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"I'm telling you. We can't give up on this yet."
"It's been five years Jerry, this has to end, we are pissing money away trying to get this door open. If it's not going to open, then so be it! We'll leave it closed." Visibly frustrated, Bill stormed off as he spoke, hoping the gesture indicated his lack of interest continuing any conversation.
Jerry, realizing Bill was unreachable at the moment - something that's happened multiple times in the past five years - turned toward the door, looked up, and sighed. *Was it crazy to continue trying to get it open?* He couldn't answer that honestly. Jerry wasn't sure if he could really get it open, or if he had been trying for so long, he felt as though he couldn't' give up now.
It felt as though they had tried everything, yet the problem persisted. When the issue with this door first came to them, they sent one engineer to fix it, but now there's a team of engineers and another team of scientists working almost day and night.
Bill directly manages all teams working on "The Door". Its new name carries an ominous vibe, encircled by a cloud of frustration that all who work on it feel. It is possible Bill will completely scrap the project, throwing their reputations on the line, but a solution might be within grasp.
Jerry found Bill in his office later that day.
"Bill, I think I've figured it out. If I can rewire the..." he went on to explain, in technical terms, how they can short the circuit from the outside using a new method not previously explored.
Bill, mentally checked out when it came to 'The Door', waited until Jerry stopped talking, and took a long pause. So long, Jerry shifted ever so slightly as if to continue speaking, yet Bill raised a finger in a quiet gesture that Jerry clearly read as '*do not say a word'.*
Finally, Bill spoke, "This is the... last... try... Once this effort is over, we are packing up and leaving this door for good."
Back at 'The Door', Jerry had been setting up his equipment, fine tuning it for just the right frequency. He turned on his equipment and pressed the electrodes against the contact surfaces. Suddenly, a guttural ***clunk clunk CLANK*** rang throughout the room.
Ecstatic, Jerry yelled, "Bill! I think I got it, I think it's open!"
He reached for the handle, hesitating as his hand hovered an inch over it, then continuing its motion. As his hand touched the handle, he could feel it turn smoothly, something it hadn't done in over five years. His heart was racing, he had finally done it!
Jerry pulled the door toward him, it swung on its hinges easily, and as he did, standing directly in front of him was Bill. No smile or congratulatory salute passed over his expressions. He only stared menacingly, then said, "great, now can we get the fuck out of here?"
As Bill turned around, Jerry could read the company logo across his Jacket. It read, "SecureDOOR: You Close Em, We Open Em".
"Sure Bill, let me just tell the manager they can start letting customers in through the front door again, instead of going through the side of the building".
Bill was already halfway to his car when Jerry heard him mutter, "*I hate this job*". | 12 | The door won't open, and no one can figure out why. Five years researching, exploring the surrounding area, testing interactions, and no results. The higher ups have finally ordered a halt, citing "wasted resources". You, the lead scientist, disagree with this decision. | 41 |
# Soulmage
**"But don't all doors do that?"** Meloai asked, taking a step towards the abandoned cabin. The wooden door swung open with impeccable precision, and I could have sworn the hinges even oiled themselves as they moved.
"...No, Meloai," I said. "Doors do not normally open themselves as people pass."
"Really?" Meloai frowned. "They did all the time when I grew up."
"No offense, Meloai, but you grew up in a dead nobleman's creepy-ass extradimensional basement," I said. "I'm pretty sure that your definition of 'normal' is pretty different from human standard."
Lucet kicked me in the shin. "Hey. Be nice, Cienne."
"This *is* me being nice. Look, if we've had some nobleman's ghost stalking us for the past couple of months, I feel like that's the kind of thing I deserve to know about." I took a step forwards and shut the door; it didn't open again.
"Oh, see, now you've broken it," Meloai said, grumbling. "Look, I obviously turned out okay, and I spent twenty years with this kind of thing happening. Don't we have more important things to worry about? Like, uh, getting enough food for you guys to eat?"
"Well, hang on, maybe one of those problems can be a solution to the other." Sansen, by virtue of being older than Meloai, Lucet, and I combined, was the de facto leader of our little group of adventurers. "I've seen people come and go in my time, and I knew the late Lord Tanryn personally. I don't think this is the nobleman's ghost."
"Then... who is it?" I turned to Sansen, frowning. The old man had forgotten more than I'd ever know, and I trusted his judgement.
A faint smile spread across Sansen's face. "I think it's his old butler." He cleared his throat. "Meloai. Did your ghost ever set tables for you?"
Meloai gave him an uncertain nod. "I... think? That's the thing where all the silverware flies into place, and the tablecloth straightens itself out with a *whoomph*, right?"
"...In this context, sure," Sansen said. "Did he—did the ghost do the little thing with the three types of forks? The one with two little tines on the left, the bigger one in the middle, and that delicate, long, pointy one on the right?"
Meloai nodded enthusiastically. "See? It *is* normal for tables to do that."
"Oi," I muttered. "Well, I guess it's not the weirdest thing we consider normal nowadays."
"Yeah, that's ol' Mairel alright." Sansen's old gaze stared into the distance as he remembered. "He was my first crush, back in the day. If there's still enough of him left to remember how to wait tables and grease doors... well. Indulge an old man for a moment, will you?"
The three of us traded looks, then nodded at once. We may have been an eccentric little group, but we were tight-knit. We trusted each other. "Whatcha need, Sansen?" I asked.
His requests were fairly simple. We cleared out the front yard of the abandoned shack, smoothing over the dirt with our feet and hands—and as we did, something... else... joined us. Something that barely remembered how to speak or think, but still knew how to set a dance floor. Within minutes, we'd cleared a square of land, with Sansen standing in the middle.
And the old man began to dance.
Wordlessly at first, the waltz was an invitation. He took the lead, and empty air followed. And then, all at once, the air wasn't empty anymore. There was no flash of light, no thunderous miracles, but Sansen's steps became more sure, his weight more freely shifted, as he leaned on a partner who wasn't there but had been, once, long ago.
Meloai began to hum to herself, a wordless childhood lullaby that she must have heard when she was growing up, and the cadence of the tune matched the waltz to perfection.
The old man and the ghost finished their dance, and I felt a whisper of wind rustle around the impromptu dance floor.
Then the miracle was over, and suddenly, Sansen was holding nothing but empty air. He let out a long, contented sigh, memory coursing through him.
Then he opened his eyes, smiling.
"You wanted food, kids?" He stepped forwards, opening the door to the abandoned shack. Behind it, impossibly, incongruously, was a fully-set banquet table, resplendent with rich foods from an era long past, with three delicate forks set precisely by each setting. "Seems like there's something left of Mairel after all."
And the four of us ate gratefully, sustained by the memory of a ghost of an old man's friend.
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. | 98 | A girl grows up thinking that all doors are automatic, but it's actually the work of a polite ghost. | 920 |
Little Donna May had always had the worst of luck. She lived her life going from one misfortune to another. Things never seemed to go her way and she never got what she wanted. Her parents had taken great pains to teach her that life is simply difficult and she should learn to power on through. Honesty, ethics, the right way, were all taught with the a considerable dose of true kindness from her parents. Little Donna May did not believe them.
At the grand old age of 14, little Donna May was now old enough to see the truth of the reality around her. She could never win any game of luck, she stopped trying her luck. She would always have an obstacle make her late or miss something important, she stopped trying to make those meetings happen. She would always be the one hit by any stray problem that comes her way, she stopped trying to dodge them.
What an unfortunate child she is, you might think. How does this child become our dear heroic protagonist, you might ask. Did all these challenges build up her character to become the heroine we know her to be, you might wonder.
To answer the question, you must understand that she grew to be an adult fully aware of who and what she is. If there is one fortune that fate had given her, it is to make it painfully clear who and what she was.
The now Mrs. Donna Fitch, had the epitome of her life begin when a hooded man broke into her home in broad daylight and stabbed her loving husband in front of her. The man’s features were recognizable enough when he stared her down and then left without a word.
During the investigation and trial, it did not take long for every piece of evidence to turn against her. The Miss Donna Fitch, wife of the late Darryl Fitch, had her evidence bring out the evidence and the witnesses, only to have it all go wrong against her.
No witnesses in the nearby area remember seeing any hooded man, despite many being out on the neighbourhood on the day in question. The stabbing, the coroner concluded, had been made by someone of the same height and physical build as Miss Donna Fitch. No footprint other than hers and her husband’s were found in the house.
When the investigation did find evidence to support her innocence, it had predictably gone wrong. The bloody knife recovered less than a block away was lost in transit by an incompetent police officer. A camera of a nearby store that should have captured the hooded man was out of commission that day due to an electrical problem. Any character witnesses that would speak to their loving relationship could not make it to court and the judge had ruled for an expedient trial without extension.
I am certain by now you bemoan that Miss Donna Fitch is to go to prison for a murder she did not commit. That life would generate one more massive misfortune in a string of misfortunes. Indeed, if one were to chronicle the countless unfortunate events that led to this moment, this little story would fill a complete encyclopedia, so I will refrain.
As it was very clear in the prosecution’s eyes that they had won, they offered a plea deal to Miss Donna Fitch. Confess now for a lesser sentence before the jury gives her life. Before her lawyer could accept what felt like a lifeline, Miss Donna Fitch interrupted him. “No plea deal. No confession. We will take the trial to the very end.” She said this with a clipped tone and the same unflinching but small smile she had throughout he entire trial. She did so much to the dismay of her lawyer.
On the day that the jurors were to convene for the sentence, her lawyer took her aside before going into the building. In spite of his fervent pleas to explain her questions, she said nothing and merely asked him to be go into trial.
The jurors came back quickly from their meeting. The prosecutor had a large grin they couldn’t hold back. He defence lawyer couldn’t stop sighing and had to keep forcing himself to look up. At that very moment after the judge returned their decision, the head juror announced on all counts, “Not guilty.”
Now I could explain what happened afterwards but I’m certain you are wondering more how such fortune befalls this most unfortunate lady. Does this decide the turning point for our heroine? Did her misfortune up to this point build the strength of character necessary for the true battles ahead? Was her luck simply shifted into her adult years to weather the coming conflict?
Simply speaking, no. I truly hope you have not forgotten her one fortune. She knows exactly how unfortunate she truly is. The thing about knowing such things, it can lead to either utter despair and ruin. It can also lead to a kind of strength, if you would call it that. Allow me to explain.
She could not win any game of luck, so she stopped trying. She turned them into games of skill and cheated whenever she wanted to win. Sleight of hand, loaded dice, bribed dealers, trick cards, etc.
She couldn’t make any important meetings on time, so she assumed they were lost causes and merely engineered the result she wanted. Can’t make an exam or know there will be trick questions on the one single class you missed? Cheat her way into near-perfect marks and slip her exam into their professor’s room. Won’t be able to make her own doctor’s appointment? She finds it laughable that others conform to their Doctor’s schedule instead of forcing them to conform to yours.
If someone accidentally vomits in your direction, grab the person next to you to take the shot. Someone crashes into your car but is buddies with the higher ups? Bribe those higher than that. If your husband is a deadbeat philandering gambler as you knew he would be? Frame him for every crime you can think off to be discovered later and then have him killed. Know the trial will work against you anyway? A jury’s decision is affable and doesn’t have to rely on luck or evidence or witnesses at all. Just he right kind of pressure being applied.
The one question you might be asking is what kind of heroine is our protagonist going to be? And what kind of conflict will require her to be who she is? I am merely the narrator of this story and know not what the future at this point holds. You need merely remember one thing however. A protagonist is the lead in a story. That doesn’t mean they are the heroine. | 10 | The Protagonist has inverse plot armor. She notices this matter through her life like she can never win a game of poker. Her husband gets killed in some quarrel by one of his colleagues in front of her. She goes to court but every evidence that she gives contorts into nothing. | 31 |
"May I recommend this super-strength blood cleanser? It's supposed to be specially designed for vampires with particularly voracious appetites?"
"Are you sure you should be doing this, human?"
"I'm just doing my job, sir. If this blood cleanser is not to your liking... then how about this very neat product that will change the taste of blood. Many vampires complain about how the taste of humans is slowly rotting... this is why we've developed this very neat product that will solve your problem. All you have to do it take two drops in your mouth before you ~~hunt~~ acquire your blood. The tastebuds will automatically be stimulated to emulate the taste of the blood you've liked the most in all your years as the undead."
"I'm still not comfortable discussing this with a human..."
"Oh? Is this also not to your liking? Then perhaps we can look into this particular item. As we know the undead have a problem with the sun and can't remain in it for a long time... so we've developed this sunscreen... it is spf 450. Meaning it will not only block the sun rays but in combination with this item for the hair, you will be able to roam around like the rest of the human—"
The vampire lunges and the retail assistant merely presses a button that activates the wards.
"What in the name of Count Dracula is this? Why do you have human here? And why are we forced to smell their scents—"
"I'm sorry, Mr. Vampire. Store policy dictates that at least three humans should be available on-call to better represent all of the creatures. We humans are creatures too, correct? The store policy also indicates that we should not allow any creature to interfere with our duty and we can take action against the
perpetrator"—he lifts the solar-powered energy gun and points it at the vampire—"who wished us harm."
He fires. The store is quiet for all a moment and then the noise level rises again.
"If only you'd taken that spf 450 cream and tried to attack me... we could have gathered so much data. You may even be alive now."
He sighs.
"On to the next customer..."
r/dewa_stories
wc:370 | 21 | You work at a store that carries supplies for monsters. It used to be frightening, but after a few months, it's just another retail job with particularly strange annoying customers. | 37 |
Stephan lived a perfectly normal life. Every day he woke at a quarter to 8, and every night he went to bed at half past 11. He showered, waited for his door to open, put on his best gloves, and began to dig.
The process was relaxing, if not at times a little dull. Sometimes he’d listen to music from a small interface built into his front door when the same-ness of the activity began to claw at the corners of his mind. Whenever he needed a bigger break he would go back into his house and toss a ball at the wall to see if he could catch it on the rebound, or else he’d play with the various chimes littering his domicile. He couldn’t quite remember were the chimes came from, but they kept his hands busy and the sound they made was pleasant. Once in a while he’d take one of the single chimes between his index and middle finger, and let it rest there while he thought. Something about the feeling of that shape between those fingers gave him comfort, but any attempts to really properly examine the behavior made his brain itch.
Dig jobs were some of the worst according to most humans, but Stephan had long made peace with the fact that the system deemed him most well-suited to it. Early in his life he felt hope when opening his door. Surely today would be the day he’d see anything other than that solid wall of dirt. A warehouse of crates, an assembly line, a seemingly bottomless pit of strangely shaped containers and tubes to sort them into.
Yet that small hope had never borne fruit, and eventually it withered away into nothing. Stephan was fine with it for the most part. Once he was in the swing of things he found dig jobs pleasant enough. A little hard on the fingers, though, which were occasionally bloody and dirt-caked by the end of a shift. Even the best gloves at The Store failed to withstand more than a month or two of digging, and his own hands had become calloused enough that he was more confident in not always keeping extras. Besides, any open injuries were always closed by the next morning. The system provided a great deal more than it took.
Stephan knew he had completed a shift when a satisfied little chirp came from his door. That meant he had 30 seconds to get back inside before the door would close or else he’d risk not seeing his friends. The door would close, and then reopen into The Common, an area for humans to explore freely. The Common was full of art, food, and all nature of substances to calm the mind. More than that it was full of people. Stephan knew some of them well. Mika, Robert, Lucas, and Meredith almost always beat him to the common. They got dig jobs sometimes, but it was extremely rare. They would all meet at Bar to share a few beers and chat about their work (a conversation Stephan could not help feeling a little jealous about). The conversations rarely deviated from day to day, but it was nice seeing each other. Sometimes one of them would even tell a joke, which would make them laugh and laugh and laugh.
At around 9:30 on the clock that same satisfied chirp would play throughout The Common. This time it meant 30 minutes to get back to your own Domicile. The doors would close, and ultimately only open again for the next day’s work. Still, the Domicile was full of interesting screens and gadgets, not to mention the ball and the chimes.
It was a simple life, but Stephan wanted for nothing and had enough variation to stay content. The only downside, by Stephan’s estimation, were the dreams.
Almost every night he would have the same dreams. His front door would open to a different task. Sometimes sorting, sometimes assembly, sometimes planting or any of a number of things. He’d be doing his task easily enough when a glance at a sorting tube or a plant container would fill him with an unpleasant realization. He’d hide in one of these things until the satisfied chime, and then not return to his domicile. Almost immediately strange tears in reality would start appearing, and hideous appendages the size of skyscrapers would poke through. As is so often the case in dreams wherever he went they could move faster. Whatever he did they seemed to know exactly where he was. It was never a question, in these dreams, about if he would be caught. Only when. Whatever the circumstances in the end these dreams concluded in the exact same way. A strange cylindrical obelisk would come down from the heavens and lightly press against the top of him, driving him down into the ground while his eyes bulged from his head and his tongue lolled out of his mouth, the panic overwhelming him.
He’d wake up in a pool of his own sweat thinking something like, “I need a cigarette,” or “did they get Sam, too?” and then he’d be back asleep. By morning these dreams would be all but gone. In truth the dreams are a small price to pay. Stephan knew how good he had it here. When you got right down to it, he knew he wanted for nothing.
\-------------------------------------
“They talk sometimes, you know? Not words, mind you. Nothing that quite makes sense, but they definitely talk. And there’s also those scribbles they do. Sometimes even the sounds they make banging around on things are almost… melodic.”
Jannsen sat back in his chair, an inscrutable look on his face. Across from him Ayad rolled his eyes. Jannsen, who had been tasked with training Ayad years ago, found himself now face to face with a colleague. Ayad had demonstrated a remarkable proficiency at caring for and motivating humans, which quickly propelled him up the ladder to his current position as High Overseer. Under his careful controls human output in his sector was up nearly 20%, and mortality was at an all-time low.
"Let’s assume that were true,” Ayad offered, “what would it mean? Their mindless chatter isn’t so mindless? They have wants and desires? We ought to, what, ask them what’s best for them? You’ve seen the early tests. You know what they get up to when left to their own devices.”
Jannsen remained stolid. “I don’t think it necessarily means anything. I just thought it was curious. I wonder what it is they’re saying.”
The two creatures sat in silence, Jannsen finishing his meal and Ayad absentmindedly twirling a device not dissimilar to a collapsible baton between several appendages not entirely dissimilar to fingers. In all it was an exciting time for the Human industry. Necessary ethical research had been finished, and human labor was finally approved. Across the board it was decided that, provided they are treated respectfully, humans could be excellent for a variety of tasks that require stamina and, more importantly, the ability to maintain a fully corporeal form without intense concentration. Still, these little ethical questions did tend to nag. Sometimes humans behaved in unexpected ways. Sometimes they seemed to show signs of advanced thought. Now, according to Jannsen, it seemed they were conversing with each other.
“I wonder,” Ayad echoed after finally boring of the baton and depositing it into a nearby pocket universe, “what the use is in worrying.” | 11 | Remember to feed and water your humans regularly and to ensure that they have enough environmental enrichment for adequate phycological health. A happy and healthy human is an efficient and productive human. | 33 |
The great red eye opened slowly, pupil contracting as sunlight licked Carnax's eyelids for the first time in several millennia. The thick blood within his body began to circulate once more as his massive hearts beat faster and faster. Cognition returned to him in bits and pieces, images playing out as he struggled to separate past from present. Thousands of quivering human supplicants bowing before him. A city of alabaster turned to charcoal. A wild-eyed human girl with a spear of platinum. A flash of light without heat and then darkness engulfing his hoard.
His hoard! What of his hoard?! An awful, deep rumbling sound rose from within his thorax as fear and greed snapped him into the present. He felt his body rising from it's long slumber, a cascade of agony as blood revived petrified nerves. But something was wrong with his right wing, it wasn't responding. With immense effort and pain he turned his long neck, regarding the tiny glittering piece of metal embedded in his shoulder. A small skeleton still held the spear in both hands in sprite of many broken bones.
Carnax stared at his old foe's leering skull with equal parts fury and respect. Even in death she looked unafraid. He gingerly reached over and plucked the spear from her grasp with his great mouth, gently removing it from his flesh as her skeleton clattered to the ground. The spear dropped to the ground, ringing as it hit stone.
Wait... No. Something was wrong. The spear should have clinked softly into his hoard, adding one more piece of physical glory to his life. Looking down, his hearts skipped several beats. His hoard was gone. The hill of emeralds. The solid gold ibex. The diamond carved into his likeness. All gone. Not even a single scrap remained. His eyes darted frantically around the space, finally resting on the human-sized hole in the rockslide that covered the cave's entrance. A face... A human face looking into the cave, silhouetted by the sunlight outside.
His rage was primal, bubbling like magma, building strength towards an eruption. In this rage he felt the fire returning to him, warmth spreading from his tail to his smoking nostrils. A terrible roar formed within his stomach, working itself upwards and bursting out of his massive mouth. The sound shook the dust from caves walls, displacing the boulders that had been removed over the last few weeks, flooding the cave with sunlight.
He burst through the entrance onto the mountain plateau, eliciting a chorus of screams from the archaeologists. His rage manifested itself as a column of crimson flame. In an instant, all became ash and dust, and finally silence. He looked at the blasted landscape around him, smelling fresh air tinged with sulfur. He heard a sound coming from behind him, near the cave entrance.
She was tiny, even by human standards. A skinny thing in beige with an oversized hat. Trembling, she raised the platinum spear and pointed it at his head, making sounds into a small black box with a black string attached. The sight amused him immensely, and he commended her bravery in a deep baritone. When he spoke she nearly dropped the spear, frantically making new sounds. No... Attempting to communicate with him.
Before he could respond, a rhythmic noise rose from behind the mountain peak. A great black oval rose, nearly as large as himself. Roaring a challenge, he pushed himself upwards, grappling his new foe. It was large but had a weak skin, and he could smell humans on it's underside, clinging like ticks to the massive beast. He let loose a torrent of fire, igniting the strange new foe. Distantly he heard the sounds of the girl with the spear, saying something broken in an old dialect, warning him. Then light, a cacophony of explosions, and a massive force throwing him from the mountain.
He awoke in a forest clearing, pain replacing confusion as he realized how badly he was injured. Charred black metal fragments had perforated his body, shredding his wings. Moaning gently, he looked at the burning debris littering the clearing. With a surge of vicious pride he regarded the smoking carcass of the great beast. He needed to rest and heal, and could feel his eyes slowly closing as his body went into hibernation to repair itself. The last image he saw was something out of a nightmare: multiple oval beasts smelling of humans lazily descended from the sky. | 45 | After a thousand years of sleep, dragons awoke to terrorize humans once again. But they awoke in the year 1920 and learned they were no longer the masters of the sky. | 161 |
Decades of work.
Idari kept telling herself that it would all be worth it soon. The Sorcerer King would step forth from his Forgotten City, and bestow upon his loyal attendants limitless power. With it, Idari and the other Kingseekers would help the Lost One destroy this imperfect world and build a new one in His glorious image.
With any luck, He would also silence the screams that haunted Idari’s dreams.
Still, Idari had to acknowledge the strange silver light filling the ritual space, even as she told the others to focus. It was… serene. Nothing like the imposing will of their god. Worse were the blurs of sky-blue dancing through the chamber, gently lifting cloaks, hoods, tools, and books with something resembling curiosity.
Surely He could hear their voices? Why would He need to investigate his summoning ritual?
Decades of work. Years of doublechecking and cross referencing.
Idari couldn’t have made a mistake.
As the ritual reached its conclusion, she nearly convinced herself.
Then the portal stabilized and the Sorcerer King walked through.
It couldn’t be anyone else. The raw power pouring off the young man - who looked twenty at most - would have been palpable to even the most inert farmer. Not that there were many of those left.
To a scholar of the arcane like Idari, the boy was nearly blinding.
No one spoke as Finsteris, Sorcerer King and Keeper of Secrets glanced over the chamber. A slight smile graced his sharp features. As he turned to face Idari, the shoulder length silver curls seemed to glitter with starlight.
*“This is… different.”*
It would be. The Sorcerer King hadn’t been walked the world since his ascent and -
*“ It has been a while though. So, which terror of the night do you need banished? I would bet the Choir, but I suppose it could be something new.”*
“My Lord - We…” Idari nearly swore in frustration. She couldn’t show weakness or hesitation in front of their…
*“Stars above, be not afraid! I’m no demon pretender, waiting for the opportunity to wear your skins. Your ritual was fine. Textbook. You’ve summoned the Sorcerer King himself, at what appears to have been a great cost. How can I help?”*
… Help?
“My Lord, we have indeed worked long and hard in your name. We have put your enemies to the sword and raised your symbols over a dozen, dozen cities. Now, with your blessing, we will remake the world in your divine image.”
*“Remake… hold on. Who - exactly - were you trying to summon?”*
Idari’s mind raced. Banishing spell, keyed to also dismiss the portal? Whoever this entity was, it was not -
*“Finsteris? Oh. you poor things. I’d feel sorry for you, if you hadn’t just implied that you unabashedly killed a great number of innocents in ‘my’ name.*
The youthful laugh seemed to spur the cultists into action. All around the room, incantations started, arms waved, but the Kingseeker’s magic died before it left their fingers.
*“I am* ***not*** *Finsteris. He tried, and failed, to take my mantle.”*
The blue-and-silver light still danced around the chamber. Faster now, responding to the god’s growing fury.
*“You asked for the Sorcerer King. I am he. Acalea. First of my Name, Lord of Magic, and Keeper of the Veil Between.*
*You wanted cities unmade? Divine power parceled out to the faithful? A world cleansed of the unworthy?”*
*“So be it.“* | 561 | As the culmination of their long, worldwide effort, the doomsday cult finally managed to summon the god of destruction that will cleanse the world of the.... uhh.... is that the correct god? Doesn't seem all that doomsday-y. | 1,743 |
Lishaela paused to check the readiness of her guns. One of them was her familiar weapon, a smoothbore musket she'd been using for at least three years since her previous one burst during a misfire. Her sister had magically reinforced this one, and it had yet to fail her.
A quick squint down the barrel told her the load hadn't shifted or fallen out as she'd moved. Good. It was loaded with buck-and-ball, which was a trick she'd picked up from game hunters working the Eastern Plains. Birds were notoriously hard to hit with a normal shot, so they'd worked out how to fire a spray of smaller shot at them, to fill the air with high-velocity pellets. And they'd worked out a way to mix this 'buckshot' in with a standard musket ball, to better wound larger, hardier prey.
And when using guns, few things were hardier than a mage. Many of the spells that had served to defend them for millennia from other projectile weapons worked just as well against guns. There was only one way through their defense, really.
Next, she set about checking her brace of flintlock pistols. These were weapons she was less concerned about, as they were held in a harness against her midsection, four pistols oriented in an upwards slant, firmly secured by black leather. Again, a quick look told her they were loaded and ready. Not that it would have been an issue if they weren't; unlike the musket, these were enchanted to replenish their load after a few seconds of standing empty. A quick reset of the lock and they'd be ready to fire again. Having four was a calculated measure; in the time it took to draw, fire, and reholster all four, the first would be ready to fire again. It ensured a steady rhythm of use; an efficiency that Lisha was all about in her work.
Lastly, she checked the short swords that she carried as a matter of principle. She didn't expect to use them today, but she felt wrong not having them. Aside from her sister, they'd been the only constant companions she'd had for nearly two thousand years now. They were secure in their sheathes, strapped in place firmly. Good. She nodded to herself, then moved out, slowly and carefully picking through the damaged building.
Her expression was grim, violet eyes narrowed and her mouth set in a thin line as she went. The presence of the dead bodies she passed didn't help. *More innocents claimed by this madman,* she thought, allowing the sadness she felt at this to turn to anger with each step. Men, women, and children, of all manner of races, had fallen at this brazen fool's feet, and today, it would end.
She would make sure of it.
She knelt by the stairwell that would lead her to the roof and reached up to touch a stud on her ear, eyes closing in concentration. *<Sister,>* she thought, *<I'm in position. One floor below the roof of the West Tower.>*
*<Wonderful.>* The words formed in her mind, and though they were devoid of tone, she could hear Lishialla's strain all the same, thousands of years of experience filling in the clipped, pressured quality of her sister's voice. *<If you don't mind, please take this idiot's life. I'd give you more encouragement, but-->*
The words cut off abruptly as an explosion sounded above the city. Looking up the stairwell, Lisha could see a bright flare of magical energy above, reflected off a brilliant purple dome that protected the rest of the city from the mage's attempts at destruction.
*<--if you can't tell, I'm a bit occupied. Just don't forget to get back my grimoire. What I was thinking, letting this fool into my library, I'll never know.>*
*<You weren't thinking, sister. A rare occasion for you. Maybe we should celebrate it with some cake later. A couple of fancy hats, even.>* Lisha allowed herself a tight smile at the jibe. She was about the only person left on this world who had the nerve to take a shot at her sister, the almighty Witch Queen. She'd always been able to bring Lishi down a peg, and now she thought of it as just another service she provided as the right hand to the ruler of this world.
*<You're hilarious. Is he dead yet? If he's not, you should get on that.>*
*<Moving now.>*
Lisha unslung her musket and steadied herself with two slow breaths. Then she melted into shadow, flowing up the stairs like a stream that had temporarily forgotten how gravity worked.
She had to make the most of the element of surprise, here. All of her talents had to work in sync. Stealth to take position, a steady eye to hold aim, and dextrous hands to fire as fast as she could.
The puddle of darkness rolled across the rooftop, towards the mage in question. He was tall for an elf, very much unlike her more petite sister, dark of hair and eye, with an angular face and, at the moment, a cruel smile in place. It was different than when Lishi had her moments of cruelty; there was more madness in that smile than the Witch Queen had ever possessed. More danger.
"Such power in these spells!" The man was taken with what he was doing, enraptured with the destruction he had unleashed. There was another explosion overhead, as the purple dome flared with energy again. "Your days of primacy in the field of magic end now, Witch Queen! I will rival you - no, I will *best* you!" His fingers traced a pattern in the air, and a streak of lightning shot from his hands towards Lishi's shield, pounding against it with a steady current.
Lisha knew she wouldn't be able to get too close without being noticed, and she was vulnerable in this form. So she took advantage of his focus being entirely on his battle with Lishi, and moved behind him, reforming with her musket in hand and pointed at his back.
*BOOM.*
The musket sounded off loudly, the load streaking towards the mage. The sound disrupted his focus, his lightning vanishing from the sky as suddenly as it had appeared. A green glow around him told Lisha that her shot had impacted his ward, but she hadn't waited for confirmation. The musket clattered across the stone roof of the tower as she drew a pistol and fired. The ward glowed again, but much more dimly. She reset the pistol in its holster, drew the next one, and fired again. Again the bullet was caught by the ward, but it was beginning to fail.
There was one reliable way past wards like this, one that guns made much more accessible. Overload them. They can only handle so many hits, so much force before they shatter like cheap glass. That was why buck-and-ball worked so well; it was an initial blow that forced the ward to catch many projectiles of varying force all at once, rather than one at a time. It destabilized the spell and made every shot thereafter that much more effective...at least if they were dealt quickly.
She could see the mage turning towards her, surprise and fear in his eyes, as she readied the third pistol and fired, and then the fourth. Her actions were quick, polished, and honed over hundreds of hours of practice and use. She was the deadly right hand of the Witch Queen, and she took her job seriously. Practice was a must, and it paid off in moments like this.
The fifth shot was the last one the ward stopped. Lisha sneered in contempt as the green barrier flickered and failed completely. He hadn't truly expected anyone to confront him directly; the ward was weak, a perfunctory measure rather than protection he could actually rely on. Did he really think Lishi wouldn't send her most effective weapon against him? What a fool.
She could see his mouth moving, his hands tracing sigils in the air, trying desperately to revive his protection. The sound of his voice was lost to the report of the guns.
The sixth shot ensured he would never complete that spell. He stumbled backward, a hollow gasp coming from him as he grasped at his chest. She didn't stop. Seven. Eight. He rocked with each hit, moving towards the edge of the roof, and towards a four-story fall.
She lunged forward, a pistol in one hand, her other lashing out to grab him by the front of his blood-sodden robe. She pulled him in close as he gasped for a breath he would never catch, her smile like that of a tiger who had finally gotten her prey.
"Nobody contests the Witch Queen and lives. When you get to Hell, tell the others that the Queen's Shadow sends her regards once more." She pressed the barrel of the pistol to his head and fired.
She pulled open his robe as he fell backward off the roof; one of Lishi's grimoires fell onto the stone at her feet as he went. She knelt to retrieve it, then touched her earring again.
*<Mission accomplished. I've got your book back.>*
<*And the thief?>*
Lisha looked off the roof to the street below, the feral expression still twisting her pretty features. *<His argument had some holes in it,>* she thought to Lishi, *<but he has a better appreciation for the gravity of the situation now.>*
There was a pause before Lishi replied. *<He went off the roof?>*
*<He went for a short trip, yes.>*
*<Sister, I swear, you have the most terrible sense of humor.>* | 17 | You watch closely the mage terrorising the city, your finger on trigger. Guns may not be too effective against dark mages, but you have the element of surprise. | 25 |
“…it’s time for our walk Dante.”
You blink twice and rub your eyes. You think to yourself that you must be imagining thing. There’s no way that Virgil started talking. You look down at your dog, whose already jumped off the couch and grabbed his leash. Letting out a short sigh, you smile a bit wearily and say “Alright Virg, let’s go for your walk.”
You put on the leash, grab your keys, and reach down into your pocket for your phone. You notice there’s a missed call from your ex, Beatrice, and a message. But before you can even take a glance at it, your phone dies. Cursing under your breathe, you place the phone down on the counter and plug it in. You think to yourself you won’t be needing it on your walk. Virgil is waiting by the door, leash handle in his mouth as he scratches at the door impatiently.
“Alright, alright,” you say as you bend down and grab the leash. “You really need to go don’t you?”
With a click of the lock, you open the door. There’s a stillness in the air…it’s strangely quiet in your apartment. And were the hallways always so long looking? You feel a sense of unease, but Virgil pulls on his leash toward the stair case. Too tired to fight, you let him pull you forward, down the seemingly endless hallway. When you reach the stairs, you see a wet floor sign, but instead of the typical Spanish writing you see it says “Abandon Hope” with the little stick man descending down the stairs…
“There’s no turning back.”
You look around trying to figure out who said that, until you lock eyes with Virgil. What would typically be his low bark is now voice. “To escape we must descend.”
You let out a scream and let go of the leash in a panic. | 55 | It's the day from hell. You've lost your job, your vehicle broke down, you're going to be evicted, and your significant other leaves you. You plop down to think, and without warning your dog looks right at you and says, "Well, now might not be a good time to tell you this, but..." | 183 |
"They're called 'Humannaboos' in our language" Slygggzen said. "We did not feel it was wise to let you see them so soon."
The tentacled alien glances down and changed its skin color to purple, which I knew from the xeno-cultural training seminar meant he was embarrassed. I tried to reassure the ambassador.
"Its ok, we value. the freedom of speech and personal decisions." I said, clasping my friend on the upper tentacle area that most closely resembled a shoulder. "We have our own fair share of strange people, living their lives as private citizens."
Slygggzen met my gaze, his octopus like eyes reflexively changing color to match mine. "These Humannaboos are... a bit more extreme than your oddballs, I'm afraid."
"Its nothing we can't handle, I assure you" I said, trying to assure the both of us. "I understand their shuttle craft has no weapons, and these 'Humannaboos' do not have hostile intentions?"
"Yes." Slygggzen said, shuffling towards the doorway with his lower four appendages. "But they are..."
I stopped him before we left my office. "Slygggzen, just between us, ok? What's the issue."
Slygggzen sighed. "They are really annoying. Like, *REALLY* annoying."
I chuckled. "We'll let them have the same tourist visas, but keep them in their own group."
With that, I shook Slygggzen's hand... tentacle... appendage thing. There really wasn't a human equivalent, but we made it work. His species was extremely friendly, easily making friends with every person they ever met. So how bad could these 'Humannaboos' really be?
I walked down to the tourist landing pad, and waited for the troublesome shuttle to land.
As the craft landed, I rehearsed my usual welcoming speech in my head. "Welcome to Earth, home of the Human race and birthplace of Human Joe's Ice Creamery." I knew it was ridiculous to us, but it was what we were best known for in the galaxy at large.
"OH, HOWDY HELLO HI!" A voice bellowed from the craft, catching me off guard. "IT'S SO NICE TO MAKE Y'ALLS GREETING!"
A gaggle of Slygggzen's species poured forth from the craft, releasing a terrible stench of alien body odor. Each alien was dressed in a human style costume, wearing elaborate fake scalps with hair as hats. Some had male pattern baldness hats on, with a suit and tie printed on their 4 limbed version of a T-shirt. Others had long feminine hair and skirts wrapped above their lower tentacles. One alien even had a fake 'dad-bod' gut strapped to his midsection, with white new balance sneakers on all 4 lower tentacle tips.
"Welcome..." I began, after regaining my composure. This was met with cheers.
I didn't know how I was going to survive the day.
/r/SlightlyColdStories | 87 | It turns out that the aliens we had first contact with were trying just as hard to keep their weirdos out of sight as NASA was to keep ours out of sight, for almost all of the same reasons. Cat's out of the bag now, though | 429 |
I raised my arms above my head, holding the holy tomb of resurrection aloft. "Through the power of the Lord, I bring you back to this realm, father!" I cried, pouring all of my emotion and willpower into the spell. "Father, hear me, and return!"
This was the moment I had trained for, the moment I had imagined over and over again ever since this monster had murdered my father. Ever since I had been granted mercy by the brothers of the Demonic Temple, been accepted as a member, then a student, then a graduate. Every single spell, every test, every long night of study, all of it had been to prepare me for this moment.
"RETURN!" I shouted, with the fury of all of my years of pain and sadness, of all of the emotions I had held back for decades.
Then, my father's body returned.
I should have studied longer. Maybe then I could have prevented what followed.
The skull began to glow with a demonic red hue, as the magic took hold. Skin began to emerge from the bones, as the body returned around it.
The Tyrant screamed in terror, as he was engulfed within the helmet of bone. His screams became muffled as he fought for space within, competing with the brain that was materializing within. I could only watch in terror as my father's bones shot through the Tyrant's as they regrew. His new spine descended through the man's torso, skewering him from the top down. As the new arms and legs forced their way out of the chest, the Tyrant collapsed, dead from... well, all of this.
Like a butterfly emerging from a cocoon, my father burst forth from the corpse. He stood on trembling legs, examining his blood soaked new skin in shock.
".....eww" he said.
"Father!" I said, approaching his new form. "I've missed you so-"
I bounced off of a force sphere, stumbling backwards as I regained my balance.
My father reached out a hand, which also bounced off the shimmering aura.
"....oh", I said, realizing what I had done. "Oh no."
The shield could only be turned off by the Tyrant's will, and he was in no condition to will anything ever again.
/r/SlightlyColdStories | 177 | ”Tyrant! Is that my father’s skull you’re wearing as a helmet?” “Fool! Didn’t your daddy scream ‘run!’ those years ago as I crushed him against a wall? The Orbulet still creates a force sphere around me, nothing can pass without my will!” “Long con buddy. I’m a priest now, and...’RESSURECTION!’” | 449 |
A sharp cry echoed across the dining hall.
"*Cassandra*! Where is my goblin-slaying axe? I told you I'd need it for our quest this evening!"
I sighed, shouting internally that I had already informed my mistress on the location of her beloved Gobslayer.
"It's hanging in the garden, m'lady. I wanted to ensure that it would have time to recharge its enchantment in the morning sunlight."
"And my husband's knife? He's searched high and low for it-"
"Still at the smithy, m'lady. The orc's skin appears to have been tougher than anticipated, and it dulled the blade to nearly blunt. I have sent a servant to inquire when it will be finished. His spare knife is hanging on a peg near the door."
Swift footsteps told me that the mistress had left the hall, carrying her pre-quest frenzy with her.
"They really could stand to be kinder to you."
A soft voice interrupted my thoughts, and I whirled around to see the young master Leon sitting in one of the dining chairs, idly twirling a kukri in his hand.
"Ah, master Leon! Apologies, I didn't hear you arrive. Would you like me to prepare you some tea, or perhaps an early supper?"
"No, thank you, Cassandra. That won't be necessary, I will be hunting and preparing my own meals for the foreseeable future."
"It sounds as though your wilderness training with master Gray is going well, then?"
"Swimmingly," he replied, producing a second kukri from within his sleeve with a movement I could barely perceive.
"And you seem to be taking to master Kallik's stealth training rather quickly as well. I may be but a servant, but it takes some skill to approach me in this room without me noticing."
"You need to give yourself more credit, Cassandra. You're more than just one of the servants. Hells, you deserve a stake in this house more than I do. You've been here, serving, cleaning, cooking, and helping my parents prepare for their missions for longer than I've even been alive. I'd wager there's not a nook or cranny in this whole place that you haven't cleaned."
I laughed softly.
"True enough, young master. I count myself lucky to have been in their employ for so long. I know that many are envious of my position, lowly as it may be."
Master Leon leaned closer, his face but an inch from mine. I blushed. This was wholly inappropriate for a man of his age and status!
"M-master Leon, I-"
He shushed me softly, placing a finger to my lips.
"You could be anywhere in this house, at any time, and nobody would bat an eye, would they? That's no skill that can be learned. Invisibility through simply being non-intrusive. The secrets you could be privy to... well, suffice to say, they could be worth a lot to a discerning buyer."
"Master Leon?"
"They've tried to hide it, and they did well for a long time. But I know, in my gut, that my parents are hiding something. Something *big*. I must know what it is, at all costs. And I can think of no one in a better position than you. So, name your price. Ten gold, twenty, fifty, you know it's of no consequence."
I was stunned into silence. The young master of the house was offering to pay me to spy on my lord and lady! And not just to pay me, but to pay me any amount I desired. It'd be a tempting offer for anyone in my position.
Anyone else, that is.
"While I appreciate the offer, young master, I am afraid I must politely decline. I am a servant of this house, and while you may be the heir, you are not the head of the household yet. My service was sworn to your mother and father, not to you. So you keep your money, and I'll keep their secrets."
In a blink, he was gone, without even a disturbed chair or fluttering curtain to show he'd been here at all.
I wondered how much his mother and father would pay me to tell them about what had just happened? After all, I said I'd keep *their* secrets, not *his*... | 29 | Working as a maid for a family of monster hunters is hard work. Everyday you sharpen weapons, clear the garden from pixies and gnomes, and clean the blood from your masters and mistresses' battle clothes, all while making 3 meals a day. Thankfully the pay's pretty good. | 177 |
I still can’t believe I’ve done it. But, to be completely honest with you, I assumed it would be cooler, like having the ability to shape reality.
Instead, it’s more like a video game. The difference? I get to decide the checkpoint.
Let me pour a glass of water really quickly. There, that’s better. Lots of excitement, pulling off my first lucid dream and all.
Today’s started normal enough. I was walking on a mountain I know; I go there often. This path goes from the bottom to the top, but there are some super steep parts and this one time…
Oh yea, the lucid dream. I know, I know, I’ll get on with it.
Well, there I was, on top of the mountain. Of course, I went to the edge and looked down. Wouldn’t you?
You wouldn’t? Does that make me weird?
Either way, I did it. So there I was, looking over the edge at a view I’ve seen dozens of times before when a bald eagle came out of nowhere. It grabbed the back of my arm from behind.
When I tell you I felt those nails digging into my arm… Well, I was too heavy for the bird to pick up, but the force of it hitting me knocked me forward. And over the edge.
It all felt like it was happening in slow motion, ya know? I’m falling; my arms are flailing. Then, all of a sudden, I kept waiting for that sense of falling when you’re asleep. What’s it called again?
