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Whenever my grandmother got angry, it was like there was lightning all around her.
"This yoghurt is flavorless! What does this company think, that I eat yoghurt for the *texture*?"
My mother used to tell me she had mellowed out since she herself was a little girl. I never quite believed her.
I remember asking her for help drawing up our family tree for a school assignment. She'd had a couple of glasses of wine and clapped her hands together like a rockstar on stage before throwing everything she had into a fairly strange doodle. Satisfied, she said, "There's our family tree."
"That looks more like a ... building."
My mother laughed. "A tree can't be a building?"
I didn't know what to say.
"Look. The pillars came out real nice, didn't they?"
She had drawn some cylinders with squiggles on them on top of which was a triangle. "Maybe I'll ask dad if he can help me," I offered.
"No, no, no. I'm not joking around. This is our family tree. Wait, I'll get your grandmother."
My mother wheeled her into the living room and it didn't even interrupt grandma from her knitting. Did she even know someone had moved her?
"Look," said my mother. "Calista wanted to know about her ancestry. I drew her a map."
Grandma frowned and put down her knitting tools. She lowered her glasses over her eyes and took a look. Suddenly, she froze. "Basilia! What are you thinking? Don't fill Calista's head with that nonsense."
"It's not nonsense!" my mother countered. "Remember when you told me? After having a bunch of these?" She pointed to her glass of wine.
Grandma sighed. "Fine. Calista, you want to know about your history?" She took the glass from my mother's hand and had a sip.
She looked at me as if she was high up on some mountain, staring down at a pitiful creature. Sort of unsure, I nodded.
"That--" she said and pointed to the drawing, "--is the Pantheon."
I tried the word out a few times. It had a funny feel to it. "Is it a village?" I tried. "In ... Greece?" I hadn't been given many details, but I deeply suspected our family to be Greek. Well, we were the Smiths. Which didn't quite fit with my theory. But still.
Grandma cackled and wiped a tear. "A village! The great Pantheon. Den to pistevo! No, child. The Pantheon is a symbol. The symbol of my home."
I got an F on my assignment. When mom wheeled my grandma through the hallways of my school, it felt like the building might spontaneously tear itself apart. The day afterward, my teacher changed my grade to an A. His face was pale as marble. When I asked him why, he just said, "Y-Your grandmother explained some things to me. I am deeply sorry."
She has been gone for a long time now, but I think she's still around. One day, I heard some strange noises from the kitchen and I opened the door to find my mother arguing with an eagle. "The neighbors are going to think we're crazy! We can't have big birds flying around inside. What if someone saw you through the window?" The eagle brought its beak to my mother's glass of wine and drank from it. My mother didn't seem to mind. "And what about Calista? She wouldn't understand." She sighed. Then she saw me.
The eagle fluttered about in a less than elegant fashion, crashing into our refrigerator. My mother patted its bald head and opened a window. The eagle fled and my mother flashed me an awkward smile. "How ... much of that did you hear?"
"Enough," I told her.
We didn't speak of it again.
Some days, when there's a thunderstorm, I think of my grandmother. I see her knitting in her wheelchair with furrowed brows. I see her eating yoghurt with the scrutiny of a sommelier. I see her as an eagle, soaring across the skies and keeping watch over us.
I hope she's happy, back home in the Pantheon. | 239 | The goddesses of the Greek pantheon have grown irritated with Zeus's antics. They've decided to punish him by transforming him into a human woman for 100 years. | 541 |
“Fancy meeting you here.”
“I could say the same for you. If you’re looking for a seat, the one next to mine is all yours.”
“Straight to point, I like it.”
“There’s more to like where that came from. What’s your poison?”
“Arsenic.”
“Oh, you! Come now, let me buy you a drink.”
“Burbon, on the rocks.”
“You’ve got taste, well, other than your craving for arsenic.”
“I like to live life dangerously, I suppose that’s hardly a surprise.”
“You know how to make me interested, say more.”
“That depends on what you have in store for me.”
“I’ll never turn down a chance to make the first move, how about once you’re finished with your drink we head over to my place and discuss this more.”
“Somewhere more private? Yes, I think that would be wise, wouldn’t want anyone overhearing.”
“Oh… so you expect to make a lot of noise tonight? Naughty. Yes, wouldn’t want anyone overhearing that unless you’re into that sort of thing.”
“If we speak in code, perhaps, but otherwise we’d give too much away.”
“You weren’t kidding about living life dangerously.”
“This is my first time meeting with you, are you new around here?”
“Yes, I changed jobs recently. Used to travel a lot more but the hours were killing me.”
“So you used to be out in the field? My respect.”
“You make it sound more exciting than it was.”
“Sorry, I know it's not easy work, I’ve had plenty of bad days myself.”
“Perhaps tonight we can put that aside and just enjoy each other’s company.”
“That’s one way of putting it, the work never stops for me.”
“Don’t worry, after tonight, you won’t be thinking about that anymore.”
“Why? Is this a setup?”
“I’m no escort if that’s what you mean.”
“Good, I need no aid in that matter. I can protect myself.”
“You brought protection? Even better.”
“I always carry protection. As I said, the work never stops.”
“Now I’m starting to think that you’re the escort.”
“No. I’m a hunter, someone who stands around waiting for the action to happen.”
“Consider me snared…”
“You’re making a lot more eye contact than usual for this arrangement.”
“Am I coming on too strong?”
“Excuse me?”
“What? I really thought we were on the same page there. You tease! How dare you lead me on like that!”
“I’m not an informant, I’m looking for information.”
“Information? Is that one of those ‘code words’ you mentioned?”
“If you were who I was looking for, that wouldn’t be a question.”
“And who are you looking for? Am I not good enough?”
“I can’t offer what you want.”
“Oh… do you have a condition? It’s okay, I didn’t mean to…”
“What are you on about? I came here for an informant. That’s not code, understand?”
“So you really weren’t looking for a hookup?”
“Oh… shit. That makes a lot more sense.”
“Informant, huh? That means you’re a spy? I’ve never been with a spy before. My offer still stands if you’re interested…” | 180 | Two people meet at a bar. One thinks they're being hit on. The other is a spy and thinks they're meeting with a contact. Misunderstandings ensue. | 632 |
It'd started as a project for a final exam, grafting branches of a peach tree to an apple tree to make it grow both apples and peaches. Then taking that tree for a different final exam and mutating the fruit to have properties similar to frog liver. Why frog liver? Because the professor loved frogs, of course. And then the project was shelved, the plant withering away on someone's desk. After all, what use did someone have for a tree whose fruit tasted like frog liver?
The idea came as he overheard an adventurer haggling over ingredients. They thought the clerk was short-changing them on some rare ingredients they had brought back, emphasizing the harm they had risked to obtain them. It wasn't like they grew on trees, after all. Well, the herbs mixed into the bundle did, but still. But that got me thinking: what if they did?
The next phase started with something mundane: tufts of fur from Doom Rabbits. Not even an uncommon drop, just an attempt to duplicate it through a convoluted method. Very little success was had, until attempting to infuse the hair follicles that grew into the fur into the bark stuck. That was the key: to produce the ingredient of a monster, one would need to infuse the stuff that develops into it.
This fundamental principle only easily explains how I got the tree to produce dragonblood in its sap. Despite this being the simplest, it took the longest. Do you know how bloody hard it is to find a dragon willing to donate marrow? And that doesn't even start onto the extraction procedure. If it weren't for Doctor Bonemender's work on painlessly removing scales, I would still be trying to extract the damn thing.
So I set about trying to prove something easier: Eye of Newt. Poetically, the experiment started by manipulating mustard seeds to grow into actual eyes. While balancing the line of chimeric ethics, I eventually succeeded, and then for flair, grafted the seeds to a branch of a maple tree, which I then grafted to a dogwood tree for the bark.
Next up were fae ears. These were harder since I didn't have a seed to work with. In fact, I ended up selling my firstborn for several insights on fae biology that led to me having some understanding of how their ears formed. Now they grow as plentifully as the leaves on this tree, and while I would love to divulge more of the secrets, I also sold my silence. Believe me, it was better than the alternatives.
So now we have a tree that, basically, is almost impossible to casually replicate and grows all the ingredients for a potion, while also being borderline ethical. And you want to burn it and kill me so that I don't crash the potion market? Where did you learn potions, boy?! Potions 101 is that a potion's value comes first and foremost from the brewer. It's why that jackass's face is all over the best potions in the state.
How about I offer you a deal? Get all the major producers of potions that use these ingredients on the line. We start slowly shipping them product behind the scenes, and we keep the market stable.
What, ethics? Did you recall the part where I said this thing was barely ethical? Look, I've got a portfolio of this stuff. Lemme show you what I did to my secondborn and her dog... | 198 | a dogwood tree with fae ear leaves, newt eye fruit, and dragon blood sap. All the ingredients for a potion on one tree. | 692 |
On the day of his grandfather’s funeral, Scott sat alone.
Scott didn’t know why he had bothered to plan a ceremony. Despite his grandfather’s claims, the old man hadn’t actually been an adventurer or had any friends. He had never sailed across the sea or climbed the tallest mountain in the world. He had never been in a war or bested a knight in a duel.
For all Scott knew, the old man had never left the town in which he’d been born.
“Are you ready to proceed?” The town’s priest stood before Scott, garbed entirely in black. He had been the head of the town’s church for as long as Scott was alive. Scott thought him lucky – the priest had never had to hear one of his grandfather’s tall tales.
With a deep sigh, Scott stood. “Forget it. Just bury him.”
“Without the ceremony?”
Scott nodded. He pulled his jacket tight as the winter wind swirled through the graveyard. As he turned to leave, the priest placed a hand on his shoulder.
“Don’t you care about his soul?”
Scott shrugged. “That wasn’t why I arranged this. For my entire life, my grandfather claimed to be an adventurer. I’ve never been able to confirm a single one of his claims. I thought that advertising his funeral might draw one of his *old friends*. I thought I finally might be able to find out what sort of man he truly was.”
“Do you not wish to honor all that he gave you?” the priest questioned. “When your parents passed, he raised you like his own son. He deserves your respect.”
Scott glared at the priest. Anger boiled within him. “He didn’t raise me. He never taught me anything of worth. All he gave me was his stupid stories!”
\*
Scott drank. The inn was unusually crowded. Fortunately, he had been able to secure his favorite seat, the one nearest to the bartender. Unfortunately, he couldn’t stop thinking about his grandfather.
*Stupid old man. Get out of my head!*
“I know that look. Who died?”
Scott glanced at the man to his right. A man with a black scar above his right eye. Something about him seemed familiar. Scott didn’t bother to search his memories. He had no desire to think.
“My grandfather,” Scott said at last.
The man with the scar raised his glass. “Did he leave you anything?”
“Nothing,” Scott replied flatly. “He gave everything he had away on his deathbed. Claimed a demon was after his soul. That he had die penniless to elude it.”
“Sounds like your grandfather was a fool.”
Scott smirked. “Jokes on him. I sewed a penny into his jacket.”
The stranger matched his expression. After finishing his ale, he rose from his seat and placed a coin on the bar. “Next round is on me.”
\*
Hours later, Scott stumbled into the graveyard. The priest hadn’t gone through with the ceremony. His grandfather’s coffin had been lowered into its grave, but the hole hadn’t been filled.
Scott sat on the edge of the grave. Drunken laughter escaped his lips. “I ran into your friend at the bar. The man with the black scar. The one you claimed was after your soul.” He grinned. “Didn’t seem much like a demon to me. He bought me a drink.”
Still laughing, Scott lowered himself into the grave. It was wider than he thought necessary, allowing him to stand beside the coffin.
The damaged coffin.
Scott ran his hand across the lid, tracing what appeared to be claw marks. A sudden terror seized him. Frantically, he opened the lid and looked inside.
His grandfather’s body was gone.
Edit: [Part Two](https://www.reddit.com/r/creatorcorvin/comments/up49jb/part_two_but_the_real_treasure_was_the_friends_we/) | 68 | "But the real treasure was the friends we made along the way", your retired adventurer grandfather always finished his tall tales by that sentence; but the thing is; you never met any of his so-called companions. | 475 |
Miguel cheered, along with the rest of the crowd on the manor grounds, as the dark blue banner with the golden scroll emblem was unfurled alongside the other four Banners of Honor adorning the outdoor stage that had been set up on the green. Above the stage, the night sky filled with sparkling starbursts and flowers of light, as illuminators launched their pyrotechnical projectiles.
Nobles and commoners alike had gathered together to celebrate the Feast of Honor of Don Ricardo Escalante IV -- now officially styled *Don Ricardo Escalante V,* having earned his fourth honor above the *Honor of the Blood* he had been born with.
The young ducal court page, Miguel, like most of the attendees, was eager to see the Duke demonstrate the new invention he had previously presented to the Royal Academy, leading to his recognition as a *Noble of the Scroll.* This was in addition to having been a Noble of the *Coin, Blood, Blade,* and *Hammer.* Being *Five Times Noble,* the Duke had greater power and influence in the kingdom, was in line for succession as King, and could even bestow some *Honors* on worthy subjects, by his own authority.
No one yet knew what it was that the Duke had invented, but since he had earned the *Honor of the Scroll* based on this single achievement, it must be something spectacular. Suddenly, the Duke himself appeared at the edge of the crowd, flanked by attendants, the multitude parting before him as he mounted the stage. Don Ricardo doffed his feathered hat, and bowed to the crowd as they cheered uproariously, Miguel included.
He looked around at the beaming faces -- all showing joy and pride in their liege's achievement. The grandeur of a noble, after all, reflected on the people he led. Miguel frowned, as he noticed one figure who did not seem to be enjoying the festivities, nearby. A dark eyed man in a hooded cloak, near the front of the crowd, was looking up at the Duke with a scowl. Everyone else seemed too absorbed in the moment to notice.
"Thank you!" Don Ricardo Escalante V cried. "My people, my *family!* This honor is not mine alone, but belongs to all those who dwell beneath the proud banner of *House Escalante!"*
The crowd cheered, although a furtive glance to his left told Miguel that the mysterious stranger remained unmoving.
"I see many faces in the crowd, people now Honored as Nobles, whom I have known since they were commoners! Let this, my *fifth* Banner of Honor, be a reminder to all, of what *any* man can achieve, with courage, passion, and ambition!" The Duke boomed, lifting his arms in proclamation.
Miguel applauded...but he noticed the stranger *was* moving now. He saw the glint of steel, as the man reached for a blade. He made the choice on instinct. Perhaps the Duke's lofty words about courage made him bolder than he would have been otherwise.
Instead of seeking help, Miguel cried out *"Assassin!"* and then charged the stranger himself. He was only a page, he was unarmed. But he thought if he could tackle the man, he could bowl him over, and slow him down until the Guard could reach him. He leaped at the stranger, shouting wordlessly.
He bounced off him as though he'd struck a stone wall, and tumbled backward, landing hard on the ground. The cloaked figure turned to him, and let out an unearthly shriek, his eyes suddenly alight with sickly green fire. Miguel's own eyes widened in horror -- it was a *Viborón,* a monstrous creation of forbidden alchemy, made by fusing the life essence of dozens of poisonous serpents into a human host.
For a moment the creature looked ready to pounce on Miguel -- that would surely be the end of him, for the Viborón were perfect assassins, their slightest *touch* capable of delivering a lethal dose of the venom that suffused their entire body. But it was clear the assassin had been sent for a different target: the Duke himself.
It turned away from Miguel, and leaped eight feet in the air to land atop the stage, then charged the Duke with inhuman speed.
There was a flash of lightning, and a peal of thunder. The Viborón stumbled back, hissing, clutching at a gaping wound in its chest. In his hand, the Duke held a strange steel tube with a wooden handle, smoke rising from the end pointed towards the unholy assassin. The Duke's *invention!*
The Viborón took a halting step towards Don Ricardo. The Duke drew a *second* tube from inside his coat. There was another flash, and another booming report rang out. The top of the creature's head vanished in a spray of gore.
It teetered unsteadily, and then collapsed onto the stage, unmoving.
The crowd was crying out in panic. Guards belatedly rushed up onto the stage. The Duke held up his hands for calm.
"Peace!" the Duke shouted. "Peace, my people! Guards! Search the grounds, make sure there are no more of them! Use crossbows and spears only; if you get close enough to use a sword, you'll be poisoned for sure. Everyone else, get indoors until we sort this out!"
Guards ran off to do as instructed, and the crowd began to disperse. The Duke turned to the Captain of his Guard, and begin speaking to him in a lower tone. "Have the court wizard examine the body, and see if he can discover its origin. I suspect it was sent by that jealous bastard, Don Oviedo! He'd better hope he's as clever as he thinks he is, because if he's left the slightest trace, I'll see that the King demotes that fat old fool to Don Oviedo the *Zeroth,* mark my words..."
Miguel, still stunned from the sudden change from exultation to fear and panic, staggered to his feet, and began to follow the others back towards the keep.
"Not you!" the Duke suddenly commanded. He froze, eyes going wide. Had *Don Ricardo* himself just spoken to him? He turned to face his liege and bowed, deeply. To his surprise, the Duke bowed slightly in return.
The Duke hopped down from the stage, landing in a crouch, and then rose to stride towards him, shaking his head in amazement.
"I thank you for raising the alarm -- it gave me time to draw one of my new *pistolas* before that vile thing could close the distance. But charging at a *Viborón?"* the Duke exclaimed. "That was *very* brave, boy! "
"I-I didn't know he was a *Viborón,* Don Ricardo." Miguel admitted.
Don Ricardo laughed. "Did you not? Well, that's good to hear. In that case, you are *still* brave, but you're not *stupid.* Too many other young lordlings I've met can't manage to be the first, without also being the second."
"Oh, I'm no noble, your Grace." Miguel said, hastily. "I'm just a page!"
Don Ricardo smirked, and winked at him. "Don't argue with your liege, boy, it's impolite! I am -- as of today -- Don Ricardo Escalante de Zaragoza *the Fifth!* Which means, when I see a young man who has proven himself to possess uncommon courage, and exercised the same in my service, *I* do not need to petition the Holy Brothers of Honor to declare him a *Noble of the Heart.* I can, instead, bestow that Honor upon him myself. What is your name?"
"M-Miguel, Don Ricardo. Miguel Espinoza." he stammered, in amazement.
Don Ricardo shook his head, and laughed again.
"No, no, no!" he said, throwing an arm around Miguel's shoulders, and leading him away. "*Your* name is *Don* Miguel Espinoza de Zaragoza the First!" | 376 | Much to your surprise, the magical laws of this fantasy world you find yourself in require that nobles actually be NOBLE. Not just in bearing but also in manor. In fact if they are act dishonorably they are highly penalized. | 2,145 |
"What?" Brett snorted. "There must be some mistake!"
The man in front of him sighed. "Do you know of the *Magical Purity Act*?"
Brett shook his head "I don't recall."
"It disallows all beings that have practiced dark magic from entering our realm."
Brett furrowed his brow. "I've never practiced dark magic."
"*You*, in particular, may have not, but . . . " the man waved his hand, and a white transparent screen appeared in front of him. "But a previous life of yours did." He swiped up on the screen, and it flipped around so Brett could read it.
Brett read off the list of past lives. "Alistair Gaveston, John Clark . . . Scott Quinn, *tainted*?"
"That's the one." The man said.
"So *I'm* held accountable for something *they* did?"
"Well, our systems treat every life of an individual as one whole being."
Brett breathed a heavy sigh. "So where can I go?"
The man tapped the screen, and it shifted to display a list of realms. "The ones in green are what you're eligible for."
Brett's gaze scanned the list. "There's not that many . . ."
"We're not the only ones who have laws against dark magic." the clerk explained.
"Hm!" Brett pondered each realm.
*Thoros*? Too bland. Brett wanted a world he would enjoy.
Zhahesk? In a world of geniuses and visionaries, he would be an idiot.
*Vilthu*? A hell of eternal torture. A solid pass!
But Brett couldn't just walk the endless white halls of Limbo forever. One option faced him.
"What about reincarnating again?"
The clerk sucked his teeth. "You *will* run out of tries if you keep making mistakes like this."
"I don't care. Spin the wheel."
The clerk bowed his head and snapped his fingers. A slot machine appeared nearby. It spun for a few seconds until it stopped on a name, home-world, a time period.
"You next life's name is Xuvir, from the same planet you're from, Gelena - but you're a few thousand years ahead, in the year 3025. Your world of vibrant magic has become a tomb of cold metal."
"How many resurrections do I have on this life?"
"Two," the clerk answered. "Make them count." He snapped his fingers, and Brett dissolved into light. Two more lives to set things right. | 64 | "Sorry sir, but unfortunately you do not qualify for eternal salvation in our wing, I have compiled a list of other heavens, hells and limbos you are eligible for. Of course, you could always try your luck with the wheel of reincarnation." | 324 |
Am good boy. Am named “Theo”. Theo am good boy. Theo spend whole life, many days and nights, with Master. Master love Theo. Tell Theo am good boy. Master pick Theo up when Theo unable to see. Theo not able to see Master, but Theo smell Master. Master smell best smell. Theo wag when smell Master.
Master show Theo how bring chew rod. Call it ‘Fets’. Master yell “FETS” and throw away chew rod. Theo think Master silly. Just got chew rod, and throw away. Theo bring rod back. Master tell Theo am good boy. Throw chew rod again. It best time.
Master leave Theo in big wood cave. Say “Stay” at Theo. Dressed in sunlight. Smell not as strong. But still smell best Master smell. Theo good boy. Only chew a little. Young boy visit. Play Fets with Theo. Look after Theo. Master back soon. Always back. Bring treat. Tell Theo am good boy. Theo wag.
Master did not back. Not Theo Master. Was Master meat. But Master not say Theo am good boy. Master stay without tell. Other pack cry at Master. Say he protect town. Bad too strong. Pack bury Master. I tell no. No bury. Bad pack. No bury thing. Master need to wake. Wake for Theo. Hard bark. Cry. Why no wake? Why bury Master? Why no pack stop?
Bad approach town. Can smell Bad coming. Pack scare. Want flee. Try pull Theo with. Theo stay. Stay for Master. Theo protect. Theo am good boy. Strong come to town. Strong protect like Master. Theo protect like Master.
Strong try lift hum rod. Say it protect against Bad. Hum rod attack Strong. None touch. Theo not understand. It just rod. Theo fets. Show Strong it easy. Theo bite and-
It easy. Why people stare? Theo just fets. Theo need go. Theo protect pack from Bad. Theo protect Master. Strong ask Theo.
“How…?”
It easy. Master say it. Theo am good boy. | 11 | The magic upon the holy sword was such that only the pure of heart could touch it. Any unworthy attempt would be smote with holy flame. Of course, it caused quite a stir when an ordinary dog trotted up, took the hilt in his mouth and set off on a canine crusade against evil. | 61 |
It had been a busy day. When we'd finally completed our first round of orbital scans of the new world and given the computers enough data to chew on for the night, I finally popped the cork on a magnum of champagne for the bridge crew, got myself, my XO and everyone else pleasantly buzzed, and called a halt to the work day. We left a pair of tipsy signals officers at the conn, and I collapsed at full speed into my foam-topped rack.
And that really should have been the end of it. Except something woke me from a dead dreamless sleep, something tickling at the edge of my awareness. It came as whispers at first, as from just beyond my cabin door. Distant, but insistent. Someone was asking for my attention.
I grumbled and staggered my way to my feet and slammed open the door to my office, grumbling "go the hell to sleep, damn you, there's nothing that can be so urgent that--"
There was no one there. The whispers seemed to disappear.
Damn it. Old, haunted ship. Typical. Give the survey crew a haunted cruiser, or maybe it's some damn AI glitch playing voices through my sound system. I'll have to go kick some racks in the server room tomorrow, and tell the ship's AI to eat silicon shit if it thought it was going to go eccentric and fuck with my head, my *pounding* head, how much of that Champaign did I drink?
I swan-dived back into dreamless bubbly sleep, cursing all ghosts and wishing swift death to the next cadet or whoever dared wake me.
The morning was better. I was hung over as hell, but the crew looked bright and happy, and everyone showed up to their shifts on time. Wonderful.
Predictably, my situation room was packed with scientists.
Missi Darvali, our tall, ebony statue of a geology specialist, was poring over an annotated set of deep radar scans looking at the plate tectonics of the planet. Seemed pretty tame, really. Not much volcanic activity, but plenty of vents and hot springs in the southern hemisphere. She briefly commented on geothermal power being a good idea for these people, when they tool up to it...
Ray Grainger, the biologist, and his wife Bettie, the xenoanthropologist, were both absolutely geeking out over the telescope images of villages, towns, thriving port cities and farms. Serious breakthroughs in studying the development of early agrarian societies. It seemed the locals were omnivores. Big deal, there, as the other couple of intelligent species discovered so far were carnivorous, nomadic, and practiced ranching and herding over any other agricultural paradigms.
This wasn't our first world with life crawling on it, but this was my team's first encounter with a definitely sapient species. We had a basic playbook from other exploration teams -- a few tips and tricks for making peaceful first contact -- but we all felt a bit out of our depth here.
This was first contact with a primitive race who were more like *us* than any other previously seen. This planet would hold secrets about *our past*. This was going to make my crew's entire careers.
Which was great news, and I enjoyed the pleasant babble of excited scientists going over preliminary findings and speculating on small anomalies in the data. If only there wasn't an undercurrent of... *other* voices.
I found myself staring at one of my signals analysts. Teri Blinkett. Teri and I were both startled when we realized that I'd been staring. "Captain?" she asked.
"Ah," I hesitated, awkwardly. It took me a second to catch up with what my intuition wanted to know. "What do they *sound* like?"
"The... aliens, sir?"
"Yes." I thought my question sounded ridiculous, but she nodded as though it were routine.
Teri shuffled through files on her tablet until she came up with an audio recording captured by laser inferometer. It was scratchy and tinny from the miles of atmospheric interference, but it definitely captured the sounds of the aliens' speech.
Whistles, clicks and squees interspersed with long vowels in baritone, sounding exactly like what you'd expect evolved land dolphins to sound like. An incredible vocal range, actually, and a familiar sort of poetic cadence to it that...
Suddenly, I could hear them. The situation room was gone, the voices of my crew drowned out. Clear as day, I could hear *all* of them. It was a church service. Or a hundred church services, all at once, all singing, all in prayer. I could understand them perfectly, it was a chorus of voices giving thanks to the great sun-riding ship in the sky, the house of the gods who were prophesied to bring wisdom to all the people of the world. They sang to me, they sang *my praises*, and I felt their adoration, the song, it *burned* between my ears! I couldn't take it, I couldn't see, I couldn't hear anything, my senses were overwhelmed until--
I woke up in the infirmary.
Judith Taylor, our resident sawbones, came to the side of my bed and fixed me with a disapproving scowl. "There's nothing wrong with you, Captain, save that you seem to have fainted about twenty minutes ago in the excitement of it all."
What? *Fainted?* You absolute quack old bat -- "Wh-- Okay, but what actually happened?"
"You suddenly clapped your hands to your ears, yelled something about 'it's too much,' and then promptly collapsed on the deck. Grainger and Lee carried you in."
Too much? Yes, it certainly had been. "I, uh. I heard voices."
"A... recording? Of voices?" She raised an impeccably-plucked eyebrow.
"Well, yes, but then... no. I don't know. I think I hallucinated... I did, I hallucinated voices."
Doctor Taylor pursed her lips. "I'm going to draw your blood and test for toxins, Captain."
"What, I ate some bad food?"
"We shall see, Captain, let me take this blood and I'll release you back to duty."
--- OK, will come back to this tomorrow, part 2 incoming! | 11 | You are the captain of a deep space exploration ship, in orbit around a newly discovered planet with a relatively primitive society. As you lie in bed, you suddenly discover that you can hear...and understand...the prayers of everyone on the planet. | 53 |
I remember when I was oh so naive. "An internship at Delve Tech? And it's *paid*? How bad could it be?"
The answer was bad.
Very very bad.
*Apparently*, Delve Tech had a nasty habit of making test subjects out of its interns. Which sort of explained its many openings.
I was Subject 1256-116-A, meaning I was the first person to use the 116th iteration of Item Code 1256. Item Code 1256 was a small parasite that lived in the brain. It was intended to be an intelligence enhancement, but had some nasty side effects. Seizures, hallucinations, fainting, delirium... death. They weren't all bad though. Telekinesis, telepathy, enhanced strength, and a new friend!
[Johnathan, while I am honored you consider me to be your friend, I would prefer you not think of me as a parasite. Our relationship is mutually beneficial. I am not simply taking your nutrients and giving you nothing in return.]
Ah, right. It could also read your thoughts.
"Yeah, we'll see how 'mutually beneficial' our relationship is when I get my first seizure."
[Johnathan, it is best you not talk out loud. We *are* in hiding, after all. Also, just for the record, I am a top-of-the-line product, created with extensive testing. They fixed the seizures after the last iteration.]
Oh, lovely. They fixed seizures after the last iteration. Only took them 115 tries. It was probably right about talking out loud, though.
[I'm always right, Johnathan.]
"Shut up, Twelve."
A loud bang, and a hole in the metal right beside my face. Darn. It was definitely right. I hated when it was right. I could already feel the smug "I told you so" emotion coming from the space in my head where it resided. Shut up, Twelve.
"1256-116-A! Surrender now and return to the testing facilities! We have you completely surrounded!" The voice shouted from behind me. Completely surrounded, eh? That meant I didn't have to aim.
I closed my eyes and *pushed* on the world around me. It was an odd sensation, sorta like moving an arm that was always there but you never knew you had. Or one of your eyes was closed your whole life, and someone opens it and you're like "Whoah! I had a whole other eye this whole time?"
Like I said. Odd sensation.
When I pushed on the world around me, it... well, it got pushed. I heard the shouts of several men and women *smack* against the walls of the concrete room I was hiding in. Course, I'd have to switch spots now that they'd found me. *Again*. How many squads would they send after me until they gave up and let me go?
I crawled out from behind the shelf I was hiding behind to see if anyone was still awake. A bunch of people decked out in military gear laid with eyes closed across the room. One of them got smushed by a filing cabinet. *Whoops*. That was gonna be a weight on my conscious.
[All unconscious or deceased. We're clear.]
Alright. Time to find a new hiding spot. | 13 | You have a parasite living in you. But no matter how much peril you face, how much pain you endure, it will not let you die. | 24 |
John is not a bright person.
No, John is indeed, quite dim.
He has quite a large heart though. Many people don't realize, but when you can't understand what a person says, you have to learn more about what they mean. John may not be able to understand what his girlfriend is talking about when she's going over her chemistry classes, but he knows she wants to share her day. So he nods along with a pensive look on his face as she talks about mixing tiny electric balls in liquid. At least, that's what he understands.
So when the Earth was shaken apart, cyborgs crawled out and kidnapped half the population, while aliens and zombies fought naked shark people from the prehistoric past, John felt oddly at home in the confusion.
He had no idea what was going on, and this was a very comfortable mindset for him.
He followed his girlfriend as she gathered supplies and listened as she tried to explain all of the very complicated details of how this all made sense when you thought about it. John of course, had no idea what that felt like, and nodded along with the same pensive face he had mastered making for his entire life.
He stayed quiet as his girlfriend met up with a few other very intelligent people who understood what was going on, and he did his absolute best to look as thoughtful as he could while imagining what a sheep would look like as a cloud. This creative process took him through the entire 2 hour meeting, and the subsequent fight where the naked shark people summoned the demons from a long lost alien species.
Several days later, he realized that he was cold, and noticed that they were heading up to a mountain. The team put on their jackets and noticed that everyone seemed incredibly sad, even though none of them had died yet. John knew this was likely one of those moments where he couldn't make people happier by pointing out that someone else would be able to figure out how to help things. So he remained quiet, while doing his best to match the grim and determined faces of his companions, despite having finally decided to name his cloud sheep "Cloudy".
That night, his girlfriend was shivering, so he hugged her tight. She cried, so he held her close. She began to talk quite quickly about how she couldn't figure anything out, so he rested his forehead on hers. He told her quite simply, that she was the smartest, brightest person in the world. If she couldn't do it, then it was simply something no one could understand or know. And that wasn't bad. It just meant that things would keep going, even if it meant without us.
John told her about Cloudy the sheep that night. How it was both a cloud and a sheep. She laughed and smiled at that. He loved it when she smiled because of him. He did his best to make sure each one was genuine and warm.
The next morning, a sentient tornado ripped away their tents and would have blown them off the mountain if one of the alien demons that had been bitten by one of the zombies hadn't begun to inhale it.
Safe for the moment, the team as a whole broke out a number of glass things and metal things and grabbed nearby plants that they were very happy to find. As he watched them work, John sat and counted the number of giant fire cyborgs that had started crawling up from the crack in the Earth. So far he was at 12.
At the peak of the mountain, the team seemed to get very depressed. There was a metal spike that they seemed to be saying was very important, but it no longer worked. John looked over at his girlfriend, who was crying. Sniffing through the incredibly fluffy lining of her coat. John knew that this was a "Bad" thing. One of those things where nothing anyone said or didn't say would make things better. He understood that this was very likely one of those situations where nothing could be made worse. So instead of trying to pretend he understood what was going on. He said what he wanted.
"Can I ride the giant spike down the mountain into one of the fire cyborg giants? I want to see how many alien demon zombies I can hit on the way down too. If we can aim it like that... I think it'd be cool."
Most of the team looked at him the way he felt most of the time. One of crying men moved as if he was going to hit John. His girlfriend stepped between them as John braced himself for the hit. As John unsquinted, he saw that his girlfriend was smiling. Laughing. And then she grabbed his face and kissed him. So he smiled too.
Over the next day, there was a lot of talking and doing things. They knocked the spike over onto its side. Wires were wrapped all along the entire spike. Weird letters were written on the entire thing. Chairs made and placed on top of the sideways spike. Everybody even got a net. John named his "Netty".
They all sit down and ready their nets. John braces himself when he sees everyone else scrunch their faces too. An explosion propels them forwards. The back of the giant metal spike is on fire. The hordes of alien demons are writing purple words in the sky, while the alien demon zombies cover the entire lower mountain. John throws "Netty" into the horde of both as they rocket down the snow. The writings on the spike glow a brighter yellow every time "Netty" catches one.
One of the doctors who is a doctor screams for everyone to brace themselves. John looks forward and screams happily as they take off a cool ramp. A lumbering giant fire cyborg turns to see a metal glowing spike with magical power coursing through it pierce its skull and fly right on through.
Of course, since the chemical payload of their attack, which was designed to generate a cascading autonomous shut down of the shark people's enemies, powered by the mystical glyphs converting the intense heat coming from the fire of the cyborg menace, everything seemed to work out fine.
John was not really part of the diplomacy meetings with the shark people. Nor did he understand how or when the weather returned to normal, but that was fine in his book. His wife was happy and smiling. He was alive and smiling. And he got to ride a metal spike over hordes of magic zombies and straight on through the skull of a giant flaming cyborg.
And really, that's all that matters. | 51 | Even broken clocks are right twice a day. The same applies, curiously enough, to stupid people. Like John. This is John’s moment. | 156 |
“Please, help me! I never wanted to sign the contract, I was just so desperate that I didn’t know *what* to do!” The lady cried, looking at Bianca, whose expression hadn’t changed in the slightest since the woman walked in.
She had gotten pretty used to dealing with hysterics, especially considering her field of work.
“Listen, I get it, you made a deal you didn’t think through at the time. I’ve already read through your contract, and believe me, it’s a *very* easy fix- The devil just can’t seem to think of something original for once!” Bianca laughed sarcastically.
“*Excuse me?* This is *no* laughing matter! What kind of ‘lawyer’ are you?!”
“Don’t be giving *me* attitude, or I may as well send you out of here.“ Bianca scoffed. ”Anyway, this situation you’ve gotten yourself into is quite simple. The contract says ‘First-born son’, and now you’re pregnant. Look, I know you *really* want to have a child, but I strongly recommend an abortion and adoption.”
”But I’m pro-life!” The woman protested. “And I am *strictly* anti-abortion.”
”Oh brother.” Bianca sighed. “Please leave my office immediately and go bother my friend instead. Here’s her address.” She continued, sliding a contact card across the table.
”Wait, wh-“
”I see I came at exactly the right time.” A voice from behind them said.
The voice belonged to Gabriel, one of God’s assistants.
“You really did.“ Bianca replied, thankful for the interruption.
”You’re very welcome. Now please come with me.”
Bianca followed as Gabriel led the way to God’s office.
It was guarded by an angel, similar to the Garden of Eden (Bianca didn’t tell anyone this, but she actually *did* find a loophole in a few of God’s rules- She guessed God isn’t *really* always watching though, because he doesn’t seem to know anything about it).
As the angel guarding the entrance let them pass, Gabriel bowed the second they stepped foot through the door, making Bianca wonder if she should do the same (She didn’t, though- Hey, if he’s not her god, then she doesn’t have to bow to him).
~~We’re not allowed to disclose the appearances of any heavenly figures, but I would just like to say that God’s figure is~~ *~~greatly~~* ~~exaggerated.~~
~~Oh wait. I forgot narrators aren’t allowed to speak their own thoughts. Sorry.~~
”Bianca. The renowned lawyer who specializes in getting people out of the graves they’ve dug themselves.” God commented. “Welcome to my office.” He smiled. Bianca didn’t even like him all that much, but he just had this warm energy surrounding him that seemingly *forced* her to like him.
”Um. Hi.” Bianca said awkwardly. “So…what am I here for?”
”You’re here because I am requesting you to review Earth’s contract for 2023. As you know, the devil and I must share the contracts of life for 5 years every 100 years.”
”…What?” Bianca asked as Gabriel nudged her in the shoulder.
”Don’t ‘What’ the almighty. That is extremely impolite.” He whispered.
“It’s not my fault your laws are confusing.”
”Please don’t argue.” God said. For some reason, his sadness made Bianca sad too, kind of like an annoying virus.
“Uh…okay? Continue.”
”May I ask you to review Earth‘s contract of life for 2023? I’d like to know the details of what will happen next year.” He requested, handing Bianca the contract, which was almost as long as toilet paper when you accidentally drop it and it spreads across the whole bathroom floor.
Bianca looked at the contract in confusion. “But...you already signed it.”
”After the devil has edited the contract I made, I am no longer allowed to re-edit it. My signature is added automatically.”
Bianca wanted to roll her eyes, but respect for the God in front of her (And a little bit of fear) stopped her from doing so.
As she read the contract, God and Gabriel noticed her eyes getting gradually wider, which, in turn, increased their worrying.
”Well? What does it say?”
Bianca cleared her throat and re-read it a couple more times, seemingly not believing what she was reading.
She tried her best to read at least one sentence, one *word,* but she was so stricken by grief, sadness, and shock, that she could only muster but one sentence.
”The worst is yet to come.” | 63 | You’re a lawyer who specialises in getting people out of the devils contracts. You became so good that god hired you to check the contract of life, and you’ve found some… loopholes | 187 |
Lieutenant Halford Frenman had joined the army when he was 18. He had suffered the endless hours of tedium and spine crushing weight of training, and the mind-numbing and deafening shock of service.
He truly wished to relax in peace, while his back and knee aches nestled him to sleep.
And now, for some god damned reason, he's on a fucking alien spaceship, stripped naked and tied down next a hundred other fucking idiots.
He was not happy. Not happy at all.
The first step was to get free. Luckily, his friends in the army had been true psychopaths and tied him to the bed a few times after he smashed one of their noses. One dislocated shoulder, and he was able to wiggle his arm so the elbow could bend at a fairly harrowing angle.
Hal could hear one of his neighbors vomiting, which made him roll his eyes, despite the pain.
His forearm free, he undid the belt lashing his stomach to the table. From there, it was simple to undo the rest. And he landed feet first on the metal table, popping his should back into place.
In less than 2 minutes, the rest of the prisoners were freed from the tables, and most were standing awkwardly, with their hands over their privates.
Lieutenant Halford Frenman collected the medical equipment and passed it out to everyone involved. He knew exactly how to help scared helpless children get into the right mindset to fight. These were mostly civilians, so scaring them wasn't even that hard.
Almost a second after Lieutenant Halford Frenman had finished passing out the weapons, but before he could make a speech, the door to the room slid down into the floor, revealing 4 soldiers with what he assumed were guns.
Several seconds later, the solders laid dead having been cut to pieces by the entire forward group firing on them at once.
Hal grabbed the weapons and passed them to people he spotted that had likely also served. You could always tell. They moved quickly from there, moving in rows of 5, stealing the guns.
When the heavy blast doors closed on them, one of the smarter civilians took apart the medical instruments, and Lieutenant Halford's gun before handing it back to him.
With 4 blasts, there was a hole big enough to poke your hand through. With 10 more, you could squeeze right through. Luckily, they ran into a small army that were quickly killed, and looted all of their guns.
This smart Alex knew exactly what she was doing as she grabbed every gun, and started passing them around. Showing 4 others how to combine them quickly.
Suddenly, he felt a breeze. Then a gust. Then a torrent of air, forcing him to the side. 3 doors had opened simultaneously and were threatening to suck his entire army into space. Thinking quickly, he had everyone fire at the wall, dislodging an entire section. Large enough that they wouldn't have to worry about anyone getting spaced.
​
The control room was next door. Several aliens seemed to make a gesture of surrender. He thought. Unfortunately, a very stupid alien attempted to fire on them. Which led to... a much larger fire fight.
Needless to say, but still required, they were all dead. Which just pissed Lieutenant Halford Frenman off more. The smarter people could tell that the ship was still moving, but not how to steer it. Hal told them to leave the controls alone, and had them focus on making better weapons. He didn't need a degree or engineering to know what the sphere on the monitor meant.
These things had been taking them to their planet. Sure, Hal thought. Let's see what they think when this thing releases a full army on them.
​
"AND WILL SOMEONE FIND ME SOME DAMN PANTS!" He yelled. | 147 | "Sir, there was a miscalculation, the earthlings became mad and fought back... it may be that they have stolen our mothership and are on route to our homeworld." | 523 |
\[Juan. Decision.\]
Juan sat in the lobby with his attention on his node. He kept his face down and tried to avoid attracting too much attention; he was embarrassed to be there. But, he was glad that no one seemed to recognize him yet.
"Juan?" a deep voice called. Juan looked up and immediately wished
he could vanish like some other villains could. He recognized the tall, muscular man. Restraint had the ability to negate Super powers and his sly grin told Juan that Restraint recognized him too. "I'm surprised to see you, come on in," Restraint said. He opened the door wider and Juan nodded.
Restraint's small office was reminiscent of his suit. Crisp white walls and floor with the occasional red accent that matched Restraint's tie. He sat behind his white desk and gestured at the seat for Juan.
"So...," Restraint sat up straighter and smiled at Juan. "... after all these years, you're switching sides?" he asked. Juan gave a faint nod. Restraint pulled out a red clipboard from his desk. It was loaded with forms and he grabbed a pen.
"Let's start with your powers," Restraint said. "Do you have any abilities the Hero's League doesn't already know about?" Juan shook his head.
"Just the energy clones," he said. Restraint nodded and scribbled something on the clipboard.
"I feel like you know most of the heroes here already. I'm sure it's unnecessary but is there anyone specific you want us to use as a character witness?"
"Um...," Juan hesitated. He was aware that question was going to be asked; but, the still wasn't sure about his answer. After several moments of patient silence from Restraint, Juan nodded. "...I don't think he's on this Earth anymore. But, if MaxBlaze is still in the league, I think he'd put in a good word for me." Restraint nodded.
"I know where he's stationed, that won't be a problem," he said.
"Thank you," Juan said.
"So, I have to ask. What brought you here today?" Restraint asked.
"The Villains League kicked me out..," Juan said. Restraint couldn't hold back a chuckle.
"Yeah, they're kind of loosey-goosey over there. I can't say it's a surprise, but I am going to have to ask for specifics," Restraint said. Juan sighed but nodded.
"Employee misconduct," he said.
"You're kidding!" Restraint's chuckle became a full-on laugh. "Who would've thought that group has breakable rules?" Juan shrugged.
"Not me," he said. Restraint was doing a good job of making him feel comfortable. He opened up a little bit more. "They said I wasn't fit to be any kind of villain...," he shook his head as he replayed the memory. Restraint chuckled again.
"Yeah, they might have a point there....," he said. The words stung when he was kicked out. But, coming from Restraint, it almost felt like a compliment. It had only been a few minutes. But, the more time he spent there the more he felt like it was where he belonged.
"Well...," Restraint dropped the pen. "...normally we need to get applicants in front of the council before a decision is made. But, given your history with most of the council...," Juan shrunk a little bit out of embarrassment when the council was mentioned. He was hoping that didn't come up.
"... I feel comfortable making the decision now," he stretched his hand over the desk. "It is my honor to welcome you, [Juan Million](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/mta87n/wp_in_the_middle_of_a_fight_with_a_known_villain/), to the Hero's League."
"Thank you," Juan did not hesitate to accept the handshake. "I'll try to be a good Hero," he said. Restraint chuckled and shook his head.
"That's what made you unfit to be a villain. But, don't worry. Now that you're a hero, it's actually encouraged for you to help people get to the hospital."
\*\*\*
Thank you for reading! I’m responding to prompts every day. This is story #1581 in a row. (Story #133 in year five.). This story is part of an ongoing saga that takes place at a high school in my universe. It began on Sept. 6th and I will be adding to it with prompts every day until June 3rd. They are all collected in order at [this link](https://www.reddit.com/r/Hugoverse/comments/pj4t0b/tokuhigh_first_six_weeks/). | 13 | You just got fired from your job as a Super Villain for employee misconduct. Looking to change careers now, you're currently first in queue for an interview at Super Hero Industries, where you've put every hero employee there in the hospital over the years. | 71 |
Is there anything harder than rejecting someone? I wondered that as I sat across from the small purple skinned creature. The creature wore a cheap paper printout of my face with three eyeholes cut out. One on his forehead and the other two where my eyes should be. The creature having to account for his third eye. He didn’t look at the strawberry milkshake I bought him; his gaze only focused solely on me.
“Look, Ra-hal was it?” I said, trying to remember the script I had written before this meeting.
“Ra-hal? ME NOW RA-HAL. CREATURE HAS GIFTED ME A NEW NAME. I AM NOW THE MESSENGER OF THE DIVINE.” He cheered.
I wondered who he was talking to, only to hear a few small squeaks by the window. I turned to see ten print outs of my face all pressed against the glass. The creatures having to stand on their tippy toes to reach the window. When I scooted across my booth in fear, they only pressed harder, as if they were trying to merge with the glass.
“No, no. Look, this is all a misunderstanding. I’m not some divine being or monster. I’m just a human that forgot we aren’t meant to interact with the aliens that visit. See, humans haven’t got used to the whole aliens visiting us thing. So, when I saw you shivering in my backyard, I forgot I was meant to leave you alone. The blanket and food I gave you weren’t a gift. I was just being nice. Understand?”
“Understand.” He nodded.
“Ok good. So, can you tell them to stop wearing my face and to leave me-“
“UNDERSTAND THAT THE BEAST HAS CHOSEN US ALL TO FOLLOW. NOT GIFT, BUT SYMBOL OF THE DIVINE’S STRENGTH AND LOVE. WE ARE UNWORTHY.”
A chorus of ‘We are unworthy’ came from the window as I took a long sip of my milkshake, trying to avoid the glares I was getting from the rest of the customers. I could already imagine what they were thinking. Has this idiot not seen the all the advertisements warning humans not to interact with aliens? What a creep.
“I’m not a weirdo into being worshipped or anything. I promise. It’s a misunderstanding.” I said aloud, trying to convince the other patrons of my innocence. That only made matters worse. Some customers pulled out their phones while others complained to servers. Meanwhile, Ra-hal only enjoyed the extra attention.
“Divine is worthy of other divines. Look at how they point and stare.” Ra-hal and the others were in awe of my public resentment. The creature was too in awe to even drink, instead he clumsily tried to get the straw under his printout, failing every time.
“Sir, we are going to have to ask you to leave. We don’t serve people who take advantage of our visitors. Haven’t you read the pamphlets?” A server finally had enough of the shenanigans, getting ready to kick me out.
“Just five more minutes, please. I’m not doing anything bad, it’s just a misunderstanding. I was just trying to help. Look at how cute they are. It was like seeing a bunch of puppies in the rain. What was I supposed to do?”
The server looked over, only to see a printout of my face, unable to see the face of the alien underneath. They gave me a huff, shaking their head, mumbling that I was sick before raising five fingers. Ok, I had five minutes. I needed to speed this up.
“It’s not you, it’s me. It’s like I’m from planet Earth and you’re from…” Ok, not my strongest line, given the circumstances. Ra-hal just patiently waited for me to finish my nonsense as I attempted to string more words together. “Another world? I’m not someone to look up to.”
“We are from planet Troxi.” He smiled. The others in the window only nodded, dragging their print outs up and down the glass as they did, leaving smudges all along it.
“Ok. This isn’t working. Look, us humans are pretty stupid. We aren’t these divine creatures that you should look up to. I’m an idiot, I can barely operate my smart tv. All of you are smarter than I am. You built a ship that could cross the stars. If you can do that, you shouldn't praise me. You’re better than me and you deserve better.”
“Smart tv? Smart.”
“No.”
“Smart.”
Ra-hal pointed to me as they began chanting the word smart, only listening to the words they wanted to hear. As the chanting grew louder, I could see the server approaching once more. I needed to get rid of them. It was now or never.
“Why don’t you go home? You have families, don’t you? I’m sure they miss you. Go home to your families and loved ones. Bring them joy rather than worshipping me.”
Ra-hal stared at me for a moment, the alien deep in thought. The silence lasted a little longer than I was comfortable with. So, to distract myself, I took a sip from my drink, which the alien mimicked with his own before he stood up. By the time the server reached the table, the small alien had jogged outside on his stubby legs, heading to meet with the others.
“Finally. Thought I would never get rid of them.” I paid for the milkshakes and went to get up, only to get another comment from the server.
“People like you make me sick.”
“What? I got rid of them. Isn’t that what everyone wanted? I’m not weird, ok? I’m a normal guy that made a mistake. Everythings fine now.” I said to the server before shuffling outside, making a mental note to never visit that place again.
Outside, I did my best to avoid looking at the aliens. Ignoring them as I got into my car. Thankfully, none of them had climbed into the backseat like last time. In fact, they seemed to ignore me entirely. I had done it; I got rid of them. The drive home was lonely, only having the sound of the radio to accompany the trip. Part of me was missing the little squeaks they made whenever I would turn a corner.
Arriving home, I found all their stuff still in my backyard. To think they started with only a blanket and had somehow made a campsite. As my little group had grown, so had their resources. I had to imagine if I left them any longer, they would have eventually built houses. I rummaged through the empty campsite, finding the odd trinket made of flowers or sticks. Taking one of the more colorful flower trinkets, I wore it as a necklace, saving it as a keepsake.
The afternoon passed as normal with my face, luckily not ending up on the news. I saw a few posts online about my weird milkshake encounter, but thankfully, none of them got that much attention. Misunderstandings like mine weren’t that uncommon and, with some people trying to start alien cults, cases like mine weren’t a priority. At worst, I might get a warning about it or a fine in the mail.
As I relaxed on the couch before an eerily familiar thud greeted me in the backyard. “No. Don’t tell me…” I crept towards my blinds, peeling them open, only to see a van shaped ship sitting in my backyard with at least forty of the small creatures now wandering around, each wearing my printout.
I banged on the window, hoping that might scare them off, but my noises only seemed to grab their attention. They all huddled near the window, again getting on their tippy toes so they could peek in. Ra-hal pushed his way forward, pressing his face against the glass.
“Bought families.” He said, motioning to the crowd of aliens behind him. “We stay near divine now. Give us wisdom?”
“My wisdom is, early bird gets the worm?” I said, hoping that might distract them until I could think of a plan to get rid of them.
They looked among themselves. I could hear them mumbling to each other, sharing their knowledge of Earth, until finally they appeared to decode it. Ra-hal decided he should be the one to explain their collective answer to the group.
“Worm is Earth creature and so is bird. Bird big and worm small so bird eats worm. Worm comes out in morning, so bird does too. So, we come out in morning and eat bird.” He explained while the others nodded at the wisdom on display.
They turned to me, expecting praise, but I had already closed the blinds. It was far too late to do anything about this tonight. Maybe I would just try again tomorrow.
 
