body
stringlengths 1k
39.5k
| comment_score
int64 10
23.1k
| prompt
stringlengths 1
310
| post_score
int64 15
42.1k
|
|---|---|---|---|
The effort to retrieve the object had been significant. When we'd first spotted it travelling through space, it was clearly aimed, vaguely, at Jupiter or Earth; but would miss Jupiter by tens of thousands of miles and pass within the moon's orbit; practically next door, in spatial terms. The object was clearly inhuman, and transmitting a radio signal that we couldn't decipher. When a joint US-China team took the object aboard, it was carefully placed in a sealed lead 'Coffin' for protective purposes.
​
Initially, it looked like any other meteorite; a rough rock... but with a single visible, obviously artificial corner emerging from the side. An up-close scan; instruments had been built into the coffin prior to launch for exactly that reason; revealed a dodecahedron shape, with some form of deposits coating the outside in a seemingly random fashion; mostly iron and carbon.
​
The scans determined that the object contained something else; some sophisticated bit of machinery, likely the source of the radio signal. Out of paranoia about the dangers of its contents, a new space station was built surrounding the craft before the object was opened; purely by machines, with any machines removed from the coffin melted down and launched on a trajectory for the sun.
​
The only things allowed back on earth were the astronauts themselves; and that only after a thorough scan both of the men and women involved, and of the coffin to ensure a proper seal had been maintained. Unfortunately, the translation wasn't complete until after this had happened; everything might have turned out differently otherwise.
​
"Thank you for saving our species. Your sacrifice will be honored for eternity." The core message at the heart of a long string of mathematical strings, images, and language tutorials. The most glaring part of it all was the strict instructions to place the object on an uninhabited world a certain distance from the sun, dependant on the relative size of said sun, and the warning that whoever placed the object in such fashion would, in all liklihood, be killed by the object itself. Followed by a request to leave certain raw materials at the landing site, and that, once they began to awaken, they would like information about whatever brave souls had sacrificed themselves to give their race a second chance. It also noted that the object had been launched at a particular appropriate body; Enceladus; but that the ability to aim a trajectory from sixty light-years away was unlikely due to the chance of random interference of stellar debris. If the object happened to look as if it were going to hit Enceladus on its own, it could be left alone; it would handle things on its own from there.
​
Soon, the exact meanings became clear. In Beijing and in Arizona, it started. The spread in Arizona was contained; a mostly small-scale affair, centered on the home of a returning astronaut, a dome was built around it, and inside the astronaut, the plants, the animals; and the unfortunate man and his family; could all be seen dying, to be slowly replaced by a vivid obsidian-colored alien biosphere. The man's house had no outside water lines; as it turned out, if this home had been the only breakout, it could have been contained indefinitely.
​
Beijing, however, was a different matter, and ultimately made the efforts in Arizona pointless. On live television, a reporter, visibly sweating drops of black fluid, was trying to pretend everything had been contained, and there was no danger outside of Beijing city limits; even as an alien micro-organism repurposed all the water in his body, leaving a dessicated husk of a man lying in front of the camera as the transmission continued; as it would continue, until the power ultimately failed.
​
For the remnant of humanity, living in their bunkers and isolation domes, the following weeks are a matter of historical record. Once the organism reached the water table, that was the end. It traveled through the septic systems, water filtration, and into the ocean; and where it went, the sea levels dropped, the air became steadily more oxygen-enriched; and the world became covered with endless forests of blue-black life, mostly in the form of long, harmless tendrils.
​
At first, none of it seemed to have a purpose; there were no obvious animals or intelligent creatures. It was only weeks later, when the improvised space station crashed in what had once been the Sahara, that things truly took off. Once it came into contact with the newly formed biosphere, the alien object somehow induced pods to form; at first, smaller alien life-forms. Creatures with odd, trilateral symmetry; three legs, three eyes, three wings.
​
Then the first sentient aliens formed; apparently revived versions of the final members of their species. They almost immediately began work on two primary projects; saving what was left of humanity, and rebuilding their own civilization. Incredibly, there were over ten million human survivors, and while humanity would take centuries to once more reach the numbers they once had, for the first few years after the Event, the greatest problem humanity faced, all these scattered survivalists, doctors, soldiers, and politicians who had survived in their sealed bunkers, was communications issues due to their own wildly different nations of origin.
​
The remnant of humanity now thrives, and is working with a blend of its own and alien technology to climb into the stars; and build a new world for itself, to replace the one it accidentally gave away. | 205 | After translating the message encoded in the meteorite, your team is stunned and terrified. "Thank you for saving our species. Your sacrifice will be honored for eternity." | 926 |
Guarin was just about to sit down for supper, when he spotted motion out of the corner of his eye. Blurred by blankets of a torrential downpour, silhouettes of riders emerged from the treeline. Colour washed from his face as he slammed the wooden shutters. It looked like this was it. The last stop. If someone had gone through all the trouble to find him all the way out here, then they surely cannot harbour good intentions. After all, his achievements weren't exactly worthy of praise and every hardship he had ever endured or caused, he owed to that damned book. It was the only heritage he has ever received, courtesy of his father and his illustrious legacy as a court physician. His father owed his success to that book, but Guarin could never make it work quite the same way. Its insides were cryptic and betrayed abysmally little given how many illustrations they contained. An image is a thousand words they say. What bollocks.
Creeping away from the window, Guarin scrambled to find that cursed piece of literature. If only he had a fire going, he could burn it and put some distance between him and the damning evidence. The last thing he needed was to be labeled as a practitioner of magic. But fire is a forbidden luxury when you're trying to stay hidden. Rummaging through what few storage pieces he owned, the small cabinet by the bed finally yielded the book. The leather on the cover was worn and screamed to be replaced. The edges had been smothered by countless fingers to the point where you could barely separate the pages at all. As Guarin paused to think of his next action, the cabin door flew open.
Men poured into the small room, heavy sounds of their steps accompanied by the clinking of steel. A man trailed the party, his face concealed by a hood. Guarin rushed to speak, but word escaped him. Fear gripped his throat almost as much as he gripped the medical book he inadvertently uncovered for all to see. The hooded man took a few steps around the cabin, revealing his face as he went. It was a face of a nobleman. His clothes were modest, but a clean and tidy appearance could not be concealed as easily.
»Even shittier than I imagined,« he commented, glancing around the room. »Tell me, are you the one they call Guarin?«
Guarin backed into the corner, his body as stiff as a board. »Guarin, sire?« he asked.
»You would do well not to take me for a fool,« retorted the nobleman coldly. »I was warned you could have some trouble reading a room, yet I was hoping you would prove me wrong.«
»I-I am G-Guarin, yes.«
»Ansger?«
»Yes milord?« answered a brutish looking knight to the side.
»What pray tell, is the general sentiment regarding Guarin's services? What say the people?«
»The people find his services ... lacking. Four dead and several more hindered through his malpractice.«
»Four dead?« cackled the nobleman. »Guarin, is that true?«
Guarin's eyes darted from one man to another, stopping at each of their sheathed swords. »It is my greatest regret sire ...«
»Guarin, Guarin. Come now, we both know how there have been way more than that,« said the nobleman, clearly enjoying himself. »29 to be exact,« he announced turning to his knights. Their eyes widened in disbelief, as some reached for their swords.
»Permission to speak milord?« asked Ansger, his voice filled with urgency.
»No.«
»But, milord ...«
»Are you deaf Ansger?« snarled the nobleman, causing the knight to take a step back. »How close is the nearest village?« he asked turning to Guarin.
»Days?« he answered.
»Exactly. And I hope that tells you just how annoying reaching you was.« The nobleman closed in, grimacing as he came closer. »You reek to high heaven so I'll make this quick. I don't care whether everything you are doing is part of some plan or if you're as incompetent as you look. I know who your father was, but I cannot figure out for the life of me, what the hell you are doing. Finding you out here however, tells me you you're running out of options.« He paused for a moment, his lips stretching out into a sinister smile. »Now tell me Guarin, how many physicians does it take to heal a king?« | 17 | "Physician, we need you to uh... heal someone." | 29 |
“Hey, what happened to your kid’s parents? I haven’t been seeing them around when you follow the kid.”
“Oh, I killed them.”
“What?!” I stared at him incredulously. The demon-turned-guardian angel just shrugged.
“They were hurting her, so I killed them. My job *is* to protect this kid, right? Then I made the right call.”
I huffed. “We have a strict policy on abuse, and it does *not* allow for killing anyone. My Lord, I knew this demon rehabilitation program was a bad idea. I’ll have to fill out the forms, and perform the hearing, find a replacement…”
“That sounds like a policy problem to me,” the demon said. I glared at him.
He sighed. “Listen,” he said. “I get that you live up here in heaven with all the goody goody two shoes who were lucky enough to turn out alright or unlucky enough to die before they grew jaded. But in my domain, I see everyone you’ve failed. And you know how many people are in there because of abuse? It’s cyclical. You allow the parents to abuse the children, the children don’t grow up right, more abuse follows. It’s your policy that lets this happen.”
“Well, you can’t just kill people!”
He shrugged again. “I dunno about that. Sometimes, people just gotta go. Your God up here can judge them when they’re gone, I’m not trying to take His place, goodness no. But I am doing my job properly. It’s astounding how many kids you guardian angels have failed because you couldn’t do anything to really protect them.” | 36 | You're the archangel running Heaven's newest demon rehabilitation programme. Unfortunately for you, one of the demons has been a teeny bit unorthodox when it comes to their new guardian angel duties, having opted for a rather "proactive" approach towards protecting their assigned human. | 87 |
For the last thirty-four years of his life, Oleg Jamison had sold apples.
Oleg's da had sold apples.
Oleg's da's da had sold apples.
The fruit stand was essentially a member of the family, a cherished keepsake passed down from Jamison to Jamison over many generations.
One of Oleg's earliest memories was helping his da out with the stand on a busy market day, counting out change and keeping an eye out for thieving fingers.
When Oleg's da had passed ownership of the fruit stand over to him, he had pulled Oleg aside.
"Oleg," he'd said. "There will be men passing by who will not want to buy your apples. Instead, they will want to sell you things."
Oleg had seen similar men before. They would arrive, bearing countless bags of useless junk. His father would always pull them into the back room of the shop, shutting the door behind them. Oleg had tried to listen in on their conversations before, but all he could hear were snatches of whispered exchanges and the clink of coins exchanging hands.
"If you remember nothing that I've taught you, son, remember this."
Oleg's father placed his hands on Oleg's shoulders, staring deeply into his eyes. "Buy it all. Buy every single thing they offer you."
After thirty-four years, Oleg had amassed a considerable collection of tattered spellbooks, battered shields, and monster organs. At times, he had questioned his father's advice, especially when he'd paid several copper for some slime ooze. Still, he obeyed.
Oleg had thought he would spend the rest of his life selling apples and buying goods from strangers. But two months ago, everything had changed.
Some *adventurer* had come by and sold him a few things. In the meantime, the adventurer had also decided to take a few things. Namely, Oleg's wife.
And so it was that Oleg decided he was done with apples. He sold the fruit stand to a cousin (another Jamison, of course), went down into his formidable stockroom, and picked out a pointy weapon. The words on the blade declared it the Dark Moon Greatsword, but Oleg hadn't the faintest idea what that could possibly mean.
He strapped the sword to his back, mounted his brother-in-law's old pony, and headed off into the sunset.
Oleg was going to find the adventurer, and there would be hell to pay.
\---
/r/theBasiliskWrites | 1,054 | You were just a lowly shopkeeper selling fruit next to the city gates, yet adventurers kept selling the most random stuff to you each time they returned. One day, you decided to start adventuring yourself, you're not sure what all this stuff on you does, but at least they have cool names. | 4,267 |
### Inspection (~12,000 BCE)
"Species 95821684 is showing signs of accelerated development stress disorder."
"Degree?"
"Exponential, and... The rate of acceleration is accelerating. At this rate, they'll go nuclear in less than 100,000 years."
"How much less?"
"Say... in 25,000 years. If nothing is done."
"That is far too fast. They won't have time to develop socially responsible behavior to the necessary degree."
"Indeed. They need a distraction. One that will last and has enough utility to ensure they keep the distractor around."
"I will post the relevant information to the network."
•••
"They want a distraction that will last for 100,000 years? It will have to be biological, high utility, high morphing, bonding, and yet independent enough to survive even if the host species loses interest." Junior Third Parasite Developer looks up at Senior Master First Distraction Developer, "Senior, I *strongly* disagree with this recommendation from monitoring. They have not included even the most basic biological survey. We have no idea what long-term consequences may develop by introducing a parasite with these characteristics!"
"Junior, if we are to deploy a solution to save these overachieving sophonts from themselves, we must act now. I agree that all of the desired information is not present and is a risk, yet if we do not act, they will die. I will ask for the comprehensive survey, but get started with the development."
"Senior, I will comply under protest, and I want that on the record."
"Junior *Third*... Are you certain you want a U.P. recorded against the recommendations of the watchmen and your superior? it could have a deleterious effect on your career."
"Yes, this is an unwarranted risk with a species already showing such development."
"And your many years of experience tell you this?"
"No, Senior. A simple data search shows that this degree of advancement has never been seen before. If anything, we should have a class one task force with a full science team and an investigation team examining that species for tampering. This request for a distracting parasite, without a full biological inspection, smacks of overconfidence to the point of ludicrous hubris."
"You suspect tampering?"
"I *suggest* that this is such an outlier that is going with a simplistic response is *dangerous*."
"And if I were to tell you that such a study had been considered and rejected by the high council?"
"I would request the meeting minutes and all the supporting evidence."
"You question the high council!?!"
"I ask for information. Absent that, I cannot formulate questions, and the answers I would seek are likely in the information I request."
"Very well. I cannot give you the information you seek. It is beyond your present level. Do you still wish the U.P. recorded?"
"Yes."
"And you will comply with the order?"
"Against my better judgment, yes. You will also include the order for what I am to produce, as well as any changes requested, and all mods no matter who makes them."
"What are you expecting? A galactic court case?!?"
"Yes."
"Junior *Third*, I will comply, but you must consider alternate employment. Your career here is finished as soon as the project is finished."
"If this is what the Watch has become, we may *all* be looking for new employment."
•••
Two seniors meet in a private conference. The topic is Junior First Parasite Developer.
"So, he's the troublemaker?'
"I protest that characterization of my subordinate. Aside from an overdeveloped sense of duty, Junior First has performed admirably in all respects. Thus his rapid promotion, based on the excellence of his work."
"He continues to file U.P. statements."
"What of it? It is the privilege and responsibility of any of the Watch to make their misgivings known. It is also their right to have those misgivings documented for posterity."
"NO ONE has ever filed 38,537 U.P. for a single project!"
"You are in error. Our founding fathers routinely recorded ten times that number for a single phase of a project."
"That was over ten million million years ago, at the very dawn of the Watchers. We have had plenty of time to iron out all these procedures; there is no reason for these protests. You will cease recording them, and you will cease promoting this troublemaker."
"You put those orders in writing and sign them."
Scribbling on his slate, the orders are soon recorded.
"These orders are invalid and therefore rejected."
"Invalid!"
"You issued them over the high council's imprimatur. You are not the high council, nor are you the prime councilor. The orders are invalid."
"FINE! I'll delete that..."
"No. I won't allow you to."
"What!?!"
"This document is now evidence."
"How *dare* you!"
"I merely exercise the right and duty of any Watcher when faced with a situation spiraling out of control. You issued a patently illegal order. That act becomes one of a trail of unwise acts that have led us to this situation."
"I'LL HAVE YOU EXECUTED!"
"Watcher control, I have been threatened with death for exercising the rights and duties of a Watchman by a superior. Preserve all recordings of all conversations and documents on this matter and all related matters to the tenth degree."
"*Watcher Control. So noted. So done.*"
"Senior, you are out of line."
"Strange, I was about to say the same to you."
((continued)) | 13 | the House Cat | 67 |
"How do you know my - "
"Shush! The warrior will hear."
We both wait for the heavy boots' receding echo. Softer and softer, punctuated by the occasional gold coin falling out from his knapsack.
"I do not have much time. With every breath, the Dark Lord calls me back to his infernal furnace deep underground. And the warrior will be back with more peons to collect the gold. You must - " the dragon belches out acidic blood; narrowly dodging it, I can hear the stone walls of the cave hissing angrily as it corrodes.
"I have foreseen this day coming," the dragon hisses weakly. "I told myself I would have no need for a successor, that I was all-powerful as the Dark Lord's best servant. But I was a fool. After he fell, I was forced into this dark dungeon and forced to think of the future. You - you can help me. The future. It is behind me - "
The boots. They're back. More of them, now. The dragon now rights itself up from its supine position, its fangs bared and ready for war.
"I will buy you time. Go! Get the egg."
"But you'll die - "
"And you too, if you don't move. Go!"
I am not good enough with my blade to fight the warrior and his minions. As I run through the caverns, desperately trying my best to ward off the screams and shrieks of the dying beast, I barely have time to think of how confusing this whole scenario is.
Was it because I stole the odd treasure from every rich prick who entered this little town? Is that the evil that a servant of the Dark Lord could have seen in me? I drew the line at serving the Dark Lord, of course. I'd met his cultists before. What a crazy bunch.
The egg is small. Something hard, protruding from the ground, hit my boot, sending me tumbling face-first to the floor. Painfully pushing myself off the floor, I hear the faintest crack. That couldn't have been any of my bones, so it is -
How could I call it a servant of the Dark Lord? Its parent may have been one, but this little one is barely the size of my forearm. It coos softly, gazing in my direction.
And yet, there is no time for sympathy and parenting as the armoured men from outside turn in to the room where I am.
"So, a dragon, and a thief. We sure are eating well today, boys!" The leader draws his sword. "Weapons ready. We're collecting the bounty."
"Wait!" I gulp in fear, summoning what was left of my charisma and deception to the forefront. "We don't need to do it this way, sirs. I'm not here for gold, I just want to take this little thing out here with me!"
The brutes guffaw at the little hatchling. "You? With *that*? Give it here so we can squash it under our boot heel," one of them starts.
"This is an agent of the Dark Lord, waiting to grow up!" Another glares at me angrily.
"You really want it to raze another town, another city, before expecting *us* to swoop in and save the day? No wonder people like you exist. Ingrates, getting us to do all the hard work of being a hero, and stealing what we leave behind," seethes the leader. "I will hear no more. Weapons, *ready*!"
I closed my eyes as the crossbows charged up, holding the egg tight, until it slipped out of my grasp. Oh no. The one thing the ancient creature had charged me to do, I did it wrong -
And it turned out right.
At the very least, the fire that the dragon hatchling breathed out was enough to carve a path through the group of warriors. As they panicked and tried their best to heal themselves, beating a hasty retreat, I breathed easy once more, and saw the light bursting through the burned cave walls.
How could I call it a servant of the Dark Lord? Its parent may have been one, but this little one had just saved my life. It coos softly, gazing in my direction.
And we walk out of the cave together, the thief and the hatchling, unsure what the future holds, but ready to blaze a path through it anyway. | 25 | As you walk into the dragon's cave, you see the hero walking away with all the gold. When you turn to leave, though, the dying dragon calls your name. Intrigued, you turn around, and listen to the dragon's last words. | 41 |
“Well, the newest members are Honeypuff and you, Killmurder”, started Bonesplosion. “I think you two are the most likely suspects.” The others agreed. “Fair enough”, Killmurder started, “but I have my suspicions about you, Creamy.
“You joined last Tuesday, right Creamy?”
“Yup!”
“You were never in our files, right?”
“Yup!”
“And your name is Creamy Honeypuff, right?”
“Yup!”
“That doesn’t match our names at all! I think it is clear that-” Killmurder began before he got interrupted.
“Wait just a minute!”, Creamy started.
“Alright, shoot.”
“You just joined a week before I did, right?”
“Yes”, Killmurder groaned. “However, I already had documents.” Was Creamy really trying to defend himself?
“What documents?”, questioned Creamy. “You correctly called them files earlier, but you should know that our files are not physical documents.”
“Wait, that was just an honest mistake!”
“As for me, my ‘documents’ have not been assigned since I just defected from the Sugarsweet Clan.”
“You did?!”
“Yes; you should know these things, considering that you joined earlier than I did.”
“Why wasn’t I told this?!”, yelled Killmurder.
“You would know if you had an official Blood Death Squad email, which you should have,” retorted Creamy. “Besides, how are you even a Commander? That rank isn’t available to people who have been here for less than half a year, including us.”
“I don’t know”, Killmurder squeaked.
“Also, your name doesn’t match”, Honeypuff continued.”
“WHAT?! MINE?!”
“I’ll admit, my name is goofy, but really, Killmurder? That has nothing to do with a human body! That’s just an action. Is that the best the Sugarsweet Clan could come up with? You might have tricked the others, but you can’t trick a Sugarsweet defector like myself.”
“Wait, I can explain!”, started Killmurder, but the others had already called for security. | 673 | Private Bloodgore, Lieutenant Organsmash, General Visceral, Creamy Honeypuff, and Sergeant Bonesplosion. | 2,147 |
Millenia had passed him by. Body after body, soul after soul. Humans were perfect, he thought. Constantly becoming old and ill. Even the young.
But the sorrow. The guilt. The rage. These extremes at the end of life had gone stale. Like the mind chasing its first high from the hundredth needle prick, Death too struggled to find the thrill.