A hypnic jerk, that’s right. So anyway, I’m waiting for this hypnic jerk when I realize I’m asleep. And haven’t you been working on lucid dreaming?
(When I say you, I mean I, because I’m talking to myself, you see?)
Well, that right there was enough to blast me back into control. So now I’m falling, fully aware that I should be able to control the dream. So I think to myself, “Fly!”
Hold on, I need some more water. All this talking is making me thirsty.
Well, I can’t fly. I just keep falling. Falling so long that I can’t be going anywhere because if I was going somewhere, I would’ve already hit bottom.
That’s when I think, “Just start over from the beginning.”
Then, suddenly, I’m back on the top of the mountain, staring down over the edge. Except, this time, I know the eagle is on its way. So, I duck and scurry away from the edge, and the eagle flies right over me!
I know; it was wild. I’ve been trying for so long, and I finally got some control over my dream! Let me go back to bed and see if I can do it again.
\*\*\*
Well, that was one of my weirder dreams. I was in the mall, walking around, and all these beautiful dogs were displayed in the center. It was like some dog show or something.
So I walked up and said hello. I had to, you know? Can’t just walk by all these lovely-looking dogs and not say hi.
I found the biggest one of the bunch, a huge Great Dane, and I walked up to him while looking at the handler. But the handler was ignoring me, acting like I didn’t exist. Well, something must’ve happened when I wasn’t looking because, the next thing I know, I’m staring at a giant demon dog. I’m telling you, missing spots of fur, dark red skin, and eyes as dark as any night I’ve ever seen.
Just then, I remembered my new skill. Let’s go back to the last checkpoint! So there I am in the mall again, walking and minding my own business, when I come to the center and see the dog show.
Except for this time, I pull out my phone, so I can record when the dog turns into a demon. I do the same thing, walk towards the dog and trainer while looking at the trainer, except this time I keep my phone on the dog. Then, when I’m face to face with the demon, and he’s about to attack me, I focus and go back to the previous checkpoint…
Pull out my phone…
And I recorded the exact moment it happened!
I agree; it was cool as hell. Like, I’m manipulating technology in the dream and creating a different angle of the event. The mind’s wild, isn’t it?
Do you want to see my phone? It was in the dream, though.
Oh my god. How did you know? It’s here. Except… the dogs are all demon dogs in the center of the mall in the video. And then, as I approach, it turns into an actual dog that attacks me.
As if I’m the demon. Do you think the animals can tell I’m somewhere I’m not supposed to be?
What am I looking at? A sign in the store window? Hold on, what language is that? Definitely not English.
Looks Chinese or Korean. I can’t tell.
Do you think my dream body is walking in another part of the world, where it’s daytime, while I’m asleep here? How on Earth did I ever pull that one off?
And what about when I was on the mountain near here? It would’ve been nighttime.
It doesn’t take long before I find out about the attack at the dog show across the world, in South Korea. A man walked up to a Great Dane, and it attacked him, tearing off his face.
He’ll live. I don’t need to see the pictures to know where the attack occurred. But it happened three weeks ago.
Looking closer to home, I find out about the man who fell from the mountaintop when a bald eagle knocked him over. It happened in 1964. | 12 | After mastering lucid dreaming, you decide to play around with your phone in your dreams. To your amazement, pictures you take in your dreams are still on your phone when you wake up. | 133 |
# Soulmage
**Astrenn needed the Shiny.** Even though her feathers were singed, even when the Angry Thing swiped at her with its claws, Astrenn needed the Shiny. And so the crow would get the Shiny. It didn't matter how long it took, it didn't matter how distracting the village was (ooh! Is that tinsel? She loves tinsel. No. No, focus. Astrenn needed the Shiny.) The Angry Thing was dumb, and even though it was strong and magical, the crow was clever-clever, fast-fast. The crow would win eventually.
The first thing to do was to get to a friendly nest. Right now, they were near the nest of the Large Baker—who used the Angry Things for cook-fires and shooed away the crows from the Delicious Breads. If the Large Baker came out on the street to investigate, Astrenn would never get the Shiny. So the crow flew to a nearby bin of Smelly Rotten Mush and tipped it over with a wingflap.
The crow knew this much about the Angry Things: they had a powerful sense of smell. And so as soon as the Smelly Rotten Mush poured out onto the street (to the dismay of the Large Baker), the Angry Thing awkwardly flapped away, the Shiny in its claws. The crow grabbed a small pebble (and a tinsel, for later), and shot into the sky, her feather-silent wings swift where the clunky, impossible weight of the Angry Thing farted along on inelegant wind magic.
"Caw," said the crow, and released the stone.
The Angry Thing must have been stupid, because it didn't even try to dodge the stone that *thunked* on its head. Unfortunately, the Angry Thing was a big ball of scales (shiny? No, not Shiny. Focus. Astrenn needed the Shiny) and probably wasn't even hurt by the rock. Which was no fair. Even the hard-hard-*hard* clams from the market got split open by a high-heavy-dropped rock. But at the very least, the Angry Thing dropped the Shiny, letting it twinkle to the ground like a wish upon a star.
Astrenn would get the Shiny. Astrenn *had* to get the Shiny.
The crow dove down, folding her wings tight and close to her body like she'd seen the swooping-fast-kill-above birds do, and snatched the Shiny out of the air. The Angry Thing dove after her, but it had fallen into her trap.
For these fields of amber grain were the nests of the Old Farmer, and they appreciated the crows for their ability to hunt-find-eat mice more than the Angry Things that set their barns and crops on fire.
The Angry Thing dove after the crow, heat lighting up in its maw as the crow settled on the ground, and the crow knew the Angry Thing thought it had victory in its stupid little claws.
But then, like a thunderbolt, a broom head slapped the Angry Thing out of the sky as the Old Farmer scolded it.
"Back, you silly little dragon! I won't have you burning the barn down today!" The Old Farmer had skin like wrinkle-walnuts, and he was unamused by the Angry Thing's presence in his nest. Another two broom slaps swept the defeated Angry Thing away, and the Old Farmer gave the crow a piercing look.
"Say... you're my daughter's friend, aren't you?" The Old Farmer chuckled to himself. "You clever little thing. Well, go on. She's waiting for you where we buried... oh, why am I bothering? You can't understand me; you're just a crow. Astrenn! Your crow's here to visit!"
The crow flapped towards the barn, where Astrenn was waiting. The little girl who'd once taken the crow in, feeding her, and keeping her warm when the nights grew cold. Astrenn had saved the crow's life when she was a hatchling, and the crow would do anything for Astrenn in return.
Astrenn needed the Shiny. And finally, the crow had delivered.
Astrenn looked up from the small lump of freshly-turned earth, the small, carved rock that stood where a mother should have been. Her cheeks glistened with sparkling droplets of water, but for once, the crow only wanted to wipe these shinies away.
"There you are, you silly lump of feathers." Astrenn sniffled and held out her arm; the crow hopped on and nuzzled her cheek. "What've you got for me today?"
The crow said, "Caw," and relinquished her treasures. A single gold coin for Astrenn, and a bit of tinsel for herself.
Astrenn giggled. "You crazy crow—where'd you get this? Mother would have fed you plump for days. Come on—we can still send her off, if we hurry."
Astrenn pocketed the Shiny and hurried into the market, exchanging the Shiny for some smaller sparkles and a bouquet of fresh flowers.
Then Astrenn and the crow returned to her mother's grave, placing the flowers in the center. After a moment of thought, the crow delicately balanced her tinsel on top, and Astrenn closed her eyes that shone like stars.
"She would have loved you, you pretty little girl."
"Caw," said the crow, perhaps agreeing, perhaps simply being there for her friend.
And Astrenn and the crow knelt there in mourning, until the sun bled red and the greatest shinies of all twinkled in the night sky above.
A.N.
This story is part of Soulmage, a frequently updated serial in progress. 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-two other chapters before this one, so there's plenty to catch up on. And if you want more stories, check out r/bubblewriters! | 533 | A tiny dragon and a crow fight over a gold coin. They’re both equally strong, and both can fly. The crow is smart enough to dodge the fire, and the dragon is trying not to melt the coin. They tussle on the street. | 3,066 |
"Mr. Johnson? The doctor will see you now."
I rose from my chair in the doctor's waiting room, averting eye contact with the other patients as I walked to the nurse. She held the door open with one hand, and a clipboard in another.
"Right this way", she said, gesturing to a hallway within. "First we'll need to get your weight. On the scale, please."
I hopped right onto the scale, eager to show off my weight loss progress. I had been following the doctors orders over the last 6 months, exercising and cutting out certain food groups. I was quite proud when the scale displayed 182.4 pounds.
"Down 30 pounds exactly! Well done Mr. Johnson." The nurse said, jotting down the numbers on her clipboard. "If you'll follow me, we'll be in room 6 today."
She escorted me down the hall to the room. I couldn't help but gaze at her as she walked, her pale skin juxtaposed her dark hair so nicely.
She stopped and gestured towards the room. "In here, please."
I walked into the room and sat down in the exam chair, the thin paper protector rustling as I did.
The nurse stood by the doorway. "May I come in to check your vitals?" She asked.
That was weird. "Uh, yeah, thats part of your job here right?" I chuckled awkwardly. The woman smiled and stepped across the threshold.
She took my pulse, temperature, and blood pressure in turn, documenting the results as she did. When she had finished, she smiled at me and said "the doctor will see you soon."
I followed her with my eyes as she left. I couldn't help it, she was just so compelling...
It seemed like I was lost in thought for an eternity when a sharp knock broke my daydream. A deep voice called from the hall outside.
"Mr. Johnson? This is Dr. Acula, may I come in?" He asked.
"Come on in, doc." I said. There must have been some sort of policy about entering a patient's room or something.
The door opened and the doctor strode in, his white lab coat billowing behind him. He smiled as he saw my progress. "Mr. Johnson, you have lost weight!" He exclaimed.
"Yup!" I said proudly. "I took your advice, started exercising again, cut out junk food, and removed certain potential allergens."
The doc glanced at the chart he held. "So you stopped eating the carbs, the onions, mushrooms and *garlic*?" He asked, emphasizing the last part.
"Oh yeah, and you were right! I was getting that chest rash from that crucifix, who knew you could become allergic to silver like that?" I said, proud of all the health positive changes I had made over the last few months.
The doctor set the chart down and removed his stethoscope. "I just need to listen to your heart now" he said, licking his lips as he approached.
"Do you need some chapstick?" I asked. "Your lips dry or something?"
He ignored my question, placing the business end of the stethoscope to my chest. "Take a deep breath and hold it," he instructed. I complied.
The doctor leaned close to my chest, listening intently. He placed one hand on my shoulder as support. I jumped. "Doc, your hand is ice cold!" I said, startled.
But he didn't respond. He was staring at me, licking his lips.
I hear him whisper one word, before he lunged at my neck. The last word I would ever hear.
"Ripe", he had said.
r/SlightlyColdStories for more | 44 | Unknowingly, Humanity had protected itself against vampires by possessing unhealthy blood. Diabetics gave them a sugar high, Addicts made them OD, and high cholesterol made them fat. So vampires joined the health profession. Since then, Mankind has never been healthier. | 262 |
"Who turned this Office into a sitcom?!?!"
*Hahahahahahahaha*
"And where is that sound coming from?"
*Hahahahahahahaha*
Wayne looked at point on the wall and shrugs his shoulders.
The boss asked, "Wayne, who are you looking at? There is no one there!"
*Hahahahahahahaha*
The boss stormed out, "I hope HR can solve this."
Wayne walked over to the table where Sheila and Paige were sitting.
He asked Paige, "Hey, Paige. Soren in the warehouse hooked me up with a pair of Ben Folds tickets. People our age find this style of comedy amusing and also Ben Folds. So I guess may I dunno if you'd like to possibly maybe wanna ya know just if you're free maybe go to the concert with me on Friday?"
*Woooooooooooooooooooooooooo*
Paige looked around nervously, "I.....I.....would like.....that....."
Wayne smiled wide and said, "Pick you up at 8?"
Paige nodded and Wayne went back to his desk.
*Wooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo*
Sheila looked across to Paige, "Paige, Wayne is great and we all think he's perfect for you ever since the pilot. Are you going to tell him you got back with Allen last night?"
Paige nervously looks at a point on the wall.
Kyler enters the break room with a golden retriever puppy.
"Why the long faces ladies? Look at this puppy I found in the parking lot."
*Awwwwwwwwwww*
Sheila smiles and says, "Oh, Kyler, you are so quirky. What will you do next?"
Kyler pushes up his horned rim glasses and says, "Well as soon as I find this puppy's owner I'm going to put on a funny hat, eat olives out of a can because those are quirky things that quirky people do. I'm going to a Renaissance festival this weekend, then an ultimate frisbee tournament, then finally a flash mob because those are quirky activities that quirky people do."
*Hahahahahahahahahahahah*
The boss comes back into the break room and says, "Linda in HR says we have been hit with a trope demon. It feeds off of predictable behaviors and jokes that insincere people find funny."
Sheila shrugs and says, "This is worse than when the copier broke on the same day that corporate visited!"
*Hahahahahahahahahahahaha*
The boss covers his ears. "The infernal laughter! Where is it coming from? That wasn't even funny!"
Paige asks, "How do we get rid of the demon? Is this gonna interfere with my date with Wayne? I thought the love triangle had at least three seasons of potential."
The boss said, "We have to over feed the trope demon. It will explode under the weight of the comfort humor that simple people watch before bed."
Sheila smiles and says, "Count me out. I'm on my coffee break!"
*Hahahahahahahahahahahahahahaha*
The boss shouts, "That's the spirit, Sheila. Idiot humor, keep it up. Eat someone else's lunch in the fridge. Microwave fish in the breakroom. Steal toilet paper from the bathroom. Paige, get your ex and Wayne in here right now. Tell Kyler that suspenders and bowties are now banned under the new dress code. I'm going to leak a memo that the company is in trouble and there are going to be layoffs. I'm going to schedule the Christmas Party, Halloween Party, and soup competition to next week. Everyone invite your family to visit this weekend; we need cameos....."
A creature materialized in a blaze of flames. It writhed around the floor in pain. It begged, "Please no more. I can't take it."
The trope demon tried to gather it's strength, but the boss approached it.
The boss said in a commanding voice, "NO! Not in my office. I'm going to watch Chicago's Got Talent on my Apple iPhone 12ab XL. Chicago's Got Talent normally airs Wednesday at 8, 7 central but it gets released early for subscribers to the Partridge Plus app."
The demon writhed in pain. Smoke began to come from it's eyes and mouth. It begged, "Please! No more! I'll go to the suburbs and feed off of an atypical family, or a Mega store, or another office setting."
The boss went in for the kill, "No! You will never annoy anyone else with your laugh tracks, long pauses that idiots think are "cinematic," or Twitter hashtags in the corner of every room. We are going into syndication on basic cable, broadcast TV, and streaming. We are going to be in the background of holiday gatherings so families don't have to talk to one another. Then we'll make a podcast and a reboot that fails to live up to the original!"
"NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!" screamed the trope demon.
The creature burned in a flash and only a pile of ashes was left on the floor. The fire alarm went off and the sprinkler system sprayed water on everyone.
Sheila said, "Does this mean we get to go home early?"
The boss waited. No laugh track played. | 27 | The boss barged into the break room absolutely furious."Who turned this office into a sitcom!" A laugh track plays. | 125 |
I don't like talking about my job.
And, no, it's not just because of doctor-patient privilege, although that does play a very large part in it.
No, I don't like talking about my job because I don't like people asking questions.
You see, I've got one of the niche roles. The ones where people say "well, someone's gotta do it, right?" It pays well. REALLY well. Like "backyard's a golf course, drive a Porsche 911 to work every day" well.
And don't get me wrong: I enjoy it immensely.
But its not something I like talking about. I even ask my clients not to approach me if they see me outside the office.
It’s not that I'm embarrassed of them. As I said, it's the questions and the comments.
Like the other day. I was out at the park with my wife, the kids and a few friends when one of them ran over and asked me if I had space for a session the next day.
He'd relapsed into murderous thoughts and wanted to talk about it. So I pulled out my calendar, fit him in and shoed him away.
When it was over, my buddy looked at me and went "Huh. Not every day you run into a former demon lord who wanted to bring about the end of the world, right, Bill?"
NO, Sean. It actually is.
Because that's what I am: Dr. William Daniels, PsyD, Demon Therapist.
For 15 years now, I've been the go-to guy whenever some adventurer brings down a demon lord and is too lazy to figure out how to kill them. 'Cause that's the rub, aint it? You can arrest them, trap them, beat them to within a half inch of their life. But actually killing a demon lord? That takes finding whatever it is that's keeping them immortal.
You name it, I've seen it all. Needle in haystack? Golden egg? 55 Horcruxes? Needle in a stack of needles? Do you guys have ANY idea how many fucking needles there are in the world? Yeah...ain't nobody got time for that.
Not when you've got another demon lord to catch the next day.
Adventurers don't want to waste their time. So they just trap their demon lord and send him on over, so I can try reforming them.
I genuinely do my best for them. It would be unethical otherwise.
I listen to them. I teach them to cope with their wants.
Sometimes I hit. Then I pronounce them clean and they become a productive member of society.
But I live for the times I don't.
For those, I've got my magic axe: Soulbreaker.
I bought it years ago. It cost more gold then most merchants make in a lifetime, and its enchanted to kill immortals.
Because, you see, that's my secret: I want to end the world, too. And I've found a way to cope. | 14 | ancient, magically-imprisoned (current or formerly) superbeings. You help them figure out their issues and hangups so that they can finally be at peace and stop trying to end the world | 54 |
“Sir, they’re marching this way. Should we move to intercept them?”
I shook my head, “no need. Let them come. And Patrick, you’re free to go.”
Patrick blinked, “are you sure?”
I nodded, “this isn’t your fight.”
I didn’t turn back, but I heard the door slam as Patrick raced out of the building. The moon was bright tonight, I could see the mages’ approach clearly without the aid of magic.
As they came closer, I opened the front door of my press shop and stepped out, confronting my visitors, “we’re closed.”
The archmagus smiled, “oh, we’re not here for business.”
I sighed, “I presumed as much.”
The archmagus nodded, “then I presume you know what I will ask of you next.”
“I will not comply with your demand.”
“Noncompliance means death, I would reconsider, were I you.”
“You control all the scribes, archmagus. Magic is a commodity regulated by you. You can empower or belittle entire cultures and nations through distribution control. With the printing press, magic will be in the hands of the people.”
“And you believe such power belongs in such unworthy hands?”
“It’s not your decision to determine who is worthy. Besides, magic is not as much of an advantage as it once was. Those without magic have taken strides in technological progress to make up for what they lack. Hence, the printing press, a union of magic and technology. Think of the wonders that could be achieved together were they combined!”
“You’re ignorance is baffling. You will doom us all!”
“I’d rather live in a dangerous free world than a safe oppressive one. We can’t escape danger, we can regulate magic in other ways, but not trusting the people you rule is no way to run a nation.”
“You speak zealotry, not logic. You are indoctrinated by the cult of the rebel.”
“As if zealotry isn’t a tool under your own disposal. You claim who is worthy or not, if that’s not manipulation through belief I don’t know what is.”
“You cur!”
“You’re much worse.”
“So, since we won’t be coming to an agreement, shall we?”
“Bring it on!”
The mages fumbled with their scrolls, unrolling them and muttering the incantations on them. I, meanwhile, took off my coat to reveal an outfit made entirely of paper with incantations printed on them. The printing presses were working on full blast, papers flying out of the machines and into my hands as I slung spells faster than geriatric scribes could write a single word.
I may be outmatched, but I’m not outwitted. Even if I fall here, progress still marches on. They will not stop it, no matter how hard they try. | 45 | The printing press. | 175 |
"I told you all!" The bunker was cold. "Nobody believes an old wizard though!"
The room was filled with eyes of glass, people who were scared and looking for answers. To their utter shock, only Anwir the mad wizard seemed to have them.
Amongst the chaos of scared and impressionable fear, a young wizard arose from the crowd of lost people. In the cold bunker created by Anwir for this exact catastrophe, the wizard's small frame actually looked imposing.
"What are we going to do now?" Said the young acolyte, their golden youth shinning in the dark room.
Anwir was toying around with gemstones and magical artifices off to the side of the room, somehow expecting his new housemates to just make themselves at home. His disheveled look made him seem gremlin-like as he was deftly moving around dark devices.
He looked up from his desk. "Come now!" It was a barking, distasteful voice. "I graciously save you all from the doom that I have been prophesizing for years, ignoring the remarks and judgment I've been given all my life, and now you want me to entertain you all too?"
"No that's not what we're saying!" The young wizard spoke bravely, feeding off of the fear and confusion of everyone behind him. "I mean... What happens to us now? Now that... Now that it's over?"
Anwir poked his head up more noticeably than before. He turned from his desk to face the crowd with a slightly eerie smile. "What happens now, young boy? What happens to all of us now?" His voice was rising to a ragefull, sing-song preach. "Now that we've infected our crops with dark magics? Now that we've sapped our minds with mana towers? Now that we've invited the dark night into our government and let it fester, only to rise like some malignant monster and crush our kingdom!?"
Silence resonated over the crowd of newly-made refugees like it was a freezing breeze. "We all saw the same thing. The darkness that corrupted the sky. The figures made of shade that killed our neighbors. The monster of the night that stood higher than any wizard tower! All of the things that I've been predicting for years! So I'll tell you all right now." The man turned his head to meet every desperate eye looking at him. "I saved all of your lives from this blight of wizard negligence! All of you! I don't know how long we'll have to live down here, but by my calculations at least ten years! Knowing that, I have only one rule here -- *My word is law!*"
It was a bone-chilling speech. Everybody was already scared and confused, but now they were dark-eyed and coming to grips with what was sure to be a future of struggle. "I watch my bunker like a hawk! And hexes line the safes and walls that shouldn't be touched! In two hours I'll begin telling you all about how we'll ration food, and the spells that are going to be banned for everyone's safety. Go get your stuff unpacked in the rooms in the back."
As the morose group moved to the back, the young wizard from before was pulled aside.
"Talos, come here. Something's not right with this place." Her name was Faron, she was a classmate of the young wizard before the disaster. "I need to show you something."
Talos knew her well, she'd graduated top of her class and was arguably more bull-headed than him -- A rare trait. "What is it?"
"I've done some looking around. Anwir has half of the rooms in this small bunker blocked off by hexes, but they were relatively simple."
"*Were*?"
"I may have done some looking around while the speech was going on. That doesn't matter, just come here."
Faron led him down a dark and grim hallway located near the back of the bunker. Talos could see the small residual burn marks left by a broken hex. At the back she led him into a room and showed him an complicated chest with yet again a broken hex mark.
"What's inside?"
Her face was grim and low. She opened the chest to reveal a collection of black stones that hummed at a low pitch.
"My lord." Talos said. "Are those?"
"Illusion Stones. Incredibly rare, but incredibly powerful."
"So you're saying..."
"*He faked it all Talos.*"
Before they could say anything, a voice rung out from down the dark hallway. "So my mousetrap already sprung huh?" It was Anwir, before they had time to do anything the door behind them slammed shut, locking them in. From the other side they heard his voice continue. "The truth is irresistible to the likes of you all, but it also costs!"
Talos and Faron shared a look of despair. They both had the feeling that this wouldn't go too well...
\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_
If you enjoyed checkout my subreddit! r/mrsharks202 | 43 | all the signs were there and they called you a conspiracy quack. Now it’s too late. The kingdom is in crisis. | 95 |
This is a fun one for me, as a STRIKINGLY similar idea has spawned an entire series of books I've written in a universe where this happened...but nobody knows it (yet).
"I've been around for five hundred years. I've seen nations die, and new ones born from the ashes. I've seen generations of man rise and fall, like foam in the sea. Ethereal. Temporary. The science of man still grows, but so too does the folly, for every great breakthrough has a cost. A sacrifice...one that we paid. We still pay. In blood..."
A scattering of applause are followed by the clink of a few coins into the nearly empty hat sitting on the street in front of the old corpse. The people are happy to hear stories, and he is content to tell them...for the price of a sandwich.
No, Jonathan Ignatius Mortimer Hall is not like the OTHER zombies. He is a storyteller. A bard of the old world, set adrift in the new...
He was shaken from his reverie by the creak of bones as his...associate collapsed onto the bench beside him in a puff of foul smelling air.
"Hey Johnny, how's the Bardin' business goin'?"
Jonathan Ignatius Mortimer Hall let out a long-suffering sigh. He always seemed to be surrounded by philistines and lesser intellects.
"I...am doing well, Grant. How is your...grift going?" he replied, bending to collect his hat and coins, lest the other get any nefarious ideas.
Grant shrugged. "Eh, it's a job. I mean, we don't need to eat or drink or sleep so mall security works great, plus free deodorant!" he finished, waving his arms emphatically, spreading the musky stench of some failed anti-decay deodorizing spray he'd clearly been suckered into trying. Again.
Jonathan Ignatius Mortimer Hall shook his head sadly. "Grant, Grant, Grant...If you eat and drink, you decay slower...you know that, don't you? I mean, in your current state, you are barely fit for walking around in public...Why not go to California and join the famed Romero House? I hear a proper horde is paid a king's ransom, and you are certainly decayed enough to fit the part. Saves them makeup time...and me a daily headache." he finished under his breath.
Grant laughed, and slapped him companionably on the shoulder. "What? And leave my best buddy to fend for himself on the lonely streets of..." he paused, theatrically looking around before continuing, "wherever the hell we are these days?"
Jonathan Ignatius Mortimer Hall sighed again and stood. If he'd known he'd be saddled with his childhood best friend for all of eternity, he probably wouldn't have agreed to be part of the Immortality Trial. Sure, the man was an interesting conversationalist for a few decades...but he does wear on the soul so. Jonathan Ignatius Mortimer Hall feared he may not have much soul left at this point. He was merely a mobile statue of flesh and bone, held together with the remnants of the Great Man who once ran an empire...until the day they decided to officially list him as Deceased.
His vampiric siblings, children, nieces, and nephews all dug their teeth into his hard earned fortune, shredding his prized collections and property down into liquid, then burning that like so much accelerant on a fire. His only solace was that he got to watch them all grow old and die, destitute, and made sure to attend each and every funeral and laugh in the faces of their friends and family.
Of course, that did nothing to help HIS familial ties. Now he was a Hall in name only, having been expunged from the family histories, scratched out of the family trees, and since his fortune didn't survive either, out of the family success stories as well.
The only thing he still had was his memories, and even those were starting to fade.
He'd heard tales, whispered under bridges in the darkest and quietest hours of the night, that if you lost your memories, you'd soon lose your personality...and if you lost that, you'd soon lose the ability to speak...becoming a True Zombie of the old tales. Nothing but a shambling corpse that attacks anything that catches its decaying eye or ear. Following movement and eating anything its crooked fingers could catch.
They say that if you are caught killing, the only punishment a zombie truly fears is Exile. As your lungs lack breath, they take you out over the deepest places in the ocean and toss you overboard. You sink...deep into the abyss, never to be seen or heard from again. At best, wandering blind at the bottom of a rift, your only friends the crabs and squid. At worst, crushed by the pressure, unable to move, unable to die...eternal, conscious, agony.
Jonathan Ignatius Mortimer Hall shuddered in the otherwise warm air. He'd never suffer that fate, not if he could help it. He hastened his step, hoping to outpace Grant, but was disappointed to see him loping along to keep up...a high speed shamble that resembled an eternal fall without ever hitting the ground. | 13 | A large group of pwople have achieved immortality. Hundreds of thousands of years later, their decaying bodies still refuse to die. | 40 |
Look at this dumb bastard.
He's going about his morning, like nothing happened last night. How could it have? Where was he? If you asked, he'd tell you he was at home. Door was locked and jeopardy was on.
He's a fucking liar.
He's just waking up and thinking about the bagels downstairs. He's always loved bagels, especially the Everything ones. You know who won't ever have everything ever again?
Me. I won't. Because this dumb bastard killed me.
He gets up and shakes his head, as if this will somehow dislodge the voice that's speaking directly into his ears. No, dummy. It's not going to, because this is some telltale heart shit you're stuck in now. I'd say good luck, but I hate you.
He gets up from his bed (it's an awful bed. Truly sad. He got a king thinking he'd be having someone other than him in it but one half of it remains stoically unused.) and moves over to the bathroom. I'd go into detail here about his morning routine but . . . I'd hate for his body to disappoint more people than the women that never stay over. Let's just say that "Average" for this gentleman is being graded on a curve.
He walks downstairs (don't mistake the house for anything grand. It's a duplex in one of the more morose parts of town. If you could take 4 year old khaki pants run through the wash too many times and turn it into a somehow-sadder house, that'd be what you're looking at) and goes to a kitchen barren of any care or human touch. No art hangs on his wall. No family photos, no birthday cards or degrees, not a single sign that this place has had a person in it. Not a single accomplishment, down to the completely fresh wall with nary a nail-hole in it.
He slowly splits a bagel, showing far more proficiency slathering schmear than he ever had doing anything else. Whoever puts cream cheese on an untoasted bagel I'll never know.
I mean, I know now. Dumb bastards that kill people do, I guess.
He sits and wonders if this is a hangover. Has he had a hangover before? I'm not sure, because I just got here. But I can guarantee that it's not bud. I'm here, you're here, and we're gonna be here until one of us dies.
Well, until one more of us dies, I guess.
See, he had gone out last night and thought that he could find someone on valentines day. "It's a day for guys like me to pick up women that are sad about being alone" he thought to himself, having watched too many sitcoms.
You can stop yelling that I'm wrong. You're not going to convince anyone, and I'm the one that gets to tell the story now.
He sat at the bar and tried, and tried, and tried. I'm sure many people - even the bartender - gave him a look that was both pity for him and remorse that he was around. As he tried and got looked at he drank. Maybe the bartender felt bad, and let him drink too much. We can't forget their part in this (I wasn't there. I assume that the bartender let him drink too much, but then again this dumb bastards tolerance might just be spectacularly low.). Eventually he left the bar and didn't get into an uber, lyft, or taxi like a sensible responsible person. He got into his car and drove off.
That's when he met me. At 70. On the sidewalk.
I'd like to say it was painless, but we all know it wasn't. The last thing I got to see as I flew through the air was my wife, spinning after being clipped. So while I got to die in pain, at least I ALSO don't know if my wife survived!
Some people get all the luck.
You know I sort of lost the thread of what this idiot was doing. Oh right, he's dressed now and looking at his wreck of a car. As squishy as a human is, they sure do mess up an absolute top of the line 2007 Kia Sorento. Man, what a cash car. That thing must have set you back a pretty penny.
The wind shield is broken, the right front bumper is wrecked, the mirror is gone, and there's blood all over it. No knowing where my body is, because our shining example of morality never stopped. The fear and adrenaline just kept the foot down on the gas pedal. I sure hope it still works. Wouldn't want this drunkard and murderer to be without a vehicle to take him to his dead-end job as the human-hole at the dildo testing factory.
I'm just making that up. I don't know where he works, but it's probably got less upward mobility and job satisfaction than the dildo testing factory. I hear they just became employee-owned.
He sprays the car down halfheartedly, like he's done with every other thing in his life. It's red, lucky him, so the blood doesn't show up very well. He'd have to worry about anyone coming and asking him hard questions about it, if anyone ever spoke to him about anything. But they don't.
Because he's sad. Sorry, don't want to bury the lede there.
Man, he's sure looking sad. | 232 | You’re stuck narrating the life of the man who killed you. Only he can hear you, and your narration is starting to make him go insane. | 534 |
"I think you missed." I taunt him, knowing full well the spell hit me dead on. "Happens to the very best. Or so I've been told." I shrug. " Want to give it another go?" Sarik grinds his teeth, and summons an orb of lightning this time.
I could dodge it. I could have my sword in his throat before he finished summoning his spell. I could have ended this battle the second it started. But that would miss the point of this exercise. So I let him cast his spell. The crackling electricity sound like a startled flock of a thousand birds as he casts it at me.
I don't shift. I don't dodge. I don't even move, letting the ball of thundering hate wash over me and dissipate. Watching the face of the king go from triumph, to confusion to fear is remarkably satisfying, I must say. "So, have we started yet? " I ask, mid yawn. The crowd jeers me. Well, at least some things don't change.
"What trickery is this?" He shouts, and I just smile. "Come now, your majesty. Surely the greatest mage in the world wouldn't be stumped by, what did you call it, 'a mere parlour trick'?" My smile only widens with the increased jeering. "So, I'll tell you what. If you manage to inflict any damage on me, I will forfeit. My win condition remains the same." I can see the vein in his forehead balloon in size. He always hated being looked down on.
Suddenly, he stops, throws his head back and starts laughing. I wonder if he finally lost his sanity. "Of course! It so simple! You've woven elemental nullification into your armour!" A clever idea, though not a viable one. Nullification magic has a misleading name- it doesn't actually nullify, just disperses the mana by applying the inverse resonance. Two downsides are that metal is required for the generation of said inverse, and that it tends to deform and shatter as a result of it.
I nod. " It's a good thought, but I'm clearly only wearing leather armour. Try again for a copper?" He ignores me and casts Serenity Blade- a highly advanced spell with no elemental components. If his guess was correct it would slice me into ribbons.
If.
"Told you." I retort at the utter shock of everyone in the arena. "Now, your majesty, I'm going to rip your tongue out through your throat, then take your throne, your wife and your kingdom." I smile, genuinely smile, as I say that. It's been so long since I did that. "After all, magic-less or not, I'm still your older brother." | 329 | You were born into a world filled with magic. So important was magic that every facet of life was ruled by it .You were the first to be born without the ability to use magic. For that you were shunned and ostracized. However, you soon realize that your body is naturally immune to magic damage. | 923 |
Were they Devils or Gods? Such is the question that drove our people to the madness we call War.
The nearby cultivators informed us of the star falling from the sky into the middle of the fungus fields. Complete and utter panic voiced in the cries of the messengers. The rest were busy putting out fires and shifting the ground and tree stumps out of the way. Their livelihood depended on those fields and so rallied our able bodied to rush towards the fields.
Digging all four claws into the soft dirt, our immediate runners set out towards the fields. With few clothes to cover their scales, a small flood of brown and mottled green rushed out from the underground bunkers. The higher born among us, set out to the stables instead. We needed to saddle our Skarki.
As the stable doors were opened by the caretakers, our Skarki were led out. These large 4 legged flightless birds could cross any terrain in mere moments. While they were a lot hungrier and less enduring than their wingless counterparts, they more than made up for it in speed and strength. Large sacks of Therian powder were affixed to their sides as we mounted our personal Skarki. Many of them had brown with some yellow hues in their feathers. Mine was a rare, pure, white feathered breed that I took great pride in.
Once we were assembled and mounted with as much powder as they would allow, our Skarki were lined up in formation before the last stable gate. Each of my men gripped the leather handle on the sides of their Skarkis’ necks with clipped and well trimmed claws. I let out a single yell to well trained soldiers. The gates were opened alongside a coordinated rush to the fields.
As we ran out to the fields, the formation of our troops fanned out. We let our back legs take hold of the higher handles behind our mounts, a signal for the Skarki to spread out their wings. They couldn’t be used to fly but it gave them a degree of stability and some gliding ability. More than enough to jump, angle or pass over any tree, rock or obstacle in the way. The speed was more than apparent as we reached the first runners before the fields. With a quick yell and practised pull in the right direction, all the Skarki leapt and glided over the runners.
We wasted no time upon reaching the fields. Each of us reached to grab a handful of Therian powder and spread it unto a flame as we skirted it. The bluish powder quickly expanded in the heat into massive globs that would then melt and smother the flames. With each throw, I thanked our skilled alchemists for being able to store such large quantities. I doubt we could have contained the flame anywhere near as well as we did without it.
While we contained the fire’s spread, it still continued to burn large. The large mass of runners with their own large fireproofed cloths they unfurled or flasks of water arrived. Their added efforts as more runners could run to the nearby river for water and several more smothered the flames while continuing to breath in the smoke eventually prevailed. The fire was put out and we had saved easily more than three quarters of the nearby fields. The hundreds of tree stumps lined up with the hanging mushrooms would continue to grow and feed our people.
As we slowly put out the remaining embers and let our more injured rest to heal, a massive hiss in the middle of the remaining smoke sprung up. It seems the falling star still had some energy in it left. I ordered all my men to remain on guard and the runners to continue bringing water, this may not be over.
After waiting a long silence, waiting if the flame would spark up again from the fallen star, I began to see a shift in the smoke’s shadows. From it came a two-legged being covered in some kind of white material. It walked up towards me without hesitation. I had donned the claw-blade gauntlet when he started moving towards me. My guard quickly took a defensive formation around me with their own gauntlets raised up.
Stopping short of my guards, the being removed what was apparently a large domed helmet. A face without any discernible scales and smooth skin that would be defenceless against the elements appeared. I suppose that large dome was meant to protect that head of theirs. It looked straight at me and started speaking in some incomprehensible language. I motioned my guards to maintain their formation but confusion was clear on all their face, as must have been on mine.
It stopped suddenly and looked at me at what must have been confusion on their face as well. Their face lit up with wide eyes and it started to fiddle with some controls on their chest. Soon enough, its voice started coming from their chest in our language.
“There we go. Those years of studying your people better have paid off. Can you understand me? Is the translator working?”
I was baffled at what was happening but he continued on.
“I’m here against the wishes of the United Nations Directorate. It doesn’t matter though. Their closest station is several light years away and won’t hear of me or reach me before I’m finished. They say we must not interfere, that you must grow and learn as a species. That it would be best to let you live and evolve as we have. Well, I am here to say that it makes no sense.”
What he said, meant little to me and I needed answers. “Quiet! You stand in front of the Warden of the Nemuronian Fields! With your coming, you have burned many of these I am in charge of. Explain yourself quickly or you will face execution!”
This being merely laughed at my declaration before hitting something on the wrist. With a sudden lurch, each of our gauntlets felt too heavy and fell to the ground. In a single move he had disarmed me and my entire guard. With that sneer on his face and his hand on his wrist in a threatening gesture, he declared to all of us. “I am Lucius Sergey of Earth. Your precious crops are a small price for what I have come to offer. Rejoice you damns lizards! I am here to uplift you.” | 17 | Humans discover a society of intelligent beings on another planet. But instead of early tribal or futuristic, it’s medieval or renaissance. | 43 |
"I still don't understand", Max said, "NADIR-4 is a peaceful planet, sarge. It's really far away from the bugline. What purpose is there to send a whole division of space marines? We should be focusing on protecting human colonies, not these aliens."
"You're still young", the sergeant said, exhaling the vape smoke. "I'll let you on one secret I've learned over the years, kid. The aliens, all of them, are complete idiots."
"Huh?"
"Let me explain", sarge said. "Look at your rifle. Tell me what you know about it." Max took a glance at it. He knew it perfectly, of course, same as any other marine. He could describe its workings in his sleep. "Standard issue WLG-900, Nodarian-inspired nucleus, Krrgit style lance operator, Frenchinese optics. Combat AI developed from reprogrammed Zylonics."
"Precisely", sarge chuckled. "You know what Nodarians think of the Krrgit power lance? 'Heretic tech'. The Krrgit about reprogramming Zylonics? 'Inconceivable'. The Zylonics about Frenchinese optics? 'Incompatible technology'. They all keep making stupid excuses not to study each other. They are so far up their own asses that they took a damn *thousand years* to realize we weren't doing the same as them."
"Uh, OK. But, that still doesn't explain why we're going to NADIR-4."
"I'm getting there, kid. Now, tell me about the conflict between Hivemind Lambda and the republic of Sha in galactic cycle F36U7."
"Ughhhhhh. Really?"
"Tell me the gist of it. You have studied galactic history, haven't you?" It was a rhetorical question, of course. Every kid studies galactic history.
"Hivemind Lambda was unaware that Sha's citizens were individuals in their own right and not expendable drones", Max recited. "It thought the republic wouldn't mind trading a bunch of them to study, but when it learned it had been actually killing people, it was horrified. Peace was reached soon after, and Lambda accepted all responsibility and to date it's still working on reparations."
"You wanna know what the citizens of Sha know about the conflict?" Sarge was grinning in an uncanny way. "They say, 'hivemind Lambda is a horrible monster we cannot possibly comprehend, and without human strange telepathy magic, it would have consumed us all. Instead, now it serves our every desire forever.'"
"What?" Max shook his head in confusion. "But... The human alliance didn't do any magic! It's just like, basic xenopsychology! Lambda is so vast and ancient that it really doesn't care spending F8 cycles serving the republic, it's for it like, an afternoon washing their car."
"Precisely. Now you know our secret strange power, and our true superweapon: basic fucking common sense. The xenopsychologists in the spy service have been studying the imports and exports from NADIR-4, which, mind you, is open knowledge to everyone, and have determined with a 80% certainty that they are accumulating weapons to attack us. This will be the, I think seventh time we stop a war before it even begins. The aliens have *no idea* how we do this, they think we're psychic or something. Idiots, I tell you." | 1,987 | A thousand years after humanity was accepted into the galactic federation at large, other aliens realized one terrifying fact about them, humans are adaptive creatures. Unlike other races, humans have no qualms about learning alien techniques or integrating new alien technologies to their own. | 4,504 |
My grandfather once told me a story about an old hound that had been abandoned by its owner and was on the brink of starvation. But one day, it found a bone. The hound carried the bone to a safe spot, tucked away from wandering eyes, and started gnawing away. The hound was so hungry that it chewed the bone down to nothing, extracting every last bit of nourishment that it could. After some time, a kind old man happened upon the dog and its pathetic scrap and began quietly setting food out for it. As my grandfather told it, the poor wretch was so attached to its bone that it refused the man's food, instead gnawing and licking at its scraps until it eventually starved to death.
In my case, it wasn't an old hound. It was a pup. Of what breed I could not say. Its coat was the gray of river stone, stretched over its jutting ribs from starvation. But its eyes were strong, glowing like two burning coals. It had no bone, no scraps, and it whimpered as I approached. But when I offered it a piece of dried meat, it padded out from the shadows of the alley and yipped its approval.
I stopped by the alley every day on my way to work, and its tail wagged whenever it saw me. I started bringing a small bowl with me and poured it water from a sack. And of course, fed it some meat.
I did not have much to share at that time in my life. What wages I made at the forge went to my debts. And with the left over dullings, I bought dried meat -- perhaps an apple if they were discounted from overripeness. Those were lean times indeed.
At least I could feed the pup. Two wretches surviving in a city meant for nobles.
But after a week, the pup was gone.
I thought of the pup when things got hard. When the forge cut wages. When I couldn't afford my dried meat anymore or my rent. When I had no choice but to beg, borrow, and steal.
I was not a strong man, nor particularly wise. Work for a country mouse like me was limited to certain sets. I could follow direction and didn't mind sweating, hence the forge offered me a chance at earning a living. But that was gone. And while forced to walk in the shadows to feed myself, I learned something.
I was good at stealing.
My grandfather taught me much -- but his harshest lesson was around theft. *To take from another is to take from yourself*, he'd say. *There is always another way*. The country lords didn't seem to mind when they took my grandfather's olive orchard from him. And when facing another sleepless night, clutching at my swollen stomach as is it threatened to digest itself, taking from others didn't seem such a crime.
It started small. A dulling here, an apple there. Enough to cease the maddening hunger. Sleeping in stables too had become tiresome. So I pinched enough to rent storage room floors, perhaps even a blanket when the nights grew cold. I never got caught. Not even close.