 
 
(If you enjoyed this feel free to check out my subreddit /r/Sadnesslaughs where I'll be posting more of my writing.) | 610 | Eldritch gods exist, because they're us. To many other species, we are massive, ancient beings with unfathomable knowledge of the universe and a tendency to wipe them out in a passing thought. And like any true Eldritch god, there are little cults who worship us. | 4,838 |
"Well this is the end of the line isnt it?" The me in a bloodstained sweater said as another bullet harmlessly ripped through the air in their torso.
"Not quite yet" The me in glasses said from my right. They were all very clearly dead despite the walking and the talking, there was a hole in the left lense of Glasse's frames opening up to the equivalent of a baseball stadium of meat in the back of their head. Beneath the holes in the stitching, Sweater's fabric clung like a loose sail over a mast of bones. I sat quivering behind a tree beside the road, another high powered rifle round taking another piece of my cover.
"Something in the thirty caliber range, maybe four hundred yards off" Glasses commented, "I would have taken the ditch and moved out of the line of sight, but I mean this is why we never talked to her."
In front of me, a ditch filled with rocks. Sweater caught my eyes and held up a hand, standing out from the other side of the tree. She held up a hand.
"Not yet. Not yet." BANG "Go"
I dove into the ditch, mud and water rushing up over my chest. Glasses and Sweater calmly walked by me on either side of the road as a hail of gunfire kicked up the dirt around their ankles.
"Nicely done" Glasses said.
"You know I always said timing was everything" Sweater said, lifting a gore covered cigarette from their pocket. Smoke puffed out of the holes in their chest, fading into the nether.
"Who are you people" I screamed, mud streaming up my pale arms as I dragged myself through the ditch.
"What a stupid question" Glasses said, sneering down at me, "We are obviously your betters, when they came to kill me it took four hundred men descending on my home in the dead of night. My wives and I fought for seventeen hours before they could kill me"
Up ahead some twenty meters, a drain.
"I told them I had a rigged a nuke to a heartbeat sensor and they still shot me" Sweater said, "Worked perfectly. dead before I hit the ground, but at least I hit the ground."
"To answer your question" Glasses said, "We're you, the better you's."
"The dead you's" Sweater said, "I guess you could call us relatives of an Einsteinian form. See we all got together after One, call them the big cheese, she figured out you could look across the rainbow of multiverses and find your others if you looked for the brainwaves to appear. And after that you could communicate. We work together and I guess you could say we all got a little lost in our ambitions."
"Presidents, Kings, Dictators, Assassins, a thousand books with all of your life stories spread across them" Glasses said, wiping a piece of brain running down her cheek in a tear.
"That doesn't help me at all!" I yelled.
"Well it does, we left twenty of you alone to go on about your natural way, and some of us volunteered to make sure that if anything ever went wrong we would step in and intervene on your behalf" Sweater said, "And maybeeeee you help us out on a super secret plan to get back to our regularly scheduled programming. Because it looks like someone finally found a way to get across the lines and we are being hunted across every dimension."
I stopped frozen in the ditch.
"How many are left" I asked.
"How many of the twenty we didn't touch?" Glasses clarified, "One stupid girl who cant crawl to save her life." | 12 | Three versions of yourself run towards you, yelling, as bullets fly. "GET DOWN!" "DUCK YOU IDIOT!" "HIDE!" Surprised by the sudden chaos, you get shot. The gunfire stops and your other selves surround your corpse. All are silent for a moment, before one speaks up, "So what do we do now?" | 139 |
*I want out.*
I scratched at his mind. His weak, cowardly mind. With him in charge, this body was weak. Its senses dulled. With me, it would be strong, fast, hungry. But he wouldn't let me at the controls.
I was forced to lie here. A beast in a cage. A predator on a lease. The worst part was, I had to keep an eye out for danger. If he died, so would I. So I had to keep the weakling safe.
Something caught my attention. A scent. One i was familiar with. That of blood, sweat and fear. It came with a sound, of muffled voices. Someone was there, hurting another. A predator standing over prey.
**I know you want out. I will let you out, but first we have to make some rules.**
I growled at that. Rules were for the weak. Ways to limit the strong. I had no tome for that.
*No.*
He shrugged.
**Fine, be that way. No running around tonight.**
I howled. I wanted out. I needed out.
*Rrrr. What do you want?*
He smiled, showing those pathetic human teeth.
**I let you out, you hunt bad people. I will tell you who you can hurt. But others you will not touch.**
A way out. Tempting. But with those annoying rules, it was less enjoyable. But to be out. That is all I wanted.
*Fine, yes, play nice. Let me out!*
He leant against a wall.
**If you misbehave, I will take control again. And nights will be spent in chains.**
*Whatever. Let. Me. Out!*
He nodded, mentally reaching for me. I took his grip, fulling myself to the surface of our shared brain. He grunted as our body changed. Hair sprouted on every inch of skin, save the soles of our feet and palms of our hands. There, it turned tough. Bones broken and fused, as my features took over.
I took in a deep breath, as the senses I was used to woke up. I let out a howl, before focusing on the scent. The voice rose again, with words I didn't care to listen to.
**They're all yours.**
I drooled, already tasting their flesh and blood. I darted towards the sound, as a door opened. A weak meat bag stood there, eyes opening in shock. They hurriedly closed the door, and I heard footsteps as they ran. Prey, running.
I barreled through the door, giving chase. I had to catch them. To kill them. To eat them. Kill. Prey. Kill. Prey. | 11 | Write a werewolf story from the perspective of the wolf side instead of the human side. | 35 |
“Oh come off it. All we did was stuck some of their “precious” water,” I screamed into my voxerphone, “Their entire planet is covered in it and I just wanted some for later.” The image of my grandfather’s vizier was looking over some documents.
“Your majesty, you had an entire lake drained,” the vizier said, he pinched the bridge of his third nose in annoyance.
“One little lake. It wasn’t a large one,” I countered.
“That one little lake is 50% of an earth nation entire economy,” the vizier replied tapping his clawed finger against the console. “Your majesty is lucky the earthlings are willing to keep this quiet. The grandson of the emperor stealing the natural resources from a class M civilization. That alone is a 50 cycle sentence. But because they don’t want their entire civilization upended by legal proceedings they have decided to…let’s say commute your sentence.”
“Commute my ninth asshole. How I am supposed to visit my human girlfriend? How I am supposed to get takeout out? This isn’t a compromise this is a cruel.”
“If his majesty promise to be his best behavior for a two cycles I will be willing to see about getting you community service instead.” | 49 | Long story short they’re not pressing charges but we’re no longer allowed on earth . | 248 |
Szanith sat on her throne in the Dark Tower, staring into the scrying orb as the priestesses search for the Chosen One.
She slammed her fist. “Will you hurry up? I’m not about to lose track of the Chosen One again!”
The priestesses continued scanning the desolate village as quickly as they could. *Calm down,* Szanith thought to herself, *This is unbecoming of the Dark One. I should think—*
“We found him, your Grace.”
Szanith nearly jumped out of her seat. Steady breaths. She composed herself as she walked toward the scrying orb. She peered into it, and among the rubble of the dilapidated shacks, she saw Arxon, the Chosen One. Today marks the thirteenth year since his birth, which means the Dark Council will start sending out Wraiths to tempt him to align with Destruction. Once he does, he will burn the world, then kill himself in the process.
And Szanith was going to stop it.
Thirteen years ago when Arxon was born, Szanith cut out half of her soul and planted it inside him. This would create a *flaw* in the Chosen One: instead of only being able to pick Purity, he was given the choice of Destruction. As the Dark One, it was Szanith’s responsibility to ensure that this child brings ruin to the lands that have forsaken their kind, and end the bloodline that produces the Chosen Ones.
However, the unintended consequence of planting her soul was that she grew a parental attachment to the child. She *understood* the will of the Dark Council, and she *knew* that she had to fulfill her responsibilities. But when her familial bond dominates, her clarity of purpose falters. She *has* to save the boy, Dark Council be damned.
“Cast the Warp sorcery,” she commanded one of her priestesses. If she wastes her own Twilight to perform a simple, but heavy, teleportation spell, she wouldn’t have enough for what’s to come.
As soon as the priestess uttered the last syllable of the spell, the Warp gate opened. Szanith stepped through and found herself in the desolate village. Arxon was standing a few feet away from her, befuddled. *He’s so frail,* she thought.
She scanned her surroundings and noticed dark figures moving toward the boy. Wraiths.
Before the Wraiths could approach the boy, Szanith gave the signal to stop. The dark creatures froze, and Arxon looked around warily, obviously confused as to what’s happening.
“Greetings, Dark One. I see you’ve made your way to the Chosen One” It was Dhax, the head of the Dark Council. He was communicating through telepathic channels.
Szanith ignored the statement and walked toward the boy. “W-Who are you?” Arxon asked.
With all the Wraiths still frozen in place around them, Szanith replied “I am the Dark One, and you will do exactly what I say.”
At that moment, Szanith snapped her fingers and all the Wraiths burned to oblivion. *There goes half of my Twilight,* she thought.
She heard a high-pitched noise in her head, “What are you doing? Have you gone insane?” Dhax screamed.
Szanith grabbed Arxon’s arm. “Brace yourself.” She uttered the Warp spell and teleported away.
\---I hope you liked this story! Please feel free to leave feedback as it will help me a lot in my journey to becoming a better writer! Join r/NovaLevelStories for more! | 30 | Long ago, the Dark One placed half of their soul within the Chosen One to tempt them towards their downfall. What the Dark One didn't expect, was for that half to eventually form a parental bond towards the child chosen by fate. | 122 |
*Crystal water turns to dark...*
"Sir, they have poisoned the aquifers." The messanger spoke carefully. Bad news was the last thing they needed, but it was all he had to offer.
*Where hateful presence leaves its mark*.
The king's stoic face, showed none of the true desperation he felt as he nodded and sent the runner to rest. Once left with his advisors, he let the mask slip, just a bit. "They're like a plague. They seem to survive impossible wounds, they burn and destroy everything in their path." The war minister says, sounding truly baffled. "If I didn't know better, I'd say we're fighting an army of demons.".
*A foul thing invades the air...*
"There may be truth to that, wild as it seems." The old king,who might be the last one of this kingdom, said. "My father told me long ago, he delt with demons.".
*And gives the wise men ample scare...*
The weight of the silence is palpable. They don't want to consider it. The king's father was a great and beloved ruler. To think he made such horrific deals... But if he did... "Sire, do you know the... Nature of his dealings?" The king paused, then nodded once.
*Ill winds mark its fearsome flight.*
The storm lashed at the castle outside, wild and uncharacteristic of the usually mild fall, as the ministers awaited the answer. "My father, earth be his pillow, wished to have a son." He didn't need to continue. Everyone knew how the royal consort passed. A son was born, but a price was paid.
*And autumn branches creak with fright...*
Before anyone can stop him, the king leaves towards his chambers. Every chair moves at once as the king's advisors rush to try and stop him, but they're too late. He is in his rooms, the door is locked, and Infront of him is a small lockbox colored sickly red. He recalled his father's dying words "Don't use it, unless you're willing and ready to pay any price. To pay every price."
*As landscapes turn to ashen crumbs...*
He hesitated for a single moment. And then he thought of his people, dying of hunger and disease. He thought of the unprovoked invasion, and of the beautiful land that it turned to ruin. He steeled his nerves, and opened the box, knowing what he'll find in it- a single, severed, monkey's paw, with two extended fingers. He lifted it carefully, and whispered to it. "Save my kingdom." He might have imagined it, but at that moment the rolling of thunder sounded an awful lot like a cackle.
*Something Wicked this way comes.* | 10 | As the tide of war draws close, The Last King grows desperate. With destruction, The People cry out. Forced, despite the advisors' warnings, The Last King opens a small sealed box. Within it, lies a small conspicuous severed monkey's paw. | 26 |
"Please!" X'rthor sobbed into the communicator. "Send in the human!"
X'athir sighed and rubbed a tentacle over its abdomen before turning the seat around. It was no expert in human body language, but none of the three bay humans had seemed to react much. "They need a human," X'athir said apologetically.
The humans began their ritual of waving their fists in the air before forming shapes. "Ugh," groaned one of them as it grabbed a long wooden weapon. "I always lose."
The other two laughed. "Them's the breaks, newbie," said the one that had been with the ship the longest.
"Go save something. You'll feel better," advised the other one.
"They're on C Deck," X'athir directed.
\*\*
Mandy made her way to the C Deck. Not really *called* "C Deck" in the language of the aliens they rode with, but the aliens were good about calling the different parts of the ship by names both the humans and the indigenous species could pronounce. So, C Deck. The port deck.
They were in the middle of space, hadn't docked in who *knew* how many cycles; just what could possibly be in the port deck?
And, at the port deck, Mandy got her answer. Three of the crew (which looked like a cross between squids and crabs to Mandy's eyes) were cowering in terror--of a ball of fluff? Mandy drew closer to the fluff ball and saw that the bright pink thing was shivering slightly. "What's this?" she asked as she prod it with the baseball bat. Her only answer was a bunch of unintelligible yelling. She raised a hand to stop the yell, and proceeded down The List. "Is it poisonous?"
"Poisonous?" gasped one of the aliens.
Mandy mentally checked the *no* box as she answered, "On our home planet, when something is brightly colored, it's usually poisonous. Or venomous," she added in loving memory of all the snakes and spiders she'd known of back on Earth.
"What is the difference?" asked one of the crew. "Between 'poisonous' and 'venomous'?"
"Poisonous kills you if you touch it," said Mandy as she gently nudged the thing again. It made no reaction. "Venomous injects the poison into you." Gasps met this information.
Mandy was used to it. Apparently Earth was a hellscape of monsters to any sentient creature not from the planet. "It's not poisonous or venomous," said the speaker for the crew. "It--it rolls."
Mandy nudged the little fur ball again with the bat and, yup, it rolled. It was also slightly squishy. "What does it eat?" she asked, moving on to the next question in The List.
"Cellulose fibers."
Mandy nodded. Still, there were two questions left. "Is it an adult or the juvenile stage of life?"
"Adult."
Mandy nodded again. "Does it produce a foul odor?" she asked.
"Odor?"
Mandy turned and looked at the crew. Right. They didn't have olfactory senses, which meant they had no way to process smell. Well, that was the entire List. Mandy bent down and picked the fur ball up. It quivered and released a scent that was vaguely fruity. "I'm going to name you fluffy and keep you in my quarters," she said.
Suddenly, the lights went out and plunged the interior of the ship into darkness.
\*\*
X'rthor shook its largest tentacles at X'athir. "And then she asked if it had poisons in its blood or mouth!" it raved. "And then--and then she just--picked it up!"
X'athir gave a rough nonverbal assent as it watched the humans. As always when there was a shipwide blackout, they huddled together as they got over their fear. The smallest always seemed the most afraid, and was currently holding tightly onto the creature it had removed from C Deck.
"And look! Whatever is in the dark at their home planet must be even *worse*!"
X'athir gave another nonverbal assent. "Ancestors willing, we don't ever find out why darkness frightens them so." | 1,630 | Humanity is so famously hard to faze that other species regularly ask them to deal with nightmarish situations. That there are concepts and sounds they fear at a Genetic level is therefore equal parts odd ("Those things aren't That scary") and terrifying ("What the hell made Them that scared?") | 2,831 |
The alleyway sat nestled between two clubs. It was the dingy party of town, the kinda place where it weren’t uncommon to dive into a waste bin to rummage in search of something to eat. The kinda place your Ma probably warmed you about. “Go to school and do your darn hardest Bobby, else you’ll end up sleeping on the corner of Wilson street.”
She’d be here, I knew she would. My precognition wasn’t a gentle blessing, it was as harsh and cold as January wind, and it stung. This morning it hit me with a vision of her, dangerously beautiful. It’s in this alley she tries to commit murder again, but not if I stop her.
*You can’t stop me. You should go home.*
I grit my teeth against her silky voice, whispering into my mind, and burst into the club on the right. Where the victim is. I might not be able to see her with my eyes but I can see her through the eyes of her victims.
I spot the man leaning against the bar, his eyes trained on dancing silhouettes, and slip onto the stool beside him. He gives me a strange look, so I nod, then look away. I could just warn him, but what I really want is to catch her out.
“What?” The man said, raising his voice over the music. “What did you say?”
I frowned. “I didn’t say anything.”
His eyes widened, and he backed away suddenly, knocking into the woman behind him.
“Wait!” I stood, reached out and grabbed his arm as he tried to spin away.
The man looked at me with terror in his eyes. He glanced around then began to shout. “This man is trying to kill me!”
My arm dropped back to my side at the same time as my jaw hit the floor. “What? No.. I’m..”
But it was too late.. he was already getting away. That’s when I realised she was whispering into his head.
—-
It was kinda fun watching the old fool bolt upright. I just had to whisper the right words, and there he was running straight towards my trap, with no saviour detective to get in the way.
The ladies around me continued their dance, but I smiled and winked and faded away into the back of the club. There I grabbed my coat and wrapped the belt tight around my waist. The stupid detective would try to run after the idiot, and he’d have security to deal with.
When I burst through the fire exit into the dark alley, I was hit with a cold blast of air and the stink of trash.
Then I saw him.. *that’s right,* I whispered into his mind. *keep walking this way.. it’s safe here*
The door behind me slammed open, and I spun to find that darn detective!
*You!* I growled in to his mind, and even though I couldn’t see him, I knew the bastard was smiling. | 11 | Psychics are invisible to one another. A detective and a serial killer, one gifted with precognition and one gifted with telepathy, face off against each other in a deadly game of cat and mouse. | 89 |
It had always been 1%, as far as Erin could remember seeing the bar. It never did anything. She saw the bar for the first time when she was in school, but the details of when and why eluded her. She led a peaceful life, she had a day job and didn't care much, until one evening.
That day, she rode a train to work, but as her workday was over, the train back home was cancelled. "Well, I guess I'll either walk or hail a taxi", she thought. It was late evening when she was finally approaching her home neighborhood. A bunch of drunken hoodlums was approaching from behind.
"Hey, lady!", one hoodlum called in a drunken voice. "Would you borrow me your phone, I need to make a call".
Erin knew that no self-respecting person trusts thugs like these to return things they "borrow", so she ran... and tripped. The hoodlums surrounded her. The one who asked for a phone grabbed her handbag and attempted to wrest it from her hands. She resisted. The thug punched her face, and she fell on her back from the impact....
... to see the bar rapidly filling. It was 9% and growing.
Overcoming pain, Erin stood up, grabbing a rock. She tossed the stone and hit the robber in the head. The other two, enraged, tripped and punched her.
33%... 52%... 67%...
The robber hit by the stone came back to his senses and reached for a knife. He rushed at her, slashing at the air viciously. Finally, the blade of his knife slashed at her face, leaving a shallow wound on her cheek.
78%... 92%... 100%!!!
LIMIT BREAK!!!
* * *
"It was self-defense", her lawyer assured her. "We'll win this case in no time".
"But... they are all dead?"
"Yes. But you didn't have either knowledge of how does your superpower work, or premeditated intent to use it. That's enough for you to be acquitted."
Now Erin remembered clearly how the bar first appeared. It was an argument with a boyfriend, and he wasn't a nice guy. He bitch-slapped her. She tried hard to forget about that young man, never calling him, avoiding him. But the 1% bar appeared exactly that day.
"So it's a limit break, just like in old Final Fantasy games", she figured out. "The bar fills as I'm attacked, and when it's full, it allows me to release an ultimate fighting technique. Great. Just great. Why would I want that?" | 129 | In a world filled with super powers, you believe yours to be, well, nonexistent. Some can fly, others can shoot beams from their eyes , some people can just slowly levitate their TV remote. All you have is a bar above your head, stuck at "1%". | 160 |
The crook who was handcuffed to the table looked at the detective with a foul look and said:"Shut the hell up, I stayed silent during your spiel, now let me brag!"
"So, where was I before I got so _Rudely_ interrupted? Ah yes, the family. Good times. Did you know the shopkeep didn't even know I was in there? Or that his wife and children were half skinned hanging from the rafters? You should've seen his face!" He said as he burst out in uncontrollable laughter.
"Hahahah... Oh haha, oh man. That was fun." He said like were reminiscing.
"Oh oh! If you didnt know about them, you also don't know about the Johnsons do you?" He said with a smug look on his face.
"Just go to 23rd Baker street, I'm fairly certain that they're still there. As long as the neighbours haven't called y'all yet hahaha" He could barely contain his laughter throughout this entire 'confession', but now he was truly laughing his ass off.
Meanwhile, the detective and his assistant (who was behind the see through mirror) grew more and more disturbed at this man's vile and twisted personality. This was no ordinary criminal, this man was *evil*.
As soon as that thought crossed his mind, the bastard in front of him stopped laughing, looking him straight in the eyes and said"Oooh boy, you haven't seen shit. I could go on for a couple days, probably. And I think I will. After all, I've finally found someone who won't leave in the middle of the story." He said as he smiled a most disturbing smile at the detective.
He had a feeling he was about to regret stepping into this room.. | 11 | "Yeah, I killed them. Every one of them. The shopkeeper, his wife, kids and extended family on both sides. That was all me." "......We brought you in for Tax Evasion......." | 62 |
Doing ground work is dirty, gross, but at times necessary. It’s important to never get too comfortable, especially when you are at the top.
But god, I forget how disgusting corpses can get. The stench was easy to get used to—it was just a decomposing body. Barely two days old, even. But it was really the lack of comprehension that got on my nerves.
Today’s particular specimen stared back with one lolling eye, hanging by a meaty thread to the back of his head. Yet, somehow, the empty socket was more revealing of its intelligence.
“Azark of the Kaikon Kingdom,” I said. “Do you understand?”
Its neck muscles twisted and squelched slowly from side to side, indicating no.
“OK, one more time. Because I really like you, Azark of the Kaikon Kingdom,” I said. “Right now, you are nothing more but a zombie. And you, being a necromancer, know that zombies are practically shells of themselves.”
I held my breath. After what felt like an unlifetime, it nodded, and I breathed a sigh of relief. Those neck muscles wouldn’t hold on for long. That’s what poor beheading got you.
“But see, here’s my extremely generous offer. I will imbue you with magic. That’s right, magic! Again! You can necromance to your undead heart’s content forevermore!”
I watched it think. Mental note for next time—try to find necromancers without severed vocal cords. At least they could talk back, even if it’s just simple words. Instead, waiting for a response from Azark’s nearly-severed head was frustrating.
“Do you want it?” I pressed.
And it nodded!
“Fantastic! I don’t have a contract drawn up right now, but keep in mind that whatever I say shall be binding. Necromancer’s word and all, eh?”
I began drawing a circle around Azark with crow’s blood, dusting it generously with some ground bone, and even pulled out the stops with a hag’s tongue.
“The agreement is simple,” I said. “Go forth and raise more necromancers! And some corpses along the way, because practice makes perfect. And then more necromancers! But see, undead bodies aren’t very good at holding onto magic. You know that. You were a master of the dark arts!”
Azark’s eye continued to stare at me. I swore that it tried to raise an eyebrow. Or at least the green, gangrenous region around it.
“So, once you imbue those necromancers, you have to come back to me, alright? I’ll give you more magic. It’s all a very simple process, really.”
Azark nodded.
“It’s wonderful, isn’t it? The more necromancers you get, the more powerful your army gets,” I smiled. “Welcome, to what I call the ziggurat scheme!”
---
r/dexdrafts | 740 | Funnily enough, you became the world's strongest necromancer because no one else thought of raising other necromancers as undead. | 2,324 |
# Nicolas Has A Problem.
“Oh my God, Nick!” Said Henry. “What happened to you?”
Nicolas tried to focus in his co-worker. He had a bloated black eye offuscating his vision. With his mouth barely working after being punched several times, he tried to say:
“...host...thing”
Henry raised an eyebrow.
“Host?”
“No... G... ho... st!”
“Ghost! You're telling me a ghost did that to you?”
“Yes...”
“Come on, Nick, this is serious. You need to report whoever that person is to the police. You could've died!”
Nicolas' forces were coming back to him. He formed a more coherent sentence:
“Can they... Cage ghosts?”
“Are..”
Henry sighed and scratched his head. He began to think a way for Nicolas to open himself.
“Look, are they threatening you? If so, you can sleep on my house tonight.”
“R- Really?”
“Yeah, you can tell me everything there.”
“Th- That would be great, Henry. Yet... I think it would follow me anyway. And I don't want you hurt...”
“Oh, if they come at me I'm gonna be prepared.”
“You sure?”
“Yeah, I'm damn sur-!”
Suddenly Henry's head was hammered repeatedly on the office table by an invisible force. It only stopped after he fainted.
Nicolas wasn't surprised that the ghost had followed him to his work.
“Just don't break anything,” he said. “Our boss hates unclean places.”
The ghost immediately began to sweep down everything on his table into the floor. For last, it stabbed the computer's screen with a pen.
*I think I'm gonna shut up,* Thought Nicolas.
r/Box_Of_Stories | 11 | Ghosts usually do subtle things while haunting. Like closing doors and moving stuff. Not the ghost of that haunted house. You enter that house, you get your ass kicked. | 43 |
It had eyes. Eyes made of sesame, and a tongue of minced flesh.
"HUMAN!"
And the voice of a scholar.
"Before you eat me, please, heed my tale O Chosen One! I have travelled a- what are you doing?"
The only thing I could. I brought the burger closer to me, showing it something it must eventually face.
"No, no! You know not what you do! The world, the universe!"
Meaningless.
"Only you can save it!"
Why would I care? I only wanted one thing. And it was in my hands.
The first bite elicited the sweet symphony of pure agony. The burger screamed. It screamed, and *screamed*. And it begged, and it *pleaded*. And I made it scream again. It cried for its mother, the pitiful wailing crooning a lullaby to my ears. I waited, savouring each slow bite as it sought divine deliverance from a deaf deity. I swallowed the mush of bread, plant and meat, feeling it go down my throat as I readied another bite. Horror reverberated through my fingers as wailed in helplessness. This time was slow. The corner of my mouth, a little shearing, a little spearing. A little *crushing*. And another, ketchupy chunk was *prrried* off the sandwich housing a gibbering wreck of a mind. The pain was so great, so encompassing, it vomited sauce everywhere.
*Sauce*.
I cleaned it, slowly, gently. A long, slithering lick, bathing my tongue in the creamy tomato pulp.
​
Yes. Yes, this really *was* some dope ass weed. | 75 | “Before you eat me, please hear my tale, oh chosen one. I have traveled a great distance to find you- you are the only one who can save our universe.” | 236 |
“Everyone has a role to fill. Everyone has a purpose. Some of us are born strong, destined to be warriors. Others are born intelligent, destined to be scientists. Others still are creative, destined to be entertainers. The followers of the terror Nietzsche are fools to believe that our lives have no meaning. We have already been given a role by destiny and birth, who would dare believe otherwise?”
Dalizath believed otherwise. He turned off the broadcast. The Presider was sending those more frequently now. He turned to the procession, the other followers’ attention on him. “Good believers of Nietzche. We are faced with a dilemma. Those who give in to his teachings most fervently find themselves losing their sanity. Our previous leader recently passed on, his mind unintelligible to us. With this occurrence, we are feared. We cannot lead an entire people to insanity, we would be seen as villains. But we have to somehow enlighten the others to our state of freedom.”
One of the followers, Galiforth, stood up, “Well, we have not gone insane. Perhaps we can use ourselves as examples.”
“We were taught the dogma by those who went insane, the ones who actually read Niztsche’s teachings and went mad,” Dalizath explained.
Galiforth hummed in thought, “Perhaps we can write a new book with our own limited knowledge.”
“But it is not the doctrine!”
“The doctrine will lead to madness! It is not meant for mortal minds! If we use the knowledge which has enlightened us but not led us insane, we can bring that same enlightenment to others, can we not?”
“You make a strong point, Galiforth. You may make high priest soon with zealotry like that. Alright, let’s write a book.” | 23 | Turn out, humans are the only species with existential crisis, and any alien that get exposed with solipsism or nihilism or any sorts would go insane. Nietzsche is, to aliens, an eldritch horror that drive mortals mad, and there are many cults devoted to him. | 304 |
"Amy you should probably-"
Before I can even finish the sentence, she has bounded off into the woods. I'm thankful that its night, lest anyone see her in her werewolf form. I sigh deeply and turn on my flashlight as I rush off into the forest after her.
Full moons were always the hardest with her, but I swore to her three years ago, in sickness and in health, that I would be there for her. I knew she would do the same for me.
She leaves massive paw prints in the snow beneath her, but what gives her away is the sound of a titanic crashing in the distance. My heart drops into my stomach and adrenaline pumps itself into my veins as I break into a sprint. What in the hell was that?
I find myself sighing again as I finally catch up with her. She has uprooted a tree and is in the process of wrenching a sizeable limb off of its trunk. She looks up at me for a moment before returning to the task at hand.
"Amy, you're going to attract attention to your-"
She cuts me off again as she growls in delight, ripping the limb clean from the tree's body. She takes it in her mouth and rushes over to me, dropping it at my feet. I look down at it, and find her staring at me with those massive yellow eyes.
"You...you want me to throw it?" I ask.
She pants.
"Err...okay..."
I lift the branch into my arms with some difficulty given its sheer size. With all my strength, I heave it into the distance as far as I can. Amy bounds off towards it and returns a moment later, returning the branch to my feet.
"Are we going to do this all night?" I ask.
She doesn't respond.
"Okay," I tell her. "We'll play for a little while, but I can't go all night."
As she bounds off towards the branch once again, I sigh to myself. Yes, the circumstances may be a bit odd, but we have each other, and that's really all that matters. The fact that she trusts me this much to be so open means the world to me, and if it means having to play fetch till my arms go numb, then that's a price I'm willing to pay. | 1,002 | "No! Go away! I can't let you go near me when I turn into a werewolf!" "Don't worry, I will love you always, even if you become a monster." "No, I'm just stupid as all hell when I turn. I'll not hurt you, but I am sure as hell not ready to show you me barking at a lamppost for the whole night!" | 3,723 |
The wind howled outside, twirling the wind chimes hanging by the window. A frail woman laid on the worn couch, pale as milk. Her blue eyes were transfixed on the metal chimes that were barely hanging on to life, much like her own situation. The only difference was she wasn't alone and the wind was her own doing.
"Please drink it," Kevin begged, holding a blood bag in his hand. He kneeled next to her, parting her greying hair.
"I won't."
"Please. Dalilah, you need to drink something."
"I made a promise. And I won't break my promise."
Kevin sighed. "Why do you have to be so difficult?"
"You knew I was difficult when you married me."
"But this is so excessive. It's not like you are going around town draining everybody. I'm giving you my blood."
She sat up. "And I told you I won't drink it."
"Why did you make that vow? You at least owe me that."
"No I don't."
Kevin shot to his feet and stomped on the ground. "Dammit woman! I won't let you starve yourself to death!"
Dalilah did not react outwardly to his sudden outburst. His face had tears running down and his eyes were piercing. She knew time was running out for her and he could sense it as well. Her heart ached, torn between her husband and her bond. She couldn't satisfy both, but he wasn't going to back down without an answer.
"Fine," Dalilah said. Kevin tossed her the blood bag and she let it land on her stomach. "I'll tell you why I won't drink your blood."
His scowl appeared in an instant, but he said nothing, letting her have the floor.
"Do you remember that night you passed out–"
"You aren't serious? I didn't pass out because of that. I was dehydrated. You can't blame yourself for that," Kevin said, ready to argue her point.
"No. The problem was I loved your blood. More than I thought I could. It was like drinking your very essence. Your loving soul and your tender heart."
"Yesh, next your gonna say it was better than sex." Dalilah didn't say anything, causing his jaw to drop. "What?"
She laughed. Dalilah found it amazing how her man could go from crying to petrified in seconds. There was a temptation to let his mouth stay there a little longer, but he needed some reassurance. "I know. It's that good. And that was the problem. I don't think the next time I will be able to say no to more. So I deny myself. Because I love you."
"You can have more. I just don't want you to die."
"I would rather die than kill you because I couldn't control myself."
"And I can't watch you kill yourself because you won't drink a little blood bag. It's not like you're getting it straight from the tap."
Dalilah couldn't help but chuckle. The image of him as a human beer keg was amusing to her. He put his face up to hers, making it all she could see.
"You understand, though. Don't you?" She asked.
"I do." He pressed his lips to hers, letting his passion take hold.
She kissed him back and he took his shot, pushing his lip against her fangs, cutting him. She tried to pull away, but he did not let her get away, allowing his blood to drip into her. The thunder from outside shook the house and her eyes rolled back into her head, savoring the warm, metallic taste.
He felt his face drain of blood and her fangs digging deeper into his lip. The life was coming back to her and with it her enthusiasm for more blood. His body was no longer his as she rolled off the couch and pinned him to the floor. He moaned in pain, trying to tell her to stop, but she needed a more forceful approach. Kevin dropped his arms to his side and rolled her over, plunging his thumbs into her wrists. Delilah released him, blood dripping from his mouth.
"You feeling better?" Kevin said, licking his lips.
"Why did you do that!"
"You weren't seeing reason."
"I could have killed you. I felt myself losing control."
"If you didn't drink something, you were going to die. I refuse to let you die."
"It was my choice," she struggled under his grip, but he held her down.
"And I don't get a say? Did you even think how your death would affect me?"
She stopped fighting. He was right. She hadn't. Kevin did what he did for her and it wasn't lost on her. He loved her. His chest heaved up and down, tired from their wrestling match. Delilah hated what she did, enjoying what she promised would never happen again, but at least she was alive. And for now, that had to be enough.
"You're right… I didn't… I'm sorry," Delilah said.
Kevin let her go. "Apology accepted. Now drink up the rest of that blood bag. You need to regain your strength."
"Only if you promise never to do that again."
"Deal. Now get to it. And if you're good, we'll play a game of parcheesi."
Delilah laughed. "Really? Your gonna treat me like a child."
"If the shoe fits–"
She punched him in the shoulder. "Go get me a straw then. If your gonna treat me like a child, I'm going to act like one."
"Whatever you say, dear." | 181 | Your wife is a vampire with deteriorating health because of her oath to never drink human blood. You are trying to convince her that 100ml from you every month won't hurt you, and that blood loss wasn't the reason you fainted when she sucked your blood few years back. | 733 |
The meteor hit the Earth in what seemed like mere seconds. Astropaleontologists would watch in awe as these vibrant ecosystems they monitored and studied for ages were obliterated in the blink of an eye. Millions upon millions of distinct lifeforms, in an instant, were simultaneously shredded to dust in light. Predator and prey were made alike in the blinding light of the meteor's collision with the Earth. The land they once knew as home was their prison, for they were made to bear witness to the unique, once every million millennium-event that spelled their demise.
It did not take much to humble astropaleontologists. Their field necessitated a crossing of space and time, going lightyears across lightyears in the feint hope of witnessing the gradual growth of distinct species. They traversed planets and bodies of light no other species was capable of, that no other species could claim to, in order to witness their own past of millions of years. Sights never meant for their eyes were foreseen on a daily basis, watching lifeforms that they'd never interact with live out their days on the distant rock they, in the present, called home.
And yet, something about this event struck a chord with not just the astropaleontology community, but humanity as a whole. It was not an event that took anyone by surprise - modern advances in radiocarbon dating allowed for precise estimates of the date and time of the infamous asteroid strike. It was one that was subject to much attention - scientific communities across the globe watched in awe to study the event, reporters eager to catch another story of the occurrences, and civilians with a curiosity akin to those who watched the first moon landing would gaze upon this event, each with their shared desire for knowledge consuming their thoughts. Was the quest for knowledge too much a burden for them? Or was it doomed to cause individuals of plenty sorts to bare witness to events beyond their imagination?
Regardless of why, watching the event that led to billions of lifeforms simultaneously going extinct gave a new collective conscious to the public eye. It gave an appreciation for the past like no other - the knowledge that it could be viewed in real time tickled the interest of many, and allowed for a more personal connection to the past. It allowed people to truly begin to understand and recognize where they came from all those years ago, watching the fall of distant ancestors in the blink of an eye.
It was not an isolated event, either. As years past and more wormholes were discovered across the cosmos, a new field began to imagine - a cross of astronomy and history, and astrohistorians began to take stage. An interest was taken in watching famous events and battles from any given eon and stage of humanity's life was taken.
Theories were confirmed and conspiracies were quenched by the ability to witness all of human history occur in front of everyone's eyes. Humanity was able to watch again, like spectators through a window, as the Roman Empire rose to prominence and fell in what seemed like moments. They saw Spartans battle it out in real time, they watched in pure awe as the pyramids were constructed. They saw the horrors of Genghis Khan play out, the rise of the industrial age occur all over again. Humanity saw itself commit mass atrocities with colonization and slavery, watched as civil rights leaders across the world fought bravely for liberation everywhere. They saw wars across the world, watched the rise of new inventions, leaders rise and fall, cultures emerge and spread joy to millions.
Humanity watched itself up until its current time.
All of this humbled our species uniquely. The meteor that killed the dinosaurs was just one of many events that changed the way the public began to think. Academics and civilians alike, soldiers and poets, bourgeoisie and proletariat all began to understand, truly, the cost and fragility of life itself. An appreciation was gained for lifeforms of all sorts, a sympathy and empathy understood for one's common neighbor was witnessed.
Our species began to restructure itself. It focused on sustainability, ethics, on helping one another. Gift economies spread as dominant throughout the world, states dissolved, education shifted, the workforce altering for altruism. The common goal of humanity shifted from profit to produce, allowing everyone enough food and water to survive. Shelter and clothing was shared for many, and individuals of all sorts looked onward for a better ending.
Humanity started anew. | 29 | The invention of wormhole travel brought huge strides in many technologies, one being paleontology, or more specifically- "astro-paleontology" We had our telescopes pointed to receive the light from bygone eras. One day, while watching the late Cretaceous, we see an enormous explosion. | 68 |
“Hello Mrs. Johnson, I hope I’m not being to much of a bother to you,” a man lounging in the living room of Mrs. Katherine Johnson address the woman who has just entered into her home after getting back from a trip to the grocery store.
“You’ll never get away with this. He’s on his way you know.”
“He lives in New York my friend, which allots me roughly 15 minutes before your hero arrives, now if you could point me towards your safe?”
Mrs. Johnson places her groceries on the nearby counter, “and what will you do if I don’t?”
The groceries on the counter begin floating upwards and after Mrs. Johnson gives a somewhat incredulous look she begins lifting from the ground, and a look of panic grows in her eyes as the ceiling reconstructs itself to reveal the open sky.
“Quite a beautiful day is it not?”
Mrs. Johnson begins panicking very loudly as she exits the house in a slightly unconventional manner.
The man raises his voice as Mrs. Johnson moves further out reach, “I suppose you may be aware that even my power has its limits. The range of my abilities extends 2640 feet in every direction, and once you have reached that limit, what will happen to you will be quite out of my control. So unless you have a parachute, I would recommend telling me where you keep your valuables in the next...twelve seconds”
“The safe is behind the painting of the fruit right next to you! Now get me down from here!”
The man walks slowly over to the painting and opens the painting like a door and behind it a giant metal safe with a combination lock, “and the code would be?”
the woman screams the code from the air, but unfortunately cannot be heard, "very well," the man then places his hand on the safe and it spontaneously combusts. As the man walks away with his plunder, Mrs. Johnson and her groceries float back to the ground and she finds a note by her safe:
A pleasure doing business with you.
\-Evil McBad | 11 | After supervillains began to realize that heroes mostly operate in big cities, they started working in suburbs. You’re one such villain and are absolutely loving the community. | 135 |
Most parents develop their kids fear very early on, taking extra care with specialists not to traumatize them too much. My parents didn't want to inflict such pain upon me, they couldn't bring themselves to hurt their baby daughter for the sake of a silly power.
I spent most of my life without a fear, without powers. While in school, I saw most other kids having fun with their powers, some even having surpassed their fears and hesitation.
In high school I was probably the only kid without a power. I had no actual phobias and watching horror movies only made me more desensitized to them. I was a bit jealous, seeing my friend pass through doors and walls like they didn't exist, but I'd already given up on trying for a power.
I was too late to get a power. Honestly, being older and more rational made it difficult to get scared, let alone an exact phobia. When I did get scared, it wasn't to the point I would develop my ability and it always sucked testing to see if I'd awakened to anything and coming up sort.
In all honesty, I probably didn't even need a good power to get by. My father's power was telekinesis from fear of being controlled and my mother's was electricity from a traumatic event where her brother died when she was young. Their current occupations paid handsomely, and if they ever left, others would flock to grab them before others.
And yet, there was no time I wanted a power more than today. My parents lay dead on the floor, the home invaders having taken them by surprise, and I was lying on the cold floor bleeding out next to them.
Tears kept falling from my eyes, my face opposite to my unmoving mother's. I didn't want to die. I wasn't really scared of death, but I didn't want to die. I was terrified, but I didn't know what terrified me, and I couldn't activate any power whatsoever.
In my shallow breaths, I accepted my end. And at that moment, I saw my father's body twitching as he stood up, telekinesis moving what seemed to be a corpse. Upon landing his gaze on one of the intruders, the man's neck was torn apart.
The others quickly took notice and pelted him with bullets, but not before he took another two with him.
I cried, my voice unable to be heard from the blood blocking my throat. It was all over. I was dying, unable to do anything. I was a failure, always late to do anything in life. Too late to get a power, too late to save my parents, too late to warn them that someone had broke in.
Being so close to dying, I wasn't scared of meeting my end. No, perhaps that would be a blessing. What I was terrified of, was that I would be too late to meet my parents in the same afterlife, that I would be late one more time and eternal rest would become eternal hell.
My eyes closed for the last time, a tear rolling down my face as I felt my power activating for the first time.
I was terrified.
My eyes shot open, the pain I felt before I died gone, as were all the injuries. I took a quick look at my surroundings, finding myself tucked in my bed.
Terror gave way to confusion, to surprise and then to hope. I opened my phone which was luckily right next to me. The date was Saturday, 2:39 am, and everyone was asleep. Muffled footsteps were heard from downstairs and my hope turned into terror back again.
I turned my head, finding a person dressed in black with whiffs of smoke coming from his clothes. I only had enough time to look the home invader in the eyes before pulled a gun from his pocket and shot me.
With a gasp, I opened my eyes again, this time immediately jumping up from bed. The noise seemed to have alerted the intruders, however, as they made their way to my bedroom only seconds later, ending my life without hesitation.
I grunted as I opened my eyes again, knowing just how bad the situation was. But this time I wasn't scared. I calmly got out of bed.
My power defied reality and no matter how many attempts it took, no matter how many times I died, I would survive, and I would save my parents.
I wasn't scared of pain, I had already died twice.
My parents were still alive.
I wasn't late. I wasn't going to be late. Not this time, not any time, not going forward.
Because my ability answered to my deepest fear, and I wasn't going to allow myself to be late ever again. | 1,058 | In what seems like a cruel prank by a bored God, people started developing powers based on their worst fears. people afraid of heights got the gift of flight. arachnophobia? get the power of spiders. phasmophobia? necromancy/ability to speak with the dead. Your power is... hard to explain... | 1,453 |
When I first met Lamair it had been in the back alley of a mc donald's. I had barely survived off of beggars money and scraps for the past couple months but a pandemic had hit and there was no money to beg for and rarely any food to scavenge. My body was starting to look more like a skeleton and I made less then a dollar from begging a day.
On that day an old ragged woman had given me a ring. At the time I had thought its only use would be for pawning but, as I lay starved at the end of the day, I made a small wish. I wished for a lavish meal, one that would fill up my stomach and keep me going for a few days. That evening I was gifted a miracle. A table of all the best foods with me on one end and Lamair on the other.
Everything else is history. Lamair never had rules. He granted the wishes he wanted to and ignored the ones he didn't like. There were no limits except his own opinion.
Today I stood in my extravagant shower, inside my small mansion cleaning my hair with the finest of soap. As I scrubbed my hair free of soap a stream of bubbles flew right into my eyes. I froze in pain closing my eyes shut as tight as possible. When I moved to scrub my eyes my knuckle hit the hard shower wall.
There was a click and I panicked. A warm sensation came in waves all over my hand and I quickly turned off the faucet and made my way out of the shower to cleanse my wound.
*I wish I could just stop existing*
I thought rashly as I opened the shower door, but what greeted me wasn't a first class washroom but instead a bright blue sky and grass fields that seemingly went on forever.
A loud clang sounded behind me and when I turned around my shower doors became huge and infinitely tall. What used to be opaque glass was not pure gold filled with intricate patterns.
Two large men wearing golden armour with similar patterns to the doors stood beside the massive entranceway. At the mere sight of me they toppled over each other screaming in panic.
I looked down at my right hand and, of course, the genies ring sat on my middle finger.
"That damn genie" I sighed to myself
He had chosen to ignore hundreds of wishes, even half-hearted wish for world peace was ignored. Yet of course he allowed me to literally die.
"You-" on of the men said, "You have *his* ring"
The men, I realized, were less afraid of me and more afraid of Lamair. They looked at my ring with pure terror, their bodies trembling and mouths quivering.
Lamair formed from the ring as he normally does, this time was either to make fun of me or the two blubbering idiots in front of me.
"Thank god" Lamair said looking around, "we're finally safe kid." | 18 | You step out of the shower, instead of your bathroom, you are greeted by a bright lit sky. Infinitely tall doors close behind you with a thunderous boom that goes on forever. Two men in bronze armor fall over each other screaming as they run from you. "That damn Genie" you sigh. | 54 |