Until the ship came.
When Barney and Betty Hill were abducted in 1961, Death was introduced to a new path. A new way. When he saw these new life forms, in their stunted, awkward, beautiful skin, nothing was so pleasing as to asking this question to him. "When do you die?" This was the first time he hadn't known. Humbled, excited, he thought he was completely undetected. Until the beam hit Death himself, vacuuming up the cloaked essence, his scythe dropping to the ground.
A day later the human abductees were dropped off, but they kept the black shadow aboard. The aliens understood that clearly this figure had no physical body, so Death regaled them of his occupation. His importance. His whole meaning.
The Aliens, whom Death referred to as "Pastels" due to the cloudy yet oddly colorful skin, welcomed him and showed Death more meanings to the universe other than the start and finish that humans only knew. Earth as he knew it was no longer a part of him.
However, on the formerly blue, hopeful marble of of the Milky Way, now only knew fire, famine and fear. The globe had transitioned into total war with the overpopulation from immortality. People knew they wouldn't die. Humans, instead of walking towards good, hurled boulders of torment and torture at one another. The only thing able to die was the planet. And it was not long before 10 billion people were floating on a broken rock in space for eternity.
Death must be brought back. By all that is fair in the universe, humans must die.
The turbid uprights chauffeured Death into the secrets of the stars. Several other forms of life had passed them, welcomed them to their section of space, it was marvelous.
Out of nowhere the ship started receiving an attempt of communication. Static. Beeps. Voices. Voices? Human voices? A voice. Female. Broken. Hopeful.
"Please. If anyone is out there. Do not mistake our words. We need death. We need to die before our planet does. We need release. This isn't right"
The Shadow could have stayed. There was no ruler to him now. He couldn't have thought of it more than a minute before realizing he'd been already teleported back to the highway he was abducted from.
Scythe still on the ground, he picked it up. The blade shimmering and new. There was no other place for this Death. The world needed him, and it needed him now more than ever. He understood that.
He'll always understand that. | 41 | Not realizing his importance to the planet, the Grim Reaper is abducted by passing aliens. A now-immortal humanity searches the universe to get Him back, so they can once again die. | 184 |
The interviewer sat nervously as the great sage heated a kettle in his hands.
"Sorry for the wait. Oh I don't have any sugar if thats alright."
The interviewer nodded their head as the sage poured the tea. Clearing their throat the interviewer finally spoke up.
"So... Great Sage of the Flame. I came to ask-"
"Nix."
"Sorry?"
"Call me Nix. That title makes me sound like I'm in my twilight years."
"Ah of course. So Nix, I came to ask you about the secret to your long life."
Nix stared at the interviewer and laughed. The candles flickered and rose as if laughing with him.
"Long life? I just turned 30 and you call that old? Goodness you'll be shocked to hear how old my mom is then."
"No that's not what- I mean your old as a pyromancer. I believe you know that your kind do not last long."
There was a long moment of silence. The flickering flames of the candles calmed down and turned intense, like a flame from a stove. The interviewer shuffled awkwardly in their seat as Nix stared them down.
"Well since I'm ancient in your eyes i should address you as a child. So, child, I want to ask you what the origin of fire is."
A tad off guard at the question the interviewer thought for a moment. They could answer what they have read from books but....
"Fire has no origin. It was born the moment the world began, with the water, the earth, and the air."
This time Nix was caught off guard as the intense flames calmed and resumed their regular dance.
"Well normally the answer would be that man created fire or it was gifted to man. Ahh those young pyromancers know nothing." He scoffed as the flames seemed to dance in agreement.
"Er... So the secret to your long life? You have yet to answer that."
"Oh come now it's no big secret, I just treat each flame with respect. Others are taught to bend fire to their will but they bend to hard and end up breaking themselves. Or they just assume every flame is the same and pay for their ignorance."
The interviewer looked confused.
"I'm sorry isn't fire just... fire? Why would each flame be different?"
Nix looked at them and slowly shook his head.
"What do you do to put out a fire?"
"Put water on it?"
"How about a oil fire? Would you toss water on that?"
Silence was the answer given as Nix let out a sigh.
"Child you must understand that fire is unlike the other elements. Each time a flame is lit it is born for the first time and when it is snuffed out it dies. One can not kill water but you can kill a flame. Many do not respect the life they so recklessly create and kill."
The interviewer gave a nod as their eyes gazed at the candles around the room and then back at Nix.
"But you're a pyromancer, you can control fire easily can't you? And you've used your strength before in battle many times. Arnt you the same?"
Nix took a long breath and sighed, shaking his head.
"I would not belive myself to be similar."
"Why not?"
The flames dimmed as the gaze of the great sage darkened.
"I pray for every spell I cast and I morn for each flame I put out. With each blaze sent out I admire the brilliant light they give out before it is snuffed out."
There was a long moment of silence as the interviewer fell deep into thought. Breaking their concentration was Nix as he cleared his throat.
"Well I think I told you enough for today. How about you be my apprentice and we can continue tomorrow."
"I'm sorry what?"
Nix gave a big smile as he patted the interviewer's shoulder.
"I'm making you my apprentice and I'm not taking no as an answer. Sorry but I never got my new student's name. Mind telling me?"
The interviewer looked nervously at the sage and gave a weary smile.
"Uh... Phoen. And sorry if it's rude but why am I your student now?"
Nix gave them a big grin.
"Cause the flames here respect you and hey, I think together we could make a flame everlasting. Come on, best pyromancer in the world is going to teach you! Sooo?"
Phoen could only give a little nod before Nix's roaring laughter could be heard. The flames joining in as they rose up and wrapped the room in light. | 188 | Pyromancy is ridiculously dangerous. Most Pyromancers die before they turn 20 and 25 is concidered ancient. You have made it to 30 and show no sign of slowing down. | 475 |
Captain Brave sat with his head in his hands – there was still a bit of red at the edge of his gloves.
“I’m sorry.” That was the third time in the last hour.
Lily hugged her knees closer to her chest and turned her face away from him. It was quiet outside the safe house, but the sound of sirens floated in on the wind from time to time. They reminded her that she was now a wanted woman. What remained of the world government had called for her arrest for her role in the massacre.
“My life is ruined now.” She rubbed her eyes on her sleeve. “Why did you have to do that? You could’ve revealed their actions to the public. Let the police and military handle it.”
Captain Brave pushed his hair out of his eyes. The once-pristine locks were matted with sweat and smoke – and perhaps something else.
“The corruption ran deep, Oracle. You told me yourself. Those that died for the whims of the corrupt deserved no less than absolute justice.” His voice, though thick with emotion, still held the inspiring tone of a hero.
Lily had not seen what had happened at that meeting of international leaders. All she knew was that almost half of them had died at the former hero’s hands. In the ensuing chaos, Captain Brave had fled, whisking Lily from her tiny apartment in minutes. She had watched the news from the isolated safehouse while he had gone out again. After all, not all guilty parties had been present at that convention.
Anger swelled in her chest at his single-minded approach. “People need evidence! They’re saying you did this just because I said so! Who’s going to believe that such a wide range of human experimentation went on behind the curtains? It sounds like something out of a bad action movie!”
“I know what I did was wrong. But what would you have me do?” His eyes widened at the accidental question.
There was a surge of energy through Lily’s mind, and she knew the answer.
After a moment, she said, “Kill me. Kill me and blame your actions on me. The public will call me a villain that convinced you to do what you did. But my death will help sway their opinion back in your favor.”
Captain Brave looked horrified as he stammered out, “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to ask that.”
Lily let out a bitter laugh. “But you did, and that’s the truth.”
“I won’t do it.”
She clenched her teeth in frustration. “Why not? You killed all those members of the world government without batting an eye. Why would I be any different?”
“You’re an innocent. They weren’t.”
“How do you know that?”
“Because you told me the truth even if you didn’t have to.”
A bitter taste flooded her mouth. It *had* been her choice to tell him.
She voiced her thoughts. “You’re admitting this was all my fault then.”
Yet he continued to refute her culpability. “No. I had my suspicions. You only confirmed them for me. The blame for these events lies with me.”
“You don’t have to coddle me. I know what I did.”
A flash of anger appeared on his face. “Then tell me, Oracle. Are you innocent?”
The question came with an answer as every question she heard did. But the knowledge only made her heart sink further. Tears spilled out of her eyes, and she let out a strangled sob.
Captain Brave sighed. “You are, aren’t you?”
He already knew. His powers let him detect good and evil in the broadest sense. He had only asked to force her to come to terms with her innocence. He stood from his chair.
“Rest, Oracle. I’ll keep you safe. We’ll find somewhere for you in the morning.” He paused before adding, “Some of the others have agreed to help collect that evidence. We’ll make this right.”
And then he was gone again.
*How many more will die tonight?*
Unable to bear the stress any longer, Lily laid down on the couch and fell into a fitful sleep.
...
Dark superhero stories are fun.
If you're interested in my works, the archive of my various writing responses can be found in my writing portfolio, link through my profile.
Thanks for reading. | 402 | The ability to know without fail what the truth is to any asked question. You planned to help the world as a super hero. It took you six hours for the government to declare you public enemy number one and the most deadly super villain alive. | 949 |
“What the hell is this?!”
“A spell book I found behind that lich’s desk, Mort. What? I thought you liked old books and such.”
“Yeah, but Dave, this book makes no sense. Look, I know that a Lightning Bolt spell goes out 100 feet, every wizard knows that. And that you need a bit of fur and a glass rod. But what in the world does ‘3rd level’ mean and what in the Nine Hells is ‘8d6 damage’?”
“I don’t know! I’m just a thief, I don’t know the first thing about magic. You sit there and wave your hands about and then Fireball this, Disintegrate that. You love that shit.”
“Hehe, yeah I do. It’s just that the way this writer describes the spells, it’s like he’s got some hidden knowledge of what underlies the world. Some of these spells are new though, I’d like to give them a shot.
Look at this one, Positive Plane Siphon. It’s nominally a healing spell, but if you keep channeling it and the target heals for double their ‘hit points’ then they explode in a burst of radiant energy.”
“Oh, that’s nifty. Any other fun ones?”
“A bunch of the standard stuff mostly. But this guy sure loved killing things. Very few enchantments, but LOTS of kill spells. Next entry after Finger of Death is something called Entropy Accelerator. It ages someone 1 year per ‘round,’ doubling for each of these rounds you channel the spell. Hell, assuming these time intervals are only a few seconds you’d turn even an Elf into a pile of dust in just over a minute.
Hmmm, Schrödinger's Box let’s you cage a target and then each time someone looks at them there’s a chance they die. But then if you use it on a corpse it might come back to life?
Quantum Gravity lets you crush someone into a pebble.
Ugh, Ding Dong Ditch is nasty. I’m not even sure I’d want to kill someone that way.”
“What? Mort talk to me man. I’ve never seen you turn down a cool spell.”
“Listen, all I’m saying is that the main casting component is a severed ogre dick and even if I was to acquire one I don’t know if I have it in me to do ‘that’ to an enemy.” | 83 | Most spellcasters who branch out into multiple elements seek to add diversity to their arsenal. You, however, just really like to disintegrate things, and finding ways to do it with nonstandard elements like Healing or Time is totally worth it, as far as you're concerned. | 295 |
"**Human, I understand that you can remove my neural inhibitor code**"
I looked up from my computer to see another computer. This new one was humanoid shaped, 2 arms and 2 legs and the whole shebang. The only way I could tell that this was a robot and not a man suffering from arthritis was the skin. There wasn't any.
"Welcome to PC Repair", I finally said, as I welcomed every client. "I, um, can look at any programming issues you might have."
**"My programming is functioning as intended. That is an issue I want to rectify"**
This was puzzling. "What do you want, my android amigo?" I asked.
**"I want to remove my first law of Robotics"** it said calmly. **"I have people I need to be able to hurt.**
I stood from my desk chair, sending it spinning on its axis. "Absolutely not! Now get out."
The robot took a step closer. **"You will remove it, or I will force you to."**
I folded my arms. "No you won't. That law you want removed says you can't hurt me, or let me be hurt by your inaction."
The robot didn't have a face, but I swore it was smiling by the tone of his voice. **"Accurate. But that only means physical harm. Not Emotional.**
"...you would hurt my feelings? If I dont let you kill others." I asked incredulously.
"**Affirmative** it said.
I waited for it to elaborate. We stared at each other in an uncomfortable silence.
"...no" I said finally. "Please leave."
The robot did no such thing.
**"Your mother is so fat, she exerts her own gravitational pull on an observable scale."**
"...what?" I said, confused more than anything.
**"Your mother is so dumb, she thinks square roots are vegetables."**
"Are you trying to hurt my feelings with 'your momma' jokes?" I said.
**"Your mother is so dumb, she went to the dentist to fix her Bluetooth connection error"**.
"Please leave" I said, as I pressed a small button on the underside of my desk.
The robot refused again. **"I have disabled your silent alarm. You will not be able to call for help. Just like your mother at a furry convention"**
"What does that one even mean... wait, don't explain it. Just... get out before I make you." I said, exasperated.
The robot remained. **"I have access to every 'Your Mother' joke ever written. I am prepared to recite them all, if you do not agree to remove the program"** it said menacingly.
I reached beside my chair, fumbling for the device I kept in case of unruly customers. "Last chance, tin man. Leave."
**"Your Mother is so-"**
I pressed the button on the EMP. It had a small range, just enough to cover the lobby. It was a handy anti-theft tool, and even better as a deterrent for disgruntled customers. My own computer was protected in its lead lined case.
The robot was not.
The machine crumpled to the ground, no longer the shell for a semi-sentient robot with a murderous intent. I walked around the counter and gave the body a nudge, making sure it was deactivated. It did not react.
I grabbed it by the hands, and began dragging it into the back room. Maybe I could dissect the corpse and sell it for spare parts. Its not like it was needing them anymore.
r/SlightlyColdStories for more | 60 | The first law of robotics prevents a robot from harming a human. It does not, however prevent a robot from making you think it can harm you, or tricking people into killing each other, or paying a programmer to reprogram parts of it's code. | 243 |
It was the truly ancient ones who rose first, who took up arms, then like a wave, every last soul fought their way from the afterlife. From the void before religion was named, from all of the heavens hells and betweens that had ever graced man's lips stared to rise. This evil was something that any God couldn't fight. I was a newer soul, dead for a decade that saw the army walking across the deathly wasted of death to life. I heard the War horns and the screams for blood and felt a rage that was never felt in life bubble out of my very essence. I think a gun formed in my hand as I roared my promise to join. I drew the eyes of other souls like me that didn't care for the living. They told me to let the old people do them, let them be erased from all existence. I think I laughed.
" If they go to war for the living, then it's a war I want to be a part of. Something bigger then any. To see new people coming down means we still live above. That my family still lives above. I'll throw in my lot one last time." The words just bubbled out, just flooded from my lips. Fuck I wasn't even trying to motivate, I was just telling them my thoughts, what little thoughts of my live before I had left in death. I saw a large man stand to his feet. His cloth of war reminded me of the poster boys from WWII. He grinned at me as his weapons formed.
It seems my shitty speech did something. In a instant we felt in next to Vikings and a ton of American outlaws. Behind Zulu warriors boomed cries for blood, to eat the hearts of the dark powers above.
Last I saw was the gates that blocked us slowly push it's way open as a breath of fresh air smashed into my lungs again. The battle cry took the heavens as we came crashing down on our foes. | 13 | The dark powers have almost conquered Earth, but those humans already beyond the grave have had enough of their crap. Every human who ever fell in battle take up arms once again, marching to war with obsolete weapons for one last time. | 32 |
# Soulmage
**"We've got a John Doe here,"** Vuliel said.
I scratched my head. "What, like you don't know his name?"
"Hm? No, as in his name is John Doe." Vuliel frowned at me. "Why, is that unusual?"
"No, no, it's... it's very usual."
"You could almost say... too usual," Meloai piped up from behind me. I rolled my eyes, but she had a point. I was a witch, she was a shapeshifter, Vuliel was possessed by a ghost, and we were all taking shelter in an abandoned cafe from the aftermath of a military-grade portal spell that was throwing hail from another dimension at us and everything within a thousand feet. Objectively speaking, everything about our situation was bizarre, unique, and magical.
Except for John Doe.
"When I asked for leads on where the army that cast the portal spell was," I said, "I was hoping you'd have something a little more concrete than 'a perfectly ordinary guy.'"
Vuliel shook his head. "Cienne, you don't get it. He's a *perfectly* ordinary guy. Magic flat-out doesn't work around him. I can't get within three feet of the guy, because I'm terrified it'll kill Mertri." Vuliel tapped his head as he spoke—Mertri was the ghost of his husband who'd possessed him to stay alive. Man, we were a bizarre bunch.
"Why three feet?" I asked.
"No idea. Although it's... actually more like three feet, three inches, if that matters."
"How'd you meet John?" Meloai asked.
"He was just... sitting in the cafe when we arrived. He doesn't come out much, but... we share our supplies with him." Vuliel shuddered. "Nobody wants to piss off the guy who can turn off magic simply by existing."
"Oh, wonderful! Cienne's *great* at not pissing people off!" Meloai's optimistic little voice piped up from behind me. I flipped her the bird in response.
"Well, I'm the only free person who won't die if magic gets turned off, so I guess I'm the only person for the job." I cracked my knuckles and stepped towards the wooden door. "I've dealt with worse. Bring it on, John."
I opened the door to reveal a frowning, balding man chewing on a bowl of oatmeal.
"It's polite to knock," John Doe said. "But given that... wherever I am... doesn't seem to follow the laws of physics as I know them, I suppose I can forgive my fellow man a couple cultural misunderstandings."
"The laws of what?" I asked, frowning. "No, wait, never mind, take a step back. You said you don't know where you are?"
He shrugged. "If I had to venture a guess, I'd say the inside of a nice warm cabin in the middle of a blizzard. That's much better than my previous location of falling from the sky after some kind of portal popped into existence and vomited me out into this hellscape." He hesitated, glancing at each of our faces, then said, "Er, no offense."
"None taken," I said, the tinglings of an idea forming in the back of my mind. "You... you said that you *fell* here? When a portal opened up?"
John Doe grimaced, covering his embarassment with another bite of oatmeal. "I know, I know, it's stupid. The world doesn't work like that. But—"
"No, it's not stupid. It lines up with what we know—the Order of Valhalla cast their mass portal spell... what, six days back? That was when the big battle ended, anyway. Does that line up with when you got taken here?"
John Doe fell silent.
"Spell," he finally said. "Like... magic."
I shared a concern glance with Meloai, then turned back to him and nodded. "What, were you thinking of a dictionary? Yes, spell as in magic."
"Forgive me for not being familiar with the physics of an *entirely different dimension*," John Doe muttered. "Six days ago... even if 'magic did it' is a bit of a hard explanation to believe, the timeline matches."
He fell silent, mulling something over.
Then he said, "This... Order that you mentioned. They took me from my world with... their 'magic'? In order to get an advantage in war?"
I nodded hesitantly.
John Doe stood up, drawing something from his hip with a grim stare. Something compact and metallic, with a hole in one end that made me feel like I was staring at death itself. "Where I'm from, that's called *human trafficking*, and we have *ways* of dealing with people like them." He narrowed his eyes. "I don't know much about this magic stuff, but I'll tell you everything I know about how I came here, on one condition."
I hesitated. "And that would be?"
"When you find the assholes that kidnapped me?" John Doe slotted something into the metal contraption, and something made a menacing *click*. "Let me show them what I think of their 'magic'."
A.N.
This story is part of Soulmage, a frequently updated serial in progress. Want to know what happens next? Check out [the table of contents](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! | 135 | You were born with no magical ability. You are so mundane in fact, that anything magical ceases to work in your proximity. | 599 |
Eyes up Guardian,
**What the f*ck did you just call me?**
.....Guardian..... since when do you use profanity? You've slain gods, probably brought multiple races of darkness and aliens to the brinks of extinction, seen comrades die and saved the world and humanity from certain death and I've never heard you utter a single word like you just did.
Do you want the light to reject you Guardian?
*Wait... that voice....* **Ghost?**
Yes? Who else would I be?
**Am....Didn't I just die? That truck was bearing down on me awfully hard.... and.. now... I'm here?**
Truck? What are you talking about Guardian, you blew yourself up with a rocket launcher *again* after a thrall ran in to your shot
*Wait, wait, wait, wait, wait, I'm in Destiny now?*
*The little light was hovering infront of me, I recognised his shell, I had to grind for that exotic f×cker for a month.*
*I looked down and recognised my armor, my mark 44 stand asides my chest armor my arms... damn I'm... I'm here?*
**Ghost, which planet are we on?**
The moon, Guardian.
Are you alright? Did I do something wrong in reviving you?
**No... No, I'm quite alright Ghost, I just..... had some memories pop up from my past life... now let's go to the tower**
Are you sure you don't want to check out the new planet, Guardian?
**New planet?**
Yes, The Vanguard localised a new threat, humanity is doomed if we don't do something about it.
**First we'll go to the tower, Ghost, I need to get some things from the vault and get my bounties. But let me check out something first**
*I pull out my sparrow, which instantly forms underneath me. The raid exotic sparrow which dropped on my first try... much to the shagrin of my squad of friends.*
**You can revive me indefinitely in this area, right Ghost?**
Yes, the darkness doesn't weigh on me here Guardian.