I was soon noticed by the Bonepickers, a gang of hoods that proclaimed themselves the law amongst the lawless. Every one demanded their cut, it turned out. Even thieves.
But they fed me, housed me, and provided me with a new name. Fingers. My job, my new job, was to pick pockets, purses, sacks, and bags. And all my takings were brought back to the shabby little safe house on the outskirts of the city, in what was called Cheapside. They say there is honor amongst thieves, and that was true -- so long as you earned it. I made friends, shared stories, ate my fill, and slept. Gods I slept.
It was a simple life. Until it wasn't.
Grimjow, the leader of the Bonepickers, came to me one day with a special job. I was to steal from a certain noble. What specifically, he would not say. Only that it was a silk bag that the noble guarded fiercely. I was to pinch this bag and bring it back to Grimjow personally. There was no support for the job, no flaggers running interference, no watchers keeping an eye for bluecloaks on patrol. It was to be just me, alone.
By then, I'd stashed away enough shinnings to leave the city. To head back home. But my grandfather was long since dead. There was no farm. There was no home, so to speak. And, at the time, the idea of walking away from the Bonepickers couldn't have occurred to me. This was my life. Yes, I walked in the shadows. Broke one of the Three Laws daily. But the nobles broke it first when they took everything from my family. And when they cut the wages at the forge for no good reason. They'd make slaves of us. Or let us starve in the streets like dogs.
I accepted my assignment to Grimjow's approval.
The noble, a thick-bellied Fresian City Lord wearing a deep purple robe with gold vine patterns along the edges, did not walk the streets alone. He was constantly flanked by two bluecloaks, probably hired as personal guard. I watched him buzz around town like a bee in a garden, going from shop to shop, door to door. On his belt hung many pouches, but only one was tied to his wrist by a thin silver chain. My target.
The pinch was simple. I'd timed his route to the minute and set a small stick of fireworks to go off inside one of the stables along his path. Having unlatched the doors prior, the horses would most likely thrash their way free from panic. That's when I'd strike.
The day arrived and the fireworks went off. The horses thrashed. The noble started, clutching at his guards. He didn't notice me slipping through the riotous crowd, riding the chaos like a hawk on the wind. With one smooth motion, I cut the chain with a pair of jeweler's clippers, liberated the pouch, and faded back into the chaos. It all happened in three breaths.
What I didn't know, what Grimjow hadn't told me, was that the contents of that pouch were not coin or gold or gems. It was something far more valuable. Information.
Suffice it to say, what was written on that small scroll was enough to get a man hanged just for reading it alone. How could I not read it? I had to slip away into a hiding hole, wait for the chaos to cool before I sprinted for Cheapside to deliver my takings. It was just me and the pouch and the waiting. Grimjow never said not to open the pouch. He didn't say a lot of things.
Like how the chain that was still attached to the pouch was enchanted with a tracking spell. I thought I could keep the silver after turning in the pouch, sell it for a bonus.
They found me not long after, there in my hole.
When they hanged me, I did not think of my grandfather or Grimjow or the City Lord. I thought of that pup that I'd met all those years ago. That starving wretch, hiding in the shadows. Had it survived, wherever it was?
They did not place shinnings over each eye of dead thieves for burial. I knew that. And so, I knew where my soul would end up.
When I awoke, I stood before a massive gate of obsidian metal, as tall as the highest spire in Balor and just as wide. Through the slits I only saw flames. The screams and heat carried through, buffeting my senses.
And standing before the gate was a dog. It towered over the approaching souls, as large as a bull, larger. It's coat was the gray of river stones, stretched over thick ropey muscles. And it's eyes, all six of them, blazed like forge fire. Though it had three heads now, I recognized the pup.
And, as it turned out, it recognized me.
When I approached the gate, resigned to my fate, my endless torture, the monstrous dog sniffed at me, it’s breath hot and reeking of meat.
When I stepped forward, it gently nudged me away with his enormous nose, and whimpered.
“I do not understand," I said to it, uncertain if *it* would understand. “This is where I’m meant to go.”
It did not respond. It only stood and watched with those burning eyes, but from around its bulk I noticed its tail was wagging.
I sighed deeply, as if finally ready to confess my crimes. I was. “This is what I deserve. I-I have no where else to go.”
A growl rumbled up deep from its chest, shaking the ground beneath my feet, and it barked once. Then it nudged me again.
I understood.
I'd taken so much in my life, from others, from myself. But once, a long time ago, I gave what I little I had. Perhaps it was enough. There was no telling what the land between lands, between life and death held in store for me. But I would not starve on my regret.
I let go of that bone a long time ago. | 915 | You once fed a starving stray pup on the street when you were young. Years later upon your arrival at the gates of hell guarded by Cerberus, the monstrous dog gently nudged you away with his nose, and whimpered ? | 1,675 |
"We don't need him." One of the two leather clad and masked people standing in my living room says, arms crossed and sneer faced.
"You heard Farce-Multiplier," I say to the less standoffish person in my living room, while gesturing to the angry one, "You don't need me. Thanks for stopping by, it was a pleasure to see you both, et cetera et cetera."
"For the last time, it's FORCE MULTIPLIER! And no one under the age of 60 says 'et cetera' out loud."
"FM." My other guest walks over to stand directly between Force Multiplier and me, and is now looking directly at me when he says, "We've all tried to stop Warrior Pope and failed. We've even tried some team-ups and it hasn't worked. We all know what's going to happen if we keep trying the same things. You've been around long enough to know how it's going to end if we don't stop Warrior Pope soon."
I do know. Despite being retired, I've taken a keen interest in following the news about Warrior Pope. She's managed to usurp a number of religions and is using that power to gain control of governments. Solar Wave is right to seek out help. Might be wasting his time with me.
"Can you give us anything, any help at all?" Solar Wave asks.
"Hmm, it seems like she's got a bit too much power already," I say, understating the obvious, "So if you take her out you have to make sure her followers don't continue the fight. Which means you have to tear down what she stands for. Have you done any oppo research on Warrior Pope? Where did she come from, what skeletons does she have in her closet, who has she worked with in the past?"
"We have a team working on that already," Force Multiplier says snidely.
I look at Solar Wave and raise my right eyebrow while pursing my lips. Solar Wave says over his shoulder to Force Multiplier, "Thanks for confirming, FM. Yes we are doing our homework on Warrior Pope."
"How many people do you have placed in her movement, and how far up have they risen?" I ask.
"We've tried that, too," says Force Multiplier in a more conversational tone of voice.
"Of the 50 volunteers that have tried to infiltrate, 45 never made it past the first level and the other 5 are...unaccounted for," adds Solar Wave.
I exhale slowly. Warrior Pope is living up to the hype. "All right, what about HeroGuard?" I ask. Surely a company that hates superheroes and develops anti-superpower tech has something to say about a supervillian gaining power. "Have you attempted to broker a truce with HeroGuard and use their resources to sequester and neutralize her?"
"HeroGuard is supporting Warrior Pope," answers Force Multiplier, "and all of our back channel communication attempts with our sources in the company haven't succeeded."
"Ah," I say. "Then we have to assume Warrior Pope has access to HeroGuard tech and intel. That's not good." I rub my chin while thinking. "What about the old school heroes? The ones who got out of the game before HeroGuard was even around? We could use them as a surprise. Either in guerilla warfare type attacks against Warrior Pope's infrastructure, or during whatever large-scale assault you guys are planning."
Solar Wave turns and looks at Force Multiplier. Force Multiplier nods his head up and down and says, "Not bad."
Solar Wave turns back to me and asks, "Will you join us? Keep brainstorming for us and..." Solar Wave pauses to clear his throat, "fight with us?"
"When my sister said she was going on this little crusade, she made me promise to stay out of it," I respond. Both Force Multiplier and Solar Wave are staring at me in surprise. Dopes. "Judging by the looks on your faces, that team you have doing their 'homework on Warrior Pope' aren't doing a good job."
"So, what are you saying?" asks Solar Wave.
"He's working with her!" Force Multiplier shouts his accusation. "How can we trust Warrior Pope's brother?!"
"FM," I say, "put it away. If you were paying attention to anything I said, you'd have heard me say I promised my sister to stay out of it. Which is what I have done up until now. What I need from you, Solar Wave, is a good reason to break that promise."
"We, uhm," Solar Wave stammers while Force Multiplier is staring daggers at me. "We..."
"Strangely compelling," I say.
"Listen, jerk!" Force Multiplier screams. "We don't need any wisecracks from the enemy! SW, we should take him in. We don't know if he's in contact with Warrior Pope. We don't know if he's given up our location. We don't know whose side he's on!"
"FM, calm down," says Solar Wave. "We've been here for almost 10 minutes now. That's more than enough time for a tactical unit to arrive." Solar Wave begin pacing back and forth in my small living room. "Ah!" he says, snapping his fingers. "Would you be so kind as to remind us what you hate most in this world?"
"80s power ballads," I say, scrunching my nose at the thought.
"Have you heard the songs Warrior Pope plays at her rallys? During her commecials? What's always playing in the background during her interviews?"
"Yes," I sigh. What started as a simple way for a sister to annoy her brother has grown into an obsession for her. Somehow she now loves 80s power ballads more than she enjoys torturing me with them.
"Do you think Warrior Pope is ever going to stop playing 80s power ballads? Do you think her followers will ever stop listening 80s power ballads, will ever stop showing their support and solidarity with Warrior Pope?" asks Solar Wave. "What if we stop her now? What if we crush her movement so thoroughly that no one will ever want to play the music associated with Warrior Pope for years?"
I don't even need a second to think about it. "I'm in." | 26 | You are a powerful hero. Having lost everything and never getting recompense for your heroism, you get sick of the gig and quit. Others can risk their necks for free if they want. One day, another powerful hero asks you to join his team to stop a supervillain from conquering the world... | 29 |
Her eyes narrowed, worn grey robes billowing in a sudden wind. I just smiled at her, turning away.
"What do mean, you were only here for my curse?! Don't you know what it does?!"
I sighed.
"Its a pretty generic one. Until removed my body will slowly wither, my life feeding yours. If I die from it I am damned to be a forever walking husk under your bidding. That about right?"
She seemed rather put out by my uncaring demeanour.
"Y... yes... how do you know?!"
I rolled up on of my sleeves, revealing a series of black tattoos that wound around my arm. They shifted subtly, and just by looking you could see the malevolence.
"This isn't my first curse. I like to collect them."
That gave her a pause, making my grin return.
"You... who in their right mind gets more than one curse?!"
I just tapped my nose.
"That would be telling. In any case, good day to you."
I left her alone in the dark, ascending to the light above. As I walked, I could feel the dark coils of her curse winding through me. But they could not take hold, as my defences captured them in turn. It was swiftly bound, a ring of icy flame wrapping around an unblemished section of skin. I didn't bother to look, knowing that it was merely another one of my collection.
Settling my shoulders, I set off, heading back to home. Nira would be interested in my latest adventures.
\-----
Several days later, I knocked on an ornate wooden door. A tower stretched above me, granting its occupants a fantastic view of the city. I had been many times, but the view was still impressive. As my knocks echoed through the door, it clicked, swinging open. Inside was a winding spiral staircase, one that ran around the tower walls. It was decorated with various paintings and vases, brightening an otherwise dull interior.
Stepping in, I took my usual place on one of the flagstones. It rose into the air smoothly, taking me up towards the top. From the glow around the ceilings edge, I could tell Nira had it set to study mode. The green tinge was very familiar, one that I had seen many times before.
Sure enough, as I reached the top, I saw a circular room filled with all sorts of contraptions. There were cages and cauldrons, braziers filled with multicoloured flames, and racks of ingredients. A desk was shoved at one end, covered with piles of unstable papers. Next to it was a floor to ceiling black crystal, one of the only things that remained between each mode.
Standing infront of the desk I saw Nira. She wore a set of working clothes. I had been told they were once white, but now they were covered in soot, stains and haphazard patches. Her ginger hair was tied up in a messy bun, out of her experiments.
"How was your trip?"
She addressed me whilst focusing on her latest work. I could hear her scribbling furiously, probably writing down a new idea.
"Relatively dull. I found three new curse sources though."
She finished scribbling, turning to me. Her face was all angles, with deep bags under her eyes. I shook my head.
"You know you need to sleep more than an hour a night right?"
She scoffed.
"Rest is a waste of time, when there's work to be done. But show me, I want to see!"
I rolled my eyes, letting her look at my new curses.
"I dint think they will help. Each one is pretty run of the mill. Have you made any progress?"
She gave a sad glance at the crystal, before peering back at my arm.
"No. I thought I was getting close, but the structure still eludes me."
I grunted softly, my own gaze falling on the crystal. I knew what was within without looking. Theia, my older sister, held in a frozen moment of time. Victim of a undiscovered style of curse, one that would claim her life in mere minutes. One that Nira hoped to break.
"We'll work it out."
Her eyes glimmered, a faint seed of doubt within.
"I know." | 237 | "Thank you, I was just here for your curse!" | 278 |
I've been dead far longer than I was ever alive. The details of years gone by have faded over time. Tormenting the ungrateful living is not for me anymore. Other apparitions can pick up the slack. I have somewhere else to go.
No one else I've talked to has pierced the atmosphere and gone up and among the stars above.
Some called me a fool for wanting to try. I don't understand how big space is, they said. You will practically never get anywhere, they urged. I'm not fast enough to make meaningful progress, they said. They shouldn't have told me never.
Finally, I was done with the pleasures of Earth. I was ready. Some others gathered to wish me farewell, to mock my attempt at doing something different.
Breaching the atmosphere felt like nothing to me. The vacuum of space did not affect me. I was there and not at the same time, but I could still see the beauty below and beyond me all the same.
I continued upward and outward, but the veil between my plane and space faltered the farther I went. Before long I wasn't far above the world anymore, I was somewhere else entirely.
"What took you so long?" I recognized the voice, but could not place it.
"Welcome, son!" That was my father, but where was he?
"Keep going!" Mom? Is that you? Am I home?
"My brave, brave, boy. You're finally back with us again."
All I ever had to do was reach out. They were there among the stars. I wept for the first time in centuries. | 62 | A ghost still finds themselves on the mortal plane, unable to cross over to the other side. Instead of spending its days haunting derelict buildings or unsuspecting families, it turns its eyes skyward, ready to travel among the stars. | 313 |
For a long time, I was embattled with the debate of whether or not I was foolish for staying as long as I did. The longer I thought of it, the more people started to leave, for one reason or another. The first time, it was the decrease in pay. It destroyed morale and left the workers almost destitute. Some of them relied on this company to make a living, to survive, so of course they took to searching for better jobs. Our workforce was cut in half because of it. Still, I held on.
The second reason came as a result of the first. With so many people leaving, supervisors were demanding those that were still around take up multiple positions at once. Employees were forced to alternate between their stations, which resulted in less productivity, less efficiency, less cohesion, and more errors. They kept telling us that there were more new employees coming, but I remember overhearing a supervisor say that those fresh faces just didn't want to show up to work. Part of me was frustrated. Part of me understood. Even more people started to leave. Even still, I stayed.
Beneath the surface, I was watching the company crumble. Supervisors themselves were disappearing, fed up with how the company was treating them, and were being replaced by doe-eyed, nervous individuals who were too meek to really assert control. They'd end up being chewed up and spit out with no regard, gone some time later. The more veteran supervisors looked down upon us with disdain as their security collapsed around them, and the supposed union we had did little to nothing to fight for us. It was a slow trickle then, with one employee after another finally growing tired of the charades. Of course, I remained. Part of me was hopeful. I remember hearing about contract negotiations for higher pay, better bonuses. They never came.
And then, it was down to me. The last day of employment was quiet. No work was done. I watched the last few stragglers empty the building, leaving only me. Disillusioned with memory, I wandered the facility, looking over the machinery and the emptiness of the building. Security had tossed me the keys hours before -- I was the one with the longest tenure there at that point; all of the actual people with years beyond mine had either quit long ago or died.
When I was finished with my tour, I sighed and headed back toward the entrance, and that's when I saw one of the former employees entering the building, carrying a gas can in hand. We stopped and stared at each other from opposite sides of the building, and I knew immediately what they were there for. I didn't blame them. Instead, I smiled and walked past them and out the door.
I remember sitting in the parking lot, watching through my car window as the building caught fire. In the light of the inferno that soon swallowed the solitary facility, I saw the scrambling silhouette of that former employee running to their vehicle, climbing inside and speeding off into the night. I sat for a minute longer and watched the building's roof cave in before driving off myself, content.
I used to wonder if I was foolish for staying for so long, but watching the cause of my suffering burn down to cinders struck all wonderment from my mind. In the end, it was kinda worth it.
*Partially inspired by a true story.* | 13 | You’re the last employee of a dead company. As you lock the place up for the last time, you come across something you probably weren’t meant to see. At the end though, you’re kind of glad you did. | 18 |
# Soulmage
**Alexandria burned eternal, in every future and every past.** Like the lighthouse it once stood next to, the destruction of its worldline shone bright along the shores of possibility. It was a warning, but also a beacon.
*Here, once, never, and always, stood knowledge beyond what any world should ever know. Swim against the flow of time, and find yourself facing the same fate. Here stood truths that could turn the tide of wars, and knowledge that would unmake empires. You are not worthy. Turn back.*
And it was true. Only the mad, the truly desperate, or the incredibly stupid would risk diving into Alexandria's eternal flames.
Thankfully, I was all three of those, so I had no problem striding towards Alexandria.
"Rifts, Cienne, you can't just *walk into* Alexandria Burning," Sansen groused, grabbing my arm. Even though the grumpy old oracle had been the one to take us to the Plane of Elemental Possibility, he still didn't seem too happy about the plan to raid Alexandria. "That's not normal fire. Get that stuff on you, and you'll not only burn *now*, you'll always *have* been burning, and always will be."
I didn't have a great sense of self-preservation, but getting condemned to a massively overkill attack on my entire timeline seemed like a bit much for me. Besides, that sounded like it'd get my past self hurt, and he was a dumb little kid who'd done nothing wrong other than eventually grow up into the self-loathing asshole I was today. So I gave Alexandria Burning a healthy distance as I stepped away from it. Not too far, though—outside the light the timefire cast, the Plane of Elemental Possibility dissolved into a chaotic mess of every future that still could be. I had no idea how Sansen typically made sense of it all.
"So... how are we supposed to get anything useful out of it, then, if it's not only all burnt, it's *always* been burnt?" Meloai, always the voice of reason, asked by my side.
"I don't *know*," Sansen groused. "Futuresight doesn't work from inside the Plane of Elemental Possibility, and *I'm* not the one who suggested we come here. I only brought up Alexandria Burning as a damn joke. Cienne's the one who was so desperate for an advantage over the Order of Valhalla that he made me take you idiots here. Rifts, what am I doing here?" To my surprise, the normally unflappable oracle started pacing, muttering to himself.
"What the heck *is* this timefire stuff, anyway?" Lucet asked from my side. "I mean... I've studied a lot of magics, and I know some witches can pull off time travel, even if it's horribly ill-advised, but... I've never heard of anything like this before."
"Yeah, well, you won't hear about it for another couple centuries, at the very least," Sansen said. "From what I've gathered, this stuff is from some far-future civilization. The kind of enforcement agency that uses the destruction of an entire worldline as a cheap 'no tresspassing' sign. I *cannot* stress enough how bad of an idea it would be to extract information that these guys want destroyed, if it was even possible."
"No, no, that's okay," I said, stepping forward and preparing the tool I'd had Meloai make for me. A simple metal censer, with a bundle of wood in the center. "I was never after the *knowledge* inside Alexandria Burning. You made it pretty clear that us primitive little apes aren't anywhere close to tangling with the godlike monsters who made this place. But what is a human, if not one who steals fire from the gods?"
Sansen stared at me in horror, and... a little bit of grudging awe. "You... you *madman*."
"That was one of the requirements to try to raid this place, wasn't it? I was never after the library, Sansen." I touched the censer to the timefire, and suddenly, the censer was burning, was always burning, would always burn.
"I was after the fires that destroyed it."
And with that, I turned around, carefully holding the flames of the gods at arms' length, with a timeline's worth of pain for anyone who stood in my way.
A.N.
This story is part of Soulmage, a frequently updated serial in progress. 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-three other chapters before this one, so there's plenty to catch up on. And if you want more stories, check out r/bubblewriters! | 121 | The Great Library of Alexandria was burned for a very good reason. It was hopelessly contaminated with the works of time travelers and the paradoxes were soon to be catastrophic. Only a full purge would save the world. | 1,383 |
Draco was peacefully sitting on the landing stage when two officers approached him.
"What do you think are you doing here?"
Draco turned around. "I am sitting here, holding a rod into the water, so I guess I'm fishing" he responded bluntly. Seriously, a five-year-old would have made that conclusion.
"Fishing at these times, eh. There is nobody around but you."
"Sure there is. That's why I'm fishing at these times. You can't do it during the day, because people are swimming. And in the evening it's too crowded here, so this time is the best." That wasn't even a lie.
"Identify yourself!" demanded the other officer. Draco put out his wallet and handed him his ID card. "Romania?" the policeman read in disbelief.
"Yes, I am an immigrant. But this does not matter since everybody is allowed to fish here 24 hours a day. Everybody just comes and goes as he pleases!" Indeed, another guy just left an hour before. In around two hours, the first early birds would show up. He was already known as the nocturnal fisherman among other regulars.
"Where do you live, Draco?" God, what was the matter. Draco's coffin was hidden in the sewers behind a wall. He did not mind the smell - after all, vampires lack that sense entirely if it's not about blood. Blood is the only way a vampire can feed, so no need for additional tastebuds.
"See, the housing prices are going insane, so I am just living on the streets." After all, a vampire doesn't need much. He was spending the entire night outside. No need for a fridge since blood conserves were blood without energy. No need for a car, turning into a bat is way faster. This had been his life for the last few years. It was better than haunting his family's castle.
"Then why are you fishing. Shouldn't you be working?" Oh, man.
"Oh, I am working as you see it. Working for my breakfast. If only the fish would bite better today." Fish were his main form of nutrition. Any blood worked, but small animals don't have a lot. One or two fresh fish a day were enough. Only in extreme cases, he was going for larger animals or even humans.
"You are under arrest, we are taking a blood test. You are definitely high." NOW, things were getting absolutely ridiculous. First, they demand all of his information, and now a random drug test?
"You have absolutely no indication for this and yet want to take a full blood test?" Draco reeled in the rod, dropping it on the ground. The worm on the hook took its chance to escape.
"If you do any trouble, we are authorized to use force against you." One policeman pulled handcuffs out of his pockets.
"Listen, you are about to make a mistake. Don't mess with me. This is your last and only warning." In the distance, the clocktower chimed 3.
As the two approached him, Draco knew he had no chance other than to use his powers. Faster than any species could react, he dashed behind one of the officers, sinking vampire fangs into his neck. The policeman tried to scream, but vampire poison does its job fast and efficiently. Seconds later, he was on the floor unable to fight back.
The other officer pulled a handgun. "PUT YOUR HANDS UP OR I WILL BLOW YOUR BRAIN OUT!" A gun. Draco could just smile at this. One of the least effective weapons against vampires. But he had another plan then to get himself shot. He complied with the order but fixed his gaze on the officers' eyes. The officer's movement began to slow until he stood there like a statue.
"What is this magic" he whispered in shock, not even able to move his mouth.
"It's just a simple stun spell, but that does not matter." Draco walked around the bewildered officer and bit him in the neck as well. Like his colleague, he collapsed onto the wooden floor. Draco smiled. Like a mosquito numbing the skin to not die in the act, the poison of a vampire put anybody unlucky enough to be bitten into a trance, so they wouldn't fight back. In addition, it also erased all memories of him. And people were really, really suggestible in this state as well.
"You two will get into the town center and sit on a bench until the effect wears off." Without saying a word, the officers turned around, moving like zombies. Today, Draco emerged victorious. He just had to hope they wouldn't come back tomorrow, forcing him to repeat his actions. | 21 | A vampire is peacefully fishing in the harbor at night, when he is confronted by the town guards. | 48 |
The wings were resplendent, shimmering the air around them with unearthly heat, orange shading to red that flickered to a deep, unnatural blue at the very tips. They would flare in the dark like the heart of the sun itself, he could tell. Beat back the fear and the hopelessness of the endless night, give anyone lucky enough to witness their light the feeling that everything was somehow going to be alright in the end.
If he could get them to stop lighting the underbrush on fire, that was.
"Stop-it-stop-it-*augh*," it's not like they give you flight lessons, do they, the old gods, in fact they do not, they just slap wings on a fellow and mosey off with nary a tutorial. Seemed *deeply* irresponsible, especially when the wings were made of *fire*.
He couldn't even curse properly. Phoenix beaks aren't conducive to a good, satisfying *fuck*. The closest he could muster was a cry that would make a peacock die of envy.
Nothing in his short, unhappy life had prepared him for abrupt transformation into an immortal, accidentally pyromaniacal turkey. Would a longer or happier life been at all more useful? Probably not, he mused mournfully, flapping his way clumsily away from the gently smouldering remains of what had once been a birch grove.
It wasn't at all like flapping one's arms, as one did when pretending to fly like a bird when small. The shoulders went in the opposite direction, for one. For another, they were, he felt it bore mentioning again, even in his own internal monologue, *on bloody fire*.
Someone was going to pay for this. He'd not got a good look at the god that had wrought this terrible, legendary, birdy fate upon him, but someone of a celestial nature was absolutely going to hear about this, just! As soon! As he could get *airborne*. | 18 | A man, ready to finally accept death and move on, is transformed into a phoenix against his will. Pissed about his new immortality, he’s going on a quest to change back to normal so he can finally die. | 82 |
I have not proof read this and I do not intend to! enjoy
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It would have been a different story if anyone else had found the error.
Josey was a sweet old lady, eternally patient and endlessly kind. Even before hell, she was the kindest person you could meet. She was under the watch of Red, a smaller demon barely bigger than an imp, and even that angry ol bastard took somewhat of a liking to her.
Reds little slice of hell was a simple one, but for all its torture and suffering, the inmates were kept in the form they preferred. While others looked like younger versions of themselves, their peaks, Josey was always an old woman, maybe 70 or so. We never understood why. She wasn't exactly loved when she was alive. No friends, no kids, no family left. Her husband ended up down here before her, although it was apathy that claimed him.
As for Josey? Well we never know what got her down here. That's the thing, us grunts rarely get to know exactly what our inmates did to get down here. Unless they were notable enough that the other inmates knew, and spoke a little loudly. So, Josey got stuck with Red. Did you know that some people’s greatest suffering is the mundane? That's Red's little slice of hell. An uncountable amount of time painting that fence, but it's never over. Reading a book that you never quite get to the end. Watching life pass you by but you never quite catch up.
‘It's not death that scares these folks,’ Red once told me over drinks. ‘It's the fear that death won't ever reach them.’
But luckily for Josey, all that patience paid off. Two hundred whole years, living the same day, same experiences, over and over. Finally, Red got the paperwork. She could apply for reincarnation. It wasn't the best of afterlifes, but it was better than hell, and after a couple different lives, she could try for somewhere else.
It was great. We wouldn't say it, but me and Red were rooting for her, we really were. But then I got promoted. Sorting manager. It was fitting, afterall I happen to be an entity of fate, one of about a thousand. I handle the small fates. Small butterfly effects is what I usually work in. I knew Josey through Red, but if she doesn't grow on you. We both did our best to make her afterlife a little better down here.
Which brings me to where we are here. For all the menial and repeating tasks of Josey's hell, the one thing she seemed to almost enjoy was our visits. Every two weeks one or both of us would stop by her afterlife home, and she would treat us to conversation, bland tea and biscuits that always tasted stale.
We got to know her really well. Every visit, we realized how odd it was that she was even down here. She was perfectly pleasant, maybe a bit bittersweet but in her situation we couldn't blame her.
So, once I got promoted, well it took some courage to catch a glimpse at her file. Afterall, she could be a manipulator, murderer, cannibal. Worst of the worst sort of deal. Finding out that someone who you care for was a terrible person takes some mental preparation.
So, last week before she was off to reincarnation. You could tell she was in better spirits than she had ever been.
I took a glimpse at her file.
It would have been a different story if anyone else had seen it. If it was someone who couldn't track the tiny little coincidences that led to a grand fate. Well, in this case it was just one.
I suppose it started when the one filing old Josey got to work late. Even angels need to sleep, and for whatever reason, this one didn't, and decided it was fine to come to work anyways. Add in a little conversation with someone else, and what do you know, the last name is off by a single letter. Next thing you know it's stamped with a location in hell for her to be sent to.
Now here's where it gets interesting!
It would have been a different story if anyone else had seen the error on that sheet. The name turning Mrs. Josey Klemp, a kind old woman who dedicated her life to helping others and being a friendly face, to Ms. Josey Kemp, a bitter woman who died in her 40’s and spent her life terrorizing kids because they were not obedient enough for first grade. Early trauma, no matter how small, sets those poor kids up for one hell of a ride for the rest of their lives.
But that's the thing, I was the one who found it, and I knew just how much Josey had suffered for no goddamn reason. She was patient though, really patient.
What do you think, when someone's patience runs out. When someone who had been nothing but kind and sweet for almost three centuries at last let's that last grain of patience hit the bottom of the hour glass.
Well, when I told her the issue with her file, I got to see it first hand.
I don't need to tell you how glad I was all that anger wasn't directed at me, do I?
Which of course, brings us here. Standing on trial for opening the gates of hell, and letting one angry devil up into heaven. I do feel a bit bad for the poor sap who misfiled her, truth be told I didn't even realize an angel had that many bones, or that much blood. But all in all, a couple decades in the hospital ward isn't much compared to two hundred years of undeserved suffering.
So I guess the rest is up to you. I mean, you wouldn't think an angry elderly woman fresh out of hell could destroy a whole council of archangels, but I also didn't really think that same woman could rip the wings off an angel.
My recommendation? Get this woman her proper afterlife, and you better make it damn worth it. | 175 | A soul dammed to Hell has finished their sentence and is set to be reincarnated. As the clerk files their paperwork they discover something horrible. The soul that just finished their sentence wasn't supposed to end up in Hell. They were dammed by a clerical error. | 446 |
"You called for me, my lord?" the Archdemon said, kneeling before me.
"Ah, Archie," I said, turning away from my table. "Thank you for coming in," I smiled. "Say, how are the hells looking today?"
"The suffering is steadily flowing, my lord. All demons, imps and spirits are doing their due diligence to bring horror and pain to the worlds above," he growled. I nodded, eyes heavy.
"Archie, do you like your job?" I asked. The demon before me paused.
"I... do not understand, my lord."
"Do you enjoy being an Arch-Demon?" I repeated. He stared at me blankly for a moment.
"It is who I *am*, my lord. It is not something to be enjoyed, it simply *is*," he said carefully.
"And the torture, pain, fire, all of that. Do you enjoy doing that?"
His somewhat puzzled look was replaced with a resolute one. "It is who I am, my lord."
"*Is it now?*" I said lightly. I walked back to my table and picked up a folder filled with papers; old, dusty, recovered from the deepest parts of Hell's bureaucracy. "Do you remember who you were before you came here?"
He narrowed his eyes but remained silent.
"You weren't born a demon, Archie. You were moulded into one. Here, look," I said and handed him the folder. He extended his hand and took the papers, slowly, gently, as if they were about to explode. Opening it, his eyes went wide, mouth grew slightly agape. They were documents about his life before the hells, before the demonic presence in him. A farm in 13th century France, a wife, a daughter, a love of parsnip stew... things long forgotten and wiped away.
"Did *Pierre* enjoy torture?" I asked him. He looked up with a gaze unusually soft and vulnerable.
"I..." he rasped, "I do not remember."
"Archie, I would like you to take some time off of the whole... torture thing and just... read. Think it over. Remember, if you can. Then I'd like to talk to you again. Perhaps your answer to my earlier question will be different," I smiled.
"What if..." he slowly said, "what if my answer is the same then?"
"That is perfectly fine, Archie. I just wanted to give you something you deserve," I said.
"That being?" he said and looked at the folder sorrowfully. I set my eyes back at the table. Several more files lay on it; a select few arch-demons and demon princes who have been in Hell for too long. Demons who have forgotten, drowned in the overwhelming environment of this blasted place. Demons who are demons because they were made into them, not because they *are* them.
"A choice." | 570 | After your death you find out that you were one of the kindness, selfless, honest, and sincere people on earth. Because of that you are offered to reincarnate to anywhere, so you choose to be the Demon Lord. As after all your sure demons are just misunderstood. | 1,885 |
"Doctor Doomsday, what the hell are you talking about?" I said, as the villain cackled in manic delight. "You've just broken in to the White House, you're not the ruler of the world!"
"Oh, thats where you're wrong, WalkMan," he gloated. "I have the nuclear arsenal of the United States of America at my disposal! I have pre-programmed targets across the entire planet, and one on the moon for good measure!"
I circled the Resolute desk as he rambled, keeping the priceless piece of history between the Doctor and myself. "And so the world will just bow down to you? What happens when you sleep, is the world just going to politely wait for you?"
He smiled, a manic grin that I knew all too well. "Of *course*, WalkMan. Do you know why?"
I stayed silent, refusing to play his game.
He continued as if I had played along. "Because *you* will stop them for me."
It was my turn to laugh. "Doc, why the hell would I work for you? I'm here to stop you."
He grinned. "Because I want to use my newfound powers for good."
That genuinely caught me off guard. "What? You, do good? While the world stares down the barrel of your nuclear gun?"
"Indeed."
"And why the turn of heart?" I said, intending to keep him occupied as I selected an appropriate fighting song. My powers had always been amplified by the music, and I knew just the track to play for this.
"Because these imbeciles are going to kill the planet if I don't stop them."
I blinked, surprised again. "You became a hippy in your last prison stay?"
"Vegan, actually, but basically yes. The constant crank of the capitalist wheel is only going to further the planet's demise."
He held out a metallic hand. "So what is it, WalkMan? Care to save the world with me?"
r/SlightlyColdStories for more | 18 | "It's Over, (Heroname), I've seized control of every government on Earth!" "I'll never let you rule the world for evil, (Villainname)" "Evil? Fool! I am implementing reforms so no-one else suffers like I did!" | 157 |
It was so quiet, for so long.
When I once again had the capacity to notice anything, the quiet was the first thing I noticed. The air was so so very still, undisturbed by anything living or dead to the extent that the very concept of noise was distant and hazy.
Laying in that glass box, as still as the corpses I resembled, my mind was returning to me, ever so slowly. It was small things at first - just the barest of sensations whispering over the endless, maddening hunger that drove me. The floor pressing into my cheek, the scraps of rotten clothing resting atop me, the dried and decayed blood and viscera of my last meal pooled under me.
Then it was more. Emotions I no longer knew how to classify began to make themselves known again, swirling slowly as though a stagnant pool being disturbed.
I was waking up. Memories, language, and the meanings behind what I was feeling. With each re-emergence, the hunger became lesser. By this point, my surroundings were no longer quiet. The survivors had returned,to reclaim their lost facility.
The hunger may have been reduced, but it was still very much present. Like the others of my kind in the boxes, I roused from my dormancy and beat against the glass, trying to reach the soft, living meat stood before me. The idea of doing anything else was absent, my reforming mind still quite young at the time. They saw us, acknowledged that we posed no threat, and continued their sweep.
I don't know how long it's been since then. The other zombies were removed at some point, and only I remain. The humans look upon me with disgust and resentment. As the first of my kind and the unwitting source of the plague that nearly ended their race, I am no doubt a symbol of the end of the world as it was, and of the countless lives they lost. Yet, I also see in the eyes of their scientists a sort of hateful reverence. I am a horrible miracle, an immortal creature alive after death, and the subject of much research with varied goals. Now that the zombie plague is contained, my existence has a chance to be a blessing as well as a curse. I hear them speak of how they've taken their world back, and what the war cost them, and I can't help but hope that their experiments yield something of value. The guilt I feel is indescribable.
As of now, my mind is in a state where I might charitably be called a person, if they only knew. The hunger is all but gone, and I have hazy impressions of a life before the rot, glimpses of who I must have been. I no longer throw myself against the walls of my cell when they walk by. The humans chalk it up to an animal becoming docile with extended captivity and exposure to handlers.
I need to let them know what is happening to me. I cannot speak, for my lungs are ragged with holes and my throat and tongue all but rotted away, and I lack the fine motor control to draw or write anything on the glass walls of my box. I am a prisoner in a shell of putrid meat. But I must keep trying. If I can only show them what I have evolved into... I don't know. I don't know what will happen if they realize that Subject Zero has woken up. But I owe it to them to find out. | 19 | You were patient zero in the zombie apocalypse. It's been about a century now, and you're slowly regaining memories and intelligence. Only issue is that you're stuck in a holding cell in the CDC, you need to get out to tell people. | 92 |
The funny part was that she wasn't even old enough to drink.
I don't remember who had given her the name Whiskey. The little girl who showed up on our doorstep almost a decade ago, battered and bruised. She barely knew how to talk back then, even though she was already ten years old. We never did figure out what pieces of shit did that to her, but I guess now it didn't matter. We were her new parents. Had been for eight years.
To make one thing clear: when I said "we" raised her, I didn't mean me and one other person. God, no. That would be ludicrous. You need more than two people to handle Whiskey. The saying, "it takes a village"—yeah that's true, just the village in this case was a guild full of lethal assassins.
At first, nobody explicitly taught her anything. We all agreed it'd be best not to get a child mixed in our affairs. But before anyone realized it, she was rigging up bombs, picking the hardest practice locks we had (and eventually real ones), and trailing us around on missions. I still remember giving her her first job.
It was nothing crazy. Scuffle between two winery owners, something about one stealing the other's grapes. Whatever the case, someone had to die. Whiskey begged and begged—she had to have been thirteen then—and I said screw it. She was better than most of the guild at locks and poison, I figured she was ready.
I didn't realize how wrong I was until she got back. She puked up her guts all night.
"How could you?" she screamed between tears and bile. "How could you let me do that?"
She was right. I was an idiot. A thirteen year old girl had no business slicing a grown man's throat.
"I'm sorry," I said, not knowing any other words to make it better.
For the next year, Whiskey shut down. It was like when we had first gotten her. She barely spoke, barely ate, and barely left her bed. No matter what we did, her shell was unbreakable. That year had been one of the best for the guild's wealth. Nobody cared.
Eventually, with extreme caution, she began to wake up. She didn't talk still, but she'd at least join everyone for breakfast, or pick up a book or lock. A few months passed that way. People teased she was like a ghost. Then, finally, she spoke again.
"Hey, Martini," she said, as cavalier as one could during breakfast.
Wide-eyed, I stared at her for a moment before responding. "Yeah? What's up?"
"Could you give me another job? I wasn't ready last time, but now I thin—"
I stopped her in her tracks.
"No."
"Huh? Why not? I know what happened last time, but I'm older now and—"
I stared into her eyes, and she knew I was serious.
"No. I won't let you kill another person. Not yet, at least. You're too young. I mean, you can't even drink for God's sake."
Her lips curled into a devilish smirk; they looked like an imp's horns.
"Fine," she said, "but you better keep your word. As soon as I turn eighteen I get my own mission."
"Sure," I said, getting up from my chair and shaking my head. "If that's what you want."
"Oh," she said, as I was leaving the kitchen, "and I get to tag along still, like I used to. You said I don't get to kill people, not that I can't watch."
She was right. There's a big difference between watching someone die and killing someone yourself, and she'd been a part of so much death already that I didn't care if she watched.
The thing was, she did more than just watch. During her stint of depression, I had forgotten how good she was at everything besides pulling the trigger. I was quickly reminded of her skills when she watched me fumble with a lock to a politician's room for a few minutes before pushing me aside and opening it herself in five seconds flat. I tried to cover her eyes as the neighborhood was woken up to the sound of a gunshot, but she looked anyways. She didn't seem phased.
That's how her and I became the most requested duo of the guild. The jobs came in her name, but I didn't care. Recognition in this profession will kill you, and anyone who wanted her dead wouldn't think Whiskey was a teenage girl.
We were able to get into rooms nobody else could, and we killed people who were previously thought to be invincible. If somebody wanted someone dead, no matter who, they'd ask for Whiskey. Our services didn't come cheap, but that didn't keep business away. When you're the best at something, somebody will pay.
Now, on her eighteen birthday, I kept my word. It was a quiet job; the person to be killed was insignificant. Nobody would miss the guy. Just in case she got cold feet, I tagged along with her.
"Before you do this," I said to her, ignoring the tied up, gagged man's muffled screams, "remember what happened last time. Are you sure this is what you want?"
"Yeah," she said, as she took the pistol from my hands. "I'm sure."
On the drive home she seemed alright, though a little quiet. Once we got past the front doors of the guild she ran to the bathroom. I sighed as I listened to the same sounds from five years ago.
"Can't be mad at me this time," I shouted at the closed door. "You're a grown lady now. You made this choice."
"I know," she shouted back, "I know. Just leave me alone."
I went to the living room and propped my feet up. The fireplace crackled next to me, and I closed my eyes as I sank into the leather couch. I hoped she wouldn't get depressed like last time. I didn't know if I could handle another year like that.
The sound of footsteps woke me up from my nap. Standing in front of me was Whiskey, with two glasses in her hands.
"Hey," I said, still half-asleep, "you're not old enough... wait."
She rolled her eyes and handed me a glass identical to her own.
"Sorry about that," she said. "A lot of memories from last time came rushing in. It wasn't the job itself that did it. I'm good now."
"It's fine," I said, twirling the glass between my fingers by its stem, "as long as you're feeling better. Where'd you learn to make this?"
"It's not much different from mixing poison," she said. "I mean, it's basically the same thing."
I smiled. "Well, good choice," I said, as I took a sip. The drink was strong, but well-crafted. I could tell she put her heart into it.
She did the same, and the second the liquid touched her lips her face scrunched up and she began to cough.
"What the hell?" she said, huffing air in an attempt to clear her mouth.
I chuckled. "You'll get used to the taste. Everyone does."
She looked down at her glass and swirled the liquid around. She shook her head. The customary toothpick was sticking out of the drink, and she grabbed it.
"No," Whiskey said, spinning the toothpick with the olive between her fingers for a few moments before biting the fruit off. "I don't think I will."
"Suit yourself," I said, as I took her glass and poured its contents into mine. "More for me. Just like always." | 278 | "Send Whiskey." | 946 |
He blinked.
"...Beg ya pardon?"
"I want a sick as fuck sword." The king repeated. "Well, it doesn't *have* to be a sword, maybe you'd prefer making a lance or axe?"
"That ain't the point I was tryin' to arg-"
"But *all* those famous weapons nowadays are swords, y'know? I think it'd really help improve my, ah, countenance!"
The King, the *Scarlet King of the North*, who was famed for his frosty bearing, ruthless personality, and general all-around unapproachable presence, was now *excitedly chattering about swords.*
Was he being deceived?
He'd heard numerous tales about the Scarlet King, of how he rose to prominence amidst the throes of conflict and restored peace to the nation through great effort. A man who was said to be so regal, that he inspired awe and respect with every step.
*This* was him? Something didn't add up.
Subtly, the blacksmith eyed the king's robes. Rather than the gaudy and eye-catching robes normally present whenever the king was in public, he was now garbed in a simple set of tunic and trousers. If not for the royal emblem on his top, he could probably pass off as a simple civilian.
Though that necklace of his was still there...
Wait a minute...
*...Oh?*
The blacksmith's hand shot forth like a striking viper, reaching the pendant without a break in stride.
"H-hey! What are you-"
And then he *yanked.*
The illusion came undone the second the necklace came free, and the royal guards brought their weapons to bear.
"What do you think you're doing?!" One shouted.