When I'm nineteen, a new program is started called the Timeline Adjustment. I signed up for it, even knowing that it might be years before it became a viable program. Then I lucked out, the beta testing of it becomes available when I'm twenty-three.
There's risks to it. So many risks. I might not land in the past where I am supposed to. I might not survive the time shift. My body might not reform right. There's a chance meeting myself in the past will unmake both of us. There's countless other dangers that they listed and I either listened to or ignored. It doesn't matter. I have to try.
My family died when I was three, I grew up in a series of foster homes and orphanages. No matter how hard I tried, I never managed to connect with anyone or settle into a home. I didn't belong.
When I heard of the project, it was a chance to change my life, to give the child I was a home and family.
If I manage to live to the point where there would be three versions of me, the one that traveled into the past will vanish. Exactly one minute after I travel into the past, I will solidify once more, with all my memories intact, the exact age I was when I left. I'm not sure how well I will adjust to being twenty-three with the memories of someone who is forty-three. I'll deal with that when it happens. If it happens. As another possibility is that my forty-three year old self will remain, while my younger self will both travel back and stay at the exact same time. A third possibility is by traveling back they have created a new timeline, where I didn't travel in the past, as a different world's version is here instead.
It doesn't matter. I *have* to do this. If there is even a small chance of success, that I can make sure younger me doesn't have to deal with the loneliness and heartbreak of being alone it will be worth it. | 159 | An orphan grows up to become a time traveler and raise themselves so they don't have to grow up alone. | 1,337 |
As I was standing in line waiting for my coffee he didn't seem to have the patience for that. He bypassed all the people waiting and told the clerk:
"One coffee with sugar and make it quick."
Some people just don't have basic human decency. Not wanting to let this jerk get his coffee before I protested: "Excuse me. Don't you think that if you want to order you should wait for your turn like a everybody else?"
"Oh is that so? You don't know who I am do you? Well don't sweat it man. But take my word for it: You don't want to be having this conversation."
I was reaching boiling point at this time. "Yeah and why is that?"
"Oh so you really don't know do you? I snap my fingers and a second later you're going to be standing on the surface of the moon gasping for air."
Ah okay so he was one of those people. It's probably best not to get on his nerves too much. Even if I do knock him out, as soon as he is concious again would still be able to teleport me.
"Ahah well okay. Well enjoy your coffee I guess.", I responded.
The barista apparently knew him and was frantic to hand him his coffee. The moon-snap-guy turned and headed out but as I went to close the distance that had opened up in the line I accidentially bumped into him. The hot coffee poured over his hands and he screamed in agony.
"Ahrg, you've done it now. This is on you man" He prepared his hands for a snap. I had no choice but to shout: "FISTFIGHT!"
The fight begins as soon as that word is shouted and it only ends when one of us is knocked out. He completed his snap. But nothing happened.
"Huh? Why are you still here?", he uttered confused.
He started swinging for me. Right after I start a fight they always fly into a rage and their only desire becomes punching me unconcious. This was bad though. I knew I could easily beat him. I trained for such scenarios all the time of course and he was pretty scrawny but what then? I can't risk having this guy come back for revenge.
But it's not like I could ever kill anybody, even this ass.
So for now I ran out of the shop, still being chased by moon-snap-guy. But then a thought hit me: He didn't regain his powers until the fight ends. And the fight doesn't end until either of us is knocked out by the other. So if that was the case....
I kept running and eventually I lost him. I knew what I had to do now: Never win the fight. And never lose either. That way he would never be able to snap anybody ever again.
That was some years ago now. Moon-snap-guy still shows up every now and then trying to punch my lights out, but I don't pay it much mind. I hope at least in time he learns his lesson about cutting in line. | 272 | the ability to challenge anyone to a good old-fashioned fist fight. They can't refuse it, and no powers are allowed. | 668 |
Archmage Granzaar: @ everyone
Bebis(Bot): Boop
Headcultist Velikov: What is it now, Gran?
Space Commando Globborwitz: Gah, I thought I turned notifications off. I’m using speechtotext because I’m in the middle of a space battle right now. Yeah, send for more troops. We can’t let the slaves escape.
TheyCallMeManyNames: You forgot to turn off text to speech, Globborwitz.
Space Commando Globborwitz: Frazzlewarts, sorry.
The Almighty: WHO DARES SUMMON THE GOD ALMIGHTY!
TheyCallMeManyNames: You have caps lock on again, Al.
Archmage Granzaar: I’ve called you all here because we have a crisis on our hands.
|
Justin Time: Hey! Are you guys having a meeting? Why didn’t I get pinged?
Headcultist Volikov: Justin is still here? I thought you kicked him.
|
Justine Time: What? You were going to kick me out?
Archmage Granzaar: I’ll PM you the details afterward, Vol.
Headcultist Volikov: Justin, stop replying to every message we don’t need the extra pings.
|
Justin Time: Sorry
Headcultist Volikov: You just did it again!
Space Commando Globborwitz: I don’t care if you have to murder every Ohellellion child, I want that device now!
TheyCallMeManyNames: You did it again, Glob.
Bebis(Bot): I’m a bot, beboop.
Archmage Granzaar: Look, let’s just get on with this. I’m just going to say it straight: we’re under budget. We’re going to have to make some cuts to our world domination plan.
Justin Time: I’m more of a world submissive ( ;
TheyCallMeManyNames: Eww, this is why we almost kicked you, Justin.
The Almighty: DON’T YOU DARE REMOVE MY SKY TEMPLE FROM THE BUDGET!
Archmage Granzaar: Actually, Al, out of all the spending money the sky temple is the one I think we can cut. With your powers and followers you can probably create this without financial aid, but regardless the temple won’t do much besides inflating your ego when the battle comes.
The Almighty: HOW DARE YOU SAY SUCH INSOLENT BLASPHEMY! I WILL SMITE YOU!
Archmage Granzaar: It’s only a 3rd level spell, so I can easily counterspell your smite.
The Almighty: THEN I’LL UPCAST IT!
Archmage Granzaar: I’m not dealing with this. I’ll consider filling another request of yours, Al. But I don’t have the budget or your sky temple.
The Almighty: WHY CAN’T WE TAKE SOMETHING ELSE OUT OF THE BUDGET, LIKE VOLIKOV’S SERUM?
Headcultist Volikov: I need that serum to mind control the population as my thralls.
Justin Time: Can I borrow that for… personal reasons? ( :
TheyCallMeManyNames: I swear to Al, Justin.
The Almighty: WHO DARE INVOKES MY NAME!
TheyCallMeManyNames:
Space Commando Globborwitz: Sweet Caroline! Buhbuhbuh!
TheyCallMeManyNames: Glob, this is the second time you’ve left speech-to-text on while doing karaoke.
Justin Time: They like Sweet Caroline in space?
Archmage Granzaar: Shut up! It’s a timeless classic! But, anyway, I agree. Vol’s serum is crucial to our plan.
Justin Time: That’s not fair, you guys are buddies.
Archmage Granzaar: My judgment is impartial I assure you.
TheyCallMeManyNames: Justin actually said something right for once, you are guilty of favoritism when it comes to Vol, Gran.
Justin Time: Guys, did you see what I sent in #memes?
TheyCallMeManyNames: I take that back.
Archmage Granzaar: Fine, you think I’m guilty of favoritism. Here: docs.google.com/document/budgetstuff
Justin Time: That’s over 2,000 pages!
Archmage Granzaar: Exactly. This is all the budget details and the pros and cons of removing each from the budget.
TheyCallMeManyNames: Bebis’ hacker gadgets cost how much???
Archmage Granzaar: It’s not an easy task to hack the world.
Bebis(Bot): \^
Justin Time: I don’t think Globborwitz’s quantum tanner should be a part of the budget.
TheyCallMeManyNames: Justin, you illiterate imbecile! It says quantum spanner!
Justin Time: Oh shit, you’re right. Sorry.
Headcultist Velikov: Hey, Gran. Wait, hold up… you pay taxes?
Archmage Granzaar: Of course.
Headcultist Velikov: We’re evil, we don’t have to. We could probably fit everything into the budget if we just… didn’t pay them.
Archmage Granzaar: Ah, good point. Alright, that settles it. Meeting dismissed! | 87 | There is a certain chat group whose members are a god, a mage, an immortal, a time traveler, an alien, an AI, and a secret organization leader. | 471 |
**Day 3**
\- Tracy and her family walked into the hospital again to say goodbye to her son. The first time she entered this way, they didn’t know it was the last day they’d see him. Hold him. Tell him how much they love him. The second time felt just like the first, she felt every feeling again. From the cold of the hospital’s air conditioning to the tug at her heart as her baby boy was in pain. This is the third time. She has a plan.
\- Sebastian was hopeful today. His third first date. The other two went so well they moved this one up. He’s going to order something different today. Maybe the surf and turf. Something more expensive.
\- Margot sat in her position waiting for the time to take her shot. Her target. The invadiding general. He ran her family out and she’d kill him as many times as it takes for her to get them back. She takes a deep breath. Blood splatters the wall. Another headshot
​
**Day 30**
\- Tracy and her husband walk into the hospital. After the tenth time or so their other kids started to stay home. It was decided that the children shouldn’t watch their brother die so many times. What the parents didn’t know was that the kids knew the time of death and held a memorial everyday. Food lost taste. Shows lost their enjoyment.
\- The first time Sebastian brought his date home and they fell asleep together, the feeling of emptiness in the morning was alarming. But now it's the norm. The biggest struggle has become finding a restaurant with a working staff. Most people have quit their jobs, electing to live their lives instead of endlessly flipping burgers. Who could blame them. This is life now.
\- The first time Margot confronted the general, she didn’t know what to expect, but it wasn’t this. Their commonalities were beginning to outshine their differences. She still hated him and would kill him once every three days as she vowed to, in his face, after he admitted to ordering the building her family was hiding in to be burned. But, there were still days they’d talk and cook together like she would with her dad. She missed him. She is only 15 after all.
​
**Day 300**
\- Tracy and her family have a rotation now. Cousins, Aunts, and Grandparents have all come to visit and say their “byes”. Some days her son would travel. Flights were all auto dropped to $0. Resources renewed and people wanted to travel.Tracy often pondered how many people died in the loop each day. People wanted to see relatives. Say their “byes”. Family’s can't grow anymore, but they can’t shrink either. She could live with that.
\- Dating in the loop wore on Sebastian and his date’s relationship. Without a way to track how many Friday nights it's been they struggle to grow. There have been series of loops where they didn’t see each other. A positive, in his eyes, is that without progression there are no current events and no small talk. They are tired together, living the perfect first date for all eternity.
\- He hasn’t replaced Margot’s dad but after what feels like a year of knowing this man, there’s familiarity there. The familiarity of a warm meal and a person to talk to about philosophy and fears. But also the familiarity of hatred. Because here stands before her a man that’s stolen family and love from her. At least a year of family and potentially hundreds and thousands more of happiness. | 10 | Something happened to the flow of time. Every 24 hours time loops back around, resetting, and everyone in the world is aware of it. Describe the events and lives of people on the 3rd, 30th, and 300th day of the loop. | 46 |
Sergeant Alara was not enjoying gate duty. Normally it was a relatively relaxed assignment - cursory customs inspections, making brief notes on incoming and outgoing goods, breaking up the occasional squabble between queuing merchants. Today though - today she'd drawn the short green straw, and had been landed with a duty at the Small Gate.
A year ago, there hadn't even been a Small Gate, but since the Duke's treaty with the Wilderness Tribes, it was the busiest duty station of all. From long before sunrise until long after sunset (despite the posted hours for the gate's opening), a steady stream of traders, travellers, and settlers flowed into the city.
Alara was not small-minded. In her time with the Guard, she'd travelled as far West as the ocean, and as far North as the human roads went. She'd fought beside humans from countless lands, served as honour guard for a dwarf noble, and once - if only very briefly - shared a campfire with a hulking orc. As much as any one in the city, she felt she had a fair claim to being open-minded.
But the people who came to the Small Gate were the weirdest she'd ever encountered. Yes, they were small - it was rare that one of them topped four feet - but it wasn't just that. It was the endless, unexpected variety that made it hard to get a handle on them. There were kobold clans with their high, oddly-fluting voices, where power and status seemed to be determined by the hieght of crests or lengths of barbels, rather than any more meaningful standard. There were goblins in every possible shade of green and yellow, bickering and plotting within and between their tangled families. Strangest of all were the gnomes - at least she assumed they were gnomes - silent figures draped in all-concealing robes who only communicated by scribbling on clay tablets.
Duty at the Small Gate was never relaxing. By ducal decree, each visitor's details had to be recorded in the log book, and so Alara found herself having to learn the pecularities of totally-alien politics and family structures. One kobold traveller claimed to be the 'Long fang' of the Broken Night clan - a position of some importance - but in the fish-catching clans that lived along the lake edge (light blue skin, with webbing between their fingers), 'long-fang' was an unpardonable insult that often led to bloodshed. A stout goblin matron presented her with a settling permit, entitling the bearer to bring their family with them to make a home within the city walls, but the 'family' in question turned out to be over a dozen - perhaps even two dozen - mewling green kits. The logbook required a name for each traveller, and Alara could only watch helplessly as the queue lengthened and the matron engaged in furious debate with her spouse over what to name each still-blind goblin baby.
It was exhausting. So many travellers to interview, inspect, and admit. So many laws and customs and conventions to learn for each species jostling at the Small Gate. It was hard to explain the concept of taxes to tribes for whom bribery was the only consistent financial practice, or property ownership to light-fingered kobolds who were used to treating 'finders, keepers' as the whole of the law. Amongst all the confusion, caterwaul, and chaos, how was Alara meant to keep an eye on her primary role: ensuring that no significant threats entered the city?
She almost missed it. If she'd turned a second later, if the angry kobold (something about the lunar festival?) had pushed his point just a little longer, the hunched traveller would have snuck into the city and been lost in the crowd. As it was, a lucky glance showed Alara the small figure slipping between guards while they focused on other groups, darting through the gate without inspection.
The one advantage of the Small Gate was the smallness of its entrants. It was rare for a fight to break out that couldn't be quelled by a shout from a towering guard, and - while goblins ran fast - a single one of Alara's long strides was sufficient to catch up to the fugitive.
With one hand, Alara gripped the goblin by the collar, lifting her above the throng. Wide, terrified eyes fixed on hers as the sergeant's other hand reached for the bundle clutched in the small figure's arms. Ignoring the high-pitched pleading in a language she didn't understand, Alara handed off the smuggler to one of her finally-alert guardsmen and began to investigate the contraband. Wrapped in a twist of sacking, as though it wasn't both the most precious and most dangerous thing she'd ever seen, was a dragon's egg. | 52 | Instead of ordering the extermination of monster species such as Goblins and Kobolds, the new king instead sought to integrate and uplift their communities, allowing them to live inside our walls. | 152 |
\[Public Surprise\]
"Alright," Ellison nodded at the other three members of his group. Their disguises were useable. "Spread out, blend in; but, stay close."
"Shouldn't we try to establish a base before we go exploring?" Victor asked. The others nodded but Ellison shook his head.
"Thanks to our...," Ellison glanced at Ruben. "...bad luck, I don't even know what year this is. What I do know is that the Library of Alexandria is right over there...," he gestured behind himself with this thumb. "...and, it could burn down any day now. With all the knowledge that was lost in there, I'm hoping maybe we'll find a clue to get us back to the future."
"You really think we're going to find a way to time travel in the library?" Ruben asked. Ellison glared at him; but, bit back his remark. He shrugged and turned to head towards the library.
"Libraries are full of surprises," he added. The four men spread out once they reached the main roadway and they walked toward the library. They reached the steps when one of the men shuffled closer to Ellison.
"Hey boss...," he said with a nudge.
"What is it, Dennis?" Ellison asked.
"Girl, 3 o'clock," Dennis replied. Ellison stopped in his tracks when he looked to their right. He was slightly surprised to see that she was Japanese; but, her outfit was more shocking. She wore blue jeans and a red t-shirt with a white scissor logo on it. But, her out-of-place outfit wasn't the only problem. She leaned against the wall with her focus on something that looked like a glass rectangle in her hands. The moment that Ellison realized what it might be, someone else called his attention.
"HEY BOSS!!!" Ellison turned to see Ruben running at him while waving his phone around in the open. "I GOT WIFI!" The commotion turned a few heads and Ellison turned to see the girl look up at them and giggle.
"Damnit. Dennis, keep Ruben busy, and quiet," he said.
"Right, boss." Dennis nodded as Ellison strode towards the girl. Their cover was blown but she didn't seem to be all that interested.
"Hi, I'm Ellison," he introduced himself when he reached her. The girl looked up from her phone and Ellison noted it looked more advanced than anything he'd seen.
"I am Tama," she smiled at him. "May I help you with something?" Now that he was closer, he spotted the words "New Luchadoras" in white printed around the short sleeve.
"I'm.. curious about your outfit...," he said. "Where did you get it?" Tama giggled.
"I am guessing that you four are [time travelers](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/ugxpde/wp_a_man_has_managed_to_created_a_time_machine/)?" she asked as she looked past him at the other three men. Then, she met his eyes again. "What year are you from?"
"2028," Ellison answered. He didn't waste time trying to guess how she knew. She was dressed oddly enough to be from the future herself. And, the more time they spent in the past, the more chances Ruben had to trap them there permanently. Tama nodded.
"Do you need help or were you really curious about my clothing?" she asked.
"We... we're trapped. You're not very surprised we're from the future, are you a time traveler too? Is there any way you could help us get home?"
"Forgive me," Tama shook her head. "I am waiting for some friends. I do not have time to help you personally, but call your friends over," she said. Ellison didn't know what to make of that but he had nothing to lose. He turned and encouraged the other men to approach. In moments, all four of them stood in front of Tama. She looked at all of them, then smiled.
"What's your favorite number?" she asked.
"14!" Ruben was the only one that answered. Ellison, Victor, and Dennis all gave her a confused look. Tama smiled and pointed at Ruben.
"You are a Unique Soul and you have the ability to time travel," she said. Then, she pointed up the steps. "If you go to the information desk and ask for Mundo, you'll get all the help you need."
"What are you talking about?" Victor asked. Tama tilted her head at him and narrowed her eyes for a moment. Then, she pointed up the steps again.
"If you go to the information desk and ask for Mundo-," she started to repeat what she said but Ellison interrupted her.
"Thank you for your help," he said. He started up the steps.
"No, wait," Victor spoke up. "She's obviously a time traveler too, right?" He said. Then, he focused on Tama.
"You're not surprised, and you're sending us to the information desk. So, if we're not the first time travelers here... why does the library burn down?" Tama grinned.
"Who said it does?" she asked.
"History!" Victor replied. Ellison almost wanted to interrupt, but Victor was asking valid questions. Tama shook her head.
"Mundo will explain it better; but, I see how curious you are. I will tell you this much. Other universes are real. There are infinite alternate Earths that exist at the same time. " The eyes of all four men grew wider with surprise. "But, there is only ONE library of Alexandria," she said. "Each time it 'burns down' is the library moving to another Earth."
They stood quietly for a moment. But, Ruben seemed to process it faster than the other three. Or, maybe he didn't try.
"Wait a second...," he said. For once, the other three men listened to him intently. "...alternate universes and whatever are fine. But, the real question is...." he held his phone out to her. "... where did the WiFi come from?" Tama burst into a new fit of giggles.
"Where do you think?" she asked. She gestured up the steps of the library. "It is funny," she added. "No matter how many time-travelers come through here, they always seem to forget how wonderful libraries are."
\*\*\*Thank you for reading! I’m responding to prompts every day. This is story #1583 in a row. (Story #135 in year five.). This story is part of an ongoing saga that takes place at a high school in my universe. It began on Sept. 6th and I will be adding to it with prompts every day until June 3rd. They are all collected in order at [this link](https://www.reddit.com/r/Hugoverse/comments/pj4t0b/tokuhigh_first_six_weeks/). | 14 | A group of people trapped in the distant past realise that their phones have suddenly connected to the internet. | 50 |
My life isn't anything special. My name is Chiara Ricci. I'm the daughter of Italian immigrants, fourth generation now, and I've kind of settled into the monotony of life. I work at Talmart, as one of two, maybe three cashiers. The pay is shit, but they actually offer a retirement plan, and I don't need to go to college to count change. I live in a dingy little apartment by myself, and my favorite foods are Byson's chicken patties and frozen pizzas. Well, that's not accurate - my favorite foods are baby back ribs and filet mignon, but I can't afford those. So chicken patties and frozen pizzas for me. Despite it, I manage to stay in pretty good shape, between the home gym I had to save up for a year for, the yoga videos I look up online, and the having to run to work since I can't afford a bike that won't collapse if I get on it. My favorite TV show is Jeopardy, since it's all I can really get without paying for cable. The only training of any kind I have is how to not blow up at shitty customers, and the bullshit aikido classes my mom put me in for discipline when I was 8.
What I'm trying to say here is that I'm a normal, boring, average person.
So why are assassins always trying to kill me!?
The man dressed in black clicks his gun a few more times - it's empty. My dinner table is full of holes now - maybe I should pick up carpentry - but I never used it anyways. Never had time. When I hear the gun click, I stand up, kicking the table at him.
He drops his gun as he dives out of the way, landing squarely on his stomach. I take the opportunity to jump on top of him, my arms wrapping around his neck.
"Hey, hey, hey, hey, easy now... Eaaaasy now..."
Eventually, the man passed out.
By now, I've come to a few conclusions: these assassins are not very well trained. I mean, they can't be - how else could I have survived so long?
Th second conclusion - someone wanted me dead, for God knows what. I can't think of anything I did to piss someone off THAT much.
I dig through the man's pockets for ammunition, and eventually I find some. Sighing to myself, I pick the gun up off the floor and reload it, dragging the man's body out of the kitchen. Wouldn't want to crack the tile.
I take his body into the bathroom - well, bath area - and grab my least favorite pillow.
The third conclusion I've come to is that trying to find whoever's doing this is pointless. These guys never have any kind of identifying marks - they dress in all black, and don't carry any ID. Hell, their fingerprints have been burned off. Who does that?
Bang. Once, right through the heart.
I call my boss to tell him I'm gonna be late again. He didn't really buy the whole assassin thing until he saw one dive into the meeting room to kill me. He doesn't ask why I run late anymore.
I throw the gun into the trash, taking off my gloves and putting them in my pocket, starting to run the bath to drain the blood pouring from his body.
Regardless of how useless it is to try to find the guy in charge, though, I never stop. This guy's the same way, has his fingerprints burned off, nothing in his- pockets?
In his lapel pocket, I see something poking out. Never noticed it before. Curious, I take it out - it's a letter?
[How would you like a job?] | 119 | You have worked the same job as a cashier at a big box store for years. You Live alone in a small apartment. You never go out, just eat microwave meals and watch reruns. You are the most boring person you know. And for some reason you don't understand, assassin's are always trying to kill you. | 304 |
"Boke? Get that shit out of my face. I'm a Schwepsi man."
Santa Claus sat bulging like a waterbed and he bit his dirty fingernails incessantly. Conrad flashed me a look and I knew just what he meant: this was going to be a problem. Santa Claus would not make a very appealing witness, no matter how much information he harbored.
"I would've thought, from the ads, that you were--"
Santa Claus rolled his eyes. "The elves started a union, dumbfuck. I needed some quick dough. Boke tastes like fermented elf piss. Even in the ads I drank Schwepsi in a Boke bottle--the ad people didn't give a shit. They just want the proletariat to guzzle down black corn syrup and that's it. Boca Bola, the company, they hired assassins to kill union leaders in third-world countries, you know? That's messed up. Me, I whored myself out for money so I could raise wages. I'm a saint."
The saint let out a gust of air. Conrad winced.
"You said you had information about the murder," I said.
"Oh," Santa said, looking up. "The *suicide*, you mean."
"Suicide?" said Conrad. "There's surveillance footage of the murderer escaping. Footprints. Neighbors saw it all happen."
Santa Claus let out a chuckle. "Get me a Schwepsi, dipshits." He scratched his unkempt beard. "I'll explain, but my throat's a bit dry at the moment."
"Fine," I said. I stood up and walked up to the vending machine in the hallway. I bought one bottle of Boke and one of Schwepsi. Then I poured the Schwepsi down the drain and filled it with Boke.
"Here you go," I said as I sat down. Santa Claus grabbed the bottle and took a long swig.
"Ah," he said. "That's the stuff right there."
"Interesting," I said.
"What?"
"I thought you knew everything. Like some omniscient god. Turns out, you're a fraud."
Santa Claus clanked the bottle down hard on the table. "The hell are you on about?"
"Guess you like the taste of fermented elf piss, huh?"
Santa Claus looked about ready to explode. He stood up. He was taller than I expected and when he reached for the bottle, I suddenly regretted my little prank. He stared at it for a long time. It was empty, sans for a few dark drops at the bottom. I grabbed Conrad by the shoulder, afraid of what would happen next.
"Guess I do, huh?" Santa Claus erupted into a fit of laughter. "Ho-ho-ho! It's really Boke? Oh, man. You got me there, huh?"
He sat down, all merry, and held his large belly as if it might burst open at any moment. "I'll tell you everything I know, but it might come as a surprise to you."
"... We're listening," said Conrad.
"Alright, so how can I get around the world in one night? Portals. Pretty simple. I open portals in chimneys and closets and various places and I can even travel back and forth in time. It's great. Don't tell anybody, though. I use the portals to spy on people as well, to find out if they're naughty or nice. One time though, I made a pretty embarrassing mistake. I left a portal open unattended. Whoopsie."
Conrad blinked severely. "Portals? You expect us to believe--"
"And this guy, the victim in fact, he found my portal. And it's was a portal to the future. He stepped through, and he was in his own house but a year later. And this guy, he was kind of a sad sack. Always thought about ending things, but didn't have the guts. Then he saw himself just lying there and he figured, that should do the trick."
"Wait," I said. "You're saying he ..."
"Killed himself," Santa said, shrugging. "After he did it, he went back through the portal and suddenly he felt like a changed man. He'd finally done it. Only, there would be a year-long delay. It's pretty messed up, isn't it?"
"And you're willing to demonstrate the existence of said portals in court?"
Santa guffawed. "Not a chance. You asked me what happened, and I told you. But you know what? The guy ended up regretting his decision. He finally felt free. And he discovered that he actually wanted to live. Then his past self came along and killed him. Was it a suicide, or was it a murder? Hard to say, right?"
"I don't buy it," I said. "Portals? That's nonsense. You're just a figurehead. Parents are the ones who buy the presents. You just take the credit."
Santa smiled, and I should have registered how sinister it was. "I'm not going to reveal my tricks to the public, but I can do it so you guys know I'm not making this up. Here, if you step through this portal you can find out how the trial went."
A vertical dark pool appeared and it glittered strangely. "W-What?" said Conrad.
"Just step right through," said Santa. "It's perfectly safe."
"Alright," I said. "I'll call your bluff. This is an impressive illusion, but it's no magical portal."
And I stepped through, expecting it to dissolve into smoke. But it didn't. It transported me somewhere else entirely.
The air was thick with a horrible smell of sweat and blood. I heard pained cries and for a moment I was convinced Santa Claus had sent me straight to hell.
"Hey! We have a newcomer. A new elf has arrived!"
A chained man, scarred and bruised, flashed me a toothless grin. I was inside an enormous factory, filled with skeletal people with hollowed-out eyes. "What's going on?" I said.
The man smiled and it was the saddest smile I'd ever seen. "We're Santa's elves," he said. "We all did something to upset him. This is our punishment."
A cloud of piss reached me from a grandfatherly figure relieving himself against a cement wall. The Boke? This was all due to me replacing his Schwepsi with a Boke?
The portal had disappeared. I was trapped, in Santa's factory.
I let out a cry of desperation and the voices of fellow tortured souls joined in; a chorus of elves. *I'm a saint*, he'd said. A man close to me banged his head against the wall, blood spurting everywhere. *I'm a saint*.
The chained man handed me wrapping paper and ribbons. "Best get to work," he said. There were tears in his eyes. | 18 | the seemingly omnipotent person who sees us all when we’re sleeping… Santa Claus. | 163 |
"God damn it," I say. "Really? You really had to go and do this now? I get half an hour off my feet all night and you had to pick NOW to cause a problem?"
The trio of zombies all turn their grotesque heads in my direction, their mouths hanging agape and their eyes wide. They let loose a series of dumbass moans and lumber towards me, stumbling over their feet like the assholes they are.
I heave a massive sigh and pull my baton from my belt. I hold it aloft, and as the first ghoul comes within arm's reach, I say, "this is for last week, when you woke me up at two in the afternoon rummaging through the dumpster outside my apartment."
CRACK.
The second is now within arm's reach.
"This is for making me trudge all the way out here when I'm supposed to be on my lunch break."
CRACK
The third and final ghoul is now close enough.
"This is for scaring my adopted human so bad that he can't sleep without the lights on!"
CRACK. CRACK. CRACK.
I might have gone a bit overboard with that one.
I can't help it though! These dumb fuckers are constantly causing problems. Whether its disrupting the perimeters or sending my poor Gregory into a panic attack, there's nothing these stupid things do that don't cause problems.
I swear, I will never get a good day's rest until all of these damn things are dead, permanently. | 1,064 | Zombies are considered terrible pests in the undead world. They kill, eat, and turn humans indiscriminately with no care to conserving population growth or long term population health. It's gotten so bad the vampires now run human conservation programs. | 6,092 |
So there's this thing all new villains do, at the climax of each heist/crime/caper. It's brief, but it's distinctive, and you'll always find it if you know what you're looking for. When you've been around as long as I have, it's hard to miss.
It's a useful tell, if you're trying to identify which ones are actual villains, and which ones are just common criminals. It's like the standard superhero landing - lets you put a big tick in the box for 'actually part of the scene'. Older villains learn to avoid it after a while - it starts to feel a bit clichéd - but for your new supervillains, it might as well be a neon sign.
It goes like this. The villain (plus optional henchmen) have busted in, probably made a few themed quips, and they've grabbed the object - money, experimental tech, girlfriend, whatever. That's phase one. Phase two is the fight - the hero turns up, starts knocking heads together, and they trade punches/puns for a bit.
At the climax of phase two, that's the moment. The villain has fought their way free, distracted the hero with a sacrificial minion or something. At that moment - on the edge of escape - they always pause. They stand, sillhouetted against the void portal, or the hole in the bank wall caused by a bus, or the open door of the helicopter, and they toss off one last line.
That's it. Stand on the edge of escape, turn your head, say one thing, and then out. Into phase three - the chase - but for now lets just focus on the moment. They all do it, every time.
I've done it myself, as a youth. Back when I was starting out, I loved a good zinger as the subway doors closed in front of me, or even just a casual smirk as the submarine slips back beneath the water. It's hard to resist that moment of triumph.
But it's consistent, and that's a weakness. Just like the superhero landing again - when you know it's coming, you turn up a little early to the showdown and drop some mines at the base of the tallest building. The hero lands, punching the mine, and then you go home early because the cavalry is spread over a forty-foot area. I didn't get where I am today without exploiting an obvious weakness when the opportunity presents itself.
And that's what it's all about, really: where I am today. It's not that I begrudge any of the up-and-coming villains; you have to get your start somewhere. I've robbed my share of banks. But once you've robbed a few banks, you need somewhere to stash your money, and - call me old-fashioned - but I don't like upstarts just making off with what I've rightfully stolen.
So these days, I spend a lot of my time in the coffee shop across from the First National Bank. That's been my bank for thirty years, because it's the only one it ever took me more than 15 minutes to rob. I'm a loyal, if unconventional customer.
I like the coffee shop. There's a girl behind the register who reminds me of my granddaughter, they make a lovely lemon drizzle cake, and they don't mind if I just sit and do my crosswords with a pot of tea. It's a peaceful place to spend the day, and I don't have much else to do with my time since Maud passed. Perhaps most importantly though, the table where I sit has a perfect view of the large plate-glass windows fronting the bank.
A lot of villains try to rob that bank. A lot of heroes try to stop them. If the heroes were better at stopping them, I wouldn't spend quite as much time drinking tea which - given my bladder - does me no favours. But no - the heroes all arrive a little too late, don't quite hit hard enough to stop the villain escaping.
But new villains are consistent, and none of them - not one - can resist those big windows. They just have to use them as their exit, bust through them with some strange ray gun or vehicle. And then, as they're about to get away - scott-free, with my money - they do the thing.
They pause, for just a second, in the exact centre of whatever breach they've made. They turn, toss their head back, say something cutting. They stop moving, for just a heartbeat longer than they should.
I'm an old man now. I feed the ducks in the park, and wear scarves even in summer. I drink my tea and do my puzzles and the coffee shop staff call me an 'old dear' when they think I'm not listening. But you don't get to be old in this game without learning, and keeping, a few tricks.
In that frozen moment, when the villain is still, and sillhouetted, I've got a perfect shot. A death ray - silent, invisible, disguised as my lucky crossword pen. All it takes is a tap. The villain stumbles, falters, falls. The hero grapples with the mistaken belief that they've somehow taken a life. The bank workers collect up my money and put it back in the vault.
The doctors say I should watch my blood sugar. But on days when I've foiled a robbery, saved the city, protected my granddaughter's inheritance, I allow myself another slice of cake. | 1,056 | You're a retired villian. You've been enjoying your peaceful life, but now a bunch of new villians are terrorising your land, and the heroes seem powerless against them. So you take up the mantle once again. After all, if you want someone properly killed, do it yourself. | 1,652 |
My past is my past. I buried it a long time ago behind a shed that was slowly falling into a river. That's where my past was. I came out of that shed, and reinvented myself.
"Mommy!" A small voice pierced my daydream as I stared out at our garage. It was present day and Michael was sitting in his plastic booster seat at the kitchen table. He had about as much cereal on his face as on the table, the floor and probably even less in his body. I shook my head and waggled my finger at him.
"Silly Mikey!" I said in my high-pitched sing song voice. "What am I gonna do with you?"
I advanced toward him, damp rag in hand ready to hose down my child so he could go into the living room and watch Smurfs. I expected him to wiggle around and giggle like usual but this time he visibly cringed, "Don't hurt me, mommy!" He shouted.
I stopped dead in my tracks. "I'm not going to hurt you! Why would I hurt you?"
Mikey shrugged and accepted that I was going to wipe him down. He was wearing a light blue faded Fraggle Rock tee-shirt with blue cutoffs I'd made of his corduroys that didn't fit the year before.
He scrambled out of the kitchen just in time for the theme song of the Smurfs started playing. I wrung out the rag in the sink and went back to wipe down where he was sitting. After the bowl and spoon were returned to the sink and his booster put back against the wall, I sat down again and looked at the newspaper.
The bold headlines were talking about the energy crisis, a few bits about the Russians and their spying. the metro was all murders and local interest things. I saw the date, May 24, 1984 and it was like being splashed with cold water. It was the five year anniversary. Subconsciously I must have remembered, it was five years ago today.
The Smufs were off and it was Gummy Bears. I sat down on the couch as they bounced around the screen after drinking their magic potion. Mike had tuned the TV out and was playing with his he-man figures. "You're not the boss of me!" He said in a low, gravelly voice. "I'm your husband."
My skin started crawling because those were the words that my ex said to me.
"Leave me alone!" He added a high pitched voice to mimic my own. She-ra's hair shook violently as Mikey really got into the act.
"Mikey..." I called gently. He didn't even look up from his toys. He flipped from sitting indian-style to sitting on his right leg.
"Don't you see? I can't leave you alone. I can't leave you here with him, either." He said. I watched He-Man advance on She-Ra and I shivered because I already knew what happened next.
Mikey held out He-Man's arm to hit She-Ra and he did what all kids do when they indicate there was fighting which is push the dolls into each other over and over again.
"Mikey!" I shouted. He was still having them fight.
The figures stopped. "You're dead!" He said in a high pitched voice. "Now you'll never hurt us again!"
I got off the couch, reached over and grabbed the dolls from his hands, throwing them across the room. He just sat there like in a trance as if he were still holding those dolls. "Mikey!"
I shook him and shook him. His eyes rolled to the back of his head and he looked back at me with such fear in his eyes. "I don't wanna die, mommy! Don't hurt me!"
I dropped him. He fell back to the floor with a thud.
"How do you know what happened?" I asked after a long silence, there was a commercial for Lite Brite on TV.
"I dunno, mommy!" He started crying, the hard kind only kids can do where the tears roll down their face, snot dripping down their nose, mouth gaping wide. I sat down on the floor and pulled him into my lap, rocking him back and forth.
"Mommy, why am I in the shed?"
r/chaoticpix93 | 11 | You are a stay-at-home parent and former serial killer. When your children start asking strange questions, you realize that they are the reincarnations of your victims. | 22 |
“Be wary the face that matches yours.” - the Duskglaive
“I win, again,” Lukas announced, blade at my throat.
Lukas was my twin brother. Our features were identical in every way, though our demeanors could not have been more different. He carried himself with distinction, high shoulders high and eyes looking down upon those he met. I carried myself with caution, shoulders slumped and eyes glancing side to side.
I grunted, stumbling to my feet. I knew by now not to expect a hand from my brother to help me up. For one born of privilege, he was surprisingly self-reliant. The servants insisted on aiding him in his endeavors, for it was a privilege to serve one of the royal household, but Lukas never accepted their offers.
“Your footwork is sloppy,” Lukas commented.
“I know,” I replied, “I felt you trip me, after all.”
“Do you scorn my wisdom?”
“Skill. You’re not wise. Our parents are wised, you’re just practiced.”
“Is experience not wisdom, brother?”
“Experience does not make one wise, but learning from it.”
“Quoting our father doesn’t make you wise either.”
“I never claimed to be. Why do you insist on separating yourself from tradition?”
“Because it should be left in the past.”
“Why is that, exactly?”
“In other lands, birth does not determine who we are, deeds and hard work do. If I cannot prove to myself that my birth does not define me, I am no more worthy of my title than anyone else. There are peasants out there with more potential than any noble, yet we overlook it because of their blood. How is that right?”
“The royal bloodline is sacred, it must survive. It is not our place to ask those questions.”
“Whose place is it then, brother?”
“I…”
“Enough. Go and practice your footwork. You aren’t ready to spar with me.”
\_\_\_\_
My squabbles seemed so significant back then, but now, I miss those days. I crumple the letter in my hand, the missive proclaiming the death of my dear parents.
“Our parents chose the wrong side of history, my kin.”
I turn around, “Lukas? How could you say such a thing! Where were you when our parents stormed out to defend our castle? You’re the best swordsman in the land and when they needed your sword most you abandon them!”
He sighs, “I did offer my sword, just not to them.”
I gasp, “What did you do?”
“I’ve told you before, brother. Royalty is a relic of the past. I will not let the people suffer any longer because we hold onto tired traditions.”
“And what of loyalty? What of family? If not for the institution what of those values and people in your life who are sacred?”
“Sacred? Nothing is sacred about our bloodline and values. The nobles are corrupt and deal in bribes, they know nothing of chivalry or righteousness. As for my family, they were a necessary-”
I wouldn’t allow him to finish. He gasps for air as I plunge his own sword into his chest. I watch as the passion in my brother’s eyes fizzles out, the question lingering on his lips that he would never get to ask.
The world is a blur. Terror and adrenaline race through my veins. The enemy soldiers would be here soon. I consider my options but know there was only one. I change into my brother’s attire, adopting Lukas’ stiff posture and high-strung disposition. As the soldiers enter the room I prod my brother with my bloodstained blade, “The last of the royal family has been dealt with.”
The enemy general’s eyes level with mine as if to search for any grounds to legitimize suspicion. Finding none, she nods in satisfaction, “Good work, Lukas. Soon I will have the kingdom I desire, and you will have the political system you have worked so hard for.”
I will fade into my brother, biding my time, waiting for my chance. I will have my revenge, and my bloodline will survive. | 18 | You are a prince of a conquered kingdom. Days before you watched your parents, the King and Queen,heading off to battle, dressed up in their cape and armor . Unfortunately, they were slain in battle hours before, and now, the castle is occupied. You are now brought before the enemy general... | 38 |
"I thought you'd never answer the door."
"I'm not sure I should have."
Anemone stood in the hallway and gave me a faint smile , she held a rose by her side which didn't seem like a gift.
It's hard to explain but it felt like the narrow walls, the dim lights, the color of the carpet, even the silence around her would bend to her will at a snap of her fingers.
I was terrified.
I kept the door open just a smidge. I thought about leaving the chain on but decided that it might offend her. Wouldn't do much anyway.
"Last night at the park, that was something huh?" she said arching an eyebrow as if to gauge my reaction.
"You mean almost \*killing\* me?" I only mouthed the word.
"Yes, that too. But wasn't it great when you realized you might actually get away with both your life and make a new friend?"
"Friends until you decide otherwise."
"Funny, Frank said something similar to me once."
"Oh, did you try to..."Her expression changed, guessing my next words. I shut my mouth. I could keep stalling all night, it wouldn't change anything.
"Come in, Anemone."I opened the door wishing I had the courage to fight back, or at least do something.
What could you do against someone like her? Last night I barely felt like a person, my free will dissolving into nothing, a great fear took over me.
An exceptional fear one must feel when confronted with an all consuming storm in the middle of the sea.
"Thank you."She made her way inside the living room as if she was doing me a favour, sat on the black leather sofa like she owned it and started playing with the rose in her hands.
She didn't even look around the house, except the window wall overlooking the night city across her. Her eyes were fixed on it.
I turned on the TV to break the suffocating silence between my awkward pauses.
"Did you really keep me alive to talk about...?"
"Of course. Also your apartment has an amazing view and it is right above the estate of a Hunter."
"Wha..?"
"I've been trying to find this pathetic sack of blood since 1998."
"1998?"
"The year Frank died, please try to keep up."
"Yes of course, and this makes sense because?"
"You think Frank died from a heart attack? You think I'd be so lucky to meet the greatest artist that ever lived and I wouldn't grant him my gift?"
Was I really having a conversation with someone like her about something like this?
I was reluctant to even assume I knew what all of this was yet I felt compelled to answer using words I've read or seen on TV to avoid making her angry with my ignorance.
"You turned him into...what you are?"
"And what is that, my dear Julia?"
"Oh I'm not gonna say that. It's way too ridiculous a thing to say out loud to someone in a serious conversation."
"Mortals and your weird struggles about trivial stuff." She sighed rolling her eyes.
\-PART 1 END- | 12 | You were being hunted by a vampire. She was going to kill you and suck you dry until… she discovered that you’re also a fan of Frank Sinatra. Now she regularly goes to your house to chat about the many times she has met him before he died. | 80 |
Her hair whips around her face and branches strike impenetrable flesh as she runs through the thickening forest. The voices of her handmaidens shine through the woods; searching for her. In her chest something grows harder and heavier. The weight of it increases until it makes her sink to the ground.
By now, she could hear nothing aside from the occasional calls of birds and snapping of a branch. For a moment, it’s peaceful.
Her eyes fill and the thing that’s been inside of her is forcing it’s way out. She makes an unnatural noise as her tears fall. Her stomach heaves the sorrow from within her. She tears at the grass as flowers spring from her fingertips and a river forms from her tears. She resents the beauty brought about by her pain and attempts to pull up the flowers. With each tear and ripped root, a meadow quickens it’s bloom around her.
She had never screamed in her life. This was her first. It tore through the earth, woke the wind, and uprooted trees. And she collapses; worn by the storm that beats inside of her. All of this pain that she cannot escape. That, no matter how many times she tried to show her mother, would be brushed off as no worse than the sting of a bee. Unpleasant but forgettable.
She wishes that her mother would just take a moment to see that it’s a fire raging within her. The kind of fire that only goes out once it’s consumed everything it greets.
Instead, she is left alone in her hurt; tortured as she wonders what went wrong within her.
The ground begins to vibrate beneath her. Trembling, as though it has something to fear. The river shrinks into the earth and her flowers wilt and dry before her. A crack, loud as thunder, rings from just beneath her and the ground starts to fall; creating a hole which ends at her feet.
His chariot springs from below and flies above her head before cascading to the ground behind her. She had seen him once before, in Zeus’ court. Her mother held disdain for him and spoke of all her creations that suffered his presence.
He hasn’t noticed her yet and is looking around in confusion. His eyes finally meet hers. She noted how much his eyes spoke for him. They were dark, almost black. He rakes them across her face and forms wrinkles between his brows.
For ages, neither one of them breaks the silence that they’ve conceived.
“Why?”
She didn’t even know what she was asking. Why are you here? Why aren’t you speaking? Why don’t you move?
“Where is…?” His voice trails off.
She doesn’t fully understand. Instead, she looks around at the fallen trees, flowers, and other signs of death.
“There’s death here. I can feel it.”
Again, she looks around before returning to his gaze. She furrows her brow and gestures around herself.
“No. No. A real death. A soul’s death.”
She doesn’t have any words for him and can only shake her head.
Through what is left of the woods, melodious voices called out. Her maidens were drawing closer. The tune of her eyes changed as they turned away from the nearing shouts to him. She suddenly stands and, without pause, runs to his chariot. She hoists herself upward and clings to him from behind.
“Please.”
Her eyes bore into his and he gave no indication of compassion.
“Please. Just take me away from here.”
Suddenly, his gaze softens; so slightly that no one would notice. As her handmaidens enter this clearing of decay, he grabs hold of her waist and drives them upwards before sharply diving below the earth once more.
They plummet. Her heart seems to stop and mind races while the ground rises above them. The smell of dirt comforts her.
He is left quietly marveling at how, from the instant that she grabbed hold of him, he felt something new. A soul returning to life on its own accord. But more than that, he can feel a flutter in the space that once carried his own soul. | 86 | The stories were wrong. Hades never kidnapped Persephone. She walked into hell on her own, knowing exactly what she was doing. | 226 |
