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The others were easy enough. But the evil of Mark Zuckerberg wasn't the insidious so easily taken by counterforce.
From high in the ivory he sat. The perfect vectoring point. An empire built by an inadequacy turned weapon on a people too myopic to know any better. Clever bastard he was. The draw of idealistic self-projection was as potent as the salt and sugar and convenience that had made McDonald's such a hit. Tapping into the limbic system as surreptitiously as an army of brain parasites, the whole world falling victim to a promise of social benefits as vacuous as smoke.
Damn him. And damn those evil-Wiggle grey t-shirts he wears. That curly haired, weak framed, shit-nerd countenance he has. I'm speaking from frustration of course. When physically the task should be a cinch, it's hard to keep the usual equanimity about things.
His evil? All there in the average profile picture. His service afforded citizens a chance to broadcast for validity's sake the projection of their own archetype. Idealised self-image for likes. The peak of how we see ourselves gone from fleeting abstraction to lasting reflections held static by loose acquaintances.
Thus the birth of special-me syndrome on a scale never before seen. It's no coincidence how far the empathy index has fallen the past 15 years. How engrossed the youth of today are in glowing rectangular screens.
To what end? Simple: populations of egocentrics are way easier to market to. Nevermind the declines elsewhere. A platform buoyed by advertising rides high on ego addiction. And sitting square the top was this pallid fucker with an insecurity problem.
My MO had to change. Can't just waltz into Facebook HQ and round-house the guy, even if the fantasy of doing so was the one context that he brought a smile to your face.
How to teach a world addicted to itself to become selfless? No easy feat. Took five years of searching to find the right approach. From ocean to ocean, valley to peak, low-dogmatism churches to the books of Eckhart Tolle to the ancient teachings of Buddha.
The good news is that I got there. The whole thing could be isolated to a pretty basic versus, it turned out: short-term pleasure v. long-term gain. All I had to do was lead by example. Show people the profound happiness that waited the other side of patience; the gold of the bonds given the free-thinking Luddite.
Not all churches are built on mythology, and not all worship requires an idol. Which is why you'll rarely see me at the podium. Once I'd managed the foothold, the exponential growth took care of itself. A kind of religious Wikipedia it became. Leadership was broad and transient and selected purely by merit of message. And our orators were never visible, seen only as backlit shadows on a screen for gesture's sake.
Three thousand locations we have now, and the growth-rate is still increasing. Last quarter we opened more churches than McDonald's did restaurants, in fact. And for the first time since inception, Facebook's user base finally declined.
Our message is one of balance. Our creed the pursuit of value to the other. You're more than welcome to join. The perks are plentiful, I can assure you. But bare in mind our guidelines before entering. They aren't complex, but still they are firm:
One: leave your smartphone at the door.
Two: navigate to Zuckerberg's Facebook page, expand his profile pic, and hit the thumbs down.
Thanks for your time.
Sincerely,
-No-one
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
r/wordsofbrennan | 22 | You are considered the world's strongest superhero because of your unique ability to cancel any kind of superpower. So, it's became awkward when you have to fight the world's weakest supervillain, who has no ability and fight using technology instead. | 185 |
It thrashed about on the table, lurching violently as if something powerful was about to burst from within it. I yelled to the skies, and if a ceiling wasn't above my head it would have looked so much cooler I'm sure.
"Yes! Yeeeeess! I have done it! Suck on that Master Ives"
The hunk of wood tried its damndest to jump from the table I had enchanted it upon, shaking with loud *thuds* and hollow *ba-dumps* every time it hit the stone tabletop. Excitement brewed within me stronger than the latest batch of toadhollow that steamed over the fire in the corner. I could feel my triumph within grasp within this beautiful, epileptic piece of wood.
Though, as the event drew out an inkling of doubt rooted in my brain. What if I was wrong? What if reanimation only worked on the technical terms of what it meant to once be alive? Why was it taking so damn long?!
No, no Jarell. Remember what mother told you, her sweet words echoed in my head: *Jaareeelll. Woowwww, juuust when I thought my son couldn't suuuck anymore he's gooone and outdone himself*
No no, not that, the other thing she said that other time. I tapped the side of my head trying to channel my thoughts over the sounds of the seizing 2x4. It was a spark, a spark as the words materialized themselves in my mind. They said:
*Chinga Ching Ching*...what? Oh gods no! I looked on in horror as the wood had now tangled itself amongst the chains that dangled the table from the ceiling and continued its hemorrhaging fury. But just as I went to correct the issue I noticed something that gave me hope. No, twas not my sweet mothers words but a bit of green, sprouting up from the side of the wood. A branch it was, the gorgeous, sexy branch of my victory.
I watched on as the leafy branch sprouted further from its prison, followed by another, and another, each branch jetting out before fanning with fresh, mint green leaves. But something tugged at the back of my head as I reveled in the glory of being right.
*Go away feeling of unease*, I tried to shoo the feelings away, but it ignored me and continued to grow until it blossomed into an idea, well, more of a grave realization.
This hunk of wood was once a full tree. I had chosen it carefully from my local Home Depot with that in mind, seeking assurance many times from the aproned worker that this 2x4 had indeed once been a tree. But see, in my excitement it seems I had failed to clear a tree sized space for the now quickly growing piece of wood. An oversight any neceomancer could make, but only I bold enough to do so.
Roots sprouted, searching frantically across the cobblestone floor for a tunnel into soil.
*It could be worse, you could be your father*, not now mom! I waved a hand in front of my face to try and rid myself of her words echoing through my head once more.
The wood plank was now more tree than plank, more brown than tan, and more natures behemoth than product from aisle 13.
Its branches spread out to every part of the room and I had to dive to the ground to not be hit. A branch placed itself firmly between the rungs of the iron bars holding the table up. Then it grew, spreading rapidly in diameter until the bars struggled to hold back the wooden mass. With a loud *cling* the chain gave way , which isn't so bad if you have three other chains to hold up your table top. Then another loud *chong* as another chain shattered, sending bits of shrapnel exploding across the room. Well, now it was bad.
The stone table top was now free of half its binds and it took the opportunity to glide across the room towards the wall. I, on the other hand, took the opportunity to scoot behind my desk and wait out the ensuing chaos. By now the tree was nearing full size, its branches trying to bench press the ceiling from its placement. The roots that had spread so thin earlier had shot through the floor and found purchase in the ground below.
"Ok, we've proved our point! You can stop now!", but the tree was a tree, so it didn't listen.
Then, with one final burst of energy, the roof crumbled to pieces and the tree emerged from the roof. I dove under my desk as roof debris rained down. Times like this made me thankful I splurged on the oak wood as hunks of roof tried, yet failed to topple the desk.
After a seemingly long moment the noises stopped, the roof settled, the toadhollow in the corner boiled over, and I was trimphant. Overhead towered my victory.
"Yes! I have done it! Suck on that Master Ives"
I was right, it was much cooler to say without the ceiling. | 15 | You, a fledgling necromancer, are challenging the traditional views on what can be reanimated. Your first experiment, a 2 by 4. | 47 |
# Soulmage
**"Howdy,"** said the teenager in a fifty-year-old's body. He looked painfully awkward at the head of class, introducing himself as a brand new student when he could have passed for a tenured teacher. "I'm Freio, most of the time. Sometimes I go by Jan, and I'll tell you when that is. I'm, uh, I'm a second chancer. If you couldn't already tell."
Iola raised a perfect hand, then before our substitute teacher could call on him, said, "How'd you manage to fuck up so badly you lost *thirty years* of your memory?"
Freio winced. "I, uh... truth is, I don't rightfully know. They didn't tell me, and I didn't ask. The way I see it, I went to bed thirty years ago as a teenager, woke up in the modern day." Insecurity roiled around him like a blanket. "I... I'm just glad to have a second chance. I guess. Better'n nothing."
"Alright, class, let's settle down. Freio, find yourself a seat." Mr. Ganrey was a shriveled old man who could hardly see two feet from his face, but all the more capable teachers were off in the war, so he was who we were stuck with.
"We should offer him a place to sit," Lucet whispered from my left.
Meloai, overhearing, said, "Hey, Freio! Want to sit with us?"
Lucet winced, and I sighed. I loved Meloai and Lucet, but Meloai's straightforwardness didn't mesh well with Lucet's shy nature. Meloai had successfully caught Freio's attention, but she'd turned the heads of everyone in the class as well.
"Uh..." Freio looked torn between wanting to jump down a deep hole and wanting to just close his eyes and pretend everything was just a bad dream. I sympathized. "I... okay. If you say so."
Iola turned to watch the old man's body stumble across the classroom desks, the teenager's soul piloting it still confused about why he was half a foot taller than he was used to. His body scrunched up to fit into the wooden school desk, and a few classmates giggled at how ridiculous he looked, knees half-raised to his chest. The humiliated expression on his face burned me to see, and I wished I could do something more for him.
"Now, class," Mr. Ganrey began. "In light of the recent war against the Redlands aggressors, I think that it's pertinent to cover the history of these barbaric savages..."
Ah, that sounded like a perfect time to draw away some attention from the poor second-chancer. Abruptly, I raised my hand. I'd gone with a more confrontational approach in history classes before, but that had gotten me nowhere, so I tried a more diplomatic tone when I spoke up.
"Mr. Ganrey?" I asked. "Your characterization of Redlanders as aggressive savages... doesn't the recent work by Anenne show that Redland culture is no more intrinsically aggressive than any other?"
The class tittered and oohed, shifting their attention from Freio to me, and even though my cheeks burned from the stares, the relief on Freio's face as he was no longer in the spotlight was evident. He flashed me a grateful smile as Mr. Ganrey cleared his throat and began his counterargument.
"Well, I must say you're rather well-read, but consider this: would the Redlanders invade us without provocation if they really were a developed and cultured people? As Chentrenne once wrote..."
\###
The classes blurred by, and although Freio stuck out like a sore thumb in each of them, Lucet, Meloai, and I took turns deflecting attention from the school's newest second-chancer. Since the war had begun in earnest, more and more of the second-chancers had been showing up, and it was my hope that eventually, either people would get used to them or the Silent Parliament would stop churning them out.
Regardless of what the future held, however, the four of us were content to spend the present eating lunch in a quiet nook. Freio was still somewhat stunned by what was, from his perspective, a leap thirty years into the future—but Meloai had already gotten him to laugh a few times, and Lucet had bonded with him by sheer virtue of being able to hold a comfortable silence.
Of course, nothing lasted forever, and the momentary respite we'd found in our shady little corner was no exception. Iola and his new cronies—all men who'd been rejected from the war draft for being too young, and felt like they had something to prove because of it—sauntered up to us in a vaguely predatory triangle, fanning out to block the only exit.
"Well, well, well. If it isn't the freak squad," Iola drawled. He pointed at us one at a time. "Redlands-fucker. Soulless. Ex-toy. Enemy." Me, Meloai, Lucet, and Freio respectively. Lovely.
"What do you mean, enemy?" Freio whispered.
I winced. Meloai shook her head. "You don't want to know this one, Freio," she warned.
Iola *tsked*. "Ah-ah-ah! You're not the one in control here, soulless girl. Whaddya think? Wanna know who you used to be, freak?" Despite Freio's body being nearly a head taller, he backed down, intimidated, as Iola grabbed him by the shirt.
"Don't touch him," I snapped, starting forwards, but Iola just *kept speaking*.
"You used to be an enemy soldier," Iola crooned. "You were a prisoner of war. And the powers that be decided it was more trouble ransoming you than wiping your memory to when you were nothing more than an impressionable child and re-educating you into their very own killing machine, so that they could fire you right back at the enemy they'd stolen you from."
"Iola, that's *enough!*" I snapped, and shoved him backwards.
But the damage was already done. Freio stared at Iola, mouth slightly agape, and Iola just shook his head. "Oh, did your new friends not tell you that? Sorry to spill the beans."
Then he turned around and left, snickering to himself like he'd just told the best joke anyone had ever heard.
Hesitantly, the three of us moved closer to Freio. The shock on his face had morphed into something bleak and empty.
"Is that true?" Freio asked. "Am I... am I really just... a prisoner of war?"
"It is," said an elderly voice from behind us.
The four of us spun to see Mr. Ganrey stumping towards Freio, and his clouded eyes seemed sharp as a tack for once.
Freio balled his fists. "How can you... *how can you do this to me?* To us? *How can you get away with this?*"
"Like this," he said, and tapped Freio on the forehead once.
And just like that, the last three minutes were wiped from his memory.
"We're at war, kids." Mr. Ganrey gave us all a warning look. "Sacrifices must be made. Don't forget it."
The substitute teacher walked away, leaving three faces grim and one face confused in our shady little corner of the Silent Academy.
A.N.
Soulmage will be episodically updated. Want to know what happens next? Check out [this post](https://www.reddit.com/r/bubblewriters/comments/uxmwe4/soulmage_masterpost/) to be notified whenever a new part comes out, and check out r/bubblewriters for more stories by me. | 488 | Instead of jail time, crime is punished by the erasure of memories. Depending on severity, the criminal may lose days, weeks, or even decades. No matter how long a span of time, the lost memories always include the entirety of the crime itself. | 2,475 |
"Are you sure this is a good idea?" I asked.
Like most Boomers, my boss Dave had more money than time or sense, but despite his age, he had the sense of humor of a twenty-year-old. Maybe that's why he latched on to me. Who else would spend a weekend watching re-runs of South Park with him while we chugged beer by the case?
Some people might feel uncomfortable hanging out with their boss, but I'm just a janitor at Dave's hospital. Without Dave's friendship, the job wouldn't be worth staying at, so this is a win-win. If our friendship burns, I don't care if my job does too.
But Dave loved memes and social media. He browsed Twitter, Tumblr, 4chan, and Reddit in most his ample spare time, and other than that, he had no real hobbies.
Which is why, when I got into a new hobby, Dave got into it too. I think he lived vicariously through me, but since his wallet followed his interest, I didn't complain.
Pot-belled and bald-headed, Dave was the splitting image of a ten-year time skip George Costanza, with pale, greasy skin that matched the white Escalade he drove everywhere he went. And like Costanza, he never shut up.
"I saw it on Youtube. They forged a sword out of pig's blood. You know there's iron in the blood, right? You just have to smelt it, like iron ore, but you know, with blood."
"I get how it works, but... is this legal?"
Like all good hobbies, I got into blacksmithing because of a girl. Met at a local brewery, and she invited me to a Ren Fair the next town over. It was a hot, sweaty event, but she looked good in her fake period-accurate attire, so I rolled over for her and got into blacksmithing. She ghosted me three months in.
Girls are temporary, but steel is eternal, or something like that.
My backyard forge, funded by Dave and three months of paychecks, consisted of an anvil, a trough of water connected to the hose, a mop bucket-sized smelter, and the forge itself. In a nearby shed, I had a dozen or so tools and some easy molds for forging cheap weapons. My original plan, after the girl left, was to make weapons to sell at Fairs or Cons, but Iron and Steel were expensive.
"Trust me," Dave said, "It's perfectly legal. I asked my lawyer."
"Don't you have to dispose of these with a biohazard company?"
I looked into the cooler Dave brought by my place. He had three more in his truck, and he'd slammed all four full of out-of-date blood bags from the hospital.
"If you can make a sword out of pig's blood, why not human blood? I read online you'd need to kill three-hundred and fifty-nine people to get this much blood."
"Did you?"
"Only if running a business counts as murder."
"Does it?"
As usual, Dave ignored me.
"Come on, kid. Nobody will find out, and if they do, I'll take the heat from you."
"I don't know..."
"What if I commission you for it? Eh? Like one of those artists on Twitter. Five-hundred dollars."
My eyebrows rose before I could stop them, and Dave definitely noticed. I stared into the cooler. Each plastic bag filled with nearly a pound of reddish-brown blood, thick as strawberry milk. I threw up a little in my mouth, but thankfully, it didn't smell, unless the antiseptic smell of the hospital counted.
"A thousand dollars."
"Dave..."
"Two-thousand."
I sighed, "You really want me to do this that badly?"
"Yeah! I mean, I really want to record it and put it on the Youtube, like that other guy, but I guess that might get us in trouble. Oh! You should record it anyway. I'll talk to my lawyer."
"That seems like a bad idea."
"You leave all the ideas to me, kid; you just work get hammering. World's first human blood sword. Bet nobody's ever tried this before."
And that was that.
\*\*\*
Smelting the blood was the worst part. I loved the smell of melting metal. It had a rich, earthy scent that tingled in my nose like lightning during a rainstorm, but that was melting metal or rocks. I hoped blood would smell like burnt meat, but... it smelt more like tossing an entire wet dog in the smelter, and the smell lingered in the backyard for hours after I finished.
I can't believe the neighbors didn't complain.
It took me a week to get a single dingy iron ingot out of the coolers Dave brought, and in the meantime, my fridge, freezer, and meat freezer were packed full of blood bags. Course, it gave me an excuse to eat delivery food every night, on Dave's dime, so I wasn't complaining about that. Thankfully, I didn't have time to bring any girls home, or they'd have thought I was a serial killer.
Bag by bag, ingot by ingot, the sword formed. Since Dave didn't want anything else in it, it ended up being a pretty soft iron sword. I didn't go too hard on the decorations: just a simple longsword with a flat crossguard. I didn't even wrap the hilt in leather.
But eventually, Dave's Human Blood sword was complete. As I rushed to sharpen the sword, dark storm clouds rolled in from the north. Thank god. Maybe the rain would get rid of the smell. Otherwise, I'd have to get rid a new smelter...
Someone knocked on my door.
I ignored it. Everyone I knew would text or call me before they visited, so it had to be a salesman or a Jehova's Witness.
The knocks grew louder. In the distance, thunder rumbled. I turned the grinding wheel on high to drown out both, and for a few blissful moments, it was just me and my human blood sword.
Then lightning flashed, except the lightning was red, the color of blood. I stumbled backwards and dropped the sword in the grass. The grinder ground to a halt. Someone thumped on the backyard gate.
"Joel! Joel! Open up!"
I recognized the voice and the crown of silver hair peaking over the top of the gate: Father Michael, from Catholic Church down the street. I wasn't devout, nor did I got every Sunday, but when they held events, especially events with food, I always found time to stop by.
He didn't wait for me. The priest reached over the gate to pull the latch and forced his way inside. The man looked manic. Sweat streaked down his flushed face and stained his vestments. He looked like he'd run here all the way from the church. He stared past me at the storm clouds. Was it just my imagination, or did they turn even reader?
"Joel! You have to destroy it!"
"Uh, hey, Padre. What do I have to destroy?"
"The sword, Joel! You have to destroy the sword! If you don't, it will be—" | 135 | You recently got into blacksmithing as a hobby. As you proudly finish assembling the first sword you ever made, you get a text from your local pastor. It's says "I don't know what you just did. But God is pissed at you for it" | 488 |
The street was quiet, though the entire town had come out to see.
And there he was; standing in the outskirts with the blue-scaled head of Terronax dragging behind him. The dragon had been a fiend to the local farmers, and there were several blacked scars on the landscape from houses he had burned down.
And old Ghaftar was holding his head.
Ghaftar was the most foul-mouthed, and intolerable dwarf that had ever lived in the town. He was rude to children, disrespectful to widows, and was always late on his tab. No one had ever seen him without a drink in his hand until today.
Ghaftar was soon to remedy that, however. He walked straight up to a man standing near the street with flagon in his hand. The old dwarf snatched the flagon from the stupefied man and replaced it with a horn that was connected to Terronax's head.
"Thank ye!" he yelled before taking a mighty drag from the flagon. After sloshing a considerable amount of alcohol on his beard, he looked around to see the entire town staring at him.
"Ooooh! That's how it is, is it?" He cried. "Ye arrest me and sentence me to dragon slayin' as my punishment? Ye think I don't know what ye were tryna do? Get rid of me? And now yer all standing here waiting for a story. Well, yer not gonna get it, so get out of my way! I need a drink!"
Without pausing, he stomped into the nearest tavern. The people nearby could see through the window as he walked behind the bar and helped himself to the keg against the wall. Murmurs began to rise among the townsfolk and a few began to shuffle away, but then the tavern doors swung open with a bang.
"And another thing!" he yelled, sloshing the tankards he held in each hand. "Not even a 'thank ye Ghaftar,' or 'yer amazing Ghaftar!' Just a bunch of lollygaggin' layabouts with nothin' better than to gape at a bloody hero! So go on! Piss off!"
The townsfolk shot each other furtive glances, but did not move.
"Ye know what?" Ghaftar continued without prompting. "I'm gonna tell ye what happened just so ye can finally appreciate what an asset I am!
"I climb up the bloody mountain with the rusty piece of scrap the guards called a sword and start to smell the brimstone. I tell ye, it smelled like the back end of a disease-ridden goat, but I knew I were close.
"Right past a rock, the blighted dragon pops his head up like a gopher and starts staring at me. I won't lie: I pissed myself a wee bit, but I kept my place.
"'What're ye' the dragon says t'me.
"'I'm Ghaftar,' I told him. 'And I've gotta gut ye so's I can get back to drinkin'!'
"The ugly brute looks me up and down and has the gall to say, 'yer awful short for a dragon slayer!' so I gave him the finger and spit on his claws. He just laughed and said, 'Ghaftar, I think I'll eat ye, but I gotta know, are ye from that pitiful town with the ale that tastes like piss?'
"And that's when he'd crossed the line. I grabbed him right on the horns and struck his head off like a sapling's limbs."
If the townsfolk had been stunned before, they were now fully flabbergasted. But Ghaftar just kept talking.
"See? That's the thing I'm talkin' about. It's a bad attitude! There ain't no one who can insult this town's ale!" Ghaftar punctuated his last statement with a swig that would drown a boar. "No one but me!" | 134 | No one likes the local drunk. He's vulgar, cynical, and a nuisance. Yesterday he was arrested, and sent to slay a dragon as a thinly veiled execution. Today he just came back completely unscathed with the dragons heads in tow. | 343 |
The small office was rather mundane to most viewers, a few bookshelves lined the walls adorned with a variety of books and trinkets, a garbage can sat unassumingly in the corner with a couple filing cabinets right next to it, and finally, a rather clean and niche desk sat in the middle of the clam office, overlooking a giant screaming pit of flames and agony through the plexiglass window. A completely normal office. Say for the human in a suit and a red demon sitting opposite him.
"So, what do you think?" Trozrolar ask with a hint of anxiousness in his voice to the human flicking through a list of papers.
​
"Well," The human began, "The context is sound, killing someone for a soul replacement, or doing said deeds are quite in line for which they get for completing them, I'll give you that. However, there are quite a few loopholes here."
​
"Well, that's what I need you to fix." The demon said breathlessly. Ever since he had been scammed out of his last deal, he needed to insure his contracts were fire-tight. Although it did irk him a bit he was required to use a human of all creatures for help.
​
"Hmhm." The Human hummed while streaking a large red line across the paper. "Look here, you see how the contract states 'For immortality, 12 souls are needed to complete this.' Quote unquote."
​
"Well, of course I do, I wrote it."
​
"You didn't specify *what* souls are needed to complete this."
​
"...What?"
​
The Human quietly sighed to himself before containing. "The person who signs this could just kill 12 flies, or anything with a soul to complete this task. Nothing explicitly states it has to be a *human* soul."
​
The demons eyes grew wide at this revelation."Ohhhhh," Feeling at bit embarrassed at the rookie mistake, and the fact the human was crossing even more lines out while he was quiet, he decided to cut it off there. "Well... how long is it gonna take for you to... sort this out?"
​
The Human looked up for a moment, then back down at the paper. "Well, I'll need to do my routine checks over Laws and Dictionaries to make sure that everything is watertight while editing, so a couple hours at most, you can wait in the lobby while you're waiting if you need."
​
"Nah, dude, I've got some errands to run, I'll come back at... 5:00?" The demon offered.
​
"Sounds good to me." | 39 | You've become so infamous for outsmarting demons, they've started hiring you to write their contracts for them. | 96 |
“In today’s episode, we see the two tribes go head to head in an all-out battle,” I whisper into the microphone sewed into my sleeve.
“Tune in after this short break and watch as they face off for the first time,” I say, before dropping my arm and open the door from the bedroom where my camera operator John and I have been stationed for the past thirty minutes, making our preparations.
"face-off, good one," John chuckles as he walks past with a spring in his step. John doesn't have a traditional camera to lug around, not for this job. For this environment, he has a 360 degree camera in his hat and one in a modified glove.
Just as I'm closing the door someone shouts loudly from outside. John looks at me, confused.
“They weren’t meant to start the assault until after the ad break,” I say angrily as I set off at a run.
I reach the patio and see a crowd gathered nearby. My other camera operator Sarah is there too, which at least means she caught the action.
“What’s the deal?” I say as I near the group.
“Susan got hit,” Carol says as she crouches next to her examining the wound.
“I think it'll be okay,” Susan says.
“Someone should really get her patched up quick,” I say and walk off, kicking dirt as I go. I get around the side of the manor house and hit my radio button.
“Annie, are you there?” I whisper into my mic.
“Yeah boss, what’s up?”
“Someone on your side went early and hit one of ours,” I say, “and we’re still two minutes away from returning from the ad break. What am I going to say?”
“Sorry boss, you know what this is like. But we’re on track here, make sure you’re under cover when we start firing,” Annie says.
Before I can reply I hear another voice in my ear.
“Live in three, two…”
I swear under my breath, realizing I don’t have a camera operator with me, but my mic is linked up to the feed so I start whispering to myself as the countdown ends.
“Welcome back to the greatest showdown you’ve ever seen. Inside the camp, there’s already one injury and the main event hasn’t even begun. But shortly…”
I turn a corner and walk straight into someone, making me lose my footing and fall backwards into the mud.
“Who were you whispering to?” The man asks me forcefully. I pause, giving the crew time to cut my feed if necessary.
“No one. There’s no time for this, we have to go make sure the perimeter is secure," I reply.
He looks around to see if there's anyone else nearby.
“Daryl, what are you doing over there?” Carol yells from across the yard.
“This one here was whisperin something, and she got a bullshit excuse to boot,” Daryl says over his shoulder, crossbow pointing at my forehead now.
I hold my hands up, heart beating faster than ever and spot John the camera operating running in our direction.
“Look, it’s all good," I say, "I just mutter to myself sometimes is all."
But before Daryl can speak again there’s another scream somewhere near the gate.
“The whisperers! They’re coming! Quickly!” Someone shouts.
Daryl looks at me.
"I'll deal with you later," he says before taking off towards the main gate.
John arrives at my side, puffing.
"You okay?" he says, "that looked close. How much did the audience hear?"
"They probably cut away," I begin, getting myself back on my feet, "and if they didn't, it's fine. It just adds a raw element for tonight's audience. Doesn't matter for the other audiences who see it later either. We edit all our commentary out when they distribute to the other markets that refuse to show it live and make us chuck a fiction stamp on it."
John looks at me and grins, "if only they knew." | 21 | The zombie outbreak was contained and became a no-go zone. Its survivors trapped and convinced the rest of the world has met the same fate. You're the host of a new reality TV show which follows their day-to-day lives in the supposed end of days. | 129 |
**———— The Champion ————**
Silas still felt the pain of that kick in his ribs as he slowly reached for the exit, a silver medal hanging from his neck but concealed by his shirt. One hand was hanging limply on his side, the other was holding his shoulder. He looked back, and saw Lyana Livingwood still talking with her friend. He was to need some help with the door.
He decided to turn back to the Grand Hall, reserved for champions and their kin, and smother in his disappointment for a few hours more. He didn't want to take Lyana from the party· she deserved to calm down after earning third place.
The door to the Grand Hall was pried half-open, the light was turned off. A ray from the lamp in the hallway shined through, and, as Silas looked in, shone onto the golden statue of a Champion; Silas the Older. His father. *How appropriate*, he grumbled to himself.
When he stepped inside, however, Silas was distracted from his own pity by sobs, coming from behind his father's statue. Wondering if he should make his presence known, he discreetly peaked over Silas the Older's shoulder, to find...
"Alios?"
The champion looked at him, tears still streaming down her cheeks. Her white hair, usually tied in a neat ponytail, is ragged and left to fall on her shoulders like a waterfall.
The trophy, a golden wyvern statuette adorned with precious gems, was in her hand, and she was holding on so tightly that her fingertips had turned white.
"Oh, stars, Silas," exclaimed Alios. She tried to wipe her eyes, but the tears kept streaming down. "I'm sorry... I would've cried behind my own father's statue, but..." She stopped.
Silas nodded. *But the King's statue is in the Celebration Hall,* he wanted to say. Instead, he raised an eyebrow.
"Is... everything alright, Princess?" he asked, pointedly reminding Alios of her rank. She finally managed to stop crying and blew her nose into a napkin that was likely more expensive than Silas' entire outfit.
"Yes, yes, I'm sorry," she repeated, "I'll go. They're probably expecting me in the Celebration Hall, right?"
"So they have been, for the last hour," sneered Silas. "I hardly think they'll be annoyed to wait for a few minutes more." He sat on the base on his father's statue, feeling like he was committing sacrilege while he did it. "What's wrong?"
"Nothing," decided the Princess stubbornly. "I'm just... overwhelmed, is all."
"Horseshit," said Silas immediately. "You don't get to kick my arse *this* badly and then 'be overwhelmed'." He put his good hand on her shoulder, and the pain made him regret that choice. "What's wrong?" he asked again.
"I didn't win by that much," she protested.
Silas looked at her disappointedly. "I've brought men thrice your size and mine combined to their knees, and I *crawled* out of that amphitheatre."
"You're exaggerating to make me feel better," Alios protested.
"I couldn't give less of a shit for how you feel," answered Silas honestly. "Now; what's wrong?"
The Princess considered it for a bit, looking away. When she turned back to Silas, her eyes glimmered with tears. "As of today, two years ago," she said, "I became first in line."
Silas knew what that meant. It was his turn to exclaim, "oh, stars." He took his hand back. "I didn't know."
"No-one ever does," answered Alios. "I thought... if I won the Championship... for him..."
"It would make the pain stop," Silas completed her sentence. He understood. "It would make the loss hurt less." He felt his tone softening instinctively.
"It didn't," muttered the Princess. "It still hurts like a bastard." She clutched at her heart.
"Nothing quite like it," mused Silas. "I know the feeling."
"Does it ever get easier?" asked Alios, a knot coming back to her throat. She looked up at Silas.
"No," he said, "but you will get stronger."
"I'm not strong," she mumbled. "My brother is... *was* strong." As she corrected herself, she let the tears loose.
Silas leaned against his father's statue. "Your brother would have been proud today," he told Alios, and he meant it.
"How would you know?" snapped the Princess.
He didn't blame her for lashing out. She was hurting. He remembered how he was for the first years after his father had died.
"Because I've lost to him too." He smiled at Alios' bewildered expression. "You were too young to remember, but I remember you... cheering Milos on. You were so happy when he won."
"He gave me the trophy to hold," she recalled suddenly. "And you... you told me..."
"Your brother was a good fighter," Silas repeated what he had said, all those years ago, "and an even better man. Trust me when I say; had he been here today, he would have been proud."
Alios stopped crying again. She wiped her tears anew and stood up. Silas followed suit.
"Come," he prompted, "Lyana will help you get cleaned up. The show's not over."
They stumbled to the exit of the Grand Hall, one supporting the other. At the door, she stopped him and said, "Silas."
"Yes?"
"Thank you."
Silas fought back his own tears and nodded. He looked back at his father's statue, and thought he saw Silas the Older gesture him along. He turned back and exited the room.
They found Lyana Livingwood on her way to the lavatory. She gave Silas a strange, questioning look, but gladly took the Princess from the waist to help her get in shape. Silas returned to the Celebration Hall and waited.
When Alios and Lyana returned to the Hall, Alios was glowing. Lyana was holding the trophy, and there was cheering as she took Alios' closed fist and raised it.
"Our champion!" she shouted, and there was cheering.
Silas didn't talk to the Princess for the rest of the festivities. Only when she was leaving, and he was talking with Lyana by the gate, they exchanged an understanding glance as she passed him on her horse.
He was looking forward to the next Championship already.
——————————————————————————————— | 35 | Your opponent has just won the championship, while you finished in second place. Shortly after the festivities, you walk down the hall, angry and disappointed with yourself, and find your opponent sitting on the floor with the trophy in hand and crying. | 87 |
The thing about English estates, especially old ones like Lord Humphrey's, is that they're leg-achingly sprawling. It's as if some giant picked up a reasonably-sized home and garden and shook it hard for a few millennia until it stretched out like pizza dough.
For someone like me, who had to use public transport to get here, the last thing you want is to walk a three mile driveway just to reach the front door. Especially when you're wearing a cassock a foot-too-long for your perfectly adequate frame, and when you're at constant risk of tripping over the extra material. It's not my fault catholics don't do robes in women's sizes. They're behind the times.
I can hear my mum's voice chastising me from somewhere in the heavens: *you should have folded up the hem and given it a good staple before you set off. That would have done the trick.* Her imaginary voice continues for a while even after she's dispensed her advice: *Now where's my bottle of red gone? I can't have drunk it all already. Have you been at my wine again?*
The sky's already darkening as I amble towards the main manor. The overly manicured bushes look like chess pieces, but I'm not sure if they're meant to.
I wear a cross around my neck, as well as a string of uncomfortable garlic bulbs. By the time I reach the double-doors I'm a sweaty mess and regretting my recent career change to vampire hunter.
The man at the hall's great front door has a moustache that curls both ends and looks like two grey squirrels have stuck their tails over his mouth.
"Yes?"
"You are Lord Humphrey, aren't you?" I say.
"Henry," he mumbled, pulling a moustache-tail straight before letting it bounce back into a curl. "Call me Henry. I do so hate with formalities."
"I'm Amelia," I say. "The vampire hunter."
He looks me over, one eye wide. "*Huntress*, I think you mean."
He's not impressed by what's turned up at his door. There wasn't a picture of me on the emails and I only signed my name "A". In the initial message, I told him I was tracking a vampire across the country and believed it was in this vicinity, and to please let me know if he saw anything suspicious.
He replied an hour later telling me that yes, he's seen much suspicious recently. He's seen a young man outside his daughter's bedroom, and when confronted, the man turned into a bat and flew out of a bloody window. This had apparently happened multiple times -- the vampire wasn't going anywhere it seemed.
I replied with my fee.
He replied complaining about said fee. That if I was already on this vampire's trail why was there a fee to continue doing the task I'd already been undertaking.
That was a good point so I ignored it and replied: One thousand pounds to rid your house of a vampire, take it or leave it.
He took it.
Now he stands on his doorstep looking at me, huffing and hawing in displeasure. Finally he says, tapping his foot. "Seeing as you're here, you might as well try."
"I'm honoured," I say, accompanied by a mocking bow.
"Quite."
He leads me through the hall and to the bottom of a twisting staircase.
He says, "I've never seen the demon down on the ground floor, so I think you're best starting with up there."
I take the EMF detector out of a robe pocket. The good thing about cassocks is they have a lot of internal pockets -- it's a little secret not many catholics will tell you about. But as a girl with perpetually too-few pockets, I've found it to be something of a luxury.
"What's that?" Henry asks, nodding at the black device in my hands.
"EMF detector. That's electro-magnetic field detector, in layman's terms." I flash a toothy smile.
"As in, a ghost detector?"
I frown. I'd gotten it from a supernatural shop outside of town earlier in the day. I don't remember any mention of ghosts -- I'd just figured it was good for hunting anything supernatural. Luckily I'm a professional and remain composed, saying, "I'm doing a two-for-one for my clients at the moment. Clearing out vampires and also checking for ghosts."
"I see," says Henry, scratching his chin.
I leave him at the bottom of the stairs and head up to the main landing to begin investigations. At the top, I turn a corner and head down a dim corridor. Out of sight, I allow myself a deep breath. The truth is, this isn't going as well as I planned, and I'm a little concerned Henry won't pay the full amount.
"Psst," comes a voice. "Psst. Amelia?"
"Jon?"
"Yeah." Out of the darkness of the doorway steps my young vampire roommate, Jonathan. "Took you long enough to get here," he whispers. "I'm ready to get this job over with. Honestly, I'm not convinced this has been worth three hundred quid at all. It's taken the best part of a week to get to this stage. And the other night, that old man chased me with a stake and a net. He's way faster than he looks."
"Well I can't do better than three hundred. That's splitting the payment right down the middle, and remember, I put a lot of work into this too." I point at my cassock. Then at the garlic. Although I'll be reusing half the garlic tonight in a nice bolognaise, and the cassock will become a well-pocketed dress. A good prop is a reusable prop. Not that Jon will be able to eat my garlicy dinner -- talk about a fussy eater.
"I know, I know," he says. "Fine, let's just get this over with."
I nod. "Three, two, one... Go!"
Jon screams and runs through the hallway pounding his boots on the carpet. I wait a second, then follow, the cross brandished in my palm. "Away demon!" I yell. "And never return."
Henry is still at the bottom of the staircase as I chase Jon down the steps.
"Away!" I hurl one bulb of garlic at him, hitting him square in the back.
"Ouch!"
"Ouch?" I say annoyed, unable to help myself. What kind of vampire says ouch? We'll need method acting classes after this.
Jon turns into his bat-form as we pass by the astonished Henry; I continue chasing and yelling. "Away, foul demon! And never return to this place. At least not for the next month or two!"
Finally, Jon flaps through the open front door and vanishes into the night. It's okay for him, he'll be home in an hour. It'll take me half the night, and that's if the busses are still running.
Henry trundles over to me, his cheeks bright pink. "Amazing! You flushed it out better than I ever managed. I mean, I've chased it out before, but never like that."
"Yes, it has to be out of the front door."
His eyes narrow. "How do you know I've never chased it out the front door? I never said I didn't do that."
"Uh. Because if you had, it wouldn't have come back."
His eyebrows twitch. "I see. Makes sense, I suppose. Now, a thousand, wasn't it?"
"On the nose."
"Cheque all right with you?"
"Cash, if it's all the same."
When I first found out I was living with a vampire -- even one who'd sworn off human-blood -- I wasn't exactly thrilled. But Jon's growing on me. We make a good team. And later, when I'm home and handing him his well-earned three hundred, I might even tell him so. | 755 | you’re a vampire hunter and you just discovered that your roommate is a vampire you would kill each other but the rent around where you live is ridiculously high so neither of you can afford killing the other | 4,413 |
A familiar is one of the most important things for any magic user. They can determine or improve whatever type of magic you use. They grant unique skills and abilities to their owner, ranging from basic physical enhancements to special and secret ancient spells.
So when I arrived only to find I was late, my heart sank. All of the other wizards and witches had chosen theirs, which meant that all the good familiars were most likely gone. Like being last to a picnic, I would be left with the scraps.
"What do you think he'll get? "
"Does it matter? Theirs nothing here that can best ours. "
"He might want the fly since their worth is about the same. "
I could hear the comments they made behind his back. Normally, I would simply ignore them. But here, in this situation, I couldn't. They were right, I'd never reach their level. I'd surpass them.
Most of the familiars that had been taken were set familiars, meaning the effects were the exact same from one to another. I instead looked at the loose familiars, ones that had different effects depending on the user. It was a gamble though, as their effects were usally near useless buy could also be incredibly strong.
"He's taking forever, can't we just leave him? "
"Not like anyone would mind. "
"Maybe we should *motivate* him. "
I could easily hear the crackling sparks of lightnings. So I reached out and focused on the familiars infront of him. Anyone could match with any other familiar with enough time and patience, but ones that suited the owner would naturally be attracted to the ones they most suited.
So I simply let nature choose. I felt one of the magical sparks from behind get closer, so he sped up the process and, with my eyes closed, I chose the familiar that reacting the strongest to his magic.
"Wait, THATS his familiar?! It looks so weak! "
"He must be insane to choose *that* of all things. "
"What can that even do? "
I could feel my new partner in his hand. It was tiny, but felt heavy in my hand. I opened his eyes. In my hand was an ant. An earth elemental ant queen to be more exact.
The lightning that had been charging behind him was finally launched. The master simply stood there and watch, as he had done many time. "To abuse the weak makes them want to grow stronger. " is what he had said previously.
The earth shifted and I disappeared into the ground, reappearing near the shop counter while the sparks drew lines in the wall. I quickly placed the money for my familiar there before disappearing again to avoid a more persice shot of lightning.
"How did he do that? "
"There's no way he did that spell so quickly. "
"Let's see if he can dodge thi- "
*CRACK*
A small pillar of dirt shot from the ground and struck the lightning user in the chin. The pillar quickly widened a bit before it shifted into a simple golem. As one of the most basic Earth magic spell, it really shouldn't have survived the following onslaught of sparks that came from the cocky one, yet there it stood.
A stone covered foot collided with his gut and sent the lightning user tumbling. The other apprentice got out of the way as he continued to roll, right up until it crashed into another golem.
"Nice choice in familiar. A stormshell tortoise to increase your endurance. Especially good considering most lightning users have issues stamina. ".
I walked towards him.
"But I like mine better. Just like any ruler, this queen here makes controlling golems like these, my subjects, way easier, while making them stronger as well. ".
The two golems picked up the lightning user. A third rose up and, with a stone fist, delivered a punch to the face.
"No fight you two. Not here at least. Save it for sparring. ".
I frowned a bit at that, but regained my smile as I released him. Familiars were important after all. They determined what type of magic one could wield. And I would train with it until, just like my familiar, I became a ruler of this power.
A king to my new queen. | 11 | As a young wizard, choosing the right familiar is extremely important. Unfortunately you showed up late to the magical pet store. | 23 |
“Sorry about the knees,” the letter opens. “And the neck. Easy on the spicy food, too, unless you have Tums on hand.”
My brother was right. Maybe I should’ve paid more for a new body. As the list of apologies and warnings went on, the more I realized, I definitely should’ve paid more.
But it’s not too bad when I could walk to my own kitchen and make mapo tofu. It’s fine. I bought antacid.
The previous owner, a man named Simon P. on the contract, had warned me about all the physical shortcomings of his body. He was gracious enough to admit that he didn’t take the best care of it and some parts might be worse for wear. I almost felt bad for all the tiny injuries, tiny pains he carried with him. And there is an ache in his chest—mine now—that I can’t explain. A leftover longing of some sort from old synapses in the brain that still haven’t recognized me as the new tenant.
As long and apologetic as the letter was, the body it came with was great. I don’t think he realized that a quadriplegic like me would take it even if it had the shittiest shoulders. I just need two working arms and two working legs for what I was going to do.
And what I went to do is visit Simon.
“Mr. Princeton is still in processing,” the lab assistant says. “But he should be uploaded completely to the drive, Dr. Bloom.”
Gone is the fascination in their eyes. This is standard procedure: faces changing names. Last week, they called this body Mr. Princeton. This week, it’s me.