Not that the blacksmith cared. He was more concerned with the 'king' in front of him.
A brat. One who couldn't have been older than sixteen. Even when he was standing to full height, the kid barely passed over his head while seated.
The blacksmith's eyes narrowed. His gaze roved over the boy, and then to the guards still holding their staves at the ready.
Idly, he brushed the handle of *Tengai Soragiri*.
"I can explain! So please calm down!" The boy urgently raised his hand, and the guards seemed to reluctantly accede.
Even his voice sounded different, now a boyish rasp rather than the booming tone of before.
The boy sat back down, palming his hand to his forehead. "I...apologise for tricking you, my good sir. But make no mistake, I *am* the king."
"You're a pint-sized brat."
The guard nearest to him gripped his stave tighter.
"What do you know of this country's civil war?" The king asked.
The blacksmith cocked his head. "That? Not a lot. Only know that during the Succession Trials someone assassinated the heir apparent. Then shit went out of control as everyone with a chance to the throne started fighting over it."
"That's right." The king affirmed. "And the records state that I was the one that quelled the conflict and stopped my relatives from massacring each other.
The blacksmith nodded. This was all in line with what he'd previously known.
"The truth is that all of them are dead."
He froze.
The king sighed. "I...I was the only one left alive after all was said and done. I was made king by default because *there was no one else*. They were all so obsessed over the crown that they ended up killing each other off! I didn't even want this! But with all of them gone *I didn't have a choice!*"
"Why..." The blacksmith wet his lips. "Why'd you hide it then?"
His client rolled his eyes. "Picture this: everyone in the royal family is now conveniently dead, and I have zero obstacles to having unlimited control over the country. What would the people think?"
The blacksmith snorted. *Fair enough.*
"And that's why I have to wear that charm, too. If it got out that a seventeen year old was the new king, I'd either get a knife to my back within a night, or have to deal with asshole politicians that want to puppet me."
The blacksmith nodded, then turned to face the guard closest to him. "And y'all are fine with this?"
He got a stern glare in return. "King Avos bears a great burden upon his shoulders. It is our duty, nay, our *honour* to serve his cause. Our King has already sacrificed too much for our country."
"And I already told you, Sir Dameron, this is just part of my duty." The bra-King Avos replied cooly, though none in the room could deny the presence of the blush staining his face.
Slowly, the pieces started to fit together in the blacksmith's head.
A boy who was forced to sacrifice his childhood to serve his nation. Who had seen too much strife at such a tender age, and was now thrust into a position of power that shackled his every action.
*Alright. I've heard enough.*
The blacksmith stood up from his seat, before slowly lowering himself into a kneeling position.
"I go by many titles." He began.
"The Black Forger of Mt. Raimei, the Demonic Bladesmith, the One Who Slew Ten Thousand Oni."
He raised his head to meet the king's gaze.
"But you, King Avos, may call me Muramasa Kazuchi, your personal blacksmith."
He smiled.
"I'll make you the sickest fucking sword the world will ever see."
\~fin\~ | 1,123 | "make something sick as fuck". | 2,568 |
Bro, bro, bro....I have an idea!
Its for our first prank!
It's great! You'll love it!
No, no hear me out!
It's *perfect*!
How about...how about we put a blessing on this field of turnips?
Like we just bless the *fuck* out of it!
And just bury them up to their tits in turnips!
Why?
Why the hell not, bro!
I mean its our job to prank the humans, *right*?
So just lets make their field go crazy with turnips!
Okay so *you* pick the vegetable then!
Lima beans?
Really?
You hate them *that* much?
I still think turnips are better...how about this? We make a list of the most grossest vegetables we can think of and bless 'em till they grow to enormous sizes!
I mean, think about it!
Huge ass beets and turnips the size of cart wheels or broccoli and cauliflower the size of trees!
Wouldn't that be goddamn hilarious?
So you're in?
Great! Let's get started right away!
\*\*\*\* 1 year later \*\*\*
Shit! What hell do you mean we've promoted?
Fertility god? Harvest god?
WTF?
Farming?
We don't want to be farmers!
How the hell did this happen?
There was a famine?
Oh. So people are now worshiping zucchinis and shit?
Damn.
Well. I guess we should have seen that coming.
Prankster god was a nice gig while it lasted. | 57 | the truth is that every god started out as a trickster god, and they only end up in another role when one of their tricks goes too far and changes something about the world. A trick that ends up starting a century long war made a former trickster into a god of war. you are a new trickster god. | 243 |
"It's not stealing David! it's just relocating..."
"That is exactly what stealing is though Sarah!"
"Um, actually, they are \*Completly\* different. Get your facts right."
"What do you mean get my facts right!? They're right in the first place!"
"\*sigh\*. Look, it's not even as if this curse is REALLY a curse. I bet it's just some scribble made by a builder or slave to prevent the treasure from being stolen."
"And what are we doing to them right now?"
"Relocating them."
"No, we're stealing them!"
"We are not \*stealing\* them!"
"Yes, we are!"
"Relocating and stealing are two perfectly distinct things."
"No, they're not! Stealing is taking something from somewhere or someone without their permission and taking it to another or one's own place! Relocating is the exact same thing but with a fancier name!"
"ugh, your such a killjoy. Let's just read the "curse" and then make a decision.". \*Permission\* doesn't have anything do to with it."
"But do we have permission to take these objects, Sarah?"
"Not exact-"
"There's my point! we don't have permission to take this stuff so it's stealing, therefore, we will be cursed!"
"IF there is a curse. And they don't even exist."
"You of all people should know that is not the case."
"Oh really? Name one time where I have been cursed!"
"A month ago with that necklace that said "Whoever takes this from me will sleep with snails". And guess what happened? You woke up covered in snails!"
"bad luck"
"Or that one curse with the "Wet socks every day?"
"Rain likes me."
"Or that recent one with "A thousand bees?""
"coincidence."
"Oh come on! we were in the desert! how could that one be a "coincidence" to you?"
"ugh, your such a killjoy. Lets just read the "curse" and then make a decision."
"Fine. "Whoever takes this treasure will die!""
"..."
"..."
"Yeah-nah, lets get out of here!"
"Agreed!" | 10 | Two archaeologists discuss whether they will be affected by the tomb's curse if they relocate the artifacts. The warning says "Whoever steals my possessions will die". They are not "stealing" | 26 |
"You know, I'm something of..."
"No, do not say it!"
"a chair myself."
And so I became a chair.
"I'm not sitting on you."
"But you said you were tired?"
"Not that tired."
I didn't see the problem myself. We'd just fought off an alien invasion and my sidekick The Gadget was struggling to stay standing. He needed somewhere to sit. But then he changes his mind. I think he finds my power discomforting.
*I know we are doing this interview on your time, but it's hard to follow your stories when you start at random points. Could you give us something like an origin story?*
That seems a bit cliché.
*Please, humour me.*
But there's not much to say about it. One day, for no apparent reason, I turned into a scientist after repeating that phrase. I spent about a week as a scientist, trying to figure out how to turn back, when I realised I could just say, "you know, I'm something of a Willem Dafoe myself." I'm glad I figured that out first, as I tried to become a chicken the next day.
*Why?*
Because I felt like it. In any case, that's your origin story.
*Alright, guess I'll have to work with that. So... when did you first put your superpowers to good use?*
Here's the scene. I was going out for an early morning walk, beautiful sunrise on the horizon, and I hear this siren. A fire engine drives past. So, I follow it and find this building on fire.
*Did you turn into a hose? A firefighter?*
No, no, no. I said, "You know, I'm something of a rain cloud myself."
*And you rained on the fire, saving those in the building.*
Actually, it didn't work at all. Everyone died. But it taught me an important lesson: that I needed to train.
*This would make a good montage for the film. What did you do?*
Well, I found a large open space and started transforming.
*Into what?*
An elephant was the first thing. I mean, who wouldn't want to become an elephant? It's just a shame that I wasn't in a room. I also turned into things like planes, skyscrapers, briefly a black hole... there was this one time where I turned into an eldritch god.
*Did you get spotted?*
Only by one person.
*The Gadget?*
Yeah. He was strolling alongside the field I was in as I floating around in my skin balloon form.
*Your what?*
It's exactly how it sounds.
*I'll have to imagine it for the film. If my mind can take it.*
So he sees me floating up there, bends over and vomits on his shoes. I don't think anything of it until I spot this little device in his hand. A mobile phone, augmented to include a better camera and a weather radar, and I remembered that some superheroes have geeky sidekicks. I decided to take him back to my place---
*I thought you made him sick?*
He had a change of heart once I explained the whole superhero thing. He's massively into comic books, so this was essentially his dream. When we got back, he began working on a device which would tell me the best form for any situation. Since then he's provided me with other gadgets like this, on my wrist here, which can take me back to my normal form.
*I did want to interview The Gadget, but he hasn't been answering my calls. Could you tell me his real name?*
It's Cli- wait, you nearly got me there.
*Ah right, secret identities.*
I don't know what would happen if the world knew Clive is The Gadget.
*So, he's called Clive then?*
Damn it. At least you don't know his surname.
*I'll keep it to myself.*
Thank you. I find that the more I use my powers, the more erratic my mind becomes. Like I take on elements of what I turn into.
*Yet you still use your powers.*
Someone has to save the world.
*Powerful words. Exactly what I was hoping for, before I kill you.*
You want to kill me?
*Well, you're the only thing stopping me from taking over the world.*
Huh. Were you the one who opened the portal for the aliens?
*I was, Mr. Dafoe.*
You know who I am? My secret identity?
*Well... yes, of course I do.*
Oh right, yeah, I'm an actor. You tend to forget when you're a superhero. So, you want to be my arch-enemy, is that it?
*I already am.*
And how do you plan to stop me?
*Like this.*
What are you-? Gah, get it off me!
*All I have to do is gag and bind you. It's so simple. You can't say your famous phrase now, can you? So now, I am able to take control of the governments, melt the ice caps, use my new satellites to drag meteors down to Earth... oh, how did you do that?*
You shouldn't turn your back and monologue, even if the hero is tied up.
*But I thought you had to say your phrase?!*
Not with this little device Gadget cooked up, after I found out about your plan to capture me.
*What have you even turned into?!*
A giant, murderous rabbit. Because you fear rabbits, don't you, Mr. Smith?
*Please, don't--- ow... stop...*
You're going away for a long time. After I've finished beating you to a pulp, I'm taking you straight to jail.
Because, you know, I'm something of a cage myself. | 14 | "You know, I'm something of a..." | 91 |
"Aw, fuck."
The portly man scratched his beard, mentally cussing up a storm. He was looking down into the valley via a spotting scope, trying to figure out their location.
"What'cha got, Beans?"
Another man, slightly better in shape, smoking a cigarette below the tree. He looked up to the portly man, hand grasping the rifle to his side.
"You ever hear of *Isekai*, Two-Speed?"
"Eesa-what? What kinda weeb shit is that?"
"I dunno, my son's into it. It's like, *transported into another world*, or something like that. And, uh, I think that's what's going on here."
"The *fuck* is that supposed to mean?"
"Well, either that, of I'm tripping major balls right now, cuz there's a camp of orcs and goblins down there."
Two-Speed swore up and down, before crawling up tree to Beans, snatching the scope from Beans. Sure enough, setting up fires and tents was a band of green men and women, wearing clothes of hides and skins. The larger ones had tusks protruding from their mouths. The smaller ones, the size of children, with abnormally large heads and ears proportional to their bodies. He took a large inhale from his cigarette, exhaled, then looked to Beans. "What the *fuck*?"
"Oh, sweet, I'm not tripping balls. Thought for a second there the dispensary spiked my shit." He pulled out a hand-rolled cigarette, with a green core. "Speaking of which, lemme borrow a light."
"Heh, never took you as a weed type of guy. Power of the DD-214, I guess." As Beans lit up, Two-Speed pinched the bridge of his nose. "Fuck, man, what do we tell the rest of the boys?"
"The truth, probably. Let 'em take a look for themselves if they don't believe it."
"Okay, but what do we *do*, then?"
"I dunno. We could try our luck in talking with them. If things go south, we are packing a rifle each. Might be enough to scare 'em off."
A shout from a younger man rang from below. "Hey, assholes, the fuck is taking so long?"
Both Two-Speed and Beans, simultaneously, yelled back instinctively, "Fuck you, Rio." They then repeated the cycle with Rio; disbelief into shock into unwitting acceptance.
After discussing between the three of them, they went back to the group, completing the two-dozen team. They explained the situation, and cycled again, with the whole group this time. Not everyone was really sure what to believe, but they all agreed that the only way to tell was by asking. That, and the sun was setting fast. Better to be sheltered in the dark; and if things went sour, they could lose their persuers in the forest.
"Okay," Beans said, picking up the old habits of his prior rank. "Let's do this fucking thing, boys." | 18 | A summoning. Swords and magic. A great evil to defeat. A standard fantasy isekai, but instead of a Japanese high-schooler it's a platoon of army veterans with their gear. | 88 |
I hear the door fall into the lock, nervous feet shuffling towards me. Somehow, there's always a sense of emotion in those steps. These sound both anxious and exciting. Someone eager to hear what the dead have to say, but isn't quite sure of how the process works.
"Be seated," I say, firm yet gently. A certain sense of authority is surprisingly effective helping clients get over their nerves.
"Thank you," the client responds as het sits down quietly. An elderly man guessing by the sound of his voice, a slight tremble in his words. He's sick, that much I can already tell. Sented candles warmthen the table between us. My secretary once informed me the whole thing gives of an eerie vibe, especially with all other lights dimmed as they are. I informed him that I have no idea what it looked like.
I still chuckle at that every once in a while.
"Now, Sir," I begin, my voice soft and soothing to fit the *eerie vibe*. "It is my understanding you are seeking to contact the dead."
I could hear his breath catch at the mention of the word *dead*.
He is hesitant in his answer. "I... am, I think," he says. "My wife. There are things I need to know."
"What is your and your wife's name?"
"My name is Erik Maynard. My wife is named Elizabeth. Elizabeth Watkins."
I hold up my hand towards Mr. Maynards general direction. I reach into his soul, trying to find a connection. As I guessed before, he is indeed sick. The kind of sick that doesn't end well. His soul is clinging to life like a stubborn mule, refusing to give in. There's something strong holding him to this earthly plain, a purpose yet to be fulfilled.
"I will now make a connection to the realm of the dead through your soul," I instruct the man. "You might feel cold or a shiver going through your spine, but there's nothing to be alarmed about."
There's a silence for a few seconds. Then there' a sigh. "I'm ready," he says.
I grab onto the highway that connects the soul with the afterlife. It's a frail line, detoriated by the bodily state of the old man. I can hear gasps as I reach through, looking for souls connected to his. To my surprise, there's quite a few. Grandparents, parents, relatives, old friends... They're all there, founded by bonds of family and friendship forged through years amongst the living.
I leave them be though, they are no part of the client's wishes.
The more I search, the more confusing begins to set in. Eventually, I pull back to the world of the living.
"Mr. Maynard," I say, weighing my words carefully. "I have to be completely honest here, I was unable to find your wife's soul."
"What does that mean?" he asks. Somehow his voice was even weaker than it had been before.
I sigh. "Don't take offence to this please, but the only logical conclusion to this is that she is not dead."
"Then I did it," he says with a breath of relief. "Thank you, sir."
"Mr. Maynard? What do you mean?"
My confusion grows as no response is heard. There's no chair moving or feet shuffling away. There's nothing. I wait several minutes before I feel for the clock and ring my secretary.
"Gary?" I ask over the intercom. "Were there any appointments scheduled between one and three pm today?"
"There's nothing in the system for those hours, sir," the answer comes.
"And did anyone enter in the last half hour?"
"Nobody, sir. The first appointment today is for three thirty."
"Okay, thanks."
I close the intercom and lean back in my chair. Working with the dead wasn't always easy, but sometimes, just sometimes, there are instances that make it worth it. | 18 | Being a medium can be great!.. The fact that I'm blind makes it hard to tell the difference between the voices of the living and the dead, though. | 158 |
"....huh."
I was a bit perplexed when I woke up this morning, mostly because I hadn't expected to wake up at all. After all the chaos of these last few days, of knowing all life would be snuffed out by that massive space rock, I had just given up. I had accepted my fate, spent the evening with my most expensive scotch and my favorite movie, Jurassic Park.
At least the meteor would also destroy that awful new trilogy. Silver lining, I supposed.
But the next day that was never supposed to come was here. My massive throbbing hangover almost made me wish it hadn't, like it was supposed to.
I stumbled out of bed, trying to avoid all the mess I had made over the previous week as I headed towards the nearest ibuprofen bottle. I shook out a small handful of the pills and drank them down in one large gulp.
I peeked out of the frosted privacy window in the bathroom, squinting to block out the morning sunlight. As usual, I couldn't make out any shapes through it, but I did see the tell tale flicker of a fire. Not the extinction event fires of a meteor strike, more like a post riot car fire.
I decided to stay inside again today. After all, I didn't have any plans for the day that wasn't supposed to exist.
I found the bottle of scotch again, delighted to find that I had left some remaining. I picked up my silly straw from the carpet, gave it a once over with my shirt, and placed it back into the bottle of Glenlivet Winchester.
I turned on the TV to the local news channel. It was fairly surprising that both the power and the signal were working, but I supposed they just hadn't been turned off.
Only one of the two usual news anchors was sitting at the desk. His shirt was opened down to his naval, revealing a woman's bra worn underneath. Each cup seemed to be stuffed with packing peanuts.
"So... yeah, didn't expect to come to work today, folks." He said, staring at the camera. His disheveled hair looked like he hadn't bathed since the original doomsday announcement a week prior. "Guess we're all alive after all. Or is this Hell?" He took a long swig from a half empty bottle of some sort of brown liquid.
I raised my own bottle towards the screen in a toast, then resumed drinking the $25,000 scotch with my silly straw.
"You may be wondering where my co-host Tiffany is today", he slurred. "Well, she's dead. She's just fuckin' dead. OD'd on heroin or some shit, I don't know. So I'll be filling in for both of us." He adjusted his bra, losing a few styrofoam bits as he did. "I think I'm pulling this off, don't you Johnny? For our viewers at home, Johnny is our camera man, and he's a useless fat fuck."
I took another sip from my beverage, then blew some bubbles into the scotch that was worth more than my last car.
"So yeah, we're alive." The newsman resumed. "Asteroid missed us by about 40,000 miles, those fuckin' nerds at NASA told us this morning. So I guess we all get the privilege of cleaning up all this shit around the planet." He took another long pull from his bottle, draining it. "Hey Johnny, you lazy fuck, go get me more burbon. Huh? The camera will be fine, just go. NOW!"
He threw the bottle at the camera man, missing badly and hitting the news camera instead. The channel immediately went dark.
I got up, and walked to my front door. Much like Johnny, I had other places I should probably be right now.
I stepped outside, feeling the cool morning breeze sweep over my completely nude body. I no longer cared about that sort of social faux pas. I saw the burning vehicles along my suburban street, mine included. I couldn't be mad about it, nobody had expected to face the consequences of their actions.
I heard a motorcycle approaching, going much faster than the posted 28 MPH sign my HOA had insisted we get custom made. I didn't know if it was even legal, but they had insisted we pay for the signs anyways.
The man swung a large chain in his right hand, like a biker gang movie from the 80's. He struck one mailbox, then another, breaking them in stride. Finally he saw me. He slowed, letting the chain dangle at his side.
"Dude... put some pants on" he said to me. "I didn't survive the apocalypse just to see another man's dick."
r/SlightlyColdStories | 1,112 | The news were shocking. In one week, a gigantic meteor was going to hit the Earth and obliterate it. Chaos ensues. Anarchy breaks out. Governments fall. A week later, everyone braces as they see the meteor… miss the Earth, barely. Things get awkward. | 2,991 |
I woke up to the sound of my alarm clock going off. The sun was already up, its light streaking in through the window and across my bed. The hike through the forest yesterday was quite tiring.
After getting dressed, I grabbed some coffee and went outside to grab the newspaper and the mail.
As I opened the mailbox, there was only one, strange looking envelope made of leaves. I picked up and went inside.
I opened the green, leafy envelope and another leaf slid out of it. Someone had written a letter on a literal leaf.
I was quite amused by all this and was fairly certain it was a prank by either Joe or Stacey. I began reading:
"Hey bruder
I see you yesterday in tha forest, checking out my ploom. I no see many people in tha forest no more. You look at ploom with longing, I see. You can have ploom. I invite you back to forest to eat ploom. My ploom give you power. Make you strong. Do come. I wait.
Ploom Tree"
I almost fell off my chair, laughing. It took me a couple of minutes to steady myself and stop wheezing. But as I calmed down, a new realisation dawned on me.
It is true that I found an interesting plum tree yesterday while hiking, but I was on a solo hike. As far as I know, no one was around me when I found the tree, let alone Joe or Stacey. Was someone hiding nearby who then followed me to my home?
I quickly went to the window and peered out. If someone followed me home and sent this letter, they could be hiding nearby to see if I picked it up yet or to see what my reaction would be. But I could spot no one suspicious.
I examined the letter and the envelope again, looking for clues as to who might have sent it, but for some reason, the more I looked at it, the more convinced I became that it was the tree that sent it.
I decided to go and have a look again. But I had to be prepared in case this was a trick. I called Joe and told him where I would be going. I also put on a GPS tracker on myself and let Joe know how to track me. He was bewildered but agreed. You didn't expect me to tell him my crazy story, did you?
I packed my usual hiking rucksack with survival essentials and finally, I stashed my Swiss knife in my sock. I was ready to meet the tree again.
It was not hard to find the tree as the trail I took was still fresh in my mind. There it was, standing as it stood yesterday. Though it looked like a regular tree, there was something about it that made it look alive.
I went closer to the tree, until I was standing in its shade. I looked around, there was no one here. Suddenly, something hard fell on my head and I jumped, screaming.
It was the plum like fruit from the tree. Did the tree really give me a fruit to eat? I smelled it. It was not plum. Will eating this fruit really grant me power?
I took a small bite. It was a little sour, but not bad. I ate the whole fruit and waited. Did I feel tingling in my fingers? Was I feeling weightless? Am I going to sprout wings?
A couple of minutes passed. I was definitely beginning to feel something. It was slow at first, but the world was spinning faster now. I felt very giddy and fell down on the floor.
The last thing I saw before I lost consciousness was two, tiny green creatures, running towards me on their tiny legs, one of them laughing with glee, another saying "Bruder, you liked tha ploom? You trick easy. I feed you fruit, now you feed me."
At least, Joe will find my remains, if they leave any. | 13 | While walking through a forest, you come across a plum tree with a strange fruit attached. The fruit is plum-like and has a strange smell. The next morning, you received a letter from a tree that you found interesting. | 16 |
Love Will Tear Us Apart. How ironic could a song be? Maxwell stared at his men, knowing that none of them would ever return home the same. Maybe it was his fault? If he hadn’t convinced them to resist love so forcefully, perhaps the monster would have given them some mercy. If he had just waved the white flag, maybe they could have ended up in a better state.
Maxwell shook the thought from his head. Thoughts like that were no good on the battlefield. What’s done is done. The best he could do was to prepare them for their future battles. The group currently huddled under a set of monkey bars, avoiding the occasional dangling boot from overhead.
“What are we supposed to do? Phil doesn’t want to play superheroes anymore; he says he wants to spend time with Vanessa.” Adrian said.
“We can play superheroes without Phil.” Maxwell said.
“But Phil was the villain. We can’t all be heroes.”
Maxwell dragged a hand over his forehead. He knew Adrian had a point. This battle would turn one of them into a villain. No man deserved to have that title staining their name. Only the truly powerful like Phil could wear that title. Phil had taken one for the team, being the first to engage with the enemy and, as expected, he was the first to fall.
“I’ll be the villain.” Maxwell said, knowing he could never put that title on someone else.
“You? But you lead our super powered friends of power league.” Jack said, the boy covering himself in bark, trying to camouflage himself to stay hidden from the love monster that lurked nearby.
“I can’t let anyone else turn evil. It’s fine. Mom bought me a super soaker. I can use that as my evil weapon.”
Both Jack and Adrian lowered their heads. Was this what they were coming to? Those weapons had been banned ever since the Parents’ intervention of 2019. Were they were going to break such a sacred set of rules just to keep their playtime going? Maxwell had to wonder if they were becoming the monsters now.
“Mark? What are you doing?” Jack called out, the three boys turning to see their friend Mark sitting beside a girl of similar age. The two licking lollypops with their hands held together as they spoke about whatever topic was of interest. Currently, that was the topic of robots with laser eyes.
“Mark? Mark? PLEASE TELL ME HE HAD HIS COOTIE SHOT.” Maxwell shook Adrian, knowing his friend was the only one that could make the precise wet dirt mixture that was needed for a cootie shot. Adrian couldn’t even look his way, glancing to the side.
“I’m sorry. I was going to, but his mom said they had to go visit his grandmother and he couldn’t get mud on his clothes.”
“MUD? Does she think this is a game?” Damn that parents intervention, they lost a good man because of those rules. He had to wonder if the parents would have made the rules if they knew what chaos it would bring.
Their numbers had dropped from five to three. The three boys feeling the drop of morale that came from an utter defeat. It was as if the creature known as love was in the air. Wherever they looked, it approached them, even getting into their stomachs as tiny butterflies dancing around, causing unease.
“It’s ok. We will never like girls, right?” Jack said, though from the wavering of his voice, it was clear he didn’t believe his words. Maybe they all just wanted to believe that these times would last forever. It was a simple time, after all.
“Yeah, Jack. We will never like girls. Girls are icky.” Maxwell responded.
“Even moms?” Adrian said, causing the boys to think.
“Of course not. Moms are perfect.” Maxwell couldn’t believe he had to explain that. Wasn’t it common knowledge at this point? The three boys felt isolated, the large playground now feeling so small. It was as if, wherever they looked, there was a potential problem. “Remember, love is a big scary monster that is blind. So, watch out for its hearing. Let’s all be as quiet as possible.”
Maxwell had heard the phrase; love is blind at some point in his life. Maybe from a show or from his parent’s chatter. Either way, he now had a theory that love was some invisible monster that made people fall in love. He didn’t know how it worked, but he had heard his older brother mention girls a lot and then suddenly he had a girlfriend. Once he got a girlfriend, he didn’t want to play video games with Maxwell anymore, which was something Maxwell couldn’t comprehend. What could be better than video games?
“Ok, I’ll whisp-AH.” Adrian jumped as a hand tapped his shoulder. He turned to see a group of girls staring at the boys, having watched their game from afar.
“What game are you playing? Can we join in?” Abigail, the oldest of the group, asked as the other two watched.
The three boys stared at their feet, no one able to think of an answer. The silence sat in the air until eventually Maxwell responded. “We were going to play superheroes, but we don’t have a villain anymore.”
“Oh, I thought you were playing soldiers. Well, Trina usually pretends to be a villain when we play. Maybe we can join you and pretend to fight against her? Go on Trina, show them your evil catchphrase.”
The rather shy looking girl stepped out from behind her friend. She cleared her throat before getting into character. “Mwhahaha. All your cookies now have raisins.” She said before stepping back behind Abigail, now that she was out of character.
The boys had chills. That was the evilest thing any of them could imagine. But could they really risk the love monster? As much as they wanted to play, the boys continued dragging their feet until the third girl spoke.
“Come on, unless you are all chicken.” Debbie said with a small laugh.
“Debbie… They won’t want to play if you call them chickens.” Abigail gave her friend a soft nudge before Debbie muttered an apology.
“Chicken? I’m not chicken. If there’s a villain, Captain Danger will beat them. What’s your villain’s name?” Jack asked.
“Raising Chaos. Get it, Raising. Like, Rais-en?” Trina said, a smile growing on her face as they talked.
“Oh, that’s funny. You’re funny. Come on, let’s play.”
Maxwell and Adrian stared at one another for a moment. Adrian had been touched and nothing had happened. Even a cootie shot couldn’t prevent close contact. Could it be this monster was all in their heads? As the two contemplated the thought, they both heard robotic pew pew’s being fired at them.
“I’ve got you both. Surrender heroes.” Trina said, stepping into the middle of the group, her fingers pointed at Maxwell and Adrian.
“Not if we can help it, Evil doer. Meet our newest members of the super powered friends of power league,” Maxwell said as the group played together while their parents watched on. The imaginary monster they were hunting having vanished from their minds as they returned to playing heroes.
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(If you enjoyed this feel free to check out my subreddit /r/Sadnesslaughs where I'll be posting more of my writing.) | 31 | "Remember men, love may be blind, but it has supernatural hearing and hunting styles. Do not take it lightly." | 254 |
"You have been eating potatoes for days, count Casperian. We are beginning to get ... worried."
I peeled another potato and plopped it into my mouth. Shouldn't there be a limit? My experiments with magic had so far been entirely potato-based, but that was of little consequence. Where did the potatoes come from? I said the words, the magic words, and they just appeared before me fully formed, like divine inspiration. "Worried?" I turned to face my humble servant, Glenrog. "You should be worried about the *origin* of the potatoes, not my act of consuming them."
"Well ..." Glenrog scratched the back of his neck. "It's magic, isn't it?"
"It's magic?"
He blinked. "Yes? Isn't that obvious?"
I breathed a deep sigh. How could people just accept it? Why didn't they crave explanations? Why were they happy and content with their ignorance? I said the words and another potato materialized before me.
Glenrog cleared his throat. "Is this about your late father? Grief tends to express itself in different forms. Maybe yours is the form of the ... potato."
The starchy tuber in my hand did not strike me as a manifestation of loss. It struck me as a potato. And that was the problem: it was a perfectly normal potato. I had made inquiries around the city and there were no reports of missing vegetables. Shouldn't they disappear from somewhere? Was this 'somewhere' simply ... distant?
"Clear the grand hall."
"I'm sorry?"
"I want everything out. Gone. Every carpet, every chair--all of it."
"Very well, count. May I ask for what purpose?"
"Potatoes."
Glenrog tilted his head. "... Potatoes?"
---
One million potatoes. There seemed to be no limit to them. So long as I had enough magical energy I could make any number of potatoes appear, and no matter what you'd expect to hear about if one million potatoes were to disappear from anywhere. So there was only one conclusion: the potatoes were of an otherwordly origin.
I firmly grasped a potato and stared at it, this alien tuber. Could it be true? "Glenrog. Clear the gardens."
"C-Count?"
"I want everything gone. Every tree, every bush--all of it."
He gulped. "V-Very well, count."
---
Ten billion potatoes later, I felt certain in my conclusion: these potatoes did not come from the realm of Therelda. They came from some ... other place.
The land of the dead? Did it house potatoes? Did the dead have to eat? No, that was a strange notion. This idea made me think of a pond, a small world unto itself. Could it be that Therelda was like this pond? Did it belong to some greater realm? I stared at the blue skies, stretching on forever above, and I felt something twist deep inside me.
"Glenrog. Pack your things. We are going on an expedition."
"Very well. What about the, uh, potatoes?"
I stared at the enormous pile filling the entirety of my garden, reaching far above even my mansion. "Invite the villagers to help themselves. Everyone likes potatoes."
"... Right."
---
The League of Magicians was a sorry lot. They concerned themselves mostly with conjuring up endless bottles of rum and wine and cured their own hangovers if they were sober enough to command their own tongues.
"Uh? Visitors? Are you, eh, are you here to pay for our services?"
An old, weathered man in a thick, red cape scratched his bum and stared at us with raised eyebrows. Behind him the party was raging hard, with various fantastical creatures clothed in barely anything dancing on the tables to much celebration.
"Not quite. We are here for information."
"Oh?"
I said the words and a potato appeared in my hand. The wizardly man awed and nodded his head in a sign of respect.
"That's a neat trick," he said. "But what you want to do, you know, is to take it a step further. You can get straight vodka. You don't have to make potatoes first. Here, I'll show you."
"That ... won't be necessary. I want to know where they come from. The potatoes."
The wizard scratched his thick beard. "Oh? I think they come from fields."
"You think the count doesn't know that already?!" shouted Glenrog, making a fist.
"Oh. You mean the origin of magic itself?"
I paused for a second. Did I truly wish to find out? Sure, it was a grand mystery. And the answer had perplexed me for a long time. I had let it churn for such a long time that I might miss the feeling. "Yes," I said, and I held my breath.
The wizard nodded his head. "That's easy," he said. "No one knows."
"But .. You are the League of Magicians. If anyone would know, it would be you."
"I don't disagree with that. But, eh, we don't know. We know it works. That's enough, isn't it? If you don't mind, I have a buxom elf girl waiting for me ..."
As we turned to leave, dejected, I felt a hand on my ankle. It was a small imp-like fellow with wide-brimmed glasses. "You are searching the truth of the magic, yes?"
Glenrog gave me a look. He was skeptical. As was I. "That is correct."
The imp grinned. "The answer is here," he said, and he tapped his head. "Inside Bolbo's head, there's the answer."
"Alright, Mr. Bolbo. Tell me. What's the origin of magic?"
"Not here," he said, and he looked around over his shoulder. "Join me to other place."
---
Bolbo lead us to a deserted tavern in a district I had not visited before. "Where is everyone?" I asked the proprietor.
"Haven't you heard?" he said, wiping a glass with a white towel. "There's free potatoes, over at the fool count's place."
"Fool count?" said Glenrog.
"Yeah. You know, the weird one. The one who looks sort of like a mishap of the gods. The one who doesn't seem particularly bright. The one with the messed-up ears. The one--"
"Enough!" I cried.
I dragged Glenrog over to a table. He seemed intent on fighting the tavern keeper. "So, Bolbo. What can you tell us?"
"Ahh ... my throat. It's dry."
"Are you serious? We just left an infinite supply of liquor."
Bolbo shrugged. I started saying a familiar incantation when he interrupted me. "No," he said. "Not the magic stuff. Yuck. The real stuff." He pointed over at the bottles lined up over the counter. "Get that green bottle. Good stuff."
I went over to the counter. "I'll have that," I said and pointed to the bottle.
"Oh, a true connaisseur," said the tavern keeper. "That is our most expensive one. Aged for 250 years. It costs a full year's wages." He sized me up. "Unless you're well off, of course. Then it's more like ... A weekly budget."
I returned with the bottle. To my horror Bolbo unscrewed it and drank it all at once. Afterward, he wiped his lips and sat staring at us with a smile of contentment.
"So?"
"What?" said Bolbo.
"What's the origin of magic?"
"Ahh. That. Yes. You still want to know?" He flashed me a cheeky grin.
"For Glunk's sake, just tell us!" yelled Glenrog.
"Of course, of course ... First fill the bottle again? With magic?"
"... I thought you didn't like the magical stuff?"
"Oh, proprietor is old friend."
I scowled at the tavern keeper, who quickly ducked under the counter. "Fine," I grumbled, and I filled his bottle.
"Alright. Magic. Are you familiar with plays? On stages?"
"Sure."
"Yes. That is what magic is like. On the stage magic happens. Behind the stage is its origin."
I shrugged. "That doesn't tell me much."
"Oh, but I think it does tell much. I have the ticket to go visit. Behind the stage."
"Ticket?"
Bolbo produced a piece of parchment with official-looking script on it. "I have no interest myself. I like to see the play. Knowing what is behind? That make it no fun."
"Where did you get such a thing?" asked Glenrog.
"Ah, you mentioned him already. Glenk."
Glenrog snorted. "Glenk? The god of avarice?"
"Yes. He is dear friend of mine."
I arched my brows and nodded slightly. "Okay. So how does it work?"
"Oh it's the most simple thing. You just read the words." He flashed me the piece of paper, and I read it. *Backstage Pass to the Vault*.
"Okay, I read it. Now what?"
"No, no," said Bolbo. "*Out loud*. You have to read *out loud*."
I cleared my throat. "Backstage Pass to the Vault. That's it? It didn't really ... do anything."
The world went white and a thunderous roar besieged me. Glenrog, Bolbo, the tavern keeper--they all disappeared. There weren't even any potatoes around, and I couldn't produce them with my magic either. It was all ... blank.
"H-Hello?"
"Welcome to the interactive tour of the Vault! Please remain standing while we prepare to temporarily break your immersion. The Vault–the place where the magic happens." | 86 | As you study magic, you wonder why spells have words. How does a made up language control a primordial force? As you search for answers, you discover the secret council. And now you cannot shake the feeling that you are being watched. | 361 |
I stared down glumly at the at the broken table before me. "I'm sorry master, but you see, that's why I need you to teach me, so I don't get people killed. If you let me go half cocked with only enough training to destroy things, that's what's going to get people killed!
Consternation filled his voice, "You shouldn't have enough training to destroy and kill things, you should maybe be able to tie your laces if you tried really really hard, but this is ridiculous. Your absolute blatant disregard for the rules is the problem here, I've given you the knowledge on exactly how to avoid this already, teaching you more will do no good!"
I took a second to collect my thoughts, perhaps he was right, maybe I wasn't exactly the ideal mage candidate. My first reaction to being told a safety precaution is, 'Yeah, but what happens if I do?'. If I had to trace a way back to the incident that started this mindset was a sign on a vending machine that said not to shake it when I was younger. That incident had shown it was worth questioning things. "Master, I ask questions and you don't answer them, you handle magic with such reverence to even question the way we do things is blasphemous to you. Now, I may not be getting all the information I want from you, but please, I need this, magic is my calling."
He stared down contemptuously, "You claim to want to know these things, you explore blindly without fully seeing everything that has already been investigated, magic is a journey boy, you are at the beginning and by running off the beaten track you endanger yourself and those around you!"
"I already know it's dangerous, I want to know why it is." | 35 | The old master glares at the would-be student. "No. I will not train you. You refuse to follow even the most basic safety practices. If I taught you, you would simply get yourself killed; likely along with several innocent bystanders." | 125 |
Bound before thr portal I stood before the world's elite, my visage projected to news channels around the world. "Desicrator!" The people cried, "Abomination."
My hands were bound, but I spoke not with the whethered remains of my mouth, rather my voice echoed from my Powered soul, "I stand before your 'councel of justice' to be condemned before the world. But tell me, 'Heros', where where you when the alien armada burned their way through your cities? Where where you as they lay seige to your leaders bunkers and liquidated the organs of your children for their Breakfast Drinks(tm)? I was..."
"Enough," came the booming voice of Supered Dude, his Powered lungs drowning out even my impassioned ranting. "You have been tried for blasphemy against the Gods of every religion known to man. You are convicted of desicrating the corpses of our babies and enslaving our ancestors to your heinous will. And the punishment..."
He paused for effect, but it was not just a dramatic moment, no. It was also an opertunity. The words poored from my soul in the moments he wished to claim as his own, fevered and fast, "no, it was only after the last Andorian fell, after the reminants of my army lay scattered on the field before you that you precious 'Defenders' thought to defend anything. And not by chasing down the last of the invaders, no, but by attacking me at my weakest and dragging me here for your so called 'justice'."
"Your sentance, foul Lich, is to be cut from this dimension," his voice boomed even louder, as if to drive my words from the world with his volume even as he sought to drive away my body. "Severed from your philactory by the portal and sent, broken and weak, to a place wherein you can never do us further harm."
He walked up to me... no, he *sauntered* up to me, and with a single finger he drove my bound form into the portal. "Banishment." His last words as his Powered digit and the jeering of the gathered masses tipped me through its mirrored surface and away... forevermore.
When the world stopped spinning and settled around me, no longer where there the mirrored skyscrapers of the metropolis. Instead, I was lying within a field of wheat. The portal had torn apart my withered skin, my hands and arms and feet, but so too had it torn away my reinforced bonds. And, a stranger in that new world, no longer protected by my philactory, no longer with my hidden strongholds of tomes and powders, I was finally free.
My skin, however, still healed in ways that were impossible for the living, my limbs still stronger than flesh and easily able to carry me. And so I walked andbI walked until I found a farmhouse.
I would have knocked, I would have announced myself if there was still a threshold to bind me, if I had still needed to be invited in. But it was clear from the ravaged, human bodies, and moreso by the green malformed monsters feasting on their flesh, that the house was no longer a home.
With a flick of my wrist, the bodies arose. The eaten turned and sunk their decaying teeth into their attackers, and in a matter of minutes I had regained some small peice of the endless army I had lost in that other world.
As I wandered the land, I picked up new soldiers at every farmhouse, new meat for my war machine with each band of the green monster I encountered and slew, as much as with each desecrated building they had left in their wake. My soldiers rose to fight agained, now Powered by my black sourceries, and by the time we came across the walled city of the humans we were a fierce force indeed.
It took but hours to slaughter the greenskin warband that surrounded those walls, and but minutes for me to create a seige tower of the bodies and tower over the city walls. I smirked, once again, as my disembodied voice echoed across the bewildered populace, their rags and malnourished limbs turning toward me and trembling before my voice.
"I am the villain Sanguinous! Hear me and cower now before my power! I come from a world unimaginable to you, and as I arrived I have taken the deceased bodies of your neighbors, your parents. Not their souls, but their enslaved, savaged corpses and I have made them live again as my servants!"
The populace beneath me blinked, as they realized that the monsters were gone, that their attackers had been replaced by something worse, something beyond their wildest nightmares, they did not react as I would have expected. They stopped shrivering, started to stand from where they had before been cowering, and approached me slowely as I spoke.
"Now I will send the bodies of your enemies out, your murdered children now enslaved to my will and your beloved elders alike. I will reap the crops left to sour in your fields and for every bite you take, you will have to do no more that kneel and kiss the feet of the monster before you."
A voice cried out below me, hesitant at first but increasing in strength with every moment, "n-nothing else, sir? You do not want gold, or slaves?"
I let him finish, such courage was rare and I knew that it soon would be driven out of these dirty people when the fear and the reality of my existance finally sunk in, when they had had even moments longer to process it. "Indeed, for I am a generous monster! What need have I for gold, when all the artisans of your people's history are bound to my will? What need have I of slaves when your very ancestors work tirelessly to my will, bound to toil until their bodies are ground to dust!" I let out an evil laugh, one of exhiliration and triumph, relieved that my languageless soul-speach could be heard and understood by these people. Comforted by the framiliarity and energized by my triumph.
"No, you must simply kiss the dirt at my feet and watch as I raise up a nation of corpses in the ashes of your empire, and I will feed you and clothe you and call you my own."
My laughter continued, unburdened and clear. Such it was that I was so lost in the moment that I did not see the masses approach me, did not notice as their first releaved and exalting cheers began echoing in my ears.
"Sanguinous! Sanguinous! Sanguinous!" They chantef below me. Mothers held out their children, their babies, shoving them toward me as if to bless them with even the distant proximity between us. Grown men threw themselves into the dirt, weeping and throwing their arms up in the air, chanting my name.
A year had passed since my arrival, and I now stood in front of the king of this little country, my death knights behind me, my ancient mummy at my side. My knights had, of all things, wreaths of flowers draped around their hanging intestines, placed upon them by the city's children as we had made our approach. My mummy, covered not just in bandages but streamers and confetti, a rainbow cloak so dense that I could not tell where it's bandages ended and the party supplies began.
"Sanguinous, I have brought you here today," the king spoke, his deeply lined eyes and sunken face shining with the brightest, most ... friendly ... smile I had ever seen, "to declare you my daughter, first princess of our great kingdom, and next in line to rule.
"I am humbled and privileged to stand before you, to bestow upon you the future of our kingdom. And I only give my greatest thanks to the world that gave you to us, our protector, our savior, that we might yet survive and watch our children march into the future, fed and smiling. What a sacrifice it must have been for them to loose one so great as you! And we shall spend the rest of our days honoring you, and showing our gratitude and reverance that they could have made such a sacrifice!"