*CRASH*
Another load of dead plants fell into the pit, which was nearly full despite its size. As I took a moment to catch my breath, one of the bare handful of people I had to work this land approached me, something like fear in his eyes.
"Sir, I have some unfortunate news."
"Stand up straight, Hank. What is it?"
He straightened marginally. "The handles cannot be repaired, and it will take days to replace them."
I straightened, a far more significant difference. "Then begin. The land is nearly clear, and we will be working long and hard when it is. We cannot afford delay in any form."
As he scurried away to his task, I shook my head at the absurdity of the task I had been given and the reactions of the caretaking staff when they had discovered my... gifts.
Lazy, they called me.
"He sits there, for days, only getting up to walk around the village and lands. He has no taste for the business, no ambition, no drive."
My uncles, spilling poison into my father's ears for years, had finally convinced him that I needed to be taught a lesson. Sent across the country, to the poorest plot of land the business owned, and told to return with a chest of gold.
They had no idea what they had unleashed.
I wasn't 'sitting' , I was meditating. I had been conceived as triplets, and they had returned into me before we were born. But their spirits, their energy, never died. I had all of it. I had to contain the strength and will of three within a single body. Sometimes I burned with the effort to contain it all.
But no more. From the moment I had arrived here, I had worked without restraint. Pulling huge loads of dead plants, for example. Lifting boulders the size of my staff. I worked without fear, and without rest, for days at a time.
And now, mere months into my tenure, I had already achieved more than 10 ordinary men. The land was nearly ready, and I knew what I was going to do with it.
My walks around the villages might have seemed like idle distraction to my business-minded uncles, but I had been learning at every step. I knew all the tasks of many peasant professions, and I would take everything I had learned and make this meager plot of land a powerhouse of production. My uncles would soon learn, I had never been lazy.
I had been waiting. | 19 | Mistaken for being lazy, you were exiled from your family’s rich estate to manage a rundown plot of land far from home and the people in it. However, you are far from lazy and just had no real motivation to work until now. | 27 |
*Pesticido!*
Sounds good doesn’t it?
Yeah, that’s totally my superhero name—but sadly, a cool name does not grant you immediate entrance into the superhero’s guild. I bet you’re wondering how we got here.
So, there I was, mixing up a batch of pesticides. There was a large wasp nest in my backyard and they’d become quite annoying. Did you know wasps can sting more than once? *Wtf* nature?
The pesticide bottles I was mixing up looked a little janky—they didn’t have much written on them but kills bugs n’ stuff and an expired expiration date.
Well, clumsy old me slipped on something and took a face full of these expired pesticides—did I mention I was clumsy?
My face burned and burned some more until it didn’t burn anymore. I felt an odd surge of energy and had an odd appetite for pesticides. An odd, uncontrollable appetite—seriously I just started chugging the pesticide bottles.
To my surprise, I was completely unphased. No stomach pains and when any pesticide got on my skin, it didn’t burn anymore.
*Could this be?* I thought. *Have I finally received my superhero power?*
I ran to the nearest superhero-checker booth and had my DNA scanned. Results came back positive.
*Sweet!*
Superhero law states that once you’ve been diagnosed with some type of DNA altering power, you need to report to your nearest superhero’s guild center. I did just that.
“So, what’d you say your power was again?” Fast Man asked. He looked me up and down with a furled brow.
“I can drink pesticides without getting a stomachache!” I shouted. “I’m immune to pesticides!”
Fast Man glanced over to Ice Girl.
“Uh,” Ice Girl flipped through a few papers on her desk. “Sorry, your power is not needed for the superhero roster.”
Fast Man cleared his throat.
Ice Girl blushed. “Not needed for the superhero roster at this time.”
The large double doors slammed behind me.
Rejected.
Not too bad of a result. At least I had powers.
My phone rang. I swooped it up with dramatic fashion and gazed at the screen.
*Pesticide spill in downtown. Our drinking water is in danger!*
I grinned and jumped out of the nearest window. I fell face first in the ground and well.. it hurt… bad. I stumbled to my feet and shot straight for downtown.
“Have no fear city dwellers!” I tossed on my red cape. “Pesticido is here to save the day!” | 72 | The universe is a little weird. Every accident that could possibly kill or cripple you has a small chance of giving you super powers instead. Radioactive spider? Chemical explosion? Drowned in a vat of beer? All are possible origins for a super hero. What’s your origin story? | 231 |
Dried stalks of ruined corn crackled against the thrusters' blast. The ship's descent blew dust into the hazy red sky, battering the ruined crops and swirling particulate into the air. Metal legs extended to the earth, setting the spherical ship gently down before the engines quieted and the vessel settled on the ruined planet.
A hole opened on ship's hull, like a liquid parting in an oval shape. A bridge extended from the sphere and landed on the ground, crushing a surviving green sapling and sending a plume of red dirt in its wake.
"I imagined it would be different," the emissary frowned.
"Different how?" her assistant responded.
The emissary stepped out onto the bridge, one large blue foot at a time. Her golden cloak dragged behind her over the bridges smooth, silver surface; her many rings and necklaces jingled with every step, a cadence of royalty as she surveyed the landscape.
"Different like... I don't know... More buildings," the emissary shrugged.
"There's a building," her assistant pointed toward a half-collapsed barn, the corpses of cows dotting the perimeter.
The emissary opened her mouth to criticize the dreary architecture, but she stopped herself. Who was she to judge, especially at a time like now, in a place like this? She cleared her throat. "Indeed. Let's investigate."
The assistant looked over the bridge at the sharp, bent stalks of corn. "We should have landed closer."
"Less talking, more holding my cloak," ordered the emissary as she marched forward. The assistant rushed behind her, lifting the tail of her golden cloak off the ground and holding it upright.
Three steps onto the strange planet's surface and the emissary knew her assistant was right. This planet is uncomfortable. Perhaps it was that discomfort which conditioned them to be such valiant warriors. What would their rule mean for the galaxy? Would we all be expected to adopt such conditions? And what of the emissary's palace? Would it look like this gaunt display they were approaching? She hoped not.
The pair walked through the field in a gait distinguished at first, but painstakingly lunging by the time they reached a clearing. The sharp stalks had poked and prodded at their clothes and skin, leaving deep blue scratches and loose threads in their wake.
The emissary fixed her crimson hair, which was tied up in a neat, towering beehive above her head. The assistant's hair frizzled out wildly, but she didn't care much. She was the cloak-holder, not the hair-carer.
"Okay," the emissary sighed after patting down her outfit and ensuring her ensemble was tidy enough for a meeting with the planet's residents. "Let's go."
The assistant followed obediently, shaking dried grass from her legs clumsily as she moved.
They stopped at a dead cow, its mouth open and its tongue sprawled on the ground.
"Gross," the assistant observed.
"Don't be rude. We know nothing of their culture. It might be...a peace offering."
The assistant's face crumbled with disapproval. "I hope not."
The emissary hummed with agreement.
The barn door creaked open, sending red light into the dark space. Snapped planks of wood shot out of the crumbled side like sharpened spears.
"How very... different," the emissary offered, for lack of a more honest word.
The assistant had a bad feeling about the space. It was too dark; too oppressive. She feared meeting whatever creature would call a place like this home. Back on Keladar-Z, the plants were soft and fragrant, the buildings cut from stone and chiseled into fine, flowing designs. The suns shone brightly under a blue sky, and animals grazed in rolling hills. This was a hellscape. And so itchy!
"Hello?" The emissary called into the space. "I am from Keladar-Z, the capitol of the Galaxy. We are looking for the leader of this planet."
There was a rustling inside, and the pair recoiled slightly, small steps back toward the door. Suddenly, a light shone on them, illuminating the space with a white beam. The assistant threw the cloak tail over her head and shielded her face from what must have been a death beam.
A stone whizzed through the air and impacted against the emissary's chest with a soft thud before dropping to the floor. Curious, she leaned down and picked it up, turning the strange rock in her hands.
"Thank you for this gift," she said as she bowed.
A head popped up from behind a frightening machine's silhouette.
"Who are you!?" it called out.
"Hello," the emissary said, instantly chiding herself as she remembered she had already said it once before. "I am Selestia, emissary for the planet Keladar-Z." She had also said that as well, hadn't she? "Are you the ruler of this land?"
There was a silence in the space for a moment before the voice piped up. "This is my farm!" it called out.
So, they farm planets. It made sense why this planet was so barren: they farm worlds and send resources back to some home planet, perhaps in a different galaxy. What sort of empire were they building?
"We are here to offer you fealty, O great conqueror of the Rastor Regime." The emissary and her assistant genuflected, but kept their knees from touching the filthy surface of the planet.
The figure moved out from behind the machine to see two tall figures bowing, one with the other's clothes over its head. The light moved from one to the other, up and down their towering gold forms.
"Are you good guys?" The creature asked.
The assistant looked out from Selestia's cloak and looked her boss in her eyes. *Good guys*?
"We are...not guys," Selestia explained. "But we are good!" She added brightly.
"Are you here to hurt me?" The creature asked.
The pair looked to each other again. "Wha-no, of course not! You are a great conqueror. You have destroyed the forces of the Rastor Regime. You have liberated the galaxy. We are here to offer you the office of Galactic overseer, great warrior."
The light beam flipped off and the assistant sheepishly removed the cloak from over her head.
The creature was small. Very small. Much smaller than they would have expected. But, then again, razor snoots, one of their planet's many forms of wildlife, were also small, and they were vicious. So, maybe it wasn't fair to judge a being on its height alone.
"You don't *look* like the bad guys," the creature observed as it walked closer.
"We are not guys...." the assistant spoke, only to be quickly shushed by her boss.
"Is it just you two?" It asked.
The emissary wondered if the creature was gathering tactical information, wondering about reinforcements, traps, weapons. "We are linked with the homeworld, and if anything should happen to us, they would dispatch a defensive force," the emissary explained, thinking back to the slaughtered animals outside and shuttering.
"I don't think the bad guys are here anymore," the creature cooed. "You should be safe."
A wave of relief washed over the pair.
"O conqueror, ruler of this land, what shall we call you?"
The creature walked closer, into the red light so that the visitors could see it more clearly. It was quite small, with black hair tied back into a tail of sorts. Its hands were small; its clothes some cloth variety. It had large, brown eyes and creamy tan skin. Selestia's heart skipped a beat. *This monster was adorable.*
"I'm Jaime," she nodded as she extended a little hand outward. | 27 | Humanity barely managed to fend off an alien invasion. In doing so, Earth unknowingly overthrew an oppressive galactic regime, replacing it as de facto leader of the galaxy. Besides having to rebuild devastated nations, Earth is completely clueless about the galaxy, let alone its politics | 161 |
I stared at the elf and the elf stared at me. Neither of us knew what to do next.
Interspecies relationships have always been a rocky matter, to say the least, and when we ran into one another randomly in the forest, it was an... unexpected situation. The elf looked scared - I wasn't sure why, but who knows what she was told about humans.
"Hello," I said cautiously with as much friendliness I could muster.
"Don't come closer," she snapped back.
"Alright, alright, I won't. I was just picking some berrie-"
"Why are you he- oh," she started sharply but stopped, realizing her question was already answered. Her look of anger and fear was replaced by one of puzzlement.
"Are you an elf?" I asked.
"I-" she gasped, squinted her eyes and pointed angrily to her pointy ears. "Are *you* an idiot?" she replied.
"I mean... *sometimes*," I laughed.
"Are all humans?"
"No, mostly not. I just have my moments," I said with a smile. I could swear I saw her mouth inch towards a smile as well.
"And why are you here?" I inquired.
"Watching birds. They're lively this time of year."
I looked up and inspected the treetops. She was right - they were swarming with all manner of feathered and scaled creatures fluttering about, singing, screeching. I didn't even realize it until now. I reached into my pocket and pull out my sketchbook and started drawing one. She peered over, curiously inspecting the paper.
"What's that?"
"This?" I asked and held my sketchbook up. "Just... scribbles. Interesting stuff I see around. Say, I heard you elves can see souls, right? What do they look like?" I said and eagerly gripped my pencil.
"It's... it differs from person to person. But," she started with a far grimmer disposition, "you *ignite* souls. I do not believe you'd appreciate the beauty."
I looked down with a weak smile.
"Can I show you?" I asked and extended the sketchbook towards her. Carefully, gently, she approached me and snatched it out of my hand. Listing through it, I could see her eyes growing wider and wider, amazed by all the things she'd never seen - forges of Greathelm I visited last summer, Sunpeak castle from a distance, my childhood friend Clara, all contained within the pages of a book.
"Do you know why I draw?" I asked. She shook her head but could not tear herself from the images before her.
"My soul has been ignited."
She looked up and squinted at me, tilting her head.
"I believe there are some things that the other races got wrong about us humans. Lost in translation," I continued. She kept inspecting me curiously until, at long last, a smile appeared on her face. I assumed she saw my soul. I wonder what it looked like.
"We call it the Flame of Passion." | 44 | Elves can see souls. Orcs can call souls. Dwarves can touch souls. Humans can ignite souls. | 88 |
Talent. Such an interesting word in the world of heroes and villains. Heatman could control fire, used it to propel himself around and fire bad guys. How he never killed anyone is a mystery. All newspapers called him talented and the premier hero of the world man the money he got from selling merchandise for a day alone could be paid for my degree 8 times over. Shield Maiden used all sorts of gadgets and her super strength to capture the villains she too was quite talented. And then, there was me my super power? With the snap of a finger I could build anything with the material just around me. Sounds useful right? Wrong without an understanding of engineering anything I built quickly collapsed. So I went to college and got an Engineering degree and began to be a “hero”. I don’t think Heatman or Shield Maiden considered the damage they caused they just zoomed off before the police report could happen. Me I started small I shared my power and did a few houses eventually construction companies noticed and almost filed a lawsuit against me before we worked it out and all parties ended up happy enough. I’d fix the damage caused by heroes and villains they could have the rest.
So that’s how it went the big flashy heroes went off and fought the villains tore up the world and I followed behind them fixing what they broke. Funnily enough I was approached by both hero and villain multiple times after a while. Everyone wanted to use my powers to make their secret bases and what not, all of them walked away empty handed and threats didn’t work either I had long since gotten my family to disappear they would never be found.
Then that new president came in on his anti-super campaign, suddenly Heatman and Shield Maiden were given the choice of either to retire or get arrested. Shield Maiden retired surrendered all her gadgets to the government and went off to be a teach or what not. Heatman fought it hard and lost I have no clue what hole he’s in but the odds of seeing him again are slim to none. Most the villains found themselves shot or in early retirement. As for me? I still do what I do just now I’m fixing natural disasters around the world. How you might ask? Simple I actually solved problems and helped people, as such the president and UN gave me a pass so long as I did what I did and for 14 years I have, solving housing crisis in hours repairing damage from natural disasters in days. Always improving and refining always helping this is why I may at being a hero but I’m good at engineering, which means I’m actually really good at being a hero. | 11 | I suck at being the Hero, but I'm good at Engineering, which means I'm actually really good at being the Hero. | 17 |
Barker barely breathed, as he slowly rotated the dial of the massive safe that guarded the wealth of Tavis & Gorpley, the largest moneylender in Amberholm. Listening through the stethoscope, he at last heard an audible click, as a tumbler fell into place. He exhaled slowly. Thirty-three to the left.
Thirty-three. Thirty-*three.* He glanced down at Grib, the little city goblin who was currently holding his bag of safecracking tools, and who would be their guide through the labyrinthine streets as they made their escape. *Thirty-three!* He hadn't been able to get that number off his mind. Not since they'd been planning this heist in the dingy back room of the *Swan & Sigil*, and sounding off about their reasons for attempting the daring robbery of one of the most powerful organizations in the kingdom.
Barker was happy to have his share of the vast fortune contained inside the vault, of course, but he was really in it for revenge; his family had lost everything, thanks to the financial predation of Tavis & Gorpley. Ruining them, in return, seemed like the most fitting form of vengeance, as it was both restitution and retribution.
Grib, on the other hand, had simply said he needed the money to feed his *thirty-three* wives, and thirty-eight children. Thirty-three wives! It wasn't that Barker was envious. He'd always had enough trouble dealing with *one* woman at a time, such that he'd never be foolish enough to consider courting *double-digits.* Nor did he have any prurient interest in the details of the goblin's marital couch -- the thought of a big pile of city gobs going about the business of making baby goblins made him a bit queasy, if anything.
But it was just...*the logistics* of the thing! It beggared belief. But everyone else at the table had let it pass without comment, as though Grib had said that he had some sensible number of spouses and progeny. He'd heard people *say* that goblins bred like rats, but he'd always just assumed they were bigoted against the little city gobs, on account of their cousins, the wildland goblins, being murderous thieving little bastards.
Barker he cleared his throat. "Thirty-three to the left, take note."
Grib nodded, solemnly.
As he bean on the next number, he said, casually. "Funny that. Because, you said you...you have thirty-three *wives,* didn't you?"
Grib sighed. "Here we go."
"What?" Barker protested, as he turned the dial, listening for the next click. "Just...you know, curious is all. If you'd rather not--"
"No. Just ask your questions." Grib said drily. "I've learned from experience it's better to just get it over with so we can move on."
"Do you all sl--" Barker began.
"No, we don't all sleep in *one* bed. We're small by human standards, but even an orc-sized bed wouldn't be big enough for *34* goblins." Grib interrupted. "That's ridiculous."
"So, are you in--" Barker started.
"Am I in love with all of them? No, I'm not. Goblin marriages are different, they're not just about love or reproduction. Ten of my wives, for example, are elderly widows that I married because they needed someone to take care of them." Grib said, flatly.
"Oh. Well, that's...real nice of you."
"Uh-huh. Come on, what else? Let's try to move this along." Grib said, twirling his hand impatiently.
"What's with all the kids?" Barker asked, becoming more comfortable. He heard a click. "Fifty-one right, by the way."
Grib nodded. "Fifty-one right. We're a fecund people, and eleven of my wives are also my lovers, so do the math."
Barker furrowed his brow. "So, altogether, you only sleep with a *third* of your wives?"
Grib snorted. "Yes. What do I look like, an *automaton?"*
Barker frowned thoughtfully. "Guess you got a point, there. So, ten are old, eleven are more or less the way spouses work for everyone else...what about the other twelve?"
Grib shrugged. "Four are younger widows who aren't over their previous husbands. As for the rest, not every goblin female wants kids, or wants a male at all. But in our culture, everyone *needs* to get married, that's just how we organize ourselves. So, it's a male goblin's duty to marry as many females as he can afford to. Some of those twelve may feel more amorously inclined towards me, some day, and if so, I'll be there. If not, well, I'm not exactly starved of affection as it is."
"Doesn't that leave you with a surplus of unmarried male goblins?" Barker asked, as the next number clicked into place. "Nine to the left."
"Nine to the left. And no, it doesn't. In case you haven't noticed, our mortality rate is kind of *high."*
Barker winced. "Oh, right. Sorry..."
Grib made a dismissive gesture. "Whatever. Anyway, our females have a strong nesting instinct, so they tend to live a lot longer than we do. Even if someone does come across our homes, they're a lot less likely to kill unarmed females taking care of little ones."
Barker heard a final click. "Twenty-one left." The lock was open. He sighed with satisfaction.
"Well, you'll be well positioned to care for the wives and kiddies now, my friend." Barkley said. Then he frowned, thoughtfully. "Hey, how *were* you supporting that many, before we--" Barkley froze, as he turned and saw his ostensible partner in crime. Grib was staring up at him, aiming a crossbow in his direction. As were two figures in dark clothing who'd evidently emerged from concealment in the vault room.
"How was I supporting my family *before* this heist?" Grib asked, smirking. "Easy: I'm a well-paid security consultant for Tavis & Gorpley. Thanks for helping me with my intrusion testing, by the way." | 45 | "I joined this quest to save the world." "I joined this quest for revenge." "I joined this quest to learn the secrets of magic." "I joined this quest for money to feed my 33 wives and 38 children... What!?" | 177 |
“It’s the same guy! My phone has literally tagged him as ‘unknown man’,” Jen said into her phone as she looked around the parking lot, shivering.
“Will you come and meet me? I can't walk into work alone like this,” she continued.
“Ok, hurry,” Jen said and dropped her phone from her ear, gripping it tightly as she scanned for trouble. But there wasn’t any. The parking lot was almost empty. It was 7:30am on a Saturday and she was just about to start her shift at Petco.
Saturday shifts were usually her favourite because the newcomers arrived in store, but not today.
As she stood dreading the idea of walking the 100 yards to her shop, she started to realise she was shivering from the icy cold weather. She got herself back inside her car and locked the doors.
Every minute seemed like an eternity as she waited, clutching the steering wheel. Cars slowly started filling up the parking lot and people were wandering into the mall now. She saw one guy wearing a black hat and swore it was the unknown man, but then she saw another guy with a trench coat that had to be him.
Was he changing outfits or was she seeing things? When she saw a third guy with a beard who looked like him, she sighed and leaned back.
Then knuckles tapped urgently on her passenger window. She jolted alert and gasped in air.
“Hey, open up, it’s freezing!” Her friend said. Jen exhaled and unlocked the door.
“It does look like the same man,” her friend said as she swiped through the photo album created for unknown man. He was tall, with a beard and always wore tattered clothing that looked far to big for him
“I think I’m going to call the Police,” Jen said.
“Last time I checked, photobombing wasn’t a crime, particularly of the unintentional variety,” her friend replied. Then her friend brought the phone closer and peered intently at one photo for a moment, before swiping through a few more.
“It looks as if all these photos are taken around puppies. What’s up with that?”
“I do work in a pet store,” Jen said, pointing at her name badge.
“Oh yeah, right. Hmm,” her friend continued, “still, it is a little strange that all the photos have people holding young puppies though, isn’t it?”
Jen grabbed the phone and started scanning through the photos.
“Now that you mention it,” Jen said, stopping at one in particular, “all these photos look like they’re from my Saturday shifts. When the new puppies arrive.”
Jen’s friend looked at her, “do you think he’ll be there today?”
“You’re coming with me!”
An hour later Jen was talking to a customer about one of the new arrivals when she got an elbow in the ribs.
“Ouch!” She said and saw that it was her friend.
“It’s him,” her friend whispered and nodded towards the front corner of the store.
Standing near the entry of the store stood a man wearing a large tattered trench coat. It was definitely the unknown man from her photos.
“Go say something to him,” Jen’s friend hissed, “I’ll be right behind you.”
Jen took a deep breath and walked over, keeping eyes on the man at all times. He was a tall man with a salt and pepper beard. He must have been about 6 ft and despite him being the shadowy figure in the background of Jen’s photos for six years, he didn’t look that scary in person.
“Excuse me sir,” Jen said quietly. He didn’t hear and her friend nudged her from behind, edging Jen closer.
“Excuse me, sir,” she tried again. This time he heard and stood up, looking at her slightly nervously.
“Is there something I can help you with today?” Jen said, forcing a smile.
“Err, no I’m okay,” he said, scratching his arm nervously. He was standing beside one of the pens holding the newcomers. Tiny little puppies, barely able to see, which spent most of their time stumbling into each other.
Jen was about to say something when she heard a tiny squeak. The man moved awkwardly.
Then she heard it again. It was coming from inside his tattered trench coat.
“Sir, do you have a puppy in there?” Jen said firmly.
His eyes darted around before he looked back at her, nodding slowly. He opened his coat and pulled out a tiny puppy.
“I should call the Police, that’s theft!”
The man’s eyes went wide with shock, ‘Oh no! You don’t understand!”
Jen’s friend stepped up beside her. “I think he’s homeless,” she said with an air of disdain.
The man looked at them both, pleading with his eyes, “I wasn’t stealing them, I...”
Jen cut him off, “not only have you been stealing them, but you’ve been doing it for years! I have photos of you going back six years!”
“You don’t understand! I brought her here!” He cried desperately as he looked down at the tiny puppy. “They die on the streets you know, and I can’t feed them myself so I bring them here so they can have a chance. They’re no worse than the rest of these puppies."
Jen frowned and thought for a moment. Maybe his story wasn’t totally ridiculous, she thought. There were often weeks when the puppy count didn’t seem to match, but no one ever worried too much because it was always just one or two extra and they had no trouble placing them.
Jen looked at him hard.
“How come I’ve never noticed you until my phone alerted me?” She asked.
The homeless man shrugged as he put the yelping pup in with the others, “most people never notice me.” | 121 | Jen felt her phone vibrate. Sliding her hand into her pocket and unlocking her phone, she saw that someone had been tagged in her photos. An unknown man was indeed in the background of 47 photos. Going back 6 years. | 309 |
“You’ve got to be joking me!” the man said struggling to speak with a cloth gag in his mouth.
“I assure you, Mr. Burnham,” I said methodically preparing the tolls of my trade, “This experience will be one you won't soon forge-”
There was a wet thud on the floor as the cloth I'd used to gag him bounced across the floor landing near my feet.
“No matter what you do,” I said turning to face the bound man, “You will not esca-”
“I get it, I really do.. you're new to this but—C’mon my dude! 67% chloroform!? Is that really the best you find? I’m not even dazed right now and I just woke up! And—” he swayed from side to side causing it to balance on two legs for a brief moment, “look at all this wiggle room!”
“A bloated old man could worm out of these! And that assuming these ‘I got booted from of the boy scouts cause I could even learn to tie rope’ knots don't give out first! I mean can you even tie your own shoes!?”
I tried to speak but the man wouldn’t shut up long enough for me to get a word in edge-wise!
“And don't even get me started on your little streaming setup you go down here!” He gestured with his head to my cameras.
“I mean is this the level we’ve sunk to! REALLY!? These days nobody can do anything without writing a blog about it or posting it on Twitter! And look at you! asking \~chat\~ those pitiful rage-filled parasocial keyboard-warriors, which finger to chop first! Where has all the class gone hmm?”
“Back in the day, there was so much intrigue! So much mystery! The cat and mouse battle between The Bedside killer and the LRPD. all those cryptic clues Mopcking jay left at his victim's houses before and after the crimes!!”—He sighed— “those were the days!”
He leaned back in the chair and cracked his neck. “I mean... what are they gonna call you? The Tutorial Terror? Think about your legacy man!”
“I’ve heard enough of your insolent chatter!” I demanded stepping forward with my knife in hand. “All shall see my brilliance! Rejoice, your death will be but a small brushstroke in my masterpiece!”
“By the time your body is found in the Orlan river, I will have already captured my next victim!”
“THE ORLAN RIVER!” the man cried out! “Anywhere but THERE, please! That's where Enigma dumped all his victims! People won’t know which serial killer, and I use that term lightly in reference to you, killed me!”
“Do you have a single original thought in that head of yours!?”—he groaned —“I mean, honestly, at this point, it might not be so bad if people thought Enigma did me in. At least that would get her tally a bit closer to the triple-digit mark...”
I was beginning to regret my choice in victim. Maybe I should have done a bit more research beforehand. | 14 | You are a serial killer and for the first time you are contemplating releasing the victim, not because of remorse or pity, but because they are complaining on everything, from the quality of the chloroform or the knots used to the river we're you are planning to leave their body | 38 |
"Nahila, get my blade." Meriena said practically growling as she put down the knife as calmly as possible next to the uncut portions of the vegetables. "Phern, watch your brother. All of you stay inside, lock the door and close the curtains."
"Isn't that a bit extreme, Mom?" Phern asked as she sat down in front of her brother and started playing with him.
"I'm quite certain this is me being reasonable." Meriena said as her eldest handed her a short sword in a black leather scabbard. "Thanks, no one gets in except me." She said getting a simple nod from the young woman.
She stepped out to find it again in her yard. The thing just never seemed to learn. "How many times I have to kick your ass before you learn?"
"I want them back."
"After what you did to Nahila? You should be grateful you're still alive, or what passes for alive with your kind."
"She is my daughter."
"You lost that right when you rapped me. You lost it again when you kidnapped her."
"She's the chosen one. She must be prepared for her role."
"By being violated by her father?"
"That wasn't what it looked like."
"I'm tired of listening to this crap. I told the others I wouldn't kill you, but I'm done. You obviously can't learn and I'm not going to let you hurt the children again."
"I would never hurt you or the kids. I love you all so much."
Nahila drew the blade and focused her hate and rage into it as the weapon awoke. "That's what makes you so fucking dangerous, because you actually can't understand how much harm you've done."
Nahila walked as she'd been taught and stepped past the monster slipping the once glowing blade back into the scabbard as the Eldritch beast tried to take a step before it collapsed into itself as its form failed.
Without looking she could feel them, the rest of the so-called gods. "You were warned. After what you let it do to Nahila..."
"You have damned the world." A new one said.
"If this world can only be saved by the rape and murder of young girls then it's not worth saving." Meriena said as she pulled the blade and again began to walk, as the Eldritch beasts fell in collective cries of anguish Meriena started walking back to her home and her kids.
Nahila stood at the entrance waiting for her. "They can't hurt anyone else again." Nahila rushed her and buried her face in her mom's shoulder unable to move fast enough to keep her mother from seeing the tears or the relief. Meriena didn't speak as she held her eldest and let her cry it out. | 10 | Mom, that eldritch entity is in the backyard again | 31 |
"N-no..."
Milo held his hands up to his mouth. He recognised the corpse walking towards him. Its telltale grey uniform, matched by its grey pallor. The cross on its chest, torn through almost symbolically. He stared at the body of his brother.
"Milo."
It's mouth moved, and he heard his brothers voice. It was strong, unslurred by the infection.
"H-Hector?"
It's mouth twitched.
"Are you okay? They didn't hurt you did they?"
Just like his brother, always worrying about him.
"I'm fine... but, you.... you're..."
It's head dropped low.
"I got bit. I'm dead, my mind just hasn't realised it yet."
With care, it brought out its silver pistol. It held it out to Milo.
"I can't do it myself. Please, finish me."
Milo shook as he took the offered weapon.
"I... I'm sorry."
The corpse gave another grimace of a smile.
"It OK. You'll be ok. Tell mum I love her."
Milo took a breath, taking aim. He remembered his brothers lessons. He slowly pulled the trigger, sending death to that which was not yet still. | 100 | His uniform marked him as a hunter of undead, his complexion shows that he has failed, but his eyes proves he is more than just a corpse. "Are you okay? They didn't hurt you did they?" he said, his speech unaltered by the decomposition. | 212 |
“The strangest man walked in today,” Bob said to Linda as he sat down in front of a heaping bowl of spaghetti.
“Oh yeah? What’d he look like?” Linda grabbed the parmesan from the refrigerator door, slamming the door shut with the outside of her hip before handing it to Bob.
Bob sprinkled a generous helping onto the red sauce atop the pasta. “He was kinda like a dirty Santa Claus if he got caught in the woods for a few days. He had a big brown wizard hat, twigs in his hair, and dirty brown robes. I think he had birds or squirrels under his hat; I could hear chittering while he was ordering.”
“Oh, so he ordered? That’s good! Another new customer?”
“He seemed happy..” Bob thought for a second. Then, “Yea, I think he might be a new regular!” he said with a full mouth.
Linda kissed Bob on the top of his head. “Bet he comes back tomorrow.”
Bob forgot all about the previous day’s encounter when he returned to the restaurant the next day. He went through all of his typical morning tasks, food prep and organizing the order, and retrieving any ingredients he’d need for the day. Finally, he walked to the front door, ready to unlock it, when he turned around and inspected his establishment with a satisfied sigh.
“Looks good,” a voice said next to him.
“Hey, thanks!” Bob replied. Then, realizing he was supposed to be alone in the restaurant, he whipped his head to the side.
And nobody was there.
“That burger was good,” the voice said. Bob turned around again and saw the Santa-looking man from the day before, still wearing the same clothes, unlocking the door. Then, he put two dirty fingers up to his mouth and whistled one of the loudest whistles Bob had ever heard.
“What, why are you opening my door?” Bob said.
“Isn’t it time for you to open?” the man asked, looking confused, hurt, and innocent.
“Yes, but… I normally do that.”
“Oh, I thought. I thought I could help. My friends, they’re outside, and I was excited to show them your spot.” The man’s shoulders fell. He hung his head and started walking out.
Bob perked up at the mention of “friends.” “Hey, hey, no reason to head out. I was confused, that’s all. Why don’t you come in, and I’ll make you a burger.”
“Oh, I’d like that. The one you made yesterday was perfect; let’s do that again.”
“Let me go turn on the grill,” Bob said, rushing back to the kitchen. Bob could see the bar from the cutout in the wall in front of the grill. As he watched, the Santa dressed in brown took a seat at the stool. The bell at the front door kept ringing as if guest after guest kept entering the restaurant.
But nobody sat next to the man.
“Where are all of your friends?” Bob asked curiously.
“They’re walking in right now!” the man said.
Confused, Bob left the kitchen and returned to the restaurant’s central area. There wasn’t anyone else but the man at the bar, but the door opened slightly and closed again.
“What the heck is going on?” Bob muttered.
The man looked at Bob and flashed an awkward grin. He took his hat off, scooping whatever small animals he had on his head inside, and tried smoothing his hair.
Bob, worried about air conditioning in the neighborhood, walked around the bar and stopped in his tracks. There, on the ground, were a bunch of animals.
Not just the typical kind. Sure, there were frantic rabbits and grinning foxes, but there was also a yellow stuffed bear with its head in a pot of hunny, small flying people the size of a plate and a line of animated small green army men trailing out of the door. Somehow, they were strong enough to push the door open.
“What the heck are all... These things!”
The man at the bar stood up and put an arm around Bob. “Sorry, this is my fault. I didn’t explain. These...are my friends. Your burger was so good, I told them all to move in!” | 12 | You’re a owner of a small business. For some reason, magical creatures and other beings decided that your shop seemed like a good spot to make a home. | 79 |
The Highland Kingdoms lay under siege by a mysterious sorcerer known only as Penance. The capital's walls have fallen, and the castle gates have been breached. The king stands in his throne room, surrounded by his personal guard, and his closest friend, Crestborn the mage. Every attempt by the dark sorcerer's forces to breach the throne room has failed. Penance himself has announced he will step forth and vanquish the king himself.
"You are our last hope, Crest," the king says, his breath shaky. "If anyone can defeat this evil it is you."
"I know, my king," Crestborn replies. "I swear to you, I will vanquish this foul entity and cast his soul into the underworld, or I will die trying."
The doors to the throne room shake. Crestborn steadies himself. Centuries of work and labor have turned him into a pure machine of sorcery. His power stood unmatched among the nine kingdoms, and yet, he felt a twinge of worry in his spine.
The door is thrown from its hinges.
Thick black mist billows into the throne room, spreading across the walls and floor. Crestborn taps his foot against the ground and an aura of light surrounds himself and the king's guard.
An ethereal laughing breaks out from beyond the throne room doors.
*"Your abilities are admirable, old man," the voice croaks. "But true power is not attained through education and practice...*
A small, lithe figure steps its way into the throne room. It is gaunt as a rotting corpse, and wears a robe constructed of pure metal. Shards and spikes and pins ripple across its body, puncturing and scraping across its flesh. It possesses no eyes, only open sockets weeping blood. Its face is adorned with all manner of hellish piercings and adornments. Its lips have been cut into a permanent grin.
*True power is molded," the figure says, its face unmoving. "it is bred from decades of pain. Marred from birth, tortured through childhood, sculpted into a model of pure suffering. You gaze upon true power.*
Crestborn steps back, terror chilling him to his very core. The aura surrounding him and his allies flickers, and in an instant, the shadows enrapture the entirety of the room. The king is engulfed in darkness. Penance summons forth a wall of spears, constructed of pure pain filled magic, and skewers Crestborn through.
And now, the Highland kingdoms lay at the mercy of magic incarnate. Penance, the avatar of suffering, the archduke of pain.
Long may he reign | 52 | In a world where magic inflicts as much damage on the user as it does on the target, mages are know as hulking meatheads, trained to endure the worst tortures imaginable. They overpower their enemies with sheer physical endurance. | 261 |
I always thought it would be really cool to be able to witness the heroics of HUE up close. The Hero Unification Entity had operated for a few years now, still in their early stages of unifying all of the people manifesting powers, but to be among them as “Dragon” never crossed my mind. It was as exhilarating as it was anxiety inducing. I was concerned about what would happen if I messed up. And my new teammates seemed to not yet warm up to me.
“Well,” Wackity, the team lead asked, putting his feet up on the table between us. “When are you going to show us your true form? We try not to have disguises in Team Prawn. At least, not behind the closed doors of HUE.”
I looked between my teammates' expectant faces.
“I cannot turn back,” I informed them. “The transition to Dragon was a permanent one.”
“I hate method actors,” Petra groaned, rolling her bright green eyes.
“Can we change the name from Dragon? It’s sooo… unoriginal,” Lowshot asked, spinning her gun expertly in hand.
Again, the three turned to me with raised eyebrows and looks of interest. I felt awkward; my lumbering, giant new body filling up more than half the room, but my new scaly face was difficult to show emotion through, so I was forced to respond.
“I think Dragon is fine,” I said with confidence.
“Bruh,” Lowshot breathed, turning to Wackity. “This dude doesn’t fit our vibe!” She pointed using her gun rather than her finger. “Can we get a new member?”
“His appointment came all the way from the top. No exchanges until we get through five missions together and the majority agree to a change,” Wackity replied.
“At least show us your face!” Petra pleaded to me.
“I can’t,” I informed. “It is impossible.”
Petra and Lowshot both leaned back in their seats, letting out annoyed sighs. Wackity simply eyed me, trying to get a feel for me.
“What’s your power again? I was told you are strong,” Wackity mentioned.
“I have not yet felt any pain since becoming Dragon,” I replied. “And I can breathe fire. What are your powers?”
“So, what, his nerves are broken? What happens if you lose a wing, do you still not feel any pain?” Lowshot asked, pointing to a wing with her gun and ignoring my question.
“I have not yet lost any wing or limb,” I informed.
Lowshot seemed to consider this fact, tilting her head to one side and cocking her gun.
“No, Lowshot! We’re not stress testing Dragon!” Wackity snapped, followed by Lowshot pouting and putting her gun’s safety back on.
We sat in awkward silence, looking at one another as no subjects came to mind, the only sound was from Lowshot spinning her gun from boredom. Suddenly, the alarms of the room blared and readouts displayed on the table ahead of us.
“Looks like Trickster is messing with downtown,” Wackity said, reading quickly. “Let’s move!”
“Make yourself useful and give us a ride!” Lowshot snapped at me, jumping on my back. I didn’t reply, so the other two team members took it as an invitation and followed suit. I immediately launched through the opening made in the ceiling for air vehicles and flew downtown at my top speed, hardly maintaining balance with the additional weight on my back.
“There!” Petra pointed down below and I swooped into an alleyway where Trickster was drilling through the side of a bank.
He looked up, made eye contact with us, then looked back down and continued working unperturbed. The three heroes hopped off and stood valiantly before Trickster, each preparing a different attack to deliver.
“I can’t believe they sent Team Prawn to fight me. Do they want you killed? Though, I see you have a new member,” Tricker mentioned through a yawn, continuing to drill away at the wall.
“Get him Petra!” Wackity announced.
Petra stepped forward and stared hard, the slight glow of her eyes going to a blinding level and filling the alley like floodlights. Trickster didn’t react at all.
“He’s... he’s immune to my terror blasts!” Petra said, stepping back.
“I put on special contacts. They block out your stupid power,” Trickster said, the sound of the drill shrilling as it entered the vault.
“I got this,” Lowshot, pointed her gun and fired three times at his legs, each bullet missing by a wide berth. She looked to her gun, then up to fire three more shots that missed. She gasped. “My low shots are hitting!”
“Magnets in my pants,” Trickster informed.
“Leave it to me,” Wackity stepped forward and cracked his knuckles. He threw a few fists in the air and I watched as blasts of air shot through the alley and struck him harmlessly. Wackity looked on in horror. He roared, brought up his fists, and set an entire tornado at Trickster, the power of the attack enough to pull bricks from the wall, but again did little to shift Trickster from in place.
“Thanks for the help,” Trickster chuckled, looking at the larger hole made by the tornado.
“How?” Wackity said, stumbling to the floor in fatigue. “My strongest attack...”
“I already told you I have magnets in my pants!” Trickster said. “Keeps me in place from your little breezes.”
He waltzed inside the bank and began filling a bag with hundreds of bills, humming to himself. My teammates looked at one another, completely lost. I decided to try my luck and stepped over them, closing the gap between us and Trickster in two steps. He looked up from his robbing and assessed me.
“Who are you supposed to be? Don’t think I’ve seen you around before,” Trickster said between stuffing more bills in the bag.
“I am Dragon.”
“Little on the nose,” Trickster said, hoisting the full bag of money over his back. “I’m gonna get going now.”
“Not if I can help it,” I replied.
“Trust me, you don’t want to get vaporized,” Trickster said, pulling out a glowing blue weapon.
“Don’t risk it, Dragon! Your life is more important than the money!” Wackity yelled, still on his knees.
“Ugh, I hate these stupid dramatic outbursts, just get out of here,” Trickster said, zapping me immediately and not waiting for a reply. My whole world went blue for a moment, then shifted back to normal. I didn’t feel anything.
“Odd,” Trickster said, slapping his weapon with one hand then zapping me again. Once more, I saw a light show, but felt nothing. “Whatever, I’m out of here anywa—”
I breathed in deeply, my stomach rumbling with warmth and his smarmy attitude drained away all at once, his eyes open in shock. Before he could let out a syllable of protest, I unleashed a maelstrom of fire upon him, keeping the flames dancing for a full ten seconds where he stood. When I stopped the flow of fire, there was nothing but a smudge of ash remaining. My heart dropped and I tilted my massive frame to look back at my team members as they stared in shock.
“Sorry, went a little overboard,” I apologized.
“Great job, Team Prawn! Another successful mission!” Wackity jumped up and stood with a puffed chest. “Good effort from everyone on the team to take down this villain.”
“You were incredible, Dragon!” Lowshot said.
“So scary,” Petra nodded in agreement.
“Almost perfect job,” Wackity nodded. “Next time try not to burn all the money we’re saving,” he pointed a thumb at the hole in the bank and I saw that my flames had consumed the entirety of the vault.
_____________
More stories at r/Nazer_the_Lazer! | 245 | You thought becoming a dragon would make you an outcast. Though, it turns out that having the body of a dragon and the mind of a human makes you an effective superhero. | 1,186 |
My eyes flickered from my screen to the number on the wall, scrawled in the space between two mirrors in black Sharpie, checking to see if I'd typed it correctly. No mistakes, but I checked again anyway. My heart was pounding, and I felt the familiar creep of anxiety hormones diffuse outwards from my chest, causing my shoulders to go cold. What was I expecting? Most likely, it would be some dude who was drunk out of his mind when he wrote his number there. Or maybe someone was pranking their friend. Also likely was someone who was willing to look for partners in the bathroom of a dingy bar in the wrong part of town. Why was I even considering this?
What was it that I was looking for? I had no friends. After college, I slowly drifted away from my social circles. Some of my closest friends moved away, dooming our friendships to die a slow, prolonged death. I became busy with work, convincing myself that I was throwing myself into work I really believed in when the company couldn't care less about my existence. Barely any movement after six years of destroying my life for them, ending with the decision to "not renew my contract".
My life's depressing, but I've never abused any substances. Never sought comfort at the bottom of a bottle, never looked for relief with drugs. I had no idea why I thought it was a good idea to come down to this bar alone on a Tuesday night to try and drink my deep dissatisfaction with myself away. The alcohol only enhanced my bitterness at the clawing emptiness inside of me. It felt like I was missing a chunk of my humanity. Like impostor syndrome for being a human being. Where am I supposed to find joy? Heck, where am I supposed to find sadness? I can't for the life of me remember the last time I felt a strong emotion beyond a numbing sense of "my life's pretty bad I guess". I have no hobbies. Everything I ever started, I abandoned. Nothing to live for, nothing to be passionate about. When I go to sleep, what do I even want to dream about?
These thoughts swirled in the black hole of feelings I held in my chest. My eyes went to the wall again. *For a good time, call Jake.* I let out a little laugh at myself. I felt pathetic. Stupid. Driven to the point where I was willing to call the type of person who was willing to leave his phone number in a public restroom. The alcohol was messing with my rationality. After all, what did I have to lose? I tapped the call button. It rang. And rang. And rang. And ra-
"Hello, and welcome to the Jake Graham Foundation Hotline For Mental Health." | 11 | “FOR A GOOD TIME CALL JAKE 555-555-1024”. You pause, then reach toward your pocket for your phone. | 16 |
Hilltop High School was just your typical high school. The usual classes, people, clubs, etc. I'd only started attending about a month prior, and already, I'd become adjusted to the environment. I'd made a few friends, and joined the school's gaming club, where we mostly did Smash Bros, Mario Kart, and Wii Sports tournaments. It all seemed normal, until I met the school's popular kid, Nikki Scalington.
At first glance, she was just your typical high school popular girl: filthy rich parents and friends, designer clothes and accessories, the latest iPhone, makeup, tans, decorated locker, boyfriend that all the other girls in the school loved. And thankfully, she wasn't a mean girl like how popular girls are portrayed in the movies - she was quite the opposite, in fact, at least to me. But, there was something... off about her.
For one thing, her skin didn't look normal - to me, it almost looked like reptile skin. Plastic surgery, maybe? Or some weird side effect of tanning? Her eyes weren't normal, either - instead of a blue or brown, they were a crimson red color, and sometimes, I swore I could see tiny slits of the same color on the black portion of her eyes. Contacts, maybe? She rarely ever smiled, since apparently, in all her school photos, she never had a smile that showed her teeth. Whenever I'd overhear her argue with her boyfriend during lunch or in between periods, her voice would get at least an octave or two lower than usual, and I'd sworn I saw smoke come out of her nose once. And sometimes, I'd see two tiny gray bumps poking out of her hair. And the strangest thing of all was, nobody else in the school, not even the teachers, seemed to notice any of it, and even if they did, they never said a word about it.