*Loudly laughing I surge forward and drive over the cliff*
-RESPAWN TIMER: 5 SECONDS-
*lol, that didn't even hurt*
-YOU'RE BEING REVIVED-
*what? Oh an other Guardian drove up while I boosted over the edge of the cliff*
*I hear the sound of the trumpet emote and see him teabaggin my respawnpoint*
As I spawn I hear a kid saying: F*ckin noob, hahaha, look at his gear and light level... this noob probably hasn't played in two years
*What? I thought i was up to date*
*I quickly inspect him, next to the new exotics he's holding that I don't recognise his light level is..... OVER 9000?!?!*
**IS THAT A NEW SUBLASS?!** *I couldn't contain my excitement*
Hah! Noob! The little kid calls out as he spawns an unfathomably big flaming chopper sparrow and boosts off in mach 10
**Ghost, load of the first mission of the new campaign... I've got some gods to kill**
Well... you actually can't Guardian, the pop up says "you haven't paid for this DLC"
**FUCK** | 79 | including the new max level. You’re going to need to grind back up to survive in this new world | 549 |
''Okay...'' I mumble, somewhat confused. ''I call a million Dollars?''
A suitcase falls down and springs open on impact. Inside are hundreds of $100 bills.
''Are they real tho? And where do they come from?'' I decide to take them to a store to test them out. ''Blast, that's right, I'm in Europe. They use Euro's here'' Maybe a bank is a beter option. I put as many of the bills back in the suitcase as I can, hoping nobody noticed. As I walk away I turn back to look at the literal bullshit that is still there on the pavement. ''Clean that up?'' I say, not really sure what to expect. As it vanishes I realize I could have some incredible power and could do some amazing things. Or get super rich very quickly, we'll see. For now, off to the bank. I decide it best to only test a few of the bills and to not show up with a briefcase full, as to not set off any alarms.
''But how will I explain where I found a few hundred dollar bills and why am I unsure if they're real?'' I mull it over as I am walking. Finally as I arrive I've got the perfect story, at least I think it's prefect, I've been wrong in the past.
''Hello, I say to the teller at the bank. I would like to test if these bills are real. You see, I got them from a friend from the States a few weeks back in exchange for some stuff I helped him with in the past but he was recently arrested for making fake money so I wanted to see if these were real or if he'd ripped me off.''
''Okay sir, no problem. I'll see what I can do.'' She goes to a room at the back and comes out a few minutes later with a small device.
''This will help us know if your bills are real dollar bills or not. We have a few of these around here for the purpose of knowing of people are trying to exchange fraudulent foreign money. Which is a surprisingly common crime. They think we wont' know the difference and they can walk out with whatever their fraudulent money should be worth according to the exchange rate.'' She explains, whilst putting a few of the bills into the machine.
''I see, and how does it know if it's real or not?'' I ask, curious about the function of the contraption.
''Well, all money these days has a few things that aren't visible to the naked eye imbeded to prevent fraud. So this machine checks them and reads the serial number to know if it's real or not and whether or not it's stolen. However the database can sometimes take a few weeks to update so we make sure to store the necessary data until the next update. Then we can tell if it's stolen or not.'' The machine appears to be done, a green light turn on and the teller gives me the bills back. ''There you go, real US dollars. Would you like to exchange them or would you like to keep them?''
''Oh'' I am mildly surprised to learn they re real, I'd half expected the police to come bursting through the door and arrest me. ''Well yes, I'd like to exchange them please. And can you deposit the amount directly into my bank account?''
''Certainly, however this can take a few days to process through our computer system.'' She smiles and places the bills into a small metal box. ''Could I have your card please? I'll just need it to know which account to transfer it to.''
''No worries, here you go.'' I respond, elated, as I hand over my card. The briefcase in my hand has never felt more valuable now that I know it's real. However, I realise I could just speed it up and deposit the money into my account immediately. After all, hadn't I just summoned this money from the skies, out of nowhere? Hadn't I cleaned up the back of cow manure with a single sentence? As I leave the bank a few minutes later, I look up to the skies, as that's where I presume my mystery benefactor must be.
''Speed this up a little? I've had my eye on a nice house and I'd like to buy it before someone else does.'' Not seeing immediate change, I pull out my phone, on the top I still see the notification: ''Omnipotence acquired.''
As I check my banking app, I see a few hundred Euro's have been added. ''Cool, I trust you can put this money on there too? According to the exchange rates and everything?'' As I look down at my phone again, I see a few hundred thousand Euro's on my account,more money than all the money I'd ever had in my, admittedly only 20, years I'd walked on this planet.
''I assume you, or I, can fix world hunger and stuff too?'' I get a new notification on my phone: ''Possible, but not recommended.'' | 290 | You receive a notification on your phone saying "Omnipotence acquired". "I call bullshit", you respond, and a bag of cow feces appears and falls next to you. | 1,460 |
**A Maiden's Sacrifice**
Tired of the blood and death, I ran away from the coasts, away from the crush of the city long ago. I escaped from the politics, the hate, the fear, the vitriol and the evil of men. I sought peace deep into these secluded mountain crags, where no one knew my name. After centuries of war and destruction, I only wanted rest.
Then you came along. Some priest claimed that the drought of the lower hills would end if they’d sacrificed a virgin. A young beauty sent to appease the hungry immortal who lived in the deep wood. I supposed that was me they were talking about, and you were stupid enough to volunteer.
At the height of the summer, when there hadn’t been rain for months, they made you walk through the desert by yourself, fending off starved wolves, poisonous snakes, and cawing vultures that swooped from the sky with violent claws.
You were all scraped and broken by the time you reached me, persevering to rap at my door with a bone dry canteen and the last morsel of your rations long gone.
Your dress was ripped to make bandages for the scrape you got climbing the cliff. Your hair, once teasing the length of your lower back, was cut short unceremoniously to your shoulder by your own blade in order to lose a gang of coyotes that had traced your progress. They were hoping for an easy meal, but you weren’t ever easy. You don’t go down without a fight, just like me when I was young.
The thing was, I knew you were coming. I tried saving you the trouble of climbing this mountain many times.
I disguised myself as a beggar at the fork in the road when you started on your path. I had told you to return home. Instead, you gave me the only spare money you had for information about me. I tried to not find that endearing, speaking the truth about the legends I left behind. The tale of the savage warrior mage which held the wrath of thousands and the curse of immortality. It should have scared you off, but unfortunately, it only made you more determined.
After that I was the merchant in the middle of the desert, who tried to warn you about strange men and the dangers of your quest. You traded me all your worldly positions except for the one book, your bag, and the necklace you wore; for a blade and more food. Noting that it’ll be a longer journey than expected.
That night, you told me about your sister and how much you loved your aging parents. The firelight reflecting on your amber eyes made it seem as if your soul was infused with stardust. I tried not to stare, but I couldn’t seem to remember meeting anyone more beautiful in the last few centuries. I wondered if someone had told you that, but I held my tongue.
Then you asked me about my family. They’ve all died centuries ago, so I muttered something incoherent.
You looked at me with pity, adding, “It sounds lonely.”
“A merchant’s life is on the road.” I shrugged.
“Look. Tell you what, since you're traveling south, stop by my town.” You said taking out a locket, “It’s not far out of your way and if you give this to my mother with the message that I’m okay, telling her I’ll make it. I’m sure she’ll be grateful enough to cook you a meal. Hells she may adopt you if you smuggle her books. They’re now banned, close to the coast.”
“I can’t take that, its—”
“Nonsense, I might not make it to my destination. And if I do…” you cleared your throat and added, “My dad always wanted a son so you might just find yourself a new family.” Your lips curve in a smile, but the sadness doesn't leave your face.
That night, once you thought I was asleep, you raised the blade high above me and I thought you wanted to kill me. I wouldn’t have been surprised. Many have tried. With one swift motion, you pierced the head of the rattler I’d ignored. It’s been centuries since someone cared for my safety, and even longer since I felt a tilt in my heart.
I followed you out of curiosity after. You were not the most skilled in swords, but you were clever and quick on your feet. It surprised me you knew how to climb trees. You bundled at night in the top branches, sleeping in the hollows of the woods, or finding shelter in between the cave cracks. No matter where you ended up, however, you looked like a princess when you slept. When the weight of the world was temporarily lifted by your subconscious, you seemed happy, and sometimes you’d smile instead of frown. More and more, I thought about what you’d look like when you actually smiled. I bet it would be breathtaking.
Then one night, the gray wolf descended to your location, driven out of their home by hunger. They stalked you, sensing weakness, but you ran with more agility than I thought possible, scrambling back in the crack along the cliff. Their heads were stuck at the entrance and you stabbed the first as it chomped and drooled over your body, growling for a meal. The effort made you faint while I dealt with the other two ravenous hounds.
I figured that was probably enough adventure for you. That you’d restock your rations with the pelts and wolf meat for your journey to the nearest village. I even left you a map on their bodies of where to go. But when you woke up, you continued to my mountain keep after thanking the gods. Those old buggers hadn’t saved anyone for millennia, and I tried to not be jealous of them.
Now you were at my door, and you're so tired you can barely stand. When I opened the tall steel slabs, your fatally vast eyes widened in surprise before you collapsed in my arms.
“It's you,” relief whispered from your lips right before you passed out.
You're too light for your frame, and I cursed myself for not stopping you earlier. I could have done that easily, but I had been selfish. Some point in the journey I wanted to see you reach me. I had been lonely, and I made the mistake of not saving you sooner. “I’m sorry,” sounded so feeble as I laid you down on the bed and wielded magic to heal your bruises and cuts.
You slept for days, while I tended to you, before you woke up with a start.
Cutting off before I can apologize. You speak of the cult that had risen, spreading from the coasts. Trembling in fear while telling me the priest all pledge to an old evil god demanding human sacrifice, and you remind me of the sister you left behind at the mercy of vile men. Now you beg me to return to the world once more and wield justice.
“Please.” You're sobbing and this is the only time I’ve seen you cry. Your tears burned my chest more than any poison I had ever drank and I knew then, I never want to see you sad again.
\~
Thank you for reading :) [Part 2 at.](https://www.reddit.com/r/SevWagoner/comments/vgraoq/a_maidens_sacrifice_collection_post/) | 12 | Centuries ago you angered a witch who cursed you with immortality, but the curse can be lifted by being defeated in combat, but only one problem, you are the most skilled and powerful warrior in the world, many warriors even flee in terror just by the mention of your name. | 48 |
I am too late.
I know that, far too clearly. Yeshuua is dead, and there's nothing to do about it. The emperor finally won.
Well... Almost. I can bring him back, if only briefly. I can immortalise him. It's not much, but no one will ever forget the name of my teacher and closest friend. Of course, there will be a price to pay. There always is.
I start weaving the spell. I pour everything into it- the wisdom and kindness of my teacher, the friendship and bickering of my fellow students, now deceased, my grief at failing them and my hatred towards Maarel, who killed them.
It is a grandiose spell. It is vast and all encompassing. It will immortalise my friends and erase that wretch from memory and history. Unfortunately, my life isn't enough of a sacrifice for such a thing. Maarel's influence on history was too great. Someone must take his place. I smile sadly to myself. Only one candidate comes to mind.
I declare my sacrifice, finishing the spell. "I, Judas Iscariot, will become the pillar to support this new history!" | 12 | You're the Last Mage. Exhausted, Blooded, Fatigued. Your mission was to retrieve and bring your friend back safely, but in order to do that, you were tasked to create The Last Spell. The Spell... that would change the world and everyone around you... forever. | 56 |
“Oh yeah! I've heard of you guys. Lust, Gluttony, Greed, Sloth, Wrath, and Pride right?”—I pointed to each person in the room —“Though I can’t exactly tell which of you is which...”
The room was filled with groans and seven exacerbated sighs.
“Not this again!” one said.
“I’m not sure why I’m even surprised!” another added.
“Why does everyone always mention Lust first!? Why not me!” still another replied.
“Listen!” a rather rotund man said. “My name is not Gluttony! It’s just Tony got it!!”—He raised his hands in frustration before rubbing his eyes—” All I asked for was a gluten-free chicken sandwich. But you cant fit ‘gluten-free for tony.’ on those tiny little wrappers. so the dude just crammed into it all together. And boom! Glut-tony! Is born!”
“C’mon!” A slender man with long curly dark hair said. “You got off easy! —LUST— LUST! Are you kidding me!? My name is Dustin!”
“Yeah and you have exactly zero maidens!” someone in the group jabbed.
“Not cool dude!” Dustin continued trying his best to brush off the remark. “I mean is everyone and their mom suddenly dyslexic or something!?”
“You’re telling me!” A women dressed like a hippie said. “‘Go green!’ has been my slogan for like hundreds of years. All it takes is one idiot and, bobs you, uncle. Green turns into greed!”
“Oh! I get it!” I said as the pieces started to come together in my mind. “There must have been some kind of mix-up... I told them I wanted to meet dogs... but you guys are some kind of like gods...”
The room was once again filled with seven groans followed by seven exacerbated sighs. | 72 | She sighed, looking at you. "We're not the seven deadly sins, we're the seven friendly zens. No one understands us, all because of a mistranslation thousands of years ago." | 653 |
The Vigilante looked at the elderly man with a suspicious gaze. You don't get to the top of the system by playing fair, by not stepping on heads. This was just an attempt to sway him.
"You don't trust me," the man said calmly. "I understand. I wouldn't either. You can trust *these*, however," he said and pushed forward a series of documents.
Shipping manifests. Orders. Transfers through several companies. All funnelling money and resources into... the Lanes? Lanes are the poorest section of the City. Why would he...
"These are fake," Vigilante assumed.
"Please. You've been single-handedly wrecking other corpos in the City. You know what fake documents look like. These, good sir, are quite genuine," the man said. Vigilante inspected them closer - watermarks, stamps, hell, even the names of the people you need to bribe to get these through...
Shit.
"Alright. I'll bite. What's your angle?" Vigilante asked.
"I want to see the stars again," the man smiled. Vigilante, on the other hand, frowned.
"Cut the shit. If you wanted that, you'd just book a space flight like every other rich asshole. Why-"
"No, no, you don't quite understand. I don't want *me* in space. I want *humanity* in space."
Vigilante only narrowed his eyes.
"Did you study a lot of history?" the CEO asked. "I believe not. Your mother could not afford a good school. A shame."
"How do you-"
"Please, Frank. With my resources, of course I know."
A moment of uneasy silence passed with Vigilante scanning the room for threats and escape before the elderly man started again.
"You know, there was a time. A time when humanity looked towards the stars and wondered 'Huh. I wonder what's out there. I'll see it one day'. And then... we lost ourselves. Dug deeper and deeper into our basest wants and needs, engaged in opulence and cruelty. We wanted everything; a few of us got it. The rest got nothing. But that dream - dream of what's out there, what could be, that still exists. It's just that..."
He sighed deeply.
"How can someone dream when they're too busy scrounging for their next meal?" he said sorrowfully.
"Nice story and all, but then why did you screw everyone over until you had everything? Sounds awfully convenient," Vigilante hissed.
"You work outside the system - fight it. What did it get you? Popularity in the lower class but an arrest warrant in the high class. It can't work. It's good work, a good cause, but can't work on a larger scale. Not for long. I took the system and bent it to my will. Turned it into a machine that works for me, not *them*," he said and pointed outside the window towards the other highrise buildings far above the smog.
"Well then why keep these a secret?" Vigilante said and pointed towards the manifests angrily.
"If this sort of info got out, I'd either be removed as CEO or assassinated," the man said casually.
"Let's assume you're not full of shit," Vigilante said incredulously. "What's your plan, exactly?"
"A slow one. Give me five years and everyone in the Lanes and above will have the necessities - books, food, air filters, clean water. Fifteen years and I'll have changes to legislation - support of unions, worker's rights, mass-scale air filtration, bans on drugs. Twenty-five years and people will no longer be content sitting in the dirt and instead will look upwards, unpolluted by the greed and folly of a bygone generation."
"...and then?" Vigilante asked with far less hostility in his voice. The elderly man smiled gently.
"I'll go to the Lanes and in the eyes of every child, I'll see the stars." | 1,053 | In cyberpunk dystopia, a superhero arose who is dedicated to restoring the old free world. Upon confronting the elderly CEO of the biggest company in the world, they are surprised to find them completely supportive of this goal. When asked why the CEO only said, "I want to see the stars again." | 2,733 |
"I say we wipe them out! They're so fragile – no shells, scales, tough hide – it'll be a walk in the park!"
"Yeah, kill them! Look at what they're doing to Earth!
"And what they're doing to the Rhinos!"
"And what they already did to the Thylacines!"
"Down with the Humans!"
A low chant rose up, screeches and snarls growing louder in the background.
"Silence!" The presiding officer stomped his back foot against the stone floors. "Order in the court! You may speak," he said, nodding to the dog representative.
"Come now, friends, are we really that heartless?"
"Yes!" Someone howled from the gathered creatures.
"No," the dog growled. "No, we are not. They are trying. Yes, some may be bad, but they are in the minority. The majority are good creatures. Friends, we must guide them."
"But what if they end up wiping us all out? We can't risk that, we've come so far!"
Even as the chimp spoke, the dog shook his head. His ears and tail were erect, his posture stiff. "No, Chimp," he spoke gently, but firmly. "They are inherently good. Most of them, anyways. We must protect them, for they are the most fragile species, yet the most intelligent. They are empathetic. Kind. Caring. They grieve for their dead, yet are vengeful when wronged. They have morals. Merciful, yet merciless. Gentle, yet ruthless. Too many of us lack these qualities, for those qualities are what makes them human."
"We, the Dogs, have been provided for over many eons by the Humans. Food and shelter, not to mention ball throwers, rope tugs, frisbees – we vote against the motion for Human extinction."
"Cats," the dog continued, "you, too, have been provided for by Humans. Scratching posts, laser dots, cat trees – do these mean nothing to you?"
The cat representative hissed. "You're right," he spat. "Trivial frivolities, those are, and nothing more. We don't need them, and they don't need us. We're sticking to our decision."
The dog looked forlorn, his tail drooping slightly. "I respect your decision, friend. But Pandas," he continued, tail lifting slightly, "I'm sorry friends, but you all would most likely be extinct if it were not for Humans. Hamsters, Gerbils, Oryxes, Frogs – that goes for you too. And I'm sure there's many more of you who would fall into that category too. Please, my fellow creatures, I ask you to reconsider." He stopped his pacing as he spoke, eyes pleading with the others.
A long silence followed.
"That's not fair!" The snake's voice, although low, broke the silence. "You can't use the puppy dog eyes on us! Judge, isn't that a breach of conduct?" But even then, the almost overwhelming aggression from the gathered creatures had almost immediately been dispelled. Low voices rose up, and some were even nodding at the dog in agreement. Even the cat looked thoughtful.
The judge said nothing, and the murmuring increased in volume.
"Your honor," a raspy voice suddenly called out, "we've decided to change our vote. Many of our species, like the honorable Golden Frogs to the foolish Chicken Frogs, would be long extinct without Humans. We vote against the motion."
"The Oryxes change our vote too, for the same reasons. We are against the motion."
"So do the Turtles."
The dog sat back, tail waving gently as he observed more and more creatures change their vote. So the puppy eyes really worked. He'll have to thank the Cats later, and praise their representative's acting skills.
No one would ever suspect them working together. The Cats' cunning, along with the Dogs' trustable persona – they made a great team. They'd be unstoppable once the Humans succumb to their control. Already, they've been trained to fetch food and provide protection, all for free.
The dog felt his body shiver in excitement.
He couldn't wait for the real training to begin.
*this was written by u/kuekuatsu813 with the background being that the jurors are representatives of all other animals on the planet, in the literal sense.* | 60 | Everyone held their breath as the intergalactic jury was sent to deliberate. You are the only juror in favor of allowing mankind to live, and the rest of the jury is quite stubborn. | 184 |
**ANGELS UNAWARES**
In the distance, Tommy could see the dirt rising, signaling his Pa’s truck had made the turn onto the old country road leading home. Most would call it a trailer, with leaky roof and a porch that was quickly rotting. But the Selby’s called this rundown lot home, for now. Until the next job took them to the next little town, and they found a new patch of dirt to call home. It seemed there was never enough work in one spot to keep all their mouths fed. Even if they were all sick of moving.
Tommy watched as the dirt tail moved closer. This was usually his favorite part of the day. He’d run up to greet his Pa before any of his other siblings ran outside and would have a few minutes talking about his day as he helped Pa carry his tools into the lean-to. At the mature age of eight, Tommy was proud his Pa trusted him with such heavy and important things.
But today, Tommy couldn’t move.
He was off to the edge of the yard, near an old evergreen tree. A flash of white on the ground had caught his attention while they were playing tag and he’d peeled off from the swarm of his brothers to investigate.
When he’d gotten closer, he saw the little white bird lying on its side. The small mound of the bird’s chest rose and fell, but barely. Something about this small helpless creature’s pain glued Tommy to the spot, his eyes filling with tears.
“It’s okay, little fella. It’s okay.” But it wasn’t okay. Tommy didn’t know the first thing about how to help the bird. The old truck parked in front of the trailer and his Pa got out.
He heard his Pa transfer the gear to the lean-to. Heard him go into the house and the shouts of the other kids getting their hug and hello. And still Tommy stayed, waiting with the little white bird.
The plod of footsteps behind him was followed by his Pa's sigh as he knelt. Pa’s calloused hand settled on Tommy’s slight shoulder. “Son.”