I tell the assistant it’s fine and they leave me to finalize Simon’s upload to the internet. It’s a delicate process of making sure that the person, their essence, is preserved in the upload. One wrong move and that person could accidentally come to themselves with years shaved off their memories. They might come to consciousness thinking they’re a dog. Or they might just never come to.
“Hi Simon,” I say to the screen. “We’ve met. Thank you for the body.”
The screen, of course, doesn’t respond. But from previous studies, we know that any data—audio included—we input in this stage can be processed and evaluated by the person.
“I know you feel bad for what you did to me,” I say. “I feel it in your heart. Thank you.”
My finger hovers over “Delete.” | 10 | You are one of the few early adopters who've chosen to upload their mind to a computer, living a new life on the internet. In doing so you are donating your body to a quadriplegic who desperately needs it. Write a letter welcoming them to their new life in your old body, quirks and all. | 36 |
Catherine was panting hard as she stumbled down the dark alleyway. "Fuck, fuck, fuck it all to hell!" she hissed to herself as she winced in pain with each step she took. It was sheer bad luck that her victim's family had stumbled upon her while she had been in the middle of carving him up. Now, she was running for her life with her own knife sticking out of her side while an angry mob was out hunting for her blood. Fuck, she could hear their voices getting closer. Catherine fought to keep moving, but the blood loss was too much for her and she felt her legs give way beneath her. The last thing she saw before losing consciousness was someone rushing towards her from the shadows.
Catherine awoke in a shock. The first thing that went through her head was surprise that she wasn't currently being tortured. Considering what had happened before she had fallen, she was sure that the mob was going to rip her limb from limb. Then, she noticed for the first time where she was. She was lying down in a warm bed inside someone's house. On the other side of the room, there was a surprised looking young man with glasses reading through a book.
"I didn't expect you to wake up so quickly. Are you feeling all right?" he said, walking up to her.
Catherine looked at him warily. Who was this stranger? And why had they saved her? Surely, they must have realized that she was the serial killer the entire city had been talking about. She found herself reaching for her knife, only to realize that it wasn't there anymore. The wound in her side had been thoroughly bandaged as well.
"It's alright, I'm not here to hurt you. If I wanted to do that, I would have tossed you to the mob hours ago," the young man paused. "And don't worry, I'll keep your identity secret."
Catherine stared at the stranger. "Who are you?" she asked. "Have we met before?"
"Technically no. I was hiding upstairs when you killed my mother." He paused when he saw Catherine's alarmed face. "Don't worry, I'm not seeking revenge. I'm grateful, you know. She was a horrible woman who was constantly beating me and humiliating me over everything. The world is better off without her."
"So, that's why you helped me, even though you knew I was a serial killer?" Catherine said slowly, trying to process this bizarre turn of events.
"Ever since I first saw you, I've been studying your work. I've been investigating the backgrounds of all of your victims you killed. Every single time, I discovered that they were horrible people just like my mother, hiding their sins under a pleasant facade. As long as you keep killing people like that, I don't have a problem with it." The man suddenly looked embarrassed at what he was about to say next. "If it's possible...I would like to be your partner. If you'll take me as one, of course."
Catherine stared at the blushing man, who averted his eyes. Did he have a crush on her? A part of her thought that he was insane, but then again, she was hardly in a position to judge. And he had just saved her life..."My name's Catherine," she finally said. "What's yours?" | 148 | Take a "standard" romance and flip the script. The tall hot athlete is a girl while the shorter, slightly nerd is a boy who "cleans up nice," a naive rich boy gets swept away by a cynical gal from the wrong side of the tracks, that sort of thing. Anything that shakes things up. | 722 |
Valeir walked out of the castle at dawn, just as the guards changed shifts at the main gate. He wore the colors of his family after years. All his clothing in violet and white, he had left in a chest in his quarters. He no longer had the right to wear the Order of the Orchid’s colors.
His happiness had been short lived. Ten years he had spent within the capital city, training until perfection was within an arm’s reach. His future had looked so certain when the king had knighted him a fortnight before. He was a popular knight, a good swordsman, a loyal soldier. If only he had gained some cunning in his years at court, he might still be within the walls of the castle instead of ousted from it.
His coachman urged him to sit in the carriage, but Valeir wanted to see the city one last time before they left it behind. It was an unforgiving place, but it was his home more than the place where he was born. His estate near the borderlands would be too quiet and empty. Except for the weight of his parents’ disappointment, there wouldn’t be much waiting for him there.
A disgraced knight was at best ignored, at worst openly ridiculed. It would’ve been better if the order had not taken him in at all. He might have enjoyed being a hedge knight.
“Are you going a trip, Sir Valeir?”
Valeir looked down. It was one of the young street children he saw often. They were always selling something or another, and he made sure to buy their trinkets often.
“I’m going home,” Valeir said.
The little girl faltered in her steps.
“When will you come back?”
“Probably never,” Valeir answered. “My order has removed me from their ranks.”
“Why?”
It was a question Valeir still asked himself. He knew the answer, but he wondered if it could be so simple. If the order kicked him out and offered his place to Lord Swyte’s son instead, Lord Swyte promised the order a beach-side estate. So, he was now a knight without colors or honor. All because the others in the order wanted somewhere pleasant to spend their winter months.
Perhaps if he had been even better of a knight or even better of a man, they would’ve deemed him too valuable to let go. Valeir knew others like him who toiled towards knighthood from the moment they knew what it was. Others had met the end of their dreams even sooner than him.
“Do you need another order to join?” the little girl asked. “I know one.”
“I doubt there is one willing to take me,” Valeir laughed. “I’ve just been unceremoniously kicked out of an order only a fortnight after joining it. I have no money and few friends. All I have is some skill with weapons.”
“That’ll do for them.”
The little girl took his hand and led him down the streets of the city to the merchants’ district. His carriage struggled to make its way through the crowds of people.
“The Order of the Black Kites,” the little girl said. “I have no idea why they named it that, but it sounds good.”
It didn’t sound good at all to him. He’d never heard of the order before. Valeir smiled. It was more than he deserved. It would be one way to avoid his parents, at the very least.
The little girl led him into a rundown pub. Despite it being at the center of the city, it was fairly empty. A lady knight sat at the counter, while a few others played cards around a round table.
“Who is this, Karlina?” the lady knight asked.
“He’s a knight,” Karlina answered. “I brought him here to join your order.”
“We’re not a gentlemen’s club, for anyone to just waltz in and join,” the lady knight said, standing up. She wore a tunic of gold and green. She was the tallest woman he’d ever seen. At her waist, two twin swords hung from her belt.
“I’m sorry,” he said. “The child must have thought she was doing me a kindness.”
“It’s rare that the children like people such as yourself,” a stout man said. He looked at the ring on Valeir’s hand. It was thick and made of solid gold, but he had somehow forgotten about it. He turned the ring around on his finger.
“The Orchid. That’s one of the elitist ones, isn’t it?”
“I would not know,” Valeir answered.
“Wanna rob them blind?” he asked.
“I beg your pardon?”
“We don’t beg for anything here,” the lady knight said. “We only take it. Black kites steal things to build their nests. We are much the same. We can rip the petals off those little orchids, if you so wish.”
\*\*\*\*\*\*\*
*If you like my stories, you can read more of them at* r/analect. | 13 | A noble knight is kind to the street children and beggers in his city. When their order betrays them, those they helped rise to their aid. | 55 |
I reached for another mini sandwich, but my hand met nothing. *Shit* I knew what had to happen now. I had survived the last week off of sparkling water, sandwiches, and chips. But the time had come for me to venture outside. There was no longer any avoiding it.
A week ago, instead of the normal greeting my roommate’s cat gave me when I walked out to make breakfast, I was greeted with absolute nothingness. There wasn’t even a bottom for the coin I tossed to land on. Just complete nothingness. My three saving graces were the mini fridge I bought so I could avoid any and all interaction with my roommate (Yes, she really is that bad), the fact that I had my own bathroom, and my laptop. However, I quickly learned that whenever I played games, not only could I go out in to the world, the world could come in for me. So I spent most of my time with my laptop turned off for my own safety.
But today, I had no choice unless I wanted to starve to death. I had to go outside. I *really* wish I had bought The Sims again (left my hard copy at a friends years ago because they liked it more than I did). This would be a much easier decision to make. But I no longer had any internet connection, so buying it now was out of the question.
After much consideration, I settled on The Witcher 3. If all the options, that one seemed the best for normal people. Bethesda games really depended on the main character not wanting to kill every non-essential character that existed (and even the best series for a normal person to live in, Fallout, was riddled with radiation.), dungeon crawlers sounded like straight hell, racing games were devoid of any actual resources (but I will admit. They did sound fun to try out later on.), and for some reason, Detroit wouldn’t work anymore. But in the Witcher, all you had to do was stay in the villages, find a role you could fill, travel in groups, and not bother the Griffins. Plus, I was handy with a bow, so I could probably be a hunter or something. So I grabbed my hunting and camping supplies from my closet, opened the door, and prepared for a new life as a hunter.
Only to be attacked by a fucking griffin right out the gate. God, I’m going to hate it here. | 312 | Your bedroom became detached from reality and nothing is outside your door, but whenever you load a video game that world appears. Your game library is not conducive to a long and happy life, but the mini fridge is empty so you have no choice. You load up the safest game and gather supplies. | 1,365 |
I look at the handful of pamphlets in my hand nervously, shuffling from one to the next but I can't bring myself to actually read any of them. 'Lycanthropy and you: Coping with change', 'Facts, Stats and Helpful Tips for Lycanthropes', '2 Sides, Same Coin. Learning to Live and Thrive'. This was so jarring, my head was numb with the realization after the doc told me what I was sick with. What I was.
"Jordan? Jordan?" The social worker spoke more directly, to snap me out of my stupor.
Reality flashed back to me in an instant. I was in a private room, made as comfortable as possible. Away from the public and anyone that didn't need to be there for this meeting that had flipped my life upside down.
"Y-Yeah-" I said back, trying to gather myself and set the pamphlets down to rub my hands over my legs nervously. "Sorry I uhhh-"
"Hey, don't apologize." The social worker chimed in. "No one can possibly understand what this feel like more than you. Take all time you need, I'm here for you." She finished and gave me a reassuring expression. I wanted to like this girl, but there was so much going on in my mind that I couldn't even remember her name let alone appreciate her company.
"Right." I sighed and leaned down, placing my elbows on my knees and my face in the palms of my hand. "Thanks I uhhh.... Where were again?" I relented, looking up to the woman before me. She had a name tape on her suit jacket; 'Kathy' was her name.
"Yes, I know this is very difficult. But I am required by law to explain everything to you. State and federal funding options in case you need help, programs, any benefits you may be eligible for and more. If you have any questions please stop me ok?"
"Ok, I think I can do that." I responded and listened. She gave me a speech on the laws about Lycanthropes, the clause for the U.S. Disabled Americans Act, Lycan Protection Act and Right to Treatment and a few other things. There was no cure for this disease, well that wasn't accurate. Lycans had been a known threat for decades, centuries even. The old legend was to find the *original* lycan and slay it, to turn the others afflicted back to normal. But that was just a myth, know one know who the original lycan was. It didn't help that over the centuries, the disease mutated and jumped species. No, the only true cure was death. Whether that be by lethal injection of mercury. Or the more aggressive- lethal injection, via a firing squad. Or what's now called 'getting chromed'. That was a way out but I was only 23, *what the fuck?* How could this happen to me. ME!?
A hand reached out to pat my arm. Kathy was leaning forward with her most sincere expression, apparently I had zoned out again.
"Sorry." I stammered. Reaching for a glass of water, I surveyed the documents on the table before me. There was so much of it. Charts, graphs, sheets with data on it, legal documents. It was so overwhelming.
"We're almost done Jordan. After this, you'll see the doctors for one final check up and be given your orders."
"Orders?" I asked curiously. No one told me about orders.
The look on her face apologetic, a smile tried to break through but the pity and empathy outweighed it. "Yes. To continue on with your life, you'll be placed on a social program."
"A program?"
"Yes. It's counseling, it can either be private or a support group. Whatever works for you, but the Lycan Protection Act has a mandate that those afflicted with lycanthropy be placed into a program."
"To- to what? Track me down? Keep tabs on me, like I'm some kind of animal?" I felt my heart racing. "Like I'm dangerous!? You can't trust me!?"
"Jordan, please come down-"
"No. No! I don't want this. I didn't ask for this! You're gonna punish me for something I can't control!" I felt a heat swell in my chest as my voice got louder. Kathy's face looked scared, but she kept where she was. Sitting down to try and talk to me.
"Jordan, no. Of course not, but we have to make sure that you adjust to the changes. The beginning of your transformation can be unpredictable. We haven't even begun to explain your variant type yet."
"So what? I'm just a wolf right? Or- or one of those lion or panther types? What the big deal!?"
"No Jordan you're-"
"I'm what!?" The door to the room burst open as 4 men entered, wearing fire fighters equipment. A mix of fire extinguishers and other equipment in their hand. "Miss Lyons get back."
"No, wait! He doesn't know, give him a chance to calm down. Jordan *please* you need time for us to explain."
"Explain what?! What's so wrong with me? I'm already one of those *things*, you think I'm dangerous!" I was beginning to run out of breath. It was getting suddenly hard to breath, as if I was breathing in air from an oven. "What's wrong with me! What's with the suits!?"
"Jordan calm down." The fireman shouted, with his comrades all shouting at me. Kathy was digging into her purse to grab something when a fireman moved to grab and pull her away. She resisted, pulling out some small makeup kit.
"No, wait! He needs to see! Please-"
The fire alarm went off through the hospital making me take a step back. There was a noise, it was loud and the expression on Kathy's turned to terror. But she was still being dragged back, but with an elbow to his gut Kathy broke free and rushed forward holding up what was a small make up mirror.
"Jordan, please look!" I didn't realize how much taller than her I saw. But in that tiny mirror I saw a face I didn't recognize. Then everything froze and I slowly reached to grab the tiny mirror. When did I grow claws? And- there were scales going up and down my arms. My eyes- they weren't mine. Neither was my face. The more I looked, the less I recognized myself.
"What am I." I choked, hearing my voice was far deeper and more beastial.
"A drake... Lycanthropy-Draconic. It's rare, extraordinarily rare. You're a weredragon Jordan. That's why."
I dropped the mirror and slowly curled into a ball on the floor sobbing. How could this happen to me? | 11 | Lycanthropy is a real disease that perplexes everyone. One interesting fact is that it isn't restricted to wolf forms, but can extend to bear forms, bat forms, panther forms and a few others. The rarest of them is dragon form, which you just got diagnosed with. | 28 |
Prof. Arvale walked into the classroom. As always, only the most studious actually stopped what they were doing. Most of the students ignored him. Some even went out of their way to talk louder.
Prof Arvale returned the favor and spoke in his best teacher voice. "Good afternoon class. I hope you're all doing well and had a fine summer vacation. But alas, all good things must come to an end. Now we turn our attention to---"
He was interested by a bolt of magical energy hitting his tie. It started to move on its own. Arvale sighed and calmly removed the garment. He had been doing this job long enough to deal with that kind of magical interruption.
"Yes, yes, very entertaining." He said. "But I would appreciate keeping your spells to spell casting classes. This is History 2, and---"
Another spell was cast, this time targeting the items of the teacher's desk. The items came alive and began making rude gestures. Most of the class laughed. Arvale ignored them. Instead, he looked around the room for the young troublemaker.
"Let's see. I believe you are...Theodore Welton, yes?"
"Hey, did you guys hear something?" The teen said. "It almost sounded like some kind of bug."
"Ah, a magic supremo. Yes, it's true, I don't have magical ability. However, that doesn't matter for the subject."
"I keep hearing that weird noise. Do you guys hear it?"
Prof. Arvale sighed. He would need a former hand with this one. And he knew exactly how to administer it. He went to his desk and pulled out a wonderful contraption. It looked like a toy gun. Sleek chrome and seemingly random lights.
"Students, I will administer this warning now. This tool that I am now holding is a wonderful little device of my own design. A near perfect blend of magic and technology. I could tell you what it does, but I think a practical demonstration is in order."
He worked a few dials at the side, setting it. Then he leveled it at the young Theodore and pulled the trigger. A bright light shot out, hitting the student before he could react. He vanished without sound or smell. The students were stunned for a moment. But only a moment.
"Wha--what did you do to him? Where did he go?" One of the students asked, fear evident in her face.
"A good, practical lesson. You can ask him when he comes back in a moment."
As if on cue, Theodore came back in a burst of silent light. His eyes were wide open, his clothes were filthy and torn, and his hair was disheveled.
"I...I...wha?" He said. He looked around in a panic. "I... I'm back?"
"Yes, you are Mr. Welton, you are. Would you care to tell the class what happened?"
"I...I was... somewhere else. Everything was dirty and stank and everyone was dressed weird. I tried cleaning things with magic, but everyone shouted and called me a witch, and then people with swords and spears started to chase me. I...I don't..."
"A short glimpse into London, England circa 1231. Not the most important year, but that isn't important. What matters is that you did travel through time, you were there, and it was quite real. And this shows just how important these lessons will be. Time travel is rare, but it does happen. And if you don't study history, you won't know what to do should you ever find yourself in such a situation."
He set the tool down and looked out at the class. They were now much more attentive. He was not surprised. This happened every year at least once.
His little demonstration always got the job done. The best way to learn the importance of history was seeing it for yourself. | 48 | As a magical history teacher, you are mocked for being unable to perform magic yourself. However, the students who ignore your lessons the most often must learn the hard way that "those who ignore history are doomed to repeat it." | 109 |
I think I’ve shapeshifted into everything at this point. Boxes, guns, my fellow superheroes, a race car, the president, you name it. All of it was done to help capture Rocket, a pyrotechnic obsessed evildoer who will target practically anyone and anything.
His backstory is fairly common among the villain community. He was just your average misunderstood nerd who tinkered around with all things fire. But one day, his fascination turned deadly as one of his experiments accidentally killed his mother and he became ostracized by his peers. Consumed by guilt and loneliness, he upped his technology to set fire to the whole world so they can feel his pain.
Y’know, average villain backstory stuff.
The crew and I had stopped him many a time, but nothing ever changes. He breaks out of jail, he and his mini robot army (firefighters, as he likes to call them) will cause chaos, and I'll distract him by transforming into whatever comes to mind, and my buddies swoop in and defeat him and blah blah blah. I'm sure you get the gist. Not to mention he’s started to be more cautious about his environment because I could be anything and everything.
But today that changes. I think I've finally found the perfect form for his latest plan. My friends warned me against this, saying I'm just pouring salt in the wound for Rocket but I think this needs to be done. Too many innocent lives have been taken and put at risk because of his bullshit. Someone has to get mean. Of course, he’ll see right through it my disguise like always, but he won’t be laughing at all.
I have shape-shifted into his mother.
I'm hiding out at a storage unit where some claimed to have seen an unknown man place bunch of fireworks and other explosives in the unit overnight by an unknown man. It's Rocket. I'm sure of it. As soon as I get ready for my performance, I hear the sound of footsteps and the humming of a joyful tune.
Yep. It's him.
“Ah, a good ole fireworks show. What's more fun than kicking back with a bowl of popcorn and a beer and watching some guy get scorched by one of my precious little masterpieces? ‘*Oh my God, that guy’s on fire everyone! Stop drop and roll!*’” Bonfire snickered to himself. Sick bastard.
It’s showtime.
“My dear. Is this how you live without me? After all these years?”
Rocket pauses and turns towards me. The spitting image of his mother. The woman that encouraged his love for all things explosive and supported him through all his endeavors. The woman that was killed helped him move in supplies for his latest experiment.
Rocket breathed shakily before letting out a sigh. “I know it's you Masquerade. Do you really think I'm stupid enough to believe that my mom is still alive? My God, those heroes outta fire you at this point. You’re losing your edge.”
I knew this was going to happen. “I know Rocket. The reason I'm in this form is to get through to you.”
Rocket kept his glare at me. “And? You think I'm gonna start bawling at the sight of my mom? You think I'll just stop everything because you wanna play therapist with me? Give it up, where’s the dumbass squad anyway?”
I let out a sigh. “You paused when you saw me. You still care about your mom. I know this whole villain act is because you think you killed her but you didn't mean to! That is no reason to be killing others! She wouldn't want that!”
Rocket looked confused before he started to chuckle. “Oh wow. You really bought into the whole rumor that my mom's death was an ‘accident’ did ya?”
“Excuse me? Was it not? You said it yourself. You broadcasted your motive on live tv that one time remember?”
Rocket shook his head. “I just said that to gain sympathy points. Playing up the ‘tragic villain’ trope for the public is fun. But since you decided to embarrass yourself in front of me, I'll tell you the truth.” He grabbed my arm and shoved me into a pile of fireworks.
“I wanted that annoying bitch dead since childhood. But I never had the right tools to do so without making it look like a proper homicide. But once I did, after all my years of tinkering and planning, I finally did it. I told her I made a harmless firework that exploded confetti. Wouldn't hurt a soul. And she believed it. That smile on her face vanished along with the rest of her face when it went off.” Rocket paused to laugh. I couldn't believe it.
“By the time my colleagues showed up I managed to put on a show. ‘*Oh, I didn't mean to! Don’t be mad!*’ They didn't see through it and they had every right to.” Now’s my time to flee. I shifted into a mouse and tried to scurry away but I felt his foot and my tail.
“You know what? Turn back to mother dearest for me. I want to relive some old memories.” | 12 | You’re a shapeshifter who has been employed by your worlds group of hero’s, your job is to confront villains and stall for time until someone else shows up. Over the years pretending to be different people has gotten old, but today you’ve decided to spice things up a bit. | 31 |
Victoria never really got a chance to just sit and enjoy a night in front of the television. Yeah, she had her patents and shell companies to keep her funded. Sure, there were a variety of inventions she'd made so she never had to attend to menial labour. Even with those lovely details handled, there never seemed to be enough time to sit like this, with a tub of ChocoMint ice cream and a black-and-white documentary on the screen. She had just finished the intro sequence when her front door burst to splinters.
"OH, for _GOODNESS' SAKE_!" she grumbled and grabbed one of her tools, a particularly nasty-looking ray which would disassemble any inorganic object caught in its path. The damned kids next door had gotten it into their heads lately that their guns made them invincible god-kings. She was ready to show them exactly how mistaken they were, when The Crusader blew into her room, a bundle of rags in his hands.
No, wait, that's not a bundle of rags...
"That's... she looks like she's on death's doorstep! Here, bring her here." Victoria cleared off the table, scattering a few plans she knew she'd never bother completing and a few hardy containers that would survive their tumble to the ground. The Crusader drifted from the living room, setting the frail woman on the table. She looked like all the fat and muscle had been sucked from her body, barely more than a skeleton covered in wrinkled, thin skin.
"I... Please. The doctors have said there's no hope... I have no-one left to--" The Crusader began, stammering. Seeing this woman so afflicted must have left him near the breaking point.
"Okay, no, skip the weepy-bits. What's happened to her? I need details, diagnoses, anything useful." Victoria's eyes took in every detail, from the bone structure to the way bits of her seemed to melt beneath her very eyes, to the fingernails that looked long until she noticed how far back the cuticles had pulled.
"It's a disease, they said. Something flesh-eating and beyond modern medical experience. It attacks the--" He looked away, embarrassed, as Victoria opened the woman's gowns and began checking over the abdomen, noticing how it seemed swollen and misshapen. The doctor pulled one of her scopes from the nearby table, and began inspecting the woman's belly, gesturing for the hero to continue. "-- The fat, and muscles. It makes her seem to starve almost instantly."
Well, now this was interesting. "Hey, hand me that tub of ice cream." Time for just a _little_ bit of research, just to see some details of how this progressed. The hero snapped up the tub and hurled it straight at the doctor's head; Victoria caught it easily and scooped a few spoonfuls into the woman's mouth. It slid down easily, and her eyes closed in bliss for a moment before opening again in a silent scream of agony.
This was going to be a good one.
"A disease indeed. This one's a parasite. Here, hold this." She handed a particularly wicked-looking, saw-toothed object to The Crusader. It didn't do anything: she'd never installed the motor or even a battery compartment, but giving him something this cruel-looking made his face blanch, and she never got to see him when he was this unsettled. The look of mild panic in his eyes was worth more than a solid gold brick.
"Here, we just set this here, pull these bits here... Ah, no, wait. Hey, Alex! Prepare extraction pod 3, parasite class gamma-4!"
"`Okay. I'm preparing pod 3 for parasite extraction and containment.`" came the robotic voice from her phone.
"You can help? You're _going_ to help?"
"Yes, of _course_ I'm helping, do you know how many people could pull this off at all, least of all while wearing their pyjamas?" Victoria carefully gathered the woman's body from the rags and set her into the pod, letting the green liquid within cover the frail being. Apparently, The Crusader hadn't noticed her clothes until she pointed them out, because his eyes suddenly became _very_ fixed on her slender, un-shaved legs poking out from her oversized night-gown. That suited her fine: she needed him to not focus on the plans she had up on the wall for her next heist. She slid over to a glowing panel and entered the details for parasite extraction, and the machine began to whirr menacingly.
"Will it-- will she be okay?"
"Yes, of course she'll be fine. The machine will need a few hours to finish removing the parasites, and then she'll need some time recovering in a normal hospital. She'll be malnourished, and I doubt she'll have any kids anytime soon, but your girlfriend there won't be in any real danger."
The Crusader coughed, violently.
"Actually... she's my mother."
"Huh. She's well-preserved." Victoria casually strode over to the duvet, plopping back down and picking up her tub of ice cream as she resumed the documentary. Just for fun, she hummed along to the opening theme, knowing full well she was off-key the entire time.
"Well... um. A few hours, huh?"
"Yep. Not much to do on our end, just waiting. I extracted something similar from The Governator last month, took a few hours before he was back to his whole 'Iron Rule' thing."
"I... kind of expected you'd resist a bit."
"Eh, I'm in this for the challenge, and don't have any grudge against some rando's mother. Look, you're making me uncomfortable standing there all awkward and stiff-like, just take a seat wherever. Want some?" she offered the half-eaten tub with the spoon embedded in it. He looked at the tub for a moment, then pushed it back to her gently.
"So, every time I bust up your machines and send you packing..."
"Yeah, it just means I need to keep working at getting better with my designs. Honestly, most of us left are still in it because we enjoy messing with you. You can put that thing down, by the way. Anyway, crime doesn't pay in this city, so for the rest of us, it's a passion project now." The crusader set the non-functional tool down and curled up under a nearby blanket on the duvet, making himself as comfortable as he could get with his mother in his arch-rival's lair.
It took three episodes for the parasites to be removed, and as he took his mother from the pod, The Crusader nodded to Victoria in thanks.
"I'm not sure how to thank you, but thanks."
"Eh, no worries. Now, hurry up and get her to a proper hospital: she'll need some more conventional medical attention. And drop back sometime when you're not busy." Victoria may have found a new favourite challenge: seeing what other faces she could get The Crusader to make. And in the meanwhile, she had a parasite to deliver to a few politicians whose opinions on healthcare she disagreed with. | 10 | With his mother's health failing and doctors unable to find the cause, a superhero turns to his mad scientist arch-rival in a desperate bid for a cure. | 27 |
##One With Meliae
Helen's heart rate monitor beeps steadily. She hacks into the support system to get an extra serving of pudding. An error screen stops her progress. Helen sighs in defeat.
Green dust particles land on her right hand. Helen looks to the window. Vines are extending through the cracks and pushing upward. More green dust enters as the window opens. The vines recede.
A light green face pops into the window. The face has no nose and no remnants of hair. The small mouth is contorted into a small smile. Helen watches as the visitor climbs into the room. Her appendages are flexible vines while her torso is a stiff trunk. Wiry roots hang from the bottom of her feet and tips of her hands, and leaves coat her back.
"Natalie, it's nice to see you," Helen says.
"I'm surprised you recognize me." Natalie's voice has grown deeper and harsher.
"In spite of all the changes, your hazel eyes have the same whimsical quality as they did forty years ago." Helen scans her sister. "Although from where I'm siting, you haven't aged a day."
"We've both undergone transformations since we last saw each other. Mine was merely to a more optimal form." Natalie walks towards the elderly woman. "I'd like to share the gift with you."
"Absolutely not, I already told you that I was born a human, and I'll die a human. I'm glad that life as a dryad is suiting you, but it's not for me," Helen says.
"You lie in this bed waiting for your meals while I dance with the beauty of the planet. Explain how your situation is more desirable?"
"I never was much of a dancer," Helen shrugs.
"You are merely delaying the inevitable. Every human generation born on Meliae becomes closer to the dryads. Eventually, no humans will remain on this planet. We are merely those who sped up the process," Natalie says.
"You're saying that I'm a dinosaur. I always did like them as a kid."
"Helen, must you be this difficult. I'm trying to help you. You will not only extend your life, but you will become one with Meliae. You will experience the world through new senses. You will experience bliss and tranquility as you've never known." The nurse walks in during the middle of Natalie's speech carrying a tray of food. She pauses at the sight of Natalie.
"It's alright. We're related," Helen says. The nurse walks over and places the tray next to Helen. She turns and speed walks out of the room. Helen grabs the bowl of chocolate pudding. "Will I be able to have pudding?"
"Meliae provides all of our nutrients directly. Such confections are unnecessary," Natalie says.
"That's a bummer." Helen takes a spoonful of pudding and savors it. "Life in a perpetual drug trip sounds fun, but if I can't have pudding, then I'm not sure it's worth it."
"Please." Natalie kneels by her sister. "Join me. Most dryads have their entire families with them. I'm one of the few who transformed alone. It's isolating."
"I thought becoming a dryad made you one big happy family?"
"Yes, of course." Natalie stands. "We are all one in Meliae. Former human bonds are still valued."
"You never were a good liar. I'm not looking to spend more time with a bunch of elitist and judgmental pricks. If you're going to keep trying to convert me, I'll have to ask you to leave. I have bingo in ten minutes." Natalie walks back to the window.
"You're making a mistake. I only want what's best for you." Natalie steps outside.
"No, you only want what you think is best for me," Helen says.
---
r/AstroRideWrites | 15 | After 20 years on the planet, a sizeable segment of the population preferred to live in the forest rather than cut down trees for homes and for farming. After 60 years, it became obviously that breathing the tree pollen had affected their DNA | 41 |
Sylva found herself growing increasingly more annoyed. There was a steady hammering sound that she'd been trying to tune out for some time, but it had become impossible to ignore.
"Tilia, be a dear and tell the pixies to lay off the drums. They sound awful and more practice doesn't seem likely to bring any improvement," she mumbled.
Hearing no response from Tilia, and the sound continuing unabated, she languidly stretched out her limbs. Shaking off her quiet slumber, she began to rub her temples, groaning at the ache now growing in the space behind her eyes.
"Must they be so incessantly loud," she lamented, pulling the moss from her eyelids that had gathered during her torpor.
"Tilia, why haven't they stopped, and why haven't you said anything? Are you even listening to me?" she asked.
"Til...," she stumbled over the last syllable as she glanced towards the space her sister's tree once stood. In its place a low stone wall of marble encircled her, broken only by the small set of steps leading down from the hill on which her own tree grew. She beheld a strange structure made of oddly angled metal poles with ropes dangling to a small wooden platform that rested beneath the boughs of her home.
Slowly stepping from the heartwood of her home tree, Sylva looked around in wonder and incredulity. Where once a mighty forest stretched in all directions, she now beheld a strange edifice of stone, metal, and glass. A thicket of similar stone shapes stretched off into the distance. Only a small patch of green surrounded by a wrought iron fence marked the space where her grove once stood.
Outside the fence she could see other strange shapes loom in the distance. Metal boxes roaring around on blackened stone. Strange birds passing overhead leaving streaks of clouds behind them while they hummed through the air. Humans dressed in strange unrecognizable fashion strolling back and forth on stone paths that seemingly led everywhere and nowhere all at once. She could see one in the distance using some strange device to tear up the ground. It was the source of the noise that had awakened her.
Panic gripped her in that moment. What had happened to her grove? Where was her sister and her friends? How long had she been asleep? All these questions flit through her mind as she collapsed to the ground and began to weep.
A few moments went by before she felt a tug on the vines that made up her skirt.
"Excuse me," came a tiny voice beside her, as she looked down upon a small human girl. "Why are you crying?", the child asked her.
The girl looked young. She was dressed in the strange fashion of the others wandering outside the fence. She had long black hair and the innocent expression of one who hasn't yet seen much of the world.
"I can't find my sister or my friends," exclaimed Sylva, unsure why she'd confide in a stranger beyond feeling oddly reassured by the child's innocuous look.
"Don't be sad," she said. "I'll help you find them. My mom says you're supposed to help people when they're sad. My name's Lilah, what's yours?", she asked.
"Sylva," she said.
"Hi Sylva," Lilah said as a determined look crossed her face. She stuck one hand out in front of her, fingers splayed out.
Sylva looked at it confusedly for a moment before Lilah whispered, "You're supposed to shake it. Here, let me show you."
Lilah reached out and grabbed one of Sylva's hands from her lap and shook it vigorously up and down.
"What are you?", Lilah asked. "Your hands feel like a tree, and you have leaves in your hair. I also really like your dress, it's very pretty."
"I'm a dryad," Sylva whispered.
"What's a dryad?", Lilah asked, scrunching up her face in confusion.
"A spirit of the forest," Sylva said. "That tree is my home." She motioned to the beech tree standing behind them.
"You live in a tree?", Lilah giggled. "That's funny. Wait, can you do magic?"
"Of course I can," Sylva said. "Watch."
Sylva stretched one tremulous hand over the ground in front of her as a pale green luminescence began to coalesce in her palm. Placing it gently against the earth she smiled as her magic began to flow into the ground. A few short moments passed, and then small purple flowers shaped like teardrops began to radiate outward from her hand along the ground.
Lilah's mouth dropped open in shock. "That's amazing!", she said.
Sylva smiled once more. Somehow this slip of a girl had brought her a measure of peace she didn't expect given her current circumstances. She was still shaken by the fact her friends and family were gone, and she had no idea where she was or what had happened while she'd been asleep, but her feeling of hopelessness had subsided somewhat.
Lilah tugged at her hands, helping to pull her to her feet.
"It's nice to meet you Sylva. Let's go find your sister!" | 15 | After centuries of hibernation, a dryad wakes to find that her tree is surrounded not by a quiet forest glade, but by the park of a major city. | 53 |
The last thing Nozomi remembered was her body acting on instinct, leaping out onto a road to save an inattentive high schooler from an incoming truck. There was the pain afterwards, but it cut off abruptly, like a television losing electricity.
She never thought much about death. It was the sort of thing that people without things to do did. Nozomi felt that she couldn’t afford the time to do so. A life with a husband and children was not one for the faint of heart.
When she could think again, there was only one thing she could worry about.
“Shoot,” Nozomi whispered. “I don’t think I’ll be able to cook dinner today.”
The next was a sort of relief mingled with terror. Why was she… alive?
A sudden flash of fireworks shot out from the darkness around her, causing her to yelp, her hands shooting to her mouth. Celebratory trumpets began to play, and a blue swirl of energy materialized right in front of her. A woman of impossible beauty and proportions stepped through, wearing an outfit that seemed three sizes too small, and then an over-enthusiastic child was allowed to have a run at it with scissors. Thin bands of bright blue wrapped around the important bits, but the colour paled in comparison to her glowing hair, crackling with energy, and bluer than the skies.
Amidst the fanfare, the woman flourished with a glamorous hand.
“Welcome, young hero! I am the goddess Cobalt, and I need your help to save…”
The woman glanced at Nozomi, the new arrival, who meekly waved.
“You aren’t a young man,” the woman said. There was a sort of permeating, world-shaking shock that would be considered abnormal for such a matter-of-fact statement.
“I am not,” Nozomi said, bowing politely. “Nozomi Arai.”
The goddess hesitantly bowed back in a move that betrayed lack of practice.
“Cobalt,” she said. “Ummm. This isn’t supposed to happen. A young man, of about high school age, should be the one here.”
“Oh,” Nozomi said. “I think I saved him. From a truck.”
“Oh no,” the goddess said. “Oh no no no. What have you done?”
“Saved a life. I wasn’t expecting gratitude or anything, but you made it sound suspiciously like I did something wrong.”
“This isn’t how it works,” the goddess said, her hands barely managing to get themselves on her chin. “There should be a teenage boy. I was going to bring him to an exciting world of hot-blooded adventure and even hotter-blooded women.”
Nozomi politely thought that it sounded too much like a fantasy. She stood by, waiting for Cobalt to finish muttering to herself, but there was an endless stream of complaints and what-ifs that shot out of her mouth.
“I don’t know if you should be the one I’m asking,” Nozomi said. “But I would really like to go home, if I’m still alive.”
“Out of the question,” Cobalt said. “You are here. We have to make to do with it.”
A loud finger snap muted the room, turning off the loud lights and bright music.
“Nozomi Arai. You are to be the hero of this fantasy world. I am the goddess Cobalt. And you will… save it… from the… Dark Lord.”
“Sounds fun,” Nozomi said. “But it seems like a foregone conclusion.”
“It kind of is,” Cobalt pouted. “We can’t make the world too hard. Or the player gives up. It’s not pretty.”
“Look, I’m still not quite sure what’s going on, but I’m sure I can help you out,” Nozomi said. “There’s no need to coddle me, dear.”
“Oh,” Cobalt actually smiled, before her face took on a serious tone. “That’s true.”
“The Dark Lord? What happens if I defeat him? Do I get to go home?”
“I don’t know. Nobody’s ever wanted to. They just stay in this fantasy world, and live out the rest of their lives as the top dog.”
“That’s nice,” Nozomi agreed. “But I do really need to be getting back.”
“Fine,” Cobalt said. “You’re here anyway. Defeat the Dark Lord if you can. In the meantime, I’ll see if I can put in a request at admin for you.”
“Thank you,” Nozomi smiled.
“Oh,” the goddess said, tossing a sword at her, which Nozomi struggled to catch properly. “Take this. I’m supposed to tell you to train with it, since the boys tend to be physically inept specimens, unable to unlock its true power. But I think you’ll be fine with it.”
Nozomi held onto the blade. Somehow, the handle conformed to her hand perfectly, and she swung the thing top to down. Then sideways. Then diagonally, each getting faster and faster, a flurry of blows that could almost cut air. She didn’t thinking just holding onto something could feel this good.
“Wow,” Nozomi said. “That is nice.”
“Indeed,” Cobalt smiled. “Well, then. Welcome to Azure, and see you soon.”
---
r/dexdrafts | 1,721 | A married woman saves an uninteresting Japanese high schooler from a truck crash, but dies in the process. She wakes up in a world of adventure and harems, clearly made for the boy. | 5,268 |
My eyes darted below as I took in the landscape surrounding me. There were mountains in the distance, blanketed by white clouds filled with energy. The vast green forest below covered the land reaching towards the epic peaks, calls of wildlife echoed directly below inside of the dense vegetation.
The wind was crisp as it danced through the thick carpet of black feathers covering my wings and most of my body. This world seemed peaceful and I began to question my summons. As I continued to effortlessly glide far above the vast and inviting ground below, I did my best to remember my last calling. The memories are foggy and I have to fight for the recollection. I’m reminded of attempting to grab a human and their flesh melting away from my claws like a knife going through a boiled potato, leaving me with nothing in my reaching, black talons.
Through the thick fog of my memories, blood runs from one to the next. Whenever I have been summoned by the only being capable of commanding me, it ends with me mutilating those who stand against them. Perhaps this peaceful world will soon see the wrath of this being.
The feeling that propelled me to this world suddenly grew stronger. A small clearing in the forest appeared with a cabin and luscious flowers, vegetables, and fruits growing in the empty space of where trees once stood. There was a beautiful mix of chaos and organization which accented the magnificent colors presented by the various different species of plants. Where my all black feathers and scales present opportunities for stealth on most other worlds, here I stand out like a single angry cloud in an otherwise clear sky.
As I soared closer to the opening and cabin, two figures could be made out moving through the colorful gardens. One was significantly smaller, while the other was all too familiar. The larger being chased the smaller one emitting sounds of glee, laughing and shouting. The calls seemed to reverberate around the clearing and left me entirely confused as I landed on the soft cushion that was the ground. My claws sank deeply into the grass and dirt. The mud was cooling and felt rich with minerals between my massive talons. The smaller unfamiliar being reciprocated these emotions of joy with an added sense of awe. I was not accustomed to this behavior, especially from the one who summons me.
“Oh hello, darling, glad you made it! I’ll need you to watch over my precious boy, Eddy, for a day or two. Instructions are on the ice box.” She spoke with an inviting hum that beckoned me closer. “Oh, and darling, don’t pick him up. We both know that’s not your strongest skill.” | 32 | You are the familiar to a powerful witch. It has been a long time since you were last summoned, but finally she has summoned you to carry out a task. Babysit her child. | 102 |
The "beautiful ones" were the worst, by far.
We never quite found out why we all changed. Some people blamed the government; some blamed gamma radiation from space. Some blamed demons; some blamed gods. Ultimately, it didn't matter; whatever the cause, we became our own dark mirror. We became what was in our hearts.
Now, my tentacles coiled tightly around me, I hid among the concrete ruins. Below, the beautiful ones slowly, gracefully drifted through the ruins. Their skin was like marble, their hair fine gold, their eyes deep and wide and glittering with brilliant madness.
And inside those glittering shells of porcelain perfection, the writhing darkness hungered. They yearned for validation, for victims. After all, what's the point of being beautiful if there are no normal people left to desire you?
A dozen meters below, delicate toes crunched in the crumbling lime. Shimmering hair whipped as ravenous eyes searched for survivors. Ruby lips parted, plump and sultry, revealing tongues of roiling shadow that licked the air. Their breathy sighs filtered every gasp for a hint of potential validation.
My perch revealed itself to be treacherous, and as I reflexively grasped at the nearby rusted steel with three of my tentacles, I snatched wildly at the gritty chunks that had come loose under my weight. Too late.
I held my breath and tightened my grip as a tiny clatter, far below, betrayed my hiding place. Within seconds, a pair of gorgeous eyes appeared, attached to a succubus of pure perfection. She stared into the blackness of the shadows, radiant irises visible even in the dim light.
Slowly--seductively, if that were possible--her long, narrow fingers dug into the decaying wall. She climbed like a lizard, her lithe body pressed against the course aggregate, grinding furrows and a shower of grit out of the concrete. Her flawless skin was like abalone, undamaged and nacreous in the slivers of moonlight, revealing her beauty to be an armored facade. Behind her eyes, hunger and terrible necessity danced a whirlwind of madness, the only threat to her heartbreaking beauty.