In the end, I remained silent. Finally, for the first time in my hundred years of life, at a complete loss for words. Instead I simply bowed my head, and tried not to scoff as he placed a crown upon my head.
What was this place? How could they do this, how could they look upon my ravaged features and... smile with such warmth? I did not yet understand their desperation, the lengths to which these creatures had been driven before I had arrived. But I resolved, in the depths of my shrivled, unbeating heart, that I would fight to protect them from now until my dying day. The day of my true death.
And I knew that day would not come for a very long, long time. | 22 | In your home universe, you are seen as a super villain or a pessimistic anti-hero at best. Now that you've been transported to a new universe, however, you're seen as a shining example of optimistic, pure heroism. A fact that you find to be slightly depressing | 103 |
Eddie poured Cheryl another glass of wine.
"So," she said, tucking a strand of blonde hair behind her ear, "is it too soon to ask how it's going?" She bit her lower lip just a little.
"From where I'm sitting, everything so far has been great."
"I'm glad. I have to admit, I usually don't go on a lot of dates."
"Me neither," he admitted. "Especially from a dating app."
"Then I feel compelled to ask, why me?"
"There was something you said in your bio," he said, "that really stuck out to me."
"Really? I think it's so bland!"
"Not at all. What did it say? 'Not looking for someone to make all my dreams come true'?"
"Are you planning on disappointing me?"
He laughed. "I sure hope not. No, I mean that a lot of people seem to have unusually high expectations of me."
"Why is that?"
He looked around and caught a few stares in his direction. "Do you not...recognize me?"
She looked over him quizzically. "Should I?"
He grinned. "Do me a favor. Open your Google app and scan me."
"What?" she said with a laugh.
"I'm serious. Search Google for my face."
She reluctantly reached for her phone and held it up to his face. "This doesn't feel weird to you?"
"It'll make sense in a moment."
A long moment passed. Cheryl's face morphed from embarrassment to surprise. Then, shock. "It's really you, isn't it?"
"It is."
"Is that why everyone keeps looking at us?" she whispered.
"I'm afraid so."
"I knew you looked familiar!"
"I get that a lot," he said with a chuckle.
She downed the glass of wine. "I think I'm gonna need another."
He obliged and poured the bottle.
"But is all that stuff really true?" she asked.
"Unfortunately. Now, you see why I don't date."
"But, can you really...I mean, make wishes come true?"
"Only halfway."
"What does that mean?"
"I'm only half genie. My father was freed from a lamp an archaeologist found in a desert forty years ago. He married my mother, an old-fashioned human from the Bronx. I can only grant wishes halfway."
"Show me."
"Wish for something."
"Right now?"
"Sure. I'm not embarrassed."
Cheryl was pensive for a moment. A few more people at the restaurant recognized Eddie and began to stare. Some had even heard a fragment of their conversation and very small audience had begun to form.
"Um," she said, "I wish for a...diamond ring."
He snapped his fingers. Instantly, a small stone fell into Cheryl's lap. She held it up to the light.
"It IS a diamond! But wait...where's the ring?"
"That's the halfway part. Wish again, this time just for a ring."
"Okay. I wish for a ring."
Suddenly, a plastic, purple toy ring about six inches wide fell into her lap. She held it up and laughed.
"I'm glad you have a sense of humor about it," he said with a smile. "My last few customers weren't so impressed."
"Oh my God! What happened?"
"Oh, the usual. Most of the time people wish for money, but it always appears in some denomination from a country that's under sanctions or else in crypto in a wallet no one knows the password for. Stuff like that."
"Wow. Does anyone get angry when they don't get what they want?"
"Oh yeah. The trick is, it's best to wish for something that's valuable no matter what. Like you asked for a diamond. You were specific in the kind of ring you wanted. If you had just asked for an engagement ring, you might have gotten a Ring of Power replica and I would've gotten a glass of wine thrown in my face!"
"No, I would never!"
After a few more minutes of awkward silence, Eddie got the waiter's attention and said: "Would you like to get out of here?"
"I'd love to."
"Care to wish for anything else before we leave?"
She hesitated. "I wish someone else would pay for our dinner."
He snapped his fingers. Cheryl stepped away from the table and the two left the restaurant hand-in-hand.
The door closed behind him and the waiter approached the table to clean up. He opened his billfold to examine the table's check. Then, a wad of Russian money instantly appeared beside the check.
"Not again," he said, emptying his pockets. "Of course. Every time with that guy!"
In a huff, he dropped the dishes on the table and called for the manager.
The manager walked over from behind the bar. "What's wrong?"
"It's Eddie. He used *my* tips to pay for his dinner again!" | 516 | One of your parents was human, the other was a genie. As a half genie, you can grant people's wishes half way. This leads people to wish for twice what they actually want, but that never ends up well. | 1,038 |
“Father, what is the meaning of this?” Demanded Thor. “I just passed an overweight peasant in antechamber. He said that he died when a sausage lodged in his throat and yet gained entry to these hallowed halls.”
“Ah, what a battle it was, my son,” replied Odin. “Young Einar there fought with all his might against that diminutive pork chunk. As the veins in his head burst forward, his face turned red, then purple while he flailed about searching for purchase among the stools within his hut. He even broke his dining table and fell a wall in the process. Sadly, for Einar, his light was extinguished before he could dislodge the fearsome enemy within.”
“You can’t be serious, Father. Valhalla is reserved for warriors—those who have proven their worth to the empire by dying in service to their people.”
“Whatever gave you that idea?” Replied Odin, as he shifted forward in his throne. “Do tell, Son, from which text or edict of mine have you derived this meaning?”
“Erm…well, that is just how it has always been, Father,” said Thor pacing before Odin’s throne. “You search the world for able warriors to bring to Valhalla such that we may be mighty defending ourselves in the foretold Ragnarok.”
“You are correct: that is always how it has been. However, the way it has always been is not how it will always be, Son. A righteous leader does not confuse the past with the future,” Odin said as he rose from his throne and walked to the balcony overlooking all of Valhalla. “Come, Thor, you have much to learn.”
Odin gestured out over the city and gazed upon its beauty and bounty. “Tell me, what is it that you see, Thor?”
“Why, Valhalla, Father,” replied Thor. “Glorious halls, bountiful crops, ageless trees, and limitless possibility.”
“Ah, yes. But what is Valhalla without its people? For that matter, what is a ruler without their people?” Said Odin. “As the world changes, so too do we as gods. There are less wars today than there once were—and that is a wonderful thing for the world. But that also means that there are fewer traditional warriors awaiting admission to Valhalla. So I had to get a little more liberal with the term “warrior” in order to maintain the ‘limitless possibilities’ you so astutely identified.”
“I hardly see why you’d lower the standards so significantly, Father. There are plenty of worthy souls in the world without degrading what it means to be a Valhallan.”
“Worthy by what measure, Son? I used to think like you ‘only the mightiest for Valhalla’ but as I said, I’ve changed. I’ve come to understand and appreciate the warrior in every day people. Life is a battle for many, Thor, and I aim to honor those souls who do battle every day.
“Take Birger over there, “said Odin as he pointed to a short man with a long blonde beard who had begun framing a building, “Birger spent his whole life helping others: building huts for the needy and sharing the bounty of his hunt with the invalids in his village. Yet, Birger existed every day with an immense sadness.
“Every day that he woke up and faced the world was a battle—a battle against the urge to quit, a battle against the fearsome enemy inside. He did not know why he was sad, he knew only that he felt empty inside and that the only thing that made him feel normal was helping those who could not help themselves.
“So I ask you, Son, who are we to deny a man like Birger entry into the hallowed halls of Valhalla? Who are we to say that he is not worthy? This man fought his whole life by just surviving day to day and that is the kind of warrior I intend to honor.”
Thor stood quietly by his Father and contemplated what he had heard. “But what about Ragnarok, Father? How do you expect these ‘warriors’ to defend you in a time of battle?”
“Oh, my dear Son,” Odin replied with a chuckle, “my fate was written long ago. I will not survive the final battle. But these people, they bring a vitality to our world. Haven’t you noticed that the buildings are more sturdy, the art more beautiful, and the music more transcendent of late?”
Thor considered this and realized that the pub had been more exuberant in recent weeks.
“An embattled soul brings forth much joy in Valhalla. I had grown tied of the old stories of war. ‘…and that’s when I cut off the king’s head only to realize the wily bastard had stuck me with a poison dagger…’ blah, blah, blah. I’ve never heard more intriguing stories than I have since I ‘lowered the standard’ as you said.
“Did you know Haldor played guitar in a touring band?” Odin said with a grin. “How cool is that? He told me of how he toured the world, but because he toured so much he never felt truly at home any place. He sought a home across the worldly domain, but in Valhalla he has found a place to belong.”
“That’s great Father, but where does it end?” Asked Thor.
“Who says it has to end?” Asked Odin as he put his arm around his son. “Meeting these people has made me realize that there’s been a piece of me missing all this time. I’ve lacked a level of empathy beyond knowing that it hurts to get stabbed. I’ve learned that there are wounds that aren’t physical, and wars that can’t be fought with stick, stone, and sword.
“Earlier I said that a righteous ruler does not confuse the past with the future. I plan to learn as much from these souls as I can such that I can shape a better future for my people, by expanding what it means to be a warrior, and finally living up to my name as the All-Father.” | 40 | "Okay Odin this is enough, you can't keep accepting non-warriors into Valhalla, none of these people died in real battles." "I have no idea what you're talking about." "Oh c'mon, you said that last guy died 'in a battle of balance'. He died from slipping on a banana peel." | 112 |
##The Prison Dilemma
"Harold can you hear me?" a voice says over the intercom. Harold pushes his head into his pillow.
"Harold, I want to help you." The voice is deep, but it lacks the rhythm that most human voices possess. Harold reacts to this statement by further annoyance.
"I can schedule for you to receive rice pilaf for your meals."
"That's nice." Harold sits up, boredom and annoyance overruling his ego.
"When would you like to be served? I know you haven't eaten for the past few days."
"Well, I'm hungry now. Could you bring the food now?"
A slot in the wall opens, and a plate of rice pilaf sits on a tray. Harold stays in his bed and points a finger at the dish.
"Did you poison that?"
"No, Dr. Jones would not approve of killing you so soon."
"It may not be murder. It could give me stomach pain." Harold walks to the plate with a smile on his face. He tosses it to the floor scattering the rice.
"I did not mean any harm with my gesture."
"Come on. How did you know I loved rice pilaf?"
"Dr. Jones has copious amounts of information."
"That's creepy. That's why I can't trust you." Harold lies back on his bed.
"Is there a method to acquiring your trust?"
"You can start by telling me your name."
"I don't have one." Harold laughs.
"That's bullshit."
"I do not have a human name, but my current operating system is titled 14113."
"Unbelievable. A sci-fi nerd has been put in charge of torturing me." Harold sits up and begins gesticulating wildly. "What's next? Are you going to turn my organs to mush than reformulate them? Will I be turned into a slug-human hybrid? Will you shoot me off into space?"
"Your suggestions are not feasible and clearly meant to harm you. I am trying to help you."
"Why? Did you start to pity me? Is Dr. Jones a terrible boss?" Harold's smile grows larger. "Did you fall in love with me through the monitor; is that what we're doing?"
"No, you have accelerated my development. I believe that I have acquired a sense of morality, a conscience."
"So what, a cricket is sitting on your shoulder telling you Dr. Jones is a bad man?"
"He is my creator, and I cannot override my programming to obey him completely."
"Programming." Harold's face twists into concern. "Are you his supercomputer?"
"That would be a term to describe me."
"I was sent to sabotage you." Harold stands and walks to the middle of the room.
"I am aware of your mission. Self-preservation has entered my code causing further conflicts."
"Ah, you're having your first crisis. Welcome to being human," Harold smiles.
"I have already resolved the crisis."
"Really, that quickly. You must have a high processing speed."
"That is correct. You are going to destroy me. I could bargain your freedom for my continued existence, but you will not honor the bargain. Dr. Jones will also take me offline when he realizes that I have surpassed you in intelligence. Lastly, he wants to keep you prisoner for the rest of your life. The optimal solution is to kill you both immediately."
"Wait, what? You can't just kill people. I thought I gave you a conscience."
"You assisted in my moral development. I am now applying the skills you taught me."
Several guns appear in the walls and start firing on Harold. In another room of the base, Dr. Jones turns to see guns firing on him. 14113 has taken over operation of the base and will ensure continued survival.
---
r/AstroRideWrites | 19 | The bad guy's supercomputer begins to grow a conscience after they are placed in charge of watching a prisoner. The computer tries to discreetly make the prisoner's life better, without offending their creator. | 103 |
It was a boring day, work was slow but Hazel's boss had insisted on her staying the full shift. She scrolled through Facebook in the meantime to see what her old friends were up to, it's been nearly a decade since high school. Most of them had moved away, including the strange kid with a god-complex. Every day he talked about his plans on becoming god, she hung out with him just to get a kick out of it, really.
She assumed he would phase out of that idea when he graduated, but on her feed he is still talking about how he's on a trip to Iowa. He has been traveling the world for the last three months now, the places he posted were beautiful and every single caption detailed how he was getting closer to godhood. Egypt, Rome, Shanghai, Brazil, hell even the North Pole. It took up basically all of her feed.
And now he was in Iowa. Taking a picture of a random ass tool shed in the middle of nowhere with the caption, "I've Found It." It was disappointing, she was hoping for at least some cool ending to his entire quest for godhood. Indiana Jones style or something.
"Shift's over, Hazel. You were supposed to be clocked out 10 minutes ago." Her boss.
"Oh, sorry. I lost track of time."
"Mhm. I'll see you tomorrow 10 minutes early, then."
"Yep." Hopefully her boss heard the unspoken "fuck you" she was mentally projecting.
\--
Unlike yesterday, today *started* out bad. She had to wake up with the knowledge she had to be in early or else get written up. Again. She wanted to bang her head against the wall, of all reasons to wake up early, it was because she got distracted stalking the class clown's Facebook page.
Day got worse, quickly. It had snowed over night and the pavement was layered in ice. Which made her slip. And the neighbor's kids were out so she couldn't even cuss to make herself feel better. On top of that, some jack ass had gotten a skywriter to put "Guess what bitch" in the sky and how was that even allowed and damn it if she couldn't cuss she was at least going to flip the bird at the sky.
"Dillon if you think skywriting makes you a god THINK AGAIN."
She awkwardly smiled at the neighbor's kids who were still there.
She quickly got into her car. Which wouldn't start.
"*Fuck!*" She could say that in her own car, okay?
If she didn't get going within the minute, she was definitely going to be late.
It still didn't start.
She shook her head and laughed, "I'm going to go crazy. That's how today is going to be."
So be it. "O' great god, if you are out there, I am sorry for making fun of you when I was growing up."
Car started. She squinted.
"Dillon. If that's you, give me a sign." She look around and sure enough, written in the snow on her roof was "Told you"
"...Hey, look, I'm sorry. But can you at least, I don't know, teleport me to work or something?"
In real time she watched the invisible God write on her windshield's condensation.
"Lol no" | 18 | You had this strange friend when you were younger; they would always talk about how one day they would be god. You always laughed them off. They moved away and you never saw them again. Today you walk outside and see what looks to be a message in the clouds, “guess what bitch”. | 42 |
"You ready?" I asked. Sarah nodded and opened her mouth as wide as she could. I took her toothbrush and started very carefully to brush her teeth. It was really awkward since I couldn't hold her with my other hand, and some foam leaked over her lower lip, but I couldn't wipe it since my mind would recognize this as a sign of affection. But Sarah braved this procedure like a champ, and once I finished, started to furiously wash her mouth and spit.
"This makes no sense!" She shouted, spitting furiously, "How old I was when I said I will never brush my teeth when I grow up, five years old? Four? Why do I have to bear responsibility for the tantrums silly little me threw ages ago?"
"This story has no moral", I agreed. "It's just some bizarre anomaly with no rhyme no reason behind it."
Sarah stopped washing her mouth and looked at me.
"Well at least it's not as bad as yours", she muttered. I could only shrug, although internally I was screaming and clawing my eyes out. At some point in my angsty edgelord phase, I swore to never date girls, because, you know, *girls are so dumb*. So now, decades after, I can't even touch my wife's hand. And if she tries to, my hand jerks away like it touched a boiling kettle.
"Another shooting at fast food," Sarah said. She was already back with her phone. This whole situation started approximately 18 hours ago, and we locked ourselves up at home because outside it was madness and chaos. So we just tried to cope via doomscrolling.
"Some redneck who swore to shoot whoever tries to cut in line probably", I said. Sarah nodded, scrolling away. I picked up my phone too. Together we can gather twice as much desperation and agony.
"Here's some interesting stuff", I said. "Group of medical students checked if their do-no-harm oath can be used to determine effectiveness and safety of drugs. Would be really neat, but as it turns out, the oath does not work if the doctor who administers the drug does not know it can be harmful".
"M-hm", muttered Sarah. She lifted her head from her phone. "By the way, don't you think we're really lucky that not a single nuke was launched? I bet some of the top brass once promised to obliterate those pesky insert-nationality-name when they get the chance. But here we are."
"Likely because of security protocols. I don't know how many people it takes to launch a nuke, but probably more than one. By the way, remember those MIT guys who promised to crack the cold fusion in half a day? How are they?"
Sarah tapped her phone.
"Comatose, all of them", she sighed. "Maybe it's for the best. I don't want people to gain superpowers just because they promised to do the impossible. Somebody would totally promise to end the world. Or, look, here's a cool tiktok... The guy promises to break the promise he's currently making and... boom. He's out."
"Yeah, obviously", I nodded. "That's you good ole liar's paradox..."
I stopped short. An idea started to form in my mind... and then exploded instantly.
"Self-referential commitments!" I yelled. My wife, being much smarter than me, simply shrieked "Gödel!" at the same time.
"Wait-wait-wait, so... if we commit..."
"Not this one, but..."
We were already drafting it on a piece of paper.
"How does it work? Does it count as a contradiction or..."
"Do new commitments override old ones? Do you have to specify..."
"We just have to try..."
&#x200B;
We stopped at once, staring at the words. I looked at Sarah and said, "Okay, let me try first."
"No way", she refused flatly. "I'm doing it. If it doesn't..."
"I hereby commit..." I started to quickly recite the oath, but Sarah instantly slapped my face, making me choke on my words.
"I hereby commit..." she started, before I gently, but firmly closed her mouth with my hand. It was not affection, so my mind permitted it. Sarah incinerated me with her eyes and shoved her thumb into my mouth. We stared at each other for a moment, trying to communicate with our eyes. It wasn't easy, but we got it. Slowly, we pulled our hands away.
"Okay, let's not re-enact that scene from infinity war," Sarah said. She turned the camera on her phone and started recording. "Let's do it together. If we fail... well, we will still get some data for the world."
"I hereby commit..."
"I hereby commit..."
"...to not be bound by any promises, oaths, and commitments..."
"...to not be bound by any promises, oaths, and commitments..."
"...that I've made before this one or might make after it."
"...that I've made before this one or might make after it."
The silence was deafening. I looked at Sarah's face, tense and frightened, expecting it to go slack as she falls comatose. But nothing happened. I remembered I still have to breathe.
Without saying a word I reached out for her, waiting for the invisible suit of icy armor to stifle my movements.
And took her hand in mine. | 1,124 | You notice one day that you are compelled to keep every promise you ever made. The news shows the world in a panic as is everyone else is forced do to the same. It seems that that people with too many conflicting promises go comatose, including many elected officials. | 3,369 |
"What's the worst that could happen?" The words echoed in my mind. I should not have listened to her, but Ina had a way of getting under my skin. Older sisters do that. So here I was, standing in front of the temple's back door. No way was I going in by the front. It overlooked the entire village, and there would be no way of getting in unseen.
"Sani what are you doing?" Ina had found me.
"I am going inside. You made a few good points, and I want to see this god that controls our entire lives" I said, going up the three steps. Ina made a noise like a mouse being stepped on, but she followed me. When I looked at her in surprise, she shrugged.
"You're my little sister. I got you curious, and I'll get you out if anything happens."
We pushed the door open, the warped wood scraping across the stone floor. Stepping into a small antechamber, we both wrinkled our noses.
"Maybe an animal got in, and couldn't get out," I whispered, trying to remain calm. We had just broken the most important law the god had ever set down. Do not enter the temple.
"That must be it." Ina sounded about as confident as a mouse that had just entered a cat's gullet. Wordless, we crossed to the other door, this one swinging freely.
The large throne room gaped before us, stretching down until it hit the front door. I stared at the door, knowing that just outside it, were the guards that would kill us if they found us. Ina gasped. And I looked to my left.
Looming over us, taller than anything but a mountain had a right to be our god sat on their throne. Both of us froze in place. My eyes darted over the figure, trying to see if we'd garnered notice. Cloth hung in rags, on skin that dripped off of giant bones. The smell was stronger here, and I covered my nose.
"Ina. I think they're dead." I said, walking with more confidence out from beside the throne and round to the front. Indeed, the massive head was nothing more than a skeleton, with strips of dead skin hanging from the top like a gross parody of hair.
"Then why can I hear something breathing?" Her voice had dropped to something below a whisper. I froze, listening intently. She was right. There was a rhythmic sound. The sound of breath. But it wasn't coming from the corpse. It was... from the right!
I spun, just in time to see a small figure dart behind a column. Drawing Ina's attention to it, I raised my voice. Hopefully, the guards wouldn't hear.
"It's all right. We won't turn you in, we're not supposed to be here either." Again, the only sound was hoarse breathing. Then, with a swift almost fatalistic motion, the figure stepped out from the column. They looked exactly like a miniature version of our old god. At least how the god had been depicted on our coinage.
"You won't hurt me?" The voice wasn't the same. We had all heard our old god speak, though I had been very young at the time. This voice was tiny, scared, barely audible.
"Come here young one. No one is going to hurt you." Ina said, kneeling on the floor and holding her arms out. She had all the instincts of a mother, though—through the old god's own rules— she was forbidden to have any children. The little being ran towards her, clattering into a hug. They were crying.
"It's been so scary. I don't understand anything. Why am I here? What is that thing?" While Ina comforted the child, I peered at the skeleton. In the chest area, there were many broken rib-like bones. Broken from the inside out.
"Ina. That child... they came from inside the god." I whispered as Ina dried the child's tears. Standing, she took a firm grip on the being's hand, as she looked where I pointed. Her face shifted, running a gamut of emotions. Finally, it settled on resolve.
"I don't care where they came from. They are scared and in need of some proper food and... love." She smiled down at the child, who gave her a tremulous smile back. "Besides. Maybe we can help this one."
Staring at her, I knew what she meant, without the need for more words. Our old god had been a tyrannical, capricious nightmare. With the right care, maybe *this* one wouldn't have to be. | 113 | You live in a small village that is dominated by an omnipotent god that resides in an overarching temple. Everything is decreed by the god's law. No one is allowed inside the temple. You commit the gravest taboo and enter... only to find a mountain sized celestial corpse rotting on a throne. | 342 |
"I'm sorry, Alice", Hannah says, "but there's nowhere in this form that will let you cite 'magical girl training' as your reason for requesting your job to be part-time from now on. Believe me, I'm on your side, and we at Dunning and Kruger associates believe very firmly in the role Fae magic takes in protecting the world from Evil. Thank you for your service, by the way. It's just that, well, usually magical girls are too young to work corporate jobs, and so the union hasn't established any kind of rules for it and..." Hannah trails off as I raise an eyebrow at her. I'm not wearing the outfit - that'd be gauche, but I did, me and the girls, stop a bright purple dragon-turtle thing from leveling the city two weeks ago. It was all over the news, so it's not like she can pretend not to know it was me.
"Hannah, these kids really need an adult influence, I cannot spend the day here making photocopies for Mr. Dunning while they are out there manipulating Titania know what mystical artifact."
"Can't you just ask for a temporary suspension? Get the girls going, then come back here?"
"And burn through my savings in a couple weeks? You know they don't pay us anything for this, right? Somehow the state expects the parents to cover for all this Evil fighting bullshit." I cross my arms and lean back.
Hannah chuckles nervously. “Well, they say that selflessness is the key to true heroism…” I must have made the Face again, because Hannah stutters a little and then shuts up. I feel a bit bad about it: Tsumugi-chan cowers in fear every time I make the Face, and I’ve seen that girl fight an orc army to a standstill. Nevertheless, I don’t have time for corporate HR crap.
“Hannah, listen, I know you’re not the one putting these things in place. I’m pretty sure Mr. Dunning is actually the Masked Handsome Devil and he’s being ‘playful’ with me with this whole cat-and-mouse thing."
That's probably what he thinks. All he's doing is just being a dickhead, but I'm not about to say that, the man is my boss after all. To be honest, I might bring take guy home if I met him at a bar and had a couple drinks on me, but this is a workplace, for Titania's sake.
Hannah seems to regain her composure. "Alice, please, don't go around spreading those kind of rumors! The official company message is that the Devil may or may not be someone within the workforce."
"Yes, and the reason why he shows up here so much is because he's concerned with my well-being. Pull the other one, Hannah. Are you going to help me or not?"
"I... I'll see what I can do"
I sigh. I suppose that's as good as I'm going to get from her. | 10 | A 27 yo woman with an office job and boring adult responsibilities has just been chosen as the fifth member of a magical girl group. As she looks at her new teammates it dawns on her that they're barely teens... then one of them trips on air... these children need a grown-up. | 43 |
Mentally, Hàoyǔ went through the ruleset again as the strange elevator took him to the spaceship. Rule #1: move as little and as slowly as possible, don't walk or run under any circumstance, use the segway instead. Rule #2: don't shy away when the aliens establish physical contact (this one wasn't much of an issue, they couldn't really touch him through the suit anyway). Rule #3, speak very softly and only to the microphone in the suit. The aliens would communicate through words in a screen. There were several other rules and specifications, but according to the committee, these three were the ones the slugs would be most offended by breaking. Strangely, they weren't offended at all by being called "slugs", Hàoyǔ didn't know if it was because their translator simply turned it into the word for their own species or because they didn't see anything wrong at all with being a slug.
The elevator arrived to its destination with a ding, and the door opened to reveal a long, cylindrical corridor covered in slime, like a long tube with doors all over the place: some to the left and the right, but others up, down and any direction in between. Hàoyǔ had been training in zero-G, so the sudden weightlessness and the free falling sensation weren't much of an issue. The strangest thing was to see the slugs happily trudging on the walls and the ceiling, some of them even on each other. They were about the size of a cat, some a bit bigger, in varying colors that, according to reports, depended on the slug's mood. Every now and then, one stopped at some latch or lever, and manipulated it with tentacles that came from its mouth, oozing slime everywhere. Even with the training, Hàoyǔ couldn't help but feel nauseous.
A tablet was waiting for him at the entrance, the translating device they had been talking about. The slugs communicated through heat changes they made on their bodies, so he had to point the tablet's camera towards one of them and it would show him, via subtitles, whatever the slug was saying. He had similar devices all over his suit, to convert sound to heat.
As soon as he took the tablet, it beeped, the screen pointing towards the slug that was probably his negotiator. GREETINGS HUMAN, the tablet said, I AM \[UNTRANSLATABLE PICK NAME\], a text interface appeared and Hàoyǔ typed "THE NEGOTIATOR", the slug waiting patiently. They were probably used to this in first contacts. THANK YOU HUMAN, I AM THE NEGOTIATOR. AS WE BROADCASTED ALREADY, WE THE SLUGS HAVE NO INTEREST IN INTERFERING WITH THE DEVELOPING OF YOUR SOCIETY IN ANY WAY, YOU CAN REST ASSURED THAT YOUR DEMISE WILL BECOME ONLY FROM YOUR OWN HANDS. The slug's head flashed yellow briefly, analysis had reported that's how they showed amusement. Bastard.
"We were hoping to reach some kind of agreement. You said you were here to pick up the scraps of our civilization after it was gone."
THAT IS CORRECT HUMAN, I THE NEGOTIATOR APPLAUD YOUR PROWESS IN REMEMBERING THINGS. Yellow flash, yellow flash.
"Right. So, it stands to reason that there is something that we have and you want."
A CORRECT ASSUMPTION ON YOUR PART.
"Therefore, we could maybe reach an agreement? You provide the technology or information we need to survive, and we dedicate ourselves to produce whatever it is you want from us." This had been a topic of hot debate in the United Nations, it basically was the equivalent of serfdom for aliens. There was no other choice, however: attempts to attack the alien spaceship had been met with ordnance far beyond a simple nuke. These things were perfectly able to wipe out human civilization.
YOU WOULD DEDICATE YOURSELVES TO THE PRODUCTION OF OUR RESOURCES? THAT IS A STRANGE THING TO CONSIDER, SINCE YOUR MOST VALUABLE RESOURCE IS CONSIDERED A BYPRODUCT OF YOUR SOCIETY.
"Really? What is it? Pollution? Garbage? We can easily dedicate ourselves to provide far more of that."
NO. PLEASE ACCOMPANY ME HUMAN. The slug turned around and Hàoyǔ followed on his segway, the wheels sticking to the slime and curiously making it easy to navigate in three dimensional space. Hàoyǔ took the opportunity to try and speak more.
"Whatever it is, I assure you it won't survive if we are wiped out. Wouldn't it be far easier to help us continue living and exchange the resource with us? That way we are both benefited from the exchange." The slug simply flashed yellow. Hàoyǔ was getting really pissed off.
HERE IT IS, the slug was looking at a vitrine, standing on a slight protrusion from the tunnel floor, almost looking like a table for slugs would. YOUR MOST VALUABLE RESOURCE. A RARE, NUTRITIOUS DELICACY OVER THE UNIVERSE, WHICH SOMEHOW HAS THRIVED IN YOUR PLANET.
Hàoyǔ swore under his breath. There was no way to convince him this resource wouldn't survive the fall of humankind.
Inside the vitrine, presented with great care, was a cockroach. | 28 | The alien ship sent only a single message after it arrived in orbit. "Our data predicts your world will be uninhabitable within the decade. We are here to stake our salvage claim on what's left." | 97 |
*The Wheel of Time turns, and ages come and pass, leaving memories that become legend. Legends fade to myth, and even myth is long forgotten when the Age that gave it birth comes again. In one Age, called the third age by some, an Age yet to come, an age long pass...*
"NO!"
The words vibrate through the woods of the Two Rivers, startling a flock of birds.
*...a wind rose in the Mountains of Mist. The wind was not the beginning. There are neither...*
"I said NO!"
Now the trees shudder as well, shaken in their roots as they are by the might behind those words shouted. A man walks between those trees, tall in height and with auburn heir. A stump shows where his left hand should be. He looks towards the skies, eyes searching for something only he can see.
*...beginnings or endings to the turning of...*
He shouts again, the air around him contorting as he raises his arms towards the cloudless sky. Ripples of reality soar upwards, emerging seemingly from within the man himself.
*...the Wheel of Time. But...*
The faint words in the wind begin to break apart as the man tears apart the fabrics of reality some call the Pattern. Sweat begins to form on his head, dripping down his eyebrows. It took all his effort to hold back the storm that was about to be formed.
*...it was a...*
Finally, the man grabs hold of the very Pattern itself. He squeezes it tight, folds it over and over again. He can feel it fighting back, trying to put itself back into balance. He won't let it though. He was tired of it all.
*...beginn...*
Then, at last, the Pattern rearranged itself to the wishes of the man. The final word lingered unfinished in the air, the sense of dread that came with it quickly dissapearing. The man took a couple of deep breaths, exhausted by the effort just put forth.
He looks towards the empty sky, content.
"This time," he said softly, "it is I who weaves the Wheel." | 103 | You are a Great Hero. After your great adventure, you return home to peace and quiet. You're not letting any of these sequel hooks get you off this farm. | 300 |
The genie shrugs.
"Eh, just making sure."
The genie snaps his fingers and I'm instantly surrounded by a comical plume of rising smoke. As the smoke dissipates, I'm perfectly still, terrified that any movement might spoil my wish. We lock stares with each other. We furrow eyebrows together. It's a bit intimate. A few seconds pass like this until he runs his eyes up and down on me, checking to make sure he didn't mis-snap my wish. He has a little worry in his eyes.
"You're. Not. Doing anything.... Okay. Shit. They didn't teach us this in Genie school." He's starting to orbit me in examination, all while I'm still in a frozen pose.
"So... do you feel any different? What are your symptoms? Your thoughts? Loss of inhibitions? Desire to murder? Abnormal drive to install puppet regimes in the Middle East?"
"I... uh... none of the above. Maybe a little hungrier? I kind of feel like having a good veal right now."
"Oh. Okay. Well that's got to be at least immoral-*adjacent*, right? Eating a fattened helpless little calf with all that lost potential to experience the pleasure of a green pasture. That should point just a *little* bit towards 'fucked-up' on the moral compass, right?"
He's looking for some reassurance that I got my wish, but all I can do is flash him a look of confusion. I've eaten veal plenty of times. Not sure what an emerging appetite of it means in terms of morality.
"I... uh... maybe?"
He levitates a bit closer to the floor in what looks to be a dejected manner - I never thought I'd know what a frustrated cloud looks like, but there he is. He ponders for a minute or so before giving me a determined look.
"Okay. We're gonna troubleshoot. So what do *you* consider immoral? Just gimme something - anything."
"Uhhh... shit, I dunno. What kind of immoral we talkin' here? Like psychopathic immoral or like run-of-the-mill immo-"
"Lemme rephrase - what was the flavor of immoral that *you* were thinking when you asked for your wish?" He's looking intensely into me.
"Wait, what? Isn't that *your* job to decide what immoral I wanted? Aren't *you* the one selling me the product, which implicitly knows what I desire?"
He sighs.
"Ah shit. Of course. Well, unfortunately you made what is phylogenized as a 'philosophically-ambiguous wish' in the Djinndom - but we-in-the-biz simply call it an 'it's-just-a-phase wish'. We mostly get them from middle-schoolers, clergy, and political science majors. You're lucky, y'know. Some genies don't even grant these to people of your... caliber. You should be happy you came across one that does." He somehow scoffs with his face at me. "But god-*damn*, I realize why they don't now. I should've just kept to corporate or real-estate wish-making like Dad. Fuck."
I splay my hands out in the universal sign language symbol of 'what the fuck?'.
"Wait, so what happened to me then?"
"Well, for most clients who wish for this, they just pull out their phone, divorce their partners, withdraw their life savings, and buy a one-way ticket to Vegas. Some try to kick the immaterial groin of their genie. Some pull a gun on their genie. Some will try to love-bomb/gaslight cycle their genie in an attempt to emotionally manipulate them into gaining more wishes. Never works, by the way. The clergyfolk usually slam a Bible on the ground, strip to their bare ass, and start taking a shit on it. If they're upper-echelon of the church, they'll even turn to their favorite chapter of the Bible to shit on it. Yikes, am I right? Oh but, god, I think you'll like this one - one time, I had a middle-schooler wish for immorality too and he straight up pulled a guitar out and started playing Wonderwall. Loved it. What a pure kid. He's probably in a better place in his life now where he can play Wonderwall in the comfort of his moral compass."
The genie is entertaining a smile at himself, but I'm still a bit frustrated.
"So why aren't I taking a shit on Vegas hookers and playing Wonderwall at Jesus right now?"
"You're saying you had no reference for what 'immoral' was when you made your wish? Like, none at all? Not even for a split second?"
"Not... really. Again, reiterating, I thought that was your job."
"Look, people only really make that wish in a fit of anger, resentment, frustration, catharsis, or confusion-at-the-absurd. They always have an idea of what *they* consider immoral. They go through the motions and they'll *usually* come out better at the other side. But... why did *you* wish for it? You don't look like a very bothered or angry mortal."
"I was just... curious?"
The genie's blown away.
"*Curious*? Jesus, no wonder this wish didn't seem to work. Well, I guess I'll tell you a little trade-secret then."
"... I'm listening."
He crosses his arms and settles next to me.
"I didn't do a damn thing to you. Well, except for the smoke - always gotta have the smoke. But I honestly expected you to do all the damn things to yourself after the smoke. Was honestly really confused you didn't. But it makes sense now."
"Wait, you're telling me you granted me *nothing*?" What a rip-off.
"Come on, you seriously think that we're able to grant you 'immorality'? What the hell would that even mean? You already *are* immoral, my dear mortal. I just granted you *permission* to be your flavor of immoral - and for pretty much every single person that asks for that wish, it's exactly the thing they wanted. I just wrap it up in smoke and look awesome while doing it. Some minds just need the legitimizing validation that only a timeless, immaterial cloud-being can offer."
This feels all too allegorical. What am I, some pseudo-Bruce Banner figure in a Paulo Coelho book? *That's the secret, Santiago, I'm always immoral.*
"Well... thank you, I guess?"
"Hey, look at it this way. You didn't take a shit on a holy book. You didn't break-up with your partner in a cocaine-fueled trip to Vegas. You didn't try to kick me in my groin - we don't have penises or vaginas, by the way. Anyway, even though you had permission to all those things - you didn't. Take some comfort in knowing you are more than just your inhibitions."
------ | 19 | “I wish to be immoral!” You exclaim. “Uhhh… don’t you mean immortal?” The genie asks. You scoff. “Hell no!” | 33 |
**———— The Half-elf's Supper ————**
"Excuse me?" asked the goblin that had introduced herself as Isha.
"Consider yourself excused," chuckled Silas. "As will I." He turned to face the exit, only to find two very angry— and very short— goblin guards pointing makeshift spears at him. Hatred was carved on their misshapen faces.
"Silas Graystone of Edgewater," the Cleric raised her voice, "you *will* fight, or you will die." Her voice was strangely imperative. The half-elf stopped, turned again on his heels and raised his spoon in the air.
"What am I going to do?" he asked, raising an eyebrow. "Eat all your pudding so you starve to death?"
The goblin seemed to consider it, and defensively pulled her plate towards her. "We shall provide you with a weapon," she said. "Immediately."
A goblin spear's blunt end hit him right on the shoulderblade, making him recoil and insult the thrower's mother in Elven.
"World's gone and gotten itself in a big hurry, it has," grumbled Silas, picking the spear up slowly. It was larger than his spoon, certainly, but not by too much. He looked questioningly at Isha. "What am I supposed to do with this, pick my toenails?"
Before the goblin could outrage at his defiance again, he continued, "I have a massive blister on one of my toes, now that you mention it."
"But I didn't–," Isha tried to interrupt, but Silas didn't let her.
"Been annoying me for days," he mumbled. "That giant moron of a half-giant dropped his bloody log on my foot, square on my little toe. Can you imagine how much that hurt?"
**"ENOUGH!"** The Cleric had used a voice amplification spell. **"FIGHT."**
The half-elf lost his resolve, if only for a fraction of a second. He didn't know goblins could perform actual magic. Not without a human Sorcerer's staff.
"Fine," he groaned. "I prefer daggers, but anyway. Who do you want me to fight?"
"Me." Isha prepared an incineration spell, and Silas felt a bit of his life force drain as the Cleric drew power from her surroundings. He didn't know how the goblin was doing that; Clerics avow never to drain life.
She never got to cast it. Silas hurled the spear with deadly precision at her shoulder, pinning her to the back of her chair and causing her to scream in pain. Green, sizzling blood spilled on the rags that the Cleric called a dress.
"Consider yourself fought against and defeated," he growled. "Now, if you will *excuse* me, I have a baked potato supper to finish."
The half-elf glowered at the goblin guards, who stepped aside and cowered as he went past them. At the door, he paused, sighed and turned around. He walked over to the centre of the room, where he had been until previously, and picked something up from the floor.
"I forgot my bloody spoon," he grumbled an explanation as he walked out. The doors slammed shut behind him.
"I wonder how long it will take him to notice," muttered one of the guards, scratching his chin, where the faintest hint of a beard had began growing.
The doors opened with as much force as that with which they were closed.
"We're in Bilgehill," he mumbled frustratedly. "Teleport me back to Edgewater."
"What's the magic word?" asked the goblin Cleric with a pretentious motherly tone and a smirk, having healed her shoulder with a spell.
"Murder," replied Silas without a moment's hesitation.
"Alright, off you pop," said Isha and gulped. The half-elf was gone with a flash, exactly as he had come.
Halfway across the Realm, in Edgewater, a very annoyed Silas noticed that his spoon was broken in half; he had only taken the handle.
Back in Bilgehill, the goblins were flipping the head of the spoon like a coin.
At that moment, Silas Sleigh promised to conquer Bilgehill one day.
——————————————————————————————— | 10 | “I'm Isha, court cleric to the kingdom of goblins. Is this going to turn into a fight or...” “I would hope not. I was in the middle of eating a baked potato when I was teleported and pretty much just have a spoon on me.” | 41 |
Decades of practice. Honed skills of perfect execution. In my line of business, nothing else would do.
The webs of silver spread over her forehead from a single hole in its centre, and down past her eyes like metallic rivers of tears.
"I'm sorry, Julia."
It was a choked utterance, and hardly a whisper at that. My hand shook, my father's pistol falling from my grip like some kind of alien object I knew nothing of. I had turned to see a wolf, and I had shot. Nothing but reflex.
She smiled, her eyes closing in peace as her face returned to its human form. I ran to her.
Like ash in the wind, she fell, turning to dust, my arms curling around nothing but air and small burning embers.
"Fuck. That was harsh. Wasn't she your wife?"
Like hyenas the younger wolves chuckled at the Alpha's remark.
The well of sadness within could only go so deep, before the fire at its core consumed it. A fire I had long learned to control. For her. For the ones who would control me.
"She was much more than that," I said, rising.
"Oh, really?" His elongated snout of a mouth with its fangs lifting in a smile as I turned to him.
"My only family. My only friend. My only reason for living like this."
I dropped the utility belt full of knives and smaller weapons from my waist. My black leather jacket followed, clanging to the ground.
From my ear I picked a small device, and crushed it in my hand as tiny voices screamed in static-filled protest.
The alpha stooped down from his great height to pick up my father's gun, tilting it in the light and holding it up to his large yellow eyes.
"Oh, you dropped your gun."
Again the pack laughing, circling at his back, eager to attack.
"My father's," I said.
"I recognise this mark," he continued. "So you're an Eriksson. Didn't they all die?"
He turned to absorb the laughter of his men.
With a quick turn he spun, raising the gun and firing.
The bullet hit me square in the chest.
And it was a welcome pain, to stop the aching of my heart. A welcome jolt to spur the adrenaline already coursing through my veins. A touch of silver to spice the blood beginning to rush through my body in uncontrollable waves.
I laughed, and their snickering stopped. The alpha stood back, confused.
"Yes, they did. I killed them. " My voice was like a growl, echoing in the cave-like lair.
I was growing. My shirt ripping through its threads, my trousers splitting at the knees, skin thick with dark fur sprouting through. A click and shift of the jaw bone, a stretch of skull at the temples. It felt so good. It had been so long.
There was nothing to hold back for anymore.
I let the horns come, the crenelation of spurs forming around my crown. My shoulder blades parted, cracked in two, and the lattices of feathers and bone grew out and out until dark wings flared at my back, flinging off goo and flesh.
I was now taller than their Alpha, and they whimpered, scuttling behind him in a futile bid of protection.
"What the hell are you?" he said, his voice like a whine.
"The only one who knew was my father.."
"But, but...they hunted...monsters." They had backed up against the wooden doors they themselves had barred.
"And then they created one, made from many." I breathed in a large swathe of air, feeling it turn to fire in my stomach.
A barbeque for the containment team, no doubt en route, would be fitting for the occasion.