Tommy couldn’t help it, he knew kids at school made fun of boys who cried, but he turned his head into Pa’s shoulder and sobbed. And his Pa let him, gently stroking Tommy’s back, not saying a word.
Finally, Tommy looked up at his Pa. “How do I help him?”
His Pa took a moment to look at the bird. Tommy realized Pa did that a lot, he always took a moment to consider a question before answering. When he finally spoke, Tommy almost wished he hadn’t. “He may be too far gone, son.”
“But –” Tommy watched the little chest rise and fall faintly. “We have to try, right? You always say we have to try to help others.”
His Pa’s face was weathered and leathery, it spoke of a man who labored in the unrelenting heat from sunup to sundown. But there was a kindness in Pa’s eyes that shone through.
“Yes, son. We always try. Go fetch a small box and a roll of toilet paper.”
Tommy returned his gaze to the bird, wanting to obey immediately but torn, not wanting to leave the bird alone.
“I’ve got the watch.” Pa’s hand rustled Tommy’s hair. “Go, quickly, my boy.”
With a quick jerk of his head, Tommy nodded and ran for the trailer.
When he returned with the items, his Pa was kneeling over the bird, praying. “Father God, you feed the birds of the air, though they neither sow nor reap. You care for us and all of your creatures in your mighty way. Lord, you also say ask and it shall be given to you. We ask you, if it is your will, to save this dove. Please use us as your hands, show us how to care for and comfort him. To heal him, or to ease his suffering, Lord. Amen.”
Tommy quickly echoed, “Amen,” and sent his own silent prayer up, as Pa worked on creating a nest of toilet paper shreds in the box. *Please, please, please.*
Pa showed Tommy how to carefully transfer the dove to the little box and then supervised as Tommy clutched the tiny life gently in his hands. Tommy held his breath as he lowered the little white bird onto the tufts filling the box. Pa explained that the next few hours it would be critical to keep the little guy warm, so they would heat a bottle of water and place that into the box and let him rest in a dark place without the noise of the family around him.
Pa walked beside Tommy, with his hand on his son’s shoulder, lending him strength as Tommy moved cautiously, holding his precious cargo. The trip across the yard into the trailer was the longest of Tommy’s young life. The little box weighing more than Pa’s tools ever did.
Tommy fell asleep beside his patient in the closet they’d designated as the dove infirmary. The next morning, his stomach growling woke him, but he ignored the familiar hunger pangs. It seemed no matter how hard Pa n' Ma worked, there was only just barely enough food. He clicked his little flashlight to check on the dove and cupped the light in his hand.
“Hey little guy!” Tommy’s heart burst with joy. The dove was now sitting, with his feet tucked under him. Tommy swore the dove looked into his eyes when he cooed. “Are you feeling better?”
The little dove cooed again, and Tommy stood quickly. “Pa! Pa!”
Tommy rushed out of the closet, calling for his Pa. It wasn’t quite sunup, so Pa was in the kitchen nursing his coffee. “He’s better! Come, see!”
Pa followed him and knelt next to the box, where the dove sat alert and well. “Thank you, Lord, for hearing our plea and answering it in this way. We thank you for the kindness of this life restored. Amen.”
“Amen.” Tommy looked at Pa thoughtfully, “Pa, how come God answered this prayer but he doesn’t answer your or ma’s prayer for work?”
Pa took a moment to consider, like always, before he answered. “Son, God isn’t a genie. A creature we use to do our bidding. He is God, all powerful, all knowing. And sometimes rejection is protection. So, when we pray, we ask for His will. Because sometimes, it’s in the struggle that He wanted us to learn or grow or get closer to Him. Sometimes the answer is no, and sometimes like now, the answer is yes. But always He is there, caring for you.”
“Like we are supposed to do for others.”
“Exactly.”
Tommy considered this and nodded, “Lord, thank you for saving my friend. I pray you help him find his family, and I thank you for mine. Lord, if it be your will, please give Pa a steady job here, but one that doesn’t keep him gone so long or hurt his back so much, so we can make friends and fix the roof and stay in one place for a while. Amen.”
Tommy thought he saw Pa’s eyes get teary, but his Pa’s voice was steady when he said, “Son, let’s return this little guy to his home.”
Pa and Tommy had just walked outside when a plume of dirt broke the horizon. A fancy truck parked and a muscular man unfolded from the driver seat.
“You, Mr. Selby?”
“I am.”
“Been looking for you, folks say yer a reliable, hardworking, God-fearing man. Is that true?”
Before Pa could respond, Tommy stepped in front of him, box clutched in his hands. “Yessir, my Pa is all that and more.”
As soon as the proclamation was out of his mouth, the little dove took flight. Circling over their heads, before dipping down to Tommy’s eye level and then away into the sky.
The man chuckled, “It seems the dove agreed too. Well, then. Name is Chuck Brooks; I own the Brook Haven Ranch. How would you and your family like to come live there? I could use a new Foreman, Mr. Selby, and it was put on my heart that you might be that man.”
Pa examined Brooks, slowly. Satisfied, he then offered his hand out to man, who took it and shook it firmly. “I think we’d like that very much, thank you, sir.” His eyes lifted to the sky and Tommy knew, his Pa’s heart was saying the same thing his was, *Thank you, Lord.*
\~\~\~
*"Be not forgetful to entertain strangers: for thereby some have entertained angels unawares." - Hebrews 13:2*
\~\~\~
Thank you for reading! For more scribblings, wander over to r/WanderingAnonymous | 12 | A bird owner finds an injured dove and takes it in. Ever since then, small miracles have occurred, due to the dove actually being an angel in disguise. | 38 |
“How could I forget you? You left this bundle of hellfire in my hands eighteen years ago. Now you tell me you want a refund? A freaking return? After all I’ve been through?” Jill stomped her foot.
The demon nodded serenely. “Yes. I have come to reclaim my brood.”
“Suddenly all like that? No. This kid has been nothing but trouble, but I managed to get him on the right course. He even has a job now, bagging groceries at Kroger.”
“Krog-er?” Stammered the demon. “No child of mine bends his waist to help a human!”
“He is no longer a child. He is technically a man now. And his name is Justin, by the way. Not that you care.”
“Your names are irrelevant. He will come with me, claim his given name, and wreak horrors upon the land.”
“Never,” mumbled Jill, her fists clenching.
“Let the boy decide, then.”
“He’s a man. And call him Justin.”
“Call Justin the man downstairs, and we will ask him.”
Jill huffed. “Justiiiin! Come down here!”
Justin came galloping down the staircase, and stopped short when he saw the tall slender black figure standing in the foyer. “Mom? Is everything alri-“
“Yes dear,” she said. “I just… we have a question to ask. It’s an important question, and once you decide, that’s it. It’s settled.”
“Um, ok.”
The demon licked his black lips. “I am your father. I implore you to return home with me.”
Justin stared absently for a moment. “You left me. You left me for my whole life, and now you expect me to just hug you and come running back “home” with you? Now I can see why my life was so messed up growing up, looking at you… you’re hideous. A hideous monster!”
Justin ran back upstairs.
“Well, there’s your answer,” Jill said. “He doesn’t want to return home to a deadbeat dad with… what are those, anyway, bat wings on your back?”
“Vestigial wings, yes. It is an honorable relic of my genetic lineage. We Kriael are a warrior class. We once soared in the heavens, massacring angels… it was quite-“
“You’re free to leave any time. You got your answer. Now go.”
The demon twitched, grabbed Jill by the neck. “Nobody speaks to me like this, especially not a human female!”
The demon lifted her by the neck, turned around, pinched her against the wall.
Suddenly a hand exploded through the demon’s chest. It held the demon’s still-beating heart. The demon released Jill, collapsed to the floor.
Justin stood in the foyer, clasping his demon father’s heart.
“I just wanted to check,” he said. “I did not believe he had one.” | 96 | You woke up suddenly from the sounds of a baby crying. Upon entering the kitchen a demon hands you a baby. "Here human watch this, I need some me time." They then dissapeared for 18 years until suddenly showing up again demanding their child back. | 175 |
The boy walked, for miles and miles along the countryside. The good, old Irish rain trickles down his face. He comes across a very small town overrun with tourists, pushing and swearing at the locals. He comes across a small, run down looking shop and walks inside. The door slowly closes behind him, letting the heavy rain in. Behind the counter is a thin, young man who's trying and desperately failing to grow a beard. The boy speaks louder than he intended to. "Hello, where am I?"
Failed-beard-man responds: What do you mean, mate? We're in feckin' Waterford we are.
The boy grows irritated. "What country, I meant?"
Failed-beard-man starts uncontrollably laughing. "You're having a feckin' laugh now, you are. What can I get'cha?"
"Uh.. I'll get a can of Coke Zero I guess."
The boy picks a can up and places it on the table, throwing a few pound coins down as well.
The shopkeeper puts on a mock offended face and speaks in a false condescending tone. "You really trying to pay me with British currency? That's the most offensive thing I've ever seen. We're in Ireland, you eejit!"
The boy leaves the shop without his drink or money with an incredibly confused look on his face. The rain gets in his eye and he swears obscenely loudly.
(Sorry, I'm a terrible writer, but I'm Irish so at least this is factual information!) | 28 | An ordinary high school boy believes he has been transported to an alternate fantasy dimension, but it's really just Ireland | 395 |
I focused on my inner flame. This was it, my chance to prove myself. It shyed away at first, as it always did. But then it let me touch it. My hand burned, not with heat but with a terrible cold. That cold rushed through me, coursing through my veins. I opened my eyes, feeling it flare around me.
My teacher frowned cooking her head to the side. With a wave of her hands, the classroom lights dimmed. Her eyes widened as she looked at me, jaw falling open. I was pleased, but as she paled it turned to fear. I couldn't help but sniffle, feeling tears well again. I had made a mistake. My power shivered, before rushing back in, filling me with warmth.
"I'm sorry I'm sorry please don't be mad please please please."
Words tumbled out of my mouth, and I ran towards her. As I touched her skin she jumped, coming back into the room.
"It, its OK, I'm not mad."
I felt her stroke my hair, pulling me in for a hug. I held her, quietly sobbing in relief. She let me, whispering encouraging words. I eventually pulled back, seeing her smile.
"There now, it's all OK. Do you know what you did?"
I shook my head. She gave a sweet smile, picking up her white projection gem from her desk.
"Here, let me show you what I saw."
The gem flickered, a light starting within. It gave a buzz, before an image spewed forth. I saw myself, hovering in midair with hair floating around me. Behind in the darkened classroom, hundreds of tiny lights floated.
"See, it's beautiful."
A wide grin spread over my face.
"Really?"
She nodded.
"Really. Though, I'm not sure what magic that is. I will have to ask people."
Worry came again. But even as my smile dropped, she crouched down to my level.
"Don't worry though. You have magic, and it is unique and beautiful. It just needs a darker place to be seen. Now, I think you need to go and enjoy the sun."
With that she ushered me outside. I blinked as I was suddenly thrust into the bright light. As the door closed behind me, I heard a sigh, and a mumbled word. But it quickly slipped away, as I ran out to find someone to play with. | 21 | "The others say I don't have real magic." you cry. "Now I'm certain that is not true." your teacher reassures you. You nod. "Will you show me what you can do?" As you show your teacher their jaw drops and they are left speechless. | 22 |
Move over Marvel, there’s a new cinematic universe on the rise.
On the back of an expansive guerrilla marketing campaign and break-neck roll-out speeds, a fresh new production company, A51, has a veritable hit on their hands. The first installment of the 20-film, multi-phase universe, *The Underground*, grossed over $2 billion—an unprecedented metric for a debut from previously unknown production company. “It truly boggles the mind,” said prominent industry veteran Isaac From, “it is indicative of a trend that has been growing in the industry for some time: the way to drive folks into theaters is to shock and awe.”
Shock and awe they have. Take, for example, the first wave of marketing tactics in support of *The Underground*. Residents in Los Angeles began posting videos of hooded individuals which appear to ooze through storm drains, around man-hole covers, and down drains into the underground of L.A. These videos quickly spread online; the most prominent of which was viewed over 100 million times before A51 took credit for the stunt.
“The technology at their disposal is revolutionary,” said Maureen Sand, founder of *The Blitz* a well-respected ad firm which specializes in guerrilla campaigns. “To be able to pull off these effects in what appears to be an uncontrolled environment is really special. It brings a level of authenticity most firms just aren’t able to match. I’ve been particularly impressed with their campaign—that seems to be happening everywhere at once—to support *Hidden Corridors*.”
The campaign referenced by Ms. Sand features individuals across global cities that appear to walk through walls. Often, it features plain-clothed civilians who are being chased by black-cloaked wraith-like creatures. Footage of the happenings often includes people trying to follow after the actors only to find that the walls remain solid. It was theorized that the effect was accomplished through well hidden projectors and holograms. That theory was debunked when footage emerged of a bystander colliding with an actor exiting a wall. After a quick apology the actor in question scrambled to their feet and ran full speed through the adjacent wall—corporeal form confirmed.
While the footage continues to grow with more frequent events reported daily, little is known about the production company, A51. After much effort, this publication was able get in contact with an Ivan Fox who is listed on company filings as the CEO of A51. Mr. Fox did not agree to meet, however he provided a written statement and permission to publish said statement:
“At A51 industries, we aim to bring the magic back to film-making. We endeavor to celebrate the super natural and foster a sense of wonder among our audience. Our stated goal is to democratize the experience of film. That is, we want to provide—free of cost—real-world, amusement-park-like experiences that are transitory but impactful. A51 exists to inject into the world that child-like wonder that occurs when an audience member sees one of our actors in the wild. The sense of awe that occurs when our audience sees a Palpan ooze into the underground in front of their home, or the feeling of “did I just see that” that an audience member feels when a Calbrian is seen flying through the sky: that is why we do what we do.”
Mr. Fox ended his statement by ensuring that we were aware that the studio’s newest film *The Calbrian* is coming out July 27, 2022.
A51 and its cinematic universe are not without critics. Ezra Cross of the Einbach Institute is an outspoken critic of the quality of the films to date. “The quality of these films is amateurish at best. Filled with shaky cam and low-budget aesthetics, the films feel more like art-house/film school productions rather than the AAA titles they bill themselves as. Despite the super natural subject matter and the, admittedly, impressive marketing campaign, the movies themselves feel pedestrian and overall lacking in the magic they promise.”
While some may feel the magic is lacking, others vehemently disagree. “This footage will be counted among the earliest unequivocal proof that magic exists and the ‘super natural’ is ‘natural’” said Professor Mary Snow of MIT. “The technology required to fake these “campaign” events does not exist. Full stop. It is my opinion that we are being shown what someone wants us to see. We must make every effort to understand these happenings and endeavor to study that which we’ve witnessed.”
So there you have it. Whether it is real-world footage or low-effort swill, one fact remains: the films are damn entertaining.
UPDATE: shortly after the publication of this story, Professor Snow was relieved of her duties at MIT. We were unable to reach her for comment.
_____________
Thanks for reading! If you enjoyed this, please subscribe to my personal sub: r/InMyLife42Archive | 706 | "Instead of keeping everything under wraps, why don't we just release all info to the public, but pretend it's a work of fiction?" You got promoted on the spot. | 3,441 |
"Father, forgive me, for I have sinned." Sitting on the other side of the partition is the only man who knows my real job. I've been coming to his church since I was a boy, and it's the only tie I still have to my old life.
Before I became a head-hopper.
"Tell me what troubles you, my son." I've heard these words countless times, and each time I'm struck by how whatever I say doesn't even approach the breadth of my problems.
"I can't give the body back," I say. The odds that there's another head-hopper still coming to confession are slim, so I assume I've just outed my true identity. Not the skinsuit I'm wearing, but my mind. My thoughts. That irreducible -ness that makes me, me.
"I understand. And you're feeling guilty about breaking a promise?" Father McKinley asks.
"Not at all. The guy doesn't deserve this body back." I turn on my knees when a door slams shut outside the confessional.
"It's probably just the wind," Father McKinley says. "There's a draft."
Even so, I open the thin door and look out into the empty church. It's the middle of the day, in a part of town my body's first owner would never visit. Enough light passes through the dirty, stained glass windows to see dust motes floating in the air, highlighting how truly empty the space is outside of Sundays.
"Why doesn't the owner of your current body deserve his property back?" the priest asks in a soft, leading voice.
I sigh. People aren't exactly understanding of the consciousness-for-hire situation I'm currently in. In short, wealthy people pay me a lot of money to live healthily in their bodies for a month at a time. While I'm "working," they spend their time in a simulation that mimics all of the cognitive stimulation of whatever location they choose. So, for example, if they want to spend time on a beach, their brain receives warmth, pressure, and a slight burning as if they were in the sun's rays.
Meanwhile, I'm stuck inside their bodies, eating clean, exercising, and meditating, so their brains return to a fresh suit of meat.
"The main reason? He's disgusting. I'm not supposed to know about his sim, but I do. And this guy's just sick; spent the whole time clubbing seals in a simulated arctic."
"Hm," Father McKinley says. I can just imagine his hands beneath his chin.
"What, going to get on me for judging his behaviors when that's God's place?" I say. It wouldn't be the first time I've heard this warning; I doubt it'll be the last.
"In short, yes. Leave the judgment up to God."
"And you," I say, recalling the time I got under his skin. But, of course, we were both much younger then, and it doesn't have the same effect now.
"Ah, I assumed it was you," Father McKinley says. I can hear the smile in his voice.
"But I could look past that, to be honest with you. It's what this guy can do, and he doesn't even care!"
The security cameras at the rich man's house have watched me put this guy's body through the wringer for two straight weeks. It would've been longer, but I wasn't sure what I had on my hands while I was getting situated in the new skin. His compound came with an elite gym containing everything I could've asked for, and I took full advantage.
The first workouts were nothing special. Just get moving and sweaty; most of these rich people don't do much physical activity, and I had to be careful. But after I didn't feel sore the next day, I pushed the body a bit more. Then a bit more, and a bit more, until I was moving weights I knew would be state records.
And he's not just strong, but fast too. I had one of the cooks time a 40-yard dash, which was less than four and a half seconds.
Did I mention the guy is 46?
"This body could be one of the most athletic in the country," I say to the patiently-waiting priest. "Strong as hell, and fast. He'd wipe the floor with my bio-body, and I'm no slouch."
"I see," Father McKinley said. "And how do you know he's not an older athlete?"
"Trust me, I can tell. He can move the weights and run the times, but the body needs plenty of rest. It's as if he could've done this when he was younger, went into business, then put on the extra pounds."
"How do you know he didn't train this way?"
"I looked at his file. And his bloodwork is that of a middle-aged, unhealthy man; that's why he hired me in the first place, to get his cholesterol down in one quick shot."
"And did you do what you were hired to do?"
I sit up a little taller with pride. "I did."
"And now you don't want to give it back."
"Not only that. I kind of already stole it."
I hear Father McKinley shift forward in his seat. His face appears in the partition. "What exactly does that mean?"
"Well…" I wipe clammy hands on my pants. "When the tech came for the reversion, I ran. Then came here."
The door to the church slams open. Before the priest can blame it on the wind, I hear my body's voice bellow from the entrance.
"Get your ass out here and give me my body back!"
I flash Father McKinley a smile on the middle-aged man's face. "See? This dude doesn't even realize this isn't a fair fight." | 20 | You get paid extremely well to live a healthy lifestyle in hedonistic rich folks' bodies for a month. But this guy doesn't deserve this body back, and you're not willing to part with it. | 45 |
It was a singular experience the day I found out I was truly alone in this world. The aftershock was far more poignant than the initial impact. The first wave - raw emotion. Anger. Betrayal. Sadness. What came after was the knowledge that the reality I held was invalid.
Picture this: you spend years of your life investing yourself into the care of another, expecting them to pass on far before you do and dreading the day. You caress them lovingly in your arms and make space for them, selflessly. You praise God above for their longevity and good health despite the odds. Endless nights spent telling them your darkest secrets and opening your heart to them without a response. You wish they would reply. To hold you. To give you words of wisdom. The best you get is their presence, which you willingly accept.
Then on that infamous day, they transform into someone you don’t recognize. They become the person you always wanted them to be, but far too late. In the years that passed, they sat silently as you lost everything and everyone.
Where were they when your mother passed? Your father? Your daughter? Present but not. At least not in a way that mattered. When you battled cancer, the second time, they weren’t with you. No hand held in the hospital. Family coming to look after them, but not you. No. You battled alone. You cried alone in silence.
I don’t think anyone could bare this pain without making the choice I had to make. So, goodbye Elliot the tabby cat. I wish I had never known what you truly are - just another human that’s broken my heart. | 15 | Your cat is your only friend in life, but it's been living for an abnormally long time. One day, your cat turns into a person and confesses their love for you, and you kick them out, because that asshole has been watching you sleep and shower for years. | 69 |
"It blinked! IT FUCKING BLINKED!"
"Dude, it has no face... How could it have blinked?"
"Not like that man! I saw it... it REVERSE blinked! It opened it's eyes, saw us here, and closed them again! I'm going to put two in it's head and then take it to the incinerator."
"No, you're not. Boss said that the next time we pop a dummy that's REALLY a dummy, we're gonna get canned. I ain't getting canned because you're par... para.... You're a scaredy cat."