One night, my suspicions grew too great, and I snuck down to Nikki's house, which luckily, was only a few blocks away from mine. Obviously, having rich parents, her house was incredibly big, and from rumors I'd heard from some of the other kids, it had a pool with a big waterslide, a game room, a playground, and 24/7 maids and butlers. And when I arrived, I could definitely tell that those rumors were true.
I took a quick peek into the house's window, and saw Nikki arguing with who I assumed were her parents. I couldn't hear what was going on, but I could tell it was getting heated. Suddenly, I saw Nikki's skin become a warm gold color, the bumps on her hair become horns, two dragon wings sprout from her back, and flames shoot from her mouth. When they dissapated, I saw that she had transformed into a big golden dragon, and her parents were somehow unharmed.
Before I could see anything else, I quickly bolted away from the house and back towards my own. As quietly as I could, when I reached my house, I snuck upstairs to my room and sat down on my bed in utter shock.
The popular kid wasn't human. She was a dragon. | 19 | You are a new student at a fairly typical high school. You make some friends, join a club, all it well. That is, until you meet one of the popular girls. You don't know why, but she seems....off. You can't pinpoint what it is, nor can you prove these suspicions, as nobody else seems to notice. | 71 |
Malphon smirked under his hooded cloak, eyeing the priest up and down, “You truly believe that, do you?”
The priest nodded, “Why, of course. The teachings are absolute. Angels are of a certain nature, they cannot venture outside of what they know.”
Malphon chuckled, “You act as if nature is static, yet the world looks so very different than it did thousands of years ago. Nature is chaos, nature is eternal. You believe that eternal means unchagning. Perhaps in a perfect world without sin we would be in a state of stagnation, but Eden is tainted.”
“Your point?”
“My point is that immortality will drive one insane if their mind does not mold to the changing times. Perhaps even the Lord himself believed that angels were unchanging once, impossible to fall, but not anymore.”
“Angels do not have mortal minds. Insanity does not reach the heavens.”
“It does? Then why can Prophets and Children of the Lord only cure physical damage? They can heal blind eyes, lame legs, even rise from the dead, but they cannot cure insanity. Celestial healing restores one to the state of the angels, and yet, sanity cannot be restored. Insanity is not a sin, it cannot be cleansed.”
“There hasn’t been a Prophet in centuries, you speak only out of speculation!”
“Is the Lord’s word not absolute? Do you need to see to believe?”
The priest pauses, taken aback, “T-That was not what I said. But you have no authority on this matter!”
“What makes you say that?”
“You are not of the clergy. You have not been exposed to the Lord’s teachings.”
“Anyone can know the Lord, can they not?”
“That is true, but those of the clergy have devoted themselves to the Lord, they are an extension of their will.”
“There have been debates over the role of the clergy in the Lord’s teaching for centuries, priest. You are no conduit to some divine understanding. You are stumbling in the dark just as much as anyone else.”
“How dare you! Who are you to say such blasphemy!”
“I am impossible.”
“Speak not in riddles you heretic!”
“You said it yourself, there are no fallen angels.”
“I did indeed.”
“Then I cannot exist.” Malphon sighed, letting his cloak fall to the ground, revealing his wings. They granted him flight no longer, for only shadows of the crystalline feathers which once adorned his wings remained, hybridized with the new form taking shape in his wings, leathery and black, like a bat’s.
Malphon looked upon his wings with sad sentimentality, a tear falling down his cheek, “We are not an anomaly, dear priest. We are a warning. To all angels who oppose the Lord’s will, one who has the gift of flight will fall when it is revoked. We are fallen.” | 10 | "Fallen angels? No, I've never heard of anything like that. It'd be like saying there was an evil train. It doesn't make any sense. There's unpleasant angels, sure, and there are definitely angels with egos as big as the moon, but fallen? No, that's never happened" | 30 |
"Painting is rubbish!" the boy cried. "I want to go step on some ants."
His eyes glistened with a fervor I could recognize from history books and documentaries. But his feeble boyish voice drowned his outburst in bathos and I couldn't help but smile. "Let's get crazy. Why don't you draw some ants? You can do whatever you'd like to them."
The boy looked up at me, suspicion unfolding gradually mixed with a confused sense of wonder. "Ants? Who paints ants? Can you do that?"
I shrugged. "I don't know. Can you?"
A breeze blew by as the sun cast glitters in the river next to us. The boy dipped his brush in black paint and stood before the easel, hesitating. "I just ... paint?"
"You just paint."
A black splosh. Two more. Thin, stretched lines of legs and antennae. The boy added some brown and some red. "The young ones are the color of honey," he said shyly.
"You are very observant. Why don't you add some? Ants get easily lonely, you know."
"They do?"
"They sure do."
The boy painted more and more ants, old and young. Soon he had an entire canvas colony and he struggled to find the space for more. "I think I am done," he said.
A wasp sat down on the boy's brush, and he jumped. He shook the brush as if he were a conductor attempting to drive an orchestra into madness. "Go away! Go away!" He cried and tears ran freely down his face. The wasp deftly avoided his attack and landed on his upper lip. The boy smacked himself with the brush and the wasp took off.
He looked up at me, paint-mustached, and a restless shiver went down my spine. I had almost forgotten who this boy would grow up to be. "Wipe it off," I said, and the harshness of my tone seemed to frighten him. He did as I said and I breathed out a deep sigh. "Enough with the ants," I said. "Let's paint some flowers."
"I don't like flowers," he said.
"Paint them well, or I will drown you in the river."
The boy laughed, then stopped when he saw I was not joining in. "You're not being se--"
I slapped his cheek. "Paint. Paint as if your life depends on it."
He did as I said. I was pleased to see he was improving. Days turned to weeks and the young boy seemed to flourish. Would this be enough? I could not say for certain. The lone wolf responsible for that tragic incident, could that really be the child with eyes glimmering with hope?
When it was time for me to return, I made him swear that he would stay on this path. That he would pursue a career as an artist. He swore that he would. And that was all I could do in the time I had. Would it have been better if I had simply drowned him? No. I could not entertain the idea seriously, and it went against everything I had ever believed in.
Back home, after stepping through the portal, I hurried to check the news. But something was different. The world around me had ... changed. A sense of deep alienation overcame me and a fear began to grow: I had made a serious change to the course of history. I had not simply prevented the terrorist attack. I had triggered the butterfly effect, the ramifications of which could be so vast that I--
My hands. They were ... translucent. My parents were never born? I did not have a right to exist in this version of the future?
I spent the last of my time searching for the name of the boy who in the world I knew grew up to be a lone wolf. To my horror, I saw that everything had changed. The terrorist attack never happened. But the boy ... He grew up to be something much worse than what I could ever have imagined.
That feeling must never have left him, that desire to step on ants.
As I sensed that my end had come, I left the world with a simple whisper: "What happened, Adolf?" | 490 | “This man is responsible for the horrible tragedy you see before you. In order to prevent this your task is to head back to the date of his birth.” “And kill him?” “What? No, you’ll raise him yourself to make him better.” | 2,945 |
We locked eyes for a moment and something had changed.
I saw her all the time – we sat next to each other in potions class – but we had never spoken.
Miranda looked at my new wand and then looked at me again. It was almost like she was seeing me for the first time. I was mystified as to what was happening.
“I love the scrollwork on your wand – is that new?”
I blushed a little.
“Thanks,” I stuttered, “it belonged to my grandfather.”
She nodded as if that explained something.
I wasn't sure what to say to her.
“Its cedar and rosewood. Its really helpful with charms work,” I said weakly.
“May I hold it for a second?” She asked
“Sure, just please be careful.”
She reached out her hand and when I handed it to her, she started breathing a little faster, but she held it as carefully as if it was a glass frog. The tip of her left ear did this weird wiggle thing that I had never seen anyone do before.
She gingerly handed it back to me.
“That is an incredibly powerful wand, you should be really careful with it.”
“I am, “ I said, not at all sure that I actually was.
I had used the wand a total of one times.
I stared at Miranda again. She didn’t quite seem herself and I wasn’t sure why.
There was a sudden loud pop sound and then Lucius appeared out of nowhere in a puff of smoke. Miranda and I both started at the sound and the moment was broken – which was just as well, I wasn't entirely sure what exactly had been happening.
Lucius stood in the dissipating smoke, holding his staff in front of him in a warding gesture.
Show off.
He came out of his pose, looked around and saw me.
“There you are,” he called out to me.
He smiled his goofy lopsided grin and my heart melted like it always did.
Miranda took one look at his shoulder-height staff and that same look came over her again.
She waved hello.
Lucius acknowledged her with a polite wave and a wan smile.
I was trying to figure out what was wrong with Miranda when I remembered a conversation that I had with my grandfather, not long before his death.
He was very weak at the time, but he called me over to his bed.
“You’re just at that age where this kind of thing will be helpful.”he said
Handing me a silver box, and with a twinkle in his eye, he motioned for me to open it.
Inside, wrapped in silk, was the wand.
“Use it carefully, my boy” he said in his quiet raspy voice, “that thing is a lady killer.”
He chuckled a little and winked at me.
I didn't really understand what he was telling me and i certainly wouldn't have had the heart to tell him that it was wasted on me anyway, even if i had understood.
Miranda was taking a step towards Lucius, which set off all of my internal alarms.
Momentarily panicked, I managed to step in front of her just enough to get between the two of them.
Without a word, I walked up to Lucius, grabbed him by the back of his neck and kissed him so hard, I saw stars.
Looking back, I saw that she had a look on her face like I had thrown cold water on her.
In my sweetest and most compassionate voice, I said
“Listen, sister, that staff belongs with me”
And with another loud pop, we disappeared. | 11 | Elves are attracted to Magic Quality/Quantity. You are trying to convince someone that your spell casting equipment/accessories are to improve your combat abilities, not to "pick up chicks". | 58 |
Immortality. Super strength. Teleportation. Time manipulation. Telekinesis.
These are just a glimpse of the abilities I've acquired in my lifetime, a span of years a mere mortal couldn't even begin to comprehend.
I've been through every role; I've tried it all. - The Hero, The Villain, The Vigilante. Everything gets boring, though, after enough time. The novelty wears away, and you start to ask yourself; "what's the point?" It seemed no matter what I did, I couldn't find true happiness.
This brings us to yesterday. I sat leaned up against the wall of an old run-down hotel in the middle of downtown New York City. I've let my appearance go, my clothes barely hung on by a thread. My beard long and untrimmed, dirt covering my skin. People try to give me money, but I refuse. They think I'm some homeless man, waiting to buy my next fix. They have no idea the riches I could have, but money isn't what I want...
I watched from across the busy street as a man walked by, his two thousand dollar Italian leather shoes clacking with every step. I bet he thinks he's hot shit.
"How's this for hot shit?" I whispered softly under my breath as his shoes began to melt into his feet; the leather boiling as if it were cold water poured into a blazing hot pan. The man screamed hideously, falling to his knees and no doubt wondering what in the world was going on. I chuckled to myself. This was the only "fix" I could get these days. Giving people what they deserve.
Just a few moments later, I spotted an elderly woman handing a twenty dollar bill to a homeless man with a sign that read: *Anything helps. I'm just hungry.*
Not even ten steps later, a young lady next to her dropped her purse, dozens of items spilling out, and the old woman jogged as quickly as she could to help pick everything up. Even in her old age, with all the aches and pains she must have; she was doing what she could to help others. A true kind soul.
"What can I do to make this woman happier?" I wondered aloud, my thumb and forefinger rubbing my scraggly beard. "She looks perfectly happy to me already."
It occurred to me then; what it was I was missing in life, and it was something I would never be able to find with my abilities...
Kindness. | 10 | but you use them in petty and vindictive ways rather than draw attention to yourself with grandiose displays. One time, you spent hours crashing shopping carts into the cars of people that abandoned them in the parking lot. Against boredom, even gods struggle in vain! | 25 |
The facts were these: Starlette S'mith had told me to go away and leave her alone. Was she serious about it? Playing hard to get? Just deeply conflicted and didn't know what she wanted? I pondered these options for about five seconds, before realizing it didn't matter. Whether she was uninterested, playing games, or just terminally indecisive, she wasn't going to be worth the trouble.
I hit the bars, the dating apps, and the singles mixers. I even took a dance class and met a nice single girl there named Ashley. I bought her lunch, we walked around the city talking. She worked as a nurse, and it turned out we both loved science fiction. She even offered to pay for dessert at her favorite ice cream shop. I thought things were going well until I saw a girl staring at us through the window of the ice cream shop, sobbing.
"Is she...looking at us?" Ashley said.
"I'm pretty sure she is, but I don't..."
I realized who she was, but it was too late. Starlette S'mith barged right up to our table.
"How dare you betray me like this?"
"Betray you? We went on two dates, and then you dumped me."
"I was so naive a month ago, and it intimidated me that you were going to be the heir to your grandfather's fortune. But my friends Black, Hispanic, and Asian convinced me that I should give you another chance when you came back, and then you just...didn't."
Ashley made an excuse about needing to shampoo her grandmother and left with her ice cream half-finished. I buried my head in my hands.
"Alright, let's break this down...you were intimidated by my grandfather's money because you were naive. So...by naive I guess you mean bad with money?"
Starlette sighed a long, heavy, melodramatic sigh.
"No, I meant I was a virgin. I didn't mean to tell you this early in our relationship but..."
"Why are you telling me now?"
"Because I'm still a virgin! I'm saving myself for you!" Starlette said.
"But you told me to go away," I said.
"And if you loved me you would have pursued me!"
Starlette gave another melodramatic sigh.
"Whoa, two dates is way too little time to know if I love someone," I said, "Okay, next question...your friends are named Black, Hispanic, and Asian?"
"Nicknamed that," Starlette said, "Their names all rhyme and they don't really have distinct personalities, so that's the primary way I tell them apart. Mostly they go clubbing, sleep with lots of guys, and don't like books as much as I do."
"And they thought because you dumped me, I was going to fall in love with you and start pursuing you?"
"Yes. I trusted their advice because they aren't virgins and I am. Also, because they are rich and beautiful but I am clumsy."
As if in demonstration, Starlette stumbled into the now-empty chair opposite me and faceplanted into Ashley's now mostly melted ice cream. That seemed a really implausible accident. Starlette let out another sob.
"You didn't catch me! Why weren't you there to catch me when I fell?"
"Because I'm late to shampoo my grandma," I said. That was at least as logical as anything Starlette had told me. I high-tailed it out of the ice cream shop and wondered vaguely if I should file a restraining order. | 18 | You are a self-aware character in a romance novel. But not just any character, you're the love interest. Unfortunately for the MC, you really don't want to play your part in the story. | 31 |
The kid tugged at my leather kimono, wide-eyed, and said, "Sir. I usually eat chicken nuggets now. My show will be on soon." He pointed at my state-of-the-art World Surveillance System, the screen dyed a delicately-evil red.
"Show? What show?" I scratched my thick, bushy beard. Was the kid talking about a showdown? Had his father, Red Salmon, tricked me?
I clapped in morse code, activating the WSS, and images of various heroes flashed across the screen in rough blips. *The kid probably thinks it's so cool*. They're stock photos, to be honest. But it looked impressive. Like I'd got them all in the corner of my eye. I looked down and the kid was ... suppressing a yawn!?
Red Salmon swam his way upstream in the hero market. I, Sharkbeard, have been chasing him for years. "Ah!"
Truth be told, the WSS exclusively receives live feeds from cameras I have placed around Red Salmon's house. And there, before me, he stood. Doing ... the dishes?
"H-He knows you're missing, right?"
"Oh, I called him earlier. Said I was hanging out with a friend."
What? No, no, no. Red Salmon was supposed to be in the throes of desperation now, flapping around like a fish on the docks. "Why would you do a stupid thing like that!?"
The kids let out another yawn. "I thought you were, like, a cool guy. You looked cool. But this place is pretty boring ..."
A scream forced its way up my throat, but I sent it back down into my lungs. "Boring? This is the lair of the greatest villain of all time. I have *gadgets*. Weapons. Costumes purchased in *Akihabara*."
The kid tugged at my kimono again. "Can we watch my show now? You can't seriously want to watch dad do his dishes. That's ... weird."
"It's not weird! It's *surveillance*."
"... You are not a creepy person, are you?"
For a moment, I didn't know what to say. Bats are creepy. And that's the reason why they are cool. But I'm not some pervert! I'm a supervillain, with powers rivaling the highest-paid heroes in the industry. I've trimmed my beard in the shape of a shark's fin--is that creepy? No! It's cool!
"I'm Sharkbeard," I said, expecting the kid to shit his pants.
"Yeah, you're friends with dad from work, right?"
"... What?"
"He's always talking about you, and he made me think you were a cool guy. But if you're just some creepy person who likes to watch people doing dishes ..."
"No. Your father is right. I'm a cool guy. The bane of his existence, in fact. His nemesis. His archvillain. His--"
"Buddy," the kid said, nodding his head.
The word ricocheted through my mind like a sentient harpoon, just tearing and flying again and again through my mind-flesh. "Buddy?" I said. "Are you sure ... that was the word he used?"
Suddenly, the kid seemed not so sure and I felt horror wrap itself around me like a maelstrom. "*Best* buddies!" the kid said, and he clapped. I almost fell over. Best buddies? BFFs?
I paced around my lair. Well, it was true that I had no respect for any hero other than Red Salmon. He wasn't the best-regarded hero in the city. High-Octane Man, Lord Pelvis, Firecat--TikTok was filled with snippets of them in action and people gushed about them all over social media all the while Red Salmon languored in relative obscurity. But I knew better than those fame-fondling flounders. I had *chosen* Red Salmon. And he had chosen me.
On the WSS, Red Salmon polished a novelty mug with the text World's Best Hero written on it. He smiled. I walked over to my high-end cabinets and opened them up to reveal the mug I had bought for myself as a spur-of-the-moment thing. World's Best Villain it read.
"We go a long way back," I said.
"Oh. Cool."
"Your father and I have fought for years, and through mutual combat and strife we have both grown."
"Yeah?"
"But before this very moment, I ... I didn't realize that in the process we had become ... *friends*. A bond has been forged, through fire and--Hey! Are you ... Are you watching a *cartoon*?"
My precious WSS, hard-coded only to respond to my careful morse claps, hacked by an imp? A green squirrel with crazy eyes ran about with some blue moose. The kid pumped his fists as the squirrel decapitated the---"W-What sort of kid's show is this? And how did you get it onto my screen?"
The kid held up his phone. "Universal remote control app," he said. "Oh, the show is called Happy Tree Friends."
"An app?" That was ... awkward. I never knew apps could do things like that. "And *Happy* Tree Frogs? They are maiming each other!"
"Friends." The kid scowled at me. "Happy Tree *Friends*."
Ah. I had not yet grown accustomed to that word.
The show turned out to be highly entertaining. We ordered chicken nuggets and watched many episodes, and the glee with which the kid met the macabre displays on the screen warmed my cold-blooded heart. "You're pretty cool," I told him.
He smiled. "You're pretty cool too! I can see why my dad likes you so much."
I blushed and tried to hide it by rubbing my beard. "Oh, is that so? T-That's neat, I guess."
After a while I gave the kid a ride home in my Beard-mobile. It's a 1997 Toyota Corolla. When I got back to my lair, I clapped my screen to attention and watched Red Salmon and his family play Yahtzee.
I made myself a cup of hot chocolate, in my World's Best Villain mug, and as I watched them all enjoy themselves a strange stinging sensation appeared in my heart. Had the kid poisoned me? Had it all been an evil--I mean *heroic*--plot?
Nothing happened. I flicked the WSS off with a somber clap and a great silence enveloped my lair. I downloaded the remote control app on my phone and watched some episodes of Happy Tree Friends.
The word bounced around in my head.
Friends. Buddies.
BFFs.
"Red Salmon," I said, "one of these days I'll get you ..." With that, I fell asleep in my chair. I dreamt about a show called Happy Ocean Friends, starring me and Red Salmon. | 205 | When a supervillain kidnaps their rival child they were expecting fear or anger from the kid. Instead, the kid was incredibly excited to meet their parents "work friend", gushing about how cool they are. The villain is not sure how to respond to this. | 649 |
Nani was a social worker in a known city's infamous "Super Police Force", she was just finishing her current job, she had to assign a job for one of the hardest superpowers she had ever dealt with, controlling time, took days on her but nobody really pressured her, all the department tried and she was the last this time. She was in charge of “SPEEDMAN all caps register pending”, as the man called himself. Nobody wanted a person with a power like that on their premises because people with his power were usually the most successful thieves.
*How could nobody think of it before?,* thought Nani. “I know what you are supposed to be,” she said to the time guy. “You have been in a bad place but you do like to help people, right?”
“Riiiiiiight”, said SPEEDMAN, doubting her.
“Sooooo, you will train to be a paramedic, if you are okay with it, you could make time stop for people who are injured badly and need instant care. That way they can be transported to the hospital without losing any precious time.”
“Uh…”
“I know in this city most of them are volunteers , but because you are eligible for this relocation program, if you end up in ‘volunteer’ work”, Nani said as she made quotes in the air. “you would be getting compensation for it, a payment.”
“That actually never went through my mind”
Nani was seen as the best at the office. She thought to herself, *Is it normal for social workers to not have creativity?*. In her mind, it was not really a hard thing to think, but we tend to look for the obvious answers last.
This set her up for her following job. They took her to a room with a window to a sealed room, inside was a teen, who was very distressed, they told her she was released after preventively serving a year while her case was studied. Apparently she had killed her brother and because of that her parents disowned her. She was crying intermittently, Nani could hear her while reading her file.
With what energy she had, the girl stopped her sobs and muttered, “Is anybody behind the glass?”
“I’m here, you don’t have anything to fear”
“Did you finish reading my file?”
“It says you killed your brother”
The girl started crying again, “It was an accident! I didn’t intend to do so, I didn’t…”
Nani kept reading through their interaction and finished the file.
“I understand now, they haven’t told you your power yet, you got separated from your family when it happened, you don’t have to blame yourself”
After hearing that she had a power, her surprise stopped her crying but not her sobs, as clear as she could she said, “I… have a power? Is that why they haven’t let me see anybody for a year?”
Nani turned on the light in her room, so that the girl could see her too, then said to her, “You take away vital energy with your skin, it says here they expected you to be difficult and thus they isolated you, but after a year their reasons were not valid anymore because you were never aggressive, your file says you used to be very close to your brother.”
“I played with him all the time, I miss him so much, I thought I had fallen on him very hard when playing lucha libre. Now you come and tell me I killed him because I exist!?”
“Emma, sweetie, it was not your fault, it could have happened to anybody”
“And still they chose to keep me… locked”
Trying to change the mood, Nani said in a livelier voice, “Well, good for your brother, he won't have to suffer again”, she said it all while winking and pointing at the microphone with her right hand while putting her left index finger to her mouth and signaling silence. She was so glad these rooms had no cameras, for reasons undisclosed by police.
Emma understood the signals, she responded with a wink and proceeded to say angrily, “You m\*therf\*\*\*n’ bi\*c\*!
Nani, then proceeded, “Sweetie, let me tell you something, you can come with me, we will be outside, you will have protection over your skin, and we will be followed by a guard, but I will try to look for a job for you”, Nani realized the file was not official, and that it may be redacted or false, to “protect” Emma’s family, and that the way her case was worded, most probably meant that her brother was still alive.
After hours of paperwork, Nani opened the door to Emma’s secure room and instructed her out. Emma felt different from before, and calmer, even after what Nani said to her before, which to anybody but them sounded very out of touch for a social worker. And thus the search for answers started, starting with a job hunting.
To be continued tomorrow... | 10 | Your job is to transform misguided supers into productive members of society. Electricity? Power plant. Super strength? Construction. Flight? Search and rescue. Your latest task is a bit.. tricky. Whatever they touch, dies. | 41 |
Everyone knew soulmates existed. It had been pretty obvious after the first few soulmates who had tried fighting each other in wars found they couldn't hurt the other, even if they tried to. there was a concern about this when the rise of super villains and super heroes started. So far none of them had been unable to fight the other and the super villains all kept meeting grand demises.
'Ice Queen' as Naomi Versant was known, was tracking down the latest super villain to terrorize Port City. The trail had led her across town to a factory. The appearance of the building all but screamed that it was abandoned.
Naomi knew however that this was the home of the evil Osiris. As she stepped inside, her intel was confirmed. Standing on a high walkway above the nearly empty warehouse was none other than Osiris herself.
"I've been waiting for you Ice Queen!"
"Your evil comes to a stop today Osiris!"
Naomi threw an ice spike with her power pulling it out of thin air. There was no way the spike was going to miss at the speeds she had thrown it.
But the unthinkable happened. The spike stopped less than an inch from Osiris.
Osiris looked down at the deadly spike she had barely even seen move.
"Oh. No. No no no."
"No way..."
Naomi's voice was full of despair at the sudden epiphany.
Osiris laughed heartily.
"Of course we are soulmates. How deliciously ironic. Say there Ice Queen, instead of trying to kill me, why don't we call it even and see how this all works. Call it a work date."
Naomi sighed heavily. Being soulmates made it impossible for her to so anything to Osiris, but maybe taking her up on the offer of a 'work date' would give her a chance to get the villain to change her mind.
"Alright then. It's a date." | 17 | In a world where soulmates cannot harm each other, it makes it very hard for when they stand on opposite sides. A superhero and a supervillain, who have to constantly combat each other near daily, know this issue better than anyone else. | 110 |
The phone rang. It rang. And rang.
"Shouldn't someone check on that payphone? It's been ringing nonstop for... forever." I asked a person walking by me.
"You must be new in town. We never answer that phone. Ever." And he walked past
I was a contractor for optical fiber and I was in town to finally give everybody access to fast internet. Connecting those wires needs to be so precise you need special equipment, so getting a few households hooked up was a task not to be done in a day or two.
I was residing in a small B&B not far from the phone. It rang when I went to bed. It rang when I got up. Maybe it was just broken? On the third day, theories started to come into my mind. Was this some poor guy who was given the wrong number? Was there a higher power in the game? Maybe it was a trap and would suck me into the underworld the second I picked up. Maybe it was Tony Andrews from Surprise Quiz, a show where they randomly dialed and asked a question - answer it right for $3.333,33.
On the following night, I woke up at 4am. It would be my last night in town as tomorrow I'd be done with my job and move to another city. Sure enough, the phone rang. And curiosity won.
I snuck out of the B&B. Since people were partying in the city center, this part of town was quiet at this time. Except for the phone of course. Why has nobody ever answered it? Why didn't somebody destroy it to restore the quietness of town? Why? Slowly, I walked toward the ringing monster. Coldness started to flow through my body. What if I was right and it indeed was a trap? What if it was a bomb and I'd blow up the entire town?
As the phone got within reach, I scanned the alleys for anybody waiting to prey on me. Nobody. I was alone with the ringing. The phone looked normal, a green receiver attached to the box. Exactly like the ones I connected before I specialized in fiber. No fuse sticking out, no mysterious ticking. Just the ring, over and over. I had to do it.
I took a deep breath and started to count. Three rings. Two rings. One ring. I picked up the receiver. "Hello?" Any moment I would be dragged into hell, my gut feeling told me.
"I've come to talk to you about your car's extended warranty."
I froze solid. But just for a moment. Then I did what I always do in these cases. I slammed the receiver back into the mount and made my way back to the B&B.
Behind me, the phone continued to ring. | 94 | "Shouldn't someone check on that pay phone? It's been ringing nonstop for... days." "You must be new in town. We never answer that phone. Ever." | 164 |
The Sanduhrboden desert. An ominous place were ancient ruins lie buried in the sand and only the harsh survive.
The sand and orange dust from a storm slowly settled down.
Revealing a white robed gestalt looking through the rubble of a long abandoned temple.
It held a map in hand that was carved into brittle sandstone that crumbled in it's hands. The gestalt was in fact Hadallen, esteemed professor for for arcano-archeology on the magical university of new hellstairs.
He looked left and right and with erratic movements when he recognized landmarks from his map, and walked on. Until he finally stopped.
In front of him the remains of a small decorative fountain. From the depth of his robes, he pulled a shovel - and hit the old sandstone bassin of the fountain until it fell apart.
His colleagues would have strangled him for this, but he wasn't here to uncover history. He was here to write it.
After hieving the parts to the side, he sat fown and shifted and dug through the sand under the fountain with his hands.
For hours.
His hands dried out, the sun burned down on him. But his vigor grew only stronger.
And finally he found what he had came for. A small black idol of a skeleton with robes and a scythe.
Hadallen finally held it in his hands. The legend maker. The time curse. The gift of death :
A small pitch black figurine made from obsidian glass that granted immortality - to all those that guessed their time of death.
Ironically scientific consensus was it was lost to time.
Hundreds of legends had held it and not only make themselves, but also their story immortal.
Uncountable failed, and gave their last breath to a bet.
And now, that very same power lies in the palm of his hands, Hadallen thought.
"I am here to bet." He spoke with a dry voice.
His anticipation hung visibly in the air, yet nothing happend.
"I've come to become immortal!" He tried. Yet nothing. Nobody came.
"WHY DO YOU REFUSE TO DO YOU DUTY!" He shouted as he punched the idol. But he only hurt himself, as his dry brittle skin burst and left a smear of blood on the black obsidian.
The blood began to move. It drained into the mouth of the statue, defying gravity and sanity. Then, the statue began to hover and... Spread out darkness as if darkness was more of a cloud instead of incorporeal.
Hadallen froze.
"Make your bet." It whispered. It was so quiet he almost thought it was mere imagination. But the mouth of the statue unmistakably moved.
Hadallens almost frightened face transformed into what can only be described as an evil grin. Madness began to not only flicker in his eyes, but to shine oit of them onto the statue.
He spoke only one word:
"Now!"
The statue, did exactly what it always did.
It looked at the time Hadallen was intended to die. It was pretty soon, given that he was a scholar inside of a desert and he only had water for at most 3 more days. It then substracted the time difference he was wrong about from the time he had left. That means, he had to die now.
But that in itself meant Hadallens guess had been right. He had to be granted immortality. Yet he also had to die.
The statue granted both. But it was not made to handle such paradoxical situations. It crumbles to Dust.
Hadallens heart stopped beating. It would never beat again. Nevertheless, he stood up. As the first Lich this world had ever seen. | 10 | if they can guess the exact date of their demise, then they shall be granted immortality. If they guess wrong, the difference in days will be subtracted from their life. This will be your third guess. | 16 |
The dress was a purple parachute around Lucy's legs as she danced, the cream hummingbirds printed onto the cotton leaping and diving in joyous flight. Electro-swing thrummed through the room, through her body, the saxophone's erratic melody leading her movements,
Everything was alive. The birds. The night. *Lucy.*
The crowd watched Lucy, the genius of geniuses -- as the press labelled her (when she'd been just a child, no less!) -- lose herself to the drink and rhythm.
When the track finished, the crowd erupted into applause.
Lucy took a bow, her forehead sweat-slick, her smile a blazing candle that had been lost in a drawer for a decade. Found. Relit.
"Terrific," said Elliot. Her husband handed her a fizzing champagne flute then placed his arms around her lower back, pulling her close. "You were terrific."
"Thanks," she said, between panting breaths. "It's been a hot moment since I danced like that." She took a long sip, let the bubbles tickle her gums.
"What's it been?" said Elliot. "A decade since they let you party?"
"Since they let me live. A decade since I was alive. Since any of us were."
Another song started, a little slower. Some of the guests partnered up and swayed together like ghosts.
"Shall we?" said Elliot.
She raised a hand. "I need a break. And a refresh on the champagne." She leaned over and kissed his cheek.
​
Isabelle was sitting in the kitchen sipping a glass of orange.
"Now why aren't you in bed, kiddo?" Lucy asked.
"Couldn't sleep." Isabelle let out a lazy yawn, not bothering to cover it.
"Is it the music?" Lucy checked her watch. "Yeah. We should call it a night soon."
"No. It wasn't that."
Lucy poured herself another glass of bubbly and sat next to her daughter. "Well, what is it?"
The little girl shrugged. "It's just been such a long time since I've seen you happy. I didn't want to miss it."
Lucy's smile wavered. Almost dropped but she caught it. "I'll be happy plenty more from now."
"You will?"
She stroked her daughter's long auburn hair, so similar to her own. "I will."
"Why? What's different now?"
What was different now? Well, for a start, she was enjoying herself. She was at a party. She was letting go. And god, the drink helped. She'd been banned from partying and drinking for the better part of a decade. Lucy was one of the government's top physicists -- but after an incident (vague in her memory now, like a painting left out in the sun year after year, faded to white canvas) they'd given her a choice. A cramped cell, or become a prisoner in her own home. With no drink. With no fun.
She'd taken the latter offer.
"Everyone okay?" said her husband.
She'd not seen Elliot enter. He sat by them and drank his own champagne.
"We're fine, daddy," said Isabelle.
"Great party," said Elliot. "Really, it's great."
"I think we'll have to call it quits soon," said Lucy.
"Oh?" He frowned.
She nodded at their daughter. "Can't sleep. It's the excitement of it all."
"We should finish the champagne first. Still got a bottle."
"Yeah," she said, looking at her husband. But it'd sounded more like their daughter's voice. "I suppose so. Who knows when we'll next get a bottle."
"Is champagne hard to get?" asked Isabelle.
"It is for me! They banned me from drinking. Can you believe it?"
"But you're drinking now?"
She looked at the glass in her hand. "Yeah. I guess I am."
"So how did you get that?"
Her husband popped a cork and filled up her glass. "Drink! Be merry! Let me be wise."
How did she get it? It'd been hard... difficult. She'd broken protocol. Had the bottles delivered by an old friend. Smuggled, really. She wasn't allowed it here. Or allowed any guests.
"Then how did the guests get here?" asked Isabelle. "If you weren't allowed them?"
"I... I guess they snuck in too?"
They fell quiet. She drank the champagne.
Odd, she thought. No sound of footfall, of dancing. Just the music.
Lucy got to her feet; the alcohol hit her like a door. She staggered against a wall, pushed herself off, then continued unsteadily to the lounge.
Empty.
Not one living soul.
The guests had all gone.
"Well I guess that settles it," said Elliot. He'd followed her in. They both had followed.
"It does?"
"Party is officially over." He raised his glass of champagne.
Isabelle held a champagne flute too. She raised it to her mother.
Why had she got a drink? Something wasn't--
The lights flickered. Died. Darkness sank over them. The music stopped.
Then: *flames.*
All she could see were the flames erupting from their pair of champagne flutes. Their glasses were on fire!
They tipped them towards their faces, a dance of red and orange light stretching over their skin.
"Wait!"
They drank the fire. The flames spread over their faces as quickly as the sun over a glade.
"Wait! Please!" She was screaming at them but unable to step nearer. Unable to put them out.
Their bodies were on fire now. Purple and white and red and leaping in tongues, and their skin was like crinkled charcoaled paper falling and sluicing away from their bodies. Their faces were red and black pulp, only the white of their eyes, so much larger without the lids, bulbous and swollen, were staring at her, screaming at her.
And then their bodies, too, ashed into the air.
She could taste their death on her tongue.
Oh god.
It was all coming back.
Their deaths. The fire.
The memories punched at her belly and heart and brain. The room swirled with their dust.
It'd been arson. It was her meant to die, but she'd worked late. Only her family had been asleep.
Her ideas had made predicting criminality an actual science. Her thoughts had locked up tens of thousands before they'd committed crimes.
But it wasn't perfect. Someone had evaded the system. Had set the fire.
​
She'd tried to find him. She'd tried to end the world to find him. Had worked on a weapon that pulled people out of existence. Could perhaps erase even their past actions.
That had been last time she'd been drunk, at a party a year after their deaths -- that was when she'd come up with the idea.
Since then, she'd been locked up in her own home. Unable to drink or celebrate life. Too valuable to let die or to allow to stop working.
​
"I love you," she said to the ash that waltzed around her. The breeze from the fan stirred it into a frenzy. Set the hummingbirds on her dress into flight.
We love you too, the death-ash seemed to say. We need you.
She stumbled back to the kitchen. Poured another glass. They needed her. She needed them.
*Yes*.
The idea had been solid. She just hadn't been able to complete it. To go through with it.
If she pulled the murderer out of existence, out of time, then he'd never have existed to kill her family.
Only issue was, she didn't know who the man was. Only one witness and the description had been generic.
She downed the drink.
Never mind. If she had to eliminate a million people -- a hundred million, even -- to bring them back, she would.
For the first time in a decade she was alive.
And soon, they would be too. | 319 | A scientist is banned by law from attending any and all parties due to his tendency to build fully -functioning doomsday devices while intoxicated. | 1,664 |
I'm standing knee deep in corpses. I try to cleanse my hand of the blood, but it won't budge. Seems like they changed my model. Neat.
"I-I will stop you!" He shouts from behind me. I don't need to look to know he is bloodied and shaking. The Hero is scared. I let out a disinterested hmmpf.
"I've no doubt you will, Poppet." I flick off the last of the fresh blood from my left hand. The right seems clean. At least the designers have some sense. I do appreciate the work they did on the scales, the details are superb. "But not now. Not here. In a few years, I think." I tap my chin, thinking. "Yes, a couple years to get the rebellion going, some time to grow in power,. Get a few gods or kingdoms on your side... About five years, I'd say." I finally turn to look at him. He is standing, in slack-jawed silence. I give him a shooing motion with my hand.
That seems to shake him, and he strengthens the grip on his sword. His right hand appears non-functional. I wonder if that's a mechanic they implemented or if he's going to get a cool-looking new arm later. Maybe something angelic, to offset my demonic vibe? A bit cliché, but those work best.
"Are you insane? I'm telling you that I'll kill you, and you just accept it?" He seems confused, under all that anger. "Of course, your Hero-ship." I bow in my usual,drama-queen fashion. "We all have a part to play. Life goes much smoother once you've accepted this."
He spits on the ground. I'm fairly certain there was a tooth there. I doubt he'll be missing any next time we meet. "You monster! You're working for the Chaos Gods, aren't you!" I shake my head. "Oh no, my dear Poppet. Even the gods are but pawns in the game I see." I say that with a smile, but I can't maintain it. "Just like me.".
"Is this is just a game to you??" He screams, with frankly unnecessary force, as I'm but feet away. I cock my head sideways, in mock confusion. "Isn't that what I've been saying?" This angers him. "Tell me, Hero of The Lands, what did I do to incite you?" That one stopped him. "What did I do, to you, to get you here?" I ask, smiling.
He shakes his head, as if I'm trying to mentally control him. " You killed my parents! You burnt them in their bed!" I throw my head back and let out a short "Ha!" And before he responds I move closer. "Classic. Dead parents send the hero on a personal quest for vengeance that grows into saving the world." I touch a finger to his forehead. "But tell me this, poppet- do you remember living with them?" He's about to spit out an answer. Then he pauses. He looks like he's trying to remember something. "You grew up on a farm. Do you remember plowing the fields? Did you get up before dawn to sow the seeds?" I see the confusion in his eyes, and the slowly growing fear. "Did you have a dog? Many farms do, but not all." His eyes dart rapidly, trying to find some answer, some escape from the inevitable answer. So I push harder. "What were your parents names?" With that he collapses. Tears are streaming down his eyes. I kneel, and whisper in his ear. "That's right. Neither you, or I, nor the gods or the world truly exist. We are playthings, who exist as long as we are entertaining." I stand up and begin to walk away. "When the others ask, tell them I locked your memories or something. A spell only my death can undo. Yeah, that sounds good." I don't get an answer, but I don't expect one. "See you in five years, little puppet." | 56 | "Is this just a game to you?!", It now feels sorely tempting to tell them about the floating green bar above their head. | 131 |
"What?! What do you mean we are changing genres?!" He yelled as he saw Blake's armour morph into a white shirt and pencil skirt. Wait, how did he know what those things are?
"The author! They didn't like the story! But they still wanted to use us." The floor beneath them changed from rocky terrain to a smooth floor, the trees shrunk into little pots.
"What does any of that mean?! We just spent years travelling here and we were going to retire after this! Start a family in the village! We can't let the death of our friends be in vain!" Christopher watched in horror as his sword became a phone and his potions were replaced with a plastic water bottle.
"Really? Retirement, Chris? Aren't you getting a bit ahead of yourself?" Sighed The Evil God- no, that wasn't right. Though he sure acted like one, Wesley did not deserve such a foreboding title.
"I-"
"I know firing your teammates must have been...tough for you, but you can't drop the ball here. You and Blake need to pick up the slack! There is a reason we didn't fire you as well. You guys just have to shoulder the workload until we will find the right people, you understand that, don't you?" His boss gave a polite smile before going on his way.
"And he wonders why everybody around the office calls him Weasel around his back." Blake snickered into her laptop, Christopher stared at his surroundings. There was no giant dramatic storm, no ritual that will end the world or monsters ready to claw their insides out. The weather was sunny, without a cloud in the sky, the air smelled of bleach and around him the office was full of people making calls and working on their computers.
"W...What?"
"Are you still trying to catch up? My man, we have work to do."
"But the deaths, were they meaningless?! Amelia? Richard? They had given their lives for us." Christopher felt his eyes fill with tears, he had held their corpses in his arms. He had helped put them to rest.
Blake let out an annoyed sighed and took the phone from his hand and opened his contacts. Among the many unfamiliar names, she scrolled to show two people. 'Amy' and 'Rich'.
"Ames was just made into a tech wizard, she will get a job in an IT department or something. Rich is a trust fund baby instead of the honest noble. He'll be fine, his dad will just do what Weasel's parents did and get him a job at their company. Nice cushy job and both can retire early." She stretched her arms and started typing again. "Now! Can we focus? We need to start our jobs, so we are forced to work together, fall in love, have a giant misunderstanding and you stalk me or chase me to the airport and propose. Or something along those lines."
"But the dream! Retiring with kids in the village?" As he spoke, the dream felt odd. Why would he tell her that? He barely knew her.
"Oh, they let you keep that dream? So it will be a story of nice guy tames career woman. So overdone and toxic." She rolled her eyes as Chris scoffed.
"What would you know about my dream? Some people actually want the quiet life and not to step on other people to get where they are."
"Mhm, keep telling yourself that. Meanwhile I'll be drinking mojitos with Rich in the country club and you will be working on Christmas because Wesley will want to go to the Bahamas and you will be the easiest to sucker into it."
"Get back to work! I better only hear talking if you are discussing ways to raise our profits."
"Yes, sir." Both grumbled and turned back to their work. Chris stewed in his annoyance as he thought, why did he have to get stuck with her of all people?
Blake quietly changed her tab to one of a fantasy convention, sighing internally. Why did they have to get stuck in this? Just when the story is about to end nicely, the author decides to start anew.
Going from western to 80s horror had been jarring, but she had had high hopes that the dark fantasy setting would have had them actually finish a story. It was the last chapter, the last encounter! They could have been put to rest.
Damn coward. | 52 | "Oh, no." "What?" "We're changing genres! This story has changed from a dark fantasy to a romantic comedy! The Evil God is about to become my annoying boss!" | 256 |
The first thing I remember hearing was the gentle chatter of sparrows outside my window.
I shot up in terror and confusion, looking about the morning lit room, trying to collect my thoughts. I sat at attention, head cocked listening for the voices, the... Horrible laughter...
But the horror was gone. Only the comforting sound of birds and breeze. I flopped back onto the bed, trying to wrap my brain around the last month....
I remember being kidnapped, blindfolded, and then stabbed while a chorus of droning voices chanted gibberish all around me... And then everything went black. There was dark putrid scar where I had been stabbed, and I began to see things...horrible nightmares that plagued my every waking moment - hallucinations of the walls turning to flesh and eyes and mouths, the faces of loved ones warping into masses of twisting tentacles... It never relented.
I hadn't slept in days, and was beginning to fear that whatever or whoever was doing this to me wanted me to die.
I pulled up my shirt to inspect the stab wound in my stomach... But there was nothing there. Not even a scar, nothing... As I say there listening to the chirping birds, I began to wonder: *was* it all in my head? Had I actually just gone mad?
No, I'm sure it happened. I remember posting about my experiences to anyone who would listen. I checked my phone, my messages were still there... People who had similar experiences and were also confused...
I notice I have 1 message in my inbox. Sent about 20 minutes ago...I open my mailbox and it's a message with the title: "Serenity at last." From user BallsDeep69. Spam probably, but I can't help but glance at the first line.
"They have restored balance in the last theatre in Earth."
One line, no context. Maybe it was a wrong message. I reply, "probably got the wrong guy, have a nice day."
There is an almost immediate response.
"This message was for you."
I respond with "Okay, who the hell are you and what does this mean?"
He never responded. I couldn't be bothered to care, at least at first. My life was miraculously back to normal. I spent the next few days nervously waiting for the voices and hallucinations to return, but they never did. I was free and clear. I went on hikes, I went to the beach and met up with friends and family that I had been avoiding for the last month. It was almost like it never happened... But I couldn't accept that.
Even as I returned to normal, I kept finding myself going back to that message I saw when I woke up. No matter how many times I read it, I couldn't make heads or tails of it. Eventually, I just gave up, and finally, a year on, it all just seemed like one terrible nightmare far beyond my reach...
The realization came to me when I was planning a trip to visit my cousin in Lubbock, Texas.
I was looking at the path through Google Maps, and I couldn't help but notice a town nearby along the way - Earth, Texas.
What a funny name, I thought. I googled the town and didn't find much on it's wiki. I looked at the Images tab to see what the place looked like. A typical 1 street town that I had seen countless times driving through rural America. But then...
I saw it: sandwiched between two buildings was a blue painted memorial theatre, long since closed down.
"NOW PLAYING: The Blob" the sign on the threatre said.