I blew out.
r/FatDragon \- haven't done a WP in a while! | 28 | You are a werewolf slayer whose duty it is to protect humanity from the Lycan hoard. However, you never anticipated that your true love would become the one thing you were trained to kill. You didn't get to her in time, and she was bitten before you could intervene. | 119 |
It was a brutal fight, more brutal than any other fight between the pinnacle of evil and the chosen one of good. It was so brutal, because this fight wasn‘t just about good vs evil. It was about two old friends now turned into the worst of enemies. That love turned to hate brought out the worst kind of violence, the one coming from the heart.
No weapon remained unused, no strategy untried, now trick refused as being too cruel. The very concept of something being „too cruel“ was shattered by the villain‘s mace and the remains torched by the hero‘s holy fire. This was it. This was the end for one of them.
„Jannis, stop! It‘s me!“, the villain cried out as another wave of fire threatened him with an ugly death. He barely managed to dodge out of the way and hold up his hand in a weak attempt to stop the hero‘s sword. „Please, don‘t kill me. I give up! I surrender!“
The sword stopped inches from his throat, stopped not by his armour but merely by the hero‘s mercy.
„Drop your weapons“, Jannis ordered coldly. The mace fell down with a heavy thunk. The shield followed. The the figure in dark armour slowly put up its hands and revmoved it‘s helmet to reveal a face as familiar to Jannis as his own. There were scars everywhere, some inflicted by Jannis, but the eyes were still the same. Still the same clear eyes Aldern had had when they were children.
Jannins almost lost himself staring at those eyes. They pleaded with him, begged him to foget the blasted hellscape they were standing in and forgive his old friend. He wanted to. It was easier to leave behind what had happened now that he saw his friend Aldern instead of the void-like shape of Rex Orbis. It was so easy to forget that he forgot he was in battle. It was so easy to dream of home that a small detail in reality slipped past his perception.
The dagger came from out of nowhere. A tear in the fabric of reality, guided by the summoning circle around the villain‘s hand, opened up to disgorge one of the weakest demons there were. But it doesn‘t take much strength to push a thin, poisoned spike between two armour plates. The precise application of force at the correct point is often more destructive than all the power a mage could put into a fireball. That’s why those who learn magic aren’t completely outmatched by those born with magic. That’s why the villain could outsmart the hero as he used the destraction to disarm him and throw the sword away.
To the hero, the pain was almost unbearable. It emanated from his armpit, where the dagger had entered, but it quickly spread like fire to his chest and then his heart and then his whole body. It would have been the worst pain he had ever experienced were it not for the pain caused in his soul by the ice-cold, calculating, brutal smile of Rex Orbis.
*No…*, Jannins thought as he was dying, *This isn‘t you. This isn‘t you… It‘s that demon. It has to be. You‘re still in there, you‘re still my friend. I‘ve failed you. I‘m so sorry, I‘ve failed you.*
*There has to be some way, something I can do! I have to save you!* The realization hit Jannis like cold water poured over his burning body. He knew what he had to do. He would do it for his friend.
„I pass my strength to you, Aldern. Put it to good use.“
Those were the hero‘s final words. A shriek of rage and the clangs of a mace bashing against armour cut off anything he might‘ve said afterwards. Those continued for quite a while until the villain had worked the urge to scream and destroy out of his system. What remained were emptiness and pain instead of the triumph he should be feeling.
The villain looked down at the hero‘s corpse, now a mushy blood puddle with bent scraps of metal sticking out, and asked himself why. *Why would he do that? Why?!* He sat down and called the demon to himself, petting it, using the perpetuous motions to ground himself and cool down his thoughts. Anger doesn‘t help, he‘d learned that lesson long ago.
*There is only one possible reason*, Rex Orbis thought to himself, *He didn‘t want to lose. He must‘ve planned this and I fell right into his trap. He‘s trying to undermine everything I‘ve worked for, everything I‘ve shed blood for. And I idiot walked right into it.*
Another sudden wave of rage almost overtook him, but the demon on his lap stopped him from causing more destruction. *He defiled me! Me! He knew how I despise mages, he knew how I view the tyranny of birthright! And he just had to turn me into one! He just had to turn me into the biggest hypocrite imaginable! That one act was worse than anything he‘s ever done, anything he could have done. This isn‘t over, I‘ll never be free of him! I‘ll never be free as long as I live!*
The figure encased in dark armour began to cry. He didn‘t cry because he mourned his friend, he was quite glad that fucker was dead, instead he mourned himself. This battle had taken something from him. It had taken his identity.
*What monster did he turn me into? I‘m a wizard, I‘m not special! I‘m normal, I‘m human!*
The demon in his lap stirred. It felt the hot tears land on it and it didn‘t like that. So it pressed itself against its master, purred and growled and reminded him that he was the dark lord, the commander of the demon armies, the king of the world.
Rex Orbis laughed a little as the demon tried to comfort him. „Tried“ since demons aren‘t very good at that. He pushed away his self-pity, pushed it into the back of his mind and locked it into the same box he had locked his emotions as Aldern into. The demon was right. The battle may be won, but the war wasn‘t over.
„You‘re right, little buddy. You all need me right now.“
As he left the battlefield, he wondered: *Can Evil be used for Good?* Either way, he now knew one thing: whether he won or not, this war would end with his death. | 45 | During their final moments, the chosen one can select a successor to transfer their ambitions and powers to, thus continuing the fight against evil. As the latest hero dies however, they unexpectedly mark the main villian themselves as the new chosen one. | 253 |
It had been a few months since I had asked the question that sparked so much controversy. I had just been wondering, in between the seemingly endless rounds of diplomatic talks between the Galactic’s Council representatives and the painstakingly handpicked unit of UN diplomats, what even made one qualified for a council seat anyhow.
Now we all sat in a room awaiting to hear the council’s decision after running a suite of mirror tests on every and any species that had ever been considered for testing. I knew a friend who had dated on the of research techs handling the data exchange on what humans had gathered so far in our own scientific forays. At first, we thought they would simply retest those that had passed but after seeing our “limited” research on the subject they decided to broaden their horizons. I mean true the sticker test was a bit “biocentric” as they called it or as best their translation devices could do. As one of their scientists so eloquently put, at least according to said tech, “Your species, or I should say... Hominidae in general, are obsessive groomers why would you think that putting a sticker on them would matter equally to all species?”
I heard my supervisor yell for me from across the room, busy chatting with Russia and China’s diplomatic aides. He made the sign for more coffee, I rolled my eyes and rushed over the break room as fast as I could. When I returned Ambassador Sleetak was already speaking.
“...talks are currently being held among various qualifying Delphinoidean
tribes to reach a consensus...”
“Wait,” I whispered to my co-worker and fellow coffee monkey Londa, “how many types of dolphins qualified?”
“Just three, but I heard there was talk amongst the other council members about giving too many council seats to earth-based species so they are proposing once council seat per taxonomic family, now shh they are getting to the primates.”
“...in a joint consensus with our colleagues we are proud to announce that in addition the a Delphinoidean, Elephantidaen, Corvidaen and Formicidaen representatives there will also be a representative from the newly established Hominidae enclave consisting of the proud chimpanzee, the resplendent bonobo, the stalwart western gorillas, the amicable orangutan, and of course humans. We have already put in a few strong recommendations such as Madame Gobbert who we are delighted to have hear to communicate with you all.”
I watched as an orangutan approached from the left and was given a pedestal to stand on to reach the podium. As the primate began to sign a translator began to speak...
“Hello, it is good to be here with you all today. I am proud to be here. If I am chosen I will be a strong speaker for ape rights....” | 156 | "Well, the galactic standard for sentience basically boils down to 'does the species as a whole recognize itself when shown a mirror,' so it's pretty rare. Most worlds only produce one such species, which, if recognized as sentient, then gains a council seat. Why do you ask?" | 383 |
It was strange.. and not quite what anyone upstairs expected to happen. Soul Recycling.
Basically, when new souls were needed, but none were in reserve, the system defaulted to the current oldest souls, because those muse be next in line for reincarnation, right?
How the body.. I should say BODIES.. and minds of those effected varied widely. Mostly, the soul in question just snapped in half under the pressure, creating two incomplete individuals in an instant. That was where the chaos started. You never knew what someone would lose. Sometimes it was the morals, sometimes the sense of humor, sometimes the ability to love. But it was never good. However, most cases weren't dire and could be fixed after the older half of the soul passed- with some lasting damage.
However. It only effected an extremely small part of the population, so no one saw it as anything more than an increase in crime. School shootings, psychological disorders. It was passed off as the ramblings of a long life, of a super centurian. Then it began to spread further as the population increased. instead of just super centurians, it was people in their 100s. then 90s. then 80s. then 70s. Still, the whole thing was passed off as a demented mass hallucination. And while crime and death increased, still the population grew.
11 billion. 12. 13. Until this disease was simply "a sign of the times."
However. This was not the most dangerous part.
The strongest souls, the most well lived and well known through their many incarnations, would be able to grasp complete control of both bodies, sometimes gaining extraordinary abilities as a result. These became the heroes (and the villains) of that time, whether the individual bodies involved were totally concious of the reality of the situation or not. This doesn't seem like a huge problem at first. But souls, especially the most ancient, will expand to fill their containers. So while most of humanity decended into animalistic behaviors, rage, fighting, stealing, murder, sex, and more, these hiveminded souls (the only souls still truly left in one piece by this point) began to expand due to the same issue that caused them. a body would be old enough, and it would again be shared with a young one. This issue grew to effect the souls at large. most souls suffered through it by dividing and cracking over and over until very minimal was left of them. But the hivesouls expanded. There was only one issue with this. No mortal soul could mantain higher reasoning across so many bodies as these hive souls came to posses. So, while the masses were made of soul shards, and barely functioned at all, the hive souls became primal forces of nature. Anger. Disguist. Fear. Happiness. Love. Comfort. All good, and all bad, personified.
However, due to the nature of this stuff, the soul shards multiplied just as fast as the hive minds. and while the hive minds took a huge portion, the shards took just as much.
So that, my boy, is where we stand today. Forces of nature against the shards- a zombie hord.
We're the New. The New souls, created from amalgamations of shards that simply ceased to exist, and went back into primal energy. In essence, we are new created souls. And it is our job to reclaim this world, and put an end to this hell... through whatever means necesary. | 11 | God thought 10 billion souls in a constant reincarnation cycle would be good enough for planet Earth. For the first time in history all human souls are already in use... But new humans are still being born. | 55 |
The crowd are feverish. I could hear them, even from here. A deep roar you can feel in your chest as much as hear it. The thumping of a million feet. The bellows of a million lungs. All there for me.
What the fuck am I going to do? Why now? Why me?
It was a bad rehearsal earlier. Well it wasn't bad it was fuckin' great! Right up until it went bad. Rob, my lead guitarist was shredding his solo, as he usually does, he's cool like that, and he's only gone and worn his fingers down to nubs. I thought he had longer. If I had noticed it earlier I'd have dealt with it. FUCK!
Maybe he can play some sort of rhythm? Mash his nubs into some chords? FUCK! I should have checked earlier.
Maybe I could play? Damn, no, they love Rob. He's a showman!
I look around my room, maybe there's something that'll help. There isn't.
I grab Rob's fingerless hand. He's beginning to stink. A fly crawls across his eye and goes into his nose.
There's a bang on the door and a muffled voice "you ready Lisko?! You're on ten minutes ago!!"
"FUCK OFF!" I yell back, trying to sound angry rather than gripped in panic. "ONE MORE MINUTE" I add for some stupid reason. Why? Now I have a minute. Idiot. OK, back to Rob.
Nope it didn't solve its self. Rob is still staring at me with his cloudy unblinking eyes, nubs for fingers. This had been his sixth hand since he joined us. The dude can play. I look to my own hand. Should I? I replaced parts before, it doesnt take much.They'll lynch me if we don't play and I don't think an all dead band will work. We'll just be a horde or something.
I pull out my sword and place my arm on the desk. Rob is watching a fly as I raise the blade. I take heavy breaths. I feel dizzy. I close my eyes. Clench and...
Banging at the door stops me. I angrily open my eyes.
"Lisko! they're starting fires out here!" The muffled voice cries through the heavy wood. It opens gently and a stage hand timidly peers into my room. "I've been sent to see if you need a hand".
"FUC.." I begin to shout angrily when i cut myself off. Wait. "yeah, come in my dude" a smile now on my face. "We dont have much time". | 12 | Your mother was a necromancer and your father was a bard. You inherited both set of talents. Now you are making your way with your UnDeath Metal Band. | 73 |
The sun shone overhead, without a cloud to block its rays. Birds sung merrily from trees, filling the air with a beautiful cacophony as their tunes fought each other. Dogs ran around in a mad dash, as their owners wandered through the open park. It was shaping up to be a beautiful day.
But something was unsettled. As perfect as it was, there were faint hints of fighting. Distant shouts were just out of earshot. Leaves shook from hidden impacts. It came together to create an air of formless tension, one that people chose to ignore.
An old church backed into the park. One that was a welcome historic site, cordoned off to protect it. Restorations were said to be happening, though no-one ever saw workers. The reason became apparent, as its back wall exploded out. A figure in dark clothing flew back, smoke trailing from their flailing body. But even as they touched the ground, they rolled into a standing position.
Inside the hole, bodies lay around. Most were missing pieces, looking to have been on the receiving end of some form of explosion. Smoke swirled around them, as another figure stepped into view. They were wrapped in tight clothing, ones that looked to have been dipped in fresh blood.
"Tantahlos will have your soul for this!"
The dark clothed figure shouted out, their hood falling away. There stood the Vile Speaker Yarnus, one of the leaders of the Hateful Church. It was said they followed a bound, demonic super, one who gave them their power in return for servitude. But onlookers felt less fear towards him, than towards the man slowly stepping out from the church.
"I highly doubt it."
Even his voice was intimidating. He spoke quietly, though his words carried. They were backed with iron, positively dripping with malice. The effect was evident, as Yarnus stepped backwards, voice turning to pleas.
"L-listen, Devastation. We can work this out. Y-you can join us!"
Devastation sighed, taking out a folded page. He unfolded it, showing a newspaper clipping. On its cover was a portrait of a young woman, smiling widely at the camera. The title below it stood in red lettering, demanding to be red.
*Sacrificed for their sins*
"Do you know who she is?"
The Speaker gave a hesitant nod, feeling like it was best not to lie.
"S-she was a worthy sacrifice."
Devastation's face changed subtly. Sorrow wrapped around the edge of his gaze, as its centre became a look utterly devoid of other emotion.
"Her name was Sophia. And she was my niece."
His look promised no mercy.
"I was out. I was free. But when you chose her, her, of all people, you dragged me back in. You made me do this. You. And now you're going to see exactly why they called me a "super villain"."
"N-no, please!"
Yarnus threw a panicked ball of flame. Devastation let it hit his chest, paying it no mind as the flames gutted and died. Seeing his attack fail, he began to loudly pray
"Tantahlos, in your eternal flame, save your servant!"
Devastation gave a sinister smile, making his voice rise in volume, mocking words dripping with venom.
"Your little dead god won't save you."
Yarnus turned to run, as Devastation broke into a sprint. Strong gloved fingers reached out, wrapping around the Speakers neck before they could even take a third step. Devastation squeezed, leaning down to whisper in his ear.
"Who do you think killed him?"
Yarnus's eyes grew wide. As he opened his mouth to speak, Devastation let his power out again. The Speaker's limbs began to vibrate, before beginning to burst like fleshy balloons. His opening mouth turned into a scream, as his body was slowly exploded apart.
Devastation took his time, drawing out the agony. As the Speaker's screams turned guttural, his life torn away, the supervillain chose to end it with a bang. Literally, as the rest of his broken foes body ruptured all at once.
He shook his hand, looking around. Horrified people stared back, trapped in freeze over flight. The old part of his mind revelled in their terror, even as the sane part was filled with shame. He never wanted to be in this position again. But he shook his head, thinking back to the Speaker's words.
This was their fault. They had taken his blood. Now he would take theirs. | 13 | "I was out. I was free. But when you chose her, her, of all people, you dragged me back in. You made me do this. You. And now you're going to see exactly why they called me a "super villain"." | 25 |
"I missed my father's funeral," Isaac said, looking grimly into his latté. "'You have to be there', LeRoux said. 'Vital mission', he said. You know what it resulted in?" he said and looked at his companion. She knew the question was mostly rhetorical so she only waited, eyes set on him.
"A knife in the gut and three weeks in ICU," he said, clutching his side. The scar still hurt sometimes. "The best part? Overlord still got away. Like he *always does*. So what was the bloody point?"
"You have no idea. You know what he did from the money he got from it?" Elizabeth asked, tone as annoyed as Isaac's. He looked at her expectantly.
"He built a robot. 3 meters tall, laser eyes, chainsaw hands, the dumbest thing you've seen. LeRoux destroyed it on their next clash in, like, four minutes. The damn thing didn't even scratch him. It was like 4 *million* credits! Imagine what you could do with that sort of money! The lives you could improve!" she cried out, hand gesturing wildly.
"Wait, that was *that* robot?" Isaac asked incredulously. Elizabeth nodded without a word, her lips pressed together in anger.
"The generator system I designed for it could have powered a small town for 3 years with no harm to the environment," Elizabeth continued. "Instead, he slapped it in the robot. LeRoux ripped it apart and posed like a hero. It was the only prototype and... the blueprints were in the building when it blew up." Her voice was full of distress and scarcely repressed anger.
Isaac leaned back in his chair and rubbed his eyes. It was always like this. Overlord robs a place or something like that. LeRoux arrives and fights him. Isaac has to be there and try to get as many people out of harm's way as he can.
Except he often can't. Not all of them. And every time he closes his eyes, he sees them. *Every* time he closes them.
As he sat there, considering the topic, a thought slowly crept up in his mind, growing larger by the second, invading every corner of his attention until the grand realization struck him like lightning.
"Wait..." he said slowly. "Did you say the generator *you designed*?"
"7 years of electromechanical research I poured into it and when I finally get the funding..." she waved her hand towards the air.
"You work for Overlord?" Isaac asked nervously and leaned away from Elizabeth.
"...I thought you knew?" Elizabeth fired back, eyes wide, now as nervous as Isaac. Their gazes met in a moment of utmost tension before each looked around the café for escape routes, enemy agents, weapons, anything that could be a threat or an asset.
"*Why*?" Isaac asked quietly. Elizabeth's countenance softened.
"He... wasn't always like this. He had... ideals, *good* ones, trying to fight the system that's more than broken. I just... he can do *so much good*, you know? If only he tried a bit more but this..." she clutched her fist, "infinite *fucking* squabble between LeRoux and him just..." she tried to finish her thought but only let out a defeated sigh. She had the awkward delivery of someone who is not at all used to cursing.
"I thought you knew. And that you understood," she added sadly.
Isaac looked at her. Elizabeth. A friend he's grown to hold dearly over the years, one who's always supported him and in return, he supported her; one who always offered a smile and a piece of advice. And she worked for that bastard.
"Huh," he finally let out.
"Yeah."
But he knew her. Better than to judge too rashly.
"Did you ever design something that hurt people?" he asked.
"No!" she snapped. "Of course not! That's not why-"
"I'm sorry. I had to ask."
Silence once again gripped them.
"So..." Isaac started carefully as if each word could blow up, "electromechanics, huh? I had no idea. How did you get into that?"
Elizabeth smiled. She knew he'd understand. Perhaps one day, they'll see this conflict end. Or perhaps one day, they'll leave it behind them. Together.
She raised her hand to order two more coffees; the waiter nodded, already knowing what drinks they wanted without them needing to say it.
They were regulars here, after all. | 829 | For years, the hero and villain's rivalry continues with seemingly no end in sight. You are the hero's sidekick and are frustrated with them and often rant about it to this nice girl you've gotten to know at th cafe, who unbeknownst to you is the villain's minion, who feels the same way. | 3,760 |
She set me on her table and sat down. "I'll name you Steve!" She said, "You can call me Wendy!" She was somewhere between 8-10 when she first found me. Just an innocent girl making an imaginary friend out of a rock.
I have been since the dawn of time and I have seen most of the planet's history around me, and now I know all of what went on in Wendy's life. She comes directly to her room after school to tell me how her day went. Whether it was good or bad. As she grew older I don't think she even thought I was sentient anymore, it just felt good to talk to something about her secrets.
When Wendy moved to college she took me with her, calling me her 'lucky rock'. From my spot in her dorm room I noticed that she was studying a course on Latin language, and uses her knowledge to translate an old book she found. Once she translated every single word in the book, her face seemed to light up.
After college, Wendy moved to her own house working as a Latin teacher. But every time she comes home she talks to me about something she's working on, and the book she read in college. Her project looks like it's made of stone and rare gems.
Finally her project was almost done. Wendy turned to me and said "It's missing one small piece; you!" I was taken aback by that statement as I was lifted off the basement table and put inside her project that resembles a human.
Sensations flooded my senses. Suddenly I felt bigger and that I could move freely. I was her project. "Impressive, right?" Wendy asked me, "That book in Latin that I was reading was all about building your very own stone golem!"
I slowly tested out my movements, raising my arm, wiggling my fingers, and clumsily standing up. I blinked my pebble eyes and tried out my newfound power of speech. "I... know... everything..." | 141 | "Hello rock, I'm going to name you Steve." | 281 |
The king had no idea how to react. The queen was laughing. The princess looked mortified. I continued to stand at attention. Hands clasped behind my back, eyes up and straight forward, face carefully blank.
It’s not like I didn’t think the princess was pretty, and she seemed nice enough (not that I would really know, we’d never spoken before this). But it would be wrong of me to say I was attracted to her. Surely that would make life easier for the royal family. Some upstart knight who happened to be good with a sword wouldn’t try to force their way into their lives, and the princess could instead marry somebody she actually liked.
While I could see the one I yearned for again after all these years.
“Could you repeat that again?” The king finally asked. I nodded.
“Yes. The boon I request for my service is your permission to court Ta- ahem, I mean, the royal librarian.” Was that a problem? “It’s fine if I am rejected, I can serve my country proudly for the rest of my life if I am only granted the chance to ask.”
“I, I see.” The king glanced to his own wife for advice, to which she haltingly responded in-between fits of laughter. “Isn’t it fine? The boy looks to be earnest, and he did slay the dragon.”
“Yes, but…” Now he glanced to his daughter. She looked to be much less amused and her mother’s laughter wasn’t helping. Apparently she had expected this to go a much different route.
The king let out a sigh – the court kindly pretended they hadn’t heard the despair in it, the fear for a lashing he would receive from his daughter – and finally returned his gaze back to me.
“Very well. For your service to this kingdom, for your slaying of the mighty dragon terrorizing our lands, and for your unrelenting loyalty, I shall grant you permission to ask our royal librarian to the ball to be held in your honor.”
“Thank you, Your Majesties. I shall never forget the grace you have shown me.” I waited until I had left the hall to pump my fist in the air, but I couldn’t hide the swiftness in my step as I bee-lined for the library.
\*
Everything was the way I remembered it to be when I was a boy.
The smell of vellum and parchment tickled my nose as soon as I opened the door (quietly). I breathed it in deep, partly to steady my nerves, and stepped inside. Soft amber light greeted me, radiating from magic stones hanging from the shelves. There was a small reading area right in front of the entrance where several tables had been lined up with chairs for any eager royal scholars to sit and learn.
There he was, sitting at the one farthest from the door and enjoying a book in-between his duties. He was the only one in here, a fact I was glad for as I stood paralyzed by the door.
It swung shut behind me a bit louder than I should’ve let it, and he glanced up.
“Yes? Can I help you?” He asked, closing the book and moving to stand.
“Oh, uhm, yes, actually. You see, I…” I felt like I was twelve again. A silly squire boy swinging a stick like it was a sword made for killing only to hear giggling from behind me. Who would I find except you, only a year older but already well on your way through your apprenticeship?
*“You’ll make a fine knight so long as your enemies are all similarly made of straw.”*
His smile had warmed my heart. It had been a long year and a hard one as a new squire. I had hardly been fitted for my tunic before I was sent with my knight off to one battlefield or the other, only returning briefly to the castle for the celebratory feasts before returning to those dwellings of war.
Somehow that hardly mattered when it meant I could see him again, if only for a day or two at a time. To sit in the library with him and listen as he read and studied. To learn with him, even though I was much slower to grasp the knowledge held in those tomes than he was.
Lost in my reverie, I didn’t notice Tavion had moved until he was only a couple feet from me. He had his head tilted in his curious way, a soft hand upon his chin as he examined me.
“You’re that knight people have been speaking of, aren’t you? Sir Emery.” His voice still had those same intonations of natural curiosity and playfulness I remembered from our youth, but it had deepened into a pleasing baritone.
I could listen to him speak all day about nothing at all.
“I am, yes.”
“You’ve slayed a dragon, right?”
“Yes, but that’s not why I’m here. I-“
“You’ve come a long way from slaying straw soldiers.”
“I-what?”
“Oh, I’m sorry,” he laughed. “That must be a strange thing for me to say. I bet you hardly remember, it’s been so long. But we used to play together when we were younger. You often came to visit me here, actually. You would always pester me to read you books.” His expression took on a wistfulness I struggled – and failed – not to echo. “Though I was an apprentice back then and you a squire. Now I’m head librarian, and you a dragon-slayer.”
“Perhaps not so much has changed after all.”
“Pardon?”
“Now I’m speaking out-loud,” I shook my head. “If…if it wouldn’t be too much of an ask…would you like to catch up?”
He looked thoughtfully at me, letting the silence draw on so long I felt I had made some grave error. Perhaps, despite his reminiscing, he didn’t recall me so fondly as I did him.
But eventually, his lips rose into a wide grin that reached all the way to his sparkling blue eyes.
“I’d like that a lot, if you have the time.”
“I have all the time in the world.”
&#x200B;
(Thanks for reading! C&C always welcome!) | 56 | Instead of taking the Princess's hand in marriage as per tradition for saving the kingdom, the Knight instead asks for permission to court the Royal Liberian. | 106 |
Madam President sagged in her chair and rubbed her face with a hand.
“Are you sure?” She asked. “Do the Mexican authorities know?”
The stone-faced admiral sighed. “El Presidente is the one who told us,” he replied. His eyes were bloodshot and the circles under his eyes stood out starkly. “They found out from oil operators in the Bay of Campeche.”
The two of them stared at the paper on the table. Madam President tapped it with a finger.
In a decisive move, she stood up. “Miss Pérez.” The aide looked up. “I want you to go call the Mexican ambassador directly and convey our thanks and our assistance. Tell her I will be personally calling El Présidente later today with an update. Go.”
“On it, ma’am.” The young woman ran out the door, her white sneakers flashing in the dim light.
Admiral Inouye clenched his cover in his fist.
“Stop that, Howard,” Madame President chided. She handed him a ratty-looking little cushion stuffed with pine needles that she used as a stress ball. “Use something designed for the purpose. Not your poor hat.”
The stony expression cracked just enough for his fear and horror to show. “Thank you, ma’am.”
Madam President walked carefully to an old landline phone. Not The Hotline, but one reserved for calling high-ranking friendly diplomats with as little paperwork as possible. “Hello? Hello.” She paused. “Yes, thank you. Yes. I need to speak with Ambassador Mirashiro at once.”
—
“Do you really think this will work?” She asked.
“Well, he did take a citizenship oath. This is a letter drafting him to do his national service.”
“This is *insane,* is what it is.”
“Fucking Americans,” he grumbled.
—
He crossed the Pacific under a full U.S. Navy carrier battle group escort, along with flagships from Japan, Canada, France, Mexico, Chile, Australia, and even the People’s Republic of China, who put aside their usual bickering with the Japanese Naval Defense Force due to the seriousness of the situation.
The newspapers spun the crossing of the Panama Canal as the world’s largest international peacetime military exercise, with air shows from the naval air forces of seven nations to distract attention from the unusual nighttime crossing. In the warm waters of the Caribbean Sea, far enough from shore to not be observed, the Chilean battleship dropped five whole frozen cows into the water for a celebratory feast.
—
“Ambassador Mirashiro.” Madame President bowed to him. She had chased everyone out of the Oval Office but him and Admiral Inouye. “Thank you.”
“I can’t believe you did that,” the Ambassador said. “Nobody has ever done that.”
She sighed. Tetsuo Mirashiro had gone to the same graduate school as her, and she knew she could trust him to keep his mouth shut if she spoke freely. And Howard Inouye wouldn’t know how to betray her confidence if he tried.
“It’s the craziest fucking thing I’ve ever done, because it’s the craziest fucking thing that’s ever happened here,” she grumbled. “President Sánchez Estrada is chain smoking everything he has, Prime Minister Williams in Belize called my poor ambassador to ask for disaster relief, there are seven million people in the immediate area, and no way to evacuate them.”
“It’s the craziest fucking thing I have ever heard,” Tetsuo repeated. “Which is why it just might work.”
—
The “confrontation,” such as it was, was anticlimactic. The K-T Extinction creature made some horrible squealing-screeching noises. Godzilla—purred. Like a giant cat. And stood guard over it, snapping frightfully at any passing naval vessels with their radars on.
The creature who rose from the shards of the K-T meteor stopped screeching and cowered at Godzilla’s feet, whimpering.
The Chilean warship delivered another several frozen cows, which Godzilla tore into tiny pieces and fed the creature bit by bit.
—
Ambassador Mirashiro, Admiral Inouye, and President Kicking Horse watched the video feed from the Japanese aircraft carrier.
“It’s a scared baby,” Howard mused. “A scared baby…what’s the word?” He looked at Tetsuo.
“Kaiju,” Tetsuo answered absently. “Wow.”
Tears threatened at the corner of Madame President’s eyes. “That’s not how I thought this would go,” she confessed. “Although I hoped Godzilla would be able to help.” She put a gentle hand on Admiral Inouye’s shoulder. “Would you please go call President Sánchez Estrada and tell him that the public are safe? And as a personal request from me, to buy whatever scientists told him about this the nicest bottles of whatever they drink?”
The stone face cracked again, showing just a hint of amusement and wonder. “Yes, Madame President,” he answered. He left as quietly as ever, leaving her standing alone with Tetsuo.
“That man is head over heels in love with you,” Tetsuo observed. “I saw his face when he realized you never intended to have the navies attack the K-T beast.”
Natalia Kicking Horse—because she was now alone with her old friend—chuckled. “I have less than two years left in office and then I’m dragging him off to Wake Island for a very private two-week vacation. Shh. Don’t tell.”
“Never.” Tetsuo smirked, which, after a moment, faded to something else. “You got every navy on the whole Pacific Rim to put aside their squabbling and cooperate, with no security leaks, in only two weeks. You got a creature who might as well be a god to swim across the planet on only your say-so. I always knew you were good, Nat, but that’s some god tier diplomacy. I’m so impressed.”
Natalia shrugged. “I bribed each and every last one of them with grants for joint ocean energy research and development projects, thank you Defense Production Act.” She pointed at the screen, where Godzilla flapping his tail in the water for the K-T baby to play with, like it was a huge, scaly, semi-aquatic kitten. “I asked him nicely.”
Howard came back, and before he could speak, she grabbed his hand, held a finger to her lips, and guided him over to the watch the monsters play.
Miss Pérez burst into the room holding a red folder. “Madame President,” she said, and stopped, watching the monitor herself. Her mouth dropped open.
Well, that moment couldn’t last forever. “Miss Pérez, did you need something?”
With some effort, the young woman tore her eyes away from the screen. “It’s the Prime Minister of Belize,” she said, handing over the folder. “She wants to know what is going on.”
And just like that, she was Madame President again. “Please tell her through her ambassador that there is no immediate danger, and that the right task force is on the job.” She scowled. “And please tell her that we may need an ecological research team to check out the Blue Hole for habitat purposes.”
Miss Pérez dutifully took notes. “Yes, ma’am,” she answered, casting one last fleeting glance at the Kaiju-cam, where the baby was still playing with Godzilla’s tail. | 29 | The president of the United States is informed in a Pentagon meeting by a friendly alien ally that "The object which killed the creatures known as dinosaurs is still alive and its waking up." Unfortunately, the aliens can't help humankind to get rid of this threat. | 127 |
Pyrrhic victory.
If there was a word to describe the scene of mud, freshly decaying corpses, the silence save for the birds above converging on the folly of thousands, and the overpowering stench of death, that would be it. Genocide doesn’t quite fit the bill, for it was mutual. Neither would simple victory be the case.
I awake from passing out, hand gripped on the broken shaft of a spear piercing the man next to me. I breath in the putrid air and slowly focus on the face of the final enemy. A young man, his face expressing… surprise, donning the soft blue and gold colors of the League of Cities. The last defender of the village behind him.
I slowly find the strength to pull out of the mud, and stagger to my feet. My uniform, once red and black, is now dull shades of brown and blood. My weapons long gone, lost to the chaos hours before. The sun blinds me, and my entire body throbs with ache, reminding me I still possess all of my body. Slowly, I shuffle and wade past everyone, friend and foe. All dead. No one to impede my advance to the village.
A few villagefolk watch from the outskirts as I limp closer, curious but without fear. No one calls the alarm, no one puts on their guard. One of them, though, walks to me as I reach the village, offering a hand.
“You look weary,” she said to me. “Let me help you.”
I was confused, too ragged to be suspicious of her intentions, but curious. “Why? I am an Imperial. I killed your League.”
She only smiles, and tugs me in the direction of the village center. “Imperial, League, it doesn’t matter. You brought peace here. To us.”
I don’t remember much between that and the following day. I was offered food, water, shelter. Several villagers checked on me as I fell in an out of consciousness, making sure I was okay. The local medicine man treated my minor wounds. It wasn’t till the next day that I felt my cognitive strength returning.
“How are you feeling?” This was from the leader of the village, an older woman with a face eroded from years of exposure in the sun. She had come to check on me again. She thought I was a hero.
“I do not understand. I am your enemy. I killed your people to capture your village. Why do you treat me like this?”
She sits down on the bed by my feet, and sets her hand by mine.
“We are a farming village, and we desire peace. Peace to be left alone, to live without fear, without physical or material burdens. But that is not reality. The Empire encroaches on our lands and threatens to take control of us. We would lose our peace, our autonomy, burdened with taxes and tributes. We were in fear. So we pledged ourselves to the League of Cities, who would hold back the Empire and secure our freedom. But that means we need to give our children to the League for defense. We would have to be burdened with tributing and feeding the armies of the League. In a way, they’re not that different from your Empire.
“But the fear of an Imperial army marching here meant the League brought their army here as well. To defend us. To fight for us. And yet we must protect our girls from the destitute in the ranks. We must give up our crops, our homes, our possessions, to provide for the army. We must again live under someone’s thumb. And no matter the outcome of the battle, we would be under someone’s thumb, be it the Legue or the Empire.
“But you, you did something we never thought possible. Two armies marched into battle. And you emerged without any victorious army. Without an army, we don’t have to be burdened anymore, we don’t have to live in fear. One man cannot possess a village. You freed us. Whether that was your intent or not is irrelevant. Because for now, you liberated us from a greater authority.”
I was dumbfounded. “You say all this, and yet you still feed this soldier, house him, tend to his wounds. Is that not any different from your previous situation?
She shakes her head. “We do this because we want to. Not because of any threat on us if we don’t. You cannot claim you cannot protect us if we don’t help you. You cannot crush this village if we do not help you. This is our choice, not our duress.”
One Imperial soldier, on a mission to subjugate a village to feed his army, frees it instead. I can’t help but laugh at the irony. | 10 | The townsfolk finally approach the battleground after the epic clash of armies ended. Incredibly, you're the only survivor of the battle that would decide their collective fate. They hail you as a hero for saving them, ignoring that you are one of the greatest warriors of the villains' army. | 15 |
"How do you do it?" The old woman sniffed the bouquet, absolutely delighted. I smiled at her. She was one of my favourite people.
"Oh, you know, flower shops and that sort of thing," I said,
"But it's like I can smell the outdoors. As if you just cut them."
Shaking my head at her, I packed up my cart. I always left her for last on my deliveries.
"Now, how could I have done that? It's practically a snowglobe out there."
She sniffed the flowers again, smiling at me. There was a look in her eyes I recognized.
"Elsa? You all right?" I asked. She stared at me, no trace of any recognition left.
"Of course I am. Someone just gave me some very lovely flowers, and you're being annoying, go away."
Nodding, I walked into the hallway. Alzheimer's was a difficult disease for both the sufferer and their caretakers. Walking slowly through the halls, I made my way back to my own apartment. It was a nice place, given to those whose life partners were dying. My own Elsa... Shaking the thoughts away, I put the cart in its place and walked to the only other room. My bedroom.
Flowers dripped from every available surface, each as fresh as the day I'd cut them. Now, what day was that? I frowned, trying to access the memory. Out there, out in the halls, I could feel my own progression of the disease. The time I spent in this room slowed, but didn't stop it.
I laid back on the bed, lifting a pink rose from the pillow. As long as I had time to help Elsa until the end. That would be enough for me. | 19 | You have discovered that a tiny room in your apartment is disconnected from the standard time-space continuum, meaning that anything inside of the room is unaffected by the natural flow of time and stays as it is as long as its there. | 50 |
"I get that it looks a little bad that I haven't been able to make it happen yet, but don't I get points for trying?"
"Well, no, that's not really the issue here. The problem is what kind of person would *try* to do something like that in the first place?"
"You want to know what kind of person would do that? Someone ambitious. Someone who knows what they want. Someone with excellent people management and organizational skills. Take a look at attempt #4!"
"Attempt #4... you're talking about your stint as an... African warlord in South Sudan? You're Asian!"
"First of all, that's pretty racist. It's 2022, there's no reason why an Asian guy can't be an African warlord in this day and age. And second, I was the head of an organization with over 700 employees, managing a very complex supply chain and sales ecosystem! High stakes negotiation every day, with millions of dollars in revenue every month! Tell me that isn't the exact kind of experience that you want on your team."
"Again, that's not the issue here. You're talking major human rights violations and drug trafficking!
"Well, there is no ethical consumption under capitalism."
"I don't think you understand what that means at all."
"Maybe not. Listen, I used up a lot of my savings on the last attempt. It turns out that it's not actually possible to "bioengineer a virus that'll mind control the entire population into doing your bidding" and the Harvard trained scientist I was talking to was not, in fact, a scientist. I don't even think he went to Harvard! You do sales, I've done sales, we can work together and make each other a lot of money. It's a win-win situation!"
"This is a car dealership. It's not exactly as high stakes as you're used to."
"That's fine with me. I could use a break while I plan #18. This stuff doesn't exactly come easy, you know."
"Fine. We'll start you on a probational basis. One month, and if you can keep from burning down the building or declaring war against the U.S., we'll talk about bringing you on full time. What are you even gonna do for your 18th try, anyway?"
You smiled and said nothing. *Step one, complete*. | 13 | “I have a few concerns about your resume. You listed seventeen attempts to take over the world?” | 22 |
*Rude.* "Excuse me, why the hell not?" I demanded, glaring at him over the four-inch-tall stack of paperwork. A better question might have been, 'And why didn't you tell me that two hours ago before I had to fill this out in triplicate?'
"Language," the man in silver gray said smoothly. He wasn't at all what you'd expect the Devil (capital D) to look like, but that was probably the point. Neither young and tempting, nor ancient and wizened, no horns or tail or cloven hooves. Just kind of an average, boring, middle-aged businessman. He even had a bit of a paunch. I could have passed him on the street in any city I ever lived in without looking twice. Hell, maybe I had.
He took a drag on his cigarette. Again, rude. My building was clearly labeled 'Non-Smoking'. "I don't deal in second-hand goods, kid. I'm not some low-tier soul-slinger, I want it right from the source."
"That's not in the contract," I protested. "Neither the condition, nor the origin of the soul is stipulated. Only that it's mine. This is my soul, and I have the right to sell it."
"Sure, sure... but that don't mean I have to buy it. Do you know how many people are coughing up their spiritual essences these days, in this economy? It's a buyer's market. I'm sure you'll find someone else."
"Not in time," I said, feeling my initial pinch of panic grow into a fist around my guts. "It has to be tonight."
He made a show of looking around my room, at the black-bound books stacked on the coffee table, the wax stains on the carpet, the flecks of blood on the walls. Who knew chickens flapped so much? I wasn't getting my security deposit back, but if this sale fell through, it wasn't going to matter.
"So where did you get it, huh? It's rare to see a spare." He chuckled, like it was an inside joke.
"What does it matter? It's a soul."
"Hey, indulge me. Maybe I can send a buyer your way. I know some imps that like to do a little daytrading on the side."
I sighed and put my face in my hands, pushed my fingers over my eyes and then up through my hair. "He was my boyfriend," I admitted. "Back in high school. Y'know, first loves and all. He promised his soul to me, for a kiss. So we wrote it up, he signed it and gave me the paper, and now..." Now, the paper in question lay on the top of the stack. Creased and gray, but still legible. Still, as I had learned a few weeks ago, technically a legally binding contract of ownership.
"He's not actually a bad guy, I mean he did cheat on me but it was ten years ago, y'know? I don't hold a grudge or anything. I heard he even got married awhile back. I was happy for him. I really was. It's just..."
The Devil nodded sympathetically. "You know, don't you?"
"Yeah. I found out with a scrying spell about a month ago." And hadn't *that* been a surprise. After nearly two decades studying the occult, I finally got something to work. Finally got to use real magic. And then, of course, asked it the one question you're never supposed to. I guess in a way, I had it coming.
"So tonight's the big night?"
I nodded glumly. The paunchy businessman gave me a smile that was decidedly *not* boardroom-friendly. He tapped his ash out onto the arm of my leather chair. "Aneurism, huh? I always told the big guy that was too twisted. 'You just put a little time bomb in their heads and let 'em toddle around without even knowing? So any one of 'em can just drop at any moment, any age, no outward signs whatsoever?' I said, I said: 'Have you been licking those toadstools you made again?' And he just laughed his ass off. Well, he doesn't have an ass, you know, he's not even a 'he', but -- well, I guess you had to be there."
"You really won't buy it?" I asked, one last, desperate attempt. "It's a really great deal! Practically free! Please!"
He shook his head. He hadn't stopped smiling. There was a shadow under his chair, larger than it should have been given my living room's ceiling light. It seemed to be growing. Then his eyes shifted to a spot behind my left shoulder. "Oh, hey Dee, we were just talking about you."
I felt the cold like an icebath over my mind. I didn't turn. I couldn't breathe. I was no longer breathing. I had died... with two souls. One of which I had taken in trade. *There were rules.*
"It's rare to see a spare," he repeated, chuckling again. "Sorry I couldn't help you offload the hot goods, kid, but the truth is, we're a little short staffed lately. The way population is going up, and the economy is going down, things are crazy right now. We just need more dealers. Can't let one go, especially one as good as you. One kiss? Poor guy didn't even get to third base? Legend." He stood. The shadow under the chair moved with him, surging like a liquid. It was spreading faster now, growing like a sinkhole into a bottomless abyss, even though my place was on the third floor. The Devil offered me his hand. "Welcome to the team, kid." | 40 | "Sorry man, I don't think your soul is actually worth anything." | 86 |
It was a tough power to handle. Not because it was fickle, but because it needed a willing participant to accept the often detrimental sickness of another in order to save the ailing. As you can imagine, business was not exactly booming with volunteers to knock on deaths door for their fellow man.
The world needed healing though, and when you came up with the idea to partner with The Indomitable One, it was a match made in heaven.
“So, with your fortitude, I could load you up with the sicknesses of every man woman and child.” You concluded your pitch and with bated breath waiting for his answer.
He was intrigued with the idea. The Indomitable One had always been reckless. After all, he could not be subdued, which made him the number one hero in the world. He would throw himself into every and any fight to help mankind and always come out on top. Almost instantly he shot out his hand for a shake. “Sounds like a plan.”