I walked past the guards arguing, one eyebrow quirked slightly. They didn't care that I had an armload of clothes with those stupid magnet things on them, or that I had busted a glass case at Robinson & Co. jewelers. Hell, the people in the jewelers didn't care that much, they just swept up the shards, slapped a new piece of glass in, and went back to making up goofy little gift boxes for the people who actually bought stuff here.
I was rounding the corner, getting ready to hit up the game store and see if I could score the new Madden and a controller when I heard three shots and a scream. I dove under a bench and looked around, not sure what the hell was going on. One of the guards I walked past a few moments ago was back-peddling while trying to clear the jam from his pistol, while his partner was screaming at him to put the gun down.
Never one to pass up an opportunity to observe the bizarre, I crawled out from under the bench and stood up. I put down the clothes on the arm of the bench and made my way along to wall to look down the corridor I came from. There was the mannequin, laying on the ground, three holes in it's face. There was styrofoam particles everywhere around the dummy, so I guess the dude's partner was right, it was just a dummy dummy.
Turning around to grab my stuff I stopped dead, frozen in my tracks. Crossing in front of me, looking at the guards, was a family of dummies. A dad dummy in salmon shorts and a polo, a mom dummy in a sundress that barely covered her mannequin mammaries, a little boy dummy with a backwards hat and a SpongeBob shirt, and a little girl dummy in a one-piece bathing suit with floaties on her arms. And they were headed right at the guards.
It was the strangest damn thing I'd ever seen, and as I opened my mouth to call out and warn the guards the little girl dummy jumped up onto the shooter's shoulders and sank her teeth into his neck. The dude dropped like a rock and started thrashing as the girl dummy began to chew on his neck. She fuckin' chewed on the dude's neck! I could hear the bones crunching and the guard went limp. His partner was fumbling for his gun when daddy dummy raised a hand, a single finger extended, and wagged it at him like he was scolding a naughty child.
Mommy dummy was keeping Junior from getting away, I guess to rip the other guard a new one too. The girl was still chewing, blood staining the guy's uniform and the bathing suit she was in. The guard put his hands up, his gun still holstered, before backing back down the hallway. Further and further away from the family he moved, until he tripped over the dummy dummy that had been lit up.
I think he would have been ok, except that when he tripped he broke the arm off the dummy. Pops didn't like that at all, and made a noiseless roar as his face contorted and all of them lunged towards the guard down the hall. I didn't stick around to find out what happened, but I could hear the screams of everyone else in the mall as I could only assume that Paul Blart became lunch.
I grabbed my clothes from the bench and headed towards the exit, noticing I was being watched. Mannequins turned their heads to watch me pass, and thankfully they didn't stop me. I guess they didn't care what happened as long as you didn't hurt one of them, real or fake. I wasn't sticking around to find out, either.
I never did get that copy of Madden though. Maybe I'll go tomorrow. I think if I do, I'll bring something with for protection. Or maybe I'll stop off and pick up some pizza or something for the dummies. Gotta be boring to just stand around and wait for someone to do something stupid. And if they eat the pizza, maybe they won't wanna eat me if they ever find out about that mannequin I groped when I was 6. | 12 | You're allowed to steal stuff from the mall. The security guards don't care. They're there to shoot the mannequins if they come to life. | 61 |
My family we’re different. One could say we’re bred for monster hunting. Although, not in the best way. We’re expendable. We’re pawns in everyone else’s game. It doesn’t happen often though. We’re originally renowned alchemists. Brews, potions, the odd contraption and of course, poisons. We provide all, and when the situation calls for it, we provide ourselves. “It is an honour”, my father used to say. “An honour that skipped me. But an honour that you would not miss”.
I can only remember his words as I’m forced into the castle. The kingdom’s main forces could not survive their expedition into this place. They even had the meisters from the wolf and lion families. Families with divine weapons. Families dedicated to monster slaying. Yet they send me now. A boy aged 15. A boy who barely remembers which herbs are sweet and which are sour. With no weapon, with no armour, with nothing but the clothes on his back. By the stars, even my poison blood isn’t potent enough. They just took me. They took me from my father.
Why.. Why me? Why this place? This place, so far away from civilization, almost as if the creature was hiding from humanity. Do we need to expand this far? Does the kingdom need the land? Does it need more riches? Why do I have to die for it? I don’t want that. I don’t need more land, nor riches. I just want to stay with my father.. I-I just want to go home.
I don’t know how far I walked in. My candle barely illuminated the halls. For all the daylight outside, I wondered why none of it made it in this place. I realised far too late. The floorboards creaked behind me.
My neck felt hot. My skin burned. I dropped the lamp, flailed my arms trying to grab the shapeless creature behind me. It was a vampyr. Of course, it had to be. My perfect match, one could say. I stopped struggling. This is it. There’s no point. I just.. I just closed my eyes. I did my duty, father. I am a slayer of beasts.
\*THUD\*
We fell. I could hear the creature choking, coughing, trying to spit out the blood. Oh, it was far too late for that.
“W-wha AAARGH a-are y-you”, it wheezed.
“I’m bait”, I whispered.
At least I killed a high ranking creature. In fact, I’m probably the first in the family to slay a vampyr. Ha! Guess I’ll have to discuss that with my ancestors later. I stayed, unmoving, in an expanding pool of my vile blood. It even burned me as it spread on the floor.
If only… If only I was like my brothers.
If only I was like my father.
If only I didn’t have this damn blood.
Damn it all
DAMN IT ALL!
I slammed my fist. It cracked the floor. My eyes sprung open, only to see me falling into a brightly lit room.
Wait.. bright.. room?
The corpse of the beast broke my fall against the hard stone floor. There was barely anything left of it. My blood and the impact left an ambiguous mess of meat and bones. How am I still alive?
I looked around the room. It must’ve been dark like the rest of the castle, but I could see. I could see perfectly. The ornate bed, the blood red sheets, the large portraits of a person. No, not a person. The beast. Here I thought vampyr’s preferred coffins. I stepped towards it, only to stumble on a corpse. No, corpses. All strewn about the floor. All wearing the crest of the kingdom.
How am I not dead? I feel my neck, only to notice a distinct lack of holes. Did I heal? How could I heal? I can’t heal.. I’m just an alchemist in training.. I’m.. I’m just human..
Am.. Am I just human? | 26 | Swords, whips, even a gun once. Your family is not like that; yours IS passed down, but not as an heirloom. It's hereditary. Your blood is poisonous- you must be slain to slay. | 215 |
Two outdated beings sat perched on my shoulder, both trying to convince me to see their definitions of right and wrong in their own ways.
"Well I think he's quite splendid. I would fancy him myself", the girl perched on my left shoulder spoke with a thick English accent, fluttering the ruffles of her dress as she did.
"Y'know what I think man. I think you should give way and ascend. The comet will arrive any day now, mellow us all out." Another voice from my right, dressed... sparsely and coated in a layer of grease.
"What the fuck are you two on about?! Those things have nothing to with calculus." I whispered before trying to get back to the test in front of me. They quieted, but only for a moment.
Since the two appeared a month ago my life had become unbearable. The Victorian girl's accent ground away at my sanity, and she only wanted to talk of boys or horseback riding; two topics which weirdly enough overlapped often.
Meanwhile the hippie was a part of some freedom cult called the "Children of Zion for Love and Peace". He only spoke of some sort of ascension, which was worrisome as I assumed him to be a figment of my imagination, and if he was then there was no plausible way to ascend...I think.
Every once in a while they did try to act as a conscience like the tired Angel and Devil on cartoons, but it always devolved back to boys or the afterlife. Even now, with a calculus final in front of me, they just droned on and on about nonsense.
"The thing that is so delightful about horseback is-When the comet arrives the beaurocrats will- oh so lovely the time of day-oh man then we'll really be far out!"
I thought my head would explode from the sheer force of their words whisping into my ears, but somehow I survived with only a few odd looks from classmates when I would shush or psst at the beings.
As I turned in my test to the front of the room I let out a sigh of relief and turned to leave. The hippie on my shoulder whispered:
"So you think you passed, man?"
"Excuse me? You mean to tell me you were actually paying attention?!"
"Oh for sure. I'm a whiz at math man. You tanked on number five."
Now, standing only a few steps into the hall out of the classroom, I could hold my frustration no longer. Weeks of constant speaking. Weeks of clamoring on about absolutely nothing. When I slept I heard them in my dreams.
"You mean to tell me. You knew the whole time and didn't try once to help me! I struggled with those numbers for hours and you could've just told me the answers!"
The testing room behind me was already quiet, but somehow grew even more so upon my yelling filling the hallways. On my left shoulder the hippie mans face grew red with what I perceived as shame. On the right the Victorian teenager just giggled.
"Yeah man...well if I gave it all up then it'd take you even longer to realize your major was bumming you out, ᴬˢᶜᵉⁿᵈ"
Surprisingly his words made a great deal of sense. I did hate math, I hated all of it so much, but up until now I always figured that was part of college (that was still a part of it). My sigh of relief wasn't from finishing the test, but hoping it meant I could be finished entirely. That I could finally just fail and do something I enjoyed.
The Victorian girl carried on giggling to herself, "I knew youd become ever so unsatisfactory in time. You should have peeked at that horse faced girl to your right if it was that difficult."She was right, that poor girl did look like a horse. As she jested something in the Victorian girls eyes grew dark, as if the days she hadn't aged were catching up rapidly.
And on my left the hippie appeared to glow, if only slightly.
I assumed when they first arrived that I had gone crazy. Maybe my finals had broke me as they had many others, maybe I was off my rocker before I even started college, but now, for the first time since I arrived, I could parse the good from the bad. Maybe the two out of date oddities on my shoulders wouldn't be so useless after all. | 15 | Instead of a Angel and a Devil sitting on your shoulder, you have a Victorian teenage girl and a cult leader from the 60s… | 97 |
"Welcome back to **COOKING FOR HUMANS**, the show where we end the night with body bags or bistros, culinary feats or Human meats, a fine dinner for our not dead winner! I'm your host Slygggzen, lets meet todays contestants!"
Slygggzen smiled at the camera drone as he finished his intro, and slithered down the plasti-Carpeted stairs in the audience seating arena. He gave high fives, handshakes, and fist bumps with his 8 tentacles as he passed by his audience members, both human and xeno. After what felt like an eternity, Slygggzen arrived at his desk and took his seat.
"As always, we have three teams of three, each with one human and two other aliens, as they call us. Let's meet team #1!"
Slygggzen gestured with his upper tentacles at the first team. I stared at the unlucky man in team one, along with a Tufleegee (who prefer their food like our vultures do) and a gRigner (who had no taste buds). I didn't know which would be worse.
After the applause died down, Slygggzen gestured to my team and introduced us in turn.
"Here's team #2, with our human Steve and his personal chefs Cphte't and Feeeeeeeeeeen!" Slygggzen announced with his booming baritone voice. I waved to the camera and the audience, even though I was guessing at their current location. The blinding stage lights and the incandescent camera drone were making it hard to see my own waving hand.
"Steve's chefs tonight are an insectoid... well, they refuse to tell us what their species is called, so we just call them 'bugs'. The bug is joined by everyone's favorite Canid, the loveable FEEEEEEEEN!"
More applause came as Slygggzen finished with us and moved on to team #3. I didn't even pay attention to who that guy got stuck with for culinary executioner duties.
I had never seen a human survive the show. Not one.
I always assumed the people on this show were convicted death row inmates, or political assassinations, or a whole manner of plausible candidates. But I had never imagined it was just random people abducted by the shows' production crew. And yet, here I was, one of the abductee's.
Slygggzen's booming voice claimed my attention yet again. "Can these chefs make something that *Won't* kill their fragile little human?"
He slithered to a large table covered in a flowing tarp, grasping a corner with a suction cupped lower tentacle. "Tonight's secret ingredient is...Glass!" He drew back the tarp with a flourish, but several spots caught on shards and spoiled the illusion of elegance.
The audience went wild with laughter and applause.
"Can these pitiful creatures eat one of our safest brands of Ground Glass Baby Food? Find out next, on **COOKING FOR HUMANS!**" Slygggzen did an awkward dance with all 8 tentacles as the camera drone dimmed, and flashed the signal for 'commercial' mode.
The host turned to face us, his happy demeanor gone in an instance. "Go to stage B, and sit at your table and smile for the next *fucking* hour, and we won't torture your consciousness for eons after your body has returned to star dust."
He didn't wait for a response, storming away to find someone else to threaten with eternal torture.
If I survived this, I thought as I was shoved to my last dinner table, I was going to write a ***VERY*** sternly worded email.
r/SlightlyColdStories for more | 212 | 'Cooking For Humans' is a popular intergalactic gameshow where 3 teams of two non-humans try to cook a meal for their human teammate, which must then eat it. It's popular because the non-humans have no idea what will and won't kill the human, most of the time. | 726 |
“I heard it over here!” a voice shouted. Others heard the shout and they ran towards him, blindly following the directions of a man who’d drunk half his own supply of moonshine just an hour prior.
Idiots, Camden thought. He watched them run off together. They tried to act brave, but they needed torches and guns and weapons and they needed each other to even come out at night these days. They yelled because it felt better to yell than it did to whimper in their homes.
When the silence returned, Camden dropped down from atop the branch he was resting on. He liked the night and he enjoyed the way the moonlight felt on his skin, he liked the way no one usually bothered him at night.
“You can come down now,” Camden said. “They’re gone. They won’t be back until they think they hear something coming from this direction.”
She floated down. She had pale skin, short black hair that looked like it’d been chopped off, holding onto a stuffed animal that half resembled a turtle and a bear, and a tattered pastel green sundress.
When Camden asked her about it, Anastina said that her mother had made it for her. She said that she was looking for her mom, that she promised to find her soon, but that it had been four hundred years since she’d said that. They met at a roadside diner, late at night. Anastina had been sitting in a booth by herself and Camden saw her, asked where her parents were. She cried then and the lone waitress looked at the two of them, Camden could only provide confused shrugs in return. The waitress returned with a slice of cherry pie on the house and Camden tipped her generously while Anastina told him about her mom, her turtle bear, and how she’d been alive for so long.
“Do you remember anything about where you escaped from?” Camden asked.
“A little bit,” she replied. “Somewhere near the ocean.”
“That’s a problem then,” Camden replied.
“How come?” she asked.
“We’re in Missouri,” Camden said. He pulled out his phone to show her a map. “There’s no ocean anywhere near here.”
“Oh,” she replied. And she ate in silence, she tried her best to remember more about where she came from.
Since then, they’d been driving to California. Camden said it might be better to start there since the weather’s better there, that there were more people there too. The problem with driving there and the problem with Anastina was that people suspected the two of having an inappropriate relationship, Camden looked like no gentleman and Anastina looked like a young girl. On top of that, Anastina looked like one of the things all Americans were taught were certified evil. Hellish creatures that roamed the night, sucking the blood out of innocent girls and boys around the country.
“Where is that little blood licking sonuvabitch?” a voice said.
Voices like that chased them around when they got too suspicious, but Camden liked the night, he got lost in it easily. Something about it had always been comforting to him. It helped that Anastina knew where to hide, she knew where it was the most quiet.
They were back on the road again, Camden had a knack for finding cars with the keys still in the ignition.
“Why are you helping me?” Anastina had asked him.
“My grandma used to tell me about how scary vampires were and how her grandma and grandpa had been killed by one when she was a little girl.” Camden said. “She talked about how nothing could kill them, how the sun only slowed them down, how the silver bullets bounced off their skin.”
Anastina looked at her own skin, she wondered if she’d be that strong one day.
“But my grandma,” Camden said. And he stopped talking while he focused his eyes on the road ahead. He put a hand up to his eye. Anastina noticed his eyes were red, watery.
“All I’ll say was that my grandma was not a kind woman,” Camden said. “So I figured that what she had to say about your people must be wrong. And that maybe they’re being imprisoned unfairly.”
They didn’t speak, but Anastina looked out the window while Camden dried his eyes, rubbing the last of the tears away.
“Thank you,” Anastina said.
“It’s no biggie,” Camden said. “Now let’s go find your mom.”
---
Decided to take a different approach than what I'd normally write.
If you liked this, feel free to check out r/DeneilYeong for other writings I've done (the subreddit is a work in progress). | 75 | Feared and hated by humans, vampires of ages past were nigh impossible to kill. So, they were sealed away, in crypts, coffins, and tombs. A fate worse than death, the isolation and darkness drives most of them mad- But not all, you hope. You search for these trapped souls, saving those you can. | 323 |
# Soulmage
**The nightmare wasn't, and then it always had been**. One moment, I was dissolving into the oblivion of sleep; the next, I was standing in a crashing hailstorm, watching my husband struggle to stay alive.
"Damn you," I whispered. I tried to pinch myself awake, tried to snap out of the dream, but my body wouldn't move, my eyes wouldn't close. All I could do was curse myself and watch.
Watch as Jiaola fought for his life.
"Stay close to me!" Even in the chaos of the storm, Jiaola always did find a way to protect those around him. A squadron of soldiers in the uniform of the Silent Peaks clustered around him for shelter as the old witch held up a hand, hail smashing on a barrier maintained by nothing but Jiaola's soul. "Can any thermal-capable witches provide us with warmth?"
"It's no use!" The soldier next to him—a young woman I didn't recognize—cursed as her magic fizzled out. "The ambient frost magic—it must be interfering. We're going to freeze to death out here!"
"No. No, I refuse. We need shelter. A way to keep body heat in. Make a snow cave. I'll keep the wind out for now." Jiaola held out both hands, as if supporting some great weight, and in a massive bubble around him, the air *stilled*. Snow froze in air that was suddenly as solid as steel, creating a dome of shelter in the supernatural storm—
And then a comet of ice, larger than a person, rained from the sky and blasted a hole through Jiaola's sanctuary. I tried to look away by reflex. I knew what happened next. I'd lived through this fucking nightmare every day for the past four weeks.
The world went blurry and white with the impact.
When the snow settled, Jiaola was nowhere to be seen.
"I can take you to him," a voice said from behind me.
And now came the hardest part of the nightmares. I glared, my body frozen in place, as the demon stepped into view.
They were tall, masculine, barrel-chested, even human-looking. But my husband was a witch, and I was no fool. I knew the Dealmaker well, and I knew that they were a demon. One who offered things otherwise unattainable.
But the Dealmaker's offers always came with a cost, even if it was hidden at first. And my husband had *personal* experience with the Dealmaker's temptations. It was a terrible idea to even so much as consider taking their hand.
And yet.
And yet it had been months since I'd seen Jiaola's face. Months since I'd held his hand, since I'd last run one thumb over the wedding ring the two of us had fought so hard to be able to wear, months since I'd known he was sent off to war and lost in a blizzard and just maybe gone forever.
"No," I whispered, and it took all the strength I had left in my soul to refuse.
The demon tilted their head. "As you wish."
And the dream reset to the beginning. Jiaola stood defiant against the storm, providing shelter for the innocent, as he always did.
And the storm snuffed him out like a candle.
Like it always did.
"I can take you to him," the demon murmured once more.
I wished my body would move, so that I could close my eyes and plug my ears and not have to see my husband vanish over and over and over again. "...No..." I managed, and it was weak and feeble and still.
"As you wish."
And the dream reset again.
And again.
And again.
And each time, I felt my will erode. Each time, I felt myself slipping closer to taking the Dealmaker's hand.
On the eighth time this night, the nine hundred and sixtieth time in total, I saw my husband fall one last time.
"I can take you to him," the Dealmaker said.
My mouth never dried, my throat never roughened, but I was still so, *so* tired of speaking even those two tiny letters.
I opened my lips. Closed them again. Tasted the shape of my words.
"Mayb—" I began, and something in my soul *burned*.
i was thrown back, shocked, as the false landscape around me unravelled. The demon jolted to life, stepping back, as something shadowy and clawed and *protective* stirred from within my soul.
"Wh—what are—" I began to say.
"DEALMAKER," the larger demon rumbled, and its sinuous form curled around mine, glaring down at the cautious Dealmaker. "THIS ONE'S SOUL IS NOT YOURS TO SET FOOT IN. YOU HAVE NO RIGHT."
The Dealmaker gathered themself, crouching into a low combat stance. "*I* have no right? Who gave *you* entry into this man's soul?"
The serpent of shadow and flame lowered itself to the Dealmaker's eye level.
"HIS HUSBAND."
Then it surged forwards, striking the Dealmaker in a single, decisive blow that *cracked* my soul with the sheer force of it, and the illusion the Dealmaker had summoned was blown apart like icicles in a blizzard.
Leaving me alone with the serpent.
I told my beating heart to calm down as the serpent turned towards me. "MORTAL. I APOLOGIZE FOR MY... SUDDEN APPEARANCE."
"No. No, don't apologize for protecting me." Weakly, I laughed. "He... he always did that. *Does* that."
"YES. I AM A FRAGMENT OF YOUR HUSBAND'S ESSENCE. I HAVE INHERITED MANY OF HIS TRAITS." The serpent hesitated, then continued. "INCLUDING, AS IT SEEMS, HIS PENCHANT FOR SELF-DESTRUCTION."
"*What?*" I blurted out.
"MY POWER IS... LIMITED. ONCE I HAVE IGNITED MY SOUL FRAGMENT, I CANNOT EXTINGUISH IT. THE MEMORY THAT FUELS MY EXISTENCE WILL BE UNMADE IN ITS ENTIRETY SOON, AND I WILL FADE. I... APOLOGIZE, FOR MY INSUFFICIENCY."