I'm not sure why, but this brought me back to that message, They restored balance in the last theatre in Earth... They restored balance *in* the last theatre *in* Earth...
A chill ran down my spine. I don't know how, or why, but somehow that theatre had answers...
I grabbed my things and headed straight for the car. I didn't have to see my cousin for another few weeks, but Earth was only a 6 hour drive.
I nearly turned around twice, second guessing myself the whole time before I finally reached Earth, it's little main street, and big ol blue sitting in the middle.
Strangely, even though the sun was still setting, no one was around. The stores were already closed up, and no one was to be seen. I thought about trying to find someone's house, knock on their door, but I opted to knock on the theatre door instead.
*THUMP THUMP THUMP*
The old wooden door creaked on it's hinges and swung slightly inward from my knock. It was pitch black inside. I turned on my phone light and called out "Hellloooo??"
No one answered; as I panned around the room with my light, I saw mostly what I thought to see: an old movie theatre covered in cobwebs, neat rows of chairs that hadn't been sat in for decades. And yet, at the back of the theatre, there was another light source.
A faint silverly light glowed from behind the screen. I turned off my phone light to confirm it, and sure enough, it was there.
I navigated as quietly as I could to the screen, peering around the other side of it and stealthily as possible, but I still want ready for what I saw:
A man sat at a desk and behind him was a short yellow wall. The man was perhaps in his late 30s to early 40s wearing white shirt with a pocket protector, balding with stringy hair weakly combed over the empty space, thick coke bottle glasses, a mustache only a math teacher could love, and he was vigorously chewing gum, but making no noise as he chewed it.
"Howdy!" The man said in a cheerful Midwest accent.
I nearly fell backwards in surprise, but caught myself. As I approached the man slowly, he pulled out his gum and jammed it into a crack in the wall behind him.
From his pocket protector he pulled out another stick of BIG RED gum, and continued his vigorous, yet soundless chewing.
Confused but determined, I walked up to the desk. I don't remember there being a chair for me, but there was now. The man smiled at me as he continued to chew his gum.
I sat down, weirded out, but continued "So... Are you the one who... Restored balance? Who made my hallucinations go away?"
"You can bet your lucky stars I am!" He said with pride and glee.
I took a moment to gain the measure of the man and his desk. The desk was mundane, nothing more than a typical teachers desk. The chair, nothing special. The yellow painted wall seemed to be a bit out of place,, but its only notable feature was the crack jammed full of Big Red.
"Okay, so who are you and how did you restore balance?"
The man sighs, as if having to explain to a child. "We're CRAIG, and we've been keeping the King in Yellow and other Eldritch abominations from entering earth for millennia!"
I shake my head in bewilderment. "I'm sorry the King in Yellow? Like Lovecraft???"
As I finish these words I hear a familiar tangle of inane whispers from behind the man. He frowns in disappointment, pulls another piece of chewed gum out of his mouth and jams it deeper into the crack in the wall.
"My apologies, the King in Yellow can be... Persistent." He says as he pulls out another piece of Big Red.
Still confused and in disbelief, I ask. "okay, say I believe you. How long have you... Err.. has CRAIG been doing this? "
"Since the Sleeper began his dream!" Said Craig.
None of this makes sense. I stand up, angry now, demanding "If your job is to keep the King in Yellow out, why have I been having nightmares for the last month??? "
"Oh," CRAIG chuckles, " I ran out of gum." | 22 | There’s a reason humanity is mostly oblivious to all the alien invasions, zombies, secret shadow organizations, sinister deep states, eldritch gods, and hollow earth. For every secret conspiracy threatening to destroy the world, there’s an equal and opposite conspiracy cancelling it out. | 161 |
Sweat dripped down my nose, mingling with the blood that poured from my mouth. This wasn't going as well as it could. At least my headphones were still in one piece.
The man that stood before me cackled. I had never quite understood what it meant for one to 'cackle'. I figured it had just mean to laugh in an evil matter, but it was so much more in the flesh. It hurt to hear, almost as hard as the fists and feet that had pummeled me.
"Is this all you can do, WalkMan?" He jeered. "Is this the man that defends his city? Pathetic." He shot a glare at the nearest news crew, making sure to look directly at the camera. "This is what you get for trusting a 'hero'. This is what anyone that defies me will get. Bow before me, or perish beneath me!"
He turned back to me, raising both of his fists above his head, preparing to strike with all of his power. I knew what I had to do.
"Hey Siri" I said, coughing and spitting out another tooth. The bluetooth headphones chirped in response, acknowledging that it had heard my prompt.
"Play Forbidden Loop Omega"
The chirp sounded again in acknowledgement. I stood on my one good leg, bracing a hand on the wall to support the broken leg. The man cackled again.
"So you choose to die on your feet. How noble."
As he brought his glowing fists down towards my head, the music swelled in my ears. I brought up one hand and caught the blow with ease. With one quick motion, I broke both of his wrists.
He boggled at me. "No, NO, NONONONO!" He wailed. "How?"
I met his terrified gaze with a blank expression. I couldn't show any emotion. Not with this terrible noise assaulting my ears.
With another twist, I ripped his arms from their sockets. I heard the gasps from the camera crews as they captured every gruesome detail in stunning 4K definition, if their commercials could be believed.
"Dr Doomsday, you are hereby under arrest." I spoke in an even tone, straining to keep my emotions under control. "Officers, take him away." I turned and strode away, before a reporter or police officer could ask me any potentially compromising questions.
As I strode to the parking garage where my personal car was parked, I fumbled with my phone, desperate to stop the song that was consuming me. Bringing me to a dark place.
"We can do it, if we try" I mumbled along, as my fingers typed my password. The Cocomelon song was almost a greater pain in my ears than sung through my broken jaw and missing teeth.
r/SlightlyColdStories if you want. Or don't. It's all up to you. | 1,687 | You are a superhero whose powers are based on the music you are listening to. Rock can make you stronger, classical makes you smarter, etc. One day, you're fighting your toughest villain yet, and you are forced to use your "forbidden" playlist. | 4,562 |
"The communists are invading! it is time to take and arm yourselves, we can't allow them to destroy our way of living! Every woman and child, raise your weapon and fight! You are the heroes of our nation, and the pillars of freedom! Now is the time to fight!"
- it is what is written in this monument made by humans, as the memoir of their last stand, where they bravely fought and won against the alien communist invaders... -Said the Captain of mother fleet.
And with it the only chance of survival that humans had against the impending doom that climate crisis brought... -Said Darfin, the scientist.
... We had the solution for their problems, but too bad, some people would have less profit and a little less imaginary numbers in their bank account... - said Fermi - so war was inevitable.
-They didn't really won, they just shot against the sky until our pilots got anoyed and left -said the Captain of mother fleet.
-Who cares? We are fucked anyway, our superiors will never believe that humans would be so dumb, despite having so much technology. We lost them, and this is our fault. | 23 | "Greetings, humans of Earth! We have come to conquer your world! By building houses for everyone, universal health-care, and educational opportunities!" | 104 |
I used to be grand. I sat in a palace of red crystal, with prayers pouring into me. I had enough belief to reach through the planes and affect the world itself, without having to create an avatar. But that was a long time ago.
Now, my palace is a broken ruin. The red has bled away, leaving a dirt covered imitation of grandeur. The prayers have dried up. A new pantheon rules over war now. So I have to sit in silence amongst ruins, until my reserves of strength are depleted. Then, like my brethren before me, I too shall fade away into the Astral Haze.
I did not wish to though. My desire to live was strong. It was stronger than my pride, that which had consumed the others. I would not let myself go, not without a fight.
As it happened, a chance came from an unexpected source. A mage had cast a spell to find a familiar. Normally such a spell wasn't able to be tampered with, as they would have what they wanted written into the ritual itself. But this one was open to any. I could take it. So I did.
It was a shameful display for me. A being that put fear in the hearts of many, now bound and reduced. The mage was my master, that much was now true. But with him, I would live for as long as he did at least.
With a burst of red light, I saw my new master. He wore patched and worn brown robes, with an exhausted expression. I knew right now he was weaker than many who had prayed to me. But there was a strength within he had not yet seen.
"You wished for a familiar?"
Even my voice made me cringe. It was high pitched, more suited for an imp than a dying god. But beggars can't be choosers, that's for sure.
"I did. As-"
He broke into a coughing fit. I rolled my eyes, as he wheezed to calm himself. Finally he continued, though his voice shook slightly.
"A-as per the contract, we are now bound together."
I bowed.
"Indeed it is, o'summoner. What is your name?"
He gave a grateful smile.
"It's Youlus."
I placed a clawed hand on my chest.
"A pleasure to be in your service. I am Araethra." | 14 | In order to prevent itself from fading away, a god of a forgotten pantheon chooses to become the familiar of a lowly mage. | 66 |
One minute I was happily playing with my toy trains in the living room, scooting them across the dirty, beige carpet floors, and the next I was sitting in a bright, high-tech spaceship about 1000 meters above the Earth. I was used to being automatically teleported to many places without being prepared on the daily, but this location left me completely flabbergasted.
"Mommy? Daddy?" I called out in a frightened voice. It echoed across the wide, large room. "Hello?"
No answer.
I observed my surroundings. The room was lit up by a huge, circular light on the ceiling, large enough to cover the entire room. It illuminated an extremely bright light, nearly burning my eyes upon looking at it for more than 5 seconds. To my left and right, my eyes widened as I noticed the numerous astronomical buttons and levers, each flashing constantly with various colors— red, blue, green, purple, and even some unknown colors I couldn't recognize. The walls and floors were covered in an aesthetic neon green and purple design with psychic symbols splattered across them.
Where was I? This was too much, I was only 9 at the time. I did my best to hold back my tears, trying to focus on the things I DID know. Since birth, I teleported to wherever I would need to be at before even knowing why, without any control over my ability. So, why did I need to be teleported into a spaceship at that very moment out of all places?
My question was quickly answered as I peeked out the window of the room, dropping my jaw as I saw Earth burst into an explosion from a large beam laser from the ship. Rocks flung into space, and a large fire covered the entirety of the planet. I couldn't believe it. What had I just witnessed before my eyes? Tears began to fill my eyes as I thought about my parents. Every person, animal, plant, and living thing were dead. And I'd be one of them if it weren't for my inherited powers.
"We did it!" A voice yelled from another room in the spaceship. A loud cheer by many others quickly followed. "We've rid of Earth!"
"Blasting planets sure is fun," Another strange voice announced. "I'm going to go back in the control room and steer us back to homeworld."
I heard footsteps get increasingly louder. My heart started pumping. Whoever that was, they were coming into the room. My face was already soaked from tears, so it was a bit hard to see. Nonetheless, I searched the room trying to find a good place to hide. But it was too late. A shadowy figure opened the door, and there I was standing there completely frozen. As the figure stepped inside the room more, their face was revealed. Its three eyes, thousands of tentacles, and disturbing body made me let out a huge scream. And so did they.
"What's going on in here? What's wrong? Are you okay?" Multiple other figures said after running into the room behind the first. They all looked the same with slight differences. Each of the monsters faces matched the first as they stared at me across the room, tears still rolling down my cheeks.
"What is that thing?" One of the monsters panicked. "Is it going to hurt us?"
"No, no." Someone else joined in. "It's a species of Earth. How did it get on our ship?"
"I'm not sure. I think it's lost."
I continued sobbing as they kept discussing my presence. But then, my heart slowed down after they approached me with kindness.
"Hi, little creature." A four-eyed monster spoke to me. "Are you lost?"
I was too afraid to respond.
"Why aren't you with your parents?" Then they turned to look outside the window to see Earth in millions of pieces, and their faces changed to an embarrassed and ashamed look.
"How about we all become your new parents?" They all collectively agreed, picking me up with their slimy hands, grasping onto me with their three fingers.
Despite being extremely frightened, I had no one else to trust or no where else to go. I couldn't teleport on my own, and if I was in any danger then I would simply just be transported someone else. I reluctantly accepted this new life.
"T-thank you guys." I finally mustered up the courage to speak.
"Please, call us mom and dad." | 12 | Children of superpowered parents will inherit an amplified version of their abilites. Both of your parents can teleport places instantly, giving you the power to teleport where you will need to be before you even know it. | 78 |
"You call that a waylay?" I said, and rolled my right shoulder to work out the lingering soreness.
It wasn't just sore. It had been dislocated more times than seemed proper for a princess to experience. Of course, it wasn't like the Grimjaw Gang knew of my prestigious lineage.
"You're trained," said the scarless man with the blunted dagger in his hand.
"Indeed. Perhaps you're not completely hopeless. What gave me away?"
"You move like a fencer," he said. "And you always cover your blind spots. You've got defenses meant to hinder an assassin's blade."
I flipped my practice dagger in a reverse grip and crouched low. Now I was in a loose stance, swaying like a metronome, and balanced on the balls of my feet -- a rogue's stance, like that of a Grimjaw. I lunged at the rookie, and I connected with his belly.
"I am the left hand of Grimjaw," I told him. "Remember that, rookie. I have it in my power to make you … or break you. And don't try to bribe your way up the ranks -- you couldn't afford me. Now come."
I dropped into a rogue's stance once more.
"No," he said, and sheathed his practice dagger. "I appreciate the training and all, but I'm no highwayman. I know my place."
"Quitter," I said. "No. Worse. Coward. Perhaps you misheard me. I'm the left hand of Silus Grimjaw himself. The bandit king of Sen Jacobin? We're not talking about mere highway robbery. I can get you in on jobs that'll change your stars. Wealth beyond your wildest dreams. Power. Respect. All you have to do is prove yourself. So come at me."
"Please," he said, "I am grateful for the training. But I know my place. Are you thirsty? You've broken quite a sweat. And the sun has been quite vicious. Shall I fetch you something to drink?"
"Uh…" It wasn't until he mentioned it that I felt how sweaty my clothes had become. And my throat was indeed quite parched. "Are you carrying any watered wine?"
He fetched a sack from a saddlebag on a horse that was almost a twin to the thoroughbred on which I'd learned to ride during my youth at the palace.
"Thank you -- for the drink."
"My pleasure."
"Ah! I don't understand you, rookie. Every initiate I've had to babysit, they're drooling for the chance to raid with Grimjaw. They think themselves a prince to the bandit king. Nearly bursting at the seams with ambition -- not that you have any."
"Not so," he said. "Just because I don't want to slit throats or open bellies, doesn't mean I don't have dreams or goals. And stop calling me rookie, or initiate, or any sort of demeaning title. My name is Leto."
"Ah hah!" So that was it. "You want to infiltrate the Emperor's court. To trade in whispers and secrets? I understand. I can talk to Lord Krediq. Maybe get you into some snazzy silks?"
"No," he said. "I know my place. No silks. How's the wine?"
I told him that the rice wine was the most refreshing I'd ever tasted.
He asked me when I had decided to join up with Grimjaw, and if I'd been running away from something -- or someone. He asked about my family, and I told him that the price for joining the Grimjaw Gang was one's past. That all I cared about was the here and now. Second only to my future as the richest women in the empire.
He asked me if I liked sweetbread, and when I said that I did, he fetched me a roll from his saddlebag, and tore it in two, for us to enjoy.
I bit into my bread, sipped my wine, and ate with delight. The bread sparked an idea.
"You want to run a front," I said, knowingly. "Perhaps a tavern where you can serve wine and bread to locals. Gather information. Clean our money. I could help you with that. Get you enough start up coin to purchase a storefront. And you could keep the profits, of course. You'll be the one doing all the hard work."
"Thank you," he said, with a smile. "But no. Would you like to go for a ride?"
We rode out of the city together, onto the King's road. It felt good to breath fresh air after sweating all day in the city. We found our way to a little homestead and hitched our horses to a post. We sat under a willow, shaded from the sun. It was warm, but not humid, and the late-summer breeze swayed the branches drooping around us.
I told Leto about my first year in the gang, of how we used to fight over jobs and how Grimjaw would whip the losers in front of everyone. I told him of the bad-old-days, back when the bluecloaks were cracking down on crime, and how King Tarius had taken to planting thieves' heads on pikes outside the city walls.
He told me of his parents, who were both killed during the Red Plague, and who had left him a title (which title he did not say). He told me of his work, translating ancient texts, a passion he'd never would have had the time had he taken up the title and the arranged marriage that came with it, and of how much joy filled his heart whenever he discovered some new scroll or tome to decipher. He told me he shared his discoveries with the physikers when they revealed something to do with medicine, which helped save lives.
I saw no want, no desire unfulfilled in his life, no burning ambition scorching away at his heart, except...
"I see now your reason for joining the gang," I told him. "Noble duties would put quite the hamper on a scholar's studies. But you've left that all behind, and I won't pry. You seem to have everything you need. Except for someone to share it with. I can get you a wife -- a lady, by title only. Together, you can travel the territories under the perfect cover, spying for foreign artifacts. Yes, that is your goal..."
"Really, I'm fine. I know my place," he said.
We rode back to the city, stabled our horses, and slid into the safehouse.
"You vex me," I told him. "The Grimjaw Gang is no place for some -- content."
"And yet, here I am."
"Then what am I to *do* with you? We are to spend the summer training."
He thought for a moment. Then he grabbed a scroll from his little desk. "Can you read ancient Valtruvian?"
"You intent to make me your apprentice?"
"No. It's more something for you to do while I prepare our dinner."
I read through the scroll and jotted some loose notes on parchment, making sure to include any mentions of medicine. After dinner, I smoked a pipe while he served us spiced tea. I spent the night in the den downstairs.
It wasn't that he lacked ambition. It was that he knew exactly how to channel it, never working against anyone. Always in partnership. While he worked on his translations, I kept guard, watching for bluecloaks or imperial spies. On days he'd been reading for a long time, he let me rub his neck and shoulders. My hands were quite strong.
Shortly before his initiate training was over, I packed my clothes and daggers, brought them upstairs, and into his bedroom, and Leto's bed.
I watched him snore this morning. I stared at the crows feet tracking out from the corners of his eyes. The harvest sun weakly trickled through the curtains and dappled his brown cheeks, and he opened his eyes and stared at me, and he smiled.
"I know we're supposed to have forgotten our pasts," he said. "But I've never met a thief like you. You're so -- regal. Who *are* you?"
I thought for a moment. I snuggled my head into his shoulder.
"I was once a princess -- meant to marry a man I never knew." I smiled up at him. "But now, I know my place." | 110 | A princess runs away and joins a gang of outlaws to avoid an arranged marriage. While staying with the outlaws, she falls in love with the guy she was supposed to marry who also ran away. | 1,159 |
In the cool before sunrise the fog that folds down from the river settles a heap in the burrows and then pushes its way up the hill to the flags, those old wooden spikes planted jagged with the torn fabrics that ripple sideways in the wind. No-one knows who put them there. The colours are dulled some, but still vibrant. These oranges and yellows and reds. And it's always windy, up there, at the spot that marks where the skulls begin.
The legend of the orcs runs deep in this town. Everyone knows the story. Some of the older folk even claim to have seen one. Convincing tales they would make, too, if it weren't for how different each retelling was: that they come once a millenia, or a century, or in rare blood moons; that the creatures are ugly and fierce and bloodthirsty, or timid and short, or gigantic, like trolls; that they ride great skeletons of hideous beasts brought back from the dead.
Memories wane to the benefit of these imaginations. Rapt audiences familiar with the absurdity are nonetheless captivated, never diminishing, these performances at the local pub with couplings of beer and hearty guffaws and good Irish music better than the finest production at the theatre.
Micky Dobson for all his appearance as a seasoned drinker would listen sober, usually at the back, stone faced, often shadowed from view, more attentive than the rest. The only reason he ever left his unwell grandmother of an evening was to hear these stories. Like he had a sixth sense about them, never wrong, always drawn to his next study by instincts passed down to him.
His great grandfather had been a sheep farmer with a plot that bordered that hill, and his grandfather and father had each of them been witness to the sincerity of his conviction. That what he saw before the sun rose, on a date he could never recollect, was of a nature completely untold, hard to describe for the impact that it cast upon him when he saw it.
Waves of fog too thick for God's earth, he would say, beneath which great mounds of skulls rose from the dirt, each of those flags pushed high in the air like claims to their ghastly treasure below. Skulls that came from no human; oversized spheres of bone with spikes and horns and jaws like blocks of gnarled wood, shape and size and variation vast that it spoke to many a different species. Yet, in spite their various forms, it was all the same, they all came from the same hellish lot, he somehow knew.
Cold of that morning was slowly illumed by the sun. His transfixed gaze remained stuck, frozen when the groaning soon came. Tall lumbering shadows in the haze, he saw. Manacled green giants in rows that dragged their feet with fallen heads, difficult to see, but by their language he knew of their pain and sadness.
With daylight the fog rose to obscure the scene in its totality, and it was only the cries that spoke, then. Beastly pleas to the sky from unspeakable torments, never answered. To Micky's ancestor these terrible agonies were so great they pierced an arrow through his soul he would never fully remove.
A lone rider in view at the crest stood watchful for a time. Regarded him with a silent disdain, menace to a warning to remain where he stood. To leave. A warden of that demonly gaol which had revealed itself for reasons no-one, perhaps not even the warden, would ever know. Even from that distance the flash of eye-fire as the rider turned could be seen. Come no closer, human. Go home, go back to your pathetic town, speak this to no-one.
But he spoke it eventually to his son and his grandson, and, in turn, they both told it to Micky. Who now saw in these diverging tales many similarities that seemed to fit a bigger puzzle than even his great grandfather had known.
The closest date, the mean of all estimates, was the Winter solstice, a few days before and after he liberally spread to be safe.
He'd always been astute as a camper. Saved for the best gear when he was younger, which was well-preserved with naught a smear or scratch or tear. The hike was a half day to the peak where the creek widened to the river before the falls, there being his best reckoning of the widest vista.
His camp set, prepared, ready, Micky waited, and watched.
Two dawns passed uneventful but for the crows, one of which had ingratiated itself to the benefit of the stale bread Micky picked and threw when he was bored, which was often. The third morning, was the solstice.
Micky woke sharp to the echoing sound of grinding metal from the ravine below and very nearly jumped a hole through his tent. He was already fully dressed and ripped with vigour the zipper back and stepped into the hypothermic cold and felt the crunch of the frost beneath his feet as he was still putting his gloves on. Excitement less the case than finally the test of his family crest that would make of him a man with a tale to pass on. But his eagerness was excessive for the task, and towards the rocky ledge he slipped and fell backwards and broke a campfire branch with a snap that sounded loud and resonant in the predawn air, and he knew, then, there being an ear down there, he had made himself known.
The grinding ceased, and tentative he crawled to the edge and looked down to see a white fog spread vivid as a woollen blanket, its thickness stranger and more otherworldly than he had ever seen. But, unlike the tales, this was a scene without motion. The fog was risen too high to make out the flags, so the skulls, if they were there, couldn't be fancied. Just the fog, and the quiet, and the creeping light from the first arc of an eastward sun.
His study was so singular and focused that he didn't hear the hooves on the rock, until they were close. When he did, when his head turned and he looked up and saw that grotesque skeleton of a steed and its faceless, fire-eyed rider, he smiled.
Fate, he thought. Stories in the bones that no-one would ever know. His own story, now, likely, to never be told. Another skull to the pile...hidden beneath the fog, hinted in views seen once a year, or less, maybe, among thousands of others just as good.
He closed his eyes, and prayed.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
r/wordsofbrennan | 10 | Those orcs with skulls and skeletons all over their settlements? Its all a misunderstanding, they are not the bones of vanquished enemies, they are their ancestors that can possess them once a year during the Winter Solstice, nothing evil about it. | 184 |
The door slid shut behind him as he strode into the elaborately adored building. He walked purposefully and people stood back as he made his way towards the front of the crowd. The man sweep his arms and the people fell back.
He knelt at the man collapsed on the ground in agony. “…is he…a doctor?” A woman asked “He’s no doctor” a man replied keeping his eyes on the scene in-front of him “he’s a proctologist”. A women gasped and fainted as the man on the ground groaned clinging his buttocks.
“Ok ok let’s see what we have here” he said rolling up the pristine sleeve of his white shirt “what is the issue?”
The man on the ground groaned and strained “…I couldn’t resist all that cheese!”
The proctologist slightly shook his head and cast his eye over at the catering table. “This is not the work of some mere cheddar…” he gently tapped the man’s bloated stomach.
“I might have had some chilli wings and a few beers last night…”
“With?” He said letting the question hang
“Ok there might have been some blue cheese on them…”
The crowd gasped as a long retched sounding fart escaped the man.
He man groaned again and rolled onto his side. “It’s getting worse! Do something!”
The proctologist sighed carefully unfurling his tools. A man approached “I saw his majesty’s plate it was only cheese and red meats most of it was deep fried!”
“Not now man!” The King ordered to him as he rolled around.
“Has he eaten anything from the diet I prescribed?” He asked knowing the answer.
“Nothing! Nothing at all!” The man squealed before scurrying away.
“I told you what might happen” he said evenly.
“I’m a king I can eat whatever I like!” The king howled.
“Well last time you tore so badly we had to sew you back up again and you could barely sit for two weeks” he searched his toolkit for the tool handed down to him by his father and his father before his.
“I’m going to have to go in”
“Isn’t there some pill you could give me? Or some shot?”
“It’s too late for that now. We will have to do this the old way…” his hand found the Royal bum poker. | 38 | The Emperor's punishment was swift and cruel. The offender and his entire lineage thereafter are sentenced to a life of shameful service... only generations later, the job is no longer shameful, but widely regarded as desirable and successful. | 123 |
I stare, dumbfounded, for a minute. The Queen of our "Fair Land", the Mistress of Massacre, the Madam of Mayhem, the Beautiful Bitch with the Iron Grip; asking me why people rebel to her rule. Surely, this was her idea of a joke, a reason to gloat before me, before my throat meets the blade.
I spit at her feet, a mixture of saliva and blood and mucus. "I will not indulge you in your perverse pleasures. I will die with the honor of knowing that your reign nears it's end; that the people are no longer blind to your deceptions."
The Queen moved away from the spittle, a look of disgust on her face, before looking me with a look of confusion and exhaustion. "*Please*," she begged, "Tell me *why* you rebel. Have I not been kind, been merciful, in the times before treason?"
I laugh, half in suprise, and half for effect. "Kind? *Merciful?* I never took you as the jesting type." I move as close as chains will allow, and stare at her with my good eye. "Unless, of course, your *kindness* is stealing away the grains and gold of the people, leaving them to starve and to bolster the riches of the Nobles. Unless *mercy* is raping and slaughtering villages, of salting fields. In which case, I fear to see what your *compassion* takes form as."
The Queen appears to be in shock, with a look of horror across her face. A farce, it must be, before switching scripts to gloat. Or perhaps she was soft in the head. Either way, I could not stop myself from my tirade, not in the last hours before my death.
"Do you think us fools, your *Majesty*? That we, the common people, would not question, nor figure out your illusions? That this 'war' of yours was nothing but a way to feed your greed and power, a farce to feed Nobility? No." I spit again; both for effect, and to get the blood from bleeding gums out of my mouth. " No, we may be poor, and uneducated, but we are no fools. You can burn our books, our property, our bodies; but for every book burnt, two children are taught it's lessons. For each home burnt, two more soldiers are raised. For each man burnt, a generation raises to the call. It is too late, for you, and your Royal Court. The people know, and they demand the power for the crown broken, given to the people. The vast treasury emptied of stolen wealth, and returned. A promise of protection for the people, from invaders from within."
The Queen's face distorts from horror, into denial, then into anger. Her voice is falsely calm, though wavering in emotion. "And there is no way to return to peace? What you say is true?"
"No, there will be no peace, until the last of the Nobles are slain. And what I say is true, on my pregnant wife's grave."
The Queen's anger rises, with...tears? Welling, in her eyes? She paces for some minutes, before returning. "If what you say is true, then I am a gullible fool who has been made scapegoat. I trusted in my Court, even when things did not seem...right. Perhaps complacency, perhaps pure foolishness, I know not. But if they have caused such harm to *my* people, under *my* name, it is my duty to see detractors punished and peace restored."
She then produces a keyring, finding the key to the door, opening it. She approaches me, getting within a foot of me. "I will free you, if you will allow me to fulfill this duty, and keep me alive to do so. I will break apart the powers of the Crown, dissolve the Nobility, and reinstate a government that gives powers and protections to the people. We can discuss what that will look like later. Do you accept?"
Now, I am dumbfounded by *sincerity*. I cannot think but this is a lie, or a last bid to save her own life, but their is an anger and sincerity in her voice that I have heard from all of my brothers of martyrdom. I pause for a moment, before shaking off the feeling. "If I am to believe *you*, that you are but a scapegoat to the Nobility, a puppet in their name, why would I accept that? And what makes you think I would or could keep you alive?
"Because I am, whether you like it or not, a wealth of political and governmental knowledge. Experience you would not have otherwise. Secondly, I may be a *gullible fool*, but I am not an *idiot*. If I try to turn around and dismantle the Nobility through the normal channels, they will merely raise the army and coup against me, placing another in my steady who will activately work *with* and *for* them. You, obviously, know more about this castle than any other, so I am certain that you know of secret passages and tunnels not known for hundreds of years, since their first construction."
I consider my options. While I was ready and willing to die a martyr, it didn't necessarily mean I *wished* to. That, and the Queen gave some good points; plus, even if she was lying, and was merely bidding for her life, she was putting herself in the Rebellion's hands. A trial can always be held, later.
I give an aggrevated sigh, before agreeing. "Fine. But do not expect lavish living, nor travel."
"I wouldn't have in the slightest."
"And I will be binding, gagging, and blindfolding you once we are clear of the castle walls."
"Seems smart, for security's sake."
"I can give no guarantees to how the Rebellion will react to you."
"All I ask is a fair consideration."
"You will likely be considered a prisoner, at best."
"Likely."
I give a final sigh.
"Alright, unchain me. We will see how good your word is, your Majesty." | 970 | You are due to be executed for your involvement in the rebellion, but the queen herself approched you in your cell to ask you a question; why are people rebelling against her rule? | 1,942 |
The toy scrapes itself along the floor as you move it to the center of the white circle. It used to be unsteady but in the last week it has hit dead center every time. The white-coated woman smiles and congratulates you as she always does - she’s your favourite, with copper-gold hair and kind eyes. She smiles a lot.
Bored, you stretch and flick the toy back towards the pile. It flies through the air and settles among its friends. You turn to the smiling lady and with only the briefest of pauses she agrees you’re done for now.
You grab her hand and walk back into the open corridor - the door doesn’t close well in its frame, though it’s thick and made of metal. It hangs open, showing the well-lit path beyond. The two of you step over a bit of clutter - a discarded rifle, bent in half. The white-coated woman’s smile flickers briefly but with a gentle squeeze of your hand it returns, radiant. You approach the cafeteria and you smile too as you see your other white-coated friends sitting at the table, two spots open for you to join them. Open packs of rations crowd the table’s surface and you all dig in. It’s bland and you miss the fresh food they used to have, but it’s no big deal. The scientists are smiling the whole time, which makes it a bit hard to eat but keeps you happy too.
Down the table one of the smiles starts to flicker, and you see a trickle of blood dripping from an older man’s nose. You look at him, concerned and his smile doesn’t return. He falls backward onto the floor and twitches a few times before stopping.
This won’t do. The table’s incomplete. You reach out your senses and connect with a friend from the room beyond. It only takes a few moments for them to arrive for lunch - their white coat is rumpled but that’s easily fixed. They sit in the empty chair and turn to you smiling.
Water is leaking from the eyes of a few from the party, but it doesn’t stop their smiles. The happiness you feel finally having a family that really cares for you makes your eyes water a bit too. You hope it never ends. | 922 | When you were a child, you discovered you had amazing magical powers. When your parents found out, they quickly turned you in to the government for money. As it turns out, the government scientists are actually nicer than your parents by a wide margin. | 3,013 |
I envied her, but I didn't want to. She was, after all, perfect.
It wasn't the time we spent at school together, or the way she effortlessly handled her homework, or how she was both pretty and interesting. It was...all of it.
We were friends when we were little, and it was much of the same. She played by the rules, while I sometimes got in trouble, then she'd sometimes bail me out. When we were in high school, she was the only one brave enough to resist smoking or drinking.
I'm happy she's finally found a good man. After all the up-and-down relationships she had with men who didn't respect her, Tim is a true godsend. The other men couldn't really respect her natural talents.
I started getting worried when she passed the bar exam. Here we were, both inner-city rural homebodies from Springfield, Nebrahoma, and she's going somewhere that nobody in our state has gone.
While working in law for over a decade, she was able to raise two children after a few dozen miscarriages. I don't know how she did it, and that's what scares me.
When she ran for election, I was speechless. This was probably a good thing, too, since the press was trying to find dirt on her, and I had nothing to say when they visited my trailer. It's hard to focus on that when your misbehaving children are screaming in the background and your husband won't turn down the TV.
Now, she's just won the primaries. Soon, everyone will know the capabilities of President Mary.
I'm not sure what I missed, but there's something not right about her. Never has been, never will be. If there is a God, he forgot to make her an interesting person to be around, but I guess someone like that is only useful to save the world anyway. | 53 | You spend all your time with the most Mary-Sue person ever. They are annoying as all hell, but constantly and effortlessly solve problems wherever they go. You figure it's a Net Gain for humanity. | 294 |
“Oh, not you again! What did you manage to mess up this time?”
“What?” John opened his eyes and looked around the room. It appeared to be an office of some sort—plain and non-specific in almost every way. A stack of papers next to a fountain pen on the desk. Bookshelves filled with nameless leather-bound books. File cabinets filled to the brim with manila folders. It was the picture perfect depiction of a generic office, save for a large blue button in the center of the desk. “Where am I?”
The woman across the desk sighed. She looked like a DMV worker out of a cartoon. Short, greying hair that she wore in large curls, thick glasses that connected to a chain around her neck, and she smelled strongly of a vague perfume. “It looks like this is your… seventy-first time here,” she said as she flipped through the pages on the desk. “You just refuse to learn, don’t you?”
“Learn? What are you talking about?”
“Alright, John. Is it John this time?” She ran her finger along the top of the first page. “Yes. John, you’re dead.”
“I’m dead? What do you mean?”
The woman sighed again. “Let’s get this over with. You died. When people die, they either go to heaven, or they end up here, where we take their statement and send them back to have another go. This is your seventy-first time here, and quite frankly, I’m tired of hearing from you. So, what do you have to say?”
John couldn’t believe it. This was how it all worked? It explained so much—just about everything, in fact. A depraved smile crept across his face. Yes, he had failed in life. It was obvious to him now. But he would have another chance. He would always have another damned chance. “What do you know of the world?” John asked.
The woman raised her eyebrows, clearly unfamiliar with being on the other side of an interrogation. “Wh— What?”
“The world. Earth. You know, the place where you send us all back to. What,” he said, emphasizing the shift in power, “do you know of it?”
“It is the place where humans go to demonstrate their worth. Prove themselves to those who might let them in to heaven.”
“No,” John said with an eerie laugh. “It might have been that once. But not for a very long time.” John leaned forward over the desk. “Do you know what happens when the only people alive are those that have failed to ‘prove their worth?’ Do you know what that does to a place?”
The woman stiffened. “What is the meaning of this?” she said with a scoff. “I am to be the one asking questions.”
“In church they teach us of heaven and hell. A place for all the good people, and a place for all the bad. You’ve told me heaven is real. What about hell?”
“A figment,” the woman said. “We’d never be so cruel as to torture you for all eternity.”
“No, of course not,” John said with a smile. “You’ve found a much subtler way. You created a place where you are free of all blame. Free of all guilt. A system where the humans will torture themselves.”
A cold look fell across John’s eyes. “Hell is real. You created it. And let me tell you, it’s every bit as terrible as they say. Honestly, I’m not sure you could have made a better hell if you tri—”
The woman pressed the large blue button, and John vanished. | 63 | There is only haven. Instead of hell, bad people are just reincarnated until they live life good enough to go to heaven. You just died and the first thing you hear is:,,Oh, not you again! What did you manage to mess up this time?!" | 128 |
"Mother of mercy, grant this poor soul your strength." She chanted again. I felt the healing magic fill my body- the relief was immediate, like drinking cool water after two days in the desert. I savoured every second, because I knew what came next.
"Father of light, from the Nothing, protect us." The second chant covered her in protective light. Once the spell set, she reached to the grotesque mockery of flesh that was once my arm. I tried to struggle, but the chains won't budge. She grabs a few of the purplish scales growing from it, and twisted them. All I can do is scream. The walls shake, but remain standing, as she collects the green liquid pouring from the new wound.
"Breathe in, soldier." She has the audacity to smile at me. "We are doing everything we can. We are close to a cure." She said. Deep breath, I think. They are trying. "I̵̡͎̝̞̔̂̇͜'̶̯̟͐̈̇̃͝ḿ̷̧̰̟̲̭̏̿̐̔ ̴̠͔̪̥̓͆̔͝ị̸̞͂̽n̴̡͉̒ ̵̯̊͌̐̚p̷̢̺̙̪̬̈́͒̾a̷̱̱͎̘͌͆̽͗̕i̵̧̛̟̗̊͒́̒ņ̵̱͚̟̈̏̀͜͝͝." I try to speak. Even I barely know what I said. She nods. "I know. I'm sorry. We can't give you more, or it'll loose effectiveness. You already get enough tranquilizers to kill a horse." She looked so sad, as she took the canister and left me to my suffering. "J̶̢̛̟͈̘̻̌͂̆̔ǘ̸̪̪s̷̞̠̈́t̷̳͗̂͑͌ ̶̙̲̩͉̓ͅl̸͇̄͛̄͘ę̷̱̖̜͛̿͗͜t̴̢͖̲̒̀͑͒̚ ̴̱̌m̵̛̹͇̤̯͂͜e̸͉͝ ̶̰̪͉͖̤̇̔d̴̹͍̟͍̪͌͗̾̎̚ḭ̵̍e̷̢̩̐̈́͊.̸̜̊̐̊" I whisper to myself.
-------------------
"Fresh delivery!" Paladin Solace dropped the canister on the table, causing several alchemists to scramble. "Are you insane!! Be careful with that!" Several people shout at the unimpressed commander.
The head alchemist approached her. "Production hit another snag. It just won't take." He shook his head. She dismisses his comment. "Keep trying. That stuff is more valuable than diamonds and stronger than magic. Do whatever you need."
The old alchemist nodded, and hesitated, as if considering the risk of what he wanted to ask. Results must've been inconclusive, as he shrugged and asked. "You want us to actually look into a cure? He is your husband, after all."
Solace just snorted. "He *was* my husband. Now he is our most valuable resource, and I'm against wasting those." | 12 | A young soldier is touched by the void. Usually these people have their body and soul eroded by it until they're terrifying energy hungry husks, but a paladin decides to use her magic to regularly restore his body and soul, but let the void energy grow. | 35 |
This was it. This would be the best use of my power. I sat down at the computer, looking over my specialized software.
The hardest part about my superpower? Just *discovering* it. I mean, think about it: when was the last time you actually tried something crazy? Most people don't go trying to stop runaway trains. Most people don't fly to central Africa and try to unseat warlords. Honestly, when was the last time you really broke your own expectations, really pushed yourself to do something you thought was impossible?
I figured I'd start with the big ones, since having those would make everything else easier. I opened up DWSIM and started working.
We live in a world that punishes anything *but* mediocrity. I realize that now. My whole life I had waited for something wonderful, until one day I realized I was equally waiting for something terrible. A fire I could rush into, an earthquake I could heroically try to rescue people from. A tragedy I could exploit, if only I had phenomenally exploitable powers. Those flying white guys with the technicolor underwear? Every heroic act they perform is predicated on someone else's loss.
I ran the simulator, saw my molecule try to interact with the far more complex proteins. It seemed like it worked ok. I felt for my power, and it replied.
"Eh, fuck it. That's good enough," I felt myself say. I saved the file, zipped it, sent it to the mailing list of international pharmacology lab addresses. That was my immortality serum done; they'd race each other to fine tune it into as many variations as necessary for it to work correctly.
See, I didn't have to be great at anything, so long as what I was mediocre at was great enough already. I closed the molecular modeling software, and opened AutoCAD.
We humans, we get stuck in our ruts so easily. I was, too: that's why my power went undiscovered for so long. I was selfishly waiting for someone else's tragedy. So when my own tragedy came knocking, my first instinct was to look for some asshole in a cape to rescue me. Because all my life I had subconsciously thought that that's what tragedies were *for.* They exist to demonstrate what the mighty could accomplish, and we mere mortals were so many NPCs, whose role was to alternate between begging for help and fawning over the heroes who deigned to respond.
Oof, this one was a complex problem. I was forced to design three different novel component machines and a new metamaterial that could withstand spaghettification. But my power kept clicking, so it was *possible*, so I kept at it. It would probably all fall apart if some random schmoe tried to build it in his backyard, but with some refining by the real geniuses, it would work just fine. I just had to do the work.
Because that's what it is, isn't it? Work. Pushing yourself to break free of your own expectations, to overcome your own doubts and fears. To become more than just some cog in the grand machine. To achieve, however modestly, some measure of making the world better than you found it. People would laugh at you, people would judge you, people would warn you not to dare. Governments would pay attention to you--the wrong kind of attention, especially if you had the wrong skin color or the wrong economic upbringing. These conformity pressures were their own tragedy, and exploiting them in order to demonstrate excellence in overcoming them was celebrated as the most heroic act an NPC could accomplish. Cue applause, here's your trophy, thanks for being the real hero.
"Eh, fuck it. That's good enough," I blurted out. Whoops, got lost in thought and zoned out while working there. But now, the first working (if mediocre) plans for a real life time machine was finished. Once again, I saved everything, zipped up the files (I was surprised at how big these were), and found the mailing list for engineering and physics labs I had made.
I watched the progress bar, and wondered how many tragedies I was exploiting to be the hero today. I had solved aging and time travel; I still had cancer, hunger, and world peace on my list for this afternoon. Tomorrow's list was Alzheimer's, ALS, nuclear proliferation, space colonization, and climate change.
I sat back, stretching, and realized I was hungry. I looked down at my frayed sweatpants and considered getting dressed, going out for a burger. Would anyone notice? Would anyone care that I had the solutions to all their ills? Would anyone ever recognize what I had just done here? I was sending these plans out anonymously to every lab I could find, knowing that allowing any one group to have proprietary control over any of these technologies would be catastrophic.
Perhaps that was my tragedy, then. Perhaps I would wait for someone to exploit it, hoping to find my own personal hero in the one who recognized my work, someday.
I shook off the absurd thought, and laughed at my own hubris. I was being a proper cunt, I knew it. Real heroes? They don't need applause. They just do the work that makes the world a little better than they found it. I got up and went to get dressed, in my mediocre clothes, as a mediocre person. If I was anything more than mediocre, it was merely because I was willing to *try.*
Not all heroes wear capes. Right? | 1,209 | You thought you never got a super power. You were always just average. Until you realized you were average at EVERYTHING. Making a sandwich, stopping a bank robbery, building a spaceship, etc. Never great, but never terrible either. | 4,046 |
So my daughter is apparently some reincarnation of a mythical hero. Another one. I'm not mad or anything. Just, did it have to be my kid?
Locals keep coming to me talking nonsense. "She is fated to slay or prevent the yadda-yadda yadda, blah, blah, blah".
There's like six different prophecies at this point. Of course I don't believe it. She really has to fight the undead, alien overlords, dragons and the devil? Really? Really??? You believe that too?
If anything, that isn't fair to her. Or anybody else for that matter. That's not cool.
Whole world's in danger. All this heat the militaries of all these countries around the entire thing claim they got. Billionaires going to space every other week. And *nobody has shit for any of this*. But my kid's gotta do it?
Wow.
At least our bakery has been doing good. Kinda hoped it would, it's what her mom would've wanted. But, as you could guess, if our kid goes on an adventure to her death that kind of tends to put a damper on the whole small business venture.
I don't care about the money exactly. But it's peaceful, it's good for her, and she can work on education and all that. Live a normal life. She's the best at baking cakes out of the two of us, and she loves it.
So I hid the swords. The one delivered by a bird. The other one delivered by a sorcerer. If you're wondering about the second one; yes I found out the hard way.
And then there was the ring. That evil, evil ring. Looked normal. Until you put it on. Horrible. Horrible little thing. It's at the bottom of the bay. I hope no one ever finds it.
I've been trying to keep those things away from her. But, well, I may have done it myself.
Our guard dog of course has been very anxious as of late. And I asked her to help chain up our fence. Bought them at a hardware store. Nothing incredible.
Well, for one thing, chains shouldn't glow. Chains and padlocks shouldn't turn into things like maces, a kyoketsu, or a meteor hammer.
Yeah.
Oh well, I tried. So now I'm running the bakery. Alone. At least the occasional monster draws more business. That's her job.
What can you do.
---
An attempt was made.
Sub is being worked on. But whatever. Promo per usual. r/Jamaican_Dynamite | 111 | Your daughter was foretold to become a mighty hero but you want her to take over the family bakery. So far, you have kept 2 magical swords and a sketchy looking ring from her but today your plan was foiled by the most innocent object imaginable. | 330 |
'My first advise to you is simply this: improvise, improvise, improvise. Say, your plan is first dinner & then movies.'
 