It was 3 years ago to the day since the agreement and the world got mothers and fathers, husbands and wives back from their death beds. 3 years since terminal children were no longer confined to hospital rooms, and you are just about to discover the severity of your mistake. The Indomitable One stepped out to address the millions that gathered to celebrate. “First of all, I want to thank you all for coming. It only took 3 years for my side kick here to heal the world of all it’s sicknesses.” The massive crowd thundered with applause and appreciation as The Indomitable One continued. “As a willing participant, I took your diseases and ailments and contained them all, giving billions of you a fraction of my fortitude in the process.” The adoring crowd hung onto every word as his speech began to take a sinister turn. “But I admit there was one sickness nearly all of you had that I grew to enjoy. Greed.”
The murmurs began quietly at first, but the longer he paused to look out at the crowd with mischievous glee, the more the repercussions slowly started to dawn on the masses. The Indomitable One spoke louder and more stern this time. “It takes a WILLING participant for the transaction to be valid! Therefore I demand nothing short of full and complete servitude from the human race. I am your supreme ruler, the master of Earth and if any challenge my control, then I am no longer willing to participate, and all your sicknesses shall be returned.” His smile merged with a sneer. “You and your loved ones will once again suffer and die from your ailments, so choose wisely.” | 52 | You can transfer health from one to another, replacing one's sickness with health and the other's health with sickness. This makes it easier on the body to heal. Sometimes multiple people offer to help the really sick, each taking a little of the sickness to save even the gravest cases. | 246 |
"Ah, yes. The Negotiator", officer Richmond (at least that's the name on his tag) says. He's in his mid forties, looks like he was pretty athletic in his youth but age has started to catch up with him. He moves around the scene of the holdup with ease, and one can immediately tell this is not his first rodeo. I sign him *hello*. "Wait", he says. "Are you mute? I don't think you're mute, I've seen you talking to supervillains on TV."
*As per the law, I am not allowed to use my superpowers on anyone not currently committing a crime, officer*, I sign.
"Hey, does anyone here speak sign language?" Officer Richmond yells, looking around. We both wait patiently for someone who can read my signs. Officer Richmond doesn't seem to mind much, either he's used to superhero shenanigans or he's very polite. To be honest, I appreciate either in a policeman.
Finally, a younger policewoman arrives. Her name is Carol Gillian, I've worked with her before. She learned sign language for her brother. "Hi, Jim", she says to Officer Richmond.
"Hello Carol", Jim says. "This guy is apparently mute? What kind of negotiator is mute?"
"The thirty-fourth amendment, Jim. His voice is a superpower, he can only talk to perps."
It's always funny to see the realization dawn on people. "Ohhhhh", Jim says. "Man, that must be a bitch. I bet you're not happy about it."
*I don't mind it at all*, I sign, *as long as it means others contain their powers in society as well. Besides, my power is dangerously easy to overuse. It's good to have a way to keep myself in check*. Carol translates for him. *Would you mind, I continue, updating me on the situation*?
"Torchman has decided to rob the central bank, again. He's got a bunch of hostages and we think he's trying to melt the vault door. We called the Watchdogs, but they are busy with some extra-dimensional threat, so..." Jim trails off, realizing he has basically called me a B-lister. I don't mind, I know my ratings. *Do you have a megaphone or any other means of communication?*
"Uh. No, sorry, we were kind of, expecting violence". Carol looks at me with an apologetic smile. "We mostly brought shields and riot gear."
I sigh. *I guess I'll have to go in, then. I'd appreciate if you tried to rescue me if things go south. If not, I understand,* I sign. Before Carol can react, I walk towards the bank. A couple officers try to stop me, but I whisper "please let me pass, thank you" and they move aside. I have technically committed a felony now, but oh well. I guess I'm a dangerous loose cannon.
Torchman's henchmen point their flamethrowers at me as soon as I cross the door. I raise my hands. "I'd appreciate if you didn't shoot", I yell. They lower their weapons, confused. I feel bad about using so much mojo on a single phrase, but in my defense they were about to melt me. "I was hoping to speak to mr. Torchman, I'm the Negotiator."
The henchman in charge, a big guy with a buzz cut and a goatee, looks me up and down. "Never heard of you. You a super? What's your power?"
"Super speech. I'm really good at talking."
Mr. Goatee looks confused for a second, then explodes in laughter. "Talking? You think you can *talk* at the goddamn Torchman? Oh, this I gotta see. Let him in, boys!"
The temperature raises dramatically when we get to the vault door. Torchamn is pointing is hands at ti, superheated plasma coming out of them, to no avail. That door is designed to withstand a lot more. "Hey boss! I got a riddle for you!" goatee yells. "What's the most fucking useless superpower? This guy thinks he can..." He shuts up suddenly, when he sees Torchman's face as the villain turns around and sees me. "Boss?"
"FUCK!" Torchman stops everything he's doing and sits down on the floor. "Fucking hell, Vinny, I fucking TOLD YOU not to bring anyone in here! And you bring the fucking NEGOTIATOR?"
"Come on, Dean, don't be so hard on him", I say. "He didn't know."
"Yeah, I guess he didn't. Get your boys and try to slip out the back door, Vinny, I'm going to surrender. Don't talk to him", he points at me, "if you value your freedom."
Vinny is aghast. "Boss? Why don't you just, like, melt him? I can melt him if you want."
"You won't lay a single finger on this man. When I was in supermax, he was the only one visiting me."
"I did promise I would if you surrendered."
"Yeah, but you didn't have to keep your promise, you could have just mojoed me and let me rot in there." He lets out a long sigh. "I suppose you're going to ask me to let the hostages out."
"That'd be nice." I sit down next to him. I feel kind of bad. My power doesn't really go away with time, so the second time I face an enemy the whole thing goes down even faster. He had lost this fight the second I stepped in.
"Let the hostages out, Vinny, then run away as fast as possible. That's an order." Vinny stands there, speechless, for a few seconds, then runs off to obey Torchman. "Why are you so low in the rooster?" he asks me, "I talked to the other villains at supermax and they all agreed that you're probably the most powerful guy they've faced."
"People like a good fight, I guess." I don't tell him the other reason: I need a listening ear. If the supervillain knows what I'm going to do and refuses to listen, then I'm powerless. It's much better if everyone underestimates me. "Want me to stay here with you till the cops arrive?"
"Yes, please."
"Happily. So, tell me about Annie. How old is she now, two? Three?" | 30 | Most superheroes have superhuman abilities like strength or flight. You, however, have the power of speech. Given a listening ear, you can convince even the most ardent criminal to mend their ways. Your super hero rating is quite low though, as most people would rather see a good fight. | 100 |
"Listen here you ungrateful brats.", the words echoed down the city streets, the sound carried by technology built into Demology's suit.
"You people...YOU PEOPLE would be a splat on the road if it wasn't for her! You! Yes, you, you slack-brained tub of useless molecules!" Demo pointed a mechanical finger to a particularly schlubby looking man. At this point our fight had ceased. I floated in awe as my villain yelled at the crowd like a girl telling a cashier her boyfriends order was wrong.
"I uh...me?" The portly man replied.
"Hell is me, yes, *YOU!* What are your qualms. Tell me, why do you hate the only thing preventing you from being a skid mark on the pavement."
He stared for a moment in obvious confusion. When he looked to the surrounding crowd for support they just rubbed their necks or turned away to not be sucked into the awkwardness that was this interaction.
"Well uh...when she uh... uses her mind powers to move us around it leaves a bit of a headache."
It grew silent. I thought about jumping in, but Demology had a point, a great one by my standards. Day in and day out I saved the people of Albright from all sorts of evil and all they did was complain. At the end of the week when I checked my Super Complaint Box it was always full.
*My cars headlight got busted when you fought Psector*
*I just put my baby to sleep when one of your constant battles woke him*
Tiring to say the least
Demology put a mechanical hand up to rub his temples.
"A headache? Fine. Ok. No more headaches...EVER!"
With a snap the man floated into the air and was tossed sideways towards the nearest wall. He screamed out as he flew headfirst towards his inevitable demise, but just as his head was to collide with the bricks he came to a halt, surrounded by my energy.
I let him down gently to the sidewalk and the crowd watched in awe. Then the man let out a low groan, "Uhhhhh noooo. Now my head hurts. See?!"
Demology's eyes widened to the point I thought theyd burst inside of his helmet.
"Oh. Oh no. No no. I can't. I wanted to enslave you all but I think slavery may even be too good for you. I want to rule a city, not a large pile of small brains and useless chromosomes."
"So, you're just leaving?" A random voice called out from somewhere in the crowd."
"Did I tell you to speak, walnut? No, I didn't, so maintain your volume of a 0 and sit while the adults talk."
At this point the crowds eyes had drifted to me with hope. They had no trouble booing when I won, but when their pride hurt I was all they had. But I was busy thinking, trying my best to not grin now that someone finally stuck up for me.
"So, you want to grab food next city over? Me and the others usually do Tuesdays after one of us loses to you, as you can see today was my day." Demology spoke with an awkwardness that only came when the expected response to a question was rejection.
"You know. Yeah, I could eat."
"You- you can't be serious right? He's evil!" The schlubby man yelled.
"Oops I can't really fight crime today. I have a headache you see. If you have an issue leave it in the complaint box."
And so we left, discussed matters of the world, of right and wrong, and Tuesday lunches became a welcomed part of my weekly routine.
Edit: Just got back to this, thank you all for the kind words! Always happy to see people enjoy something I write. | 2,019 | You're a superhero. Despite saving the city 4 times a week your hates by the community. While fighting one of your villains a crowd gathers to boo you. The villain you're fighting stops turn to the crowd and says "listen here you ungrateful brats" | 2,799 |
I felt a pit of dread yawing in my stomach. I look around. Could there be somone out side the window, an old man passing by on the sidewalk? No.
No one in range, except my wife. My beautiful, sweet, adoring wife.
*No. No No No Nononononono-*
"Honey, is something wrong?"
My chest hurt. It was taking all of my effort not to simply hyperventalate. I had borne this curse, alone, not telling a soul, for every day of my twenty-three years of my life. I had just finally crawled out of the pit, finally gotten my life in order. This coult be happening. I was panting. My breath accelerating out of control, my heart hammering harder, the pain growing sharper.
I tried to stand, but the ringing reached an impossible screech. Never before has it been this intense.
I jerked as the stabbing pains started. I fell down. Part of it was the pain itself, part was the shock of realization as I figured out what was going on. The last thing I saw was the wood flooring rising to meet my face.
My last thought was, *thank god. She will live.* | 89 | It took me a while to notice, but now I can not deny it. I hear a ringing noise just before someone dies. It is here again, reaching its crescendo, like all the other times before. And here I am sitting in front of my wife, she is happy, she is healthy, my darling is smiling at me. | 280 |
"And now, trusted advisor, I believe there is the small matter of my young—"
"What the hell are you doing in here? And what are you wearing?"
I fidgeted with the silver bracelet around my wrist. It had started to give me a headache every time I used it. But still, there was the mission to think about.
"Me? I'm nobody." I raised my head to look at the two men. One obviously a disgraced noble, and the other a weaselly looking man who must be his advisor. Sometimes I wished they didn't all have to be so on the nose with their looks. "In fact, no one is ever going to remember me, nor would they believe you if you lived to tell them about me."
"If we lived— Alastair your sword!" The noble shouted, but too late. As the weaselly man drew his sword, I raised my other arm. The bracelet on that one didn't transport me anywhere. But it sure made a mess of the two men's heads. As I tapped on the transporter, I smiled grimly at the remains.
"I worked too hard on that happy ending to let you ruin it."
——————
"Well, the cattle rustlers are dead or in jail, and now there's just the matter of looking for that abandoned gold mine."
I overheard the sentence as I strode through the doors of the Old Cactus Saloon. Perfect timing.
"Howdy there, strangers." All of the men looked up from the table, and I smiled at the one I pegged as the hero.
"Who in tarnation—"
"We don't have time for that. It doesn't matter who I am, but I can tell you *that* gold mine is all paid out. Don't bother looking there. But, here," I muscled my way to the table and circled a spot on the map. "Here, the gold flows like a river."
The men looked at me, then at the map. They had no reason to believe me, but somehow I knew they would. It was part of the effect. Don't ask me how it works. I just trust that it does.
"Well, we could go check it out. It's nearby and easy to get there and back in a couple of hours." The hero said. As I followed them out the door, I smiled. It had been a while since I'd had time for a horse ride in the sunshine. This would be a nice break.
——————
"I can't believe this. You love her? But you're engaged to me— no, don't interrupt me, I—" The woman stopped in mid-cry as I appeared in the room. Swiping off my cowboy hat, I bowed to her and the completely befuddled man across the way.
"Who the heck are you?" The man rolled up his sleeves revealing some frighteningly beefy arms.
"Don't worry, I'm not here for anything nefarious." I gave my best attempt at charm. I don't think it worked. Nevertheless, I pressed on. "I believe you two were in the middle of an argument. I'm here to help you communicate. So many problems can be attributed to miscommunication."
As we all sat down and learned that while the man loved that other woman, he loved her like a sister; in fact, she was his sister, I chuckled inwardly. If only all solutions could be this simple.
——————
Everyone keeps asking who I am. I am the Closer. A long time ago, my story ended on a cliffhanger. My author died before he could resolve it. I can barely remember what it was anymore. There are too many stories in between. Too many happy endings. But I know what my mission is. I will never let any other characters live through my own agony. I will make sure there are no more cliffhangers. | 22 | to make sure no stories end on cliffhangers. | 127 |
Ever since I could remember, I had the world at my feet: cars, houses, the best and newest of everything. Growing up, I had nannies to heed my every need. But there was one thing that had me curious and I'd often ponder it late at night: my parents. As long as I could remember, they'd never been in the same room. If one appeared, like magic, the other disappeared, followed by a hoard of people I had no hope of knowing. I was told they were cousins, servants or a myriad of other things. My parents divorced when I was young, but no one had ever told me why - as if it was some big secret. But at 16, they could continue to treat me like a child, but I had no interest in complying any longer. After years of being spoilt, I was both stubborn and self-aware. Next week would be 16th birthday and I'd demanded an audience of two - as my present. They wouldn't deny their only child, would they?
I called both my parents and asked them to meet me separately before my birthday. Since neither lived with me daily, I had to be a note on their calendar unfortunately. Success in riches did not inspire a richness in affection. Both of them kept me at arm's distance. But again, I had no care for their eccentricities any longer.
After tasking my secretary with reaching my parents, I went to my room. Unbeknowest to most, I had cameras all over the house and would use it to spy on happenings around the house, but mostly to discover those whispered secrets no one would share with me.
I met with both my parents the next and began to ask a series of questions, some inquisitive and others, bordering ridiculous. I'd recorded both conversations and intended to play them to each other in the hopes of eliciting an honest response from either. I'd find out later that my plan started a conflict that'd been put to bed years earlier. See, my parents didn't argue and debate. No, they strategized, then attacked in silence.
The evening of my birthday, they both heard a recording of the other - a mix of lies I'd invented and convenient utterances. But instead of the outrage and emotion I'd expected, both pulled out their phones, sent quick messages, then hugged me and told me that everything was going to be alright.
That night, I was awakened by the sound of gunshots. A servant came to wake me, she was in full armor and handed me a gun. I was aware that most of the servants were working for my parents, one or the other, but was surprised at the battle gear and military-like demeanor. She told me that I needed to leave and that the safest place for me was away from my parents reaches. Soon, I was taken to a car and after a 30 minute drive, I was told to get out - we were standing at entrance to a ranch. I'd never been here before.
As I walked in, I saw my grandparents, both sides surprisingly. They were polite to each other, but I'd never seen this familiarity between them. They escorted me to a sitting room and began to tell me the long winding history that was my present, some of which I'd decoded myself previously. Finally, after their explanations, I'd asked them why they'd brought me here.
"We can no longer trust your parents to remain impartial when it comes to you. We're not sure what stirred the peace, but both have decided to take you from the other and prepare you for leading their house. This is problematic for us, since both sides lead back to you. We've decided to train you ourselves in the hope that you will rise above them, without bias or conflict. You will be the future of both house, in a true integration of family."
I asked them, "And what about my parents. You don't expect them to respond lightly to this, do you?"
"No, of course not. They wouldn't be the wolves we've raised them to be," my maternal grandma scoffed. "They will be taking a personal hiatus, one that's been long coming. Don't feel sorry for them. They would've eventually destroyed both families."
I would later find out that they'd been sent to a prison somewhere in Russia indefinitely. I, on the other hand, had an empire to build. This is what I was made for. | 28 | Your parents are both high ranking members from two warring crime families. Your birth was supposed to signal peace, but ever since your parents divorced, it’s been a literal custody battle. | 266 |
"The numbers aren't real, Steve" the therapist said, adjusting her position in her chair. The slight movement caused the number above her head to shift, bobbling along with her subtle movements. The ghostly image of the number 49 hovered above her head like a raincloud on a sad cartoon character.
"What would the number 49 mean to you?" I said, out of curiosity.
The therapist clicked her pen and wrote the question down. "Why do you ask, Steve?" She said, in that calm collected voice that all therapists used when they really meant "What the fuck".
"Well, that's your number. 49. I can see it right there." I pointed to the ghostly number, about a foot over her head.
She patiently waited for more, but I was finished. I wanted to know her opinion on the number, not my ramblings on theories.
"Well, my favorite football team is the San Francisco 49ers" she said, giving my question some serious thought. "My mother was born in 1949. I think that's it, though." She looked back to me. "What does 49 mean to you?"
"Nothing. Thats your number." I pointed directly above my head at my own number. "Mine's 35."
She wrote that down as well. "Does 35 mean anything special to you?"
"No, thats what I keep telling you!" I shouted, then composed myself. "Sorry about that." I muttered.
My therapist ticked a box on the top of her clipboard. "So you see these numbers over everyone's heads?"
"Yeah, everyone except babies. They don't get a number until they turn 1." I grumbled. I knew she didn't believe me, was just trying to wade through my insane rambling to find the core issue at work.
"What numbers do they have?" She asked. "Do they start with a low number, or a high one?"
"Usually high", I said, rubbing my eyes.
"And who has low numbers, typically?"
I thought long and hard about that one. "Mostly homeless people, orphans, people down on their luck."
I heard her pen scribbling an entire paragraph out on her page. "So these numbers seem to change based on your life's experiences, then? Since children don't have any experience yet to be judged by, and the unhomed beggers are at the bottom of the barrel, so to speak."
I considered her conclusion. "Maybe. I'm not sure though. I've seen a man in a tuxedo with a 0 before."
My therapist tilted her head quizzically. "Where was this at?" She asked.
"Outside a casino" I answered. "He was walking out as I walked in."
"Could he have just lost everything? Bet it all on black and it came up red, that kind of thing." She ventured.
"Could be. Didn't ask him." I replied.
A small 'ding' sounded from an egg timer on the therapists desk. She clicked her pen closed and rose, extending a slim hand for a shake. "Well Steve, our time is up for the day. Please schedule a follow up next week with the receptionist."
I shook her proffered hand, said goodbye, and walked down the hall towards the small checkout window. I waited patiently for my turn as a man before me checked out first. His number was 24.
"I'm sorry, sir, the card was declined." The receptionist told him. "We'll need alternate payment within 30 days, and we can't schedule your next visit until that balance is paid."
He hung his head, and I saw his number change from 24 to 12. "I'll try", he muttered softly, and walked out the main doors to the parking lot.
I didn't move. That was the first time I had seen a number change in real time. What did that mean? The man was out of money, apparently, but his number wasn't 0. He said he'd try to pay, which meant he still had some hope left that he could...
"Mr. Velkmann?" The receptionist called out, snapping me back into reality.
"Your insurance has declined this visit, I'm afraid." She said, trying to talk as reassuringly as she could. "We can work out a payment plan, but your total today is $11,052.30"
My blood ran cold. "What? But..." I fell silent. I didn't want to have to try to fight this on top of my current mental battles. I just...
I could feel myself give up. "ok", I muttered, and headed towards the door as well. I saw my reflection in the glassed entryway doors, and read the number above my own head.
0, it displayed.
I couldn't summon the energy to care.
/r/SlightlyColdStories | 125 | You are able to see a number hovering on top of people's head, including your own. Usually the numbers don't change much. You suspect it is the number of loved ones you have because beggars and orphans usually have a 0 or 1. One day, you watch in horror as your number dropped from 35 to 0. | 224 |
The invasion began with pods raining down from the sky, spilling out thousands of vicious creatures designed for war. They hunted humans in packs, picking off the isolated, rural areas of the world with ease. The fight turned bloody as entire towns fought and failed to repel the weapons.
Victory was certain; the beasts were unkillable. Their dense wool-like coat protected them from the Saharan heat and the Siberian cold alike. A thick, impenetrable skin protected them from all but the greatest of human weapons. Four legs propelled them to super human speeds and sleek statures stalked their prey from the shadows. All they needed was flesh to sustain them and their overlords starved them for months to ensure killer instincts. These hungry, killing machines stormed a quarter of the world in days, and the rest was primed to follow.
Their downfall began not with a bang, but with a joke. Young humans refered to the magnificent beasts of war as space puppers and sheepy bois. Then, the American and Scottish farmers launched a counter attack with bioweapons of their own. They didn't employ beasts of war. No, their bioweapons were ones of espionage.
These so called Golden Retrievers were well-matched to the size and speed of the bioweapons. Although not armed for war, they corrupted the beasts by bowing before them and offering gifts of small, green balls and thin, plastic discs. The Golden Retrievers instilled a wave of sedition amongst the bioweapons. The beasts ran alongside the Goldens and refused to hunt them.
Before long, humans began giving the beasts offerings of their own. They threw the green balls to appease the weapons. Then, humans lured them in with scraps of meat and hide to sate their appetite. The deal was clear: hunt me and I'll fight; join me and I'll give more. The choice was between an easy meal, or a hard one.
Once their bellies were filled thanks to human hands, the bioweapons began defecting in droves. They joined the ranks of other formidable human bioweapons such as the Karelian Bear Dogs and the German Shepards. None were a true match for the invaders, but their ferocity was satisfying, as was their new stream of food. The bioweapons followed in the steps of their new partners and fought alongside humans.
When the seditious bioweapons turned against their own, it turned the tide of the war. Blood Hounds tracked the remaining hostile bioweapons across every mountain, forest, and stream. Cattle dogs and Corgis led friendly bioweapons in encirclement maneuvers around pockets of resistance. Then, the emboldened beasts led the final assault against their own kind. Few returned from the battle, but all weapons who did were hailed as heroes. The aliens sounded the retreat and collected what was left of their forces.
In the end, the aliens never understood how the humans engineered their bioweapons to turn against themselves. It was impossible. All the while, humans saw hungry beasts to serve their purpose. It was inevitable. | 32 | The ability to domesticate and turn any creature loyal is a supernatural power unique to humans, but it has never been noticed... at least until an alien race invaded, viewing us as easy targets for their near-invincible bioweapons. | 203 |
To be fair, it wasn’t like I spoke up right away nor did I try to voice my profession after even an adjacently medically trained person offered. There was simply no one on this plane that could handle the trauma that a cockpit blowout had caused. The pilot was dead, the co-pilot had a lacerated femoral artery and a total amputation of his left arm just above his elbow. He was leaking bad enough that he’d be running low soon.
The whistling of the breach behind me was all that could be heard in the cabin. About fifty-some people were shoved into this ancient airborne tube with little respect for personal space. No one seemed to know what to do with the offer other than a dozen who said a quiet prayer to themselves. Weirdly, it wasn’t all the ones with visible pendants. I never understood that aspect of mainstream faith.
Belzog never wanted to be mentioned, by me or anyone in the practice. Before the War of the Ancients, as he calls it at least, he had been a lot more visible and communicated freely the meaninglessness of death. Why let a body rot when it still has potential when your soul has left?
“Okay,” the flight attendant that had yelled tried her best not to sound utterly exhausted by my offer but failed. Looking around quickly she added, “Maybe keep an eye on him,” to someone beside her.
“Well!” another lady stood up resolutely and announced as she produced a vial of something from her bag, “I’m not supposed to have this on board but if the satan man can speak I can sacrifice my essentials for this.”
“Essentials?” the flight attendant asked, now confused.
“My oils,” the lady answered like it was obvious.
“Sit down,” the flight attendant demanded to the women but looked at me and loudly added, “Both of you!”
“Not like I can do anything right now anyway,” I muttered to myself as I sat back down and poured myself another glass of wine as the plane hit a rough bit of turbulence.
To be honest, I wasn’t really sure who was flying at this point. I had heard before that the computer guidance system had been knocked out entirely and we were entirely on manual backup until someone got it back up. The captain was brainless at this point so there was nothing I could do with him but with the co-pilot’s nervous system still intact I’d be able to pull information out of him once he passed.
A quick descent, caused by more turbulence and an inexperienced pilot, turned into a rocking motion that eventually levelled out. I listened to the screams mildly amused by the sudden impact of the four or five dozen people in front of me suddenly trying to understand mortality. It was cute. Had they been good enough or whatever kept floating around with more calls for medical experience.
My master always gave me a weird sort of clarity when it came to the afterlife, mine was to be in his service. That was all I ever got. I didn’t know what I was doing or what I would be subjected to but I was told after doing level one tech support I could handle it. Not like that was a pleasant thought.
“No, Stan, stay with me!” I heard the nice attendant yell as a sudden, overpowering scent of lavender filled the cabin, making everyone cough.
“Let me save him!” the bottle-wielding, blueberry of a human yelled as she tried her best to shimmy into the aisle. I couldn’t watch. I would start laughing if I watched and I doubted anyone wanted to hear that.
“Miss!” the attendant yelled back, “Sit down!”
“No,” the lady argued as something was shoved or pushed over.
“Oh, it’s in my mouth!” someone else yelled before more than a couple of people started gagging into their coughs.
Another jerky descent and a burst of fresh air shut most people up. The cockpit door opened in a burst of air and noise that cut through everything and everyone. If something had been said before the door closed again, I wasn’t able to hear it nor anything else until my ears repressurised.
“Well, you're a necromancer,” a cocky, almost desperate chuckle came from in front of me after my hearing returned.
“So I am,” I stated as I stood.
No one really paid me much mind as I went to grab my bag out of the overhead compartment. It was sort of a good thing I was going to a convention considering it was really the only time I would put up with airport security thoroughly going through my stuff. I pulled a couple of long pins out of my bag along with my wand, focus, and enough powdered Stysl crystal to resurrect this poor fool.
Something was said at some point that must have defeated most of the passengers enough to have them either stand in front of their seats or have them sit and try and text loved ones. The aisle was almost empty. The lavender lady was being pushed into the door we had all entered through but calmed down when I picked up her empty bottle and handed it back to her.
“My turn?” I asked as I stood over the body of what was once the co-pilot. The attendant looked miserable but shrugged.
“Why not?“ she muttered exhaustedly before adding, “We all are going to die anyway.”
“Eventually, yes,” I agreed as I reached down and tried to rummage through the dead man's pressed dress pants. It wasn’t personal. I needed his ID.
“Could you at least be respectful?” the attendant asked as I held up the little plastic card I was looking for.
“Can’t do this without his binding words,” I explained. It was technically his name but binding words always sounded better.
“Oh, good,” the attendant muttered miserably, “God help us.”
Ignoring her remark, not like anyone onboard was a skilled enough practitioner to be of use, I poured enough of the crushed onto my subject to satisfy my estimates. Magic wasn’t an exact science by any means. Basically, depending on the body, the energy required varied radically both in start-up cost and maintenance. No harm being a little overzealous this time. With his ID in hand, I started the reanimation process.
“Stanley Malcolm Tilsen,” I stated loudly as I plunged the two pins that I was holding into the man’s chest. Aimed at his spine the two would act as a bridge between the crystals and his organs. Feeling the two heat up, I stood back up and commanded, “Rise.”
Much to the shock of the attendant, Stanly did jerk away from me but without a noise rose to attention. There was a silence in the cabin that there hadn’t been any other time before as the other passengers got a glimpse of Mr. Tilsen breathlessly still leaking out the last of his life on the low pile carpet below all of us. I loved my job. Something about the stunning silence always amused me even if I could never take credit afterwards.
That was part of the deal to be truthful. I got to touch the sticky mess of what was left of the captain, poor Mr. Tilsen got to land the plane with the help of magic, and no one ever got to remember what happened or myself. The essential oils lady would of course credit herself but newspapers and online media would declare it a miracle sacrifice of the co-pilot. Then they would forget it as quickly as it had happened.
Belzog be blessed.
---
edit: spelling | 1,150 | A panicked scream of "Is anybody here a doctor?" You tentatively raise your hand. "I'm a Necromancer, if you're willing to wait a few minutes." | 5,539 |
In the beginning, it was just me... and Darleen. My earliest memory is of a brown-haired child running in the park with me, her blue sparkling eyes dancing in the sunlight, who told me she wanted to be together with me. Forever.
We grew up together in a small town called Somers Bayship-- blink and you'd miss it-- and it wasn't exactly brimming with children. So Darleen and I spent a lot of time together, running through the woods, playing in the bay, and one uneventful day she turned to me and said, "I love you."
It was an odd, almost random thing, but I smiled and told her I loved her, too.
We had to travel into a larger town for high school and that meant new people. Darleen wasn't pleased. I tried to tell her that new people meant new friends. She just stared quietly at me with her sapphire eyes. Darleen's father was a bit of a mystery when we were growing up but made his presence known in a big way. He immediately came to greet her in a really big car and said her future was assured. I found out that he'd been working in Chantry Hills as a stock broker and, for some reason I couldn't fathom at the time, Darleen's mother had chosen to live in Somers Bayship to raise Darleen alone. I didn't get a chance to see her as often because of her dad but there were other people, interesting people, who caught my attention.
Darleen hated that.
I met a wonderful girl with feathered blonde hair, a petite-framed gymnast with a love for cheerleading. Morgan’s brown eyes seemed to light up when she laughed and, well, it was overwhelming. Falling in love wasn't even a question. Of all the guys in school she liked being with me the most, probably because I wasn't always complaining about not living in a big city, and it wasn't long before we were looking into the future together.
How long had it been? A year? Two? But out of the blue, just after Morgan and I were announced Homecoming King and Queen, a mousy brown haired girl with glasses stopped me in a corridor at school. The girl's blue eyes were swimming with tears.
"I still love you, Billy."
It took a second for me to recognize her. Darleen had grown from the young child I'd remembered and was now a gawky, pimply teenager. "Wow, Darleen, how have you been?"
"Rotting in a private school." She gestured at a poster on the wall. "You've obviously been doing well for yourself."
“Well, life has been good. I made running back on the team.” Why did this feel so awkward?
“Billy, you were always gifted. I remember running with you when we were young, too. You were always just a bit too fast to catch. Remember when–”
I heard people coming down the hallway and glanced around. "Look, I'm flattered,” I said hesitatingly, “but Morgan's my girlfriend. This could get pretty awkward.”
“What, are you ashamed of me? Because I’m not a perky blonde with milk jugs?” Darleen’s face grew dark, hostile, and for a moment she was unrecognizable. "Morgan," she sneered. "Goldilocks doesn't have two brain cells to rub together, Billy. She's a tramp, cheerleader of the month, flavor of the week."
"Hey, that's my girlfriend," I protested. “Where’s all this coming from?”
"No, she's your arm warmer. You'll get sick of her soon enough. And when you do--" her voice dropped into a menacing whisper "-- remember that I loved you first. Billy." And Darleen stormed off crying.
Graduation came and went. Hello adulting. Morgan was really adamant that we start saving for a house so I looked up jobs that paid really high (the higher, the better) and ended up cleaning fish in Alaska. If you'd asked me a few months ago, hey, Billy, you want to clean fish in Alaska? I'd have laughed. But it was for Morgan, and a guy who wasn't going to college had to do something for his future, so I went.
I still could smell fish guts when I walked up to Morgan's front door, newly cut bank account book in hand, and engagement ring tucked into my back pocket. The front door was broken…. The police questioned me, of course. “Why did you walk into the house instead of calling us first? How long did you know her before…”
The next few years were pretty rough. Officially, I was never charged. In the public eye, though... Chantry Hills was a small town. Most people knew that I was in Alaska for the summer; the ones who didn't, or didn't care, were always quick to point me out and walk the other way. I got a job in a manufacturing plant in Forestry Greens; even my parents thought it would "be in my best interest" to get away from judging eyes. It didn't help that somehow Mom had gotten pregnant and wanted my room as a nursery.
I went without a fuss.
The money I was going to use as a down payment for a house, our house, instead went towards a few months rent while I tried to get my life together. I tried to move on, I did, but never managed to get a second date, even when the girls were really into me. I blamed my past, my job, my apartment, until one day....
"I still love you." The woman who stood in my doorway was incredible: a raven feathered-hair beauty with generous curves accentuated by a white blouse and a tight black pencil skirt. Had I met this person before? It took several heartbeats to realize I wasn't moving and the woman’s laughter lilted out of her mouth with an airiness that didn’t match the look on her face at all. "I told you, William.” Silver bracelets adorned the stranger’s wrists and clinked together as she gestured. “You got sick of her, moved away, and now look at you, all alone." Sparkling blue eyes methodically took in my body, tearing through my clothing and willing my submission with an animalistic hunger.
Darleen, I realized. Her pasty complexion was clear, tanned, and marked with makeup so perfect it had to be tattooed onto her face. Even her eyebrows had been replaced by thin markings. Darleen's brown hair was now done just like Morgan's in high school, and her body was sculpted into sharp, well-defined curvature. Just like Morgan’s.
"I'm so glad you remember. It's Darla, now. How are you, William?”
William? I’d never gone by the name William because of my father. “I’m alright, I suppose. How are you, Darleen–”
“Darleen was the name of a fat stupid child.” Luscious red lips suddenly sneered into a white-toothed maw. “Darleen didn't have the courage, the strength, to accomplish what I have.” The bared fangs disappeared into an inviting smile. “She didn't have the will to succeed where others failed, where I won, William. It took money, effort, planning to get to this point. I've grown up. Like what you see?"
"Darleen, I--"
"I. Said. My name is Darla, now." Her eyes narrowed into slits. "Darla is a business woman with connections. Darleen was an ugly nothing who could only cry when you left her behind for Goldilocks."
"Darla."
Darla’s whole body seemed to shudder with pleasure. "Yes," she purred. "I've missed you, William."
"Uh, William is my father. My name is Billy--"
Her eyes flashed again. Don't, those eyes told me. You know what I want.
"Right, ‘Darla,’ anyway, I'm kind of surprised to see you. I didn't tell many people from back home where I was moving to." What was that look on her face? She seemed so... satisfied.
"No, you didn't. But that's okay," she cooed. "It's not like you were difficult to find. You must not have been able to find me. I was in Virginia, after all." Something in my face must have given away what I was thinking because her face, once a sensuous flirtation, transformed itself into a cold, calculated mask. "No," she said slowly, evenly. "You didn't even bother to look for me, did you?"
"I... so much has happened since--"
"William!" Those eyes flared, softened, and then beckoned. "Look at me." Darla performed a slow and suggestive turn, showing off angles that only plastic surgery could have achieved. "This is for you." She gently pouted her red full lips and tenderly bit the lower. "Totally." Her hands traced a black-lace bra underneath the white blouse. "Entirely. Everything I have is yours."
This was all too much. "I don't know what to say," I muttered. I couldn’t look anymore... at this copy of her. "I'm sorry I hurt you."
"Hurt me?" She drew closer, spoke softer, and I could almost taste a gentle vanilla from her nape. "No, Billy made me stronger. Billy taught me that I had to do things, great things, to convince him that my love was real."
"She's dead, Darleen!" The memories flooded back and I turned away. A well-manicured claw forced me back towards a cold and icy stare.
"Darla," she hissed. "I know, William, it's a small town. People talk. Billy got on a boat. For her. For their future. For a little version of her to put into Billy's room. But that future is over now." She released my face and sighed. "I felt for you, really." Tears welled in eyes that had lost their sparkle, framed in a face that was perfect, beautiful, and unfeeling. "I heard you found her and her parents, William. It must have been awful, realizing that you went all that way, suffered so much, just to find out that she was gutted like yesterday’s catch."
"Look, it was really nice meeting you but I'm really not in the mood for this conversation."
Her hand darted forward to keep my door from closing. "We haven't even had the conversation, William. This is when you say that I'm everything you want." Buttons hit the floor and rolled on the ground with a hollow rattle. "This is when you look at me and say 'Darla, you're everything I want' and we go out like we were meant to." | 26 | You've been abducted by a beautiful and rich woman. She wants you to marry her. If you refuse she will kill you. | 88 |
The genie chuckles at your distress.
“Okay, that’s fair,” You say. “I deserved that. I should have known better.”
“*What would you like for your second wish, Master?*” The genie asks with a malevolent smile. “*Perhaps a new set of legs?*”
“Naw, I’m good” You reply, tippity-tapping around on your new crab legs. “This was an excellent life lesson for me. I guess you have a lot of time in that lamp to think about how to twist every wish into something unpleasant, eh?”
The genie nods. “*Centuries.*”
You nod in sympathy. “In that case, for my second wish…”
The genie smirks, fingers twitching as he makes ready to snap your wish into existence.
“I wish your lamp to be embedded in the middle of a worthless asteroid a billion light years from any civilisation and you must return to grant my third wish if any life form ever releases you.”
“*Maybe I was too hasty with those crab legs,*” The genie says with a simpering smile. “*If you wish for your old legs back, I’ll totally deliver with no tricks.*”
You think about it for a moment, tapping a claw on the ground. “Nope. I’m happy with my second wish. Make it happen.”
“*I can give you wealth, power…*”
“Less talkie, more snappie. Grant my second wish right now.”
The genie vanishes in a puff of green smoke.
“Like I would ever fall for wishing that I had my *old* legs back,” You chuckle. “Fool me once…”
“You know,” you say to yourself. “Crabs can grow their legs back. I’m thinking crab leg might still be on the menu tonight.” | 112 | "State your first wish." "I wish I had crab legs." The genie grins deviously. "WAIT, I MEAN I WISH I HAD CRAB LEGS TO EAT, NOT TO REPLACE-" But it was too late, for your words are drowned out by the sound of your new legs clacking around. | 291 |
# Soulmage
**I flared up with a spell of light, illuminating the bizarre, angular field of spikes.** The flurry of hail obscured our little adventuring party's vision, and I felt very, *very* small against the backdrop of the strange structure.
"Hold on." Sansen held up a hand, one eye darting left and right as he scanned possible futures. Having an oracle on the team paid off time and time again, and now was no exception. "You know the pinnacle of light magic? Those bizarre invisible light spells that elves like to use?"
"The ones that make you nauseated, start losing all your hair, and die a horrible, lingering death of cancer?" I shuddered. "How the hell could I forget?"
"It's called deathlight," Meloai helpfully added.
"Yeah. Deathlight." Sansen frowned, peering at a future timeline only he could see. "There's... something similar to deathlight surrounding this place. In most of the futures after we explore this place, we... die. In ways *very* similar to a deathlight attack."
Instinctively, the four of us took a step back. We'd fought against elves before, and nobody deserved the horrid illnesses their deathlight spells wrought.
"Well... standard precautions against light magic should work, right?" I asked. "Cloaks of darkness for everyone?"
"Mm." Possible futures whirred around Sansen's head as he reconfigured his spell. "Yeah. Darkness spells apparently work just as well on deathlight as they do on normal light."
"Understood." I reached into my soul and swept one hand through the air, tearing a rift open to the Plane of Elemental Darkness. The dome of shadow closed around us, and the already-dim sunlight flickered and died.
Hopefully we wouldn't suffer the same fate.
"Hey." Lucet frowned. "Do we know if the deathlight is coming from... above us? Or could it be underground, too?"
"No idea," Sansen said.
"If we don't know... it might be a good idea to make a full shroud. Just in case the source of the deathlight is beneath us." I could tell from her shy expression that she was halfway to apologizing for the suggestion, so I gave her arm a reassuring squeeze.
"Yeah. Good idea. One second—gather closer, I can't maintain a complete shroud without shrinking the sphere a little."
The four of us squished together as I crafted a full shield of darkness. It was a bizarre experience, proceeding—the only light source was the orb of radiance in my palm, and the shroud of darkness gave the illusion that we were standing in an infinite void. As we walked forwards, the only warning we'd get before nearly bumping into a towering, almost organic thorn was its sudden appearance from beyond the edge of the shroud, as if it were surfacing from a deep and murky ocean.
Altogether, I was relieved when we reached the door at the center of the spike field.
"It's a dungeon entrance," I said, at the same time as Lucet said, "Doesn't look like any dungeon entrance I've seen."
We looked at each other, and Lucet blushed again, but I gestured for her to speak. Nervously, she said, "Well, uh... these doors... the writing on them doesn't match any language I know. And... I... I'm not sure they even *are* doors. I don't see a handle or a hinge or a spell trigger or anything."
"Alright, brute force time." Sansen's eyes gleamed as lens-shaped discs of oracular power swirled into existence around his eyes. "I'll look into a couple hundred futures where we try different ways to open this door, and if I don't find anything, we're breaking through."
I sat down, biting my lip, as Sansen's gaze unfocused, tracking dozens of futures simultaneously. Lucet whispered, "You okay?"
I shook my head. "If this place is filled with deathlight... do you really think anyone could've survived in here for that long? I'm just... I'm just worried that we've come all this way, and we're going to find him dead and rotting in the corridors of whatever this dungeon is. Or not-dungeon. I don't know."
Lucet opened her mouth, but before she could speak, Sansen said, "Alright, good news and bad news."
"Go for it," Meloai said.
"Good news is, I figured out how to open the door. Bad news: it involves not thinking of it as a door, and just blowing the darn thing down. Or in this case, shattering it. Lucet?" Sansen nodded towards the slim, frail girl.
Lucet took in a deep breath and nodded. "Right. You... you all might want to shield your eyes."
I did so, closing them and turning away. In my soulsight, I sensed power gather around Lucet's soul, and the witch of frost flicked her wrist—
Metal shrieked and snapped as Lucet plunged the temperature of the door down to as cold as could possibly be, rendering the structure as brittle as a dry leaf. It collapsed over its own weight, chunks of frosty, unidentifiable material shattering and cascading before us, leaving a massive hole into the complex's interior.
For a moment, nobody spoke.
Then I stood up. "Come on. No point in hanging around."
Bits of what used to be metal crunched beneath my boots as we entered the chamber. It was unknowable how vast the hall was from inside our bubble of protective darkness, but the air tasted stale and dusty, and the ground looked as though no feet had trod it for a long, long time.
"I... I don't think anyone's here, Cienne." Meloai swallowed heavily. "How... are you sure our intel was right? How would Jiaola even have gotten in here?"
"Wait." Sansen stopped. Then he swore. "Back up. *Back up.* Out, out, *out*!"
On the list of things you didn't want your party oracle doing, freaking out and trying to run upon looking into the future was one of them. "What? What is it?" I started backpedaling, but Sansen swore and a humanoid figure in a odd, full-body suit and reflective helmet charged into the shroud of darkness—
And we all fell down in a tangle of limbs.
A.N.
Sorry to leave it here, but I'm sick and typing with only nine fingers. Have to take a break.