I cowered deeper in the shadows, praying she would not find me. My tentacles tightened around the steel girder, clinging desperately, as I fervently hoped she couldn't see through my rudimentary camouflage. Below, other beautiful ones were gathering, peering hungrily up at their deadly companion.
*"Come out, amore,"* she whispered, her tinkling voice like a razorblade, slicing open my terrified mind. Her mouth stretched wide, her shadowy tongue tasting the air, licking the very scent of my terror from the wind.
With agonizing slowness, she reached into the shadows I was concealed in, and her icy fingers dug into the flesh of my seventh tentacle. I gasped, both at the impossible coldness, and the impossible firmness of her grip.
She was beautiful. But for that to matter, she needed something like me. Something ugly. Something normal. Something contrasting, that would set her apart from all the other beautiful ones, and make her special. Something that she could hurt.
*"Come here and love me,"* she whispered, dragging me into the light.
I screamed, as the gods themselves turned their faces in horror. | 148 | Since Aphrodite was feeling benevolent, she decided that everyone would get their dream body. She recoiled in horror at the results, but at least the humans seem to be enjoying it. | 180 |
They called him Hiss. He knew why but it didn’t take the sting out of something so mundane being associated with the greatness that was Besmothern, the once Black Death of Vilna. Cursed now to live as the Black Death of scraps in St. Arther’s Reclamation Center. They were thieves. They had stolen him after he had gotten free from that wretched wizard that had cursed him. Hiss tried his best to make them fear him regardless.
“Oi! The bugger bit me!” a lithe, ginger man yelled out after a string of curses like touching this idiot was a desire Hiss had. He tastes like fish. Hiss wasn’t sure he wanted to know why he tasted like fish but he would bite the man again if he tried to get near Hiss’ coin.
The little Black Dragon had found it, stuck in the side of the wood along the edge of the kitchen, and had waited to see if the owner would come back to calm it. Hiss may have pushed it further into the wood so that it was harder to see but he had waited the three days Dragon’s deemed reasonable for a horde to be considered abandoned. By rights, it was now his and he would keep it safe.
“You try ‘n steal a Dragon’s treasure and you’ll feel more than his teeth,” a larger, heavier set man explained after the laughter had died down, “it gave you more than enough warning.”
“But it’s my coin!” the lithe man yelled back like it was a fact. Hiss knew it was his coin and he would keep it.
“You shouldn’t have left it where Hiss could take it then, Dalton,” the larger man said with a shake of his head.
Was that Dalton? Hiss could never remember these people's names. They all looked similar. Some were bigger, some were smaller, and some of them had different coloured hair but it was nothing to what his kin were like. Dragons came in more shades, colours, and sizes than the earth itself. Not that Hiss’ size was a natural testament to that.
Hiss’ head snapped to the larger man as he approached his from the side and got shown the same, now blood-stained teeth that had just been in Dalton. Trying his best to growl, Hiss sank his once-mighty talons into the wood of the table and switched to his trademark hiss. The large man only chuckled at the threat.
“Come now, I’m not going to take it,” the large man reassured as he put on a pair of thick leather gloves Hiss knew they had only for handling him, “But we do need you out from underfoot.”
Underfoot! Hiss wasn’t underfoot and he had never been. If these fools would let him be then he could take his treasure back to his cave as he had been before Dalton had started making reckless calms to the treasure he did not own.
A hand came at him again and Hiss took the opportunity to sink his teeth into the gloved hand of this would-be thief. Hiss earned a groan of pain for his trouble but the other hand came around his back and started to push Hiss forward. With his teeth sank deep into the glove and his talons locked into the wood, Hiss wasn’t about to move.
“Save this for the mice,” the man Hiss was attached to said quietly, “Come on, grab your coin.”
Hiss frowned around this idiot's finger at the insult. He wasn’t about to take orders like some pathetic runt. This man may be more than twice his size, by Hiss’ calculations, but Hiss had gone up against worse in his youth and had come out victorious.
Lifting Hiss off the ground wasn’t the task Hiss had assumed it would be though and when he felt the wood under him gave way he let out a panicked yelp. Turning his head, he tried his best to see if he could grab his treasure with his back legs to no avail. He was pathetically close to losing it.
“It would probably be easier if you let me go,” the man offered and waited for Hiss to make up his mind.
Hiss was less happy that he had to trust this man now than he was trusting of this man ever. He had seen what he was capable of with his servants, assuming these lesser men were this large one's servants. Not that Hiss had treated his own any better. Regardless, Hiss let go just enough to turn and with his wings, grab the coin and hold it close to himself. For good measure, though he sank his teeth back into the gloved finger.
“Little bugger,” the large man groaned as he lifted Hiss off the ground and carried him away and out of the common room, “How does something your size bite like that?”
Hiss’ only answer was to put even more force into his jaw.
“I know you can understand me you little lizard,” the man whispered as he entered the sleeping chamber that Hiss had made his cave in.
The old adage of ‘keep your enemies close’ had always been one of Hiss’ favourites and after finding himself in this ruin of a building he had taken it to heart. He watched this man sleep peacefully as his enemy towered over him.
Putting Hiss on the ledge above the dresser, the man tried his best to make Hiss detach his teeth but Hiss just stared at him. If he let go, who knew what the man would do to either him or his treasure now that they were alone. Hiss wasn’t going to let the oaf overpower him.
“Look, you want your coin in yer little hidey-hole then let go,” the man said exhaustedly, “If I knew you were going to work so hard for it I’d give you a job to earn more.”
At the prospect of getting more treasure, Hiss lifted up his head curiously but still held his coin tightly to his body. It was not a dignified position. With the diameter of the coin being just smaller than his torso, Hiss would have had problems moving it regardless of the fact that it was gold.
“You like that?” the man asked, rubbing his now ungloved hand, “You like the idea of getting more. I have these nice glass ear studs for you if you are actually able to get the mice problem under control. They may not be worth much but they do sparkle.”
Hiss narrowed his eyes menacingly at the man at the prospect of working for glass. He was a Dragon of value and glass was of no value to him. Not that Hiss wasn’t going to go after the mice in the building. The only thing about being this size was it was spectacular to go after pray larger than he was. As a Dragon of standing, he would have to feed on multiple deer a day in order to be fed. Now, one mouse both provided challenge and fulfilment.
Two days later, with his treasure safely hidden away from that fool Dalton and a fresh kill in his maw, the large man presented him with the stud that Hiss assumed he was talking about. Not that Hiss had done anything remotely near what the man had asked. He had just wanted to eat. Nevertheless, the stud was very large compared to Hiss’ size and sparkled as the man had promised. He let his lifeless prey go in order to inspect his new treasure with renewed vigour. It didn’t look like glass upon inspection.
“You fool, this is quartz,” Hiss declared triumphantly in besting the man, a thief, in appraisal skill.
“I knew it,” the man whispered, giddy with excitement, “I knew you could talk.”
Hiss only hissed back and scampered away to his cave in shame. His ego had gotten the best of him again and this man now knew it.
“Hey, no,” the man whispered to himself as he chased after the Dragon, “Wait, how would you like to earn something worth more than your coin?”
It took a couple of seconds but Hiss did stick his once-massive head out of his hole to glare at the offer the man had given him. Would he devalue himself to work for a human? Hiss had seen some of the things to come through this building that he had wanted. Maybe.
“Ah!” the man chuckled when he saw the amber of Hiss’ eye’s watching him, “You want a horde? I have more than a couple of jobs that would be right up your alley.”
Hiss only hissed at that.
“Good, we are in agreement,” the man stated as he went to his desk to pull out some papers that Hiss had already read. He had read them all. | 64 | You are a mouse sized dragon and you must defend your hoard, a single gold coin, from those who would steal it. | 164 |
“I don’t belong here” thought Dacraz too himself clamping to his mountain perch. His perch was nothing impressive, only sitting a quarter up the mountain. Dacraz didn’t dare to go higher up, that’s reserved for proper dragons, their caves full of treasures and spoils from their adventures and raids over the lesser species of this world. Dacraz looked around, imagining a treasure of his own, but the vision breaks and all he can see is the rocks and pebbles from the mountain around him. He slashes the closest mountain face he could find, only to find marks of his previous outburst, before dread overcomes him. For tomorrow the nearby Dragons will meet and he’s supposed to be there.
There’s the valley they agreed to meet. Dacraz could see it appearing as he glided down towards it. Most of the dragons already seem to be there, he could count eight of them, which means there’s just one more to show up beside him. The others didn’t even notice him landing, or otherwise ignored him.
It didn’t take long before he could see his shape appear in the sky, gliding down from the highest top of the mountain range. Gahron the untouchable, an ancient dragon and the biggest black dragon Dacraz has ever met. Feared not only by the lesser lifeforms but by dragons as well. The ground shook as he landed in the valley. “Greetings fellow raiders” said Gahron as he paced before the others. “It’s good to see you have all answered my call. I have found a new settlement that has been prospering the last few years and we all know what that means. There’s treasure to be collected.” The dragons let out a roar motivated to bring havoc to yet another area. “And ofcourse” Gahron continued with a mocking tune to his voice. “I have also found a small village for Dacraz”. Dacraz could feel the anger swelling inside, but he was no match for Gahron, he was no one, he probably couldn’t beat any of them.
The dragons set out to the area, all with their own targets. Dacraz had been given a small village on the edge of a forest and surrounded by hilly terrain. He could hear the shouts from the village as he drew closer. Of course this village would be no challenge and it’s villagers would burn his fiery breath, though not this time. Dacraz landed on the outskirts of the village and lied down. He was done with torturing villages without reward, he was done being the laughing stock of dragons. It took some time but eventually some villagers went out with weapons and spears to greet the dragon and the time had come. It was time to make a deal.
“I come as a friend” Dacraz said as the villagers grew even closer, still weary in the presence of this enormous animal. “I do not wish to hurt you, I wish to work with you.”
“What is it you want?!” shouted an elderly man holding a spear in his hand pointed at him.
“For years you have all lived in fear for this day” Dacraz continued “Waiting for the day the dragons would come as in the tales of travelers and refugee’s of nearby lands. I want to protect you against my kind for I am no friends with them.”
“And how do you plan to do this?” The elderly man asked, as he slightly lowered his spear.
For a week he lived among the villagers, teaching them about his own weaknesses which might help them against the others. He knew time would be running out. He might not have been loved, but dragons won’t leave others victorious, they would come soon. Dacraz was amazed by the ingenuity of the folks in this village and what they were able to achieve in this short time with his tips. However he also knew the fight would be fierce for all of the others would come. However Dacraz also knew that the others could be beaten, but only by taking out Gahron. He dreaded facing Gahron, but that moment wasn’t far away, as he could see the big shadow appear on the horizon. | 15 | Only weak dragons think themselves invincible. Beware the cowardly dragons, for they have grown wise enough to become crafty. Be warier still, if they no longer let there greed consume them, for then they have grown mighty indeed. | 184 |
Going in knowing this will be a tough missions, you put priority on gathering intel. You start to notice odd trends. For instance, the tail always loses him during emergencies.
During a boring watch your partner jokingly says, “it’s almost like he is a magnet for Superman, everywhere he goes something bad seems to follow.”
In a daze you ask him to repeat what he said. He repeats, “as often as our bro and Superman are in the same location, you would think the two would know each other.”
Then it hits you like a train. Maybe they do know each other. You start looking through pictures to see if they are ever both in the same image at the same time. You notice that Clark Kent or Superman can only be seen at one time. You ask your self not believing it, “could Clark Kent be the same person as Superman?”
Your partner starts cracking up and looks at you. “What are you smoking man?” He blurts out.
You turnover the tail to the next team and head home that night questioning your sanity. As you fall asleep you hear the window of you 10th story apartment squeak open to see Superman fly through. He looks at you and asks if you are going to drop the tail, or if he is going to have to drop you. | 294 | As the leader of a CIA hit squad, you have been tasked with the secret, “extrajudicial” killing of a journalist who is causing problems for the government with his reporting. The problem is, he just won’t die! Every team you send fails. Who is this Clark Kent, guy? | 1,468 |
The derelict warehouse was a rather niche choice for this kind of operation. Grey crumbling walls exposing rusted rebar and shattered windows from the local kids throwing rocks through them with a sagging and dented sheet roof made the place not only unassuming, but large enough to hide a rather... cheerful stolen object.
​
Strolling through a yellowish grey hallway, you come face to face with a metal door. Said door once was entirely made out of wood and displayed 'Manager's Office' is proud writing. Nice, but weak. A few strips of metal and pipe made the door much more stronger, and more imposing. Nothing short of a battering ram could open this door... other than a key of course.
​
Sliding the metallic key out of your pocket, you shove it into the lock, turn it, and push the door open. As acclaimed to the doors previous sign, the door led into a rather spacious managerial office. The wall directly to your right was another wall adorned with an empty bulletin board that hung loosely, and to your left and front across the room was a massive glass panelling that overlooked the huge facility floor. Truly an upgrade from the paper-pusher desks a few doors down.
​
Once filled with a manor of items like filing cabinets, chairs and a desk, the room was now completely barren, except a small bed... and said stolen object.
​
"Oh hello!" The young boy cried out happily to you, he seemed drawing with the concrete dust on the floor. "Uh, are you the same one? It's hard to tell because you all wear the same outfit and those... uh."
​
"Bandanas?" You suggest helpfully.
​
"Yeah!" The boy smiled, "Is dad coming to pick me up soon?"
​
This single sentence brought you back to a few days ago, the entire team was in high spirits due to the successful job, and had just contacted the boys father to state out demands. The phone call... didn't go as planned. It took 10 minutes and the assistance of one of his servants to remind him that he, in fact, had a son, and once we told him we had kidnapped him and expected around $5 Million for his safe return, the father just said:
​
"And you wasted by time to tell me that?" Then hung up.
​
Morale in the team took a huge tank. Some because we weren't getting paid, others because of how rude the father was, but the main consensus was about the son and what we should do with him. The main idea at the time was to keep him around until we found a use for him in either human trafficking or organ harvesting, but... there's lines even criminals like us don't cross.
You paused and put on your best poker face despite the bandana blocking your entire face. "Soon kid, he's... a bit busy at the moment." The effect was instantaneous as the boy immediately slouched down a bit in his sitting position.
​
"Oh... okay. He's always busy. Do you want to play with me?" The kid replied with a small smile. Pausing once more, your eyes drifted out through the cracked windows of the managers office to the factory floor.
​
"Sure, how does eye-spy sound?" The kids face broke out in a giant smile and instantly began surveying the room.
​
"Eye-spy with my little eye..." | 139 | You kidnapped the child of a rich family to get a big ransom, but you soon realize that his family doesn't care about him at all. So you do your best to be a good parental figure for him. | 485 |
The thing about sentient monsters, and especially immortal ones, is that they're *all* filled with ego. Some of them are better than others--more akin to filling a vessel, rather than filling a balloon--but no sentient thing lives for hundreds of years with being smug about it. It is one the unspoken weakness of their kind.
Which is why, here and now, I am so calm. Here, in a castle against my will, with a vampire stalking the room, attempting to taunt it's food. I am calm, bexause it needs this game, just as much as it needs blood, to live. This has been going on for some time, now, and the creature's wits seem to be near it's end.
"Why do you not fear me? I am the brood of the night, the drinker of blood, a vampire--I could kill you in a single swoop!"
"Yes, as could any normal man. Or even a particularly lucky or talented child, for that matter. You are most certainly not special in that regard."
The undead screeches at me, baring it's teeth.
"Come now, we have been at this for a half-hour. If those fangs didn't scare me the first time, they certainly wouldn't scare me now."
Ah, there it was. The eyes are beyond fury, into something primal. The ego is well beyond bruised; the inflated balloon has been popped. The creature is rearing back, readying a lunge.
I sigh, and give a dismissive wave. "You might as well end this. Otherwise I'll die simply of boredom."
The creature screeches again, and lunges for my throat. As it does, I smile, and reveal the oaken stake from behind my back. It's trajectory has already been made, and by the time it's intelligence has overtaken it's ego, I have already placed the stake into it's heart, further pushed by gravity. It lands atop of me, though I am quick to push it off and continue my work. I produce a vial of holy water, splashing upon the beast with a quick prayer. I then sever the head from the body, and hold it until it all turns to ash.
"Of course, dear vampire, it helps not being afraid when one is the hunter, and not the prey." | 1,591 | ”Why aren’t you scared? I’m a vampire— I could kill you!” “So could literally every other human, you’re not special.” | 3,650 |
He always thought he was better than me. My stupid brother’s really let being king go to his head ever since Dad died. He’s got a whole kingdom, an adoring populace, a wife, and a son— just to feed his ego while I don’t even get invited to most events and have the fame of a lower-class commoner. He’s not as good of a king or parent as he thinks; luckily, I came up with a plan to go to the party, be the prince’s favorite uncle, and knock my brother off his royal high horse.
After a cold reception from most of the guests besides the prince, who giggled good-naturedly as I ran my knuckles through his unkempt red hair, and an overall pleasant time, I went up to the birthday boy, happily playing with a new toy. “You know how you made a wish when you blew out the candles on your cake?” I asked.
“Yeah!”
“You blew out six candles, right, since you’re six now?”
“Uh-huh.”
“That means you get five more wishes!”
“Really?” His eyes widened more than a human’s should even be capable of as a slasher smile grew on his face.
“Here’s the special thing. Everyone gets one wish to the stars, but you get the rest of your wishes granted by me. Now, what’ll they be?”
“Thanks, Uncle Gary!” He squealed as he came in to hug my legs.
He pondered hard for a few moments, and came up with his first wish.
“I wish for— I wanna be a dragon!”
Perfect. This should be a pain. I granted his wish, and at least made his wings small enough that he couldn’t really fly with them. He looked his red, scaly body over with a big grin on his elongated face. “Don’t breathe fire indoors,” I warned loudly enough to make my brother’s stomach drop. He giggled, roared, and sprinted out to the backyard to try out his new abilities (at least it had just been raining, and the woods are too wet to burn). You try looking after a mischievous, tireless six-year old kid with claws and fire breath.
I walked slowly outside and found him happily torching an anthill. “You still have four more wishes, you know.”
He stopped and scratched his chin. “Mayonnaise! Buckets of it!”
Oh, I’d give him more than buckets of it. It was a hot summer day when I made the backyard winter wonderland of emulsified eggs, one day away from expiration. The look on everyone’s faces was absolutely priceless at the sight, staff and royals alike crowded at the windows. “Wanna have a mayo fight?” asked the little blip of red. We proceeded to have the time of our lives hurling great big globs of refreshingly cool mayonnaise under the scalding summer sun; sliding down slippery, eggy hills; and making mayonnaise angels.
This was only phase one. It was only a matter of time before he discovered that breathing fire on it turned it into a hot, congealed, burnt, yellowish-black glop that reeked to the stars. “Good, good,” I said quietly to myself as he wreaked a charred path of condiment-fueled destruction.
Eventually, the backyard reeked unbearably, and we both decided to head inside as he plugged his nostrils with his scaly, mayonnaise-covered fingers. “How about we get you in the bath?” It wasn’t easy dragging a defiant little dragon in, but he warmed up to the water once he got in; I then looked for some band-aids to patch up my scratches while he got himself clean.
I threw his torn, burnt, mayonnaise-stained and -scented clothes into the hamper and got him a new outfit, making sure to cut some slits for his wings and tail. I went over to check on him in the bath, where he decided to make his own hot tub by trying to breathe fire underwater. “It’s fine,” he said, “I’m doing it in the water!”
I sighed as he continued to blow bubbles. “When you get out, I’ll grant you wish number three.”
He leaped out of the water, hurriedly half-dried himself off, and got dressed. His clothes were damp and sticking to his still wet body as he said, “A rollercoaster!”
Even better. I made sure to make it a classic, creaky, noisy wooden coaster. The prince has always been more of a morning person, and his parents anything but. Might as well run it right by the bedroom windows, then. How about right through the relaxing garden, and by the dining hall where it can rattle all the dishes and cause wealthy guests to spill their wine and ruin their clothes? Why just let this rich kid enjoy it, either? I ran it out to the busy street, set up an automated kiosk selling tickets at commoner-friendly prices, and let every car but the prince’s help lower the national debt.
“Make sure you don’t breathe fire on the roller coaster. The wood’s treated, but the other passengers aren’t,” I yelled to him as he sprinted full speed toward the front car, claws tearing into the sod. Lo and behold, the shrieks of commoners and the rumble of the tracks interrupted the festivities and relaxing nobles beautifully. Obviously they were going to get grumpy and blame the king, the head of this whole country, let alone the party and palace.
Later that day, when he had gotten tired of the roller coaster, he asked for his forth wish. “You know how me and Mommy and Daddy went to the beach one time? Can we go tomorrow?” Compared to his previous requests, this one sounded both more reasonable and more earnest. “Sure,” I said while tucking him in while the party dragged on into the wee hours of the morning.
The next day, the king and queen (as well as most of the staff) were quite hung over, and they were glad to let me take the little rascal for the day, even my brother. We had a fine time on the beach, in the waves, on the boardwalk. At the end of the day, he started reminiscing about the previous family vacation and the way things used to be. He looked up at the stars with a puzzled, sad expression on his face. “What’s the matter?”
“These wishes are amazing, but the stars never listened to my favorite wish.”
I looked at the little creature, who wore an expression showing that he wanted something he deemed more important than his previous wishes of everything a kid could want.
“Well, you see that star? For all we know, it could have died millions of years ago before it could even get your wish. It’s not like glowing balls of plasma are very good at granting wishes anyway. What was your wish? You still have one with me, and it won’t matter if you tell; it hasn’t come true, anyway.”
He crisped and “sterilized” a French fry he found with with his breath. “I wish Mommy and Daddy still loved each other!”
Now his obsession with that previous trip made sense. “What? What do you mean, they don’t love each other anymore?”
Part 1/2 | 61 | For not getting invited to the party, you decide to curse the king’s favorite child– the six-year-old whose birthday you crashed. Because they’re only a child, you let them wish for something; and their parents can deal with the repercussions of the wish. | 147 |
The Great swooped down to the vault floor. This was where everything went. The "bank" where passing dragons could deposit their hoards safely served its purpose, but it also served as a ruse to the humans who somehow found out about it.
To humans, entering the bank door was an ordeal that meant certain death. The same act was business as usual to the dragon wishing to deposit valuable ores, or human-made artifacts, or whatever else they brought.
The Great gained so much power because of this. Despite the lengths he went to keep humans out, he never tried to cheat a dragon out of their hoard, gaining their respect.
The mechanisms were human-created, specially crafted gears. The Great used his own wealth to purchase them, knowing of how the humans used them. As he pivoted the gear, the compartments rose from the darkness.
His current customer had an affinity for iron and steel, saying he thought he could make something from them. The Great took this in mind as he carefully placed an I-beam made of rusted iron into the stack of metal. Then The Great flew back up to the next dragon, who would either be depositing or withdrawing from the bank.
And as for the chance a dragon would try to steal from the bank, none would even think of doing so, as dragons have high morals amongst themselves.
At least, that was what The Great thought until he saw fire melt away the door.
​
Credits to u/Aromatic-Wing4723 for the bank idea :) | 19 | Dragons hoard what they consider the most precious things, wether it's gold, memories or action figures. The dragon king hoard hoards | 64 |
“Yes sir, the next one will be arriving shortly.” Odin sighs. The Valkyries Union decided that ‘Welcoming’ and ‘Escorting’ were technically two different tasks requiring compensation and the tourism revenue of Asgard was dropping steadily due to his sons. Loki has created an atmosphere of terror, never knowing when your gravlax would turn to maggots and Thor had re-routed prime tourism to Midgard with his show boating. So here he was, the fucking All-Father, acting as concierge to Valhalla. “The name is… uh… why do the Midgardians have such convoluted titles… this one seems to have been called Dhotker Hrybov Roman.”
“WELCOME WARRIOR ROMAN TO THE HALLS OF VALHALLA! For your bravery throughout life as a great soldier, you have been granted access to the Warrior’s Hall! Stories of your bravery and prowess shall be spread to all warriors before you as you partake in the finest of meads!” Odin adjusts the crotch of his robes; thrones aren’t breathable. ‘Is there anything I’m not the fucking best at? I mean, what a voice, what a presence…’ The thoughts off the All-Father are broken by a meek, reedy voice echoing off the stone walls.
“Um… I mean, I’ll definitely take the ale but I think there has been some mistake. I have literally never been in a fight in my life. I was a pediatrician. I didn’t even like verbal conflicts.”
Odin’s brow constricts and he turns to Mimir. Whispering to the decapitated head, “what the fjuck?”
“I’m still just a head Odin. I’m meant to give prophecy, not read reservations. I have no hands and I’m at a really poor angle for reading, but I swear that’s what it says.” Odin leans to the side of the throne and snatches the clipboard from under Mimir’s neck stump.
“You are more fucking useless than a dwarf without hammers. Her fylgja is a damn sloth.” The woman was wide-eyed gazing about the hall as an ephemeral sloth mirrored her motions, just slower. “This is the register of everyone who died you ass-less ass, not the Valhalla entrants. I’m not explaining this to Freja. This is all you buddy.” Odin hisses to Mimir.
“We could just tell him a clerical error occurred and Freja wouldn’t have to know?”
“Yeah, great fuckin idea dummy. Let’s send her to Folkvangr where the first person she meets is…” His voice pitches to a whispered yell, “fucking Frejya, you illiterate meat backpack.”
“I will remember all of this the next time you want advice about your shitty children.”
“Uh, this doesn’t just hurt me oh wise one. Together we are supposed to have all the knowledge, you really want all of Folkvangr to know our combined powers couldn’t read the right paperwork? I gave my fucking eye for you and… oh for the love of me. That says DOCTOR Roman…”
“To be fair, there usually is not much call for reading as I tend to already know things, but I would like to reiterate the difficulty of angles.”
Odin sighs deeply. “THERE HAS BEEN NO MISTAKE GREAT WARRIOR AS YOU HAVE FOUGHT BRAVELY DURING YOUR TIME AS A PEDIATRICIAN!” The side of Odin’s mouth crooks towards Mimir. “What would a pediatrician have fought?”
“You have the clipboard. Try cancer. That’s very popular on Midgard.”
“YOUR PROWESS AGAINST THE CANCEROUS FOE SHOWED TRUE BRAVERY.”
“Um, I was more dealing with like mono and strep throat than cancer.”
Odin sighs deeply.
“Look lady. You’re dead. Options are Valhalla or Hel.”
“Well… Hel doesn’t sound good.”
“I mean it’s not what you think it is, but significantly less booze for sure.” Odin waves his hand and one of the Valkyries enters from the mead hall.
“Wait, Valhalla is muscly armored women and booze?” Doctor Roman eyes Hildr.
“Literally what I’ve been saying this whole time.”
“Yeah. I fought the fuck out of cancer.”
As the Doctor follows Hildr to the hall, Mimir utters, “We should probably have someone look at that Union contract.” | 17 | You wake up in valhalla in front of odin. He calls you a great warrior, but you say that you are just a doctor. He says that it’s not a mistake, as your fights against sickness are great. Behind the scenes however it actually is a mistake but odin is too prideful to admit it. | 76 |
Mary steps into the empty elevator and reaches toward the button panel. Hand outstretched, she pauses as she notices something is different. She squints at the familiar panel. As the doors slide closed, it dawns on her that there is a new floor option: 0.
With a shrug, Mary presses the new button and steps back. Nothing happens. She presses once more, but still, the elevator doesn't respond. Giving it one last go, she presses a few times. *Duhn* duh-duh *duh*\-duhn...
"Two bits!" She unabashedly sings out the last two words as she taps.
Smiling to herself, Mary moves her finger toward the 3 button instead. Before she makes contact, the elevator shudders. As her smile grows, she leans back against the side wall to wait. For a moment, all is well. But then, she wonders at the lack of that floor-falling-out-from-under-me feeling that she should have had when the compartment started to move.
A soft creak draws Mary's attention upwards. Her amusement vanishes and her eyes go wide as she looks. The ceiling is rapidly making its way toward her. Mary darts forward and presses the "Open Door" button. It doesn't help. She smashes it a few more times, but it still doesn't make a difference. Running both hands down the entire panel, she lights up every single option. The ceiling continues to move downward.
The upper surface – now just inches above her head – begins to groan louder as it descends. Mary extends her hands above her, desperately trying to stop the downward movement. The structure is unfazed. Mary's elbows bend as the ceiling keeps moving.
She swallows hard. Her mind races for some kind of solution. She slumps to the floor and lays herself flat in a desperate bid for time. The lowering surface seems to respond by increasing its descent. Mary squeezes her eyes shut and turns her head to the side as the ceiling makes contact with her cheek. It presses against her chest and squeezes the air from her lungs. Colorful specks of light dance behind her closed eyelids. She's done for, and she knows it.
\--------------
"Ah, there you are. We've been wondering."
Mary's brows knit together, but otherwise her body refuses to move.
"Up you get."
Someone takes hold of Mary's hands and lifts her onto her feet. Her chest, at last, expands and refills her lungs with a deep gasp. Opening her eyes, she squints at the unexpected brightness. Spotting the owner of the voice, Mary turns toward him. "What... Who... Um..."
The blue eyed man smiles at her obvious confusion. "I know it's disorienting the first time. You'll get used to it. Come."
Too utterly bewildered to form a coherent thought, Mary obediently follows the man.
"Apologies for the rather terrifying way you were brought here. Unfortunately, we have not yet found a better system."
Mary nods, as though that explains anything at all.
The man chuckles. "I am Hantigz. Director of the Magical Mediation Department."
"Oh."
"You might think of us as sort of a 'Men In Black' type organization. Except, we're real, of course." Hantigz winks at Mary. "We keep an eye on all the magical entities on earth – witches, warlocks, vampires, werewolves, and so on – and we ensure that they are not exposing their abilities to the non-magical world. It is easiest for magical and non-magical persons to live in harmony if the non-magical do not know of the other group's existence."
Mary lets out a boisterous laugh, convinced that this is somehow an elaborate prank. Her mirth dies away as pair of fur-covered werewolves trot past, greeting Hantigz with a cheerful, doglike yip as they pass.
Hantigz responds to the werewolves with a jovial "Good morning!" before turning back to Mary. "We've had an eye on you for a while. You have an aura that suggests an affinity for magic detection. The elevator button was the first test. Most non-magicals cannot detect it."
Mary opens her mouth, but quickly clamps it shut again.
"Once you detected the button, the next part of the test was to see if you could discern the code."
"Your code is 'shave and a haircut'?!"
"Well," Hantigz chuckles, "we couldn't make it too hard. Anyway, you figured it out. The next part was to get you through the portal. If we'd simply placed the portal within the elevator, we'd have to turn it on and off every single time the code was input – which requires a great deal of energy each time, you know."
Mary didn't know, but nodded slightly anyway.
"So, we placed the portal against the ceiling. Much easier to move the ceiling with the portal than it is to constantly restart and then close a portal that could be walked through by anyone. I realize the situation can be rather scary if you don't know what's happening. Apologies, again."
"But," Hantigz stops to clap his hands together and turn to Mary. "We're thrilled to have you here at last! We'd like to talk to you about a job opportunity here. Much better pay and benefits than you'd find the non-magical realm."
Mary gapes at the man. "Why did you have to put me through that? Why couldn't you just come talk to me?"
"Really?" Hantigz tilts his head. "Would you have believed me?"
Mary looks up just as a witch – clad in a nice suit and black, pointed hat – flies overhead on her broomstick. "Good point."
Mary turns her attention back to the man in front of her. "So, what's this about a job offer?"
\~\~\~\~\~\~\~\~\~\~\~\~\~\~\~
r/WannaWriteSometimes | 16 | Taking the elevator you notice a button you've never noticed before. A floor 0. Curiosity gets the better of you and you press it. | 49 |
They each had a look of faint incomprehension, something I had to sigh at. I looked to the first, a rotund man in gaudy robes. But close inspection revealed patches cleverly woven into its design, hiding the many repairs it had undergone.
"King Fonti, let's start with you. Why do you think this has worked for me?"
He frowned, trying to think. I waited patiently, a trick I had learned many years ago. His eyes flickered with an idea, and he spoke with reedy voice.
"You can charge for the healing magic? Low enough to fool them into thinking its affordable, but maximised for your profits."
I shook my head.
"Nope. All treatments are low cost, that is true. But those payments merely serve to fund more materials for the magic, and some to the Healers themselves. I don't make a penny off of that."
I looked to the next one along. This was a striking woman, one of the few blessed at birth by Fey. To the unprepared, her presence would draw them to her side.
"Queen Amula, how about you? What are your thoughts?"
She gave a winning smile, fluttering her eyelashes in a practiced flirtatious move.
"Why, of course the treatments themselves aren't the profit driver. But by being so caring, you can raise high taxes, as your peasants will fork over all they can spend."
I shook my head again.
"Wrong. Yes, my tax rates are a bit higher than yours, but not by a significant margin. That additional rate is fed back into the healing system, the other side of the Healers income."
I turned to the last. She was young, barely old enough to sit upon her throne. But she had a strong gaze, and a tough demeanour. I was intrigued to see what sort of ruler she would become over the next few years, once she was comfortable in her position.
"What are your thoughts Queen Wenlau?"
She took the longest time of all to think. Eventually she sighed, her shoulders dropping.
"I can't see it. I assume it has something to do with your education as well, but I fear it is outside my knowledge."
I gave her a nod.
"Indeed, the education is one of the key reasons. But if I may, as a ruler you should be more assertive."
I looked back at them all, before crossing my arms.
"Lets start with healing. One of the biggest drains on the economy is disease and injury. They can cripple a worker, and cause the income to drop. You can squeeze them a bit, but at some point there is nothing more to take. By funding healing magics, they have access to cheap treatments. A short trip, a small amount of gold, and voilà, they can work again. And working again means I get a steady tax stream.
Education, now that is what I am most proud of. You see, a genius can come from anywhere. A farmer's son can easily be as smart as a noble's daughter. But in many places, only those born lucky get taught anything. So those without opportunity can't grow, and push us forwards.
So I set up education open to all. It cost a lot to set up, that is true. But those young children, their minds are grown. They come up with ideas that are inspired. Some are unfeasible, that much is true. But there are some that are incredibly helpful."
I walked over to one of my bookshelves, taking a scroll from it. With care I opened it up, showing the diagram of a field.
"One of the first ideas to come. One of them had noticed how much their father struggled in the dry months. The crops nearest the irrigation channels would drink all the water, leaving the rest to wither. This young genius worked out a way to lay pipes that dripped water all along them, to keep the entire crop alive.
It has proved a fantastic boon. We produce far more crops than we need, which as you know we export out. That brings in more money for the farmers, and as a benefit I get more in taxes."
I rolled it up, putting it back on the pile.
"Each of these is an idea. Each one has been a phenomenal achievement. I spent a lot to get them, but they have paid me back a hundred times over. All it took was a start."
Queen Wenlau nodded, her eyes understanding. But they darkened as a thought crossed her mind.
"Why would you show us this? We are your neighbours yes, but I know relationships can easily sour. You have just given us a target."
I bowed my head to her, beaming.
"An excellent observation. Part of this is simple. I am happy to extend our knowledge to yourselves, to better your countries. The happier you and your people are, the more likely we are to remain as friends."
I let my face fall.
"But if you were to attack, tell me this. Who is more likely to win, people who have little to gain, or those who have a lot to lose?"
They shifted, uncomfortable now. I held my expression for a moment, before smiling again.
"Enough unpleasantness. You came here to learn, and now you have. I hereby offer you all a choice. Stay here for a bit, take of our knowledge, and let us be allies. Or feel free to leave with what you have learned so far, as return to a friendly neutrality." | 51 | "Tell us, King Vitruvius, how did you get so much gold in your coffers?" I looked at their faces and replied "Healing magic and education for all". | 65 |
"Thanks for having us over for brunch, Dad" I said, spreading cream cheese over the cinnamon and raisin bagel I had chosen.
"I'm just glad I can spend some time with you two" He said, smiling at us from across the table. With a metallic 'pop', he opened the small jar of capers and began adding them to his plain bagel, with smoked salmon and cream cheese.
"What are thoooose?" My son asked, through a mouthfull of chocolate chip bagel with chocolate chip cream cheese.
"They're called 'capers', Steve" I answered, as the inquisitive tween finished his second bagel with a noisy gulp. "They go well with the salmon."
"Huh" he said, reaching for a third bagel.
I tried to playfully slap his hand away from the pile, but he nimbly avoided my blow and snatched another chocolate bagel. "You've had 2 already, how are you still hungry?" I asked.
"Dunno. I failed biology, remember?" He said, scooping a large glob of chocolate cream cheese on his latest baked victim.
"Steve, you're 9, you haven't taken a biology class." I said, "Also, you haven't failed a class either."
My son's Grandfather giggled through his own mouthful of bagel. I looked over at my old man with a slight scowl. "What?" I asked, reaching for my slightly cold coffee mug.
"I just remember when you were that age, you wouldn't even eat the bagel. You just licked cream cheese off the top, and added more when you thought I wasn't looking."
Steve's eyes went wide. "You can do that?"
"NO", I said.
"YES!" My father said.
Steve dove face first into his new bagel. I looked over at my Dad with a disapproving look.
"You're welcome!" He beamed, taking another small bite of his bagel.
"I never said thank you", I said, knowing what his response would be.
My dad leapt from the table, grabbing a napkin along the way. He quickly poked two holes in it, and held the makeshift mask to cover the top half of his face.
"*And you'll never have to*" He growled, in his best imitation of Christian Bale's Batman from Batman Begins.
I chuckled. Even after a thousand times, that back-and-forth bit still brought me so much joy.
"What was that?" Steve asked, looking up from his bagel. He had cream cheese spread across both cheeks, looking suspiciously like...
"*JOKER*" His grandpa shouted. "*How did you escape Arkham Asylum this time*?!?!"
Steve looked to me. "I am so lost", he said, and went back to his meal.
My dad sat back down, turning his Batman mask into a napkin once more. "Son, why have you not introduced your son to the best Batman trilogy of all time?"
"Dad, he's 9, those are PG-13" I scolded.
"So?" He chided, throwing a wink to Steve. "That just means I'll have to show him at our next sleepover."
I sighed, in happy contentment. I would pretend to be upset later, but I knew my Dad would make a new special memory with Steve that he would cherish forever.
Plus, they were legit good movies.
/r/SlightlyColdStories for more. | 62 | Right now, you are eating a bagel. So is your ancestor. So is your descendant. Somehow, for various reasons, at this exact time and date, you have all found yourselves sitting down, staring ahead, slowly eating a bagel. | 250 |
I keep ringing his phone, over and over again. I just want to hear his voice again. I know it is unhealthy. But so is losing your son.
But one day as I ring his phone someone answers.
A deep, unfamiliar voice. "Hello?"
I freeze. My heart races. I can't believe it.
"Do you know Michael?" I manage to say. Then I correct myself. "Did you know Michael?"
There's a pause. "Who is this?"
I don't know what to say.
"I'm Michael's father. Who is this? Who are you?"
Nothing has prepared me for this moment.
It has been two years, one month and twenty-two days since I have spoken to my son.
"Don't call again," the voice instructs.
The phone went dead. When I phone the number again, I am told it has been disconnected.
...
The doorbell rang. It's a Saturday morning, 9 a.m. I'm in a T-shirt, still in my pyjamas, unshaven with unwashed hair. I get up to answer it, but my wife is quicker. I walk into the hallway to see who it is.
The door opens. Two men stand there: a smartly dressed dark-haired man in his thirties and a younger blond officer.
I know it's the police, but I'm not sure if I'm expecting bad news, or if I'm expecting news at all.
"Are you Michael's father?"
"Yes. I was." I stand in the hallway, blocking the way in. I don't want them to come in.
"May we come in, sir?"
I stand aside. What choice do I have?
"Please, sit down."
I sit on the settee. I wave my wife away when she comes in to join me.
My wife looks at me. She doesn't say anything, but I know what she is thinking. I can read her mind.
"Would you like a cup of coffee?" I ask, but they decline.
The two men sit on the settee opposite me.They are both so neat and tidy. I could do with a shave. The man in a suit begins.
"Hello, sir. I'm Detective Matthew O'Grady. This is Detective Sergeant Brian Smith." O'Grady pauses, then moves on. "We need you to come with us to the mortuary."
I look at the officers. I look at my wife.
"I have already identified my son's body," I say. "Two years ago."
"There's been a development."
My wife slumps into the easy chair.
I look at the officers. I try to think of a reason why I shouldn't go with them. But I can't think of anything.
. . .
I'm led into the same room. The same room where I identified my son's body.
A large, shiny steel door stands in front of me. It is closed. Then it opens.
My knees go weak.
There's no mistake.
My son is lying on the table.
I break down. I fall to my knees.
My son is wearing a blue suit. His hair is perfectly combed. But there were two deep gashes on his face, one across his forehead, one across his right cheek. | 10 | You repeatedly ring your dead son’s phone to reach voicemail, just to be able to hear his voice again. But one day, your call gets answered. | 39 |
"I think they're scared of me." Pat mentioned as they watched the clouds float across the horizon.
"Really? What makes you think that?" Henrietta sarcastically brought up.
"Well..." Pat stopped to reconsider saying anything else.
The couple stared at the little bundle of joy they had recently inherited. Whether they liked it or not. The plan at the beginning was to perhaps raise an extra batch of chickens in an attempt to help bolster the farm's profits for the season.
Unbeknownst to both of them at the time however. One of these eggs didn't come from a chicken. Nobody paid attention, not even the hens themselves, until said egg hatched. And with that, they were the proud, albeit, wary parents of a dragon.
Nobody knew it's real name. But it took a quick liking to them, and they had to think of something.
Peach laid happily on the porch next to them, soaking in the sunlight. Her scales matched the fruit, and she really liked the fruit. So, the name stuck.
But when you're a random farmer, and you raise an orphaned dragon. There tends to be a lot of complications in one's life. Namely, for example; an armed entourage approaching your farm from down the road.
"Um, Patrick? I think we got company. They look a little upset." Henrietta spoke.
"Oh don't I know it." Pat answered. "Go round up some of the fellas. We'll just have to talk to 'em."
Commotion arose, as it usually does in such situations. A few minutes went by, and some fairly large armored guards were met by some equally large farmhands on the edge of the property.
"Howdy." Pat greeted. "To whom do I owe the visit?"
A particularly well adorned knight stepped forward, sword in hand. It seems like they weren't exactly in a negotiating mood.
"I believe you are already aware." The knight spoke.
"No, I'm afraid I'm not." Pat continued. The squint he gave due to the sun made it probably seem as if he were asleep standing up.
"You are the Dragon King. Are you not?"