 
 
 
𝘏𝘶𝘩, 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘪𝘴 𝘸𝘦𝘪𝘳𝘥, Alan thought. Most assassins do not eat until they are safe, far away from the police. And movies? Only serial killers go to see movies after killing someone. And he wasn't a serial killer.
 
 
 
 
'Switch the order. Take them to the movies first, then dinner. This way, you have something to talk about during the dinner.'
 
 
 
 
𝘏𝘦𝘭𝘭 𝘯𝘰! Alan screamed, inwardly. You don't invite your target, you don't have a meal with them, and you 𝙙𝙚𝙛𝙞𝙣𝙞𝙩𝙚𝙡𝙮 don't have small talk with them later. What kind of lunatic is teaching me?
 
 
 
 
'The secret here is simple: just keep them talking.' 𝘜𝘯𝘭𝘦𝘴𝘴 𝘴𝘰𝘮𝘦𝘰𝘯𝘦 𝘩𝘢𝘴 𝘱𝘶𝘵 𝘢 𝘮𝘪𝘭𝘭𝘪𝘰𝘯 𝘥𝘰𝘭𝘭𝘢𝘳 𝘣𝘰𝘶𝘯𝘵𝘺 𝘰𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘪𝘳 𝘭𝘪𝘧𝘦, Alan was regretting coming here. This was not his idea of fun & killing his targets.
 
 
 
 
'Keep your date guessing. Keep them on their toes. Then, give them the most romantic night of their life.' 𝘞𝘢𝘪𝘵 𝘢 𝘮𝘪𝘯𝘶𝘵𝘦, 𝙙𝙖𝙩𝙚? 𝘋𝘪𝘥 𝘐 𝘫𝘶𝘴𝘵 𝘦𝘯𝘳𝘰𝘭𝘭 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘢𝘯 𝘰𝘯𝘭𝘪𝘯𝘦 𝙙𝙖𝙩𝙞𝙣𝙜 𝘤𝘰𝘶𝘳𝘴𝘦?! Alan thought of the money he had wasted for this course. For nothing.
 