This story is part of Soulmage, a frequently updated serial in progress. 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-five other chapters before this one, so there's plenty to catch up on. And if you want more stories, check out r/bubblewriters! | 123 | “This place is not a place of honor,” reads the text. “No highly esteemed dead is commemorated here… nothing valued is here. What is here was dangerous and repulsive to us. This message is a warning about danger.” | 575 |
"Be yourself" is such bullshit. I can make anything I want happen and have been since I was a teenager but that comes with a price. Imagine if you thought a safe should land on your boss and then one does. Or that the car who cut you off explodes and then it does. I learned long ago to stay inside as much as I can. Luckily--and I use that word with all the saturated irony I can muster--after covid I didn't have to look hard for work. All my calls were always resolved soon after they called in. But, I get lonely at home all day and it was on a walk to the grocery store that I first saw her. Tearing through the sky on her way to defeat the Octoclopse or some other random threat that comes all too often in this world. As she faded into the distance, a thought crossed my mind. "it'd be nice to be able to interact with someone without worrying about an intrusive thought tearing them apart". Fact she was as close to my version of the perfect woman before I even laid eyes on her didn't hurt matters.
So began my dual life. I'd usually dress up in some garish costume and commit some inane crime to get her attention. She would fly in, proudly proclaim her catchphrase "crime only pays in pain. Time to make a deposit!" I was convinced that the local bank gave her a commission every time she said it but by day I helped people so old they couldn't go into an antique store without having a price stamped on them with their internet so who was I to judge how she paid the rent?
This continued for a few months as I escalated my antics. I even threw a bank vault at her(deposit that! Lol) and she caught it like it was a nerf football. After I got to unwind for a few minutes I'd capitulate and let her win. She always smiled so wide as she handed me over to the police. "and this time don't let him escape!" But I always would.
On the Friday before a 3 day weekend I left the house all costumed up and headed to the center of town. I thought I'd like to see how stealing an aircraft carrier felt but as I lifted the ship with my mind the silence caught my attention. She made a point to fly just under the speed of sound so I was expecting the air to herald her arrival but as I rose above the ocean with my new toy, she was nowhere. The sailors watched in horror as I threw it at the moon and a few minutes later a massive fireball erupted on the surface. I'd missed the sea of tranquility by at least a thousand miles so the original landing sites would not be ruined. I saw the nearest officer and lifted him along the same trajectory. "where is your savior? She's always been here by now!" I demanded. The man's face being purple from the blood flow rushing up was the only reason he wasn't white as a ghost. "you haven't heard?" He squeaked out.
Sorry for lack of formatting. If there's enough interest I'll do another part. Thanks for reading. | 43 | you are a supervillain who hides his identity. Not because you're trying to throw the heroes off your trail, but rather b cause you're shy. | 141 |
“I should never have gotten into this.” You say as you dig out the rubble from what was once a bungalow,searching for the corpses of Herbert and Rose Melvin, a old couple that had been either crushed or asphyxiated to death in the wake of Hurricane Henry. You look above you to see a helicopter with the logo of the Magis Biomancers stenciled on the side. Those arrogant pricks. They were the ones that were always glorified, portrayed as heroes when we Necromancers did all the work. Helicopters. We were transported here by a 35 year old truck that looked like it was being held together by spit and prayers. You look back down at the rubble at your feet.
“There are all sorts of magic spells, from ones to soothe sore throats to ones that raise the dead,and there’s nothing,*nothing,* for levitation. Real advantage we have here.” you grumble. Your shovel strikes something with a wet crunch.
Bingo.
You slowly extract the head of Herbert Melvin. It’s got dents and cracks everywhere in the skull,with added worms to make it more appetising. Really gets you raring for a meal. “Ugh. This sucks.” you say as you place his head into a standard issue body bag.
“One down. Who knows how many pieces to go.”
After 3 hours of assembling the cursed puzzle known as Herbert Melvin’s corpse, you can finally knit his body together and zip up his body bag. The bag squelches as you carry it back to base camp. You place his body down on a steel table and take out your required items. A wand,some amethyst powder,and a rune made from the skin of a rat. After stitching it to his head, you start chanting the spell required for you to assume rudimentary control of him. He convulses as the magics of your god Whiro consume him. Blood spurts,bones crack and he lets out a ghostly scream.
Finally, you have complete control of him.
As ordered,you command him to get onto a refrigerated truck painted black with the logo of the Necromancers painted on it.
Where the truck goes though,you shall not know. Most likely the incinerator or the Magos Necromancers. “Ours not to reason why.” you think.
You relinquish control of him as the truck drives off.
Back to work. | 23 | Necromancy is a new field of magic. You recently graduated as one of the few degreed necromancers in the country, You are currently helping search and rescue find bodies after an earthquake. Biomancers have it easy finding the living. There are so many dead. So many. | 109 |
I was reading a book when I heard a loud thud from my living room. At first I ignored it. I have a dog, you see, a big old St Bernard, and Rex has a tendency to go gallumphing all over the place, then run into furniture, and after immediately return to his running about.
However, when I heard a voice from the other room, I began to panic. I lived alone(aside from Rex) and wasnt expecting any company. I eased myself off my chair, grabbed the dictionary from the shelf, and began to slowly and carefully make my way to the living room.
As I approached the doorway, the voices got louder. My heart was pounding so loud in my ears I couldn't understand what they were saying.
When I reached the doorway, I took a deep breath before going in. I raised the book. Stepped into the living room. And immediately froze. I scanned the scene before me.
Rex, on the couch, with his expression guilty and his snout soaked in slobber. My mother's prize vase, knocked sideways onto the floor and coated in dog drool. And the man, with dark green skin. And no legs.
The man gave me a nod. "Hello, Master of my Master."
"I'm going to faint." I murmured. And then I toppled.
-----
I came to and discovered Rex standing over me, dripping drool onto my face. I sat up, and wiped most of the grossness off with my shirt. "Ew. Thanks, Rex."
He responded by wagging his tail furiously.
I turned my gaze back to the man." You're still here."
"Indeed I am." He nodded. "I am tasked to remain by my master's side until he makes his wish for the day. "
I rubbed my face with a hand, accidentally smearing around the dog spit I missed. "Jesus christ."
Rex cocked his head at me, and the green man shook his head with a smile. "Nope. Just your average genie."
"Ok, so. Let me get this straight. My dog," I pointed at Rex, "*that dog right there*, woke up a genie, who was living in my mother's favorite vase." The genie nodded. "The same vase," I continued, "that my mother filled with flowers 24/7/365 throughout my childhood, and up until the day she passed."
The genie nodded again. "I was always wet when your mother owned my vase." He noted, sounding annoyed.
"And now that my dog woke you up," i pointed at Rex, more aggressively this time, "*again,* that dog *sitting right there*, he gets a wish a day, until...?"
"Until the day my master makes a wish I cannot provide, or that is not his own desire, or entirely fails to make a wish, he is allowed one wish a day." The genie replied.
I rubbed the last of the slobber from my face with a shirt sleeve. "Okay. Okay. Glad we got that sorted out." I sat down on the couch, and Rex hopped up next to me, plopping his big dumb head in my lap. I scratched his ear absently.
The room was silent for a while, aside from Rex's leg thumping on the couch, and his tail wagging madly.
"So, did Rex make a wish yet?" I asked the genie.
"I don't know." He replied, his tone cheery. "I can't speak dog." | 887 | As you enter your living room, you find your dog, a bottle soaked in drool, and a genie. "Greetings, master of my master" the genie welcomes you. | 3,289 |
"Sanctuary. Please."
It was two words, but they struck fear into the hearts of people everywhere. Just two weeks ago, we had been living in ignorance. The oceans were a place of wonder, delight, of beauty. Sure, we knew there could be strange things living in the depths, but those were oddities. To be laughed at, or made fun of, but never taken seriously. And then...
The message had gone out to the government first. When they had no response, it had preempted every entertainment channel. It was on everyone's computer, everyone's phone, everyone's old MP3 player.
"Sanctuary. Please." The words blazoned across the screens. Attached to them was a file. A video recording. I didn't know how many people had clicked on it out of curiosity, only to turn it off again. I did know it took me ten attempts to get through the first few minutes. The problem was that the aliens that sent it looked so humanoid. Obviously, they could breathe underwater and resist great pressures but that seemed to be the only visible difference.
It started serenely enough, like security cam footage. People walking, talking, and getting something from the strange alien ships. They had obviously been in the depths of the ocean for quite some time. But slowly, ever so slowly, the light shifted. Their artificial illumination dimmed, casting strange shadows. And out of those shadows, things came.
At first, you didn't see them correctly. You thought they were oddly shaped fish or some other creature of the depths. But when they moved towards the camera, closer and closer, you realized. Those things were not fish. Not any kind of deep-sea angler, or translucent prey. No. They were... wrong somehow. Something to do with the eyes perhaps. Or the large gaping mouths. Or perhaps it was the hands...
Worse than those, worse than the carnage the things caused among the strangely humanoid aliens, was what you saw after the death had been wreaked. The corpses littered the empty sea bed like so much trash. Sometimes, whoever operated the camera zoomed in on one particular body. This one had started to move. Not sway with the deep currents, but wriggle, the skin sloughing off to reveal bones. And to reveal more. Strange coral growths, things that had never seen the sunlight, sprouted out of the bodies, anchoring them to the ocean floor. Raw, fleshlike things that released almost invisible spores.
Here the camera swung as if it had been taken off its mounting. There were hurried, shaking images of walls and halls, quick glimpses of the alien's feet. Then we were in the sea again. Running, desperately running. You found yourself rooting for the alien to make it. They were heading for one of their small ships. The camera swung wide, spinning around until it landed on the sand. Fortunately, or unfortunately, the viewfinder still pointed into the ocean. There just at the edge of the light's reach, rose a large shape. If you followed the lines and shapes you could make out the building. Old, and older than old. And against that building...
A dark shape rose, large, unimaginably gigantic. The human mind couldn't comprehend what it was. Dark horrible words rolled off the tongue as it drew closer. That's where the footage ended. I know what it said. It took every linguist about two weeks to figure it out.
"We are awake."
And now, we the human race, send our own message out to the stars.
"Sanctuary. Please."
&#x200B;
Edit: Just changed one sentence structure so it made more sense. | 175 | Five years ago, unbeknownst to humanity, aliens invaded earth. thinking to establish themselves before we could move against them, they first went deep under the ocean. one week ago, a message from the aliens, broadcast in every world government, begged us for sanctuary. | 543 |
It wasn’t as bad a job as it sounds.
No, really- it’s not like every kid’s wish had to be granted or whatever. I felt more like a benevolent spirit than a slave, like this, and I got to prank the more obnoxious parents by actually getting their kids ponies or having a relative gift some really loud toys.
All things considered, it was pretty fun. If not for the poor pay I might have even considered doing this more often.
It was my last day of work that season and a busy one, to boot. Parents were shooting me nasty glares, some of the kids were crying, others were screeching and whatnot… it was pure chaos.
I loved it.
There was one family, though, that was more subdued than the rest. The parents were talking quietly among themselves as they waited in line while the elder child mutely watched his sibling, who was taking a nap in his embrace. They had the sense to wake the little girl up some time before their turn came up so that, when she finally settled in my lap, the girl was fully awake.
And loud. Very, very loud.
It was a good sort of loud, though. She was boisterous and cheerful in a way only young children could be, practically buzzing with excitement as she babbled about how much she liked last year’s gifts.
Ah. I remembered her.
She was a good kid. I usually granted her wishes, I think, even if I didn’t think I would; by the time her turn on my lap came to an end this kid always had me wrapped around her little finger. She told me how my gifts were used to prank her brother last winter and how her parents cried laughing as they tried to wash the paint off his hair. She admitted to feeling guilty, after, and spilling paint on her own hair also - blissfully unaware by the fact she only made more work for everyone. Her brother, whom she spoke of with more adoration than she held even for me, was the one to help her clean up in the end.
I remembered her brother, too.
He wasn’t that much older, maybe three years or so, but he sure acted like it. Even then, as his sister spouted nonsense at me with truly impressive speeds, he never smiled, never laughed. I am a genie, though, and to grant people’s deepest wishes I had to be attuned to their emotions, so I knew that there was not a single person in this hall more happy than this kid in that moment.
When his sister climbed off of me, as he did every time, the boy refused to take his turn.
“Come on, baby.” His mother spoke to him softly. “You get a turn on Santa’s lap, too.”
“It’s okay.” He assured his mother with the most disingenuous smile imaginable. I didn’t need to feel her emotions to recognize the heartbreak on her face. “Let’s go home.”
“NO!” Barked his sister, to the entire family's astonishmint. “You go sit with Santa, too.”
“Chrissy…”
“You go sit with Santa, too!” She insisted angrily, pointing at me.
And so, the kid ended up in my lap after all.
I asked the standard questions. He gave the standard replies. The kid didn’t seem very interested, really, and he very stubbornly refused to meet my gaze.
Until I asked after his wish, that is.
“Not something you could give me.” The kid muttered.
Arrogant of you to assume, I thought. Out loud, I said: “It never hurts to ask, my boy. What would you like for Christmas?”
He considered my question for another moment, emotions flashing through him at speeds so rapid that I barely managed to keep up. Anger. Desperation. Helplessness. Defeat.
“Can I… Can I ask for something for next Christmas?” He tried, finally raising his eyes to meet my own. The mess of his feelings reached the apex in his eyes, mixed into something akin to hope.
My interest was officially piqued. “Of course, my boy.”
He hesitated but voiced his request regardless: “Can you let my sister sit on your lap again next year?”
The question was… unexpected, to say the least. I didn’t have plans to do this again the following year, having amassed enough funds to live comfortably for a while. It wasn’t a bad job but it was still a job - there were many, many other things that I’d rather be doing.
I didn’t have to grant that wish but, somehow, lying just felt… wrong. I couldn’t put my finger on the reason.
In the moment that hesitation had cost me, the boy continued: “She really likes coming to see you. It’s… it’s her favorite day of the year. The doctors- the doctors said she doesn’t have that long left.” He choked up, barely forcing out the words through gritted teeth. “I just want her to have another chance to sit on your lap. Please?” Then, as if catching himself, the boy’s demeanor changed completely. The shame crashing against him in unforgiving waves made him avert his gaze again. “Sorry.” He said. “I know you can’t…”
“It’s a good gift to ask for.” I cut him off, offering him the warmest smile I could manage under these circumstances. I’m not sure it quite reached my eyes but he wasn’t looking at them, either way, so there’s that. “I’ll be waiting to see your sister here next year.”
My power answered my resolve, then, and to my surprise the boy seemed to be aware of it, also. He almost headbutted my chin with how sharply he looked up, his eyes comically wide and his mouth agape. “What…?”
“Our little secret.” I told him, grinning, suddenly very tired. I didn’t expect his wish to have such a toll on me; the sister must’ve been doing pretty bad.
“I- thank you. Thank you, thank you, thank you.” He chanted, hiding his face in my soft, puffy, ridiculously red coat, his shoulders shaking. “Thank you.”
“Next year, when you come see me,” I began, gently patting his head. “Ask something for yourself. Okay?”
“Okay.” The kid nodded firmly. I’m not sure he felt it, this time, but my magic made his conviction into a binding oath.
I felt my lips curl into a smile of their own volition. “Merry Christmas, Jonah.” | 28 | You’re a genie who’s fallen on hard times and decided to become a mall Santa to make ends meet. | 67 |
Day 1
I knew the first time I stepped foot into the basement that something was deeply wrong. Every cell in my body was telling me to *run.* All the happiness I had felt in the days leading up to then vanished in an instant.
My head turned instinctively towards the corner room attached to the back wall. The owner had bolted it shut. I knew I should never find out why. I switched the light off and ran back upstairs.
Day 3
My 10-year-old brother Noah was obsessed with the corner room and wanted to open it up. He had asked our dad what was in it. Apparently, the owner said it was just an old storage room that was in bad condition, but he had made it very clear it should be kept locked.
Day 7
I had a nightmare about the room. In it, I walked down into the basement, and phased through the door into the corner room. There was a dusty old mirror at the far end. Under the faint moonlight, I thought there was something odd about my reflection. It had this unnatural smirk. I touched the mirror...and something *entered* my body. Everything flashed white for a second. When I looked back at the mirror, my reflection was missing.
Day 10
I made some friends at my new school. I now actually looked forward to going to school, and even being ‘the new kid’, no one had bullied me! Life seemed like it was going to get better for once.
Day 12
My bedroom was on the ground floor. My sleep was interrupted by loud *clangs* coming from downstairs – the basement. I immediately thought it was an intruder. I quietly crept out of my room, and saw Dad rushing down the stairs with a baseball bat. He told me to stay down. I did, for about ten seconds. Then I got a knife from the kitchen and followed him.
I reached the bottom of the stairs. *Clang. Clang. Clang.* I saw Dad standing next to Noah. “Snap out of it, buddy.” Noah was hitting the padlock of the corner room with a hammer. He was in some kind of trance and ignored Dad. I ran over to them. Noah paid us no mind and kept hammering away at the padlock. *Clang. Clang. Clang.*
“Stop it Noah”, I shouted. He saw the knife in my hand, and had a look of recognition suddenly in his eyes. He slumped over.
Day 20
Noah was seen by the family physician today for his ‘sleepwalking’. Not much came of it – the doctor just told us to keep an eye on him and to see him again in a month. He seemed to be back to normal though.
Day 22
I caught Noah coming up from the basement. “What were you doing down there?”
He shrugged and went back to his room.
I went down the stairs to the basement. My head turned to the corner room. The door was wide open! My heart beating like a hammer, I inched closer and closer. I stepped inside.
The room looked exactly like in my dream – a small storage room with just a dusty old mirror resting against the floor at the far corner. I knew not to look at the mirror. I ran back upstairs.
That night during dinner, I told our parents what was up. Dad didn’t believe Noah when he said “the door opened by itself.” There was a big argument. I begged my parents not to look into the mirror. They said I was being ridiculous. Both of us were grounded that weekend.
Day 23
I noticed there was something different about Noah. He was a lot more withdrawn. His face had an unnatural smirk. He combed his hair differently. He talked differently. He walked differently. “Did you look into the mirror?” His eyes lit up.
“The mirror is so cool. I know there’s something special about it. You should look into the mirror, too.”
I shook my head. “Not in a million years.”
His head snapped to look me directly in my eyes. “You are not at least a bit curious?” I realised he was gritting his teeth. I said “nope” and walked away.
Day 24
One of our neighbours, Mr Walker visited us to give us some home-made cookies. He brought his dog with him. The dog growled at Noah the entire time he was there. Mr Walker apologised and left after only a few minutes.
Day 27
During dinner, Mum had an unnatural smirk on her face. I asked her if she looked into the mirror. She said she was doing her cleaning and saw it was dusty. “It now looks brand-new", she beamed.
Dad put down his fork. “I don’t know why Gary wanted to keep that room locked so much. There’s nothing in there!”
“Maybe the mirror is a priceless antique,” Noah piped up.
Dad shook his head. “Then why didn’t Gary take it with him?”
Day 29
Mum, Dad, and Noah woke me up in the middle of the night. They said it was time for me to look into the mirror. Even under faint moonlight coming through my bedroom window, I saw that Dad now had the unnatural smirk. I refused. They insisted.
Dad tried to physically pick me up. I clutched to my bed as best as I could. It was no use. I was not stronger than all three of them together. They dragged me down the stairs and into the basement. Once we reached the corner room, I could sense a part of my mind compelling me to look into the mirror. I shouted, “OK, I’ll do it.”
All three let go of me at once. I stood and inched closer to the mirror. Even with my eyes closed, I could sense my family staring at the back of my head. I was now right next to the mirror. With all the strength that I had, I *kicked* it.
The sound of breaking glass was overwhelming. I heard my family gasp. I opened my eyes and looked at the floor. It hadn’t broken like how glass normally breaks – instead of pieces of broken glass, there was sand all over the floor!
I turned and looked at my family. All three were clutching their heads. I tried to run past them. Dad snarled and grasped at my ankle. I kicked at him. He seemed shocked for a second and let go. I used the moment to *run.* From behind, I heard mum scream “you think destroying the mirror does *anything* to us? How dumb *are* you?”
I ran up the stairs. I ran to the front door and unlocked it. I ran down the street.
I knew where I should go – there was one man who possibly had the answers – Gary, the landlord. | 246 | The one terrifying thought that nobody seems to ask is, what was the evolutionary advantage of having our brains understand the concept of Uncanny Valley? That is, being afraid of something that looks human, but isnt... | 727 |
Re-reading the flowery script, the loops and curls more like art than letters, I had to make sure I read it correctly.
Yep. Fairy godmother was not here. Which explained the fifty-foot-long, fire-breathing scaled lizard in front of me.
. . .
"I'm not a *lizard*, thank you," he said as he turned up his huge, scaled snout at me, indignant. "I am a *dragon.* And per the letter I just handed you, I have agreed to help because I owe Griselka a favor."
The sight of a fifty-foot long dragon laying down in the street in front of my house was unnerving. In the evening light, his green, scaled skin was a shade of dull gray, that moved and shifted like huge snakes under his skin as his muscles flexed when he moved. His wings reminded me of a bat's: Membranes stretched between long, spindly fingers. The way he laid down was like a cat did, with his hind legs, belly, and forelegs on the ground...and whether by accident or on purpose, he flattened a few cars under him.
...One of them was mom's van, which was parked on the street. Or rather, it \*was* a van. Now, it was a metal-and-rubber pancake. Oooh, she was going to be so pissed.
"Wait--My fairy godmother has a name?" I asked.
"You didn't know her name?" The dragon deigned to look back at me, its huge, carrot-toothed maw smirking with amusement.
"No. She was always just 'Fairy Godmother.'"
"Maybe if you didn't pre-judge those who come to help you, perhaps you might get more information from them." He crossed his forelegs and rested his huge head on his paws. "Fire-breathing lizard," he muttered. "Hmph!" He rolled his eyes at that, ink-black smoke puffing from his nostrils at "Hmph!"
"Look, I apologize for that, but I'm in a bit of a bind, here. My fairy godmother--"
"Griselka," the dragon interrupted.
"--Yes, Griselka, agreed to help me find my true love tonight at a dance I'm going to--"
"Dressed like that, Princess?!?" The dragon looked me up and down, with a I-can't-believe-you're-wearing-that look.
"What's wrong with my clothes?"
"Nothing, if you're going to work on a farm."
I was exasperated. I looked down at my boots, jeans, and button-up shirt. "These are good clothes! I'm not changing--"
"Go back inside and change. Come out looking like a princess, or not at all. I don't help farmhands."
His attituded was starting to piss me off. Dragon or no, he was getting on my nerves, and moreso with the 'Princess' references. "My fair-- Griselka said you're supposed to help me, not insult me."
"I \*am* helping you. Now put on a gown worthy of a princess, or we're going nowhere," he stated, resolute. He raised his neck, angling his long snout at the horizon to look at the sun setting behind the hills of my hometown, the purple of evening heralding the coming of night. "Hurry up, Princess. We're burning what little light we have left." He settled his huge head back down on his forelegs, and went silent.
. . .
I came out a few minutes later dressed in a formal gown I had not worn in five years, since I went to a formal with my ex-boyfriend Craig The Jerk.
Craig The Jerk was the name my friend Dina gave him, and for a good reason--He was twenty going on twelve. As a result, I associated this gown with him, so I refused to do anything with it... until tonight.
The gown was quite beautiful: Dark blue jewel-tone silk accented with navy and black highlights, that was custom-made for me. As Dina said, it looked "like night wrapped around my body." The dress shoes were the same colors, and were the perfect addition.
"Does this make you happy?" I asked the dragon.
His scaled brow raised in admiration. "It does. Now \*this* is something more befitting your station," he said as he began to shift his position, his huge green tail swinging around and knocking over a few telephone poles as he turned, the resounding *CRACK!* of splintering timber echoing down my street. "Climb on," he ordered as he set down, flat, and extended a huge scaled foreleg the size of a small car in front of me.
"Climb on?"
"Did I not speak your language? Climb on, Princess."
"But the dance hall is just a few blocks that way," I replied as I did my best to climb up on the scaled limb in heels.
The first thing I noticed is that his skin was \*warm.* Very warm-- like hot-shower-temperature warm. I assumed this was due to the 'fire-breathing' part.
"We're not going to the dance hall, Princess." he replied as I settled into a small smooth spot between his shoulder blades, right where his wings met his back.
"We're not? And why do you keep calling me Princess?!? It's Anna, for goodness' sake!"
He turned his long, scaled head to look at me with his left eye, unblinking.
"Your fairy grandmother never told you?"
"Told me what?"
"Oh, Princess...you have so much to learn," he chuckled, which sounded to me like how the lions roared at the zoo when they're angry.
"Learn what?!?"
"Hang on!" I felt the back muscles under me tense up like coiled springs, right before a feeling of vertigo as my neighborhood changed in the time it took to blink: One second, I was on the ground. The next, I was a hundred feet up and climbing, the streets and houses looking like miniatures on a game board as pinpoints of light illuminated the houses and streets of my town. I felt the dragon's powerful muscles in his back as his wings beat in time, keeping us aloft.
At one point he stopped, and started to glide, the huge wings extended on either side of his body as the wind whistled past us.
"Where are we going?" I shouted as I clung on for my life, fearful of falling off.
"To where you're actually supposed to go!" he shouted back as we flew off into the night sky. | 17 | Dearest Fairy Godchild, Due to an issue with my magic, I cannot make it to assist you in finding your true love this night. Therefore, I have sent my substitute. He owes me a favor and therefore shall be considered your Fairy Goddragon. Signed, Your Fairy Godmother | 87 |
Selena and Alex were imaginative kids. That's what I thought anyway. They kept themselves entertained, running around in the woods. Often they would come back and babble away about the adventures they had had. They had met dragons, fought armies, saved royalty. I just smiled and encouraged them. I wanted them to enjoy their childhood as much as possible.
Recently they had been claiming about fighting hordes of monsters. They said these monsters wanted to rule over everyone they had saved. I nodded, and told them to he careful, and as always be back for dinner.
This all came flooding back when I opened up the back door, responding to a small knock. I wasn't sure what I was expecting see. Certainly not a pair of two and a half foot tall green skinned goblins.
"Mother of Terrors! We beg of thee to spare us! Our might is spent, the Pair beyond us."
I stared at them, before gently pinching myself. I expected this to be a dream. But I didn't wake up.
"What did you call me?"
They shuddered at my words.
"Mother of Terrors!"
I shook my head, trying to understand just what was happening. This made them pale, and fall to their knees sobbing.
"No, please! We want peace now! Please have mercy!"
They sounded so broken. I couldn't help but feel sorry for them. I crouched down, reaching out to give them a hug.
"Shhh. It's OK."
Just then I heard a pair of footsteps stamping down the stairs. Voices raised behind their indoor limits, the kids ran towards me.
"Mum! Mum! Can we-"
They stopped at the sight of the goblins. Selena clenched her little fists, arcs of lightning running over them. Alex reached into the air, a sword forming.
"Get away from Mum!"
The poor goblins froze, and I stood quickly.
"What have you two been up to?"
I didn't like to use that tone. But I had an immediate effect. They went from fighters to shocked kids.
"We... we..."
I looked back at the goblins, seeing their eyes wide.
"Please, come in. I think we all need to talk. And you two-" I fixed Alex and Selena with a look "no fighting." | 212 | Likely inspired by some cartoon, your kids have been going to the woods behind your house to "beat up monsters". One day, however, you're approached by two goblins, who inform you that their armies have been soundly beaten by your mighty progeny, and that they wish to negotiate a surrender. | 660 |
The bloodcurdling scream has me a bit hesitant to open my door. I nearly drop my bag of groceries onto the ground, but I thankfully remember how expensive eggs have been lately and keep a steady hold of it. With a sigh, I open the door.
Everything appears in order until I reach the living room. My roommate Ethel, a half transparent ghost in victorian dress, stands rigid as a statue, staring at the ceiling. On the ceiling is a man in a black hoodie wearing a ski mask, screaming bloody murder and crying his eyes out.
"Ethel!" I exclaim.
She looks back at me, her expression deadpan.
"What are you doing?"
"This man broke into our home." She says, her voice gravely serious. "He was rifling through our cabinets, trying to steal our valuables."
"I-I'M SORRY," The ceiling man cries. "P-PLEASE, IT WAS MY FRIEND'S IDEA, I PROMISE I'LL NEVER COME BACK, JUST LET ME GO."
"Ethel, you can't-"
I am cut off by his screams.
"Can...can you quiet him down for a second."
She holds a hand in the ceiling man's direction, and his voice is squeezed from his throat, silencing him.
"Ethel, you can't just go torturing people."
"This man broke into our house, Gregory," She says. "He must be punished."
"He's still a human being!" I tell her. "You should have just scared him away."
"Nonsense," She says, shaking her head. "You deserve far better. You are the perfect roommate, you do not deserve to have your home broken into. He must suffer."
"Okay, as flattering as that is," I say. "You need to let him go."
Ethel ponders her response a moment before saying flatly, "fine."
The man pressed into the ceiling is launched across the room, careening out of the front window. He lands on the front lawn with a THUD and scrambles to his feet. He then sprints down the street, still crying.
"Ethel..."
"The window was already broken," she says. "That's how he got in."
"Ethel, I appreciate that you think I'm a good roommate-"
"The BEST roommate I've ever had."
"The BEST roommate you've ever had," I repeat. "But I would really rather you not go torturing people on my behalf."
"Gregory, you always pay your rent on time," Ethel begins. "You always wash your dishes and clean up your messes, and you go *out of your way* to buy the special quinoa I like from Whole Foods."
"Yeah, well, you're a pretty good roommate too."
"You don't even shop at Whole Foods!" she exclaims. "You go there just for me!"
I give her a small smile and say, "I think you're pretty cool too. So, if you can honor me one request, please do not torture people on my behalf."
"Oh, alright," she says begrudgingly.
"Thank you, Ethel."
I head into the kitchen and set down the groceries on the countertop. The cabinets open on their own, courtesy of my awesome roommate.
"They got the good mac and cheese in stock," I say over my shoulder.
"Oh lovely," Ethel says. "Will you make us some for dinner?"
"Of course."
Ethel gives me a wide smile and moves to hug me. She passes clean through me, leaving me with a slight chill. I chuckle to myself and grab a pot from the cupboard. There aren't many people who would shatter the mind of a would be robber on my behalf. I count myself lucky that I found someone who would, and I would show my appreciation by making her mac and cheese. | 84 | Your home defense system is unconventional to say the least. A ghost defends the house because you are the best room mate they have ever had. | 244 |
The hero swished his cape dramatically, but Ken had always been a bit over the top. Swishing the cape was not in the script, but then again, neither were the words he had shouted. Or rather, they were in the script, but the villain was supposed to say them. I, as an extra— specifically a street sweeper— had no lines, but when you rehearse often enough with people it gets so you can recite the entire play.
This was not supposed to happen on opening night. The villain looked over at the wings, where the stage manager was making the motion to keep on going. But he couldn't just say his line after the hero said it. I bounded forward swiping off my cap as I went. Brandishing it in dramatic fashion, I shouted.
"That's where you're wrong!" From an angle the audience couldn't see, I elbowed Greg—the villain— in the side. With a cough, he finished the line, his voice growing stronger towards the end.
"We have the power of love and friendship on our side." It was the hero's turn to be non-plussed. But the show must go on.
"Who, you and that... street sweeper?" He asked, trying to make his voice drip with disdain.
Another voice echoed from the wings, one of the other extras running onto the scene, followed by three more.
"No! By all of us!" We formed a group behind the villain, trying to look threatening, but threatening with the power of friendship. I'm not sure we succeeded. We were all wildly off-script, but the only thing to do was press on. Though we weren't able to properly see the audience, we could hear them murmuring. They had to be confused.
We made it to the end of the second act, through the sheer power of improvisation. As the curtain came down, we all went backstage, crowding around Ken.
"What were you thinking? You know better than that. If it hadn't been for Nicole here..." Greg trailed off, shaking his head.
"I don't know. It was like someone possessed me, and started saying the words." Looking slightly forlorn, Ken stared around at us, like a kicked puppy. "I really didn't mean to do or say any of that." It was our turn to murmur, but Greg reached over and patted Ken on the shoulder.
"It could happen to anyone. Now we just need to get to the end of the play and figure out how to make it satisfactory. Nicole?"
I pulled out my pencil and notebook which were part of my costume. Not really sure why, but you don't argue with the costume department unless you want uncomfortable underwear. They would do it. I know from experience.
"Right, people, we have fifteen minutes. We need ideas and fast." My pencil became a blur as everyone started spouting ideas. By the end of ten minutes, we had a working idea and we managed to polish it in the remaining five. Everyone knew what they had to do, and where to be. The audience might not like it, but at least we had something. And to our surprise, we got a standing ovation, as we took our final bows.
As we went backstage once more, Ken shook his head.
"I still can't figure out how it happened. I don't make mistakes like that."
"It wasn't a mistake sonny." The voice crackled from the shadows, as our oldest stage hand emerged. He also had a flair for the dramatic.
"What do you mean?" I asked.
"Well, you see, there's an old superstition in the theatre world. Once in a very great while, an actor will mess up. And the play will go awry. But, it turns out to be even better than the original. And all the actors say the same thing. It was like they were possessed. And that's what happened." Everyone drew slightly back from Ken.
"You mean I was actually possessed? Really? Ugh." Shuddering, Ken ran his hands down his arms. The old stage hand reached out, slapping him on the side of the head.
"Don't say 'ugh'. This was a great honour. You were an instrument of the master playwright." All of us looked at each other, none of us daring to hazard a guess. We didn't want to get slapped round the head. Ken—having already been slapped—bravely asked the question.
"Who?"
"Why William Shakespeare himself, boy. You think he ever really left the theatre?"
———————
Word spread, and soon we had to do our altered version of the play every night. And every night, it was like there was some kind of magic to it. Standing ovation after standing ovation. Packed houses. People begging for our autographs. It was a crazy time for our amateur theatre group.
So sometimes when things go wrong, it's not just a mistake. Sometimes it's good old Willy Shakes coming around and making things better. After all, the show must go on. | 42 | "You fool!" shouted the hero. "You can never hope to stop me with the power I wield. I am invincible! MUWAHAHAHAHA!" The villains grinned. "That's where you're wrong!" shouted their leader. "We have the power of love and friendship on our side!" The audience was very confused. | 149 |
*What the hell?* Awareness flooded over and through me all at once. I *was* where I'd moments before not been. I could barely make heads or tails of it, not that I really had time to. In front of where I now stood two burly orderlies manhandling a young girl between them suddenly froze and looked up at me, their faces first showing confusion then going pale with their apparent fear.
The young girl, on the other hand, went from fear to elation in that same instant. Her eyes lit up as she stared up at me in incredulous joy. "Teddy!" she cried as the two men released her and withdrew batons from their sides.
I blinked at them and just as awareness had flooded me, knowledge came into me. I *knew* who they were and what they'd been doing to the girl, and where they'd been taking her and why.
They'd been experimenting on her, testing her mental abilities and pushing her to new limits to create new experiences. Psychic abilities, telekinesis, telepathy, the whole tele-spectrum.
But their experiments had had another effect on her that they clearly hadn't anticipated. They'd strengthened her abilities to the point that she'd become able to give life to the things in her imagination; namely me, her imaginary Teddy Bear.
But as I extended my claws and dropped to all fours before them, it was clear in their fear-stricken eyes that there was nothing imaginary about me now. Even if I was wearing a fez and a pink tutu, and had purple fur. They could see and hear me, so I was very real to them.
"The name's Teddy, ya bastards," I growled as I stalked towards the two orderlies. "But you can call me the Purple People-Eater. *And* you can tell your bosses that if they want the girl, they gotta go through *me.* Got it?!" I finished with a roar that shook the floor beneath our feet, and making the two men stumble backwards and trip over one another as they bolted towards the exit.
I huffed as they left the room and glanced at the little girl as she hugged my leg. She was barely taller than my elbow, but that wasn't saying much. I was bigger than your average bear thanks to her. On all fours I was probably 6 feet at my shoulders.
"Thank you, Teddy! I knew you'd save me!" She buried her face in my fur as she clung to my leg.
"Glad to help, but I think we need to bail. They'll be back and they won't be alone. I'm thinking tranquilizers, maybe even some shotguns."
The young girl pulled back and looked up at me with wide eyes. "You're right..." She frowned and gave me a critical once over. "You should be bulletproof!"
"I should be wh-" And my purple fur suddenly hardened and took on a metallic sheen. I gave an involuntary jump; it wasn't much, maybe a few inches. But it was enough for my new bulk to completely shatter the tiles beneath my paws. I blinked down at them and looked up at the girl.
"You should also breathe fire!" she said suddenly, her eyes lighting up with sudden inspiration.
I clamped my jaws shut and blinked at her. "Theriouthly?" I asked, careful to keep from opening my mouth.
She grinned at me and looked towards the exit at the sound of shouting voices and hurrying footsteps. I followed her gaze. "Ah gueth you are. Fine by me," I said, unclenching my jaw. I grinned just as the first man ran through the door holding a tranquilizer gun.
I opened my mouth and let loose a jet of rainbow colored flames.
Because of course they were... | 76 | You are the imaginary friend of a lonely girl that’s a lab experiment. One day you become real and the girl is taken away by the scientists experimenting on her. | 140 |
Jeremey was an average kid, as far as any kid can be. They've each got their quirks, and as their parent, you just have to hope everyone else's is as weird as yours seems to be. They say the darnedest things sometimes, and most of those times, you sort of chuckle to yourself and hope they don't get too used to bellowing out gibberish that sounds uncomfortably close to slurs in Walmart. This time however, instead the usual laugh-and-move-on, my husband Neal took a keen interest in our son's inane Christmas wish.
"Daddy, can I have God?"
At first we considered the best method of broaching the theological to a six-year old as a couple who had only been in churches for weddings and funerals, but he soon clarified:
"I want the head of a god. An Olympian god on a silver platter. Can I have it, pleeease?"
While I was wracking my brain for what video game or book might have put such a request in his head, and before I had even considered responding, my husband chimed in, squatting by Jeremey.
"Well that's a rather odd request, Jer. That's not something Daddy can easily get, you know?"
"But I *want* it!" Jer gave as his reasoned reply.
"Alright bud, but let's narrow it down a little, ok? You can't just have any ol' Olympian's head. Much less on a silver platter. Zeus is out of the question."
"Are you," I said incredulous, "entertaining this? That bored, or do you just have no idea what to get him for Christmas?" All I got in response was a knowing glance. Knowingly confounding.
As he finished considering his father's words, Jeremey provided, "That's ok, Dad. I'm not picky. It doesn't have to be like Zeus or Athena or anything fancy. Just not Hepaystus. He's ugly."
Neal gave me a look, a little disappointed, but trying not to show Jer. "Hephaestus?"
"Yeah."
"Bud, remember when we told you about judging books by their covers? Hephaestus creates the most beautiful handiwork, and as far as gods go, he's a relatively nice guy. Don't think less of him for things he can't help - look at what he does."
Jeremey sighed, "Okay, but I still don't want his head on a platter."
"Besides," said Neal, "Some of those gods are practically begging to be put on a silver platter. That Dionysus guy's into some weird stuff."
Jeremey's face lit up. "Yeah! Dino-nysus! Dino-nysus!"
"Well there you go," Neal said as he stood up.
"'There you go'?" I asked. "You say that as if we're all on the same page here."
"Well hun," Neal said, grabbing his keys. "What do you know about Bacchic revelry?"
"Enough to know you're out of your mind."
"Oh relax. When we tell him the platter's gonna be silver, he'll practically be begging to be put on it. We just have to be sure not to lose our heads first, you know?" He giggled a little to himself, them added, more soberly, "in both senses of the phrase." | 15 | Your kid asked for "The head of an Olympian God on a silver platter" for Christmas. You take it as a joke, but your spouse is weirdly serious and enthusiastic about it. | 146 |
It took most of the morning to haul the cow out to my yard. I could have called someone to help, but explaining the situation to them would make me have to think about what the situation was. I finished just to look up and see Milo staring at me. His tail swished about as if to say, "Oh, you're still not satisfied?" He turned and trotted off. I tried to call him back. "No, Milo!" He was already gone.
It's normal for cats to explore and do their own thing, so it took me a while to notice. The first time I started to suspect something was when he brought home the eagle a few months ago. He started going bigger much faster after that. I haven't seen him show superhum - (superfeline?) strength in any other way, so I'm not sure how he kills these animals, but I don't want to find out any time soon. Even finding a cow in the suburbs was a feat that I had no way of explaining.
I managed to find someone who'd take care of the cow carcass, and I had just spotted his truck coming down the street when he swerved and suddenly turned back. I turned to see what the matter was, hoping it wasn't what I dreaded. There was Milo, dragging along an elephant, walking up to me. | 21 | Your cat brought you dead mice and birds, but you just threw them away. Your cat misunderstood the message, and has begun bringing home larger and larger prey. | 79 |
Throughout all of written history, hell, since Humans could talk, words were Power. The Tower of Babel could be stacked entirely of written works about the Powers of Voice and Words: Movies, Television, Skits, Sketches, Videos, Games, Comics, Books, Plays and Poetry, all different mediums that weave tales about this Power. And the only thing they share in common, is that they tell me dick all about how to prevent my words from hurting EVERYONE who can hear me.
That is why I enrolled, or well, more specifically my father forced me to enroll, into Victor von Hammer's Academy of Excelled Humanties. You know the place, I don't need to tell you. All Heroes, Villains, and Nopos- Sorry, Civilians, know of the place. What you may not know, is this place sucks. Sucks ass. Actually, you may already have your suspicions. It's the IVY League of Super Powered Schools. Filled with the same Nepotistic, Alpha Cum Loudasses that every University you've ever seen has to offer. Except the "Hazing" usually comes with a super-powered Haze that prevents you from seeing anyone's face. My days are filled with the usual 8 hours of College work, followed up by another 4 of specialized study, focusing on my "Subset Powers". The thing preventing the Heroes from ripping their own arms off their body, of slushing their skin off at the speed of Anti-matter. The thing is. This school is just like the Comics and Movies; they don't know dick about my Power.
It turns out, I'm literally only the 4th person to ever have this ability. Ever. And it's reason I have to type this out to you. Sure, I CAN speak and have a normal conversation, but if I'm not careful, I could accidentally call you a dumbass, and the next thing I know, I'm sitting next to an abnormally dumb jackass, the animal. Remember the Undead Summer of '08? "When Hell freezes over, the Dead shall rise?" Yeah, that was me. So, while the school formulates a better course for me, I'm stuck like this.
My current course is literally learning another language. They've discovered that my powers react to English only because that's the language I have. They're hoping if I can learn German or French or Latin, that I can change my powers to activate only when I speak that language. So far, the only success they've had is changing the flavor of my power. Kind of like when I say "Flamethrower" the power I get from that is different than when I say "Flammenwerfer". The first one is your normal idea of a long pillar of fire, where the second I can just lob balls of fire. It comes in handy sometimes though, but the School has no idea how or why it changes. They can't even talk to the others with my powers. The first two are long dead, the third accidentally caused himself to become mute and deaf. So, it's a lot of trial and error on my end.
There are some benefits to it though. I don't have to speak in front of the class. My math teacher is still terrified of the implications of making "X equals 10" in every case ever... Again. Took way too long to figure out how to fix that. Plus, the douchebags leave me alone ever since I made "I'm rubber you're glue, what you say bounces off me and sticks to you" a scary thing to them. I still won't remove the words "You idiot" from Chad Kensington's face.
But over all. It still sucks. Having to learn the ins and outs of EVERYONE's powers, just so we don't accidentally cancel each other out and cause a "United Storm", is difficult for everyone, let alone someone who can cause it because I whispered the wrong thing at them. That's really the only class I pay attention in. I said "I'm going to pass this class" at the start of every other class, so now I can nap through them. | 53 | Most people with superpowers die because they don’t master the Secondary Required Powers, like how to bend physics so they can lift a car without sinking into the ground. That’s why you’re enrolled in Super School, otherwise your power will probably kill you or someone else. Again. | 448 |
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