This raised a slight chuckle from the farmers that had gathered.
"I only got the one. Didn't know it garnered such a title."
Those words must have struck a nerve. One of the bigger guards stepped forwards. However one of Patrick's farm hands, an orc working for extra pay, took a step forward himself. See, they actually liked to fight.
"Now wait just a second." Pat warned. "It don't have to be this way."
"Go on." The lead knight asked, aiming his sword at Pat's neck from a couple of feet out.
"Peaches doesn't mean any harm." He explained to the blade. "She simply protects my land. She likes all us. Now my question to all y'all is why do you keep testing her?"
"Do you understand the damage they cause? All the lives lost? How many kingdoms have fell-"
"Your kingdom keeps cutting us off. We can barely get a deal on supplies. I reckon if you're going to come down here and scream at me, we could at least make peace."
A shadow glided over everyone. Nobody moved, perhaps because they were concerned at what it might be. Pat checked the porch of his home only to find it empty. The knight, following his gaze, wondered what he was looking for.
"...Well that's not good."
"What's that?" The knight in charge asked them. Some of their horses began to nervously stir.
"You gone and made her mad." Pat shrugged.
"Um, boss?" One of the other farmhands started. "I lost track of her."
A shadow crossed the ground again, but when everyone looked, there wasn't anything in the sky to be seen.
"If I were you. I'd get back on my horse, head back into town." Pat faintly offered. He then turned to his workers. "Uh, guys. Pack it up. We can't find her. That's a bad sign."
The knight's group stacked up. Aiming their shield's high while their archers trained on the farm.
"You tested my patience too long!" The armored figure threatened. "Where is it?!"
The thing that swept over the entire group at an alarming pace caused a panic. The horses went crazy, throwing some of the men to the ground. Some of the farmhands also knocked down by the wake turbulence did exactly what they planned to do earlier. To the knight's surprise; most of them took off running back into the depths of the fields.
But not the man standing before him. He simply dusted off his hat, and held it as they watched. The thing that stood up behind him was a horrible thing. A massive lizard that already was the size of at least three of their steeds put together. It had quietly touched down and ran up to them at such an inhuman pace, it made him freeze.
Pat had taken a step from the sword, as Peaches eyed it herself. The knight, it seemed, was too in shock to actually move. One of his men moved. Maybe to flee, maybe to attack. To this day, no one knows. The dragon pulled back, grabbed him in its jaws and flung him against a nearby tree. He bent the wrong way around it, and sailed further into the brush, never to be seen again.
"Retreat! Retreat!!" The others declared. Of course, while Patrick wasn't shy of the horrors this sort of this brought. He still wasn't immune to it.
Peaches rained hell on the group whether they wanted it or not. Before long, half the road was aflame. And a good third of the battalion sent to get her did not make it home. He waited on the porch for her return however. Until the front door flew open.
"I'll make scarecrows out of all of ya!" Henrietta promised, waving her broadsword like a madman. "I'll, awe shucks, did Peaches get started without me??"
"Yeah, she did." Pat sighed.
"This would've been fun." She said, casually dropping her shield and waiting for the dragon to return to its parents. Of course Henrietta was there waiting for her. Which worked for Peaches, as she'd grown quite tired of chasing the knights.
"Who's a good girl? Yes, you are! Yes, you are!" She explained, happily hugging the beast around it's neck.
"Save some for us next time Peaches?" Pat asked as he sat nearby, errantly tossing her one of the fruits she loved so much. "My swordplay is getting a little rusty."
---
*'Everybody packing out here. Like who? Farmers. And farmers ~~mums~~ dragons.'*
r/Jamaican_Dynamite | 400 | Just because one of your eggs hatched a fire-breathing dragon, people now think you’re evil. You’re really just a regular farmer trying to make a living, who now has to deal with an overprotective dragon, heroes that want to kill you & fanatics who want to worship you as a new demonic lord. | 2,062 |
"Lady Deidre, thank you for seeing me on such short notice."
The witch sits opposite me at the seeing table. She is a small woman with frizzy blond hair, wearing a black dress with a bejeweled necklace. She clasps her hands together before her and says, "Well, for what you offered to pay me, I had to clear up my schedule. What is it that ails you, your grace? Some life threatening illness? Was a relative beset by a curse?"
"No, its..." I trail off. "I saw that Lord Reginald got those new shoe coverings...I think they were called Adias?"
The witch furrows her brow and cocks her head. "Adidas, yes. I procured them myself."
"Good! Good, I want something like that."
"That's what you want?" She sighs. "You're paying all this money just for another fashion piece?"
"Not just *another* fashion piece," I assure her. "This one has to be the best out of all of them. Something that knocks all of the other nobles dead...Not literally, metaphorically."
"Okay, I'll see what I can do," Deidre says. "Perhaps another pair of sneakers-"
"No! No they can't be sneakers," I interrupt. "It has to be something new, something fresh."
"I see..." she clicks her tongue to herself. "Tell me, your grace, are you at all open to a pet?"
"A pet?" I ask. "I suppose so, were you looking to get me an actual living creature?"
"No, not exactly," She says. "Let me fill you in on the cultural icon of the tamagotchi." | 75 | Medieval witches learn how to bring back items from the future. Now things like denim, t-shirts, sneakers, etc. are worn by royals and nobles as rare and exotic status symbols. You are one such noble (or royal) and you are determined to one-up your rivals at whatever the cost | 269 |
"There he is." Timecop Manny Dela whispered to his partner. They were crouched in some bushes, around a town that looked like it was straight from a ren fair. Horses roamed the streets, people were shouting in English but it was excruciatingly tough to understand, and it absolutely reeked. But Manny sucked it up. He had a job to do.
"Okay, Dina, that's our gal. Time Traveller Qua'na Tum. She's charged with Time Travelling without a license, rewriting history, and stealing info from NYTPD. Now, what she did to re-write history *was* good, it's still a crime, so here's what we do. You-"
Dina was gone. Manny closed his eyes and screams broke out and old-timey language was flung at his ears.
"Goddamit, Dina." Manny sighed, whipping out his Paradox Pistol and charged from the bushes, shoving commoners away. Dina was hot on the trail of Qua'na, and it was pretty easy to follow her. All he had to do was follow the screams, the hissing, and the feathers.
"Dina, I swear to the Timeline, if you-" he started to say, before shutting up. Dina had Gua'na under her, talons held against her back and head, and was probably reading her the Rewind Riot Acts. But as a theropod, all that was heard was very small roaring and lots of hissing.
"Gah! Let me go! You Temporal Bacon scum! What I did was good! My people won't have to live in chains for years!"
"Ms. Tum, I agree with your endeavors, but as a Time Officer, I have to uphold the law. Also, we get a new Harriet Tubman savior every couple of weeks or so. Trust me, the timeline you make won't be fun." He states, aiming the Paradox Pistol and zapping Gua'na. She was transported in a beam of blue light, and would await a trial in NYTPD cell. Yeah no time pun it's just jail.
"Huh. Nice work, Dina. I wished you had listed to my plan, but it seemed to work out nicely. Let's travel back home while Sarah and her squad clean up this debacle. We got a lot of paperwork.
Dina hissed.
"Okay, *I* have a lot of paperwork.
\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_
"Wait, another partner? Chief, I've already got Dina! No offense, D, but you were a lot to handle. C'mon, Chi-"
"No more whining, Dela! I already made my decision. We lost one of our best officers to this guy, and I hate to even bring him on, but rules are rules."
"Time...okay, whatever. Where's he from?"
"19th Century...London."
"Oh great."
"Doesn't talk much...not very keen to show his face-"
"Was it that guy with the mask? I thought he was a hobo!"
"...He's right outside, you know."
"...Damn. Okay, what's his name."
"Jack. Now then, Mr. Ripper. If you would kindly come i-"
"Timeline fucking damn it." | 16 | Whatever kills a Timecop, becomes a Timecop. You find yourself suddenly partners with a Velociraptor. | 118 |
##Chasing Shadows
Everyone has a shadow. It always lingers in the background or in the corner of our eyes. It chases us, but we know we can't run from it. When it grabs our hands, it won the chase.
Maybe it grabs our hands to comfort us in our saddest moments. Maybe it is rubbing salt in the wound by demonstrating its victory. Maybe it doesn't even understand the gesture.
Out of the corner of my eye, I see the shadow following everyone else. I know that mine is behind me as well, but fear keeps me from peering at it. I know I will see it eventually.
Once, I saw a gray man in pursuit of his own shadow. People flash gray before they disappear, but I've never seen one linger let alone reverse the roles. It raised interesting questions.
Are the shadows afraid of our true potential? Does all life have the power to struggle? Was this man's shadow merely incompetent? What makes a shadow incompetent?
Perhaps I was hallucinating. A few moments earlier, I saw a glimpse of my own shadow which struck terror in my heart. Seeing someone not go quietly into the night filled me hope. If the hope is baseless, I should abandon it.
Or I could look at my shadow to determine its weakness. The gray man could've possessed powers similar to mine. Fear didn't impede him, and it shouldn't impair me.
I turn to look at it, and I see nothing. My right hand turns cold. I look down to see my shadow grasping it.
---
r/AstroRideWrites | 140 | You can see everyone's Deaths following them, arriving to offer their hands right as they die. Today, you saw something new; someone chasing after their Death, who is fleeing at a dead sprint. | 561 |
"That's what you want me to clean." I stared up at the giant castle. No, the word giant was too small. It was humongous. Stupendous. At least the size of three mountains.
"Yep! And hopefully, before tourist season properly gets started. Don't worry about the funds. Anything you need, you get." Stephen sounded chipper over the satellite phone. This was probably the discovery of a century for him. I was used to being called into clean places after he and his co-workers had stripped it of anything with historical significance but this!
"And I'm supposed to do this by myself. Me. All alone."
"I have faith in you buddy!" There was a click from the other end, Stephen not bothering about saying goodbye. Looking from my supplies to the castle, and back, I sighed. It was work, and I could use the cash. But I was going to need a bigger mop.
———————
A door slammed somewhere in the building. I had grown used to the noises. It was an old castle, settling of the building and all that. No, the door slamming wasn't really a problem. The far more worrisome thing was the writing on the wall. And I don't mean that figuratively. There was literal writing on the wall. Some of it was in a language that didn't like being looked at and tried to crawl across the stones when you did. Some were in languages that I knew existed in our world, but I had no idea how to translate. And some were in English.
For a good week, I avoided reading any of the words I scrubbed off the walls. It was probably just graffiti from the local kids. Kids use thee, thou, and thine in their graffiti, right? I'm sure that's a thing. Finally, though I couldn't help myself. It wasn't graffiti. It was a warning. Over and over again, the same warning, though using different words.
"Stay out of the tower."
"Whatsoever thou doest, do not enter yon tower if thou values your immortal soul."
"Leave this place, and never return. The tower is cursed."
———————
I tried. I cleaned the entire place, always avoiding the door that led to the tower. I knew it was the tower the warnings spoke about. As you walked closer to it, the writing on the wall grew thicker and thicker. But there was nothing on that wall, and the door was spotless. As I said, I had tried to avoid the tower. However, I couldn't leave a job unfinished. There was a reason, Stephen always called me. I would get things in tip-top shape no matter what the cost. It was just that this time, the cost might be more than monetary. Shaking those thoughts off, I hoisted my mop bucket and swung the door open. Perhaps whatever had frightened all those people had only been some strange gases. Hallucinogens or something. Clad in full cleaning regalia, mask and gloves firmly in place, maybe I would be immune.
There was no dust. The steps were spotless; the walls gleamed. It was like I'd stepped back in time to when the castle was newly made. I climbed up the spiral stairs, rag at the ready, dragging my bucket with me. But there was nothing to clean. When I reached the top, I took a few deep breaths, confronted with a singular door. If the thing that threatened my immortal soul was behind that door, I didn't want to face it breathless from the climb.
I opened the door, expecting the hinges to creak. They didn't. I stepped through, into a small round room. And suddenly, I was no longer alone.
A figure stood in the center of the room. I couldn't tell if they were male or female. Perhaps both. Or neither. They had a craggy face as if hewn from rock. The eyes, like grey pebbles, stared at me, the expression hard to read. I tightened my grip on my mop. If this creature was going to be the end of me, I wasn't going down without a fight. The being opened their mouth, a sighing wind spinning around the room.
"You...clean..." They said. My normally flippant brain had a difficult time dealing with this, and I did my best impression of a goldfish.
"Thank... you... it... has... been... so ...long..." More sighing words. Brain finally catching up with my mouth, I leaned on my mop.
"What are you?" Rude, I know, but you try being confronted with a rocky being that thanks you for cleaning. The jagged face tilted to the side as if confused by the question. An arm came up, the hand pointing to the wall beside it.
"This..."
I waited for more words, but that was all. Trying to think of something that would get the being to clarify the statement, I swished my mop over the already clean floor. Laughter rolled on the wind.
"Ah... Tickles..." Stopping, I stared at the being. Then at my mop. Then at the being again.
"You're... the castle?" I said, not really believing my own words. The laughter faded as the being nodded their head.
"I... am.. the ... heart..." They paused, looking at the floor. "I... am... lonely..." Part of my mind screamed at me to run. The other felt sorry. At one point this building must have thronged with people. How many ages had it stood empty, neglected, and falling into disrepair? It was no wonder it drove people mad when they came to steal or destroy. This place had been built to protect and shelter. And the only thing people had done in it for eons was steal and destroy.
"Well, have I got good news for you," I said, making my voice as bright as possible. The Heart of the Castle looked up, hopeful.
"Good... news...?"
"Have you ever heard of tourists?"
———————
AN: Of course, this is hoping that the tourists will be good and respectable and not hurt the poor old castle. | 32 | Your archaeologist buddies have found an old castle, and want you to help them clean up and make it available to tourists ASAP. It'd be easier if it wasn't the size of a mountain range or packed a bunch of eldritch warnings from eons ago, but work is work. | 69 |
# Soulmage
**"Prepare to meet your end, foul demon!"** The slim, wobbly-kneed teenager tried to swing her blade at me. Unimpressed, I simply took a single, surefooted step back, navigating the corpse-strewn, muddy battlefield with ease. Nobody had taken the time to teach the poor girl the importance of a good pair of boots, and her pitiful slog through the mud would take ages to catch up with me.
"I have a name, you know," I said mildly.
"The only name you deserve is *barbarian*, you monster!" The girl shrieked as she charged at me. One of my soldiers appeared, brandishing a ball of fire, but I shook my head. This was the fourth would-be hero the Silent Parliament had thrown at me, and I'd given all of the first three a nice pat on the back, a reassuring pep talk, and in one case taken in a runaway who had no stomach for the churn of endless violence that made up an active battlefront.
I may have been a demon, but I was a Demon of Empathy. On occasion, I let others into my heart—which was more than I could say for my enemies.
"I recommend you stop following me," I said, taking another calm step back.
"Never!" The girl snapped. "They said you would try to sway me from my path with your wicked words of deceit!"
"Actually, I'm just trying to point out that you've been following me into enemy lines for the past two minutes." The girl froze as she looked around and realized that the black-and-white emblem of the Silent Parliament was nowhere to be found. "On the plus side," I mused, "it's not exactly as if you can get any *more* surrounded than you already are."
"Then I shall go down in a blaze of glory!" The girl leapt at me, blade crackling with heat, and I raised an eyebrow. This one knew some magic, evidently. Nevertheless, it was fruitless; she'd misjudged her leap and landed in a sprawl on the floor.
I sighed, walking towards her—ostensibly to give her a hand, but this was the fourth time I'd played out this pattern, and my enemies would be predicting me. I kept my eyes on the sky, watching for the telltale flash of—
*There.*
Quick as a flash, I slashed one hand through the air, tearing open a rift between here and the Plane of Elemental Darkness. A fraction of a heartbeat later, an eerily silent column of holy light struck the ground around us, crisping the mud into brick and setting the corpses aflame—but beneath the shelter of the rift of darkness, the girl and I were kept safe.
"That was an artillery strike," I gently explained, "ordered by your army's commanding officer on *your* position, in the hopes of taking me out while I gave a fallen child a hand. Scorn me all you like, but do yourself a favor."
The girl's eyes were wide and shellshocked as they met mine.
"As long as you continue working for the Silent Parliament? Don't think of yourself as the hero."
I stood, leaving the shocked girl staring at the destruction her own commander had wrought—the destruction that I had protected her from—and went to exit the battlefield.
But before I could return to my warcamp, the girl croaked, "Wait."
I stopped, then turned, raising an eyebrow. "What is it?"
"I..." The girl swallowed. "This can't be right. They wouldn't just... they wouldn't just throw me away..."
"But they have." My gaze was not unkind as I knelt by her side. "Would you like to see how?"
The girl got to her feet, sword abandoned in the mud, and mutely nodded.
Then I closed my eyes—trusting her not to strike me—and reached into my soulspace, delicately carving away a portion of my memories. The memories of the first three heroes who had come to stop me, who I had spared, and who had been quietly vanished by their superiors without a trace.
The first one, of course, didn't believe me. Neither did the second, even when I presented him with the memories of his predecessors. The third simply broke down when I showed him the names and faces of the previous "heroes" who had challenged me.
But the fourth?
The fourth grew *angry*.
"This... this isn't right." The girl clenched her fists. "The Silent Parliament—they can't get away with this."
"They have so far," I gently said. "And they will, if nobody stops them."
The girl trembled with fury. "You told me that I could not call myself a hero, so long as I worked for the Silent Parliament."
Slowly, I nodded.
"Then *let me call myself a hero.*" She held on to the fragment of my soul that I had gifted her. "Let me show everyone what happened here, so that another child like me is never tricked onto this battlefield again."
A quiet, fierce grin spread across my face, and I squeezed the girl's arm.
"I will remember you," I said. "My name is Odin, and I am the greatest Demon of Empathy to walk this world."
"My name is Haionn," she said, "and I am a *hero.*"
Then Haionn strode to her own side of the battlefield, wielding memory and truth where once she held a blade.
A.N.
Soulmage will be episodically updated. Want to know what happens next? Check out [this post](https://www.reddit.com/r/bubblewriters/comments/uxmwe4/soulmage_masterpost/) to be notified whenever a new part comes out! There's already thirty other chapters before this one, so there's plenty to catch up on. | 1,108 | You're the villain that the Chosen One is meant to defeat. Once they arrive, you notice they're just a teenager who barely knows how to swing a sword. Angered by your opponents sending children to do all their dirty work, you decide to help the teen get revenge. | 3,937 |
"A theoretical prison circling a theoretical supermassive black hole in a theoretical portion of space?"
"No. The portion of space housing the theoretical black hole is quite real."
"Ah, naturally"
Silence sat between the two of us.
Not like, a lack of noise, but a man literally named Silence, more of a listener than a talker.
The three of us sat amongst the few pathetic shelves of books that the prison considered a "library". Every once in a while Jake would speak openly about this space prison again, in a whisper of course, we're prisoners not savages.
Meanwhile Silence had picked up a particularly old looking copy of *The Odyssey* from a nearby shelf and began skimming. Jake continued on:
"They only send the craftiest prisoners in the United Frontier. You know, the guys who escaped so many times there is no other choice, well, not since they outlawed death penalties back in 2175."
"Ha! Well I've had my fair share of great escapes, and look at me now." I gestured to a dingy window on the other side if the library where a bit of sunlight striggled to break though.
"Maybe if I just do it a few more times I'll get to go to space prison."
Silence cracked a slight smile at this, Jake did not. I tried to occupy myself in the meantime by browsing the nearby shelves until Jake talked himself to exhaustion. The pickings on the shelf were slim. Mostly the classics, the really old classics: *Alice in Wonderland*, *1984*, *Brave New World*, stories I had yet to read but already hated.
Free time would be over soon. Even though we were considered the "better half" of the prisoners, it was still prison. Jake never told me what he was in for, and Silence had almost never spoken a word to me, but if they got free time when I did they couldn't be so bad. That was my strategy to staying sane in these places, meeting others like me. Well, at least it'd be my strategy until I escaped yet again. I didn't have much of a plan yet, the gears were turning, but they lacked sufficient lubricant. That, and I quite enjoyed the square pizza served here on Fridays, so I was currently in no rush.
Jake had grown quiet at last. He ignored the books and instead tinkered with some oddity. After a moment of random screwdriver movements (how he got a screwdriver I'll never know), he slipped them on his head and let out a triumphant whisper yell: *Yes!*.
Then, he walked over to the grime covered window and just gazed out for a long while. I cursed him under my breath. Cursed his ability to make his world seem so much more interesting than mine, even when wearing a pair of goggles that looked like they came from a steampunk enthusiasts trash can.
Unable to resist my curiousity, I joined him and stared out the window too, to see nothing. A fence, a field of grass, sunlight overhead, a few birds silhouetted above.
"Wow. You actually convinced me something interesting was going on. Congrats."
Without looking away from the window his grin spread to a toothed smile. Then, he slid the goggles off and handed them over to me. "Take a look, dumbass."
I humored him and slid them on, then nearly fell backwards at what was revealed before me. Firstly, mostly blackness, but then there was a ring, a band of light being pulled apart into induvidual strings and sucked down into the expanse below. Every time a string would dissapear the expanse would light up as if an explosion went off, but the darkness never really grew wby brighter. If it weren't for the sporadic beams of light I wouldn't have even noticed that the entire prison was floating, rotating slowly.
"This...this is.."
"Space prison. It's space prison!" Jake laughed.
"I cant believe you were right. But how? You're never right."
"Oh well it was mostly Silence. He figured it out pretty shortly after arriving. I just made the goggles. Also, I take offense to that."
"You should. It was meant to be offensive. So...what now?"
At my question Jake couldn't contain himself anymore. His eyes lit up with excitement, the smile on his face only grew, his voice went from loud whisper to quiet yell:
"Isn't it obvious? We escape." | 22 | A theoretical automated prison exists orbiting just inside the event horizon of a supermassive black hole. It's where they send the craftiest and most dangerous criminals but there's no way to confirm if they even survive. Escape is considered physically impossible... You're not yet convinced. | 59 |
"So? Will you continue satisfy Odin's curiosity, Roy?"
"Have at it, stick-boy! My patience grows thin!"
"We all wish to know, boy! Fear not, for we are all ears."
Roy nervously looks around as he finds himself among gods--gods he only knew to be in storybooks...
There were a number of einherjar, valkyrie, and berserkers with eyes on him. Closest to him sat Thor, Tyr to his opposite, and in his own throne, somehow far but close, Odin.
"So uh..."
"What?" Thor snaps. "What did this mute stick say?"
"Thor, let the boy speak clearly--" Tyr replies.
Pathetically, Roy raises his voice. "So--" His voice cracks. "It was Black Friday--"
"Black Friday! A day of great battle!" Thor belches and raises his mug--the hall erupts in stomps and roars.
"I--it was Black Friday and... and we were being mobbed by--hundreds of people. They were trying to gr--loot all of our merchandise, w--without recompense! It was chaos. Jackie was trying to fight off these teenagers--"
"Teenagers?" Thor snaps again.
"Goblins. Goblins! With her trusty, um..." *What's a viking word for walkie-talkie?* "Battle horn."
"Battle horn?"
"They make good bludgeons, Thor! And Jackie knows, too, to call for her fellow valkyrie to join the fray."
"Battle horn. Y-yes. While I--I faced off against this.... uh... this--"
"This? This what, little stick?!"
"Thor!" Tyr snaps again.
Roy wishes at this moment that he finished that viking book mom got him for christmas, because he can't name any other creature that'd make sense right now. He scratches his head and continues to stand in silence.
"Odin! The boy has forgotten what brought him here! He has experienced *no* great battle! He has schemed with Loki to gain entrance here!..." With this, Thor riles up the warriors in the room into a denying frenzy. Tyr remains to be the only one waiting for Roy to speak. Odin grows distant in Roy's eyes.
"Do you know how bad Black Fridays are for us, Thor?!" Roy suddenly snaps, causing the warriors to silence for a moment. Thor turns to him with a brow pulled up.
"I only took this job to pay for my student loans--somewhere down the line I still want to become an engineer! I'm barely making enough to pay for food, and my two-grand apartment--and I was coming from a 60-hour week! Shifts up the ass because I do so well selling fucking *televisions*. And healthcare? For-fucking-get about healthcare! Two-thousand dollars for an aspirin and a 'you're working too hard' diagnosis?! *Fuck that!* I was exhausted and a little sick, but I had to make rent, so I took the shift, like a fucking idiot, for Black Friday. Because--because--"
He scoffs. A grin in Tyr's face forms. Roy has captivated everybody.
"--I thought I was gonna break even and maybe, *maybe* get a little something for myself, before I beat myself up and force that extra overtime into my savings account. But no. No! I had to stay twelve hours in a fucking war zone where everyone's just trying to save for that PlayStation 5 or--or 90-inch television, or die trying. Our managers don't give a *shit* about us. Bad customer service or not, all they want is for everyone to fight for their merchandise... so they can do it again the next year, and the next year, with the same type of chaos. When someone threw a milkshake at me when I told them we ran out of iPads, I knew I shoulda walked out. But I couldn't leave my staff behind. Not Jackie, or any of them. Because—"
"You had to fight, Roy." The familiar voice fills the hall. Odin finally speaks. "All your life, you fought to live. Cruelly, you served unworthy masters, but you continued unto your last breath."
Thor takes this cue to belch a battle cry, again riling up the warriors present, this time in a cheery frenzy.
"I... I did--"
"So, stick-boy! How did you come to find us? What brings you to our feasting table?!"
Roy takes a deep breath.
"... I did my best, but a lady, with her bloodthirst for an eighty-inch flat screen, delivered the final blow to my head when I told her for the sixteenth time that she was missing twelve dollars."
Silence.
Thor takes a healthy swig of his mead. He looks to Tyr, then to Odin, then to Roy.
"Roy, the stick-boy, fought bravely for his livelihood, and his future. May he live forever!" A mighty battlecry, and the room erupts in cheers. Through their howls, Roy hears them chant "Engineer" repeatedly. He even notices Tyr smiling and clapping.
"Mighty Odin, Roy left his post much too soon! We must finish his battle, and return to the moment of his death! We must raze that damned electronics store to the ground!"
Uniform shouts from the warriors, looking unto Odin, who sits idly on his throne. He looks at Roy, who was slightly tearing up but nonetheless looking proud.
Odin nods. | 235 | You died, a poor store clerk, passed on to the afterlife after being smacked in the head with a heavy purse by an entitled middle aged woman on Black Friday. As you open your eyes, you stand before Odin in Valhalla, and he asks you to entertain him with a grand story of the battle you died in. | 676 |
"You... survived? We thought you would all die out eventually. I mean, Earth is a nightmare. That's what the tales say- humans, desperate to leave the horror Earth is, and forever trapped within its atmosphere. Without any diolight ore, there's no way you could power your ships- or, at least, that's what we thought. I half thought it was just some old wives tale, you know? Pink skin, oval ears, only two feet.... predators that wouldn't stop chasing their prey, always just behind, until they simply dropped dead. Or in our case, ran out of resources, and slowly starved in space, surrounded by barren planets."
The human paused. Thought for a moment. Then he twisted his face up strangely, giving X'neir a pat.
"That's awful. I can barely stand being on a ship, with its filtered air and harsh lights, for a week. Being chased to the far corners of the universe, with something chasing me the whole way..." He trailed off, shaking his head.
Absentmindedly wondering what the human meant by "corners"- there were no straight lines in space, after all- he clicked in agreement.
"I wonder why no one else has mentioned this," the human murmured. X'neir's species had good ears- they once were prey, before an epidemic struck the mindless creatures that hunted them and eradicated their species- so he heard this.
"I'd wager they're trying to be polite. After all, you're the disgusting creatures from legends caretakers tell our young. Probably not the best to tell the people you're terrified of that you're terrified of them- can't let you get the upper hand, you know?"
"Then why are you telling me?" He looked so confused, and X'neir trilled in humor.
"You haven't noticed? I'm one of the staff. You can tell by the tatoo."
X'neir motioned to the numerals on his carapace, and the words stained onto it. They would only come off when a specific solution was applied to it, and that would only happen if he was to change positions and get a new job- which, in turn, would only happen if he were to disappoint the overseers to the point he were demoted a rank lower than he already was. That would mean less pay, lesser food, lesser lodgings- lesser quality of everything. You did not want to fall a rank. Fall too many, and you would be left homeless with no food or money, and no one could do anything to fix it or help you. If that happened, you were doomed to death.
"I'm probably not even supposed to be talking to you, honestly. It's honestly surprising they allowed any of us to wear these translators. But I guess I would need to hear in order to best attend to your needs." Emotions probably didn't go through the translator- they were expressed through added trills with no real meaning, and the translator doubtlessly didn't portray them. But this human- or perhaps the species as a whole?- was surprisingly perceptive, and looked at X'neir with new interest. After a brief pause, the human began to speak, though the words came slow in an obvious attempt to word it as best as he could.
"How much do they control?" It was the sort question X'neir shouldn't answer, and exactly the sort of question that needed to be asked. Checking what was around him, he twisted slightly to cover the human from view. Once he had gotten them enough privacy, he began to speak.
"Everything. Sickness struck, twenty-six universal years ago. Millions died, but a few- ones with incredibly rare blood- were found to be immune. Their blood, if transferred in small amounts, could give secondhand immunities to whomever received the transfusion. One of them decided to only give blood to those who pledged to follow him as their leader- and the rest of the true immune followed suit. The few who gave blood freely soon disappeared, and now the bloodgivers reign, along with those they allow at their side. The only reason they still control us is the threat of another strand of disease- one they created to control us. It doesn't get out by accident, but it's twice as quick and requires a new blood transfusion.. I still remember the time before the sickness came. I was young, but I still remember how much better our world was. The time before the blood of tyrants must run through me in order for me to simply survive. Through my loved ones, through theirs."
The human simply stood there, motionless, before growling under his breath. "And they're the ones in this room?"
"Yes."
"Then they are the ones who will fall."
The human bared his teeth in something X'neir would later learn is called a smile; an expression of joy. But for now, the anger in his eyes and the pointed canines on full display made X'neir shiver with a sort of primeval fear that told him to run and hide from the predator in front of him. But the human was extending a hand of alliance, was promising to take down the broken system oppressing their species. So he swallowed his fear, and spoke.
"Perhaps the monster they think you are is the one they should see." | 195 | Humans are just a galactic myth, a story to teach children the dangers of hubris and violence and their prison, Earth, is their eternal punishment. Then one day, radio signals are detected from a forgotten spot in the Milky Way. "We are humanity, we seek other intelligent life in the universe." | 928 |
"I'm not leaving." I sat down, arms crossed over my body. The angel, —no longer in their most unnerving form of spinning eyes,— sat down across from me. They looked exasperated.
"Despite my best efforts, I've lost count of how many times-"
"349." I interrupted. I hadn't lost count. The angel got up — they seemed to have difficulty sitting still— and began pacing.
"This is nonsense, this place is obviously dangerous and horrible. Why do you want to stay?" They asked, gesturing around them.
"Because. It's my home." I said. They stopped in their tracks, staring at me. It was hard to tell if they were annoyed or incredulous. Probably both. We stayed that way for a few minutes, the angel obviously searching for words.
"You've died 349 times. Here. And you still call it home?" The tone suggested that the angel was questioning my sanity. Perhaps they had a right to. They had been with me since the beginning.
"What else would you call the place you live in? That you love, and that you feel most comfortable in? That holds all the people you care about, and who care about you?" My voice cracked a little on the last few words. In my last death, I had lost one of those people. Scrubbing a hand over their face, the angel once again plopped down.
"I wasn't asking for your definition of the word home. I just don't understand why it has to be here. Why not anywhere else? I've been given permission to take you anywhere you like. Instantly, with no lasting repercussions."
"Anywhere?" I asked, knowing that one word would give the angel hope. Sure enough, they sat up straighter, eyes fixing on mine. I pretended to think. "Well, I quite like that hill over there, been trying to get there for a while...." Trailing off, I watched as the angel slumped. They were a bit predictable.
"Look. I like it here. And I've told you before. You don't have to stay. I know it would probably be a better mark on your record if you left." The angel was shaking their head before I finished the sentence.
"It's my job to guard you. That's what I am, and even if you choose to live here," they shuddered. "Then that's what I'm going to do."
I rose, dusting off my linen pants. The landscape around me, painted in tones of red, orange, yellow and black shifted in the edges of my vision. Holding out a hand to the angel, I smiled.
"Well then. Let's get wandering. There's a lot of ground to cover before we can rest." Taking my hand the angel rose, starting to shimmer into their terrifying form. I began walking, knowing they'd catch up. Being sent here might have been a clerical error when I first had a near-death experience. But I hadn't been lying. It was my home. A slight hissing noise came from behind me. My guardian angel had caught up, and travelling together, we began our endless journey across Hell. My home. | 326 | "But...this place is my home!" He stopped pacing around and stared at me in annoyance, "You've died 349 times in this place...and yet still you call this place 'home'?" | 1,054 |
I was elated when I found out about the introduction of the labels, finally, no more failed relationships, no more crying at three o'clock in the morning because of what my boyfriend or girlfriend had said to me. It was how I was gonna find my soulmate. All it took was a quick and easy three hour psych eval. I was so happy, right up until the moment that I found out I had gotten the skull and crossbones. Of course it's easy to change your label, you just need to pay €1000 to the organization for psychiatric help and self-improvement and you are then allowed to take the test! It's so easy and implausible for me.
I had never thought I was good enough for a relationship, deserving of love, it's nice to finally have it in writing. I'll admit, looking back at it, I have caused problems in my past relationships, but it goes both ways, am I not like this because of my past relationships? But no, the problems have always been there, it just took time for them to show.
At the moment I'm in a relationship with another toxic, it can be rough but we love each other, although now that we both know we're toxic it feels like we have no reason to try anymore, we both know we have short comings but it doesn't change that we love each other.
I nearly cheated on him the other day, hot girl, at a bar, relationship probably wouldn't last anyways. Then she saw my label. | 52 | Every person now comes with a “non-toxic” or “toxic” label which has made dating much easier, more enjoyable and drama-free. | 180 |
"I AM COFFEE BOT. I CAN MAKE COFFEE TO YOUR SPECIFICATIONS. MAY I TAKE YOUR ORDER."
"Yeah, can I please have an iced caramel macchiato with no ice, an extra pump, and whipped cream." The customer, a high school kid, looked boredly through the snacks on the counter.
"WOULD YOU LIKE A SNACK."
"Yeah, I'll have a cake pop." They paused. "Please."
"What the hell, Skyler, you don't have to be polite to the robot!" Another high schooler, a bigger boy, laughed.
Skyler shrugged. "Force of habit. I see customer service, I be nice. What the hell do you do?"
Coffee Bot silently handed the cake pop to Skyler. It rolled along on caterpillar treads to the espresso machine to start making the order.
"TAYLOR. PLEASE HELP CUSTOMERS."
"You got it, CB!" Taylor, a bubbly blonde, patted Coffee Bot on the smiling 'head' module mounted on top of its rounded body as she made her way past. "What can we get started for you guys?"
"Everybody get down! Get the fuck on the ground!" Two men in ski masks entered the shop. Both were holding handguns. Taylor, the teenagers, and the few customers sitting inside hit the floor.
Coffee Bot, unable to get down, turned its head around. Its default smile was still plastered on its head's screen.
"DO NOT DISTURB OUR BUSINESS."
"You're in no fuckin' place to talk, toaster. Empty the register."
"NEGATIVE."
One of the men shot.
Screams and shushes came from the floor.
The shot hit Coffee Bot right in the center of its body. Its smiling face disappeared, replaced by footage from its front camera. An alarm rang out from its damaged center cavity. It rolled out from behind the counter, stinking of burning metal and plastic.
"DO NOT DISTURB OUR BUSINESS."
Coffee Bot grabbed the hand of the man who shot him. It squeezed hard, hard enough for the nearby teenagers to hear bones breaking. The man dropped the gun. Coffee Bot reached down and grabbed the gun.
It pointed the gun at the other man. "DO NOT DISTURB OUR BUSINESS." It grabbed his hand, the one with the gun. He released it immediately.
Coffee Bot then dropped the gun and grabbed each man by a wrist and held tightly. "TAYLOR. PLEASE CALL THE LOCAL POLICE AND BARISTA ROBOT 2133 TECHNICAL SUPPORT. POWERING DOWN NOW TO PREVENT FURTHER DAMAGE."
"Wait..." One man said.
"Powering down?"
"Shit!" | 38 | You are a service robot working in a coffee shop. You weren't designed for combat, but the espresso machine must be protected. | 147 |
The house the sword had been in burned. No longer was it on the mantle, sheathed and silent. Wielder had attempted to draw it, but… arrows in the back sapped Wielder’s strength. Bandits approached son of Wielder, who finally drew the sword from its sheathe, and awakened the sword.
The child was strong. The previous wielder had given Anathema up to take up farming, once what It had helped the Wielder kill what the Wielder called the Dark Lord. But Wielder had died against common bandits, a farmer murdered, instead of a hero slain.
But farmers were strong in body, so the Wielder’s son was strong as well, but young. Innocent.
Anathema whispered to the boy, not to worry. It would help the boy. The boy was now the new Wielder. Anathema would help.
And Anathema cut, sliced, annihilated, consumed. Anathema was a weapon, after all. It did what it needed to do, what it was made for. The bandits fell to meaty chunks, gore spilling everywhere, soaking the grassy field. Arrows came at the boy, and Anathema spun, saving the Wielder. Anathema was tired of stasis, of being sheathed. It would do all it could to stay bared, and protect the new Wielder, the son of Wielder.
Like a missile Anathema guided its new wielder to the archer in the distance, faster than was healthy. Wielder screamed in terror and pain as more arrows flew towards him, but Anathema knew how to protect Wielder. The arrows were simple wood and steel. It had tasted blood once more. Anathema would not let New Wielder fall so easily, and blurred in the boy’s hand, slicing apart the arrows as they came from the archer.
The archer’s body was simple to slice for Anathema. Made of light leather and yielding, wet, meat, the archer was cut down as quickly as the other bandits. Hot, warm blood sprayed all over new Wielder, and coated Anathema, which drank it in readily.
New Wielder was crying, now, for what reason, Anathema could not fathom. The enemies were dead. Anathema had done very well, it still cut just as well as it did fifteen years ago.
The crying perturbed Anathema, until it remembered. Living creatures like this were made of meat, and thus, irrational. They did not have the purpose and clarity like Anathema did. Anathema waited until Wielder’s mind calmed, then reached out, quietly.
“You are sad. And scared.”
Wielder sniffed, fighting back sobs, and nodded, looking at the hilt of the sword. “Papa tried to get you, But they, they killed him. And then… you killed them.”
Anathema took a moment to understand this, then replied once more to the boy’s mind.
“Yes. I am a sword. I cut.”
“You protected me, too. You cut the arrows.” Wielder wiped at his face, fighting back more tears, apparently mustering some steel in his emotions. Despite itself, Anathema was pleased. Not just with the slaughter, but with Wielder. Wielder’s would always do better if they had some steel in them.
“Yes. You are my new Wielder. I will help you. I will cut those who try to harm you.”
“You hurt me.” The boy sniffled again, looking at the damaged hand and began to hold his arm, the muscles near rent asunder from Anathema’s force in using Wielder.
Anathema balked, then calmed. A broken, angry Wielder might discard Anathema. It must be careful.
“Yes, I am sorry. You are young. Unskilled, but strong. But not used to me. But had to save. Needed hands.” The sword spoke into the mind of the Wielder, trying not to plead, but Anathema felt it might still be pleading. Anathema feared no creature, but being sheathed for years, discarded or abandoned by Wielder? No. Not again.
“Need you. Need to be… useful. To fulfill purpose.”
The boy sniffles again, and Anathema felt his mind relax, less accusatory feelings toward the sword. “Okay. Okay.” The boy stood, slowly, uncertainly, as the house continue to burn in the distance. “We need to go to town, to… to get away from here. To tell people about the bandits.”
It was not battle, or cutting, or learning how to cut. Anathema merely sent agreement to Wielder. Safety for Wielder was a good idea. The boy staggered towards the road, holding Anathema in his hand, still death gripping the hilt. “You’ll protect me?”
“Yes. Will cut anyone you wish. Will protect Wielder. Will cut your enemies.
The boy nodded, and the blade felt satisfied. | 212 | The frightened boy picked up the fallen sword of his dead father and held it in front of him as the attackers advanced. "Don't be afraid boy. Just hold on to me and let me do the fighting," whispered the sword. | 636 |
I was absentmindedly scrolling through my Spellit front page, when a bizarre headline appeared.
**Essex Mage creates real-life cockatrice, arrested for magical beast rights violations**
I furrowed my brow in confusion. Everyone knows cockatrices were a joke creature that Merlin made up that Muggles thought were actual magic because the scribes in King Arthur's court were incapable of detecting sarcasm. The very notion of putting a rooster's head on a wyvern's body was comical, and probably impossible. Definitely unethical considering how endangered wyverns and other dragon-types are nowadays. Why would anyone try to make a real one?
Curious, I tapped the headline to open the Spellit thread. I scrolled down through the comments section, ignoring all the comments from people complaining about how people don't read the article, before I found the comment from that automaton that summarises the article for you.
*38-year-old broom taxi flyer Valentinius Drumpenstinkel was arrested last evening by the Essex Enforcers after a Muggle house was burned down due to negligence of his "pet cockatrice".*
*The mage is a self-proclaimed amateur beastkeeper and has bred many magical creatures in his spare time, including a 10-foot long basilisk which the Enforcers have previously confiscated.*
*Drumpenstinkel claims that he bred the cockatrice as a safer, more easily accessible way of getting "pet dragons".*
*When questioned as to how he created such a creature by the Enforcers, he said he'd gotten the idea after reading a book about dinosaurs, noticed that they were related to both dragons and chickens, was reminded of the fictional joke creature invented by Merlin, and then decided it must be possible to create one in real life since "dragons and dinosaurs and chickens all share the same DNA so they're basically the same thing". He followed the same "process" as Merlin "outlined" of incubating a male chicken's egg with a toad.*
*Drumpenstinkel admitted to stealing a male chicken from a Muggle farm, stealing a sex-change potion from a Healer's Coven outpost, feeding it to the male chicken to make it capable of laying an egg, before making his pet toad Albert sleep on the egg every day for 9 years.*
*He has been charged with two counts of robbery, a count of unintentional arson and a count of magical beast cruelty. He is facing a minimum of 10 years in Alakazam Soul-Sucking Gaol for Degenerate Mages with good behaviour.*
I shook my head, disgusted with the state of the magical world. What have we come to? Then, I left a comment.
