif to a thick headed warrior, Loki from mother to snake, even Persephone queen of death was naught but a flower child. All so different except one. One who is worshiped so widely and so steadily through the millennia as quick of heel, tounge, and mind.
Me.
My face. My name. Everywhere, in so many different ways and so many different words. Here a wheel, there a seller of flowers, a music shop, a messengers. No wonder I was the only one who could make it back.
Now I know. I know why we weaken. We are memory. We are belief. And our people have stopped believing.
But I am a messenger. I shall deliver the message so that they will hear it forever.
We fail. But not yet have failed. Remember us as strongly as when we first fired you in head and heart. Let your iron pour red hot once more. Be strong in your belief and we may yet survive. | 22 | “we failed” | 115 |
“We’ve got you surrounded!”
Forthwind smirked, “No, do you even know who you’re dealing with? We have Yalzarok, Chaos Incarnate on our side!” He gestured dramatically to me. “Not even I, one who has known him for years knows the true extent of his power!”
The bandit shook his head, “Yalzarok hasn’t used his power in years, methinks he’s afraid he might injure himself in the process of casting. It’s chaos after all. It could y’all more than us.”
Forthwind simply smiled, “Are you willing to test that theory? Because I am. I’ve done it before. I can withstand whatever magic might rain down on us, I doubt you have such experience.”
The bandit paused, “Move along then. We’ll let you pass. Perhaps when we meet again we can really put your theory to the test.”
Forthwind bowed his head, “Until that day.”
We continued onward through the canyon, the group congratulating Forthwind for his bluff, I sighed, “It’s already happening. People are realizing that they haven’t seen me cast in a while. They’ll get suspicious that I’ve lost my magic.”
Zepharia patted my shoulder, “We don’t need to use you for a bluff, but it does come in handy to avoid confrontation.”
“And when I’m no longer useful, I suppose I can expect to die?” I murmured.
She shook her head, “No, don’t say that! We’ll find a way to control it, I promise.”
I looked into her eyes to see if she believed her words were true, but I saw the seeds of doubt deep within, “As foolish as it sounds, I do miss them sometimes, my powers. I know that I can’t control them, but feeling that powerful, it makes me feel worth something. These days I’m just causing trouble.”
“Well, I don’t think so. You’re the nicest chaos mage I’ve ever met.”
“And how many chaos mages do you know?”
“....”
“That’s what I thought.”
“Zepharia! Over here,” Forthwind glared at Zepharia, pulling her aside. I snuck close and listened, no one paid much mind to me during times like this.
Zepharia sighed, “What is it, Forthwind?”
“What did I tell you about talking to the weapon?” Forthwind asked.
She set her jaw, “Don’t call him that!”
“That’s what he is, Zepharia, or have you forgotten?”
“He’s no threat to anyone currently.”
“With currently being the key word. He’s a powder keg. If he ever regains his powers, or we can’t find a way to control it, we have to be ready to deal with him ourselves.”
“We’ll find another way…”
“We’ll try our best, but if we don’t, can I count on you to not let your compassion get in the way?”
“Forthwind, don’t make me promise that, please.”
“I’m not putting this off any longer, Zepharia. If you can’t accept this promise then I can’t let you interact with him any longer.”
“Have you ever imagined what it must be like to be in his position? Everyone fears him. He’s even afraid of himself. That’s no way to live.”
“Chaos magic is no way to die, either.”
“This conversation is over.” She turned away from him, fury in her eyes as she stormed off.
“Zepharia, get back here!” Forthwind sighed and shook his head, heading back to the group.
Zepharia made her way back to me, grabbing my hand, “Look at me.”
Her tone was stern, angry, I gulped, “Zepharia, are you alright?”
She looked into my eyes, her own eyes showing honesty, “I won’t let them kill you, you understand? I know that you think if it comes down to it you don’t deserve to live but you’re wrong and so are they. You’re worth it.”
I tried to avoid her gaze, shame building within me, “Zepharia, they’re right, I’m a weapon…”
“No! You’re a person with feelings, compassion, and bravery. Forthwind under different circumstances woundn’t be a hero, if he wasn’t good with a sword he’d be a politician or something else that would keep him in the public eye. You’re a good person even with magic so devastating that it invokes widespread fear. Never forget that.”
Tears welled up in my eyes, I met her gaze, though my vision was blurry, “You truly believe I’m worthy of saving?”
She smiled softly, “I don’t believe it, I know it. Now if it comes down to it, understand that I want you to choose life over sacrifice. Can you do that?”
I paused for a moment before mustering the courage to nod, “I’ll do my best.”
“Good, now let’s head back to the group. Forthwind has a fire going, you know what that means!”
My eyes gleamed, “Campfire stories!”