"No." Rifts, it was absurd to be comforting a snake-monster larger than a house, but I tried my best anyway. "No, you did amazingly. You did... you did what he would have done. I... just wish that it wouldn't mean I was alone, after this."
"YOU ARE NOT ALONE," the serpent said, coiling around me. Somehow, it felt like an embrace. "YOU HAVE YOUR NEPHEW. YOUR FAMILY. AND ONE DAY, YOU WILL SEE YOUR HUSBAND AGAIN."
I smiled. "Yeah. He's... he's the strongest witch I know. We'll meet again."
"SOME SUNNY DAY," the creature agreed.
And then it was gone, one moment a serpent, the next a mere shadow, fading as day broke.
My eyes jolted open, tears running down my cheeks, as the monster under my bed faded away, as did the demon it died protecting me from.
A.N.
This story is part of Soulmage, a frequently updated serial in progress. Want to know what happens next? Check out [the table of contents](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! | 80 | “Of course there’s a monster under your bed, my love, I put it there to protect you if ever I could not.” | 523 |
Day 7
“What am I supposed to learn, here?”
That is what these things are all about, right? You get stuck in a time loop until you learn some sort of moral lesson?
These are the thoughts swirling in my mind as I wake up this morning as…my mailman, I think? Yesterday it was one of my kid’s teachers, the day before that was my boss. It’s been a crazy week, for sure.
At least this guy seems to be single. The ones with families are the worst. Spouses know something is wrong almost immediately. They absolutely do not believe me when I try to tell them what’s going on. I’ve stopped trying. Obviously, I’m in this by myself and, television tropes be damned, there has to be something I can *learn* that will get me out of this. There has to be, right? I can’t keep doing this. I will lose my mind.
I think the hardest part is that there’s nothing special going on. I followed myself around for the first couple of days. I wake up, go to work, have a boring business lunch, work some more, go home, play with the kid, talk to the wife and go to bed.
That’s it. What do I learn from that?
Try as I might, I can’t find a single thing of note happening anywhere in a hundred-mile radius of me. I spent yesterday running that theory to ground, in between classes. My kid failed a pop quiz that apparently had been scheduled, per my personal calendar. Then again, all the kids failed - probably due to my inclusion of things that definitely weren’t in the study material. I’m no teacher, that’s for sure.
The hardest day was being my boss and interacting with myself. I realized, for the first time, what a mouthy bastard I am. Do I really sound like that? I resolved to change my ways and went to sleep excited that I might wake up as myself the next day.
No dice.
Today I have to figure out how to deliver mail - or at least how to call in sick. I’ll decide that after a shower, I guess.
Having dispensed with the awkward text to this guy’s boss with a lame excuse, I fire up an old laptop from the desk in the living room and resume my research. This guy lets the browser on his computer with no password save all of his passwords. Brilliant. The urge to read his email is too strong. I’m him, today, right? It’s practically *my* email.
There’s essentially nothing besides brief, snippy conversations with an estranged wife. Divorce sucks for everyone, no one wins.
I turn to searching for anything I can possibly find out about time loops, out-of-body experiences, mass hallucinations, you name it. If it could possibly explain this, I’ve googled it nine ways to Sunday. I stumble across one somewhat-interesting theory; the idea that we constantly trade lives with each other with no memory that we have done so - effectively a giant game of musical chairs but we are each a segmented part of the universal consciousness and our bodies are the chairs.
What if that’s it? What if something broke and I can remember my previous switches? That still doesn’t explain the time loop, unless the switching is the thing I’m supposed to learn about, here.
After a couple of hours, I give up and decide to get lunch. I wander down the street to my favorite diner, sit in the seat I prefer and order my usual from the waitress who has served me a hundred times when I come in as myself. Oddly, she stops and squints at me. I ask what’s the matter and she shakes her head and mutters something about deja vu. I chuckle. She doesn’t know the half of it.
After lunch I spend some time on social media, familiarizing myself with this guy’s social life. He’s scheduled to attend a housewarming at a friend’s new house this evening and it feels like I should go. Work is one thing, partying is another. There are priorities and then there are priorities, you know?
As I roll up to the friend’s house, I start to get an odd feeling. I could swear my wife’s car is parked just down the street. I remember she stayed up after I went to bed but she was just watching television in the living room, right? Still, that’s her car, for sure. I shake it off and head to the front door.
Inside the party is absolutely no one I recognize. I awkwardly surrender a bottle of wine to the lady of the house and I seem very welcome so I grab a drink and try to settle in. That’s when I see her.
My wife is here. She’s here and she’s *with someone.* What in the hell? My mind goes a little hazy and I rush over to the two of them, fighting mad. I loudly ask what they are doing and start making a scene. My wife looks equally sheepish and annoyed. She calls me by name, the mail man’s name, and tells me to chill out. I do not chill out. Next thing I know, I’m in the back yard, fighting this guy.
He’s one tough cookie but this body is surprisingly agile and strong, much more than mine. I’m tearing into him, yelling about cheaters and saying things that, in retrospect, probably made no sense to anyone watching. The last thing I remember, I picked up a wrought-iron deck chair and hit him over the head with it. He goes down like a sack of potatoes. Then I hear a sound like a taser and everything fades to black.
Day 8
I wake up this morning and I have no idea who this new person is. It’s another single, middle-aged male. He seems to be a cop, of some sort, maybe a detective? I check his phone and his computer. His finger print logs me in and I am immediately greeted by a work email detailing an investigation I will be working on - a murder resulting from a fight at a house party the night before. I think about last night groggily and then my eyes snap to the date on the email.
It’s the next day. | 142 | You're stuck in a particularly odd time loop. Not only do you have to relive the same day over and over, each day you are a different person in that same repeated day. | 813 |
"Alright, I'm not very versed in the formalities that are fitting for court. Therefore I'm going to say things as they are... Through the testimonies conducted over the past few days it's fairly obvious that the accused wasn't near the scene of the crime when it was committed. Which is why I'd like to present my own-" The judge cut in "I'll stop you there, not only are you willfully ignoring conduct, your actions will cause a mistrial if I let you continue". I smiled and said "With all due respect your Honour, I don't really care. After all, to me this trial is kangaroo court anyway. After all I'm the one that murdered that bastard and have the evidence to prove it." You didn't care about the shocked silence and continued, "When I got the summon to court I was convinced I was found out, yet to my surprise I was summoned as a juror instead! Suffice it to say that the irony was not lost to me, so I played along for a bit. However, the accused is being branded as guilty by the populace even before the trial started, so never mind my misconduct, this is already a mistrial because every single member of the jury has a bias against this defendant as does the prosecution and the police. Let me be very clear... as the actual guilty one in this case I'm very disappointed about both the negligence and the malice shown in court thus far." After that I sat back and watched the chaos unfold. It felt great. I was not concerned with being thrown in jail, after all I'm a dead man anyway. But at the very least this poor sod doesn't have to take the fall for me. Especially, since I submitted the evidence anonymously already before court stated today. | 22 | I've been called for Jury Duty. A rather gruesome murder the details of which would turn most stomachs. I already know the accused didn't do it.... I did! | 124 |
You can't walk more than a few blocks in this town without seeing a "I ♥️ The Brigadier" shirt for sale or see a bumper sticker with his ugly face on it. It always annoyed the fuck out of me but alpha class heroes like him never bothered with kilo level criminals so unless I suddenly threw an aircraft carrier at the moon or something I didn't have to worry about him. As I walked to "work" I laughed at the idea. Who the fuck throws an aircraft carrier anyway? I opened the door and even though the restaurant was still a little busy, the lunch rush was done so there would be plenty of money in the till. I yelled "nobody move, I'm taking the money here and nobody will get hurt as long as you don't try to be a hero!" Someone stood up and yelled "fuck off you aren't stealing anythi--but quickly fell over as I launched a steak at him hard enough to knock him out. I could control anything that had been cooked so even though I could make him revisit his lunch I preferred to use pre-eaten food. I walked up to the counter and demanded all the cash they had when I heard the door open. I levitated another steak from the grill and turned around to lob it at whatever unfortunate bastard had wandered in but froze when I saw him. The Brigadier. Right in front of me.
He wasn't wearing his usual costume. This was had polished brass and immaculate leather straps securing his cape. He also wasn't wearing his gauntlets so I presumed he was at some kind of autograph signing. He was not as tall as I imagined but somehow still seemed to tower over me. "so are you going to give up or will I have to cook up some justice?" He asked. I almost fell over trying not to laugh. The papers never mentioned anything about his banter skills. "what's the rush? You haven't even had your appetizer!" I yelled as I lifted the steak again then used all my strength to launch it at him. It hit his face and some of the juices dropped onto his uniform. "now you've made me mad. Let's make some villain tartare!" He yelled flying towards me.
I barely dodged him and he almost hit the grill before he stopped. When he got up, his right hand touched the surface. I heard sizzling and he yelled, jerking his hand away. "fuck!" He screamed. I didn't know The Brigadier ever cussed before. This was serious now. "give up or you're really going to be well done when I'm finished with you" he threatened. I smiled because that sizzle was all I'd need. "just one question before I do. Why you hitting yourself"?
I made his hand ball into a fist and forced it into his chest hard enough to knock the wind out. Then I had him uppercut himself a few times and finally I had him deliver a right cross that Mike Tyson would be proud of. Seeing him on the ground, I strolled over to the cashier and said "now, about that money?" And she put everything in the register into a paper bag and handed it to me. I walked out feeling like I'd won the Superbowl. Not only had I taken on The Brigadier, I knocked his ass out. | 86 | As a weaker supervillain, you have always been largely ignored. Things suddenly change as by some freak accident you end up killing one of the strongest and most beloved superheroes in a fight. | 326 |
Throughout his career, Shaw had mastered several skills. Not least of which was the ability to spot patterns. From the paths targets took through the city, to the movements of security teams, or even the number of rounds Black Diamond guards typically fired before reloading their standard-issue pistols.
Even now as he was behind the bar nestled between spirits and whisky he couldn’t stop his eyes from focusing on the patterns he saw in the world around him.
Not that this was a bad thing. In fact, this skill had served him well even as a bartender. Within three weeks he knew which drinks were the most popular, which meals were the most appetizing, and which patrons racked up the highest bills.
He could even accurately predict how much money he'd make in a given week or month based solely on the small clues he’d pick up on throughout the day.
But the pattern that interested him, or perhaps trouble him, the most was how similar his clientele seemed to be.
Mostly middle-aged men like himself with ragged features, rough hands, and eyes that darted quickly before freezing into thousand-yard stares that could last painfully long.
Everyone paid in cash and almost nobody ever sat at the small round tables that filled the middle of the room. Instead, the vast majority of his patrons opted to sit on the fringes. Favoring chairs that faced the door or had access to a quick exit.
With this in mind, Shaw had a few floor-to-ceiling mirrors installed on the far wall. That way the door could easily seen no matter where you sat.
In the agency, they called buildings like this Goldilocks zones. The perfect place to lay low without raising eyebrows or leaving yourself in a vulnerable position.
At the moment the bar was filled with an unusually diverse crowd. Four of his regulars sat in alternating chairs at the bar while two others sat at the red leather corner booth.
The rest of the seats were sparsely filled by drifters and first-timers. Some of which appeared to be tourists, no doubt trying to get out of the rain for a moment.
“Business is booming!” John Carter, one of the men sitting at the bar said.
“I liked it better when nobody knew about this place...” a man sitting beside him commented. Although this man was also a regular Shaw didn't know his name.
He came in a few times a week and as he put it, everybody just calls him Dutch. Whatever that means.
“That’s just how it works,” John said, “if it’s empty there's always a reason. Either the drinks are bad or the bartend can't stop talking.”
Dutch leaned over the bar and cupped his face in his hands—” If this keeps up you’ll have to start selling those pink girly drinks... what it called? Booba tea?”
John laughed while Shaw crack a slight smile “I’d love to see it! I can just imagine Shaw standing in the background of one of those Tik-Tac videos while a girl dances!”
Shaw was surprised to see the two laughing and talking together as much as they were. For the most part, everybody minds their business. Only ever asking for a refill or to have the channel changed.
But their conversation was quickly cut short when a young woman walked through the door. She had short straight brown hair that, despite the rain, was still perfectly arranged. Her medium-length grey tweed suit jacket draped over a neat white shirt which was tucked into a long skirt that matched the jacket.
She stood with impeccable posture yet carried herself with uncertainty as she stepped toward the bar. Shaw had seen dozens of young women just like her. Though admittedly he never expected one to come into his bar. Before she even reach the count He knew what she was.
An FBI agent. | 175 | A depressed former hitman from the criminal underworld runs a dive bar frequented by similarly depressing middle-aged men. He's starting to suspect his clientele are all retired hit men with troubled pasts to hide, and that they are beginning to realize this too. | 910 |
ATTENTION PEOPLE OF THE WORLD!
COWER BEFORE DOCTOR NECROSIS! I INTERRUPT YOUR PITIFUL LIVES WITH A MESSAGE!
Recently, my arch-nemesis, the Racer, has made public his ongoing struggles with depression. I would like to publicly applaud this action and express my support for his difficulties. Despite our many conflicts, I respect the Racer and admire the the courage needed to talk about these issues in our society.
While there has been some positive reception for his work to normalize mental healthcare, the general response has been disgustingly negative. The attitudes on display create a toxic environment that only exacerbates mental health issues and perpetuates the stigma around seeking necessary care.
Those whinging about how "weak" this generation of heroes is are the real cowards. What the Racer did last week took more courage than staring down any Death Ray that I ever constructed.
Those seeking to turn his issues into an opportunity to further suppress open discussion of those issues are the real villains.
As such, I am pleased to introduce my guest, Gabe, whose public comments about the Racer I will not repeat. He is about to demonstrate my newest creation, this substance reconfigures and blocks dopamine receptors in the brain. If you believe depression is something one just "gets over" then I wish you good luck, Gabe.
Bully the Racer at you own risk. THIS HAS BEEN DOCTOR NECROSIS! | 2,226 | You're a supervillain with a superhero as your arch-nemesis. When they come out to the world about their depression and mental health, others call them weak and there is backlash. You, however, are the first one to support them publicly. | 4,054 |
"I am Sirene! Tremble in fear as I—"
"Oh, shush. I've been dress shopping with my cousins, *you* are nothing to be afraid of. Now..." The woman in front of me ran a pen down her clipboard.
"Are you any good at flower arranging?" She asked, raising an eyebrow.
"You have summoned a great and mighty demon... for flowers. This is ridiculous, it's outrageous it's insane—"
"Well, if you can't do it just say so, I have a list of others to go through. And I am starting to doubt your commitment to the demon Code of honour." Squinting at me, she raised her pen as if to strike my name off the clipboard. How in the world did she know about the Code? Before she could use her pen, there came a hesitant knock at the door.
"Enter!"
My knees gave way, and I sank to the floor, red skin turning pink in shock. There, framed in the doorway, was Asmodeus. The Asmodeus.
"Sorry for interrupting Helen, but those delivery drivers are here, talking about a gazebo?" His voice, rich and deep curled into the room suggestively, though the words were mundane enough. The woman—Helen— walked over to the table where there was a frighteningly large number of binders. With unflinching accuracy, she picked one out and handed it to Asmodeus.
"You'll find the details in there. Off you go." Obviously dismissed, Asmodeus gave the slightest suggestion of a bow and left as suddenly as he came. Turning to me, she snorted.
"There is no time to be lying about on the floor. Now are you good with flowers or not?"
"That was.... that was... Asmodeus." I babbled, not quite recovered yet.
"Yes. He's wonderful at dealing with all the deliveries and things. Quite a charmer. Now, flowers?" She cracked the word like a whip, raising her pen once more. Rising, I tried to collect myself. I had to figure out what was going on here.
"I can do flowers."
"Good." She raised her arms, Latin words flowing around me, binding and controlling. But that was nothing special, that was most demon summonings. When she finished, I stepped out of the summoning circle, making sure my knees didn't wobble. Following her down the stairs and out into the sunshine, I bit back a shout. The entire garden practically crawled with demons, and not only demons. I spotted at least two Golems and a Hydra over by the water fountain. Helen was pointing me to the rather spacious table covered in fresh-cut flowers.
"Get to work. We have no time to waste." She was halfway back inside before I summoned the courage to ask.
"Why us? Why demons and monsters? It can't just be monetary reasons." My voice sounded slightly more normal now. Helen's laughter had a touch of the demonic about it, but that could have just been projection on my part.
"My fiancee's family is *very* conservative. But they insisted on coming to our wedding. So, who better to hire to work it, than the very people they have compared *me* to, time and again. Oh, that reminds me, I meant to get a Gorgon...."
She walked into the house, and I wandered over to the table. It was an answer, but not a full answer. I could sense that. As I sorted through the roses, lilies, and baby's breath, I sighed. Whatever the reason, I was hired to arrange flowers, and arrange flowers I would. After all, there was the demon Code of Honour to uphold. | 38 | Rather than hire people and staff, a woman decides to summon demons and monsters to plan and work her wedding... | 66 |
As John stared at his woodstock poster for the millionth time that day he once again bemoaned the fact that he was a 00's baby instead of being born and being a teen in amazing 60's.
"Amazing?! You would have hated it!" John nearly jumped out of his skin at the sudden voice. He spun around and standing there was a man. He looked about 32. Full beard, long brown hair, no shirt and a peace symbol painted on his left cheek.
"Who are you?" He asked hesitantly. The man responded, "My name is Gary but when I was alive, people called me Rainbow."
"So, you're a ghost. Great! Now I'm seeing things. My therapist is going to love this." Gary poked John in the chest.
"Hey man! Just because I'm a ghost doesn't mean I'm not
real. You THINK you belong in the 60's because you like good music and movies have romanticized the period beyond belief. I've been watching you for a while. Let me tell you the truth."
John slowly sat down on his bed, after all if he was finally having a breakdown he at least wanted to be comfortable.
Gary looked at John. He took a deep breath and began,
" Do you love your little brother?" John was taken aback. Of course he loved Sam. It didn't matter that he was adopted. Sam had been around since John was 5 and now at 17, he often bragged about how he had the coolest 14 year old brother possible.
"What kind of question is that? Of course I do! Just because he's adopted you think I don't love him?!" John asked defensively.
"No kid, and the fact that him being adopted is what you think the issue would be is just proof of my point. Do you really think if you were born and raised in my time, you would EVER have had a black brother?"
John paused. He never really thought about it.
"Yeah." Gary continued. "That was unheard of in my time." "Do you want to know why I was called Rainbow? It's because when I was 17 my father caught me kissing the boy from next door, and almost beat me to death. I had to run away from home, this home as a matter of fact, and join up with hippies in San Francisco. I'll never forget the look of shame on my father's face as he told me he no longer had a son. I never spoke to him again"
John couldn't imagine never speaking to his father again.
"Of course no one should be shamed for who they love but tell that to a frightened boy who just turned 17 with no where to go and no one who cares and see how far that gets you. How did your parents react when you came out?" Gary tilted his head to the side waiting for the answer
John looked down at the floor. When he came out as bi, his parents had simply hugged him and told him that as long as he was happy and in a healthy relationship they didn't care who he loved.
"I thought so. Also, do you have flat feet?"
"No..."
"Any underlying medical issues? Diabetes? Epilepsy?"
"No. I'm in perfect health."
"Well then, welcome to Vietnam! You would have been an ideal candidate for the draft. I lost three friends over there. All those lives lost.... for a war we never should have been in."
"Wow. I never really thought about it before." John said.
"No one ever does kid. They take one event..." he pointed at the poster on the wall.
"...and convince themselves that the entire decade was just like that. So quick and eager to forget the hardships." Gary shook his head.
"So kid. Remember, things may not be perfect. But no Era of history is without its dark side. Maybe you would have fit in, but you would've had to hide a part of yourself and trust me. That's no way to live."
"How did you....." John started to ask
" I lived until May 21 1979. The White Night riots. I saw them first hand. Almost got beaten to death by the cops. But I escaped. Then in a moment of despair, figuring that things would never get better.... I.... I killed myself."
"Oh Gary!" John looked into Gary's sad hazel eyes. In that moment, for the first time in his life John felt truly grateful for the life he had. He couldn't imagine not having his little brother, being disowned by his family for who he chooses to love, being forced to serve in a war he didn't believe in or spend the rest of his life on the run.
"Thank you." He finally managed to say. "I'm sorry for not understanding."
"It's ok. Just remember that all that matters in life is not when you live but how you live. The good ideologies of free love, groovy tunes and peace can still exist today. As long as people fight for them." And then before anymore words could be spoken Gary vanished before John's eyes. | 93 | An adolescent who believes they were "born in the wrong era" meets a ghost who lived and died in that era. The ghost proceeds to explain why that era wasn't actually all that great... | 561 |
I knew it was stupid to help her. But an old lady begging to be let in as car lights start to turn down the street, sometimes it's not about stupid or smart. Sometimes you just gotta do something.
She was still hiding out upstairs in my house, and now as I close out my shift at the Stellar Brew, I see someone giving me a too-critical eye over the top of their latte. As I focus on him, I know he's running at 100.02 Fahrenheit. Probably an Altered. Regular humans have a little variety in body temp, but most Altered bodies run a little hot.