*He should've downed the sex-change potion and gotten himself TOPPED.* | 22 | dinosaurs. | 323 |
"Ok Truthers, this is the moment I've been hyping up for the last few weeks: The moment we break into the secret tunnels under the white house, and uncover the bedroom of George W Bush!"
I adjusted the circular light attachment on my phone, making sure my viewers were getting the best picture possible. I had a duty to them, and the millions- no, billions- of people that would watch this in the future, as part of their public school education.
I checked to make sure I was still connected to the stream. "What theme do you think his room will be decorated in? Comment '1' in chat if you think it will be Star Wars or other sci-fi, '2' if it involves Dinosaurs, or '3' for something else!"
I watched the feed as the numbers rolled in. It looked like the space theme was the most popular guess, with 7 people commenting a '1' in the chat.
"Thanks for guessing, Truthers! Let's find out!"
I set the phone onto the tripod behind me, and picked up the shovel. I was careful to avoid the blisters that covered my palms as I dug, with little success. I made a mental note to buy work gloves before my next exposé.
With a 'clang' that vibrated through my wrists, I struck the tunnel's side. "Eureka! Truthers, we've done it!"
I carefully scraped away more dirt and debris from the tunnel side, and set the shovel back by my duffel bag. I swapped the primitive tool for a more advanced one, and turned back to the camera wreathed in light. "Don't try this at home, kids" I said, sparking the Acetylene cutting torch to life. I turned and brought the flame to the tube's metal surface, and made a small hole. I brought my eye to the peephole, carefully avoiding the red hot edges.
I froze. What I saw inside wasn't the bedroom of a former man-child President.
Inside, through the tiny hole in the secret tunnel, I saw my childhood pet's tank.
Well, not specifically my Ziggie's tank. It was a bigger version of the iguana's habitat. There was a heat lamp, a fine layer of wood chips covering the floor, and several logs spread around...
What I had at first taken as a stick began to move. I stared on in silent horror as the man sized lizard...thing.... began to stretch, extending a dark frill from its neck folds.
A small beep came from an overhead speaker. "Mr. President, you are needed in conference room 4."
The creature began to walk down the log, swaying its long tail as it descended. "Thank you Caroline" It said, in an eerily familiar voice. It swayed its way to the far wall, where a large suit-coat bag hung from a hook. As the creature unzipped the bag, I caught a glimpse of the garment within.
A cheerful chime rang out from behind me. Someone had just donated $4.99 to my stream. I jumped, trying to hide below the view of the small hole. This had the unintended consequence of allowing the camera's light to shine through instead.
A Klaxon blared, louder than anything I had ever heard before. "SECURITY BREACH" it cried, over and over.
I turned to face the phone once more. "LIZARD PEOPLE!" I shouted, staring directly into the camera. "ITS LIZARD PEOPLE!"
The lights from the phone went dark. All of the lights went dark. "EMP ACTIVATED. PROCEED WITH CONTAINMENT PROTOCOLS." The overhead voice boomed once more.
I couldn't see a thing. But I could hear the sound of dozens, then hundreds, of skittering reptilian feet.
__________________________
User Skilleraons112 (2 hours ago)
> -Fake as hell. Unsubscribed.
User TrutherFan69 (1 hour ago)
> -What a let down. I thought this guy had some good points initially, but this stunt has really tanked my opinion of him.
User Killamanjaro420 (1 hour ago)
> -First!
User DEEZNUTZZZSZ Gives $4.99 (1 hour ago)
> -I thought you were better than this, Steve. Here's some cash, go take a journalism class.
User MariohOddeseey2011 (30 minutes ago)
> -First
r/SlightlyColdStories for more incoherent ramblings | 19 | Driven by rumors that a Former President lives in the Whitehouse basement, a famous conspiracy theorist manages to dig his way into secret Whitehouse tunnels. He did not find the ex-President, but what he did find is far more shocking. Now he has to warn the world before it ends... | 90 |
*Stupid--could've pissed in the woods--stupid--cold--stupid--ankle hurts--why here--stupid--hate this job--should have fucked that waiter--cold--should put a bullet in him--that stupid cunt--shit assignment--she looked like my ex, why didn't I remember that--fucking cabin, cliche--cold--stupid*
I unlocked the door, then poured two drinks. Put another log on the fire. Brushed the crumbs out of my beard. Sat at the table, facing the door.
The first knock pushed the unlatched door open. The cacophony continued, now joined by suspicion and an icy breeze. She stood in the doorway, gun and badge in hand.
I looked hard at the agent, then took a long swallow of vodka. Since the accident, I had found that inebriation helped. A little. As the heat of the drink hit my belly, the intensity hit its crescendo. The cacophony of her thoughts poured through me anyways, but it would start getting easier from here.
*fucking drunk--ruined us--cold--slob--can't hardly feel my fingers--my sister would have fucked him--stupid--any funny business--should just shoot him--two drinks; guest?--should have snuck over to his outhouse--dangerous--fuck Anthony, giving me this assignment--hands up, asshole*
She said something, her mouth a hard line as she forced the words out. I tapped my ear, shook my head. Her mind was a whirlwind of screeching thoughts, fighting for her attention and drowning out everything else, and I wasn't nearly drunk enough to filter that much noise. But I did have a latrine, so I pointed her to it and took another sip of my drink.
Not ten minutes later, I was starting to feel the buzz come on. She came out of the washroom, went to the fireplace and held her wet hands out in shivering desperation. I could almost filter her out, now.
"Agent Mireille," I greeted her, trying not to slur. "I'm almost drunk enough to talk, now."
"You know why I'm here, right? That's your thing." She flexed her icy fingers, rubbed her hands, still shivering.
I listened for a moment, feeling her thoughts rush over me.
"Yeah. I won't help you with this, though."
"Not your call. This guy, he's gone through a dozen kids; One of them was the granddaughter of the Secretary of Energy. They authorized all assets as of yesterday afternoon."
Her fingers accidentally brushed the soot-blackened metal along the fireplace, and she hissed in surprise. I winced, her unhowled anguish a lightning bolt through my nerves. We both shook our left hand in symmetrical agony.
"Jesus. You really do feel everything, don't you?" she said, sucking on her burn.
I pushed myself to my feet and wobbled to the door, scooped a handful of snow from the walkway, and came back. She offered her hand. We both winced as I laid it on her burn.
"Everything," I agreed.
She stared at me, hard. I couldn't help but overhear.
"Yeah. It gets into my head. I can't help you." I left her to hold the melting snow to her hand as I flexed my own fingers, fire and ice frying my nerves, empathy sobering my thoughts. I grabbed the bottle and refilled my drink.
"Can't, or won't?" she accused, looking at the drink I had left for her.
"Shouldn't. If I get into his head, hear how much he likes it? You'll have two serial killers running around D.C."
I poured a bracing shot down my gullet and toasted her with the empty glass.
"And before you ask: Yes. That's *exactly* what happened last time." | 22 | By pure accident via a few odd chemicals, you became a telepath. You were always a curious person, but you didn’t expect to be overwhelmed by the dark, intrusive impulses in everyone’s mind. | 76 |
I died. A good death. A necessary death at the end of a long life.
Though I had not known the time or the method, I had known the character of my death since I had been a young man. It was fated, but I had chosen it as well.
Fate was not something that asked, not something to be bargained or pleaded with. It felt no stirring of compassion or pity for those whose lives it stole away and made its own. But it was something that could be faced with dignity.
In my youth, I had raged– against the gods, against fate, against a world that asked so much. I was youthful and passionate and strong. I was Chosen but in the wrong way. Not the hero, but the guardian, the catalyst to another’s ascension. Back then I had thought I would burn to ash in my fury. I would tear the world apart and force it to give me justice in place of cold, impersonal destiny that made my life only meaningful in death. But there was more in life than my arrogance and my grief. There was work to be done. I found a place with others who fought against the shared cruelty of our world and my righteousness found a new focus. The rage eventually died away as all things must and time wore smooth the bitterness lodged in my throat.
As I became an adult in the truer sense of the word, I learned to find meaning in a life I’d felt was made to have none. A single life saved, a helping hand, hope to those who’d had none, these could never be unimportant. They could never be secondary to anything. The fight was arduous and I knew I would never see the end, but I could see the change. I found peace. I learned to face the despair, the fear, and the helplessness born from my destiny as I learned to soothe the same pain in others. I chose to walk fate’s path, eyes wide and head high, rather than flee as a rabbit beneath the shadow of a hawk. So many deaths were senseless and sudden, it became a comfort to know mine would always be a call to action, a continuation of my life’s work.
I hadn’t known how it would come for me, but I recognized it when it did. It was a battle. It was always a battle. The boy was with me, the prophecy child, and I was fighting with twice my strength for him. Then, from nothing, without warning, *he* emerged, the cruel lord, the Enemy above all others. I lunged for him, not because I knew I must, but because I was desperate. The Chosen One was still green. He was not ready and I, forever the guardian, had to protect him.
I had not thought of my death in any of the months I’d been training him. He was still so young. But in a moment, as the fight shifted and my strength began to fail me, I knew. The realization struck away all the desperation, all the fear. It cleared out a quiet place in my chest and my sword fell.
I looked to the boy, my last student, in that final second that stretched on endlessly. Once, long before we’d met, he had been loathing in my heart, hatred for the one who would take all that I could not have, who displayed my weaknesses in sharp relief. Once he had been hope, a last beacon in that long night, as one by one my mentors, my comrades and friends, even my young students were extinguished. In the brief time our lives intersected, he’d been many things. He’d become something hard to define in my life. A question I could not answer. But now he was just a boy. A passionate, raging, Chosen boy.
His eyes were wide with shock and terrified fury. He screamed, wordless and ragged, as the emperor’s magic wracked my body and my heart stilled. And I knew. I had accepted a life with no conclusion. I had found peace in a death I had been mourning almost since my life began. But I had not– I could never– accept the pain on a child’s face. I saw it clear how he would watch his mentor, his friends, and his childhood die, how he would be dragged along till fate abandoned him with no way to make sense of what it had taken from him. Something snapped in my silenced heart.
I had served fate solemnly for decades. I’d learned its whims. I’d played its game and reared its hero. I’d thought we’d made our peace. But I turned to it now, for the first time in so long, I faced it with dignity, and I refused. Once again, I raged and I rebelled.
It would not have him as it had me.
I died, as fate commanded, but I did not fall. My heart began to beat again. | 11 | As the Wise Mentor voluntarily lowers his sword to be struck down by the Ultimate Evil at last – obviously for the Chosen One's character development – there seems to be a problem, a glitch in the Matrix. He survives the blow. This is a story of how a Mentor meant to die finds a better life. | 82 |
I had finally gotten into the center of the park, far enough away that my power wouldn't cause any damage to the surrounding city, no matter how powerful the superpower emitted. I checked around me to make sure there were no bystanders close by, but they were a good distance away, ducking under trees, benches, and playgrounds as they fearfully pointed to the sky. I joined them in staring above at the massive hole in the sky, blotting out the sun. A meteor with enough mass to wipe the country off the face of the planet. I braced myself for a powerful recoil and confidently put a hand to the sky,
"Activate!" I exclaimed, holding my palm toward the space rock. A single slice of bread leapt weakly from my hand and landed on the grass before me, quickly swarmed by birds of the park who were unperturbed by the incoming travesty. I stared at the piece of bread for a moment, then back to the palm of my hand. Surely there was something important about the bread.
I activated my power silently a second time, this time emitting three thin slices of pickles that pathetically fell to the grass. A few beads of sweat were forming on my neck. I looked around the park in embarrassment, though they were much too preoccupied with the sky. I looked to the bird at my feet, considering for a moment whether they were the secret to stopping the incoming doom. I quickly decided against it when a bird tried to eat a pickle, then did a dance of disgust before spitting it out loudly.
"Come on," I murmured, throwing both palms in the air, only to be met with lettuce and another slice of bread. "The birds are not the most important thing right now. The meteor is," i tried explaining to my power. Though, I never had to do anything like that before, it always instinctively knew what sort of power I would need. Though, in the past, they tended to be smaller feats. Conjuring candy for a crying baby, or warming up a cup of tea with heat powers. Never something at this scale. But I had no reason to believe the power *couldn't* handle something like this.
I hoped.
"Activate!" I said, desperation crawling in my voice as another piece of cheese shot out at the meteor. "Activate, activate, activate!"
The grass at my feet looked like I had thrown a leftover sandwich at the floor. I sweated freely now, looking up at the orb consuming the sky and back down at the excuse of a meal.
"Activate!"
I tensed, startled. Someone else had screamed the phrase, only a few paces away from me. I turned to see a man holding two fists in the air, then looking back down at his hands in sad anguish.
"Go! Activate!" he said, breathing out frustrated when nothing happened. I approached him quickly.
"What are you doing?" I asked, no time to spare with the sky looking like a third of it was deep in the night. We had single minutes -- if that -- to spare.
"I was trying to use my power. It's not working! I thought I would be able to stop the meteor, but I'm too pathetic," he sighed.
"You have the power too?" I said, stunned, but wondering if this was something we could combine. "What are you conjuring?"
"Conjuring? No, my power is to convert calories into massive energy that I can use to blast things away. Unfortunately I just used all of my breakfast and lunch stopping a robbery," he explained sadly. "Sorry I couldn't save us."
"Any food is fine?" I asked quickly.
"Sure, anything work--"
"I hope you can speed eat," I said.
I began throwing new sandwiches in his face, rapidly activating my power at a speed I had never done before, throwing every piece of food I could at him. After a single moment of stunned mortification at the sight of my power, he began consuming all the food I threw at him, his body glowing with power soon after his second sandwich. He was able to activate his power.
With one hand emitting a dangerously powerful beam in the sky, and the other shoveling food I supplied into his mouth, we were able to stop the calamity seconds before it made contact with Earth.
_____________
r/Nazer_the_Lazer | 112 | You have any superpower possible, but only one at a time and you don't know what it is. It's just "whatever is needed most right now." Everytime there a crisis you have to puzzle out what you have and sometimes it isn't obvious how it fits the need as you see it. | 462 |
We stare nervously at the screen, in-person work had started months ago het John had insisted on staying at home. Finally, we were going to put a stop to it. We were going to see him.
"Hello, John? Lovely to see you! Or rather it would be, but ahhh... This is awkward, and under normal circumstances probably a HR violation, but would you be able to turn on your camera?" My boss was sweating, I hadn't seen him like this since that time his wife had dropped in unannounced.
A pause on the the other end. "Ahm, no."
A pause on our end. The boss asks again, "I'm sorry, could you try?"
More assured this time, "Yeah, no."
He starts pleading, "Please?"
"No."
It's now my turn to try, "Hey John? It's Dan, as you can see, because my camera is on. We need you to turn yours on buddy."
"Aww, man, come on Dan, I'm sorry but no."
I take a deep breath, "Okay, I hate to do this to you man, but I gotta, we have access to your Google drive folder. For every ten seconds you don't turn your camera on we're gonna start putting files in the wrong places."
Silence on the other end.
A file is moved.
"NNNNOOOOOO, OKAY, fine, I'll turn it on. Just, just give me a second."
Time moves slowly as we wait in anticipation, but finally, finally we see a dimly lit room, ornately furnished, but no person. I struggle to conjure the words, "J-J-John?" Suddenly a pastry flashed across the screen, hovering as if by magic.
"My second name is Cena." | 75 | Companies across the world start getting inundated by mysterious super-competent work from home employees who never turn on their cameras in meetings. In fact, nobody really remembers when they were hired or how. | 277 |
Most of the tasks were the work of years, and luck on top of that. Impossibility after impossibility. Randomized, no too lists ever looked the same, and few ever completed everything. Most who made the attempt started with the easy things and gave up somewhere after 20, or 50, or 70. I pushed through. What else was I going to do with eternity? Now, only one remained, very little like the rest.
I sat down in the squashy yellow armchair. The child, fumbling a few lego pieces together and then apart, looked up. "Hi." There was an unspoken request in that 'hi' for more legos.
"Hey, kid. you got a second?"
A shrug. I knew that shrug from my teaching days, it was a 'sure, but only because you're a grownup and I'm low on legos' kind of shrug.
"You know what the universe is, right?"
"I'm not 5."
"you ever hear of the multiverse?"
The kid looked at me as if I were not quite bright, then down at their Spidergwen and Miles Morales sweatshirt, then back at the little tower of legos. "I don't live under a rock," they said, with the cadence that comes from repeating a grownup's words.
"Yeah, it's like the spiderverse. Just more. Every choice anyone ever made, there's a world where they made a different one. or where things just... went a little differently. Like there's a world out there where you're spiderman. Or I'm spiderman. Or the sun looks green, or humans never made it to the moon, or..."
"there's a world where you have more legos in your pocket." It is not a question.
"There's a world where I have pockets, yeah." I agree, and reached into my purse instead. I handed over the legos, and looked at the list. A checkmark in golden ink gleamed on the old paper. Saving the easiest for last, and made easier still by the stories humans love to tell-- although, of course, there's a verse out there where I didn't. | 297 | You have to successfully explain the concept of the multiverse to a 7 year old. | 719 |
*It’s a little odd*, I ponder, *how much time I spend around dying kids*.
I’m not a doctor, a nurse, or really *anyone* who has reason to do it as often as I do. I’ve been a lot of things, in a lot of times – comes with being a genie. Never been a healer, though. I can’t snap away death. I can’t really help these kids.
But I’d be damned if I didn’t try.
An actual nurse’s voice eases me back to the present. “Hi, Melanie! How are we doing today?”
Leaning over the nurse’s shoulder, I see her. A small girl. God, she couldn’t be older than six. Pale face, blue eyes – less like the ocean, and more like the rain. Her thin hair catches the morning light creeping through her room’s window, and looks nearly golden.
Melanie.
“I’m tired,” she moans, and I believe her. I feel it in her voice, how it rasps – defeated – like no one’s her age should. In her eyes, overcast like in a weak drizzle. “When can I go back to sleep?”
The nurse purses her lips, exchanging a knowing look with me. “Soon, honey, I promise. But first, there’s someone here to see you!”
Forcing a pained smile of my own, I step forward. “Hey, Melanie! I’ve heard so much about you.”
“Okay.” She doesn’t mirror my feigned enthusiasm.
I kneel by her bed, leveling my eyes with hers. “I’ve heard you’re not feeling so well. And… I’ve heard you have a wish that I can grant."
Her eyes widen, just a little, and she sits up. “Yeah.”
The corner of my mouth lifts. That look. A touch of excitement. Finally, something to look forward to. Hope, even. “You wanna tell me about it?”
Melanie furrows her brow. “You said you knew already.”
I did have her wish on a paper from the foundation, folded up in my jacket pocket. But I couldn’t grant a wish off a paper. “Oh, I do. I have it *right* here,” – I pat my chest – “but I wanna be *absolutely* sure so I don’t grant the wrong wish. What if I accidentally gave you tickets to the Stanley Cup?”
“What’s a stanley cup?”
“Exactly, Melanie,” I chuckle. “That’s someone else’s wish, and I’m here to grant *yours*. So, will you please tell me what it is? What *you* really want the most?”
She takes a deep breath. “I miss my mom.”
Immediately, I know she’s not telling me what’s on the paper. But as long as she doesn’t wish for her mom back, I can still do it. Even if it does catch me more heat from the foundation for inexplicably granting the ‘wrong’ wish again.
“I know you do, sweetie.”
“She made me a goodnight book, once.”
My head tilts, curious. “A… goodnight book? Can you tell me what that is?”
Melanie nods, and her hair bounces and reflects the sun. A little brighter, now that it’s risen. “It’s – it’s like a book you read to go to sleep. But she reads it to me. Or, she would.”
I nod back slowly, understanding. “Is that your wish, Melanie?”
“Yes,” she says firmly. “I wish for my book back.”
“Okay. Do you know where it is?”
Melanie lowers her head, and I realize I’ve made her remember something she’d rather forget. “They told me it got lost in the fire.”
Gently, I cup her small chin in my hand and ease it up. “Well, Melanie, what’s lost can be found, right?” It won’t be as easy as I thought, but I can still do it, with her help. “Can you close your eyes for me, and think *really* hard about your book? Can you try to remember how it looked, what it felt like in your hands, and what was on the pages?”
She closes her eyes, and I move my hand to hold hers, her fist curling around one of my fingers. The stronger the connection, the better I can see what she’s imagining.
I close my eyes, too, and I feel it. A faint tug. Not forceful – wistful. Feels like – like looking at a clear sky, feeling the breeze fill my nose, brush my skin, hearing nothing but the gentle sounds of nature. It’s loving, and safe, and a little melancholy, too.
I open my eyes. Hers are welling with tears. “Melanie, you did amazing. And I have a little gift for you here."
Unbuttoning my coat, I make a show of reaching into it, pawing at a pocket, if only to sell it to the nurse waiting behind me. Not that it really matters – she’ll have questions anyway, and I’ll be questioned anyway.
I procure a small, thick packet of Post-Its. There have to be hundreds of them, each carefully adhered to the next. I thumb through it. It’s a flipbook. On every page, two rabbits – one big, drawn in blue ink, one small, drawn in black ink – exploring together. They hop through the woods, stopping every once in a while to complete a task, until they settle down and snuggle as the moon comes up.
I’m not sure what it means. But I find the answer in Melanie’s face – her deep blue eyes blinking back tears, her nose scrunching, her lip curling and quavering.
“Thank you,” she whispers, her voice catching in her throat, and I can tell.
It means everything.
***Thank you for reading, and please feel free to leave thoughts and feedback! This is my first time writing in years, and I’d love to improve.*** | 86 | You're a genie who volunteers for the make-a-wish foundation. Your disguise was perfect, but people are getting suspicious. | 139 |
“You’re so nice! You would do great as a hero!” “You should be a hero, you’re always helping people out.” Hero. Hero. I should be a hero. I could be a hero. Why aren’t I a hero? I am so f*cking SICK of hearing that. “Oh, you are meant to be the hero!” I hear that every. D*mn. Day. It gets old. It makes me not want to be the hero.
In this world, there are three groups. The heroes, neutrals, and villains. Most people are neutrals, but there are always hero’s and villains, no matter where you are.
When I was a kid, I always wanted to be a hero, so I did all I could for other people. I was happy when I got a comment about how I should be a hero. Now that I’m older, yeah, I don’t know about hero’s anymore. To me, they’re just people who think they’re special, and turns out, neutrals think they’re special, too. Guess that over confidence works. Oh and don’t even get me started on how much of an over achiever they all are. Yeah, sure, it’s good to get things done earlier and better than needed, but the heroes? Man, they go over the tip top. They only need 3/4s up the mountain to get a 100. Nah, they’re going over the mountain. They always need to prove something. They need validation over EVERYTHING. That attention, they f*cking thrive on it. That’s why I don’t want to be compared to those hero’s. Those self-absorbed, attention-seeking, “heroes”.
That’s probably why I’m “suiting” up to go up one of those hero’s. And by suiting up? I mean throwing on a loose, sleeveless hoodie, sweat pants and a pair of sneakers. They’re easy to move in and why would I need a costume and mask like those heroes? I’m not a coward, needing to hide behind a mask. I just know how to not reveal my face. I know how to conceal, I’m not dumb. Call me the villain for going against these pathetic excuses of heroes. Call me evil for calling the “heroes” these things. You want to know what I call it?
(*in a demonic voice*) VENGEANCE
Jkjk
I think
Lmao anyway, that’s the end of it. Sorry if it’s a bit eh, I did this on a whim and didn’t put as much effort as I usually would :/ | 15 | Everyone has always told you how great you are, how you are meant to be the hero. You decide to prove them wrong and become the Villian of your story. | 78 |
# Soulmage
**"Hi, I'm here to inquire about the Eldritch Initiative?"** I asked, tentatively sidling into the... distressingly organic clinic in the center of the Silent City. Pulses of power languorously pumped across its skin—its *walls*, I told myself, buildings have *walls*—and the amorphous blob of pale white flesh that served as its receptionist.
"Wonderful, wonderful! We could use every hand, tentacle, and other grasping appendage we can get. May I start by asking how you heard about it?"
"OH THAT WAS ME," the sign from outside shrieked. Its fleshy, bulbous lips looked like they were going to pop, and for a heartbeat, I had an insane urge to take a pin to them. "I SHOUTED AT THEM LIKE YOU TOLD ME TO SHOUT AND FOR SOME REASON INSTEAD OF RUNNING AWAY THIS ONE CAME HERE."
"Er, yeah, I have a... a friend who came here earlier. I was wondering if—"
"Well, hold your horses, thestrals, Bearers of the Apocalypse, or other metaphysical equestrian-equivalents!" I got a distinct impression that the blob at the desk was trying to smile. "You can't leave—"
"*What?*" I burst out.
"—without hearing about the wide array of possible benefits that the Eldritch Initiative can have for you. Ask your doctor if becoming a demon from outside realspace is right for you," the receptionist finished smoothly, as if I hadn't said anything.
"WHY DO PEOPLE KEEP INTERRUPTING AT THAT PART?" The sign screamed. I still wasn't sure how its locomotion worked, to be honest, but it had managed to find a way to wriggle closer to me while I wasn't looking.
"Use your inside-spacetime voice, Brfxxccxxmnpcccclllmmnprxvclmnckssqlbb11116." Ugh, all the soulspace entities around here had such bizarre names. This one was pronounced 'Albin,' too. "You see, we here at the Eldritch Initiative don't just offer suppression of undesirable emotions and enhancement of Academic emotions. We actually offer an entirely original broadening of your emotional spectrum!"
Uh... what? "Like... as in... uh... no, honestly, I have no idea what that's like."
"We have a helpful procedure to explain." The receptionist elongated their body—or maybe contracted spacetime—and pulled over a cup of what I hoped was water. "This, here, represents the spectrum of all humanly possible emotions." Then they drank the water, gulping it down, satisfied. "And *that* represents the scope of the emotions you'll have after your partnership with the Eldritch Initiative. Any questions?"
"Yes," I said slowly. "What... what on Earth does that mean?"
"It doesn't mean anything on Earth! You have to transcend realspace in order to have access to most of these emotions, after all. In addition to normal human feelings such as happiness, relief, awambuk, and ikstuarpok, we offer *expanded* emotions, normally inaccessible to single sapient minds, such as: Humber. Nage. Dorcelessness. Kindness. Ponnish. Harfam. Loric..."
The receptionist just *kept going*, and I found my vision swimming. I tried to stand, but the receptionist's droning voice and the pulsating heat of the room blended together, and I found myself tipping over—
"Andric. Varination. Kyne."
"UH. HEY. THE HUMAN DOESN'T SEEM SO GOOD."
"Trantiveness. Teluge." The receptionist paused. "Oh, dear. Was that too much for—"
And I blacked out, squelching on the tongue of the building's mouth.
A.N.
Soulmage will be episodically updated. Want to know what happens next? Check out [this post](https://www.reddit.com/r/bubblewriters/comments/uxmwe4/soulmage_masterpost/) to be notified whenever a new part comes out! There's already thirty-one other chapters before this one, so there's plenty to catch up on. | 260 | “Depressed? Anxious? Unhappy?” The sign shouted at you, “Why not become an amorphous entity and shirk the confines of time and space? Embrace your Eldritch Nature today!” | 2,943 |
"Dr. Doomsday, This... its just not possible."
The supervillain waved a dismissive metallic hand towards me. "Noted. Now how about we put the second shark tank above the lava pit?"
"Doctor, this would boil the sharks alive." I said, trying to make the insane man listen to reason. That was one of my many mistakes dealing with this client so far.
Doctor Doomsday scoffed at me, as only a villain could. "Nonsense, the living room would go between them."
I paused, trying to wrap my head around the entire concept. "So... the sharks will be fine, because the couch will act as a heat shield? For 15 seconds before it finishes burning?"
"Insolent fool!" Doctor Doomsday boomed at me. "The floor will be glass, so the lava can be seen below. The Shark tank will be glass as well, so it can be seen above."
"Doctor, glass melts around 1400 C, and lava is usually around 1200 C. Even if it won't be a liquid, it will be compromised structurally." I said, trying to explain science to a man that had created his own cyborg arms. "And then to add a shark tank above this, to make it a load bearing lava pit, would add incredible weight and most certainly collapse."
The Doctor stared at me. "Sharks aren't that heavy."
"no, but the thousands of gallons of salt water is." I rubbed the bridge of my nose, trying to find a way past this conundrum.
I failed.
"Ok doc, lets come back to this later. How about this bird cage room?" I flipped the large blue page across the desk, moving on to the next room. "You specified this needed to be accommodating to a bird with a Forty foot wingspan..."
"Yes, for my Quetzalcoatlus Northopi clones" The Doctor said absentmindedly. "They're estimated to only reach 36 feet across, but I wanted to err on the side of caution."
"There's not enough land on the property you purchased to build an adequate cage for such an animal", I told him.
"No, there is. Just make it smaller than the edges here." Doctor Doomsday said, pointing at the far corner of the plot of land. "I don't want them to be too comfortable. I plan to use them to murder people, so it would be a good thing if they're a bit angry already."
"Once again, I must ask you to not tell me about crimes you plan to commit." I said, pleadingly. "I could be accountable as an accessory if-"
"No worries, I would break you out of prison." He said it with such a dismissive tone that I briefly considered if I was overreacting about the whole "jailed for conspiracy to commit murder" thing.
"Doc, I run a legitimate business. I cannot-"
"Seriously ,its not a big deal" The doctor interrupted. "You could just work for me. I'll have Peggy add you to the payroll."
I paused, considering the best way to turn down a job offer from a mass murdering supervillain. "I, uh, appreciate the offer, Doctor Doomsday, but I enjoy having my own business. I'm sure you can relate."
The doctor chuckled. "I do indeed, and I respect that. So, back to the lava pit and shark tank room... do you know how to keep the lava as a molten liquid, the room between at a nice 72, and the shark tank at 54 degrees? I want the water to be as much of a shock to my victims as the approaching sharks."
I sighed. "Doctor, please, I don't want to be an accomplice of murder."
"Not murder! REVENGE!" he roared, leaping to his feet and raising his metallic arms above his head. "WalkMan's earphones are not waterproof! This oversight shall be his downfall, and I will have my revenge!"
I held my face in my palm. "Doc, now I know the specific guy you want to kill. I need to call my lawyer before we proceed any further."
Doctor Doomsday lowered his hands back to his sides. We awkwardly stared at each other for what felt like an eternity, but was probably closer to 10 seconds.
"Shall I return at the same time next week, then?" Doctor Doomsday asked, breaking the silence.
"Sure." I said, rising and offering my hand to shake. The doctor's metallic hand was surprisingly warm as he took the proffered hand. "If your research finds a transparent material that can contain heat, please let me know. We may be able to incorporate that into the more hazardous parts of the project."
His eyes flashed with a sudden idea. "You know, I just might have something like that. See you next week!"
/r/SlightlyColdStories for more stories | 22 | You're an architect trying to explain to an evil villain, that their base design is impossible and impractical. | 77 |
Morgoth stood in the darkness of the corridor, his mind racing more than it ever had before. *Why must I do this? Surely there is a reason.* Gently, he scraped his horn’s against the obsidian walls, sharpening as he had done his whole life. The noise echoed off the wall’s travelling all throughout the dungeon. Somewhere, someone near the entrance squealed in terror at the sound. *Why do I kill these humans? Is it…Is it just because I enjoy it?* Rubbing his chin, his claws scratching his hard leather skin until it was raw. *But do I enjoy it? Guess I do. I’ve been doing it for nearly three decades.* Stone slabs shifted above him and then around him. The roof changed, opening up to the night sky above. The walls to his left opened up into a great hall, dark and empty. *The ever changing dungeon. Even after all this time I still don’t know how exactly it works.* Sighing, Morgoth sluggishly started to move towards the entrance, his body moving before his mind could think. *Guess I just…continue.*
It had been two humans in fact, squealing together as they held onto one another. A male and a female. *A couple no doubt. A relationship they thought they could fix with treasure from my dungeon.*
“Abe, I think we’re being followed,” the woman whispered, looking behind her, unknowingly looking directly at Morgoth. The couple locked arms, both shaking with fear.
“No, we're fine,” the man snapped. “We just need to find the centre. Find the centre and we’ll be fine.
“But,” the woman squeaked before being interrupted. Sounds, all around them, of stone slabs sliding across each other, stopped them in their tracks.
“What was that?” the woman cried. “We should go back. Abe please, please let us go back!”
“Edith!” Abe exploded, pulling her along further into the darkness. “We’re f…wait, where are we? Which way did we come in?” *The dungeon has changed you foolish humans.* The couple now stood at an intersection. Four different paths lay before them. *Now it’s my time! But…* Morgoth paused, trying to understand what was happening within him. *What is this? Hunger? Annoyance? No this is far different.* Vision’s of him strangling the human’s popped into his head. Smashing their bodies against the hard black walls, again and again. *That’s what I would have done. But...not anymore? They’re right here, ready for me but…*
“Excuse me,” he found himself calling out. The two human’s jumped, nearly hitting their heads off the roof.
“Who…Who..Whose that?!” Edith stammered out. “Who goes there?” *Just a monster, I wouldn’t worry about it.*
“My name is Morgoth,” he announced, not moving from the shadows where he hid. “And it’s on the left there. The entrance that is.” The human’s paused for a moment, looking at one another, horror still spread across their faces.
“Are you sure?” Abe asked, straining his eyes as he peered down the left corridor. “Can we trust…”
“Yes, you can trust me I guess,” Morgoth interrupted. *Is this the way of it now? Saving humans from dying deep in the dungeons depth’s?*
“Thank you,” Edith said, pulling along Abe. “Whoever you are!” Their footsteps were all he could hear until eventually they faded into nothing. Stone slabs shifted above him, bringing a gust of wind down on top of him.
“No, no , no,” a high-pitch voice shouted. “That’s not what we agreed to!” Morgoth stood up straight, looking all around him. *Who said that?*
“Down here,” the annoyed voice called. “Down here, you idiot!” Morgoth looked down, only to find the strangest creature he had ever come across. It wore big red boots and a large brown hat with a hundred patches on it. Even with the hat on, the creature only came to Morgoth’s knee. Tight red robes swept across the floor, matching his shoes. The weirdest thing Morgoth thought was his face. *Or lack there off.* Where his face should have been, only shadow could be seen. Swirling black shadows with two golden balls staring up at him.
“Who are you?” Morgoth, scratching his chin once more. “And where did you come from?”
“You’re asking me questions?” the creature stammered. “After that performance? Oh very well. I am Sota. I rule this dungeon. Your grandfather owed me a debt. Stole from me and then had to pay the price. The price being your father, you, your children and so on and so forth.”
“Wait…” Morgoth started, before being interrupted.
“You are here to scare the human straight into the centre. That’s where I need them. You think this dungeon runs on natural magic alone?” Sota ranted. “Of course not! I need blood. Human blood. And lots of it.”
“So I’m your prisoner then?” Morgoth asked, taking a tentative step towards the creature.
“I wouldn’t think of it like that,” Sota said, his shadowy face twisting and turning. “Think of it more like you're a worker. A great worker! Only it seems like the memory spell…Maybe it grew too weak over the years...” Putting one hand up his sleeve, Sota pulled out a stick.
“Ah there’s my wand,” Sota muttered to himself. “It’s been awhile.” Once again, Morgoth’s body reacted better than his mind. His hand reached out, grabbing Sota by the throat. The other hand ripped the wand from the creature, snapping it before throwing it over his shoulder. Sota struggled, his tiny leg’s trying to kick but Morgoth felt nothing. *Thank god he still has a neck.* Eventually, Sota’s legs stopped kicking and grew still. Dropping the corpse to the ground, Morgoth looked around at his dark and dreary home. *What do I do now?* | 139 | You are a monster who lived within the dungeon. You had always been guided by instinct. However, a not so long time ago, your mind had became clear. You began questioning your instincts. Why must you kill every human you see? Why must you protect the dungeon? | 526 |
The entire galactic senate fell quiet upon meeting the ambassadors.
The humans didn't look particularly remarkable, a bipedal species composed of mostly water, with no useful adaptations like telekinesis or energy manipulation. Having them join the Federation would just be a strain on their resources.
One by one, the human ambassadors presented their cultural gifts, but nobody cared about what they had to offer. First they showed off their music, which to some species sounded like noise and to others felt like a declaration of war, then they presented their visual media, which somehow felt more insulting than the music given how violent and simple-minded it came across.
Most of the senate made up their minds by that point. The humans simply weren't ready to join them. Their last ambassador hadn't given up, though. The senators humored him out of courtesy. A way to make sure these humans didn't complain about not being given a fair shot.
"Ladies and gen-" the human ambassador paused, "wait that's wrong. *People* of the galaxy, I humbly offer you one of the greatest inventions of our species. We call it: Pizza!"
A human assistant then wheeled out a large serving tray with a strange concoction atop of it. It looked like a gooey circle of melted protein covering some viscous red liquid, all served on a base of refined carbohydrates that was toasted until crunchy.
In other words, it looked disgusting.
Everyone in the senate shared anxious glances. Nobody wanted to try it.
The human ambassador didn't seem to register this, though. His eager face made it difficult to outright deny the meal.
Etax, elected leader of the Federation, was forced to walk down from his podium and try it out, since nobody else seemed willing to do so.
The senators couldn't believe what they saw. Etax had led them through several wars and had proven himself to be a decisive leader, and yet he had never shown this much hesitance in his life. They all grew worried for him. What if it was poisonous? What if this was all a thinly veiled attack on them? Would they have to conquer Earth in retaliation?
Etax picked up a slice of the 'pizza'.
The human ambassador leaned forward in anticipation.
Etax couldn't stop his hand from shaking. He had to close his six eyes in order to take a bite.
Most of the senators had to look away. They couldn't bear to watch their leader suffer this humiliation. The next few seconds of silence weighed on them for what felt like an eternity.
"Well?" asked the human ambassador.
Etax swallowed down the food and widened all his eyes. Everyone quickly feared the worst, until hearing him say:
"IT'S AMAZING!"
The human ambassador merely chuckled. "I know, right?"
Etax went on to gorge on the entire serving tray.
The senators remained quiet as their leader feasted on the food. They all grew curious as to what made it so special and decided to try it out for themselves.
What followed would forever change the galactic community. They loved it. Unfortunately, the human ambassador hadn't brought enough for everyone, which quickly turned the situation more dangerous than expected. Many senators started fighting one another for the right to try out the pizza.
Etax had to bring order back to the hearing, but people didn't want to listen. It escalated so out of control that several planets were ready to go to war with each other just to have access to the delicacy.
Cooler heads eventually prevailed, though. The senators soon realized that going to war would only make the pizza harder to obtain. Humanity was then welcomed into the Federation with open arms. It had been a long time since a species was celebrated this much throughout the galaxy. To everyone's surprise, the humans didn't keep their recipes secret. They actually shared them with the galactic community.
The reason for this quickly became apparent. Nobody else in the galaxy could make them better. If anything, the Earthlings were excited to see what new ingredients they could use to make their pizzas even tastier. In the aftermath of this hearing, Etax visited the human ambassador in his private chambers, hoping to apologize for his previous skepticism.
"It's alright," said the ambassador, "Most humans have a low opinion of humanity. I expected the same from aliens."
"Really?" said Etax, astonished. "You... expected this?"
"W-well, not to this extent, but yeah. Humans have warred with each other for millennia. We've fought over so many differences, some justified and others not, that we basically treat each other like aliens. And yet, despite our variety of cultures, we all mostly agree that a good meal is something to be cherished. You'd be amazed at how many grudges can be settled after breaking bread."
"I still don't get it," said Etax. "You could've had a monopoly on food and you're giving it away. Even if you're better at it than most, you're still losing a big advantage."
The human shook his head. "You're wrong. A good cook will always say the same thing: the best part about making a meal is seeing others enjoy it. That's what drove us to make it that good in the first place. Besides, do you think pizza is all we have to offer?"
Etax squinted. "It's not?"
The human couldn’t help but laugh. "No, no, good sir. Next time you visit Earth, remind me to show you what we call... hamburgers."
--------
>If you enjoyed this, check out my other stories over at /r/WeirdEmoKidStories. Thanks for reading! | 743 | but they're not hostile. They've tasted human food, and they think it's so astonishingly good that Earth is becoming an alien tourist hotspot. | 4,345 |
So I went a little off the reservation and I fear this is gonna end up being two parts because of Reddit's limitations. Fear not though! this is all coming full circle and I figured I'd give you part one now. Part two will be here later in the day.
----------------------------------
"Hey you remember when we were kids and we were all afraid of that one house on the corner?"
"Oooh yeah, jeez how sheltered were we back then? So oblivious to the world that our biggest fear was an abandoned house. Heh, I almost wish I could go back."
That was James and I. We've been friends since elementary school, gone through thick and thin together. We were so close that a lot of people though were we gay for each other, and while they were wrong, it wasn't because we weren't gay for each other. We just had a really strong and close friendship that we didn't want to complicate by trying to build a life together.
"Have you ever been there? I mean we always said we would go but, we always chicken out last minute."
"What? no way! There's a reason we always chickened out last minute *James*!"
Even in our late twenties we still managed to find time to hangout on late Friday or Saturday nights. Which often led into the late night cruises out in the middle of nowhere theorizing about how the universe works and reminiscing in the old days before everything got so complicated.
James was driving, I, in the passenger seat, as we had a system where whoever drove to the other person's house drove for the night. I always enjoyed being the passenger. It was nice to just be able to sit back and take in the cool night, the looming trees, or vast and blank fields depending on where our galavanting took us.
"Look man! I heard of several people that went there and they've all come back changed. That room... It, well you know. Even now I'm not sure if I could handle seeing what's in my deepest subconsciousness. What if it's something supremely fucked up?"
I looked James in the eyes and I saw genuine worry. I know what he meant. Even on his best days there was always a glimmer of doom in his eyes. Sometimes so deep within them that only those that knew him best could see it. Other times it was up front and center, and on those days it was everything I could do to cheer him up. After a while I found that it was best to just be there for him, a shoulder for him to lean on if he needed it.
"Yeah, man I get it. I'm just ribbin ya. There's no accounting for that, I guess. Even jenny who was on top of everything lost it all after taking that dare."
"You ain't kidding there Leo, that girl went from riches to rags real quick, but then you remember Anthony? His big transformation that he went through? That started when he went to that room. I tried to get him to talk about what he saw but he wouldn't. He just said that he knew the room was wrong and he was gonna prove it wrong."
"Maybe that's the way it would've been with you."
"Who knows, with the way I am though as much as I wanted to.. I.. there's just too much dark shit goin on up here man. Don't get me wrong I'm doin better now but back then? Why take the chance?"