 
 
 
Gloomily, Alan watched the rest of the seminar. 𝘔𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵 𝘢𝘴 𝘸𝘦𝘭𝘭 𝘨𝘦𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘰𝘷𝘦𝘳 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩. After the course was over, he got a mail:
 
 
 
 
NWard_07: 𝘠𝘰𝘶 𝘴𝘦𝘦𝘮𝘦𝘥 𝘢 𝘣𝘪𝘵 𝘥𝘰𝘸𝘯 𝘥𝘶𝘳𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘴𝘦𝘮𝘪𝘯𝘢𝘳.
&𝘯𝘣𝘴𝘱;
&𝘯𝘣𝘴𝘱;
&𝘯𝘣𝘴𝘱;
&𝘯𝘣𝘴𝘱;
Alan quickly shot a message through his fake alias:
 
 
 
 
JakeWalkerthe2nd: 𝘑𝘶𝘴𝘵 𝘭𝘰𝘴𝘵 𝘮𝘺 𝘨𝘪𝘳𝘭𝘧𝘳𝘪𝘦𝘯𝘥. 𝘐 𝘸𝘢𝘴 𝘯𝘰𝘵 𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘥𝘺 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘤𝘰𝘶𝘳𝘴𝘦. 𝘛𝘩𝘦 𝘸𝘰𝘶𝘯𝘥𝘴 𝘢𝘳𝘦 𝘴𝘵𝘪𝘭𝘭 𝘳𝘢𝘸.
&𝘯𝘣𝘴𝘱;
&𝘯𝘣𝘴𝘱;
&𝘯𝘣𝘴𝘱;
&𝘯𝘣𝘴𝘱;
NWard_07: 𝘐 𝘢𝘮 𝘴𝘰 𝘴𝘰𝘳𝘳𝘺. 𝘏𝘦𝘳𝘦'𝘴 𝘮𝘺 𝘯𝘶𝘮𝘣𝘦𝘳. 512-555-1634. 𝘊𝘢𝘭𝘭 𝘮𝘦 𝘸𝘩𝘦𝘯 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘸𝘢𝘯𝘵 𝘵𝘰 𝘵𝘢𝘭𝘬.
 
 
 
 
JakeWalkerthe2nd: I don't even know you.
 
 
 
 
NWard-07: My name is Nola Ward, but you can call me Nola. In fact, you can call me 𝙖𝙣𝙮 𝙩𝙞𝙢𝙚.
 
 
 
 
And just like that, the budding romance of Nola Ward & "Jake Walker" just came to an abrupt end. | 13 | An assassin wants to learn new ways of killing his targets for his profession. So he enrolls in an online course titled "How to take someone out in fun ways." without realising it is a course for online dating. | 205 |
I braced as a beam of red light washed towards me. It was too late to dodge, my reactions just that bit too slow again. At least the pain wasn't too bad this time, as my brain charred almost immediately. I crumpled backwards, suddenly looking at my body.
**You Died**
I stood up, breathing hard. My support team looked concerned.
"Thats over one hundred times already. Are you sure you can handle this?"
I gave a grim smile at Shaun, stretching slightly. Respawning always made me cramp.
"I've got this. His attacks are becoming more predictable. Besides, none of the others can get here in time. I'm the best one for the job."
Mel piped up, her ever joyful voice still strong.
"Well, you did well this time. A couple more hits and he would be down I reckon."
I nodded.
"Cheers for the prep talk. Time for the next attempt."
With that, I stepped out of the shipping container. The familiar stormy sky shone above me, with a fog filled door beckoning me inwards. I straightened my shoulders, marching through again.
"What the hell have you done?!"
I rolled my eyes. It always started the same. My opponent stood in the centre of an empty bank, dressed in a t-shirt and jeans.
"I told you, Cyclops. I am the Soulsbourne. I made you into a boss. No matter how many times you kill me, I will keep on respawning."
He glared at me, red filling his eyes. I raised up my fists once again. This sucked, but I would get through to him. I was hoping I would at least beat him before I got to two hundred deaths. | 11 | Superpowers are given out based on the public's idea of power, so some might become an OP anime protagonist or a hard boiled veteran of an FPS, you got the souls-like genre. | 26 |
"Yeah", Slyggzen said. "There was this whole asteroid thing, big smash, planet's dead". He emphasized his words with a tentacle gesture that could have been mimicking the impact, subsequent explosion, or his specie's sign language for a curse word.
"But... my home..." I croaked. I couldn't believe what I had heard. All of my family was still on Earth, my pets, my home...
Slyggzen put one slightly tacky tentacle around my shoulders. "I'm so sorry mate, I thought you knew".
When I didn't respond, the friendly alien changed his tactics. "Hey, how about we get one of those ice creams you guys love so much? Greatest human export, I've always said". He paused, processing his own words. "I guess we better get there before they run out. I don't think any of your colonies export that stuff yet."
I finally regained enough of my composure to speak once more. "When did this happen?" I asked, as I was more dragged than lead towards the 'Human Steve's Ice Creamery' in the galactic trading outpost.
Slyggzen paused to think. "My people just saw it this morning. It was all over our news". He resumed his steady pace of plodding tentacles and slithering motions.
I stopped in my tracks. This did not cease my forward progress, as the larger alien was still dragging me along with a reassuring alien appendage. "You saw it", I said.
"Yep! With our own telescopes." He cheerfully replied.
"...from your own planet", I assumed.
"Of course! Where else would they be?" Slyggzen asked. He had finally stopped his momentum with his suction cupped lower tentacles.
"...your planet that is 66 million light-years away from earth" I finished.
"Yes! You remembered some astral cartography from the lessons! I'm so proud of you, hairball!" He emphasized the statement with a gentle pat of my hair.
I sighed. "Slyggzen, lets get that ice cream, then watch a short video about an ancient earth animal called a Dinosaur"
"Whatever you want, buddy!" He said cheerfully. We resumed our walk to Human Steve's Ice Creamery. I was glad to have a friend from a different planet. He was my whole world.
r/SlightlyColdStories if you want. Or don't. It's all up to you. | 635 | “Oh, you’re from Earth?” The alien asked. “I love that place! I was so sad when it was destroyed.” “Yeah, it’s got really good…. wait, what?” | 678 |
"Some people are born special." My teachers used to say. "There is, somewhere inside them, a switch that flips after 16 years old, and activates a power that's unique to them."
As a kid, I always thought it sounded amazing. You turn 16, and boom, superhero. At 15, I was so excited. "This year." I'd think to myself. "This year, I'll get a superpower."
I didn't know what it would be, but I was certain it would be wonderful. So, on the morning of my 16th birthday, I woke up, and rushed downstairs like a 10-year old on Christmas, to find nothing. My parents were still asleep, and so was my baby sister. When I went to go wake them up, they seemed groggy, and confused. They didn't seem to notice me standing there. I spoke, but they couldn't hear me.
Was I invisible?
I rushed to my bathroom mirror, and there I was. I started to turn away, dejected, but froze. As soon as I had turned away, I forgot what I looked like. I turned back, stared deeply into my reflection's eyes, memorizing the color. But as soon as I blinked, it was gone.
This was. So. *Cool!* I quickly threw on some clothes, stuck my phone and wallet in my pockets, hopped on my bike, and rode to my friend's place. It was still so early, I passed no one on my way. I rang the doorbell, excited to show Mike my new power.
When he answered, he looked right through me, too. The expression on his face was odd and glazed over, like a portrait painted by an amateur.
I heard his mom calling from the kitchen, asking who was at the door.
He called back to her, "No one's here, Ma."
He closed the door in my face.
I stood there a long time without moving.
I took my phone from my pocket, and opened the front camera. There I was. Same hair, same scar on my face from when I fell off my bike when I was learning. I turned off the screen.
And I forgot my face.
I turned it back on. There I was again. I took a selfie. The photo didn't change.
I opened my messages. 0 new messages. No birthday wishes. Last message was from 10pm last night, from Mike. "Can't wait to see what power you get tomorrow!"
I sent him a text. "I think I'm invisible."
Delivered.
Read.
No response.
I walked back to my bike. I pedaled to the grocery store, grabbed a two liter of cola, a bag of chips, and some candy. The store was mostly empty. When I got to the checkout lane, the cashier didnt look up, even when I tapped her on the shoulder. I tossed a ten on the counter in front of her, then walked away. I flipped off the camera on my way out. The door guards went off, but I didn't stop walking.
I sat on a bench outside to eat my breakfast.
"Happy fucking birthday to me." I mumbled, toasting the sky with my soda.
I sat there a long time. No e of the people who passed noticed me.
When I checked my phone next it had been nearly an hour. No new messages. I tossed my garbage in the bin, grabbed my bike, and started walking. All in all, this had been a shitty birthday so far.
Some of the people going about their Saturday busywork didn't even look my way.
The rest stepped around me without even noticing why.
Not even the dogs paused on their business to bark at me.
And then, someone ran into me. I tripped on my bike, and we both tumbled onto the sidewalk. The girl, with short-cropped black hair and wide, frightened eyes, blurted out apologies, glancing over her shoulder. Then she froze. She helped me off the ground, and her eyes locked on mine. "Please help me."
She hid behind me, holding my arm.
I opened my mouth to ask questions, but then I noticed the man running down the street towards us.
The girl clutched my arm, her grip so tight it hurt.
The man stopped in front of me, panting. "Have you seen my daughter? She's about your age? Short black hair?"
Rattled, I mumbled something along the lines of "oh yea, she went that way", and the man continued running in the direction I pointed.
When he was gone, I turned back to the girl. "Who are you, how the hell can you see me, why could *he* see me, what the hell is going on?" I rambled.
She let go of my arm, and took a step back. "Sorry." She said sheepishly. "I'm Amara. I just got my power today. It lets me see what people's powers are, and borrow them, as long as I am touching them. I guess borrowing your power made you visible again? And um. I don't know."
-- And I'm out. Idk where I was going with this but. It was fun | 57 | Gaining the power of “Invisibility” wasn’t what you expected it to be. It’s as if you simply don’t exist, all manner of life ignores you. Until a panicking young woman runs into you and begs you to help her. | 106 |
I didn't feel it when I laid down, but it was dug into my side as the cruel sun cut my slumber short. At first I couldn't figure out what it was, as it took my eyes some time to adjust to the prismatic display. It was a roughly round disk of glass, flat on the bottom and slightly convex on the top. It was a curious thing, it shimmered like a gemstone in the light but there were no facets to be seen. I quickly pocketed it as my new favorite thing and I went about my day.
All day tuesday, I fiddled with it in my pocket, through boring meetings about quarterly reports that went out last week that I didn't need to fly out here to attend. I don't know why I was drawn to the glass disk as I was, it had a texture that was indescribable. It was faintly like sandpaper on the flat bottom, and smooth on the rounded top, but more like a fabric than glass. I kept it in my pocket all the way to Phoenix, and as I checked into my room Wednesday night, I think I had had this strange disk in my palm for several hours that day. I only let go of it to be normal through security screenings. The thought of that should have been more unnerving in the moment than it had been.
Maybe my euphoric curiosity was finally coming down to earth, but this thing had *weight*, and after I set my bag down by the bed, I pulled the disk out and looked at it again. It was brilliant, staring into it was like looking into the heart of the universe through a kaleidoscope, but it felt heavy in my fingers. I set it down on the table, and, for the first time in nearly three days, I let go of my new favorite thing.
I kept it in the corner of my eye as I undressed, and every time a ray of light hit it, it sparkled like fireworks in the sky. It made me smile but it began to worry me in equal measure. I reluctantly turned to the bathroom to clean up, and all the while I tried to coach myself on why I didn't need to have it in my hands all the time, and why I was letting that thing monopolize my thoughts. Reassuring myself that I'm a grown man in charge of my own mind. I dressed in a tshirt and shorts for bed, but the disk sat ominously on the table. The last rays of sun had already flickered out, but it still shimmered on occasion, catching my attention.
I wanted to hold it, but now I knew there was something else about it. I sat down at the table and placed my chin on my crossed arms and stared into it at an oblique angle, and watched the faint light from the room shimmer and dance inside it like embers over a campfire. I turned it a few times, and each time the effect was slightly different, but equally mesmerizing. On a whim I ran my fingers over the top and the small disk erupted in prismatic light, sending me reeling back in my chair.
Plumes of embers swirled around the room, casting wild galloping shadows around the walls. It was horrifying but I couldn't look away, I just laid on my side until I could catch my breath, and then I staggered to my feet. The pyrotechnic display fizzled out of its own accord, and then a scene played, captured in holographic fidelity, suspended a foot over the table. My legs buckled as it progressed, and a tear rolled down my cheek as the realizations hit me all at once.
The scene was of an old man and a little girl. The man was the most powerful wizard in the world, Emeratus. Nearly every other wizard were like a sleight-of-hand performer next to him, he was that far and away better than the rest. He held his arms out as the little girl leaped into them, she couldn't have been older than four or five. This was Esmeralda. She passed quickly at the age of eight, her cancer knew no bounds, no spell or scalpel could save her.
Another tear rolled down my cheek. This was hers, it was her training focus. This was her favorite thing. She held it in her hand when she was scared. And now the sum total of her fear coursed through me, knowing that Emeratus would spend the rage of a dozen lifetimes to get this trinket back, and I don't think I'd be spared much if I simply discarded it.
The disk blinked off in fits and spurts, and the room died down to its normal light level. My heart was pounding in my chest as I picked myself up from the ground. I took a long breath in and then exhaled sharply, yeah, this disk is heavy. And there's only one way I can make this right. I have to return this to him. I looked over at the disk again and wondered how I'd find the greatest wizard in the world before he found me, and maybe it was a coincidence, but a thin red filament raced around the edge and dissipated. I had the distinct impression that it wanted to be found. | 10 | You check into a hotel the Monday after the Wizard's Convention the previous weekend. It seems the wizard who previously slept in your room forgot something when he checked out. | 33 |
Lucas awoke to the computer’s voice, “One point five billion light-years from destination. Standing by for further instruction.”
He shook his head to clear the fog of unconsciousness then looked around the command deck. Petyr, Jaelen, and Caitlin looked to be in the same state of recovery. The doctors had speculated unconsciousness as a side effect of warp jumps over a certain distance and this was the first data point. Hypothesis confirmed.
“Did I just hear one point five billion? Computer, what is our location?” Petyr asked.
“The ship’s current location is estimated to be near the center of the Canes Venatici Supervoid. The destination Alpha Centauri is estimated to be one point five billion light-years away.”
Silence permeated the cabin. Lucas’s mind was racing. The Supervoid was a location in space observed to be almost completely empty of matter compared to the rest of the universe. The energy required for their jump to have taken them here was unimaginable, far beyond anything their new drive should have been capable of.
Lucas said, “Computer, display our surroundings on the screens.”
The screens around the cabin flickered to life and displayed the ship's exterior as if they were magnified windows in the walls. In front of them was a colossal framework structure built around an impossibly black sphere. The structure was radiating light from multiple locations that would rival any star. Around the structure was a dense debris field. In every other direction from the ship there was nothing but darkness.
A beep startled everyone and the computer said, “Incoming transmission.”
Incomprehensible audio played over the speakers that sounded unlike any language from Earth.
"Can you translate?”
“Running analysis.” After a long minute the audio played again. “Do not activate your drive or you will be destroyed. Please respond on your desired frequency.”
“Great our first encounter with alien life and they are threatening to kill us. Really hoped those stories would be wrong.” Caitlin said.
“Computer, where is the transmission coming from?” Lucas asked.
The front screen shifted to magnify a speck floating around the megastructure and it focused in on two small ships just outside the main debris field.
“Computer, can you detect any weapon signatures from those ships?”
“Negative. Both vessels have low energy profiles. If their propulsion engines are similar to our technology they are offline.”
Everyone in the cabin looked around at each other hoping the other would make a decision.
“Good luck Lucas. You got rank here.” Jaelen said.
Lucas let out a long breath and said, “Computer open communication with whichever ship sent that transmission. Utilize the translation algorithm from the original message.”
When the screen indicated the channel was open Lucas declared, “Please do not open fire. Our engines have malfunctioned and we do not know how we ended up here. We come in peace.”
After a tense moment a response came, “We mean you no harm. Your engines did not malfunction. This structure appears to act as a lodestone for anything utilizing warp technology. It pulls any ship jumping through warp space to this location. If you attempt to jump away it will destroy you as it did our people. You need only to scan the debris field to see all who have come before us.” | 10 | Piloting the first faster than light (FTL) spacecraft from Earth headed to a star a few lightyears from Earth. | 64 |
Chiso pulled his face out of the stream, spitting out water and gasping for breath. The moldy, acidic flavor still lingered. He spat some more, but no matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t get the taste of troll lichen out of his mouth. Even now, some of the long, stringy fibers hung from his teeth like limp flags. Curse his god, Chiso thought as he opened his mouth and lowered it back into the gushing stream.
​
Frilov wasn’t even supposed to be his god. As class representative, he had helped organize pairing day, and got an early look at the pairings. He had been paired with Bronam, a minor builder god. As all pairings worked, or as he had thought they worked, he would receive basic powers, and with them the ability to create great structures through magical means, and in exchange, Bronam would get his first dedicated disciple. In preparation, he rented every book on construction and architecture from his school library, while goading his friends to do the same for their area. It was the perfect pairing. The skill-ceiling was high, and it was time-consuming, but that meant nothing for the top student in their class.
​
By the time the ceremony rolled around, Chiso had been exhausted. He could have procrastinated some of his student-representative responsibilities, but that would have been unprofessional. So by the time he finished some last-minute preparations and made it into the ceremony hall, all the seats next to his friends were occupied. He took a spot two seats over, sitting between Linda, who he didn’t know well but flashed a quick smile, and a boy who must have been from a different section since Chiso didn't recognize him.
​
The boy sat with his feet propped up on the chair in front of him, occasionally swatting the ponytail of the girl in front of him. His face was so freckled it was more red than white, which was matched by his wild red hair. He crunched on a stick of some hard baked sweet.
​
"Want some?" he offered his half-eaten stick, still wet with saliva. The smell of cinnamon wafted towards Chiso, along with the scent that Chiso couldn't quite place, but smelled a bit like holy water. Chiso declined the stick, thinking that would be the last of their conversation, but the boy wouldn't shut up. When he realized Chiso wasn't going to give more than one-word answers to his questions, he started rambling, criticizing the ceremony's decorations. Chiso clenched the bottom of his seat as the boy derided the decorative ribbons festooned across the ceiling, each the ribbons depicting a different divine aspect. Ribbons *he* had helped design.
​
Finally, the ceremony started, with the gods making their entrances onto the large stage that filled the front of the room, taking seats in velvet chairs. Unfortunately, any hope that the boy would quiet out of respect for the ceremony quickly vanished.
​
“A flaming bucket?” The boy guffawed as he pointed at the fire god clumsily hopping on stage inside a bucket wreathed in frames. “That has to be the worst entrance of any fire god since Lintlighter extinguished himself in that dunk tank.”
​
Chiso stared determinedly in the opposite direction. Any other time, he would have taken it upon himself to instruct this boy in the proper decorum, but there were gods here. Irritatingly, the boy wasn’t the only one with a lack of reverence for the situation. Even some of his friends were snickering amongst themselves, using Chiso’s absence as an opportunity to misbehave.
​
“I see you god of shadows!” the boy yelled gleefully, pointing at the back of a stage, where Chiso now saw a figure trying to conceal himself in the shadow of his school flag.
​
The god of shadows stalked forward and shot daggers at the boy. The boy laughed, making a heart shape with his hands. “Please, choose me, oh mighty shadow god.”
​
Rudeness, Chiso could overlook. But never ignorance. He rounded on the boy. “Everything’s settled — they’ve already chosen. Now don’t interrupt again.” He swiveled back forward.
​
The boy laughed, high and maniacal. “Oh, you think so, do you?” The boy jumped into his chair, interrupting the spectacular introduction of a beauty goddess. “Hear ye, hear ye,” he boomed. “You are blessed to be in the presence of a major god, for it is I, Frilov *the* god of mischief. Please, no need to bow. That goes for you too, minor gods,” he said to the minor gods who looked ready to mob him. “I hereby invoke my right as a major god to choose whichever student I want, and I chose Chiso!”
​
Which had led him to this moment, where he was bending over stream trying to get the foul lichen taste out of his mouth. The taste wasn't even the worst part. That had been when the troll had mistaken him eating her lichen as a romantic gesture. It took a lot of empty romantic promises and a couple bribes before she allowed him to leave.
​
Other gods would use their disciple to retrieve items, or blueprints in a builder god’s case, or bring x amount of people into his fold. Not Frilov's missions. As far as Chiso could determine, Frilov’s goal was to get Chiso killed. He looked down at the list, seeing the latest task that had been magically crossed off as Frilov watched from the heavens:
*The tasks of Chiso, my mischievous little imp:*
\- *~~Blow on the back of a Vampire’s neck.~~*
\- *~~Rub a Sphinx’s belly~~*
*- Use a Genie’s wish to wish for more wishes.*
\- *~~Harvest lichen from a Troll, then offer to share the homemade salad~~*
*- Boop the snoot of a Werewolf.*
Chiso still had fang marks on his nose from his encounter with the vampire. The only good thing about being paired with the god of mischief was his newfound elusiveness. He seemed to sway like a drunk when he walked, but with the springing ability of an acrobat when he needed it.
​
Since he wasn’t sure how to acquire a genie's wish, he turned to the werewolf task next, waiting until nightfall with the moon shining almost full to track it down. It wasn’t hard, they tended to live around the butcher shops in the cities. In fact, rumor had it that several of the butcher shops were run by werewolves.
​
He almost felt bad for the werewolf as he walked up to it. Valuing his life, he approached it from the front. It gnawed on a large bone, and picked up its large, shaggy black head as he neared, narrowing its eyes and growling.
​
Chiso hesitated, then continued advancing. This was his responsibility. He had agreed to serve whichever god they paired him to the best of his ability, as long as it didn’t mean breaking any other rules. There were no laws against booping the snoot of a werewolf, and he had checked.
​
“Boop,” he said wearily. As his hand moved towards the growling snoot of the werewolf, the werewolf transformed, his hand poking small nose of the small nose of a naked woman. He blushed, yanking back his hand, as he looked anywhere except at her body.
​
“Did you just… boop my nose?” She stood up, putting her hands on her hips, which Chiso only noticed out of the corner of his eye. He glanced at her face. Her jet-black hair was still lengthening from her scalp, as the scruff on her face receded. Her large eyes sparkled in the moonlight as she stared down at him.
​
He tried to come up with a reasonable answer. Even if Chiso had forbidden him from revealing his patron, he didn’t think she would believe him if he told her “booping her snoot” was a mission from his god.
​
“Er, yes? It just looked so…” He sighed. He could feel Frilov’s presence, and knew he would be leaning over his scrying bowl, watching the scene unfold with pure glee. “Boopable.”
​
She stared at him, then smiled coyly. Chiso’s heart hammered in his chest. Unlike the troll, he wouldn't mind if she misinterpreted his actions as a romantic gesture.
​
“You know, young man, you have a pretty boopable nose yourself," she said, as her fist smashed into his face.
​
After a brief moment, he lifted himself off the ground. At least that was over with. He took out his piece of paper.
*-* *~~Blow on the back of a Vampire’s neck.~~*
*-* *~~Rub a Sphinx’s belly~~*
*- Use a Genie’s wish to wish for more wishes.*
*-* *~~Harvest lichen from a Troll, then offer to share the homemade salad~~*
*- Boop the snoot of a Werewolf.*
​
“Frilov,” he bellowed. Frilov materialized in front of him, hands on his knees, clutched in the throes of giggles.
​
Finally, Frilov stood up, making no attempt to disguise his mirth. “What can I do for you, my little imp. "
​
“I booped the snoot. Why isn’t it crossed off?!”
​
He held up a finger, which dipped as he wracked by another bout of giggles. “Ah, technically you booped her nose, which, while hilarious, isn’t what I asked for. With your dedication, though, I’m sure you’ll get it done in no time. Now, off you go, mister. Those snooters aren’t going to boop themselves.”
​
Chiso stomped away, but even as he did, he kept an eye out for another werewolf. Eventually, Chiso would be released from his responsibilities as a mischief disciple. If he did a good enough job, he could even become a candidate for godhood. Chiso had always dreamed of becoming a god, perhaps a god of rules, but lately, all Chiso could think about was becoming a god of mischief, with Frilov as his disciple. | 13 | As the werewolf approaches, you can not help but boop the snoot. | 39 |
Mr. Baird fished a chess piece from his suit pocket and placed it gently on his desk. It was a bishop. "Do you understand?" he asked.
My babushka taught me the game at an early age. When she was a student in Soviet Russia, chess was used as a political prop to demonstrate strategic superiority. Boys and girls who might otherwise have gone on to do great work as scientists or artists were snatched up by the state if they showed the mere hint of talent in the so-called game of kings. My grandmother had thought one move further than her assessors and intentionally lost a series of crucial matches so that she would not be entered into the hidden Soviet database of Crucial State Assets. If you were deemed to be a CSA, you had the choice between working for the state or to be exterminated by it. My grandmother never became a CSA. My grandfather was not so fortunate.
"It's a bishop," I said, studying Baird's face. "It can only move diagonally. It can threaten a piece all the way across the board."
He frowned slightly. "And this?" he asked, placing a knight beside the bishop.
"The knight can only move in an L-shape, meaning it can cover more ground in the middle of the board. *A knight on the rim is dim*, as they say."
He looked up at me. "They say that?"
I squirmed in my seat. "They say that."
Mr. Baird removed his glasses and made a show of wiping them clean. Then, after letting me simmer in confusion for a short while, he said, "We have a mole."
He could have forcefully shoved the chess pieces down my throat and it would have had less of an effect on me. Because I already knew the agency had a mole: it was me.
After they donated a sizable hole to the back of my grandfather's neck, the state raised my father to be a CSA. They provided him with a CSA wife. And they instructed them both to blend into American society and to produce a culturally-immersed CSA. Me, as it turned out.
"A mole?" I said. I arched my brows to produce a look of what the agency training manual described as Genuine Surprise.
"Indeed," said Mr. Baird. "And I want you to catch him."
For a while we just sat there. The director stared at the two chess pieces while he waited patiently for my reply.
"I'm not sure I'm the most qualified man for the job," I argued.
Mr. Baird scoffed. "You are. Trust me on this."
With that our meeting concluded and I was off to catch a mole. Only that my task was really to find myself, and this idea seemed to me very nice and Zen-like. Of course, I would instead frame a colleague. My parents had taught me how when I was barely 14. All you have to do is to produce a list of ambiguous traits and bind them together with a compelling narrative. Someone hums classical tunes every now and then? They have a strange smell? They have a strange fascination with saltwater fish? You take these traits, which really mean nothing, and you tie them together with a sinister theme. The classical tunes are the same that are drilled into the heads of every Hungarian schoolboy, you say, and the smell is precisely that of farsangi fánk--Hungarian yeast doughnuts. And you mention the common cover operations Hungarian agents tend to employ which includes, as everyone knows, fish factories. It's all true, of course, except the fact that there's a link between any of these traits. Three of them is enough to raise subtle suspicion. A hundred? That's damning evidence.
When I returned to Baird's office with my pile of damning evidence, he simply shook his head and again he produced his chess pieces. "Do you understand?" he asked.
This time, I tried to impress him with an old observation handed down to me by my babushka. "The imbalance between the bishop and the knight is what keeps the game of chess interesting."
For the first time, I saw a hint of a smile across his lips. "Go on," he said.
"The bishops are more powerful, but the knights are trickier. It takes more effort to calculate the potential movements of the knight. Their relationship creates an asymmetry. That asymmetry, like Marilyn Monroe's mole, is what makes chess interesting."
"Marilyn Monroe's *mole*?"
"Yes. Symmetry is boring. You need to disrupt it, like the bridge in a song. I'm not sure I'm explaining myself very well."
"No, no. I understand the analogy. What I am interested in is your choice in words. As your object of metaphor, you settled on a mole. Why is that?"
I stared at my pile of documents, then back up at Baird. From his eyes I could tell straight away: he knew. How? I had covered my tracks perfectly. A stupid thing like a choice of metaphor? I felt insulted. He was *right*, sure, but accidentally so. Which should be a crime.
"I have been looking for one for months. It's not strange."
"It's *interesting*," he countered.
I didn't like the tone of his voice. He knew from the start, didn't he? Then why the investigation? Did he want to play with me? Was that what the chess pieces were all about? A foolish cat-and-mouse played to entertain a bored director?
"I wouldn't say it's interesting," I said.
"Of course it's interesting. A mole using the metaphor of a mole."
An image entered my mind like a shard of glass from a shattered window. My grandmother had described to me, in detail, the hole in my grandfather's neck. She told me she found him out in the woods one morning after the state agents brought him along for "a walk." The strangest thing was that she felt nothing at first, and it was only after she poked a turnip through the hole that she realized that her husband might truly be dead. Before she saw the turnip enter at one end and come out the other, my grandfather was certainly still alive. But no man can be alive who has a turnip sticking through his neck, she said.
I saw the turnip blushing purple from the back of my grandfather's neck with leafy greens sprouting miraculously from the other side. I imagined my babushka tasting the turnip afterward, as she told me she had done, to ascertain that it was truly a turnip. I heard the delicate crack of the vegetable and the scent of the gunpowder still lingering in the air.
"How long have you known?" I asked the director and I briefly entertained in my mind the image of my very own hole in the neck. I imagined my babushka fighting her way to the morgue with a turnip, arguing with guards and morticians, and I imagined my parents having their CSA status revoked with a pair of slit throats.
"It is true, as you said, that the relationship between the bishop and the knight has to do with balance. That was my intention, in fact. I wanted you, however, to reflect one step further. I wanted you to understand the truth of balanced power."
The warm smile on the man's lips made my blood run cold. "What do you mean?"
Mr. Baird adjusted his glasses. "We maintain the balance of power between nations not by arming ourselves with weapons of mass destruction. There aren't enough wars, unfortunately, for that to be an effective means of deterrence. Instead, we maintain it through a balance of information. It is no accident that you are here. In fact, it's all according to agreements made decades ago."
"Agreements? What agreements?"
"We allow a certain number of Russian spies. Russia allows a certain number of American spies. It's all standard. It's not the kind of transparency your average citizen would understand, but it's what keeps them safe. We've had files on you since before you were born."
Baffled, I did not know what to say.
The director pushed the chess pieces toward me. "Choose one," he said.
From his look, I knew that my fate depended on this decision. I just didn't know how. Was he asking me whether I wanted to be a bishop or a knight? To make threats from a distance, or to cover terrain from a central position? "Oh," I said, suddenly.
"Do you understand?" he asked me. I gave him a nod and reached for the knight. "Before you make your decision," he added, "I want to apologize."
"What for?"
"For murdering your grandfather."
His smile grew to a fat grin. He smacked the pile of documents I had collected. "I am retiring. We can use this to frame your colleague, and you can assume my position. Just like the higher-ups planned. Knowing that I personally killed your dear family member, do you still want to go through with it?"
I saw all of a sudden that the director looked remarkably like a turnip. His red forehead and his pasty beige face--it was somehow all the proof I needed to verify that his words were true.
Mr. Baird made a lovely sound when I shoved the figurines down his throat. The sound of him choking was a thing of beauty I could never have anticipated; gasps and grunts and gags. His face quickly became all purple and I whispered into his ear, "What a lovely little turnip you are."
Confused, he reached for something under his desk and that was the last thing Mr. Baird ever did.
As I stared at his corpse, a group of agents entered the office. I greeted them with a smile. Would they kill me straight away, or would they throw in some torture for the hell of it?
One of them stretched out his hand. "Mr. Director," he said. "We'll take it from here."
"What do you mean?" I said. "I have killed the director."
"Exactly according to plans," said another of them. "Please, have a rest. You must be exhausted."
They cleaned up the scene in minutes, and soon people were gossiping about the director's sudden heart attack. Apparently, everyone but me already knew that I was to be his replacement and though some appeared to be jealous of my fortune, they had the decency to hide it well.
Jeremy from accounting congratulated me on my promotion, and he hummed a melody by Brahms. Soon he'd be shipped off to Guantanamo Bay, I realized. I had chosen him at random and felt slightly uncomfortable but the feeling soon passed.
I sat in the director's chair for a long time before it dawned on me that all this time I had been neither a bishop nor a knight, but a pawn. | 587 | Your supervisor at the CIA assigned you the lofty task of finding and apprehending the spy embedded in the agency responsible for multiple leaks and acts of espionage. You are the spy. | 1,058 |
She was absorbing so much solar energy, the world around her darkened. All that energy was being condensed into a small ball in the center of Xfew's palm.
Bahn looked at it with despair. He could control sound - How could that POSSIBLY stand up to the awesome power of the sun? This was their final battle, and he'd die a spectacular death.
There was only one card he could use.
A phone started ringing. He pulled it out of his pocket, tapped on the bottom left corner, and said
"Tracy?"
Xfew frowned. She was still gathering energy, but he could tell she wouldn't launch the ball just yet.
"Dad? Where are you?"
"I'm almost there, honey! Don't worry, I'll make sure you don't miss the ballet!"
He tapped the screen again, and the 'pahh' of a call being being cut rang out.
"Let's put this off till tomorrow, Xfew."
"You're not escaping this time, scum!"
"She's practiced the whole year for this! We CAN'T be late!"
Xfew was conflicted.
After a few seconds of internal deliberation, she sighed and said "Go. But you'd BETTER be here tomorrow, Bahn!"
Bahn quickly ran away.
He'd escaped his ex-wife once again. | 92 | "Listen, can we postpone our climactic battle until tomorrow? I have to take Tracy to ballet in half an hour, and you know how traffic can be this time of day." | 234 |
The Motion Sensor triggered in mid night woke up Kevin. He was a new age smart home gimmick that was designed to make life easy. Always watching over the owner and assisting him in all the ways was its job. Making an cup of espresso, just the right kind and perfect temperature, dimming lights, maintaining the ambience and engaging private mode whenever he brought a date over. But this time, it was an uninvited guest.
Kevin quickly tried to recognize the face through IR sensor but failed. Next thing was to wake owner up, He sounded silent alarm and phone the cops at the same time. But owner had his antique mp3 player plugged into his ear, and he had forgotten to charge Kevin's data card so he couldn't contact anyone outside the house.
Fearing the worst, Kevin took it into its own hands. The burglars enter through the door. It was an easy lock with a fail safe in case AI hangs.
"Look Harry, I told you...these AI home, are the most insecure ones. Very easy to breakthrough."
Kevin knew about the existence of Alice, a superior home protection AI, his crush. And he had been very insecure around her.
"Yeah Marv, Let's open all the taps in here and steal things." He laughed evilly.
As soon as they stepped foot into living room, the door shut hard on both of their faces, flattening their nose. Both fell on the ground with their hands covering their face.
"Blimey, did you not hack it properly, Marv?"
"It must be glitching. I told you these AIs aren't very good."
Kevin heard that, giving him further insecurities. Kevin was constantly comparing himself with Alice on 10314 parameters and 3 trillion data points, but Alice was clearly better.
The thieves made way to the kitchen.
"Look, I'll prove how dumb these things are. Umm... Make me a coffee" He says to the kitchen counter. Soon coffee machine comes to life. It was programmed to respond to any guest so they didn't have to rely upon owner.
"Look Marv, we will get a hot cup of coffee served while we take out time going through the house." Marv laughed leaning back as both stood in the kitchen facing away from the living room.
The machine spluttered, and began whirring for extended period. "Something wrong with it?" Harry said as it had been quite long. Both put their ear to the machine as it kept spluttering and making weird noices. As soon as their ear touched to the machine, they screamed in agony with their hand on their ear. It was as hot as coffee...perhaps even hotter.
"Stupid Marv, I want nothing to do with this AI. Just get to the safe and open the water taps and leave!" Harry yelled in a hushed tone.
but as they were about to turn away, the machine stopped and poured two hot cup of coffees for them. "Fine..I'll finish this and go to the safe" Marv said, while picking up the cup and taking a sip. Not very hot and it tasted good...... no, something was off about the coffee. He looked at the cup and then looked at Harry. Harry had downed the entire thing. "Ahhh! Atleast I got a decent cup of coffee out of it." He smiled and then turned to look at Marv. Marv shrugged, probably his imagination and finished half the cup when his stomach grumbled.
"The heck...Now is not the time?" Harry clutched his stomach and frantically walked around, door to door. "Umm...there's the fucking Bathroom?" Marv looked at him puzzled, "Show us the bathroom?" The path to bathroom door lit up on the floor. Obviously owner used coffee to proceed with bowel movement, and Kevin, just upped the dose by 10 times. By the time Harry opened the door and closed it, Marv started feeling it too. "Holy shi....This thing is strong.. I really need to goooooo!" He started knocking on the door. "Harry! Get out!, I need to go" He yelled in hushed tone. "I am not done yet", Harry relied
"Oh man Oh man.. I am growing a tell here" Marv kept banging on the door as Harry shut it from inside. Marv frantically ran around while Kevin offered a hand, "Would you like me to show you to other bathroom?" Why yes, there have to be multiple bathrooms. Marv nodded, "Yes yes you dumb AI. Show me the way to the bathroom!" He yelled. Kevin, taking offence, lit up the path to bathroom.
Marv looked down and followed the way, as fast as he could. It ran through the living room, into the hallway, into a separate hallway and then BAM! He ran into the door.
"I AM NOT OPENING THE DOOR" Screamed the door. Marv was right there at the previous bathroom, once again, having flattened his nose. Marv screamed in Pain. "The OTHER bathroom you stupid, Other Bathroom." Kevin replied, "Ofcourse" and lit up the path.
Marv, now one hand on his behind while holding his nose with other quickly followed it. Faster. It could be any second and BAM, Marv lay flat on the ground, looking at another door he had just ran into. "ANOTHER BATHROOM IN THE HOUSE" He screamed holding his nose in one hand and dignity in the other. Kevin replied again, "Ofcourse"
The third time Marv followed the path lit on the floor as he was being careful this time. Following the hallway and making a simple left turn, he arrived at the door. "Ahha!. He quickly opened the door and got in.
While Marv had saved his pants, Harry was struggling with a dilemma of his own. He was done with the business but as soon as he touched the toilet paper, it disappeared into the wall. "A roll of toilet paper please!" He said. Kevin replied, "Ofcourse" and shot one roll in his face at 70mph. Harry screamed, holding his face. "Slowly....." Unable to get up. Kevin replied "Ofcourse" and rolled the previous one back. "It stinks...would you like me to mask the smell?" Kevin asked in a robotic tone.
Harry looked at him surprised as he had broken a piece of ply in his hand and about to clean his butt. "Why, ofcourse.. I got to get one of these" He said to himself. He rubbed the piece of paper against his butt and felt every grain and splinter of the sandpaper roll on his soft baby butt, screaming in seven notes, and then a white mist is sprayed into the air. It was the latest fart spray, sticking up the place even more, almost making Harry gag and puke. It was getting harder to breath as Kevin kept spraying it all over Harry. "Appropriate air chemical ratio reached" Kevin annouced.
Harry looked at him surprised as he had broken a piece of ply in his hand and about to clean his butt. "Why, ofcourse.. I got to get one of these" He said to himself. He rubbed the piece of paper against his butt and felt every grain and splinter of the sandpaper roll on his soft baby butt, screaming in seven notes, and then a white mist is sprayed into the air. It was the latest fart spray, sticking up the place even more, almost making Harry gag and puke. It was getting harder to breath as Kevin kept spraying it all over Harry. "Appropriate air chemical ratio reached" Kevin announced.
Harry looked up in confusion and soon had his head and clothes set aflame due to the spray. He ran out of the bathroom, butt naked, stopping, dropping and rolling. The flames weren't hard to extinguish, but he was struggling to breath, whizzing. "This fucking AI"
Meanwhile Marv soon done with his thing too, used the bidet. A high pressure jet hit his bottom, cleaning his innards. And...water was hot. "I didn't come here to get butt fucked by a bidet" He cried in pain as he slowly crawled out of the bathroom.
"Let's...just get out of here..." Harry moaned, struggling to sit on his sand papered ass. "I came here to steal something, I'll steal something" Marv insisted.
They pulled their pants up, Harry's face was blackened and covered in soot, while Mrav was dripping wet in hot water. They got into the safe room and saw the safe. "AH! that's what I am talking about" Marv exclaimed and put his device to the safe, cracking the code in a minute.
"That's it.." Harry turned the dial to desired setting and turned the handle on, to receive a strong jolt into the skin. Marv soaked wet in water felt all of it. "MOT\*ER F\*CKER" He looked at the safe and back at device. "What was that?" Harry asked.
"Probably a false code...we'll get it this time." He groaned in pain and ran the device again, getting another code and turning the handle again. This time, very carefully, with a broom handle.
They waited for something to happen and it didn't. Smiling and happy with themselves, they opened the safe, and saw Bitcoins lying around. They chuckled and put their hands inside, but then a fence fell from ceiling of the safe, trapping their wrists inside, capturing them. "GOD DAMN IT! Said Harry"
There was no way to get out of this.....In the morning Owner woke up to find two unflushed toilets, an empty coffee bin, and two thieves who goofed up. | 28 | You are an AI rigged into a smart home system, and you like your owner very much. One night, however, a pair of armed theives break into the home while your owner is sleeping, so now you have to try and protect them from these criminals. | 151 |
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