She nodded, “Yep! I hope you have a story ready because yours are always the best!” | 83 | "You wonder why a group of heroes would keep me around since I'm clumsy, powerless and a burden that needs constant rescuing. But while they've come to like me, they aren't my friends, they are my jailers keeping me alive, to prevent me from recovering my powers and ending the world.” | 416 |
"What the actual hell is on your face? Is THAT the makeup I've been hearing about? I've spent 1,000 years eavesdropping to stay up to date with THAT?!" I screamed, pulling at the strange yellow thing atop what I assumed to be a head. I doubt they've evolved away from having heads.
“HOLY FUCKING SHIT WHAT THE FU-”
“SHUT UP, I asked you a QUESTION! Myself, now I remember why I agreed to that stupid dare in the first place.
I ripped off the strange cap, twirling it around. I flicked it a few times, before taking a bite.
Gross. Tastes like sweat.
“Anyways, I'm starving. I heard that there's a great peace out place near here, never had it, but the amount you mortals talk of it sure has made me hungry!” I grabbed the (hopefully) arm of the confused...thing.. Dragging him with me across the piles of junk.
“No no no no no, I'm building a rail, that's all, ghosts don't exist I'm just tired. Overworked, exhausted, yeah, yeah..” The flesh pot mumbled, grabbing some junk and… hammering it to other junk?
What in the hell?
“Hello? Peace oh? Come on, I'm waiting?” I tugged at its cloths. ‘Wow, they really have gotten inventive with this stuff huh? So bright…”
I took a bite out of it. Yuck. Still sweaty. So colorful, but not edible? Why?
“Who’s that, jerry?” another mortal asked, chuckling
I would have been offended, if I wasn't already aware how little respect us gods get now a days.
“I, dear bright colored friend of brightly colored mortal, am @#\*&$@\*\^&&%, but because the mortal ears and eyes cannot comprehend that, you may call me Izzy. Step-child, twice removed, of the god of light herself. Cursed to forever live, because I lost a bet to my little brother because he is a cheating, how you say, ‘skank’.”
“Didn't know you were into crazies, Jer.” The bright yellow one said, causing the fellow rainbow dressers to burst into laughter.
Without hesitation, I turned off the sun. Only for a few seconds. Y’know, prove a point real quick?
“Believe me now, young ones?” I asked, raising myself into the air above them all.
Not even one of them turned around.
“I will curse each and every one of you, hear my roar!” I screamed, bighting the sun
“Man, sure is hot.” yellow #2 complained.
Whatever, I sighed, returning the sun to normal. I'm getting peace oh. I grabbed Jerry, and floated off. He cried quietly as his feet hit it’s friends heads, none of which bothering to look up.
“Tell me Jerry, are your friends what you call, ‘Meatheads?’ they do not look to be very meaty. That one does.” I asked, pointing to a being who seemed to be spilling from his cloths.
“Considering the fact he seems to have eaten that entire pizza on his own, he’s probably just greasy.” Jerry replied, adjusting to his new floaty life.
“Peace oh.”
“Pizza?”
“Peace oh.”
“Fine.”
I admired the tall buildings, each one pretty much just like the other. All the people, all the buildings, they looked the same. It's so… Disappointing.
“Can I go back to work now?” Jerry asked, wiggling around.
“Sure.” I dropped him.
Oh, wait, we're high up…
I backed up a little, watching for a minute. Slowly, he got up, and walked back to his shiny things.
After a few days of watching, I determined the peace oh was pizza. Jerry should have told me. And found where it seemed to be located. I also noticed the cash I’d hear about was flimsy, and very easy to take without being noticed. I glided into the boring building, and up to a bright red skin bag.
“One pizza please, whatever you think is fit for a God!” I proclaimed, slamming a handful of 100 down.
Seriously, this teen does not make enough for how much they work. I bet they deserve it.
They’re eyes grew wide as they counted out exactly how much I gave them (I'm not sure how much it was, people just always seemed most panicked when losing those ones.)
“Pretty nice, huh? You teens are too young to have to live in the art of trade, it's old for a reason, now, how long will my- HEY!” I shouted as the thing grabbed the pile and ran. “You milf!”
Heh. they’re gonna cry about that when they get home. ‘Mommy, the god lady called me a milf!’
The worst insult of them all. Wait! No! There's one even worse!
“GET BACK HERE YOU DADDY!” I screamed, tackling the daddy-milf to the ground.
Wait, what do I need this money for again? I could just steal the pizza…?
I shrugged, getting off the kid. I grabbed a pizza triangle thing from the tiny squishy liver, and returned to my hole.
“Jerry, mind covering me over?” I yelled, hoping they’d hear me over the random combining project.
“Sure thing.” Jerry hollered, recovering me with my chill stones and warm dirt.
Good night. | 19 | You are an immortal. In the Year of Our Lord 1022 you were buried alive surrounded on all sides by stone. Now, 1000 years later, a construction team finds you and opens your tomb while working on a minor rail project. | 119 |
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