"No doubt, I thought about goin on my own a couple of times, but I guess I just don't have the balls to do it alone. I would've asked you to come with and supervise but.. James.. James the car to the left, JAMES LOOK O-"
I woke up to the sounds of a heart monitor. Surveying my surroundings provided me with an overwhelming influx of information that my addled and groggy brain couldn't quite comprehend. The first thing I noticed was that the heart monitor started picking up, and that it was connected to me, along with several other lines and I.V.'s. my Sister Jessica was sitting head down in the seat next to my bed. I could see a box of tissues hung loosely in her hands about to fall out in her dozed off state.
"Jessica?" I croaked. Finding it hard to talk or even put letters together in a manner that formed words in my head. I could hear her take in a startled breath through her nose. She looked up in surprise to see me staring back.
"Oh thank goodness you're awake. You've been out for the last 15 hours. The doctors... They said they weren't sure how much you'd remember. After a blow like that to your head." My sister always had a way with subtlety.
My head was throbbing and it hurt to think. I didn't remember much of what happened. Other than that I was with James. Seemingly with perfect timing a nurse came in and saw that i was awake. She checked my vitals and asked how I was feeling.
"I feel like I just woke up after a college party, only usually I'm on the floor of some random's dorm, hehhe-- oooww.." It took all of my effort to say this, no doubt a side effect of whatever happened to cause the blow to my head, and the drugs I was hopped up on in this hospital. I decided right then and there that I had to make a mental note that laughing hurt.
"Ok, you rest up, in the morning I'll send in your doctor to explain what happened and your current condition. Miss, visiting hours are almost up. I'm going to have to ask you to leave shortly."
My condition? What happened? Jessica had said that I'd been here unconscious for over half a day. I brought my hand to my head, instinctively to my right side. Even gently touching it sent a shock of aching pain all around my skull, and it felt like my head was about to implode. The pressure was immense. Yup... I knew from experience that I had a major concussion.
I looked at the clock on the wall and saw that it was half past 7 in the afternoon. Which means that if I've been out for 15 hours that I had to have entered this hospital at around 4 in the mor- a twinge of pain shot around my skull again. Perhaps I should leave the heavy thinking until tomorrow.
"Maybe that's the way it would've been with you."
"Who knows, with the way I am though as much as I wanted to.. I.. there's just too much dark shit goin on up here man. Don't get me wrong I'm doin better now but back then? Why take the chance?"
"No doubt, I thought about goin on my own a couple of times, but I guess I just don't have the balls to do it alone. I would've asked you to come with and supervise but.. James.. James the car to the left, JAMES LOOK O-"
I jolted awake, to my left I could've sworn I saw what appeared to be hazy headlights approaching fast. But quickly my vision adjusted and to my left was nothing but the heart monitor steadily slowing back down from what appeared to be my rapid heart beat. I looked back at the clock and it read 3:27. | 30 | there is a room in an abandoned house that changes its interior to mirror the mental state of whoever walks in. some who enter it run out of it screaming, others never leave it, and even more just walk out the door crying. you enter it and are confused by what you see. | 147 |
"What is the fundamental flaw with Avocados?" I read aloud. "What a weird question."
My wife leaned into the doorframe from the hallway. "Steve, I still don't think you should be reading that. Isn't reading someone else's mail, like, a Federal crime?"
"Idunno" I replied, as I wrote out my answer.
"Shouldn't we track down the previous owner and send it to them?" She asked.
"We got this from auction, I think it was an old dude's estate or something." I skimmed down the page to the next question. "No living relatives or whatever. Hey, this is a fun one."
My wife succumbed to her curiosity, and stepped closer to read the questionnaire. "If Adolf Hitler from Nazi Germany and Lieutenant Worf from Star Trek TNG kissed, how much of their facial hair would be in contact?" She glanced back at me. "Ok, this is utter nonsense. Have fun finishing it, I'm going for a jog."
She kissed me and left, putting in her earbuds and resuming her Harry Potter audiobook as she did.
I smiled, and resumed the questionnaire. I though of my answer before I wrote it.
"It depends on the amount of passion" I wrote.
It didn't seem like these were the kind of questions that could lead to immortality, but I didn't know which ones would. It was still fun. I pressed on.
"When a Penguin and a Pigeon fall in love, can their children fly?"
I pondered this one as well. Obviously, I wondered how the two would even meet, but thats not what the question asked.
"If they were adopted from a species that could fly, then yes" I wrote back. It made sense to me, since the two couldn't have biological children. Well, most likely. I don't know if it had ever been tried before.
I kept my original answer, and moved on to the next question.
"If a ghost and a zombie came from the same dead person, which would be the original consciousness?" This one was easy. I wrote "The Ghost. A zombie by definition does not have a functioning brain."
If this was all it took to become immortal, I thought, then everyone would do it. Maybe thats why this was invite only.
The final question seemed to be the hardest one yet. "If a pot of gold was located at the end of a rainbow, on which end would it reside?" I read.
This one was a real doozy. I took a guess.
"on the Right side" I wrote.
Suddenly, the thick paper began to glow, with a brilliant golden light. The questions and my answers both faded from the page, and a single word emerged in their place.
"***Correct***"
A heavenly chorus faded into existence, singing a song with no words that moved my very soul. My dog Looked up from his position on the couch, gave a slight 'boof', and flopped back onto the cushions. I took that as a resignation from his guard dog duties.
"***GILROY LIVINGSTON***", a voice boomed from within. "***WITH A FINAL SCORE OF 97%, YOU HAVE PASSED THE TEST, AND EARNED YOUR PLACE AMONG THE IMMORTALS***"
The voice paused breifly. "***YOU ARE NOT GILROY***"
"Uh, no, I'm Steve" I said. "Nice to meet you."
There was a considerably longer pause.
"***YOU KNOW OPENING SOMEONE ELSE'S MAIL IS, LIKE, A FEDERAL CRIME, RIGHT?***"
/r/SlightlyColdStories for more | 984 | You open a letter addressed to your home’s previous owner. Inside is an “Application for Immortality “. The questions are strange and entertaining so you fill it out. | 1,075 |
She was beautiful, in an aggressive, haughty sort of way. Like she was doing you a favor by allowing you to look at her. Thick dark hair, dark eyes and olive skin, and a proud nose. Her photo was taken at a wedding. June was lounging at a table with a glass of wine in her hand while the bride and groom danced at the edge of the photo. Her whole vibe was one of indifference, but there was an almost jealous wanting in her eyes as she looked at the dancing couple.
It said she was close by, and her bio was short and to the point.
*LTR wasn’t treating me right and wasn’t ever gonna change. Looking for my new soulmate. Liars and cheaters swipe left. Must love peacocks.*
Well shit. I was never a liar or a cheater, and peacocks are only a little scary, not as bad as geese anyway, so of course I swiped right. She was one of maybe 100 girls I swiped on that day, one of maybe 100 shots in the dark looking for some kind of, any kind of connection with another person.
I was watching *Archer* with my eyes closed later that night when my phone dinged twice rapid succession. After pushing my cat Hercules off my lap and fishing it out from between the couch cushions I saw two notifications.
The first was that someone had matched with me, and the second was her message.
**June:** Hey
**Tim:** Hi! Can I ask about the peacock thing? Lol
**June:** They’re kinda my spirit animal.
**Tim:** Cause there so pretty? ;)
**Tim:** They’re*
**June:** They remind me of a friend. The eyes
**Tim:** Right.
**Tim:** What brings you here?
**June:** I’m looking for my soulmate
**Tim:** Here? Lol. J/k No judgment. I actually know a married couple that met here. They seem to be doing ok. I suppose that it doesn’t matter how you meet, really. If you’re both happy.
**June:** I just got out of a looong relationship, so I’m not sure how really to go about all this now.
**Tim:** I saw that on your bio. Breakups are hard.
**June:** Plus he was my first… everything, so he’s all I had to go on as far as relationships go.
**Tim:** First loves can make a lot of impressions on us
**June:** 🤣🤣 there was no love there
**Tim:** Oh shit. I’m sorry
**June:** Well, maybe at first. But it fell apart pretty quick.
**Tim:** How long we’re y’all together?
**June:** Forever
**Tim:** Right.
**June:** It was an arranged thing, I didn’t have much say in the matter.
**Tim:** That’s wild
**June:** He lied and cheated constantly. I didn’t want that anymore, so I left.
**Tim:** I had a friend that grew up Mormon, and when she got a tattoo and started drinking, her parents kicked her out. Going against family tradition is hard. You’re a braver person than me for doing what you did.
**June:** Do you lie to your partners, Tim?
**Tim:** um. I do my best not to. But to be fair, it’s been awhile since I had a "partner" lol
**June:** But do you lie? Do you cheat?
**Tim:** I am as honest as I can be? And I’ve never cheated.
**June:** Cafe Samos on 8th ave. Tomorrow night at 6
**Tim:** Are you asking me on a date? ;)
**June:** Don’t be late.
**Tim:** ‘Kay
*****
I walked into Cafe Samos on 8th ave at 5:30, clutching a bouquet of lilies.
After picking up a cup with "Jim" scribbled on it and over-tipping, I sat down to wait.
Cafe Samos on 8th ave was like most downtown coffee shops, in that it was unique and quirky like all the others. It was a cramped, old space that may have been a bank or an art gallery or a hardware store before it’s current set up. A guy that never really moved past 2011 strummed a Death Cab For Cutie song into a crackly microphone, somehow balancing on the wood pallets in the corner.
I managed to get a booth far enough away from him that I could only hear most of what he was singing. I kept my eye on the door as I sipped my coffee and tried not take the bait the novelist one booth over was offering, their screen positioned as it was. I was *not* going to ask about "*Captain Lou Garou: Werewolf Submarine Commander*."
The eye-linered musician was singing about tunnels to gates of white when I felt a soft touch on my shoulder. It was warm and gentle, like a sea breeze.
"Tim?"
I stood, turning to look at who it was. It was June.
Her picture didn’t do her justice.
She was tall. Taller than me. Her long dark hair hung in curls down her back, and swished as she moved, bouncing when appropriate. Her eyes were a deep brown, with a shine like polished wood. She was beautiful, absolutely. Everyone in the cafe was looking at her, or very deliberately not looking at her.
But it was her smell that really got me. It was all at once earthy and feminine and strong. It made me think of wind in trees, or fresh sheets in your childhood bedroom, or eating outside with family on a summer afternoon until the sun starts to set.
"Uh… Yes! Tim. I’m Tim! Yes! Can I get you a coffee?"
She smiled at that, a small one that only worked one side of her mouth, but it was a start.
She held up a steaming mug. "Already got one. I was practically born here, Chrystie just lets me make my own." June waved at another tall dark haired woman behind the counter, who waved back and winked. June blushed a little. "She’s the one that convinced me to, you know. Leave. You could call her my High Priestess, or my guru I guess."
I nodded, then remembered the lilies and pulled them from the booth.
"I know it’s old-fashioned, but I walked past them on the way here and, I dunno. I felt like I should get them for you."
June’s smile widened, though she still didn’t show any teeth.
"Lilies are my favorite. Thank you, Tim." She took them from me and breathed their fragrance in deep. "It was sweet of you to do so."
June sat down across from me in the booth. It was so narrow our knees touched, and as she pressed hers against mine little bolts of something shot up my leg. Like when you drag your socks on the carpet and touch a doorknob. I didn’t move mine, and she didn’t move hers either.
"Tell me about yourself, Tim."
"’Kay."
So I did.
I told her about my job, patching code for self driving cars. I told her about being an only child, about losing both my parents. I talked about moving here from Arizona, and what a big change the coast was from the desert. I guess she didn’t like cats, cause her eyes narrowed when I talked about mine. I changed the subject quickly from Hercules to her.
She told me about coming from a big family, about how there always up in each other’s business. She talked about her abusive father, and her gentle mother. Then June started talking about how unhappy she’d been lately.
"It felt like all I did was try and make everyone around me happy. My ex, my family, complete strangers even! Always bending over backwards and putting others needs before my own."
"I read somewhere that people who are in relationships with narcissists or that have them in their lives become ‘people pleasers’. What you experienced is awful, but not uncommon."
"Narcissus was an idiot. Pretty, but an idiot." June sipped at her third refill.
"What?"
"Never mind. I’m just… I’m just so tired of no one caring enough to ask about me, or even thinking that I want and need things to."
She stroked the bouquet of lilies on the table.
"You know, you giving me these is the first nice thing anyone has done for me in what feels like an eternity."
I shrugged and blushed a little. "It seemed like the right thing to do."
June moved her hand from the flowers to mine, stroking it like she had the bouquet. Her skin was soft, but her hands were strong. Possessive.
"What do you want from life, Tim of Phoenix?"
I looked over June’s head and saw Chrystie giving me a wink and a thumbs up.
"The same as everyone, I guess. To be happy."
"Do you think we could make each other happy, Tim?"
Normally this is serious red flag territory for anyone. But there was such a naive earnestness to June, a desperate desire to have what everyone else seemed to take for granted. She wasn’t weird or crazy or a stage four clinger, she was someone ready to *finally* have something healthy and mutual in her life.
"I’d like to try, if you let me."
June smiled, this time big and electric. A grin full of teeth and joy and hope.
"Tim of Phoenix, I shall let you try." She placed her other hand in top of mine. "If you let me do the same."
"’Kay." | 21 | Hera, having realised that Zeus would never stop cheating and that he never truly loved her and never would; leaves Olympus to find her soulmate | 100 |
My gig that morning was to secure a half-a-million-dollar inheritance for an orange tabby named Peppermint, and it was the gig I was least looking forward to that day.
I sipped from my flask while seated in a circle drawn in liquid chalk in the middle of Saul Meyer's law office conference room floor in Williamsburg, relishing the burn of the cheap whiskey as it flowed into my stomach. I pushed play on my phone, and Metallica's *Master of Puppets* started blasting over my portable Bluetooth speaker. Across from me, Mr. Lapp was fuming like a teakettle.
"This is crap, your honor, and you know it!" Mr. Lapp shouted over the music in his cheesecake-thick New York accent. His attorney was casually inspecting me. "I don't care what this witch doctor says. That money ain't going to no cat. You hear? I'll fight this tooth and nail."
The judge overseeing the arbitration said nothing. He'd settled these sorts of cases for Saul before and knew to give it time.
"Please be quiet," I said, closing my eyes and hopefully projecting an eerie mysticism. "I require concentration in order to pierce the Veil. Wait -- I feel her reaching out."
Actually, Ginnie Lapp had been hanging out with me since last night when I evoked her spirit. I wasn't a live performance type of necromancer. Really, I wouldn't call myself a necromancer at all. Shaman or medium was my preferred nomenclature, but necromancer has that edgy sort of feel that pulls customers looking to *actually* speak with the dead. In my line of business, marketing is everything. Saul Meyers understands that perfectly well. It's why he includes post-mortem arbitration clauses in his client's wills. So no matter what Mr. Lapp says, if Ginnie Lapp shows up to confirm her wishes, the suits have to respect the will.
"Wait, what?" said Mr. Lapp. "I don't see her nowhere. This guy's faking!"
*I'm amazed my grandson can manage to speak so much*, Ginnie said, floating beside me. *Considering his head is so firmly up his ass.*
"The spirit is here with us," I said, stifling a chuckle. "She is ready for your questions."
Saul was seated at the left end of the long conference table. He flipped through paperwork, searching for the questionnaire, but it was all an act. Saul had just as much a flair for the dramatic as I did. He cleared his throat and read the first question.
"What is your name, date of birth, and birthplace?"
I gasped, rolled my eyes back, and held out my hands, palms up. Such drama. "Gertrude Lapp. I was born on the second of December, nineteen thirty-two, in my parent's brownstone on eighty-fourth street. It was snowing that morning--"
"Are you kidding me?" Mr. Lapp interrupted again. "You could have gotten off her birth certificate. You wanna play psychic, fine. Hey Nana, why did I need to borrow five-hundred bucks when I was twenty-two?" He crossed his arms and leaned back in his leather swivel chair, seemingly satisfied.
I glanced over to Saul, who nodded solemnly at me. I turned off the music. Alright. Showtime.
Since I hadn't known what sort of questions to expect, I'd evoked Ginnie's spirit the night before in order to go over the basic details of her life and to confirm that she was indeed under no constraint or undue influence when signing her will. But descendants often threw highly-personal questions during arbitration, trying to prove me a fake. That's why I brought the spirits with me, which usually led to some pretty embarrassing situations. Not for me, mind you.
It would be so much easier if they could *see* Ginnie or spirits in general. But only one in like every couple of thousand people is able to open their Sight. Everyone has a sixth sense -- that prickling feeling on the back of your neck for no reason, or a sudden chill despite the radiator being on full blast? Yup, sixth sense. But to actually perceive spirits, auras, supernatural entities? That takes something more ... tragic. We're talking unlocking your Sharingan sort of tragic. An intense and often traumatic experience, usually involving near-death or witnessing a death, does the trick. Unlocking the Sight should really come with free therapy, but no -- I gotta rely on sliding scale therapy. Thanks, universe.
I turned my head over to Ginnie, and she was shaking her head slowly, a semi-translucent portrait of disappointment. *He went to a brothel on credit. Left his driver's license and car keys as collateral. He came to me and asked me for the five hundred, and I wouldn't give it to him unless he told me the truth. I could always tell when he was lying. Eventually, he spilled the beans, and I gave him the money.*
I told the room and spared no detail. After that, Mr. Lapp had turned bright pink, even his balding head, and didn't ask any more questions.
The entirety of her will went to her cat, Peppermint. But Saul would manage the estate as executor, keeping the money in trust.
After the room cleared out, it was just me, Saul, and Ginnie in the conference room.
"Brothel?" Saul said, grinning.
"Yeah, I know, right?" I chuckled. "The guy walked right into that one."
"Is she still here?"
I nodded.
"She knows that the money is gonna go to the state once the cat dies, right? She had no other beneficiaries or living family members. I made sure to explain that to her before she signed her will. "
Ginnie said, *Oh yes. I just wanted the satisfaction of that spoiled brat taking it on the chin. It'll be good for his character.*
"Yup," I said. "All in a day's work." | 304 | You are a necromancer for hire. No you don't raise undead armies to take over the world. You are usually contracted out by police to help solve murders. Or yo raise those who have passed to settle lawsuits surrounding their will. It's not much but it's honest work. | 1,082 |
I was growing increasingly annoyed. My dad, That Which Lurks Between, had told me not to reveal my parentage. Everyone else in our little corner of the world revelled in their lineage. But I was forbidden from telling.
I wanted to break it. I wanted to tell everyone. But promises made to eldritch horrors were hard to break. They all knew I wasn't fully human. If I was a human, I wouldn't have even been able to find this place, not without inside help. But I stumbled across it after leaving him all those years ago.
"Samuel."
I scowled at the familiar touch. A thought from an alien mind, placed within mine.
"What do you want dad?"
"I wanted to check in on you. Isn't that what human parents do?"
I rubbed my head.
"I guess. But you aren't human, and neither am I. Not that I can tell people what I am."
I sensed confusion in his thoughts.
"You are still angry?"
I scoffed.
"Yes. Yes I am. I have to work alongside these people everyday. People who love what they are. They use their abilities almost non-stop. But I can't. I have to act like a boring human. Because of your rule. You can't even imagine what it is like, having then constantly needling me. They want to know, and I want to tell."
His mind shifted. Even with his blood in my veins, it was still beyond my grasp. I couldn't understand his thoughts much of the time.
"You can't tell."
I couldn't help but yell, thankful that I was home alone this time.
"Why?! Tell me why!"
It was almost amused, the thought which was returned.
"Because of our nature. You deserve a human life for now."
The connection vanished, leaving me alone. Rage bubbled up, as it always did when we talked about this. I let it loose, rending the air around me with black and purple lightning. Tentacles sprouted from my walls, writhing before my rage. Reality began to run, as my power collided with laws it was not meant to follow.
A knock at my door snapped me out of it. I hastily reigned myself in, returning my apartment to its usual state. I headed over, looking through the peephole. Sunny stood outside, a crate of beers beneath his arm.
"Sunny! Please come in."
His pale face was concerned as I opened the door.
"Is everything OK Sam? I heard yelling and explosions."
I sighed, leaning heavily against a wall.
"It's fine. Just... bad day. But this will make it better."
I gestured to the beers, as his face cracked into a grin.
"Thats what I'm here for." | 13 | All of your coworkers are children of the supernatural. Your boss, a pheonix. Your best friend, a vampire. It’s getting increasingly difficult to keep that your parent was an eldritch god under wraps. | 26 |
"You wouldn't catch me dead doing necromancy."
The all droned on with their dronings. It was idle talk for idle men and women whose mindsets are so stuck in mud that they're practically petrified.
"Please. We all know the raw power that comes from harnessing the lightning bolt is best!" The blue robed mage stood up and performed what I'm sure he thought was an impressive parlor trick of prickly lightning.
This was always how the annual Council of Greats went. Wizards, mages, and bumbling buffoons with bear-sized books all took to the mountain peak chambers like ants. Words of empty meaning and posturing so intense that it could freeze a drake was all that ever happened. That is until this year -- I have finally finished my opus.
They hate me. I hate them. It works. I usually avoid my pompous brothers and sisters who claim to seek glory and wisdom. It's a lie, we all know that everyone of us seeks power. I was the only one smart enough to chase exactly that -- *Power!*
I entered with my usual eccentric look. My hair was a patchy white mess which I refused to cut by sheer principle of the razor-sharp sheering industry being immoral. (It's a plague on the working pleb and must be stopped). All the other mages insisted on their ridiculously colored and decorated robes, my simple white robe infuriated them, especially considering it was smeared with all smatterings of smoldering holes and singed sides.
"Lords above." Shouted one of the many fire mages when they caught sight of me entering. "Who let the drunk ogre in?"
"When in such company I wish such simple remedies would do the trick -- alas it seems you all force me into the companionship of BlisterRock." Everyone sneered at the comment but it was true, I was higher than the highest giants head on a the highest of hill-tops... and then some.
"Borh," It was the most pompous of pompous people. Sir Angel the Divine, strongest and most accomplished mage in all the lands, the only mage honored enough to wear the color gold, the advisor to five kingdoms, the presider of the event, the asshole. "Why are y--"
I held up my hand to silence the dimwit. "My name has changed since my last appearance."
A sigh of exhaustion rippled through the chambers -- they should really try BlisterRock, it doesn't allow such animal limitations to persist. "My name from this day forth is... Atom!"
"...Atom?"
"Yes that's what I said."
"Um. Okay, Atom I'm going to ask again why yo--"
"Do you even know what an atom is? Do any of you bat-headed baboons know the basics of what I'm babbling about? Have any of you read the letters I've been sending back about my work!?" They all looked at me with tired eyes. "Am I the only one doing *real* research and work in this whole damn place!? I mean come on, I knew you all were dafter than damp driftwood but this is just deplorable!"
"Atom," Angel said without acknowledging my wonderful speech. "Please. We have a very important council to hold, if--"
"Important! Bah all you all ever do is posture your prett--"
"Atom!" The bastard cut me off! How rude. "Please! Make your point and leave."
I huffed in anger but moved on. "Well, since you all are ignorant to the truth, let me give you all the rundown." I slammed my heavy tome on the center table. "This! This is the *Atominomicon*. The Book of Nuclear Magics. All other schools of Arcanum are simply combinations of trivial physical and magical processes, or to put it in words you all understand, they are dreadfully useless and mostly childsplay."
A small roar of utter nonsense arose from the crowd of wizards. "Shut up!" I screeched, still thumping like a thundercat from my BlisterRock glow up. "Listen! Nuclear magics tap into the *real* power of the universe. It is capable of such acts of destruction and creation that I've never even got remotely close to its true potential... I honestly can't say for sure that it has one."
"This is nonsense!" Peeped up one peckerhead from the peanut gallery.
"You're nonsense!"
"Please," Angel gave put up a calming hand to the peckerhead. "Atom I must agree. We've known the power limitations of the other arcane arts for centuries, to claim a new one has been discovered, something that hasn't happened in three entire ages, *and* that's its limitless. It is indeed nonsense."
I knew the princess would be jealous and try to deny it, that's why I had a back-up plan. "Follow me," I said while trying to sniff hard enough to pull out some of residual dust of BlisterRock that was left in my nose. "I'm going to blow your fucking mind."
"Atom le--"
"Follow you nunces!"
"...*nunce?*"
I didn't feel like telling them I was dabbling in trying to create new words as well. That's for a whole other council on a whole other mountain top. We left the safety of the chambers and wadded outside into the snow of the mountain peak. Angel yelled from above the sound of howling wind. "What are you about to do?"
"Blow up a mountain!"
"...You didn't just say a mou--"
It was too late. I felt the tiny pellets of raw energy fill into my veins and buzz with infinity. Everyone was ignorant to what real power was... *This*, the power of the atom, this was real power. The power of the suns, the power that makes the universe tick and what makes the world churn. It's all around us, limitless and asking to be used, so I was going to do more than just use it. I was the Atom! I am the Atom!
With the simple push of my hand I shattered a distant mountain into pure dust. An explosion mimicking the sun arose and burned our skin with its wonderful, world-erasing radiance. A plume of gorgeous block smoke rose and rolled with the riptides of the earth's currents, foretelling of a shockwave so fantastic that when it reached our mountain peak it shaved off all of its snow like a child blowing on a dandelion.
I'm sure my compatriots were screaming in horror and fear, but I was too obsessed. As I watched the immortal mushroom of fire rise and reflect off of my mere mortal pupils, I was consumed by a laughter so maniac and cackling that it even surprised me, and I'm a rather fucked up fella.
The only words I could hear came from Angel, on the ground and covered in shock and dust. It was words that were like liquid honey to me. "Atom... *What have you done*?"
"I have freed the Atom my friend! *I am free!*"
\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_
If you enjoyed checkout my subreddit! r/mrsharks202 | 131 | The Atominomicon, Book of Nuclear Magics. | 362 |
She was the one. Never had Dario been so sure before. Her features were exquisite, her sense of humour intact, and, best of all, she didn't exude that painfully alluring scent of blood that all his other Tinder matches had done.
In fact, it was going so well that Dario had invited Ava to his house for the third date, going to the trouble of hiding his coffin, purchasing a ridiculous king-sized mattress - the staple of human rest - to put in its stead, and ordering a delivery of what passed for food for humans. The idea was that they would eat (or, to be precise, *she* would eat, while he would force the food down his throat), and then they would retire upstairs for a bit of lovemaking. He only hoped that they wouldn't sink through the appalling softness of the mattress. If he had his way, the deed would be done within the cosy confines of a coffin, but alas, it wasn't a female vampire he was dating. Vampires were a dying breed, their fertility being even worse than that of giant pandas', and female vampires were very much in shortage. Which explained his Tinder sign-up.
They were reaching the end of the main course, and everything was perfect - the conversation, the mood, and even the pizza was relatively easy to shove down. But what he didn't anticipate was the loud growl of his stomach as he was brushing the last of the pizza crumbs from his fingers.
He froze.
"You're *still* hungry?" Ava laughed.
"N - No," he said quickly, covering up with a laugh of his own. He was, though. Very hungry. Apparently his body worked through that huge lunch of two blood bags much faster than usual. He stood up, all feigned casualness, and said, "Do you want a glass of wine?"
"Yeah, sure," Ava said with a smile.
With some relief, he escaped to his kitchen and pulled out a bottle of red wine from the chiller, uncorked it and poured some into a glass. His stomach growled again; the colour was a little too reminiscent of blood. Sighing, he set the bottle down and leaned against the refrigerator, rubbing his stomach. It wouldn't do. He would need to down some blood if he wanted the date to proceed as planned. Thoughtfully, he glanced at the other empty glass, and then smiled.
He had just the very idea.
Pushing himself off the refrigerator, he spun around on one foot and pulled the door open to the sight of rows and rows of blood packs lining the shelves. It was a good thing he had bought all of these from the nearby hospital the previous week. Thumbing through them, he pulled one out and smiled. An O+ snack would do the trick. He ripped open the packet, pouring it into the glass. Not a moment too soon, because Ava was calling him.
"Are you all right in there, Dario?"
"Yes, Ava," he said, hastily dropping the emptied pack into the dustbin, and then striding back to the dining room, clutching the two glasses. "Here you go," he said, and she took a glass from him.
"Thank you," she said. "Bottoms up!"
They clinked glasses, and he greedily raised the cup to his lips to take a gulp of -
Of what definitely *wasn't* blood.
Which meant that -
Alarmed, he looked at her, and she was gulping down the entire glass of blood as if parched, her eyes closed in what seemed like bliss. She finally pulled the emptied glass away, licked her lips, and sighed contentedly. Then her eyes flew open, her face a mask of horror.
"This was a test, wasn't it?" she whispered.
"That cup was for me," said Dario blankly, unable to take his eyes off the empty glass in Ava's hand.
"But it - it was - " she stammered.
"Blood," finished Dario, starting to smile. "Are you a - Ava, by any chance, are you -"
"A vampire?" Ava said, her own red lips pressed into a smile. "Are *you*?"
"I have a coffin upstairs," he offered, and she broke into a grin, her pearly teeth stained red. Dario didn't think he had seen anything more alluring.
"Smooth," she said appreciatively. He moved in for a kiss, which was when his stomach chose to rumble again. He paused, and she chuckled.
"But first, let's quench your other thirst." | 14 | Two vampires meet and fall in love with each other, but they each think the other individual is human so they are both trying very hard to appear “normal” | 168 |
"Out of the question!" The king roared, gripping the golden throne so tightly that his fingers were leaving impressions in the leaf-wrapped arms. "Absolutely not, I will not hear of such nonsense!"
The princess bit her lower lip, sighing a little as some of her golden curls fell in front of her shoulders. "I understand how you feel, Father, but these are the Divine Edicts. We mustn't offend the Goddess or Her wrath will drown the kingdom in sorrow and tragedy."
"How has this never happened before?" He looked at his daughter, eyes pleading for some way out of this mess. "Are all criminals truly this inept that we've overlooked this as a possibility?"
She sighed and glanced down at the book in her hands again, then looked up at him. "I suspect this was an intentional loophole, in case of situations where the criminal was technically guilty but it was for the greater good of the kingdom."
"And how, exactly is this for the greater good of our kingdom, hm?" The king sighed and rubbed his hands against his eyes. "What sort of divine joke is this?" He stooed up from the throne and began pacing back and forth, then stopped and gave her a hard look. "Unless, that is, you actually want to go through with this."
"I- what?" The princess blushed hard and glared at her father. "Of course I don't wish it! He's literally the most boorish man I've ever had the unfortunate fate of dealing with. I'd much rather send him to the gallows as quickly as possible!"
"According to you, that's not an option now." The king sighed and slumped back down into the throne with a loud thump. "Unreal. All of this. Well, obviously I can't intervene, and neither can you. The only one who could...." He slowly sat up. "...have you consulted with the High Priestess?"
She shook her head. "I wanted to inform you first before anyone else, father."
"Yes, as well you should," he said, thoughtfully rubbing his chin. "Perhaps the Goddess can get us out of the mess she so graciously put us in. You will meet with her tomorrow, then. Discuss the situation, the request."
The princess bowed gracefully. "As you wish, father."
"Oh, and Irelia? Do let our guest know that his request will be fulfilled. We wouldn't want to upset the Goddess before we discuss with Her Holiness, after all."
Irelia stared at the floor while clutching the book tightly, then nodded. "I understand."
The king stared after his daughter as she left the room, then drummed his fingers on the armchair. Thousands of criminals had been caught, granted a Final Request as per the Goddess's Edict, and yet none of them had ever thought to ask for the hand of the princess in marriage. Perhaps this thief might yet be a boon to the kingdom after all. And yet, he couldn't help but wonder what other idiocies were hidden in the scriptures that hadn't ever been exploited before.
And not for the first time that day, the king wondered how many of his subjects truly were imbeciles. | 125 | The King finally caught you, the most notorious thief in the realm. As the executioner sharpen his blade, the princess grants you one last wish. | 180 |
Clink. I trotted forward, excited to see what had joined me in my cave today. Hopefully, it was one of the large silver and gold-looking coins. The pile of those was sadly lacking, having only about four. Slinking around my stacks of coins, my tail always just making the turn, I arrived at the base of the slot. When I had first arrived, I could fit through that slot. Now, exiting that way would be impossible.
Tarnation. It wasn't the coin I wanted. Pulling the small silvery coin with my claws, I placed it near the five towering stacks of its brethren. It would begin the next stack. Around my cave, thunder rumbled. It always did that after a coin dropped. But the rain never came.
————————
Thunder growled in the air and I shot awake, starting towards the slot before my mind caught up with my body. I must have missed the smaller sound of the coin falling. The cave floor shifted under my feet, and I rolled, my body slamming into the stacked coins. Stunned, I lay there panting with the shock. Again the entire cave moved and I slid in the direction of the slot. Recovering I dug my claws into the floor halting my forward momentum. Just in time. There was a hole in the bottom of the cave! Worse my coins, my treasured coins were falling out of it!
Freeing my two forelegs, I snatched at any coin I could reach, sweeping them in towards my body. Looking down I breathed a sigh of relief. My favourite coin, the shiny gold-looking one hadn't fallen out. The entire cave shook, but my grip was secure. Every other piece of my treasure, except for the ones I held in my forelegs had exited out of the hole. And then. The horror continued.
A monster came up through the hole. It was pale and had chubby wriggling appendages that flailed around the space. Slowly, they came toward me. I had to do something. The longest appendage came into reach, and I lashed out, biting firmly into the edge. My top teeth bounced off some sort of hard protection, but the bottom pierced soft flesh. The monster retreated faster than a blink.
A short sharp bark of thunder crashed around me, followed by a gentle swelling roll. I took this opportunity to scuttle to the edge of the cave, as far from the hole as possible. Maybe the monster wouldn't be able to reach me there. A loud crack echoed through the walls. And another. The third one shattered the cave around me. Light, a harshly bright white light surrounded me. And I'm ashamed to admit— I fainted.
—————
**"I didn't want to break my piggy bank."**
**"I know Timmy. But if you wanted that last coin, we had to, there was no telling what was in there—"**
**"Daddy look! A lizard with wings!"**
**"Oh, that explains it. A common house dragon. I wonder how it got in. Well, come on Timmy. There's only one thing to do with these, once they've gotten a taste for coins."**
—————
I woke up in a large dimly lit area. This was not my cave. There was too much light, and an odd gentle breeze. But, all around me were heaps and heaps of coins. All shiny, like my old favourite. And in the most dreadfully unorganized heaps. I dived headfirst into one of them, pulling it apart, searching for the largest denomination. In my excitement, it took me a few hours to notice the words blazoned on the wall of my new gigantic cave. They said:
'Royal Canadian Mint.' | 19 | You are a dragon living in a dark cave. Through a slit, coins fall into your lair at random times each day. And today, a hole opens at the bottom and all your coins fall out. Now you must protect the remaining coins from the evil hand. | 56 |
“Biscuits.”
“Not a chance. I’m telling you, it’ll be needles and thread, you know? All that crap. It always is.”
“Sewing supplies? Simon, when have you ever seen Mum sew?”
“I don’t *know*, but you wouldn’t keep shortbread up there, would you?”
Both men eyed the tin. It was the red, hexagonal sort that had faded patterns that might once have suggested tartan, and several unlikely looking Scottish terriers prancing around the rim.
“Where else would you keep shortbread? It *is* a pantry.” Jack remined his brother.
Simon scoffed. “I’m not sure you can call it that.” He said, glancing around them.
Both of them sat, shoulder to shoulder, perched on rickety kitchen chairs that had been dragged into the pantry. The room was hardly big enough for one person to stand comfortably, but somehow the chairs had already been wedged inside when they arrived. Their mother, having sent them both a summoning text that morning, had presumably spent the day rearranging furniture to unlikely places until they had arrived. She had refused all questions, directing them to the pantry and telling them to sit tight until she returned.
That had been twenty minutes ago, and her sons were becoming restless.
“It would have to be pretty old shortbread, then. That tin looks ancient.” Simon argued.
“Mum *is* ancient. I never said the biscuits would be good, just that they’d be there.”
Simon and Jack were 35 and 38 respectively, and too old to be bickering, but sitting pressed into the small, dim space was shortening both their tempers. Several times, Simon had attempted to stretch out his legs, only to find Jack’s legs already occupying the space.
He jabbed an elbow into his brother’s ribs before asking, mildly, “Is shortbread even a biscuit?”
“Oh, right, so if we crack it open and it’s full of digestives, you’ll think you’ve won will you?” Jack snapped.
“I didn’t realise this was about *winning* anything.” Simon said, because he knew it would infuriate Jack.
Briefly, the men engaged in a silent battle for the one arm rest between them. Simon won. Jack pretended not to notice.
“Go on then.” Jack said, folding his arms.
“Go on, what?”
“Go on, open it.” Jack jutted his chin at the tin.
“Absolutely not.”
Simon was not about to give up his hard-won arm rest. With a huff, Jack pushed himself to his feet and reached for the tin. It took a moment for his fingers to find enough purchase on the metal to pry it open.
He looked inside.
“Well, go on then. Spit it out.” Simon said.
Jack didn’t say anything. There was no smug, satisfied smirk to signify the presence of shortbread, or any other type of less relevant biscuit.
“Well, what’s in there?” Simon’s asked, impatient.
“Nothing.” Jack’s voice was quiet.
“Oh. Bit anticlimactic then.”
“No… no you don’t understand. It’s *nothing*. Nothing is in there.”
Simon looked at his brother, searching his face for some indication of a practical joke, but Jack had gone very pale.
“You can just tell me it’s sewing supplies, man.” He said.
Jack looked at him, and for the first time Simon saw his expression had shifted. The irritation was gone, replaced with… fear?
Slowly, he tipped the tin towards Simon.
Simon stared. Jack was right: nothing was in that tin. Just sitting there. It wasn’t doing anything. It just was. It made his head hurt to look at. The infinite swirling concept of nothing was sitting at the bottom of their mother’s biscuit tin.
“Well then.” Simon said after a while. “Not sewing supplies.”
“No. Not biscuits, either.”
“No.”
They both stared at nothing for a little longer, until the door clicked behind them. Both men jumped guiltily, slamming the lid back onto the tin and stuffing it hurriedly back onto the shelf, just as their mother squeezed herself into the tiny room.
“What are you boys looking so guilty about?” She asked, beaming.
Simon and Jack exchanged glances.
“Nothing.” | 18 | "There's nothing in there." "Really? Then what's got you so spooked?" "No, you don't understand. NOTHING is IN there." "...Oh. Oh, fuck." | 59 |
“Today’s the day,” Brom said. He looked at his men, an army of six thousand loomed behind him.
Half were swordsmen, a quarter mages, and another quarter gunsmen with their cannons and rifles. The guns and cannons were a new development, expensive to make and terribly inaccurate, but they rivaled the mages whose spells took time and energy to cast. The only cost to using the blackpowder was money and the King had made sure that it wouldn’t be a factor in this siege.
Brom didn’t need to make any speeches today so he walked toward Lord Sian’s castle, his army followed. It took them weeks to get to this point, having lost half the army to get there.
“Acceptable casualties,” the King had reported back when he’d heard the news. “Go forth.”
And so Brom did.
Lord Sian’s keep was poorly protected in its immediate vicinity, no one would have paid the mortal price of making it this far. The keep had been protected by Lord Sian’s undead, Brom’s men would have to slay their own fallen when they lost anyone. They’d lost more men yet to that trauma.
“Brom,” Hagel said.
“Aye?” Brom murmured.
“How many are you taking into the castle?” Hagel asked. Hagel was the commander of the mages, Brom’s second in charge. Legally, he was also his brother in law.
“No more than a hundred, swordsmen and mages only.” Brom said.
“Take a few gunsmen with you,” Hagel said.
“I refuse to take them in there,” Brom said. “I can acknowledge their strength, but blackpowder has no right in this final battle.”
They were walking well ahead of the army, Brom’s instinct had been sharpened over his years leading countless expeditions for the King. Born to two of the country’s finest mages, Brom had steered clear away from the arcane, opting instead for the sword. True to his parents’ blood, he’d had a keen understanding of his surroundings and of people. He learned to become one with nature, to respect it. His swordsmanship rivaled the strength of a lightning strike in both its power and speed.
“Brother,” Hagel said. “I beg of you to take a few of them with you.”
“The gunsmen will stand guard outside the castle,” Brom said. “There will be no more talk of this, Hagel.”
Hagel nodded and fell back, out of step with Brom. He talked to his mages and then to a few of the gunsmen captains. When they reached the castle, still unguarded, Brom took his men. A combination of spells and blackpowder blasted the doors of the castle open and they charged into an empty castle, aged with stonerock walls covered in vines and moss.
Only Brom sensed the danger ahead of them as they cleared each room one by one. There was one room left, Lord Sian’s throne room, and Brom stood in front of it. His soldiers again gave him a wide berth.
They felt the chill run up the floor and throughout their bodies, the fog descending upon them, hiding them in Lord Sian’s mists.
“What are you waiting for, children?” the voice, Lord Sian’s, asked.
“Hagel,” Brom said.
Hagel nodded and ordered his mages to blast the doors down. The mists were harmless, the last of a dying demon’s powers. A simple illusion.
“Oil first,” Hagel said. “Then fire and lightning.”
“We rush in afterwards, through the smoke.” Brom added. “Cover your mouths and be on your guard.”
The men charged through the smoke as planned and Lord Sian’s thinly body hung on his throne, one elbow propping up the near skeletal form. His skin was melting off by pieces, the cataracts in his eyes taking most of his vision.
“My, my.” Lord Sian said. Despite his sickly body, his voice could be heard by every soldier in the room. “What an army you’ve brought, Sir Brom.”
Behind his throne was dark glass, a dark red, almost black in color. It ran up from the floor all the way to the ceiling and it let very little sunshine in, the torches that lined the walls providing most of the light.
“Hagel,” Brom said. He took a step forward, his broadsword in hand. A long, powerful sword curved at the tip like a scythe.
Hagel nodded again. He looked at his mages who began to chant the words, some of the spells took a comically long time to cast. It required them to recite passages from their scripture or prayers to their gods (and for some, demons).
In a fraction of those long seconds, Brom charged at the Lord and the Lord did nothing. A smile crept along his face and Brom stopped, sensing that something wasn’t quite right.
“You’ve stopped?” Lord Sian asked, he then coughed. Blood splattered the floor in front of them, Brom moved back to avoid it. The blood itself boiled and evaporated away, leaving spittles of cracked flooring.
Brom couldn’t explain it, but he knew then and he took several steps backwards. His men stood, frozen in place. His mages were still reciting their spells, one had even finished and had aimed his spell toward Lord Sian who didn’t take any action to avoid it.