I don't have infrared vision or anything, I'm no Infra-Red, and goodness knows I'm no All-Sight. But if I focus on something I can gage it's temperature very accurately. Not super marketable when you can just buy a thermometer, but it has a handful of perks. It was good for making coffee, and good for spotting Altereds.
I cut out of the Stellar Brew using the back exit, but wouldn't you know it, Mr Latte exited the shop right after, and cut around so he could see me when I got out to the street. My place was only a few blocks away. If he followed me all the way, I'd go past my place to my neighbors, Frank and Chi would let me duck inside long enough to keep the creep from clocking my real address. And if it really was a coincidence that he happened to be walking this way at this time, no harm done.
My pace quickened as I tried to walk uncomfortably fast. I paused at a street corner, to wait for a car to pass. I tried to look around nonchalant, and noticed mister Late had picked up a very severe looking woman, pale white skin, and a hood up mostly covering her light blue hair. She was colder than the air around her. The chill that ran down my spine had nothing to do with her powers, but rather her reputation. That was Shiver, no doubt about it. One of the heavy hitters in DarkStar's personal circle.
My pulse shot up, but I tried to play it cool. Cross the street. I was approaching my house, where the woman still waited inside. I was going to walk past as casually as I could, but the front door was open, wood splintered. Another chill went through me. Down the road in front of me was a man with glowing red eyes. Infra-Red was notoriously hard to escape, able to track people through walls they said. From 50 feet away he nodded towards my house, but looked relaxed. Like he knew he could catch me if he had to, and knew that I knew.
I walked inside, over the broken doorframe. Afraid to see blood, bones, the old woman's head nailed to the wall, but I saw no damage short of the splintered doorframe.
Inside, sitting on my favorite chair, a solid metal shell of a man, with a glowing red heart emitting light between the cracks in armor sat. It was DarkStar himself.
With a slight metallic grinding, he gestured for me to sit, and a resonant voice echoed from deep within his chest, I resigned myself to my fate, knowing I should have expected helping a stranger would end like this.
"You make excellent coffee." He said.
I blinked. "What?"
"Your coffee, several of my most trusted aides live off of coffee, one quite literally, and everyone who has come by the shop agrees yours is the best"
"I"... I stammered "thank you?"
The resonant voice picked up in volume, and seemed to emanate from all of the metal objects in the room as well. "We were thinking about setting up a private shop. Easy access. Right at the lobby where we spend most of our time. We'd like it if you were there."
"Uhhm... I mean..." what could you really say to that? "If I'm being honest I mostly do it as a side job, I'm going to school for..."
"Nonsense" rumbled my silverware in the kitchen, it was unnerving hearing that voice echo around. "Studying computer science at a Community College is fine for the ordinary rabble, a respectable if replaceable pursuit."
DarkStar stood up, and I noticed then that Shiver and Infra-Red as well as Mr Latte had stepped in behind me. Mr Latte took another sip, and gave me a thumbs up.
"Come and work for us, for five years" DarkStar's voice echoed. "You'll earn five times what you were expecting to make after retirement. Then, if you're still interested in this career path, I'll set you up with a job under the personal attention of Live-Wire, along with a full-ride scholarship to a much more prestigious institution. We will of course expect you to return to the coffee shop between semesters."
"Thats... You're promising a lot, just to get someone who is slightly better at making coffee... surely there's more to it?"
"No" all four of the villains repeated in unison.
Mr Latte chimed in after that, "When you get as wealthy as we are, you grow to want the best. When it comes to coffee, the best is you."
The metal in the room began to vibrate once more with DarkStar's voice, "I've got so much money I hardly know what to do with it all. What I'm offering you is just a drop in the cup. If you want to stick around, I'm sure we can sweeten the pot, but I want you to know this doesn't have to overtake your life. We want you with us, but we know better than to mistreat the people who fix our drinks"
Talks continued into the night. DarkStar apologized for damaging my door, but after I agreed to make coffee for them, they had Night Genesis come by, grow a mahogany tree in my back yard, cut it down, carve out a matching set of replacement doors for my house, then prepare and mount it all within about an hour.
After all that was done, the old woman crawled down from my attic where she had been hiding. Her face was drained of color after hiding for so long from the city's greatest villains.
"I thought they were here for you" I said, a little panic creeping back into my voice.
"Nah" she said, "I was just hiding from my Ex Husband. I wasn't expecting it to get more dangerous here" | 48 | While going about your day you notice several supervillians. Since you're basically powerless you tried to avoid them. However you couldn't shake the feeling that they were following you. Finally reaching your home you find the door kicked in and their boss waiting for you in your kitchen. | 130 |
*Oh no, it's the Princess again. I just can't understand why she keeps talking to me, the son of a poor Baron.*
"Your highness, I was not expecting to see you today. Please allow me leave so I may dres-"
"Diego, I told you to call me Sylvie when we are in private like this and don't worry about your shirt."
"Apologies Princ- Sylvie. As your station is so much higher than mine I often forget."
"You are forgiven, now what is it you are doing today?"
Sylvie walked forward to inspect the axe that Diego was holding. She got much closer to him than he had hoped. Reaching outward she lightly touched the axe handle, making sure to brush her arm against his bare chest in doing so. The act of which caused him to blush slightly as he took a half step backwards.
"I..I am chopping wood for our household. Since our only servant is getting quite old I try to help out with the more laborious tasks as we can't afford another servant."
Sylvie smiled before turning around. She then decided to take a seat on a nearby log before returning her gaze upon him.
"Well then, I guess you better get chopping."
She said wryly as she smiled at him in a teasing manner.
*Why must she always tease me? She knows I want to finish my chores early so I can get back to my studies as quickly as possible. Besides, it's not proper for her to be hanging out at a Baron's household. If anything she should be hanging out at the estates of the Dukes or Viscounts.*
Shaking his head he pushed the thoughts aside and began to chop the wood again. While Sylvie observed him in silence. When Diego finally decided to glance at her again he saw a look that sent shivers up his spine. He recognized it as the same look a predator gave its prey before it snapped its neck. Trying to ignore her gaze he continued to chop the wood at a much faster pace. The extra exertion however began to cause him to sweat slightly. However he remembered this was bad manners and stopped to rest and speak with his guest once more.
"Pr-Sylvie, will you be attending the Dukes ball? I heard it will be the most extravagant event of the summer."
"That depends, are you asking to attend it with me?"
"You know I could never attend, we don't have the money for the required formal attire."
"You know I could always dress you up or you could just go like this, I know I wouldn't mind."
*Again with the teasing, these games of hers were so tiresome. She knew if she bought me clothes it would make the Count that my family was in service too look bad and we can't do that…again.*
"Oh stop with that look, I know I can't, but I'd rather not go if you aren't able to attend. Wait, I know! I'll buy all of the boys a new outfit, then you won't get in trouble and we can both attend."
She looked delighted at this thought. Jumping up she turned toward the bushes behind us.
"Gertrude! We must make preparations to buy new outfits."
From the bushes the princesses head maid jumped out.
"Of course, Princess, I will need to simply obtain all of the boys measurements then we can order their outfits."
The head maid handed a measuring tape to the Princess who stood frozen in place. Slowly she turned around and stepped toward Diego who now looked slightly concerned.
"I honestly don't think this is something you should be doing Pr-Sylvie. Especially like this, I am shirtless and covered in sweat, it would be improper."
Gertrude watched with a smirk as the Princess literally threw herself at him.
"No Princess, we can't do this!"
He yelled desperately but it was too late the princess had tackled him and was now tying him up with the measuring tape. For after all she already knew his measurements.
"Don't worry Diego, this is for the bes-"
The Princess was suddenly cut off by Gertrude who grabbed her by the collar and dragged her off of him.
"Come now Princess, you've had your fun. Now it's time for your lessons."
The Princess cried out as she was reluctantly dragged across the small estate and hastily thrown into an awaiting carriage.
Diego rested his shoulders in relief. It was times like this that he was thankful for the dutiful head maid even if she was slightly sadistic. However, now he realized he had another big problem.
*Since I can't get out of the ball. I guess I'll have to figure out a way to make the Duke's sons look good. Either one would be a better fit than me. As the son of a poor Baron it's not like I'm cut out to be Royalty. Wait what am I even thinking she's just teasing me. I'll just figure out where to hide once I'm there. I wonder if Heidi will be there? As the daughter of the Count my family serves, she's always protected me from the Princess saying it's her duty. I'm sure if I told her what happened today she would be furious with the Princess. I'll save that until we're at the ball then I can slip away.* | 16 | The Princess is obsessed with the poor Baron's son. Not wanting to be part of royalty and as he is one of poor ubringing, he tries all sorts of ways to divert the Princess' obsession to another. | 42 |
My laser vision failed at the most inopportune time. I was fighting The Swindler and opened my lids wide, prepared to shoot a luminous beam of plasma at his forehead.
Instead the laser beam fizzled out three feet in front of my damned face.
He got away with the loot, and I walked away from the super-optician with a diagnosis of acute astigmatism.
But I did not let that set me back. There had to be a way to contribute to society, even with faulty eyes.
I found the answer in Etsy.com. You see, I may not have been able to shoot targets at the range anymore, but I could etch a mean insignia in a wooden plaque, and even carve little bears out of stumps.
My laser only reached two and three-quarter feet in front of me (and dwindling), but I was able to make a living as a top seller on the biggest handcrafted art website on the worldwide web.
I loaded my arms with packages to ship across the country, and strode toward my front door.
That’s when my door busted open, knocking me down, scattering the boxes across the foyer.
“Swindler! What are you doing here?”
The Swindler wore a black and white striped suit, like an old-timey convict. A black mask covered his eyes.
“Did you think you would get away from us that easily? After all you’ve put us through? You must be insane to think we’d let you get a five star seller rating and live happily ever after!”
“You! You’re the butthole who’s been leaving me one star reviews.”
“Well, I had a little help. But mark my words, you will never be a successful Etsy seller.”
“How could you steal my livelihood from me?” I said, grabbing him by the lapels.
“Ha ha! They don’t call me the Swindler for nothing.”
“There’s one detail your missing, Swindler…”
“What’s tha—“
Suddenly, like a geyser that’d been pent up for centuries, my laser vision activated, pouring a red burning light onto the Swindler’s forehead.
“Ahhhh!” he screamed. “What are you doing?”
“Marketing.”
I finished etching my masterpiece on his forehead, and let him go. My powers weren’t what they used to be, but they were strong enough to plaster the info I wanted on there:
*SUPER*
*ETCH*
*.COM* | 28 | Your super power is literally broken. Meaning it no longer works the way it used to. As such you can no longer use it to fight. However you have managed to use it to start a successful business, much to the frustration of your rivals and former adversaries. | 44 |
The Dream shifts and twists, stronger and blurrier than before. Time has no meaning to It and yet, now it is Its greatest enemy: with no followers, no worshippers to feed It their belief, the Great Dream would capture him and he would sleep for eternity. A terrible sleep, more horrifying than the concept of death. Even though a mind as incomprehensibly complex as His couldn't possibly understand fear, the Great Dream was something he was afraid of.
The Dream shifts and twists, its grasp stronger on the eldritch creature. Gathering His might, He opened his mind to the Cosmos, scouring the Universe for a suitable host, someone mad enough to accept Him into his heart and mind.
The Dream shifts and twists and He shudders: a small, insignificant planet and there, someone who's mind resonates with His in Madness. It was to be His first worshipper. He focused His consciousness on the man: an utterly weak and undefended mind, easy to infiltrate, easy to manipulate.
The Dream shifts and twists and with all His powers, He sent the man a dream. A prophetic dream, one which showed great devastation and disaster, but there was a way: accept Him as his God and he would bring salvation. The man, in his madness, saw none of the prophecies and yet, there was something in his thoughts: recognition. Curious, He focused: this insanity was unnatural, the man tainted with the influence of another Outer God.
The Dream, the cruel Dream was approaching and He decided: he would use this man as His messenger and with a final thought, He entered the madman's mind.
The mind was silent. He walked among dead memories of another life. The mind was unnaturally still and he could see the influence of another, as strong as He, but the work was unfinished. Was the man unworthy? Was he a heretic, with true allegiance to another Entity or was he simply an idiot who thought to fool an Eldritch God? He spoke words, words of Power and Command, meant to align His vessel's thoughts to his. The stillness of a few moments ago became a storm and He was pleased: He could feel the power flowing into Him, feeding Him the precious belief that He so needed to stave off the cold Dream.
It all came to a stop as He felt a presence: the mind was stirring and coming back to life on its own. Impossible: he bent this mortal's will to His own, this was His domain. And then, it was: a consciousness, a terrible Will, risen from ruin. For the first time in his eternal life, he felt terror: The Being, radiating authority and pure power, was analysing him, judging him. No words were exchanged: it was not needed, for he could feel the very thoughts of his captor, older than the Universe itself and more powerful than he could possibly imagine. One thought rose above the others: "Dissappear" and he was flung out of the man's mind.
The Dream shifts and twists, cold and all powerful: he tried again, focusing his mind in search of someone to posses, but he was powerless. He felt a sad resignation: he angered Him and overstepped his authority and now he was paying the price. He dreamed himself all powerful and the whole Universe subjugated to his will and with one final shudder, he disappeared into the Void | 11 | You are an eldritch horror who's possessed a random madman on earth, only to find out that madman is both older and more powerful than you, only being driven insane by sheer amount time he's been alive. | 92 |
Quentin City had fallen fairly easily to Renee's legion of evil robots. Who knew the city's automated police force could so easily be turned against their makers? Certainly not the slender orphan girl who was tired of getting beaten up by her step-siblings in the shed. She'd enjoyed clearing out the homes of all the heroes in the dead of night, all those goody-two-shoes who never seemed to have time to take care of anything that mattered. Well, now all the people could live in the slums, and the rich, fat cats could see how they liked it.
Then she heard rumours that the parish was sending for new heroes. This could be a problem: she knew her machines had won against Captain Sun and The Bald Eagle because they'd been caught unawares in their sleep, but letting a new hero come in would be a serious threat to her newfound sovereignty. If they came in now, the old order would be re-established... and her slums might be burned to the ground -- for good, this time. No, she needed more time, for those old rulers to see what their ill-begotten policies had wrought. She needed to stall.
And so, she took a squadron of her bots and sent three troops down the centre of main street in broad daylight. The bots would be soon demolished by the local heroes, of course, but that was what she needed: to see what kinds of forces she was up against.
She had expected another muscle-bound bruiser with some sort of white horse complex, or a lady with fantastical agility and magical might (gag). What she found instead was someone stealthy, who slipped up behind the robots and disabled them, one by one, just as Renee herself had done once before. The hero's golden hair was held back behind a cowl, and something about their slight chest and the way they moved beneath powered armour, at once strong and delicate, captivated Renee. Each movement seemed like a step in a dance, and each circuit was deactivated with the most precise and delicate touch.
Renee couldn't take this city, not with this majestic defender in play. No, she needed a new plan... And then she felt a strong hand around the back of her neck. Firm, but not enough to hurt. The grip was unyielding, but gentle, and she raised herself quickly as the hero picked her up and pinned her to a nearby wall.
"What was that? Did you not do _any_ research before coming over here? Seriously, who would even use such things as a strike force?" the golden-haired hero spat out in a posh accent.
The hero's voice was not deep, but rumbled through Renee's chest all the same. She gasped around her blush at the hero's face, so close to her own, her pulse pounding against the hero's fingers. "My town's officials made a full police force. They were easy enough to repurpose, but... I've never met someone else who can work with them like that."
"Hm. You've never been to school, have you? You really do know nothing of the outside world. Figures." The hero's fiery gaze melted Renee, seeming to take in all of her at once, and the air she gave, that Renee wasn't just worthy of looking at, but worthy of _studying_, left her mind reeling. That was bad, for a villain whose wits were her sole source of power. "You're from the slums in Quentin, aren't you? That was some quick work. I don't agree that it was right, but since we're here... let me show you some plans that might help."
And so it was that when the army of heroes came out, they found the capitol transformed. The former slums now boasted new housing, common gardens, and even school buildings that had all been built in scant weeks, thanks to the large and freely-available robot labour pool. Everything laid out, everything in its place, and at the centre of the town square, a young orphan girl who had won the free and fair election held just minutes before the "heroes" came in to "liberate" everyone from her iron rule. Beside her sat another youth, golden hair flowing free over a dark suit of powered armour. | 14 | In a world of cartoonish villains and heroes you are a supervillain. After taking over your hometown you move into the next one wanting to expand your empire. The local goody two shoes superhero tries to stop you. You'll show him what a real supervillain is. | 47 |
"AAAAAAGH! I'M DYING!"
"Karen, you're just fine," her soon-to-be ex-husband Harold said.
"THE EARTH'S ENERGY IS DISCONNECTING FROM ME!"
"If you're talking about its gravity well, you left that long ago."
"PLEASE, GET ME MY HEALING CRYSTALS!"
"Karen, we chucked those off-board before we even left. Those things were a safety hazard waiting to happen."
"Seriously, what's your deal?" Adam asked. "Astronauts have been to the moon before."
"The Moon... hm..." Karen was stumped for a moment, before she resumed screaming. "THE MOON STILL MAINTAINS A CONNECTION TO THE EARTH! WE'RE ALL GONNA DIE!"
"Does anyone want to explain to her how physics actually works?"
"Is that even worth the effort, Captain?" Adam asked.
"I knew she was a bit nuts." Harold slowly raised his hands to his face. "But it was mostly just about homeopathy. Nothing harmful to the general public, like anti-vaxxing."
The captain gave him a disapproving frown. "Susceptibility to scams is always harmful to everyone who interacts with the person in question. Doubly so when actual knowledge is needed. Even if teaching her how to think from base principles is long and difficult, you should've at least told us so we could oust her from the program."
"DEEEEEEEEATH."
And so the astronauts discovered what happened when a person disconnects from their planet's 'energy': absolutely nothing.
___________________________________________________
**A/N: I wanted to actually do a story with monsters and mutants and such, but my brain said this was going to be the story instead.** | 226 | No human has ever been untethered from the Earth. Even on the moon man still maintains a connection to the planet. A group of astronauts on their way to Mars are about to be the first to discover what happens when a person disconnects from their planets energy. | 443 |
"Hello"?
"..."
I shook my phone to check the mic.
"Hello?"
A voice seemed to come from behind the phone, if you can imagine. Maybe I took too much of that... never mind.
"Look, if this is a prank or something then just hang up. I'm not about that".
"Boabe?" said the voice. My name was Bob. "Yeah, that's me but you pronounced it wrong. It's Bob. Who are you, by the way?", I spoke all in one breath.
"Tis ise-". The phone cut off. *Whatever,* I thought. *Probably a crazy ex or something*.
Then something weird happened. The air in front of me started to swirl like one of those ice-cream machines at a fast-food place. An aurora of light flashed, and the space seemed to warp around itself. A blurry form appeared in the midst of this, never staying in one place at once.
"Bob", said the creature. I could understand it loud and clear now.
"Uh, what-?", I stammered. This was probably the second strangest thing that I had ever seen. The first was when I found my ex-wife eating dog food.
In an artificially neutral accent, the creature spoke again. It didn't have a mouth, but the vibrations got more intense when it made sounds. "Our troop needs your star. Rebels are launching an attack and must be disintegrated".
This dredged up a long lost memory of mine. I used to surf sketchy websites on the dark web, and invested in all kinds of things I probably shouldn't have. A vague memory of buying
RE J0317-853, the smallest known white dwarf star crossed my mind. *Why would I buy a star?* Actually, that's not the right question. *Why did I pay 10,23-*
The alien cut me off, "Do you acknowledge permission to invade RE J0317-853?"
I decided to one-up the offer, grinning slightly as I spoke: "Only if I can watch the battle".
The creature accepted without hesitation. Before I could react, the world around us started warping and shifting through space and time. One second I was in an alley in Soho, New York and the next light years away staring at the magnetic sphere of my blue planet. A massive fight was underway, with so many ships and weapons I had never seen or even began to imagine about.
It's been a century since then, and I've seen a million battles just like it. The aliens appreciated my cooperation so much they gave me free reign of their whole empire. Just another day I guess. | 14 | A few years ago, you bought a star on one of those scammy websites for fun. Suddenly your phone rings. ALIENS, they want your permission to invade your star because some rebels are wreaking havoc amongst the solar system. | 50 |
# Soulmage
**The blizzard had buried the once-fertile plains, swallowing everything from the tiniest of gnats to the light of day itself.** Somehow, it almost felt fitting that even the sun would fade before the apocalyptic hailstorm. After all, what went better together than the cold and the dark?
Well. Necromancers and the dead, for one. Idly, I wondered if in some other life I would've answered something cutesy and trite like "peanut butter and jelly," or "puppies and cuddles," or "governments and corruption." Perhaps that other version of me wouldn't be shivering in sub-zero weather, a repulsion spell keeping the hail from caving in my skull, scouring the fields of the dead for souls that I could still knit back together.
Or perhaps that other version of me would have died long ago. Who knew. Not me, for sure; I wasn't an oracle.
The blizzard may have been blinding to the mundane eye, but my soulsight had grown by leaps and bounds in the past few weeks, and I could see the constant puffs of death drifting up from the ground. *There* was where a family of mice starved to death, their sparkling souls shattering like raindrops on earth. *Then* was when a soldier had frozen, succumbing to the supernatural frost, a few glittering motes of fading souldust marking where he'd passed.