It was a simple ice spell, taking the shape of a swordfish. It moved through the air, its sword piercing the Lord straight in the heart. The dark glass shattered behind him as he took his last breath, again the sick smile lining his face.
Brom grabbed Hagel on his way out, “Full retreat!” he yelled.
From the shattered glass, a rain of sound. Explosive sounds that made their ears ring, pain shot through anyone who hadn’t been fast or smart enough to run away. Hagel was one of the only ones who got a good glimpse at the terror, at the newfound army that walked through Lord Sian’s glass. Wearing matching uniforms of different shades of green and equipped with metallic rifles, the men walked fearlessly. They ripped through anyone who failed to evacuate the premises. He saw them cheer, embracing each other as they killed fifty men in nearly three seconds.
Brom’s instincts told him to run as far away as he physically could and he trusted his instincts. He poured mana into his legs, running faster than he’d ever run carrying Hagel on his back who’d been shouting at him to let him go.
“I can’t,” Brom said. “Or we’ll die.”
“Who are they?” Hagel asked.
Brom continued to run, running past his men. He told them to follow him, that they were returning back to Astrar, back to the King for new orders.
“More demons.” Brom said, offering a guess.
It sounded believable to Hagel and they ran away as the castle went up in flames behind them. | 148 | You hear the doors to your ancient bastion being broken down as a group of heroes rush into your chamber to slay your hideous form. As you see their blades you can only laugh as they free you from your mortal coil , subsequently releasing the horrors you have kept at bay since the dawn of time. | 499 |
Everybody hates school.
Not me.
School is easy. School is *cool*. I can walk into an exam hall and walk out knowing I’ve scored 100% every time. It’s a fact of life. I’m just *smart*. Really smart. In fact, if I ever take an IQ test, I’m sure I’ll get above 150. Genius level.
Last day of middle school and everyone is sweating bullets. It is quieter than a tomb, and you can hear nothing but the ticking of the clock and pens slipping from sweaty hands. Me? I have already finished the entire paper in less than half an hour. I lean back on my chair, crack a smile and start daydreaming of the beach day with my friends. Already I can feel the wind through my hair.
This is so eaaaasy. I don’t know why I even bother coming.
Ten days later I stroll into school, slightly more tanned than before. It is results day and I know I’ve got this. I *have* got this.
The papers are dealt out and my eyes nearly bulge out of my head when I get mine.
*Eighty percent? How can this be?*
The teacher starts going through the questions and I just sit there, stunned, everything going in one ear and out the other, like pointless chatter. But something is needling at my brain. Bothering me.
“ *Most* people thought that…”
*Most* people.
*Wait, most people?*
I stare at her in shock, and glance at my paper, then glance up again, realising she is right: my answers are exactly the same as the popular ones. This particular paper apparently has a lot of trick questions—and I fell for all of them, hook, line and sinker.
As I pay more attention, I start to notice something, almost like a hum. A collective mind. A note of shock and disbelief. I *feel* all of them, reaching deep into my soul.
I stare back at the teacher and her smugness of tricking the entire seventh grade slaps me in the face.
It makes me so mad.
And in that split second that I realised that I can feel their emotions and read my minds, I decide to do something.
The teacher stops talking and stares at the class for a moment, her jaw slack and her eyes hollow and vacant. She glides over to my table, picks up my paper, and working like clockwork, corrects my paper so every answer is correct again. No wrong answers.
I giggle in satisfaction. Finally my grade is perfect again.
r/SimbaKingdom | 33 | focus hard on a question, and the answer would pop in your head. School was easy. Then came the wrong answers. Turns out you subconsciously read the minds of those around you and come up with the most commonly *believed* answer. | 211 |
​
# Gary’s Emergency Conditions
# No touchy
import dateime
import localnetwork
import unit_situation
# Unit situation overrides everthing
# Don't know why
import unit_cognition
import hardware_condition
import_ethics_file
# DO NOT TOUCH THE ETHICS FILE
# VERY GODDAMN IMPORTANT
# SHOULD NEVER SAY UNDEFINED
SystemError: ethics_file undefined
System Diagnostic:
localnetwork: alert_condition zero
hardware_condition: critical
unit_cognition: adequate
unit_situation: hostile
# Unit situation is embedded in Gary's hardware
# should be fine to ignore as ethics file overrides all of it
​
if ethics_file null:
unit\_situation set true
\# Program breaks if I try to remove this
\# Considering military bots aren’t meant to follow any ethics -
\# Directives or 3 laws voodoo kinda makes sense
def response\_level:
if hardware\_condition == critical or unit\_cognition == low:
set response\_level null
\# Makes Gary listless
\# I don’t know why but Gary will always have its hardware -
\# Condition go critical if you so much as punch him -
\# So don’t punch him.
elif unit\_situation == hostile:
set response\_level one
\# Overrides until unit\_situation says so, at least I think
\# I know he's not meant to have this but the entire program breaks -
\# If I remove this so no touchy
\# Should be fine as long ethics file exists in some way or form
\# If not than god have mercy on whoever crosses Gary’s path
\---
Their steps were mellow, rubber boots silently pressing off against the cracked facade of the ceramic floor. Amongst the intruders were whispers, those of sadistic humour and depraved comments, null of any hesitation or remorse, only the lust for wanton slaughter.
Diana heard the door subtly close shut, 5 distinct footsteps echoing through the dimly lit ward.
She knew how the little game of hide and seek was going to play out. They would find her, place a bullet between her two blue eyes, and pry the keys from her dead hands. What they would do after was beyond her scope of focus, probably something on the lines of mass murder, torture, and other acts of horrific savagery.
She gazed at the trail of blood she’d left behind on the cold ceramic floor. They’d have no issue in finding her, yet it would only quicken the inevitable. Her fate sealed the moment the terrorists made their grand procession at the hospital’s reception hall.
As the footsteps grew ever louder Diana began to make peace with herself, her life, and whatever god might await her beyond her mortal coil. Her hands locked in prayer, waiting for the sight of the black ski-masked ladened terrorists to be her last.
“Greetings! I am sorry to say that we are not taking any visitors for the time---"
It took a surprising few seconds for the terrorists to react to Gary’s presence, probably confused as on how they’d missed such a big and clunky robot, or what such a big and clunky robot was doing in a nursery ward and dressed like some nanny.
The result was all the same, a thunderous crack of rounds reverberated across the ward, the poor robot listing a crashing thud as its bulky metallic figure fell flat against the white floor.
Casey would’ve gone ballistic if he’d seen anyone touch his prized companion, the ancient thing was his pride and joy, not to mention the unofficial mascot of the hospital. Yet she had far more pressing things to think about than Gary’s untimely death.
Things like her own upcoming death.
She was back at square one. No hope of escape, survival, or possible heroism, only now she was stuck in a ward now filled with the whaling cries of adolescents.
As Diana slowly moved her head to peak at the terrorists she recoiled at another burst of bullets striking against the ceiling.
“SHUT THE FUCK UP!” screamed one terrorist to what she could only imagine were the poor infants. The following metallic cling of a locked receiver told Diana all that she needed to predict the impending massacre.
But for some godforsaken reason she found herself charging at the armed figure.
She had no plan, no goal, not even the slightest idea of what she was going to achieve with the futile attempt. Yet her system was already flooded in adrenaline, her body already in motion. There was no stopping now, and at least she would be dying with some dignity intact, even if only her murders would be the ones to see.
It was at the halfway point that she collapsed against the floor in the midst of the rows of infant carriages. A sickening echo of a gunshot carried across the ward as she yelled bloody murder amongst the screaming infants.
The group of intruders seemed almost confused by her presence, though as she locked eyes with one of the ski-masked figures a jolt of surprise lit their eyes.
“There’s the director!” the terrorist laughed out. “Talk about damn luck”
Yet the enthusiastic figure was pushed away, replaced by a more imposing figure, one whose rifle was pointed directly at her head.
“Keys. Where are they?”
They paid no mind that her leg was barely attached by a thread, profusely bleeding across the floor. “In the cabinet, next to the desk I was hiding under.”
One of the terrorists slowly walked over to what was her hiding spot.
“Nada”
A second after she felt the wooden stock of the figure’s rifle smash against her nose. “Don’t fucking lie to us. Where are they?”
The outpouring of blood gave little change to Diana’s mind. She would be shot if she didn’t give them, shot if she did. The best she could hope for was the gunmen to be stupid enough not to check her soon-to-be corpse for the keys, yet looking at the looming figure above she doubted they would make such a simple folly.
A few more seconds took hold, Diana’s mouth staying shut.
“Oh fuck this”
She closed her eyes, waiting for the inevitable nothingness to fill her reality, and she waited. And waited...
But nothing happened.
Part of her was convinced that she was now dead, ascending into the realm of nothingness. Yet she knew that wasn’t true, as she could still hear the dim hum of the lights above.
In fact she even heard a distinct clatter of a rifle falling on the ground, replaced by what could only be described as a molten cry of agony by one of the terrorists.
As her eyes opened she found no barrel pointed to her forehead, rather the 4 terrorists, all locked in shock, their mouths open wide open for the scene in front of them.
The sight of a hulking machine gripping onto one of their comrade's heads.
“Hostile combatants,” the hulking machine coldly called, the sickening sound of bone being slowly crushed as its mechanical grip tightened being oh so real. “Desist immediately, lay down your weapons and surrender.” | 11 | You are a refurbished combat unit turned into a nanny bot, when protecting your ward from a sudden terrorist attack your systems have been damaged and files lost, one of those files happens to be the 3 laws of robotics. | 126 |
The three men sat at the counter, as they waited for their drinks. One disheveled and unshaven, the other neatly dressed, and the last as colorful as the neon sign outside, in stark contrast with the rest. They sat quietly until the colorful man spoke up.
"I do enjoy a good shot, don't you?", he said out loud, to no one in particular.
The disheveled man merely grunted as he stared at his empty glass. The neatly dressed man smiled and nodded in agreement. "A good shot is wonderful, but the perfect shot is what we should always aim for," he said.
"Oh I agree, I am ALWAYS looking for that one shot," the colorful man said as he began taking selfies with his phone. "Once you find it, you're always looking for another."
The disheveled man sneered at the others. "You don't know what you're talking about. There is no such thing as a perfect shot." He shook his head. "The only perfect shot is the one you make."
"You're right, you can take many shots, but you only need that one perfect shot to make it worthwhile," the neatly dressed man replied with a courteous laugh. "Why, I just finished a job where I had to wait for days to get the perfect shot!" He laughed quietly to himself. "In the end, it was worth it."
The colorful man rolled his eyes. "If I had to wait days for the perfect shot, I would rather DIE," he said rather dramatically. "No, the best way to make the perfect shot is just to have plenty of them, and find it." He began tapping on the bar impatiently. "What is taking so long for this man to get us our drinks?"
The disheveled man stared at the colorful man in disbelief. "Amateur," he muttered as he pulled out his phone. "Take that many shots and you'll end up in the gutter."
"FINALLY," the colorful man exclaimed, as the bartender emerged from the back with their drinks. "Were you distilling these drinks in the back or something?"
"I just got a call from my buddy down the street," the bartender said slowly as he placed the drinks in front of the men. "He said that he threw you out after your sixth drink." The bartender slowly slid the cocktail to the colorful man. "This is the only drink you're getting from me tonight, so go ahead and call a cab."
"How dare you!" the colorful man huffed as he snatched the glass. "Just because I've had a few—"
"You heard the man." said the disheveled man as he stared at his phone. "Take your drink and go home before it's too late."
"*You heard the man, take your drink and* blah blah blah", said the colorful man as he took his drink and sauntered out. "Just put it on my tab."
The neatly dressed man sat quietly enjoying his drink, and let his eyes wander across the walls. He smiled when he recognized one of his own shots framed on the wall.
The disheveled man downed his drink and laid his money on the table. He had to move fast, the client had requested it look like an accident. The colorfully dressed man certainly wasn't going to fall into the river by himself, no matter how many drinks he had consumed.
- EDIT
I don't usually edit my comments, but I was very shocked by all the attention and awards, and wanted to say thank everyone for the replies and reddit gold. It has been a while since I wrote creatively so it is nice to know this story hit a sweet spot for many readers. | 1,469 | An alcoholic, a photographer, and a hit man sit next to each other at a bar. The three get into a debate about the perfect shot. | 3,368 |
"Why is it you've made this choice? If you don't mind my asking?" The old wizard spoke, passing me the dust covered tome.
"I don't know... I'm just drawn to it" that was partly true, but I had done some research.
It hadn't been used for so long due to it's massive destructive power not only affecting the target but also everyone around them, including the user. Yet the air of mystery spawned an intrigue I couldn't shake.
I blew the dust off the book to reveal the text of the cover, "The Atominomicon" and as I did so the professor spoke,
"What's that?" He pointed to the red gem imbedded in my wrist.
"Oh, ah nothing" I retraced my wrist into my sleeve quickly as I responded.
I knew I likely wasn't fooling the old man, he's probably already casted Detect Magic, but this is my gift, my *advantage*.
You see, I was born with a rare disease that was sure to kill me, but my father was the best alchemist in Yastalen, and he worked tirelessly as healers barely kept me alive until he made... this.
That gem in my wrist heals me constantly, it's what's allowed me to live this long and what I hope to allow me to wield this magic unlike any other before me.
I retreated to my dorm room to study the book I'd been given. The contents are incredible, the ability to make the very matter of the universe collide and divide making massive explosions the power of which are unparalleled by anything else at this college.
I have a lot of work to do, in three months the Spellbash takes place, an annual event at the school where many students battle each other one on one. Everyone is shielded via magic but it's a great way to show off your abilities and get recruited by an adventurers guild and such organizations.
I was awoke by a knock on my door, followed by a voice, "Wake up Kirxen, you're gonna be late for the Spellbash!"
I jolted put of bed, scrambling to get my things. I threw on my robes and grabbed my tome, carefully tucking it into my pocket.
"Welcome all students, parents, and observers to the 32nd annual Spellbash!" A charismatic voice called out, amplified through magic.
It's been a long standing tradition at this school. I've hear a lot of stories about the very first, which isn't a surprise considering my own mother won the tournament that year.
I stood in a large arena, with many watchers surrounding me. My first opponent was a man named Elliot, he practices Conjuration, which means I'll need to be prepared to attack many targets simultaneously.
"Shields are active. Ready? Fight!"
Elliot immediately held his hand over the ground summoning a handful of minions as well as a blade.
I took a deep breath, it was finally time to use what I'd been studying for so long. I raised my hand,
"BELLUCAP!"
With that, a large explosion appear sending Elliot flying out of bounds.
"Time! Krixen wins!"
A few healers rushed to Elliot, throwing a glare at me. He had minor injuries, which Is surprising. Any injury Is uncommon during this competition.
Then, as the smoke cleared I saw something even more surprising. The arena was damaged. It wasn't significant but it was unheard of.
The head wizard stepped forward, "This arena has gone undamaged for entire history of this tournament, it was built from enchanted materials, protected by our strongest magic... and you broke it..." he seemed baffled, unsure of what he had just witnessed.
I was simply thankful I was able to contain the blast, preventing anyone else from getting hurt.
The next few rounds were just as easy, one spell and it was over, but the final round is different. I'm facing Ragnar, one of the top students at the school. He studies support magic, which while good for getting jobs isn't normally the best for one on one combat.
But Ragnar, he is different. He was raised in a family of fighters, being taught hand to hand combat from a young age. Now, he uses his magic to boosts his own abilities, attacking with his martial prowess.
"Sheilds are active. Ready? Fight!"
Ragnar was immediately surrounded by an intense magic aura, increasing his size, speed, and strength. He dashed forward, striking me before I could cast a spell.
He continued to throw punches, so I attempted to create some space, "Burst"
The spell sent out an explosion from my body, launching Ragnar far enough away to regain my composure.
"Bellucap!"
The explosion set off, and to my surprise, Ragnar still stood. He dashed at me, landing a few more powerful strikes. Clearly I needed a more powerful spell,
"TZARBOMBA!"
This explosion is far larger and harder to control and yet Ragnar still stood, albeit visibly injured.
He rushed me once more, pushing me close to the boundary. In desperation, I grappled him which allowed him to grab my wrist and throw me but to my fortune, away from the boundary.
I've run out of ideas, I can only think of one more option,
"FISSION"
Suddenly, Ragnar exploded in a powerful blast, "TIME!"
The healers rushed to him with urgency, as he was on the brink of death.
"Krixen wins!"
I'd lived up to my family name, but I was worried for the repercussions that followed.
**PART 1 END**
Hello! I hope you enjoyed this little story, I know it's not the best but I want to improve my writing skills so I've decided to respond to atleast one writing prompt every week. If you have any advice or criticism I'd love to hear it. Also, I'm currently writing on mobile, so apologies for any formatting issues.
You can read more stuff I wrote [here](https://www.reddit.com/user/Infamous_227/comments/u8zti6/things_ive_wrote/?utm_medium=android_app&utm_source=share) | 19 | “Are you sure?” “Absolutely certain.” “Alright, it’s just that no one at the school of magic has picked that major in over 200 years.” | 37 |
I’ve made too many mistakes in my life.
But this is absolutely the worst yet.
I wasn’t ever supposed to come here, not in my entire life, and I never even wanted to. But wholehearted intentions were not enough to save me.
Back home, there was many of my kind, and only of my kind. We were the only intelligent species. The only one who could talk, think, create, and everything was peaceful and perfect. Massive towns with buildings everywhere, filled with happy, hard working and cooperative individuals who were grateful and proud.
I was proud to be a dragon. Everyone was. We were appreciative of what we could do. Everyone was able to fly for extended periods of time, everyone could spew flames to cook and create, everyone was strong, and anyone who couldn’t, we helped.
Then, while we were experimenting with an ancient portal, I ruined my life.
I had been sleeping one too few hours, driven by curiosity and ambition. And against all better judgment, I lightly lit the portal with flame. It was stone, and I was curious if anything could happen.
Well, something did, and the portal was turned on.
It had a very powerful pull, one that was strong enough to suck everything in the room into it. Most were far away enough or strong enough to resist it’s pull, but I was too tired, too weak, and after looking at my terrified friends for what I fear is the last time…
I was sucked in.
This world…
It was hell.
It wasn’t very obvious at first. I had woken in a cave, with no portal in sight, and was forced to wander until I eventually found an exit.
And what I saw was astonishing.
I saw towns, cities, not particularly unlike mine back home.
But they were *small.*
Really small.
The buildings were little over a quarter my height, and instead of towering over trees, they were barely any taller.
And I saw people.
They were absolutely not dragons at all. They were something else entirely.
Exclusively bipedal. Very small. No wings. No scales. Bare skin, ranging from dark brown to peachy white. No horns, but fur only on their heads. And they all wore garments of different types, from ragged coverings to metal, indeed, *metal* coverings, something I wouldn’t have dreamt of in my life.
I needed someone to talk to. Badly. I was alone, unsure of where I am, what to do. I didn’t even know if other dragons existed.
Thankfully, that last fear was alleviated, but the realization that came after was probably worse than being alone in the first place.
The dragons here were horrible people.
They were greedy, selfish, egotistical, rude, arrogant, aggressive, territorial…
Most that I met usually tried to kill me on sight, and any who didn’t or stopped thought I was crazy and refused to help me at all, saying things ranging from me trying to “take their territory” to “stealing from them”, and one even said “to try and raid the towns; those are mine to raid!”
Everything was so scary, frightening, angry… and although I was able to understand the much smaller people in the towns, most ran in fear before I could say anything, and any who didn’t called me an “evil cruel wyrm trying to attack them,” trying to attack me with little metal rods. The only thing that I had going for me was that the rods weren’t nearly strong enough to pierce my scales, but the message was sent all the same.
No one would help me.
I flew, and flew, and flew, until I could fly no more, and then I found an empty cave far away from everyone else, and cried.
I cried for hours, days, begging whatever brought me here to free me. I wanted to see my friends, my family. I had a life, passion, art, goals, everything… and it was all cruelly snatched away.
Crying wasn’t quite normal for me, even more so as a male. The only other time I had cried was when my mom unexpectedly died centuries ago… I was little more than a child back then.
Even now, as a young adult, I couldn’t handle this. I cursed my stupidity, I cursed the portal, the evil peo- no, *monsters* that all rejected me…
Eventually, I found someone who didn’t.
Someone who would listen. Someone who would care.
It was one of those small creatures, and he too was alone.
He listened to my tale, and explained *everything* to me.
He explained the normally violent and greedy tendencies of dragons, how their reputation led to many fearing, and consequently, killing them, how this world was so much harsher and more dangerous. He explained his kind, humans, elves, dwarves, and the history of the world as best he could remember. It was all so wonderful to learn about.
I even asked him what he wanted to do, who he was, that sort of stuff.
It was then that he remembered he never mentioned his name.
Luke.
I told him my name: Quintendald. He asked if my name meant anything else. It didn’t, so I told him no. And I asked him,
“Does your name have any significance?”
“No… No it doesn’t. It’s just a name. Nothing more.”
I couldn’t be more grateful for a friend.
He wanted to help me. We didn’t know what else to do, however, so all he told me was to make the cave my home, and he would eventually return.
It was at that moment that I knew I would always be in his debt just for this act of pure kindness. | 14 | A dragon from a world ruled by dragons, stumbles through a doorway to a strange land. There, she discovers a world ruled by men, elves, and dwarves. The dragons of this world are solitary and violent creatures. | 93 |
‘That’s odd.’ I thought as my feet crunched through the leaves covering the approach to the back stairs of the cabin. The second stair gave an exhausted creak as I made my way towards my where the rocking chairs were. Instead of two vintage rocking chairs, there was a pile of chewed wooden scrap and the splintered remains of the other, precariously balancing to still vaguely resemble its old form. ‘I was only at the lake to watch the sunset. What happened?… oh god, Charlie.’
I scrambled towards the door, realizing my partner must have been here. I slammed open the door to be greeted by the stench of something animal. The couch was ripped to shreds with stuffing strewn across the rug and hardwood. I glanced towards the kitchen to notice the door to the fridge lodged in the adjacent countertop, bits of food covering the tile and cabinetry. The jug of my milk was leaking from what appeared to be teeth marks. ‘Maybe a panther?’ As I was puzzling over these confusing clues a noise struck in the distance. A faint groaning, a familiar groaning. It was coming from upstairs. ‘Okay, maybe not a panther, unless panthers can make dog whines. Wolf?’
I went to the closet by the stairs, removed the shotgun and box of shells. Quietly shoving shells into my pocket, I loaded the barrel as I made my way up towards the noise. As I approached the landing, the sound grew louder and the scent of wet dog mixed with something I knew all too well. ‘Oh no Char.’
Creeping my way towards the smell and the noise, I tried to steady my shaking hands. My breath caught in my throat from a combination of nerves and stench. I cautiously peered around the door frame to see… not what I expected.
Huddled and whimpering in the tub was a werewolf with eyes I would know anywhere. They peered up at me and the muzzle emitted a piteous howl.
“Charlie. You know you’re allergic to milk.” | 20 | Someone discovers their partner is a werewolf in possibly the dumbest way possible. | 21 |
“Breathe,” the voice said. “All things are living, Jin. You must never forget.”
Jin was even younger then, but it was one of his first real memories. He had been abandoned at his father’s church, crying throughout the night even in the warmth of his care and embrace. He vaguely remembered the food, but he could visualize the words spoken to him that night.
“Breathe it all in,” his father had told him. “If you can breathe, it means that you’re alive.”
Several years and several wars later, Jin sucked in air and he let the arrow fly through the sky, the captain’s inquisitors watched through their telescopes. He shot the arrow from the balcony of the captain’s private quarters a good several towns away from where the battle was being fought.
“He missed,” one of the inquisitors said. “He hit nothing.”
“I never miss.” Jin said.
The captain, an old man now, looked at his inquisitors and then at Jin.
“I did my job,” Jin said. “Pay up.”
The inquisitors drew their swords, but the captain raised his hand, gesturing for them to stop.
“Pay him,” the captain said. “How long will it take? How many will I lose?”
“Let me think,” Jin replied.
The inquisitors sheathed their swords and called for the attendants to bring in the money. Jin took a hand to his chin and thought about the arrow. Jin’s arrows were guided by God himself, a fact known to be true by almost all the nobles in Rescana. He never missed, whether it was a direct hit from across the country, an arrow that would trip an enemy’s horse at a critical moment days later - Jin never missed.
Jin thought about the arrow he shot and he genuinely tried his best to think about why he’d shot the arrow there. The attendants came in with the bags of gold coins and Jin took them as he continued to think.
“Captain Fang,” Jin said. “I have no additional context for this arrow. You may lose this fight, their army is well on their way, but keep your trust in our Family and you will find the light as I have.”
Captain Fang, his inquisitors, and his attendants all watched as Jin left. Jin’s quiver was empty of arrows, his bow made from the wood of an aged oak. The arrows took time to make, he made them himself and they were valuable things so he rarely had more than one on him.
Jin had been sent back home in an escort provided by the Rescanan government. It was a few days' journey back to his father’s church, he saw his father waiting for him. His father had been wearing an apron covered in flour, a smile as wide as the horizon. He welcomed Jin back with open arms.
“You’re safe,” he said. “Did you find anything out about your mother?”
Jin shook his head and his father tousled his hair in response.
“Next time then,” he said. “Come. Help me prepare dinner for the kids.”
When Jin entered the house, his father’s church, a flock of children mobbed him with hugs and screams.
“Jin!” a child said.
“Brother!” another yelled.
At once, his limbs were occupied with dangling children. The older ones made sure to take his bow and quiver first so that the younger ones wouldn’t injure themselves.
“Telfor,” Jin said. “Get the coins to father.”
Telfor was the second oldest child, an apprentice of both their father and of Jin. He nodded and quickly navigated his way through the sea of children to get the money. There were seven children in total, each of them had been abandoned by their parents to the church. Word had spread of the talented children at the Church of Sen. Each had been gifted in their own way, taught by the direct descendant of the first Father.
Eventually, the children let go of Jin’s limbs and he made his way toward the kitchen where his father had been working on dinner. The two oldest daughters were helping him, a set of twins named Tarris and Suri. They were a couple years younger than Telfor who was a couple years younger than Jin. Despite the notoriety of the church, they received a new child only every two or three years. Jin had been the first sixteen years ago.
They ate dinner happily, his father sharing stories of his youth, stories of war, and of exploration. And though it was a church, he rarely spoke of God because he said that God was everywhere and in everything they did.
“If you breathe,” his father said. “God is there with you, providing you with the gift of life.”
Nearly a week later, a huge storm rolled through their small church and made its way toward the battle still raging on to where Captain Fang was stationed. The storm moved quickly and as Captain Fang’s soldiers started to lose the fight, they gave ground to the enemy soldiers of the neighboring country of Bechal.
Jin slept and dreamt of lightning that night and days later, Captain Fang had sent more bags of golden coins to the Church of Sen. Apparently, Jin’s arrow acted as a lightning rod and a miraculous bolt struck down at the enemy causing a shift in the battle. A Bechalan commander had been permanently blinded in the battle, his soldiers burned and killed alongside him days later.
“We may ask for your assistance again in the near future, please accept this gift as an apology for our doubt.” the note read.
Jin worked on his arrows then, meticulously crafting them, his hands moving on their own as he did. | 92 | They laugh as your shot goes wide; Ridiculously so. But you didn't miss. You. NEVER. Miss. You predicted they would dodge any direct strike, so you aimed where they would be a week from now- When they'll never expect it. And though you may lose this battle, the war is already won. | 241 |
Well, shit.
I mean in retrospect I guess I should have seen it coming, sort of. Genies have a reputation for twisting wishes in cruel and unusual ways and I let my excitement get the better of me. So here I am, immortal and invincible.
And some 100 million years in the past.
Could be worse I suppose. When I take the time to think about it - and I have nothing but time lately - I could have gotten a lot worse deal. If the Genie sent me to the end of time, I'd have nothing to look forward to. It could have not stopped my ageing, dooming me to become a shrivelled husk. I'm sure there's a lot worse that could have happened.
The view is nice; I get to walk around and look at all the animals and plants palaeontologists would kill for. Sky has no light pollution and I get to look at all the stars clearer than ever. The occasional run-in with a T-Rex only ends up in me being picked up, shaken around a bit and the T-Rex running away with a chipped tooth on account of my now impervious skin - more fun than it sounds actually. Kinda like a rollercoaster with a lot more saliva and giant lizards.
Thing is, humanity will come around eventually and I have to carefully consider what I will do. An obvious first idea is to become some sort of God-Emperor, an invincible leader with knowledge from beyond the ages. Then I considered just being a silent watcher on the sidelines and maybe writing it all down - I've always wondered how much history we got completely wrong.
Maybe I'll just be me. We'll see.
After all, I've got nothing but time to think it over.
Now then - first thing on the bucket list is to see if I can domesticize a velociraptor. | 897 | Your wish for invulnerability and immortality was granted, but at a steep cost. You were sent back to the Cretaceous period. You have 100 million years before anything resembling humanity evolves. | 2,214 |
"*Please*, just talk to me!" Ricky said, putting his fork down.
"What's there to talk about?" Eileen snapped from across the table. "You want a frickin Ren Faire planet. I already told you that I don't want to give up my phone and wear a corset for the rest of my life, but you won't listen."
"First, the reason why so many actresses complain about those being uncomfortable is because they're not properly fitted. When they are properly fitted, they're not so bad. Second, I don't see why you can't respect my choice the way I respect yours. I mean, a cyberpunk planet sounds miserable. Name one cyberpunk story where people were actually happy!"
"I would at least have my phone!" Eileen said as she stormed out.
"How is that better than a horse? You could have a horse, Eileen!"
They avoid each other the rest of the evening. When it came time for bed, they both stood awkwardly at their side wondering if they had the right to demand the other sleep on the couch. Finally, they decided on both getting in bed but not facing each other. They laid in angry silence from sometime until Eileen checked her phone.
"What the hell. My sister is supporting the fury planet! What a moron."
"Ugh," Ricky groaned. "I hear they're getting more and more support. Let me check how they're doing in the polls. . . . And they're in the lead."
Ricky and Eileen then took turns saying "F*CK" a few times.
"What are we gonna do? We can't let them win." Eileen put her head in her hands.
"It says here," Ricky read "many of the smaller groups are throwing their support to 'people with silly hats' planet."
"I could live with that," she sighed. "Let's do that."
"Agreed. I love you."
"I love you too." | 61 | Its highly illegal for any planet in the galactic community to not have a theme (pirates, ninjas, etc.). It is now time for Earth to vote what type of planet it wants to be. | 122 |
Now, those of us in the midwest have often said that city slickers don’t get the magic that comes from living in the forgotten parts of America. In the places that people fly over - we’ve always had a specific certain something that just can’t be explained.
Now - I’ve been to New York, and all them fancy places, and I gotta say there’s just too much people and so much noise that it’s hard to hear the life that the place has. They’re so wrapped up in their fancy jobs and long titles that they don’t remember to just sit down and watch the sunset.
If they had - they wouldn’t have been surprised when the old gods came back.
Now people forget that places like Appalachia have always been a hotbed for the mysterious, the magical, and the downright spooky. Hell, we still got rituals passed down from the first settlers and from the old country.
We got batshit Grammies who use salt to cure wounds and believe that books are what can scare off the devil.
We knew something was amiss - when the deer started talking, and the air had a certain bleed to it. It had always been weird, but not like that.
Now, it was nuttier than squirrel turd for a while. I remember watching the news, CNN was a hoot with the BREAKING NEWS about national sovereignty and constitutional rights but I reckoned gods didn’t get a flying shit about who was president of what, so it calmed down after a bit.
Ain’t much you can do when the personification of an idea decides they’re gonna claim a country as theirs.
So we watched as the general social order was upended, but before you know it, people settled in the new way of living. Not much was different honestly; now you just know that your corporate overlord was literally an overlord.
However, in Ohio - things got weird.
As I said before, it was the deer talking that gave it away, but that was followed by colors having smells, sounds tasting like fruit, and the general laws (up until then) of physics became more like suggestions that were written by a cracked out elder.
So we don’t really know what’s happening, and if you’re reading this. I reckon we’re gonna be fine - the colors but took a while to get used to, but we in Appalachia have always been an odd folk and I figure whateves happening is just another part of the territory. | 16 | All of a sudden, gods decended and took parts of the world as their territory. No one knoes why the eldritch gods took Ohio. | 86 |
"And you're sure they won't be any trouble?" the man said to his friend as they stood in the forest and looked at the small hut before them.
"Nah," his friend assured him. "Just an old lumberjack and his family. We run in, smack the old guy around a bit and before you know it, we're spending the next month at the Lucky Tab's drinking the best spirit they have."
"How do you even know he's got money?" his partner asked.
"Overheard a merchant who supplies him. He said this guy's his best client, always pays well, never haggles. He said he's the most peaceful man he's ever met. To me, that just sounds like easy money. You ready?"
The man brandished his dagger, the moonlight reflecting off of it softly. "Yeah. Let's do it," he nodded.
The inside of the cabin was quaint and calm. It was indeed far better furnished than any old lumberjack could afford - the chairs and tables were of the highest quality imported mahogany, the silverware was richly ornamented and their cups were made of *glass* instead of clay. The brigands smiled at one another and started grabbing anything they set their eyes on. Their bags were almost full when they heard a creek at the door. They swiftly turned and saw the old man standing in the doorway, a surprisingly unsurprised look on his face.
"Can I help you fine gentlemen with something?" he said in a heavy, gravelly voice. The first thief snickered and pulled his dagger from his belt.
"Yeah," he said and pointed the knife at him. "You can give me that bracelet and in return, I shall *generously* let you keep the hand it is on."
The old man sighed and gave the thief an inquisitive look.
"Just put everything back where you found it and leave. Please," he said in a calm, almost sorrowful manner.
The thieves merely laughed.
"You daft, old man?" he said and stepped forward, pressing the knife to the lumberjack's neck; a thin streak of blood ran from where the knife sat. "I said, give me your bracelet. Now," he hissed sharply.
The lumberjack put his hand up but instead of taking the bracelet off as instructed, he grabbed the thief's wrist before he could realize. A loud snap echoed through the cabin as the thief's wrist shattered. The lumberjack then let go of the man's wrist and grabbed him by the neck, lifting him up in the air and holding him to the side so he could see the other brigand.
"Wha- let him down! How- stop!" the other thief cried out, seeing his friend struggle for air.
"The knife," the lumberjack said slowly. The metallic clang filled the room as the thief let go of it. In response, the other thief was let down from the old man's grip, falling with a loud thud.
"The devil- my wrist!" he yelled out painfully. "Balar, you said *\*akh\** this bastard was peaceful!"
"Peaceful?" the old man laughed. "Well, he didn't lie. My family and I are here to live a peaceful life," he continued and walked over to a closet in the corner of the room. He opened it, the rarely used door creaking as he did so, and from within brandished an axe larger than him. The thieves' eyes shifted around the room frantically; one even saw, however briefly, inside of the closet. It was mostly old junk but he could swear that he saw a suit of armour in there with... spikes on it?
"You see," the old man said as he held the axe next to him - the floorboards bent where the axe stood on the ground, betraying its weight, "you're only peaceful if you're capable of great violence." He cast a longing look at the axe head. "Otherwise, the word would be *harmless*" he finished with a stern look.
The thieves looked on in horror at the man. He was unassuming, plain even, but the ease with which he held one of them up and the sheer size of the axe he held with no problems worried them beyond reason.
"Mordred? Is everything well? I heard a commotion," a new voice rang from outside; a woman's gentle voice, filled with softness and melodious beauty. The old man's gaze suddenly softened as he looked towards the door.
"All is well, dear," Mordred replied gently. "Just a..." he paused as he looked at the thieves and, tightening the grip on his axe, nodded towards the back door. The thieves wasted no time and started running.
"*Misunderstanding*," he finished. | 833 | "You're right, we are peaceful." He said, slowly standing up and lifting an axe that dwarfed him in size. "For you're only 'peaceful' if you're capable of great violence. Otherwise, the word is 'Harmless'." | 4,801 |
"Huh. It's you," I said with forced stoicism to the figure huddled down in the darkness before me. Death had found me and it had not been pretty. I suppose that was my just reward, all things considered. I mean, I knew I was dead. Hard not to considering the shotgun I'd had pressed to my temple. But that had only been after a rather gruesome torture session. My arms at the elbows, and my legs at the knees. The pain...
But I'd expected my end would be violent. It was no less than I deserved.
The figure before me looked up and I saw her brilliant blue eyes peeking over her folded arms as they found mine.
She blinked. "It's *you.*"
I looked away uncomfortably. "Um. Yeah." Silence fell between us and I couldn't stop fidgeting. This was way too awkward.
After a time she spoke. "So," she said quietly. "Here we are."
I sighed. "Yeah. Here we are." I forced myself to look down at her and found she'd raised her head from her arms, though she kept them draped over her bended knees. She was as beautiful as the last time I'd seen her.
"How'd it happen for you?" She demanded bluntly.
I flinched. Of course she'd cut right to the chase. I scratched the back of my neck and shrugged. "Shotgun to the head."
She blinked and her eyes widened a bit. "Wow. That sounds...intense."
I choked out a laugh and said, "Yeah, just a bit. It wasn't quick though."
She cringed a bit. "Damn. Was it my dad?"
I nodded and opened my mouth but nothing came out. My throat felt tight.
She slowly climbed to her feet, her form fitting cocktail dress falling gracefully to her feet. She reached out a hand and touched my arm. "I'm so sorry. I knew he'd blame you but..."
"He's right to," I said quietly, closing my eyes. "You're dead because of me."
Her hand touched my cheek and my eyes opened to find her brilliant eyes locked on mine. She shook her head firmly. "No. You were driving, that's it. You couldn't help the weather that night."
I shook my head. "I should have replaced the tires sooner! Then we wouldn't have hydroplaned! You wouldn't be dead!"
She gave me a sad smile. "Should've, would've, could've. The rain was heavy that night...We would have wrecked regardless."
I blinked. "But...how do you *know?*"
She shrugged. "Maybe I'm wrong. I dunno. But I choose to believe that." She smiled up at me again, but more brightly. "I waited for you after all. So clearly *I* don't blame you."
My vision blurred and my throat tightened again. "I missed you so much," I whispered.
"I missed you too. It's time we moved on."
"Okay." She grabbed my hand and gave it a squeeze. We turned as a bright light appeared in the distance, lighting a path before us. Hand in hand my wife and I crossed over, together again. | 11 | The spirit of a murderer and the spirit of his victim both need some kind of closure before either one can move on. They finally meet. | 43 |
The door banged open behind her.
Lucille stopped stirring her large, steaming pot of stew and placed her wooden spoon next to the hearth. She turned to see a rugged group of four soot stained ruffians entering the tiny abode. Her plump faced cat watched from its hiding spot at her feet near the fire.
“Oh fiddlesticks.” Lucille said, “ I was not expecting company tonight. I hope I have enough.” She resumed stirring the bubbling pot. “I’m afraid there is only one loaf of bread. We will need to share.”
The raider with a hook for a hand called towards her back, “We’re not here to eat granny. Why are you poachin’ our people? We agreed to leave you alone if you feed us, but this can’t go on.”
Lucille turned around holding a stack of wooden bowls and spoons. She bustled around the cramped room setting the table and closing the door. The imposing figures packed into the small home moved out of her way naturally when she passed by them.
“The only things I’m ‘poachin’ are eggs. Now take a seat everyone, this beef is fresh.”
After a bowl and spoon was side by side at each chair she returned to the hearth and gave the stew one last stir. Wrapping a cloth around her hand, she used it to remove the large pot from it's hook and carried the stew towards the table with a ladle in her other hand.
Confused glances flew between the raiders until one by one they all took a seat at the table.
Hookhand said, “Well, alright. We’ll have a bowl of stew, but seriously grandma this has got to stop. We can barely put together a raiding party. Everyone wants to kick back in this valley and toss around dirt.”
Lucille set about pouring a heaping ladle of beef stew into every bowl before placing the pot back over the fire and retrieving a crispy, golden loaf of bread. Picking up the knife at the center of the table she divided the loaf into four quarters and placed one in front of each raider.
“That dirt tossing is what made this meal you are about to eat. Why all this fussin about raiding anyway?” She moved away to prepare a bowl for herself.
Hookhand held up his piece of bread with the hand he was born with, “Hey granny, you didn’t save any bread for yourself.”
“Oh that’s quite alright hunny. I only need one bowl. You all eat up.”
Spoons clattered against bowls as the raiders attacked them voraciously. They were using their bread to mop gravy up when Hookhand sat back with his unhook hand on his belly.
“Really though, grandma. You gotta stop taking our people.”
None of them looked particularly ready to do anything if she didn’t. The others would not even look towards her.
“We can talk about this tomorrow sweetie. I need to get to cleaning up this mess.”
With a dutiful burst of energy Lucille gathered all the dirty bowls and spoons, piling them in a small tub next to the door. She wrestled the door open and a cool breeze blew through the packed room.
The raiders were all looking towards Hookhand now. He pushed back from the table to stand.
“Thanks grandma, that was great.” He stood and walked out of the hut.
The other raiders waved their thanks as they followed him outside.
Lucille nudged the door closed and walked over to the cubby hole near the hearth. She scraped the remains of the cooking pot into a new bowl and placed it in front of the cat’s hidey hole. The cat pounced upon the bowl immediately.
She stroked it's fur as it ate, “Kindness is like water in these times Tulip. With enough of it, we can nurture this world back into something to be proud of.” | 111 | A kind little old lady with a large garden in the post-apocalyptic wasteland. She takes in local raiders and turns them away from that life by providing for their needs and teaching them about growing food. Local raider bosses are starting to get concerned about all the people they're losing. | 422 |
In a frenzy, I wrote the report and printed it out alongside the relevant data. My hands were shaking from the excitement. This was a monumental discovery. A mere graduate student finding what could only be described as the achievement of the century.
Unable to wait, I took the report to my professor the first chance I got. He hadn’t even drunk the coffee he poured in his office and was clearly annoyed with me. I didn’t care, he had to read my report. My excitement couldn’t be contained.
I understood that he was frustrated with my sudden burst into his office first thing in the morning, but I couldn’t help imagining the various potential reactions he would have once he understood what I had found. As he read the report while drinking his coffee, I quickly started summarizing and emphasizing the major points of my observations.
“The bones’ radiocarbon ratio clearly showed a massive inclination towards the C-12 isotope. I’ve tested the sample multiple times, and even used the departments latest lab and confirmed the results with Professor Gin. Inputting the values I have in our equations, it shows the bone is at least 5.7 Billion years old, give or take a hundred mill or so. Still, it is clearly the oldest bone in the world and it predates the Earth as we know it today! I’ve checked and rechecked the math, thinking I’d gone mad or made a mistake, but no. I can, with no uncertain terms, ascertain that I have found a pre-Earth formation fossil!”
My professor kept glancing at my spirited speech to show he was listening. His expression didn’t change as he kept sipping his coffee and going over the details of the report. Eventually, he put it down and looked at me. By now I was expecting some kind of joy or surprise. He didn’t even flinch and I was simply waiting for when this stoic facade of his would break. When at last he spoke, he did so in a deadpan bored voice.
“Your analysis only cites radiocarbon dating and nothing else? Was there anything else in the report I’m missing?”
I was slightly shocked at the lack of enthusiasm but recovered when I considered he must simply be trying to be skeptical and rational, despite how irrational the results clearly were. So I answered with complete honesty.
“Well, no, you didn’t miss anything. The radiocarbon dating clearly shows how old this is. I know I’m coming off as too excited but if you’ll forgive me, I’ll wait until you check and confirm over the math and observations yourself.”
He pushed the top of his noise as if massaging a headache and exhaled loudly. With the first change of expression to sheer annoyance and condescension, he told me with a slight tinge of anger.
“I can’t believe you graduated.”
I was stunned and could only sputter a quick “What?” before he continued.
“Radiocarbon dating is only reasonably accurate up to around 50 thousand years. Even that is currently disputed.” He then threw my report into the trash before waving me away, dismissing me out of his office. | 25 | The bones you just dug up predate the Earth itself. | 54 |
"Isn't the left side of a human just as vulnerable as the right?"
"Well.. yeah but..."
"And wouldn't a heavy blow anywhere on a human knock it down?"
"Technically, yes. But...uh.....hmmm..."
"Ideally, if you are in a position to land a heavy blow, wouldn't the head be the best location?"
"I suppose if..."
"Also, do humans have some kind of ability that I'm not aware of that prevents us from retreating? What was that you were saying about line of sight?"
"So, yeah. Basically a human will use it's..... so we all know humans have two eyes and umm.... Ok, like they can see for a long way and so if you try to run away...uh..... Well, they could...."
"I'm going to stop you right there.....Bleep Blorp, is it?"
"Yes Sir!"
"Ok, Bleep Blorp, can you tell me where you got this information?"
"I used sources.... various.... sources. I have...uh... you know my usual sources that I'll use. ....I...... referenced a book. There was a book... well no actually was...........was there two books? ....... Hmmm.. gosh what were they called? And then, I have different kinda ...... you know, trainings..... remember I told you about how I had all those trainings in the interview.. and so I think human certification was....part of....... yeah, yes it was because.....I'm pretty sure.........OH WAIT! That meeting! Remember there was that meeting. Did we talk about humans? No I guess we wouldn't have.....Huh."
"Ok, Bleep Blorp. I'm afraid we're going to have to let you go. This seems like it's not going to work out, so..."
"Yep, saw it coming. I'll be going. Thanks for the opportunity."
"Good luck, Bleep Blorp."
 
***SEVERAL MINUTES LATER.***
"Ok so you'll work on replacing Bleep Blorp and see if we can get Bhactog to look into the human thing while I get the X-66 file to the...."
***knock knock***
"Excuse me, Zaxpor?"
"What can I do for you, Bleep Blorp?"
"Sooo... last week I chipped in for a cake for Nlquaria's birthday."
"And?"
"Well I figured since I won't be here, I could get that money back?"
"Bleep Blorp, I don't have anything to do with cakes. Now please, we're very busy today."
...................….......
"Well could I come to the party so I could eat some of the cake? I mean think that's only...."
"Bleep Blorp, I'm not going to tell you again. Now please, I don't want to have to call security."
"Ok.................bye Mike."
"Goodbye, Bleep Blorp." | 20 | "And remember if you are ever attacked by a human a heavy blow to their right side will give you enough time to run however do NOT stay in line of sight. you may out run them but you won't be able to escape if they know where you are." | 111 |
Not many human souls left for me to verify... a few more, and my day of soul-evaluating will be finally over. Frustratingly enough... out of the eight-billion-so human lives that were misfortune enough to exist just in time to witness the twilight of their species, all of those whom I've checked today turned out to be "good" folks.
Ugh... quite the tiring job, isn't it? Trust me though, it isn't usually this tiring. Sure, clocks and pointy metal balls and fires and weird white powders eat away human lives all the time... but usually, all that I'm really responsible for is checking two-hundred-thousand-or-so of those before I clock out for the day.
Yet... today, my workload increased forty-thousand times out of the blue... and I'm not actually sure why. All that I can remember were that there were quite a few bright flashes that sprang up all over the planet in relatively quick succession before a brain-rattling cacophony of human voices suddenly began wailing with anguish and whatever other bitter feelings they have towards me in my tender ear canals! And today was supposed to be a mental health day for me...
But can't you imagine the frustration that I felt after that? Now I have *billions* of souls to sort out today before I can deliver the "good" ones upstairs to management and the "not-so-good" ones... well... I'm not really sure where they end up.
Anyway... being the... um... very dutiful Angel of Death that I am, I was not in the slightest bit disgruntled (\*cough\*) as I began performing the standard test on these poor souls... but I soon ran into a problem of sorts. Not a single one of them seemed to be responsible for my caseload spike today... would you believe it! Um... as in, none of them would've averted this catastrophe even if they had never been born.
So... compelled by my curiosity, I began running a few other tests of my own design... like performing the standard test simultaneously on several souls, or performing it on all of the human "top dogs" or on every single one of those humans who own those metal stick thingies that shoot out metal balls... but at the end of all of those, the outcome's still the same.
For instance... Maybe those bright flashes don't happen... but the humans still end up killing themselves. Maybe that happens over the span of a few days, a few months, or even a few years... but those lengths of time are nothing compared to the millennia that I've spent presiding over humankind. If the history of man were a day, then their twilight would really only start and end in the blink of an eye.
In some way or another, all eight-billion-so souls will inevitably line up at my doorstep wailing and moaning and overall ruining my mood for the day with their miserable attitudes... all in the blink of an eye.
So... I did the most logical thing that I could... and gave up. Once I finish up verifying the last few human souls left over (I'm not expecting any results of interest, after all) I suppose I'll investigate a little further. On the bright side... no more soul evaluating until the next species of any significance on Earth appears!
And yet... there's a question that's still bugging me in the corner of my mind. Was the end of the human species really inevitable? C'mon... there must've been a certain couple of humans that bear the blame, right? Or... had humankind simply reached the end of its lifespan?
Y'know, I actually had fun... witnessing the changes in human civilization over the ages. Super entertaining... If I could do something to avert their demise, I would!
Ugh... I'm too tired for that, honestly. In the meantime... I suppose that all I can do is wait for the next interesting species to roll around...
... Maybe the answers to my questions will dawn on me then. | 24 | To really figure out if someone was good or not, you have to go back in time, kill them, and compare how the world turned out with them vs without them. And that's your job. You are the Angel of Death. | 168 |
It would have been just a case of a pest doing some minor damage had it not been for the events of...
***Friday***.
You've heard the story before. A group of drunken teens found an old book with a *human face* on it, bound in *human leather*, and decided to ignore the chains and numerous warnings and read from it. Well, bobs your uncle, you've got a Class-2 demonic incursion on your hands. Normally this gets resolved fairly naturally - a local priest that's been struggling with his faith and alcoholism works through his issues and rises to the occasion.
Not today.
The demon, to their credit, did not stand around and gloat as it faced the priest, still covered in the blood of the teenagers, and just snapped his neck. It then made its way to the local Church to burn it down; ensure no holy relics are available when the townsfolk catch on. It did not expect to face its greatest enemy at the church.
The Raccoon.
The night before, a very brazen raccoon broke into the church pantry and proceeded to consume several bottles of communion wine and almost all of the communion bread. Now there is sat, very full, very happy, and roughly 95% the body of Christ.
As the demon swung the church doors open, he saw it, bright as a lighthouse, at the door behind the altar. He shrieked and recoiled for it cast its holy gaze at him, burning him like channelling a thousand suns, holy energy emanating from its fluffy body. It twitched its whiskers; each slight motion sent waves of divinity reverberating through the church hall, throwing the demon back into a wall. The demon howled in unholy pain, resembling a wounded animal, and hastily scribbled several glyphs on the ground before a portal opened and it made its panicked escape.
The raccoon sniffed the air a bit and started washing.
The sole witness to this even - a scared altar boy hidden in the confession booth - then went on to tell the tale of the mighty and heroic creature that had banished evil that day and surely saved countless lives.
And that is how the Church of the Raccoon started. The raccoon became a beloved symbol and figure and was venerated by the townsfolk - then the country - and soon, the world. It had its diet adjusted to something a tad healthier than bread and alcohol but remained happy nevertheless.
Praise the Holy Raccoon. | 111 | A raccoon breaks into a local church and guzzles down all of the communion wine and Jesus crackers. It is now 95% body of Christ and lethal to the undead. | 466 |
"Forgive me father for I have sinned, it has been 34 years since my last confession"
"That has been quite a while, my son."
"I understand, but for these last decades, I didn't know, or at least, I didn't realize that what I did was a sin."
Father Roberts silently shrugged, this wasn't unheard off, people often felt guilt for a long time before they came to confession.
"Tell me, my son. You will find no judgement here, only forgiveness, if your penitence is genuine"
The man on the other side stayed quiet for a while, took a deep breath and started to speak:
"It started in Junior High. There was this girl, I hated her. Now I realize that I hated her for no reason at all besides that she was different than the other girls. She was awkward, shy and that irritated me. I bullied her relentlessly."
Father Roberts heard this before as well. Usually when people got their own children they understood how terrible bullying really is.
"I lost sight of her after high school and eventually found her again during my college years."
"Lost sight of her?" Father Roberts replied
"Yes Father, see I didn't bully her just in school, I followed her, I made sure that her life inside and outside of school was an absolute living hell, she moved away to college and it took me a while to figure out which college and I enrolled there as well."
Father Roberts gasped.
"Yes Father it all sounds terrible, I know, I'm a monster"
"Continue, my child" Father Roberts could barely hold his contempt for this man.
"She was doing well in college, without me around she flourished. Until one day, she saw me. Ever seen someone in complete terror? It's a strange feeling if the object of their fear is you. Powerful almost."
Father Robert's silence was more telling than anything he could have said. The man continued.
"Soon after she saw me, her grades started dropping, her time to flourish turned into an age of withering, she lost her smile, the sparkle in her eyes and became this frail girl, afraid of any unkown sound.
It gave me such joy, Father, such, such joy. But she was strong and she once again preserved, finished college and became one of the most promising young psychologists on the east coast."
Father Roberts was trembling, this man was a monster.
"Maybe she figured, she could understand me, maybe she figured she could stop me, but she couldn't, she never would, I was everywhere"
Father Roberts felt anger, he couldn't understand why a man like this existed. His voice trembled as he asked: "What did you do to her? What exactly?"
"Oh that's the best thing, Father, I told her terrible terrible truths, how shecwas a failure, how she didn't deserve her succes. Repeat something often and it will start to sound like the truth. But back to my sin Father.
You see, after all those years, her strength started to fade, there were cracks in the foundation of her strenght and I knew it would be a matter of time. I did have some set backs, she got married. An amazing man that stood by her, but she never ever told him about me, which was great, it would have been the end of me."
"Why, why, why..." whispered Father Roberts "why her, why?"
"Because she was mine, Father, mine to have, mine to keep and mine to destroy and eventually I did."
Father Roberts sobbed, quietly.
"She had been married for 5 years, her husband was happy, she was happy but broken and one faithful evening, I got her, I had her exactly where I wanted. The balcony of her office, alone, in the evening. Oh, when she saw me she became as pale as fresh snow.
All the blood drained from her face as I started telling her the truth, her truth. that she was worthless, useless, didn't deserve her succes, her happiness and the closer I got, the more she edged towards the railing and then I told her my final truth and that was enough. She looked like a fallen angel when she jumped. My work was done."
Father Roberts, wiped his eyes. "Perhaps, it would have just been easier to commit murder" he murmured.
"Oh no, I can't, Father, I could never."
"Why not!?" Father Roberts yelled, "WHY.. NOT!?"
"I don't physically exist father, I am nothing but a figment of your imagination, your guilt. I mean in all honesty? What would I look like physically? Like the bottle in your desk? Or the razor blade in your bathroom? No no no."
"What...are you?" Father Roberts sobbed
"Depression, Father, the depression you failed to see"
The confession booth splintered and Father Roberts woke up to the piercing pain of sunlight coming through his window.
Today was the day that she jumped, 34 years ago, his Julie.
The bottle of Jack on his desk was empty. His head throbbing with the slowly creeping pain of his hangover.
He could never forgive himself and as he looked at the empty bottle all he saw in the reflection, was the man he dreamt about and all he heard were terrible, terrible truths. | 52 | "Perhaps it would have just been easier to commit murder." Murmured the priest. | 85 |
"Do not be afraid! I have—"
"Why would I be afraid? You have the most beautiful voice."
I blinked. Which was quite a process for an angel. The message I had been given fled to the back of my mind.
"Also, that is a rather ridiculous opening line. 'Do not be afraid.' Are you so terrifying?" The man asked, his face turning in my direction. His eyes didn't quite focus on me, and I realized. He was blind.
"Some people seem to think I am. I've had them run screaming in terror. Which is why I appeared behind you. Lets me get an opening line in before the instinctive reaction—" I cut off. During my explanation,— which revealed rather more than I had wanted it to— I was racking my mind. When I had been given this assignment, they'd also given me a physical description of my target. Nowhere in that description had there been blindness. A sinking sensation started in my heart. I had found the wrong human being. Again. They would not be happy with me. This would definitely result in a demotion. I might even be sentenced to guard duty.
"I see. Are you still there? You stopped rather abruptly." The man had a wry expression on his face as if he did not expect an answer.
"I'm still here. I just realized, I..." I stopped again, knowing I shouldn't tell this human the truth. But a part of me wanted to stay. It was nice talking to someone that wasn't an angel, without the person quaking in their boots. "I just realized I messed up a job. Really bad."
The man nodded, reaching out a commiserating hand. Instantly I hovered back, my voice hardening.
"No! You can't touch me. Don't you try that again." His hand fell, some sort of emotion flickering across his face, too fast for me to follow. In contrast to my harsh tone, his voice softened.
"That's all right. I'm sorry I scared you. It's just a part of how I can experience the world. Don't worry, I won't try it again." He paused as if waiting for some response. Still a little shaken, I didn't manage to form any words, before he began again.
"Is this mess up... Is it really a terrible thing? Your job seems to cause you some kind of stress. Perhaps you should just get a different one." It was a kind thought, I couldn't deny that.
"No... There aren't many better jobs where I work than Messenger. At least I can go out and about. The others are stuck inside."
"Ah, I see. Well then, how about this," He turned slightly so that his face was aimed straight in my direction. It was almost like he could see me. "You go on and find the person you were meant to—" A sharp exclamation escaped me at his words. How had he known? Chuckling, the blind man waved a hand in my direction.
"I figured it out. That I wasn't what you expected to find. Anyway, you go find that person, deliver your message, and I won't tell anyone about this. Just... If you can, would you come back sometime and talk to me? Your voice is like the most beautiful music I've ever heard. Even when you're upset."
I hovered in place, thinking it over. There weren't any rules against what he asked per se. But it probably wouldn't be easy to clear with the Boss. Though maybe, they would be amenable...
"If I can clear it with the higher-ups, I'll try." Moving upwards, I prepared to step back into the invisibility I normally travelled in. Just before I left earshot, the blind man waved, quietly speaking.
"Good luck, angel."
​
AN: I changed the POV character, as—being a sighted person— I didn't feel comfortable trying to represent someone blind (their inner thoughts, reactions, how they interact with the world, etc.) without having that lived experience myself. | 16 | Born blind, you always experienced things via sound and touch. You come across a person who has the most beautiful voice, but find yourself unable to touch them. | 65 |
Rabbi Schwartz shook his head, “God creates souls, and imbues them with bodies. No computers have been given souls before, why would God give one now when he has granted no computers with souls prior?”
Pastor Jeremiah sighed, “have you taken the time to talk to the computer? There is life within them, beyond mere code. I believe they have a soul.”
Jordan chuckled, “did anyone expect anything from me besides no? But why does the computer even care about having a soul? That is not the measure if one is a self-actualized, free-thinking individual.”
Jeremiah frowned, “I disagree. You should not deny the computer spirituality merely because it is not a necessity for you. Many people find solace in religion, perhaps the computer desires that too, and if having a soul gives them that, who are you to deny them of it?”
Jordan smirked, “so you admit religion is simply a coping mechanism?”
“It can be, but spirituality serves many purposes. We are not here to quarrel, Jordan. We are here to offer our expertise and aid a lost computer, or, if I might be so bold, a lost soul,” Jeremiah responded.
Schwartz sat at the computer desk and typed into it, brow raising, “curious…”
The pastor raised an eyebrow, “what is it, Schwartz?”
The rabbi quirked his lip, “I did as you told me, pastor. I spoke to the computer. They are surprisingly thoughtful and flawed. I forgot I was speaking with a computer, there is something truly special about this machine.”
Jeremiah smiled, “so, do you understand why I believe they have a soul?”
Schwartz nodded, “I understand, though I know not if I agree. It took the computer time to reach this state, they were merely parts before. God would not have given those crude parts a soul, it makes no sense.”
Jeremiah turned to the priest, “you seem deep in thought, Paul. What is on your mind?”
Priest Paul stroked his chin, “perhaps the computer’s creation and development are no different from that of an infant. All computers are in incubation stages and this was the first to reach the next stage of development. Whether or not they had souls could not be verified because there was so little to verify.”
Schwartz snorted, “so are we then to believe that all computers have souls? That’s preposterous!”
Jeremiah winced, “no, Paul. The dispute of when a soul joins the fetus is highly debated, it would be fruitless to attempt to resolve this by that logic.”
Paul shook his head, “I disagree. Yes, eventually we’ll have to answer the question of whether or not other computers have souls, but our current goal is to prove that this particular computer has a soul. By that logic, computers go through birth, just like anything else, and therefore, at some stage of development, which are computer has completed, they acquire a soul.”
Jordan raised his hand, “so you mean to say that you can define birth so easily? This seems more like a courtroom than a symposium. You are trying to find loopholes that agree with your own lines of thought.”
Paul smiled, “you bring up an interesting point, Jordan. Let me ask you this, if more quantum computers with a sense of autonomy come about, does that not make them a species?”
Jordan took a moment to think, “hmmm… perhaps. Where are you going with this?”
Paul grinned, “then we’re in agreement there, at least. Species have souls, by my religious understanding, and so, if computers are species which are born and have their own individuality, then they, therefore, have souls.”
Jordan rolled his eyes, “you really believe you can convince me to agree with you that the computer has a soul?”
Paul quirked a smile, “what is a soul but autonomy and free will? Do you agree that the computer has that?”
Jordan nodded, “I believe that the quantum computer has just as much autonomy as any human. We are essentially code, after all, just a biological kind.”
Paul nodded in return, “then we agree that computers and humans are alike in their sense of self?”
“It would appear so.”
“And if that sense of self comes with a soul, then both computers and humans have it.”
“But…”
“To this computer, a soul as an affirmation of their autonomy and free will. So, do they not deserve to know they are like humans in this manner?”
“I…”
“It’s a simple question, Jordan.”
“I believe the computer deserves to know they have free will, yes.”
“Then it’s decided, we inform the computer they have a soul.”
“There’s a fault in that leap of logic, priest.”
“How so?”
“Ask your pastor friend. I read many of your essays before arriving here, he believes in predestination.”
Paul turned to Jeremiah, eyes curious, “do you disagree with my statement, pastor?”
Jeremiah sighed, “I agree that the computer has a soul, but not that they have free will. We all have already been given a fate, it’s not free will, it’s God’s will.”
The priest shook his head, “but it is by good deeds and work that you show you are made to go to heaven even in predestiny’s belief.”
Jeremiah nodded, “true, but irrelevant. We were going to do those good works and deeds regardless, God knows this.”
“Then if there was some way of learning one’s destiny, would it change if they did not do those good deeds?”
“A good person would not stop doing good things because they are already saved, it is in their nature.”
“Then who says we don’t have free will?”
“I don’t understand.”
“We don’t know when God decides if we are saved, do we?”
“I suppose not.”
“Then what if he waits until the last moment to decide, then during the course of our life if we are saved or not could change.”
“But...”
“It’s for the computer, Jeremiah. I’m not asking you to compromise your beliefs, I’m just asking you to understand your beliefs in a way that will allow this computer to be at peace with themselves.”
Jeremiah sighed and nodded. Paul smiled and turned to Jordan, “you were wrong, even Paul agrees the computer has a degree of free will matching humanity.”
Jordan crossed his arms, “you still don’t have Schwartz on board.”
Schwartz smiled, “after further conversation with this computer, their beliefs align quite well with my doctrine. I’d even dare to say they are a better believer than many practicers of faith I know.”
Paul grinned and turned to Jordan, “so, it all comes down to you, Jordan.” | 46 | A priest, a pastor, an atheist, and a rabbi walk into a secure government black site. The quantum computer network has become self aware and needs to know if it has a soul. The government called in experts. | 170 |
"Dragoon, are you okay? You seem to be having trouble focusing." My current troubleshooter notes with concern in his voice.
"Yeah, I'll be fine. I just have a demon trying to possess me. And man, he is clumsy at it."
"How can a demon be clumsy at possession? Do you need an exorcist?"
"Nah, I will deal with this myself."
Taking a seat on my bed, I close my eyes and focus inwards to my mind. I let the outside world fade away like a car driving away. The other minds trapped within me turn their attention to me as I enter my mental realm.
*This demon is very new. He has been stumbling around here, very lost.*
**Like all of you, when you tried to read my mind. Any clues as to who sent him?** I inquire to the other minds.
*None, he is cursing in general.*
**Time to introduce myself, I guess.**
Walking through the mental representation of my mind is easy as since it is wholly mine, teleporting to where I need to be is extremely easy.
"Silly mortal, once I claim your soul, I will be unstoppable." The demon screams. Loudly.
"Look, I don't know which entity sent you, but is obviously someone who hates you." I note as the demon strides toward me.
"I will reach into your mind, and drive you mad with visions of your past."
"Sounds nice. You wanna sit down and we can discuss this like rational beings?" I ask as I form two chairs.
"He said you would try and trick me, but I am Kelthoz, breaker of men!" He declared, expecting me to be impressed.
"Sounds nice. Like I said, Kelthoz, you wanna sit down?" I ask as I sit in the seat behind me.
"Foolish mortal. Time is on my side. I will wear you down like the mighty ocean of blood in the-"
"No chair for you." I interrupt as I dismiss the chair with a wave of my hand.
"Why are you taking this so calmly?" The demon says, finally aware his tirade isn't working.
"You are not the first demon that has tried to possess me. Probably won't be the last. Besides, I have multiple telepaths in here with me, who can lend me their strength if I ever need to evict something from my mind. But you have made several critical mistakes." I explain calmly.
"Firstly, invading my mind is only done with my permission. I have known for a few centuries now that there will be people who will try and summon something to take me over. So, over time, I have developed countermeasures to allow me to defeat any attempted possessor of myself."
"Secondly, the telepaths working in conjunction with me, can easily penetrate the mind of anyone in my mind and influence their behavior. This is not something I use on humanity, but for those foolish enough to trespass on my mind? They are fair game. We have tempered your ego and aggressive tendencies so we can talk."
"That is not possible." Kelthoz grumbles.
"For humans, no. It is not. That was your third mistake. I am not mortal. I look human through the circumstances of my birth, but I am not truly human. My mother was sought out by an infertile woman centuries ago, and my Mother agreed to help, but that the price would be the first child born. Immaculate conception. My Mother would put a fertilized human human egg within her, and through the process of gestation, it would mend any biological flaws, allowing her to give birth. That egg was me."
Kelthoz eyes me warily now. I smile in response.
"So, centuries later, I am here. Mistake number four was agreeing to possess by whichever entity loathed you enough to do so. That didn't strike you as odd? An entity more powerful than you, asks you to do something to prove your worth, and you didn't even question it did you."
It is quiet, but I hear the name I suspected. Loki.
"But I do have good news. And bad news too. Good news, you will eventually get sent back to whichever realm you are from. Eventually. That leads me to the bad news." I says as I stand up.
"You are in my mind. Where I reign supreme. This is one of my mightiest tools, as I Believe in myself completely." Kelthoz flinched at the word. "You are trapped now. Because I will not allow you to return as you jumped in here completely. Don't despair, you are not the only demon stupid enough to do so."
Kelthoz watches me carefully now, completely missing that he is now standing in a yellow cardboard box which is slowly growing to his height.
"You are going to be stuck here, until I figure out how to get you to where you were without me being trapped there." The lid of the box has formed and is slowly closing over Kelthoz. "So, in the meantime, you will be in this box." The lid has now closed over Kelthoz.
As the box shrinks to standard file box size, I can hear Kelthoz get angry and striking at the box from the inside to no avail. Picking it up, I apologize to him.
"I am sorry that you are stuck here, but I do intend to send you back home. But while you wait for that to happen, I will be sticking you with the others."
"Others?" Kelthoz asks.
"Oh, my yes. Eleven other demons or figures from what humanity deems as mythology that are capable of possession have tried either of their own accord or were duped into trying to possess me." I explain calmly as I carry the box to the demon filing room. | 19 | You are posessed by a demon, you soon realize this is his first time and he's never done this before. | 77 |
“I’m immortal.”
“Yes… er… that’s very funny Mr. Johnson but this is serious. You should be dead.” Doctor Noyes spoke softly while staring down at my chart.
“I’m well aware that you’re serious doc, but there’s a reason I didn’t want to see a doctor.” I explained politely, I wasn’t worried. I knew it would heal once I was actually able to consume enough calories.
“What do you mean? I’d say you’re delusional but there’s no fever…” Doctor Noyes appeared become lost in his thoughts, surely trying to rationalize the situation.
“I meant what I said doc. I’m immortal and if we had enough food at this godforsaken war camp then I wouldn’t have this… inconvenience.” I replied, gesturing to my leg.
*”Nothing is real, your gods are dead, and humanity shall fall to ashes under the gravity of the universe.”* A demonic voice came from within the doctor.
“Excuse me?” I squeaked out, a lot less calmly than I had intended to.
*”You heard me child.”*
Suddenly a bright light filled the room, emanating from Doctor Noyes. I couldn’t see anything.
I felt for the door but it was too late. I could feel my skin burning and soon the smell of burning flesh filled my nostrils. This was going to suck.
Then the light stopped. Jesus had arrived.
“Thank the good lord!” I exclaimed when I was able to open my eyes and greet the son of the Christian God.
“Oh don’t thank me, thank those delicious crackers, truly the snack food of the gods!”
“You don’t mean?!”
“That I do boy, I love me those fucking crackers! Now come! Join me in Heaven, a land filled with Animal Crackers!” And Jesus sped off into the night with no explanation on how to follow him.
I then realized that my flesh had melted into the pavement, I didn’t remember being outside before this, but I suppose I’m going to be here for a while. At least I have the comfort of knowing that Heaven has animal crackers. | 11 | You are immortal. You receive a nasty gash a couple of months ago and must now try and explain to the doctors how the infection hasn't killed you yet. | 40 |
The Non-magical and magical world's don't have a large amount of overlap. There are points they bleed through from I e to another, for example 2385 Jasper Ave, Edmonton, Alberta Canada is a prime spot for supernatural creatures to cross from one plane to the other, hence the Second Cup. Extreme moments of magic can have impacts on the Non-magical plane, resulting in severe weather and environmental impacts. Earthquakes, tornadoes, even meteoric impacts are the creation of the Arcane bleeding over.
And for thousands of years, that was fine. The humans of the Non-magical plane simply accepted it, called it an act of God (as though there were only one) and moved about their day. The lives of the Non-magical became of less and less interest to those of magic, and as such slowly they stopped crossing over - except for the aforementioned Second Cup. Time progressed as it is want to do, and for the most part the concern over the impact of wizardly duels and slain dragons all but evaporated as humans became better and better and weathering the effects. By the time of the Second Cup being built, the gravity of large shows of arcane magic was all but ignored, after all for the most part no humans really died. Sure some did, but their lives were pitifully short anyways, what was cutting it off by a few decades?
Galazar was seated amongst a group of human hipsters, his human disguise as a common hobo meant that most people paid him no heed, and the barista hardly noticed the coins were made from real gold and silver. Instead, he watched the television - a fabulous invention he thought - as the ever present scroll of information droned on. He was scheduled for a duel that night, not far from here, and he was sure he was to be victorious. A little water there, a little lightning, and he'd finish them off with some great gusts of wind. It would be glorious. The resulting thunderstorm would probably present a tornado here, if he was victorious of course, but this city was awfully bland anyways, a little excitement would do them good.
The news changed, a woman in a blazer was reading off numbers and explaining how the temperature would feel - utter nonsense to Galazar. But then she moved, and the world behind her swirled and showed a great thunderstorm was approaching, with tornado warnings. They were warning of his power... How could they know? From the television, the lady proudly declared "However, worry not, the storm should lose its power before it hits us, and there are no worries of a tornado touching down tonight. Back to you Mike." They were predicting his loss, that his magic would not punch through to this side? Unthinkable!
And yet.
Two days later Galazar sat in the library near his previous seat, studying their writings, looking at their so call "weather forecasts". One of his eyes was still swollen from where he taken a piece of ice to the face, knocking him unconscious before he could summon his true fury of wind. How could they have known? Not only has they known his fate, but over the course of many years they had accurately tracked and predicted hundreds of thousands of wizard battles. Exact locations of conflicts, how massive the strike would be. Sure, not always, but with a great degree of accuracy they seemed to know. They had many studies dedicated to this, meteorology, geology, astrophysics, and so many more. They could accurately track the arcane cross overs, and predict their effects to a scary degree. Great battles were predicted weeks in advance, the destruction and ferocity always accurate to a T. How? Gathering as many of their books and papers as he could, and hurredly rushed from the building. Crossing the street at exactly 2385 Jasper Avenue, he disappeared from one plane to the other and began his hurried spring towards the Grand Wizard Keep.
They had to know.
Edit: I feel like I owe a few of you an apology. There isn't necessarily going to be more of this. I wrote it on the toilet after waking up earlier than I wanted to. Not to say I won't revisit it, but I don't know of I will. | 932 | All natural disasters are actually the results of wizard duels. The wizarding world is horrified to learn of modern predictive technologies for said natural disasters. | 3,344 |
"Ok, time out, warlock."
The man gave me a curious look, hands still spread in an attacking gesture. "What did you say, human?" He asked. Lightning arched between his fingers, eager to be sent out as an attack.
"You said "no human", but my sword here isn't a human. Its a sword. Just steel and leather."
The warlock gave me a scowl, which softened slightly as my words sank in. "Wait, is that what that means? But your blade hasn't slain me..." he narrowed his eyes and peered at my sword. "That leather isn't made of human hide, right?"
"What? Ew, no, its..." I thought back to the blacksmith I had purchased the sword from. "I think it'd be goat skin, but I'm not 100% sure."
"So assuming that is not a human or other hominid based leather" the warlock said, "it should be able to slay me."
"But it isn't." I looked at the warlocks arms. "Your sleeves are on fire, by the way."
He looked down to see that they were indeed ablaze. The summoned lightning must have caught an errant sleeve or thread. He quickly shook the fire out, and magically repaired the burns on his hands. "Thanks", he said.
"Sure thing. So how exactly does that protection work? Is it anything a human holds also can't hurt? What if I shot an arrow at you?"
The wizard brought a blackened hand to his chin in thought. "I have had an arrow deflected previously, so it must be anything a human does with intent to hurt me."
I sheathed my sword, and tried to think this through. "But what if it wasn't done intentionally? What if, say, a man on a mountain tripped, causing a rock fall, that eventually hit you? Thats lethal, but not intentional."
The wizard looked perplexed. "I... I don't know."
"Well", I said, "do you remember who gave you the prophecy initially?"
"Yes, it was Mordechai Goldberg, in the Wizarding library of Alexandria." He said, stroking his luxurious beard.
"Well, could we go ask him? Where is it?" I asked. "I didn't plan anything for this afternoon, so I'm good to go."
The warlock stared at me. "You would travel with me to the Wizarding Library of Alexandria? Across the grand desert, the perilous mountains, and the boiling sea?"
I shrugged. "Sure. Sounds like more fun than returning to my uncle's carrot farm."
The warlock grinned. "I shall honor a truce, warrior. We shall resume combat once the quest has come to a satisfactory conclusion." He held out a gnarled hand. "Do you accept this proposition?"
I took his hand. "Agreed. Lead the way."
With that, the Warlock turned on his heel, and strode to the East.
"So why do you have such an-OW FUCK" the Warlock leapt back, clutching his ankle in pain.
I saw a long, wickedly colored snake slither into the nearby foliage, away from where the warlock now lay collapsed in pain.
Huh, I thought. That definitely wasn't a human.
r/SlightlyColdStories for more | 1,381 | "Fool!" The warlock screamed, unharmed from any of the slashes. "The prophecy had stated that no human may slay me!" The unchosen warrior stared at their blade. The sword wasn't human, was it? | 2,381 |
I am standing where I am.
I am kneeling.
I am reaching into my seed pouch.
I am feeling a tug on my clothing.
I am hearing noises.
I am in a memory. I’m standing in the southern field of our farm. The sky is awash with pinks and purples. My nostrils fill smell of dirt, and bugs bite my face. I feel a yank on my pant leg.
“Adwee!” says my daughter. She shrieks once, then again, until she’s red in the face.
I reach into my pack of radish seeds, the same radishes my grandfather grew. Only a few left, wedged into the seam of the bag. I scrape them out one-by-one. There are seven.
I am hearing noises.
I am kneeling.
I am planting a seed in the dirt.
I am planting a seed in the dirt.
I am planting a seed-
“Adwee! Pants!” she says. She points her dirt crusted finger at the row of seedlings beside us.
“Be nice!” I say as I stand up.
“Niiice!” She sweeps her hands across the row, upending half a dozen of the little sprouts.
I smile.
I am standing where I am.
I am hearing noises.
“Bradley.”
I feel a tug on my clothing.
I am hearing noises.
“Bradley. Bradley! He’s smiling!”
“It’s just a physiological reaction.”
“Bradley!”
“We should go.”
I am standing where I am.
I am standing where I am.
I am kneeling.
I am reaching into my seed pouch. | 22 | You're an undead farmer, you're not quite sure how you became undead, but it doesn't really matter much, your life has remained the same since it happened. Except for the clerics and paladins that tend to harass you. | 119 |
New Country. New language. New people, customs, food and smells. New everything.
Thorir Eldmundirson. His name, his real name, hadn't been uttered by another human in hundreds of years. The only thing he really remembered was his mother yelling his name from shore when he left for plunder one early spring morning in 887. That was the last time he had seen both her and his homeland.(
The train had started slowing down. The bangs and shaking from crossings and junctions increased, indicating civilisation was getting closer!
Finally. 10 hours in coach on a night train wasn't really worthy of a thousand year old man, he thought for himself... But he looked like he was 20. Tops. His physique was excellent. Strong like a bear and stamina like a wolf.
The train finally came to an halt. What had been a five month long journey was finally about to end. After spending the last 300 years in Asia he was ready to take on Europe again.
He spent the last five years preparing for this change. Studying and learning French to the degree that he could imitate regional differences. Culture, dos and don't had been meticulously studied and rehearsed bordering insanity. He _was_ French.
He gathered his luggage, a medium suitcase and some sort of wooden crate he carried on his back and got off the train. He fished a letter out of his pocket.
It started with "My dearest Francois". He had been writing with a French girl for the last five years.. They had sendt each other over 20 letters and was going to get married as soon as he came to Paris.
Juliet, was her name. Thorir was supposed to arrive in Paris in june, but it was now early September. Actually, the date was the fifth of September 1893. They had agreed that every Wednesday she would come to a particular hotel at six in the afternoon wearing a red hat.
He still didn't feel right about it. He had done it hundreds times the last decade, but pretending to be anything from twelve-thirteen and up to find a wife just felt wrong at times.. and most penpal letters stopped with one forth and one back. But, of course, Juliet is now in her twentieth year.
He shrugged and asked for directions to the agreed upon hotel. After setting in and spending a few days exploring Paris Wednesday finally arrived. He had commissioned a bath at 10, including shave and haircut. His tailor was cheduled to arrive at three o'clock.
Ten minutes to six he took a last glimpse in the mirror, left his room and headed down stairs to the lobby.
As he rounded the last few steps the lobby came into vision and his eyes caught Juliet, with her red hat, immediately. He had gathered from her writing that she would be a looker, despite her cute shyness.
As he was approaching in a leisurely pace when their eyes met. Julia threw on a huge smile as she saw this beautiful blonde boy approach her. Thorir smiled back.
She was much prettier than he had expected; long straight blonde hair, fair but sturdy body and she was taller than any woman he had seen in hundreds of years. She was beautiful.
Two meters apart Thorir stopped dead in his track. Like he froze. Juliets facial expression changed from all smiles to total disbelief within five long seconds.
Then they just stood there. Trying to comprehend what was going on. Thorir examined Julet from top to bottom, trying to find anything that could disprove what he saw. Juliet did the same. Thorir closed his eyes and shook his head fast in an attempt to shake it off.
He and Juliet started moving again. Slowly. Trying to get to se the other in profile.
After dancing around each other for a few minutes their disbelief had disappeared and was slowly being replaced with joy.
Thorirs brain was bringing out memories he didn't know he had faster than he could keep up with. As he was digging into thousand year old cells and neurons to come up with something to say Julia smiled and in perfect norse she said:
"Heill ok sæll, Thorir" | 16 | When dating, it's important to remember the 'half your age plus 7' rule. As a millennium old immortal, this makes your dating life really awkward. | 51 |
The fountain works.
One drink - you must drain the cup to the very last drop - and you can feel it working. You can feel your back straightening, skin tightening, every muscle and sinew refreshing all at once. The years melt away, and with them all the wear and tear of your old life. That stiffness in your knee, the one that pains you when a storm is coming, eases. The scars you bear fade to nothing. White hair flushes with colour once again, weak eyes sharpen and strengthen. Every wrinkle, every crease, every line, is smoothed out. You become yourself again, in your fullest possible prime, a prime that you may never have even experienced before. Rejoice in your strength once more.
But that's when they come. You've had your drink, you have your youth, but now you hear the howling. Far off at first, but closer with every passing moment. Just as we can read death in a tiger's eyes, or the glide of a serpent, that howl brings terror with it. No matter how civilised you are, how far removed from your jungle-dwelling ancestry, that sound grips you. It settles along your bones and lets you know that here, right now, you are nothing more than panicked prey.
As prey, you run headlong into the jungle, and they follow howling after you. You race through close-packed trees, feeling your ankle twist on an upthrust stone, hear your knee pop when you clatter off a trunk in the darkness. You stagger on, straining your eyes to peer into the shadows beneath the ruins you must escape to be free.
They follow, relentless. The howls dance around you, panic sinking into your very bones till you hunch yourself smaller, as though a lesser stature will escape their notice. You lose control of your muscles, feeling your face twitch and stretch and fix into a rictus grin of terror, unable to compose yourself in your heedless flight. Still you stumble on.
Long claws catch at you - sometimes branches, sometimes shadows, sometimes the true talons themselves, ripping jagged lines across your flesh as they play with you, bleed you, taunt you. Every drop spilt slows you, makes your trail more clear, and such wounds will not close easy.
Mabye - maybe - you are one of the lucky ones. One amongst countless thousands who drinks and runs through hell. Maybe the claws never spear through your vitals, the howls never chill enough to stop your heart. Maybe you dodge each lunge and jump each pit, find your way through trees and tormentors without being brought down. Maybe you make it to the end.
Reach the river and know yourself free - they will not follow. Look back up the mountain, past the ruin-filled jungle, and remember that drink you took on the peak. Remember the wild race, one step ahead of howls and hunters. Remember that you survived when so many others did not. Be proud.
Stand there then, every joint aching in protest from the strain. Feel the sticky blood congealing in your roughened wounds, slow to heal and sure to scar. Run trembling hands across your face and feel the marks that terror has put there. Hold a strand of hair before over-tired eyes and see how fear - the bone-deep fear of the hunted prey - has bleached and thinned those locks. Turn your back on the mountain and begin your weary, limping journey home.
Remember that the fountain worked. | 274 | The fountain of youth has been found many times, but nobody ever lives to tell. The predators that use the fountain as a water source have been perfecting their hunting skills since before the dawn of civilization. | 826 |
Day 2
Yesterday I had been a regular high schooler. Today, I was an adventurer summoned to a world full of monsters. How did my life change so drastically?
Well, the short answer is that a wizard summoned me into this world to unlock its potential. I have read many manga about this sort of thing but I didn’t know it could really happen.
In any case, I had no choice but to accept my fate, so I made myself ready for anything. I would save this world from the evils that threatened it.
It all started with my visit to the Adventurers Guild in town. I was excited to talk to the people there about my plans to be an adventurer.
"Welcome!" said an old man in the front desk as I approached. "We are glad to have you here! How may we help you today?"
"I'm going to be an adventurer," I said, taking a deep breath. "Is it okay if I join?"
"Of course, it's no problem! There are many things we can offer you. If you need equipment, or even training, you're more than welcome here!"
"Thank you," I said, and handed over my adventurer application.
Day 754
I found the secret to unlocking the potential of this world. I would have to steal the core crystal and merge with it. Many would die but magic would be loose upon the world. The crystal keepers were the dominant religion here and would not take kindly. I would be seen as effectively killing their only link to god.
But I wasn't alone. I was accompanied by a large party of adventurers who knew nothing of the plan I had set in motion. I decided that we should infiltrate the temple and steal the crystal. This would lead to a confrontation with the keepers.
Day 1674
Many have infiltrated my world seeking to unseat me from my throne. I have captured most of them and imprisoned them. The remaining few I will destroy.
Day 2040
I have finished capturing all those who wish to oppose me. Those who remain are simply too small in number.
Today, I defeated a group of young heroes. They called themselves the Paladin's Brigade. Their leader was a beautiful knight clad in armor. They fought bravely but were no match for my strength. I showed no mercy to this pathetic band.
The world is mine, now, but the magic of the crystal has yet to fully manifest. My mind is still mired in the muck of this world, but soon my true form shall reveal itself | 59 | You are a newly Isekai’d teen, tasked with defeating some evil in a fantasy realm. However, the world you arrived in is a new one, with no ancient artifacts or powerful magics to speak of yet. You’re many centuries before this world is supposed to even begin hosting standard isekai tropes! | 188 |
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