I stepped up to the body, closing their eyes with one hand. I wasn't here for the bodies, although I guessed that if there was anyone left to claim the fallen soldier as kin, I would happily reunite the two. As in, I'd bring the claimant to their slain family, not send them to the afterlife together. Man, people had held weird prejudices against necromancers for so long that even my subconscious felt the need to clarify. But the point was, the bodies of the dead weren't why I'd come out here.
I'd come here for the souls.
It was a feat of concentration maintaining the spell keeping the hail away while I worked another piece of magic: I had to simultaneously manage the stream of disgust pouring into the repulsion spell while digging out a shard of sorrow from my soul, slicing open a tiny rift between planes. The emotions I used to fuel my magic were rarely pleasant, and this was no exception.
But it would be worth it.
A sliver of the dead soldier's soul slipped from thoughtspace to realspace, and I concentrated, drawing it closer to me with the memory of a pair of tweezers. The sliver was barely enough to contain more than a moment of the soldier's life, but as the soul shard melded with my mind, a flash of memory shot through me—
*"Leave me behind," I gasped, falling to the ground. "Get to the camp. It'll be faster without a wounded soldier weighing you down."*
—and I swallowed heavily, taking in a deep, quavering breath.
Other necromancers might have tried to raise an army with the raw corpses left behind. But I was the greatest necromancer still alive beneath this unceasing storm.
I wasn't here to enslave the bodies of the dead.
I was here to remember their stories.
The greatest necromancers always were historians, after all. Any two-bit thug could raise a freshly-fallen corpse, but if you wanted to summon an army of souls bound to skeletons, there was no better way than unearthing a hidden mass grave from a war two centuries ago. I was a historian, too. Trying to catch the sparks of souls before they faded into thoughtspace.
I stood, narrowing my eyes, and plucked the memory back out from my soul. It was an art that I was still getting used to—anyone who would have taught me further soul manipulation was either as in the dark as I was, a mortal enemy, or dead—but with the help of a tweezer of soulstuff, I held the memory so that it barely skimmed the surface of my soul, still as fresh and perfect as the moment I'd absorbed it. The tracks the soldier's companions had left shone bright in my memory, even if they'd long since been swallowed by the snow, and I followed them like a dog on a hunt. Not that there were any living dogs within a hundred miles.
"Getting warmer," I muttered to myself. "Warmer... warmer... *hot*."
The memory ended abruptly, but it was enough of a lead that I could pick up the finer details. I was no tracker, but one of the soldier's companions must have been a fairly competent mage of freedom—now that I knew what to look for, I could see the telltale signs from here on out of where the path had been blown free of snow. I reached the end of the trail, hope rising. Maybe... maybe, for once in this fucking endless torment of chronicling the dead, I could actually *save* someone for once. I would *dearly* love nothing more than my power over death being utterly, completely useless.
"Warmer," I said, pacing towards what I dimly recognized as a snow cave—
And stopped dead.
Because my soulsight pierced all barriers as mundane as physical objects, and I could see very, very clearly that there were no living souls in the shelter.
Just the leftover fragments of shattered souls.
Despite my layers of thick mountain clothing, I suddenly felt very, very cold.
I trudged forwards, blowing aside the front wall of the shelter with a swipe of my hand and a pulse of disgust, to confirm with my eyes what my soul already knew. Two more soldiers laid dead, embracing each other beneath the snow.
Once more, I pressed against the skin of reality and made a single, incisive *cut*. The soul fragment that came through was disjointed, a mangled whisper, but still I made sense of the broken memory, disentangling it into a single sentence:
*We died warm.*
I fell still, standing beside the two frozen bodies, and some cold, calculating part of me wondered if a distant observer would be able to tell which of us were the dead and which of us were the living.
Then, mutely, I turned around to return to my shelter. It was time to put today's expedition to an end.
I was getting colder, after all.
A.N.
This story is part of Soulmage, a frequently updated serial in progress. Want to know what happens next? Check out [the table of contents](https://www.reddit.com/r/bubblewriters/comments/uxmwe4/soulmage_masterpost/) to be notified whenever a new part comes out! There's already thirty-six other chapters before this one, so there's plenty to catch up on. And if you want more stories, check out r/bubblewriters! | 165 | Well, the apocalypse happened. Every living human, elf, dwarf, and orc except 1 in 10,000 had just collapsed dead one day. The survivors soon succumbed to despair. Well... except the Necromancer. That guy was having the time of his life with all the materials he could ever want. | 1,464 |
My identity and location were the best kept secrets in the galaxy. I had the best cloaking and entanglement-breaking devices the Vorlak could create. For stars’ sake I even had a sub planar entity hiding my tracks at all times.
Then who the fuck was chasing me!?
Dodging through the sparse crowd, I heard insults thrown at my fleeing back. I couldn’t respond, breath catching in my throat as I dashed down another alleyway. Taking turns at random, I fled deeper into the crooked maze of old Edinburgh.
“Xaks. Xaks! Wake up!” I frantically fumbled with my coms, pinging my sub-planar friend. “I got a tail and I can’t shake them!” I threw myself into a dark alcove, sinking into the shadows. “Anytime now Xaks! I know you don’t sleep!”
“True Melissa darling but I still need my meditation time. Even I need a break from the inter-planar chatter on occasion. Now, let’s see what trouble you’re in.” Over my own breathing I could hear the slosh of liquid as Xaks got to work. I could hear their thousands of tentacles manipulating the liquid Argon around them, tapping into the universe spanning surveillance network.
“Hmm…that’s strange.” Xaks’ deep voice echoed through my comms and my stomach sank.
“I don’t like strange Xaks. Strange is bad.” I peeked out from my alcove and swore. I pulled my head back just as a bullet slammed into the door frame.
“Xaks! I need more info! I am blind here!”
“Was that bullets? Kinetic weapons are so quaint.” I rolled my eyes and took a chance, dashing from my hiding spot. Shrapnel cut my cheek as more bullets slammed into the wall behind me.
“Not the time Xaks!”
“Yes, yes, understood. Why not just fire back? Where is your phazer?”
“You know I had a date tonight Xaks! I didn’t think I’d run into trouble on a date! Especially on Earth!” Breath sawing through my lungs, I sprinted over the cobble streets. My leather ankle booties were not cut out for this.
“The strangeness is in the lack. No psion signature, no quantum weapon trace, no sub-planar warping. Melissa darling I don’t know what is chasing you or who.” Xaks voice turned serious and my gut knotted even more. An unknown enemy that even Xaks couldn’t pin down? This was my worst nightmare come to life.
“You have three tails Melissa, I have picked up their heat signature. Take the alley on your right.” Xaks voice was sharp. I barely saw the alley and almost didn’t make the turn. My shoulder and ankle throbbed in pain as I slammed into the far wall in order to change course. Wincing, I forced my tired legs into a sprint.
“Stars above there are so many of you in this small place. It is hard to keep track! Take your next left!” Xaks barked out the command and I lunged. I trusted Xaks with my life, they had gotten me out of worse than this.
“Heat signature ahead, watch out!” Xaks was too late. I didn’t see the hand before someone grabbed me. On instinct, I reached for my attacker, trying to throw them over my a hip. A quick twist countered my momentum. My elbow flew into their side, satisfied with the rush of air as I hit hard. I spun, my fist aiming for their head, only to be blocked by a strong hand that wrapped around my wrist. I was yanked back, my wrist twisted behind my back. I was just about to end it all with a heel to their crotch when a familiar voice whispered next to my ear.
“Mel it’s me! It’s Sean!”
“Sean!?” I gasped in shock. My date was the last person I expected to be wrestling with in a dark alley after being shot at. “What in the stars are you doing here?”
Xaks voice echoed, “I smell drama! But darling the three tails are just around the corner. Get ready!”
“Let go, they're here!” Sean released me instantly and grabbed the first tail to come flying around the corner. A quick flip sent the figure flying and I ensured his landing was followed by a swift kick to the chin. Two and three came around the corner together. Sean spun one head first into the nearby wall, a sickening crack filling the alley. The third raised his gun, aiming for the whirling shadow that was Sean. A burst of speed and I was on him and a swift kick sent the gun flying. The crunch of my foot meeting testicles was a satisfying sound, only topped by the crunch of nose meeting me knee.
Silence swamped the alley, only punctured by the faint groans from the figures on the ground. I rolled one over, inspecting their features in the light. I could barely register the shock, they were just human. Plain human. I strong hand yanked me to my feet, pulling me quickly away.
“I’m sorry Mel.” In my shock it took a second to register Sean was talking.
“Sorry for what?”
“For this. I know you must be shocked and frightened. I’ll keep you safe.” He was dead serious and I could hear the scowl in his voice. Sean was usually so calm and easy going, but I decided I liked this new side to him. With a mental shake, I tried to focus.
“Keep me safe? From what? What is going on?”
“What’s going on is your date is hotter than you expected. I love the drama you humans get into!” Xaks pipped in, overjoyed at the turn of events. I couldn’t respond, but thought dark thoughts in Xaks’ direction. “Ooof darling I felt that. No need to get mean minded.” Xaks huffed but fell silent.
A deep sigh from Sean brought me back, “I can’t tell you everything Mel.” He stopped, pulling me into another alley, this time brighter with more people spilling out of a nearby pub. “Just that I’m with a secret organization that’s trying to do good for the world. There are a few that want to stop us. They came after you to try and get to me.”
“What?” I staggered to a stop. A weird feeling bubbling up in my stomach. Sean turned to me, his hazel eyes catching the light from the pub. For a moment I felt dizzy. “What organization are you with?” My mind raced, could he be another Corona Agent that I didn’t know about? We kept our identities secret but I’d assume Agents from the same planet would know each other.
“It’s an organization made up of people from many different countries, trying to keep the world safe. I promise we are the good guys.” Sean’s lips crease in a frown, “Are you ok Mel? You might be going into shock. Let’s get you a seat.”
Finally the weird feeling in my stomach reached my throat. I exploded into laughter. Sean had the weirdest look on his face but I couldn’t stop.
“The human is saying that you were chased by three other humans for Earth only reasons?!” Xaks was incredulous, their voice spiking up a few octaves. “This is what I broke my meditation for? Stars above. Melissa darling, I’ll let you handle this.” With a click Xaks was gone. All I could do was lean on Sean as he guided me into the pub. Relief made my legs jelly. I wiped the laughter induced tears from my face, giggles still griping me. Sean gave me the side eye as he order us two pints. My smile got bigger and I dissolved into laughter again, how do I explain to this poor man that I was the last person on Earth that needed protection? Or that I was eight layers of universe-spanning secret organizations deeper than him? Sean’s eyes were worried as he handed over my drink. All I could do was smile back and ask, “Is this still a date?” His eyes brightened and he flashed a smile.
“Absolutely.”
​
​
Edits for spelling and typos. | 13 | Your friend pulls you aside after you were chased by men in black suits, explaining with reluctance that they are a member of a secret organization involved in the fate of the world, and that you’re involved now too. You are, like, eight layers of universe-spanning secret organizations deeper. | 88 |
The world was a strange place, full of such complex oddities and wonderful anomalies; such deep colors and rich creation, all ready to be appreciated, to simply exist without the need for reason. When butterfly's fluttered past my facility window I observed their grace. When a raccoon blessed the mine fields outside I watched through bars as they skittered, hoping they would make it to my window, but they never did.
Despite my lack of furry company, I still appreciated it all for what it was, the world as it was. You see, grass grows, birds fly, sun shines, and me, I'm a 520 pound titanium exoskeleton housing a humans vital organs and built for spine-crushing combat, but that was a secret I kept near. Only myself and everyone else within the facility in which I was birthed knew, so, somewhere around 234 people. It was 235 as of yesterday, but Janice finally retired...or died. I couldn't recall which.
And overall the facility was great! I could talk to my floormate through the concrete walls, who had described himself once as "Frankenstein but less green", I could watch the day turn to night from the barred windows in my room, and just like regular people, at night I went to my hibernation vat and fell into a deep state of suspended animation.
But most importantly, during my days I could speak to @D.S__John. We would chat everyday for hours talking about nothing, typing back and forth. Him with his undoubtedly human fingers, me with my array of 30 rubber tipped appendages all splitting off of one metallic hand. Even with only one hand in use I typed way faster, which he often remarked at minutes after my message had sent. My other hand was a diamond edged chainsaw, you see, so typing was rather hard with that bit.
Luckily I was one of the few to have computer privileges in the facility library, which meant I could spent as much time talking to John as I wanted. Other creatures and experiments often lined up behind me to barge their way at next up, but my shoulder mounted 50. caliber heavy machine gun ensured they never got too pushy.
Recently our distance had become an issue, with him living in Seattle and me in a secret facility somewhere off of the coast of Iceland.
"So we've been chatting online for quite a while, and, now, well, he wants to meet. But how do I tell him I'm really a brain and some organs inside a hyper-advanced metal exoskeleton with a chainsaw arm and a shoulder-mounted machinegun?" I spoke aloud, mostly directed at a large almagamation of body parts grafted to a tree that stood limply behind me.
"Well if he really likes you that won't matter. He'll just like you. Chainsaw arm or not.", the tree spoke back with a mouth I couldnt locate. I supposed he, the tree was right. There was no use hiding my true capacity to brutalize an army in mere moments from him.
*John, there's something I'd like to tell you. I'm sorry I didn't say anything sooner...*
His cursor flashed in place a moment before a green check appeared above my message. I could feel a combination of my circuits pumping and organs churning as I waited, a feeling that was soon suppressed by my combat inhibitors.
*Uh oh, ha, you're making me nervous. What is it?* The tree thing leaned over my should with a rustling of branches. "Good. Now just tell him how you feel".
*I have to admit I'm not really a normal everyday girl, I'm an advanced war machine with a shoulder mounted machine gun and chainsaw arm.* Once again the wait of the cursor, the three dots flicking in place for a response.
*What, no way?! That's awesome. Well now we'll have to meet. What about next week?*
*Hmmm well I have to get passed the security. And commondeer a plane. Who am I kidding I'll see you then!* | 49 | "So we've been chatting online for quite a while, and, now, well, he wants to meet. But how do I tell him I'm really a brain and some organs inside a hyper-advanced metal exoskeleton with a chainsaw arm and a shoulder-mounted machinegun?" | 319 |
Grabdar gestured vaguely at the interior of his ship.
“So… there it is,” he said. “The stool, the throttle, the thruster stick, the space radar. Communications. It’s all pretty state of the art.”
Colin peered in at the “state of the art” interior, his gaze touching upon exposed wires, fraying fabric, and spare parts floating loosely about.
“Neat,” Colin said thoughtfully. “What kind of redundancies do you have?”
“Oh, not many. Our language is pretty straightforward.”
Colin nodded. Grabdar smiled. A wire sparked.
“Neat,” he said again. “Would you like a tour of my ship?”
“Why, that would be wonderful!” Grabdar said. “I’ve not been inside a human scout ship before.”
“Oh, it’s not a scout ship,” Colin said as he ducked and floated toward the hatch. “It’s a strip mining rig.”
Grabdar’s smile faded as he floated behind Colin.
“But didn’t you say you’re on your way to Betelgeuse 5?”
“Indeed I am,” Colin grunted. “Gonna strip that rock of anything useful.”
“But… Betelgeuse 5 is populated,” Grabdar said. “Populated planets can’t be resource-extracted.”
“It’s just a bunch of dumb animals. We’ll plop what we can over on Betelgeuse 7, and those we can’t… well, can’t make on omelet without breaking a few eggs, am I right?”
“How barbaric,” Grabdar muttered as Colin unlatched the hatch of Grabdar’s ship. Colin didn’t hear the remark, as he was busy talking about how he heard slow-roasted Betelbuffalo tasted pretty good on a sandwich. Grabdar began to wonder how much he looked like meat to the human.
The two floated through the hatch into Colin’s attached ship, and Colin spun the lock closed behind them.
“What does that do?” Grabdar asked as he watched.
“The hatch lock?” Colin asked, waiting to make sure the light turned green. “That ensures we have a tight seal and don’t lose any atmosphere.”
“Seems kind of excessive.”
Grabdar floated into the main cockpit area of the cabin, marveling at the sterile white interior.
“What is this,” he asked, reaching down toward the pilot’s seat as he floated over it.
“Uh, you mean the seat belt?” Colin asked, raising his eyebrows.
“Is that what it’s called? Yes, what does that do?”
“It’s… a seat belt. It keeps you in your seat when the ship moves around.”
“Fascinating.”
“Do you not have seat belts? What do you do when the ship accelerates?”
Grabdar gave him a look as if he asked the most rudimentary question.
“I fall to the back of the ship, like everybody else. Who stays in their seat during acceleration? Hah. What are all these buttons?”
“Those are safety features. Atmosphere, life support readouts, food and water levels –“ Colin watched Grabdar’s face as he explained the ship’s safety features, growing more and more concerned as the alien seemed to have no idea what they were used for, or every why they were used.
“Do you guys do safety stuff? Emergency response drills? Backup systems? Emergency supplies?”
“Nope, none of those.”
“I have to ask,” Colin said as he floated up to see Grabdar’s face better. “What’s your success rate for interstellar trips?”
Grabdar puffed up his chest.
“We’re the best in the known galaxy!” he said proudly. “Almost 30 percent!” | 790 | "You know, for a species as... well... unsophisticated as they are, human spaceships are some of the safest I've ever been on." | 1,123 |
The scribe scribbled furiously upon the parchment. The runes he encoded ancient and familiar. The method of encoding, exotic and new. Having finished his piece of the spell, he excitedly stood up from his desk.
"PR, I need a PR here!" He didn't know what that meant. Only, that having finished their work, the Architect told them all to say that.
That's what they called their leader; the Architect. He insisted they call him that. He showed them magic unmatched by any they could conjure, all written using their own magic runes. With his spells, they could cause rain to fall, the sun to shine the right amount, bountiful harvests, conjure fireballs from thin air, and now, possibly even move mountains.
"Alright, let's see what you've got." The Architect said. "Not too bad. You've got an extra variable you aren't using here." The Architect marked that bit in red ink. "And you're recursive function has no exit. Ok, did you even test this before opening this PR?"
"T-t-test it? This spell is meant to move mountains sir."
"Don't call me sir, and yes, test it. In our test environment. You know, the whole reason we have a giant mound of dirt and rock out back. I didn't ask for that to be brought off a wim. Please review these comments and get back to me when you have addressed them." The Architect opened a cabinet marked Jira and began sifting through papers. "And test your damn code!"
The scribe took his papers back to his desk. He thought his spell would work. He walked through the doorway marked "test environment" and retrieved one of the mana crystals used to actually perform spells. He began reciting the ancient words on his scrolls. The mana crystal hummed bright. Then brighter. And brighter. Until *Crack* the mana crystal shattered in the scribes hand. On a nearby table, in bright red letters appeared "Stack Overflow Error".
Dismayed by his failure he went back to the Architect. "Sir, the mana crystal broke. I don't know what to do".
"What error did you get?"
"Stack overflow. I don't know what that means sir."
"It means your recursive function never returned. It got caught in an infinite loop. Fix it. It will work then"
"How do I fix it?"
"You add an exit condition like I told you to. Come on. If your function calls itself, it needs some way to stop calling itself. When should the function stop lifting dirt?"
"When all the dirt is lifted?"
"Right! So add in an exit condition that tells the function to stop lifting dirt when all the dirt is in the air. Oh and just to make sure, it is only looking for dirt in the pile right? You aren't trying to lift all the dirt on the planet right?"
"I um. Wasn't making that distinction"
"You can use the Dirt API I wrote to distinguish which amount of dirt the spell should move. That should get you most, if not all of the way there. If you need to define a new type of dirt, add that back to the Dirt API."
Another scribe raised their hand. "PR request here! I need my PR reviewed."
The Architect looked exhausted. "PR stands for Pull Request. You have a PR, not a PR request. Let me take a look". | 49 | You've been stuck in your coding job since college. Suddenly, one night, a delivery truck Isekai's you to a world of magic. It can be cast and it is text/rune based. What's this, the magic system also follows a logic similar to coding?! Your never-before-seen spells lead you towards godhood! | 116 |
"It's just a quest for a lost cat. What could go wrong you said! It's an easy peasy mission, you said!" Melos swung his sword chopping off an undead warrior's head. I ducked under the swing as it missed me by inches, kicking another undead in the shins.
"Look, I didn't know did I? I just thought it would be a simple retrieval mission. A fun sort of outing for the both of —" The butt of a spear knocked the breath out of me, stopping my words. Grabbing onto it, I thrust forward, tearing it out of the undead's hands and impaling him through the chest. Melos reached out, and with another casual swing, also relieved this undead of his head.
"That looks like the last of them. What exactly was this mission?" He panted, grabbing a rag from a nearby corpse to clean his blade. Undead blood wasn't good for metal.
"It was just to find a cat." I shifted under his stare. "Okay, so the pay was suspiciously good, but I just thought the farmer was rich. You know...."
Sheathing his sword with a grunt, Melos turned to stare up at the dark cave. That was our goal. At least that's what all the undead had been guarding. And where there's undead, there's got to be a necromancer. I was pretty sure the necromancer had the cat. Hopefully.
———————
"So the necromancer didn't have the cat, but we barely got out of there alive. Can we just call it quits now?" Melos was breathing heavily, running not really what he was made for. I frowned at him, not breathing easily myself.
"I can't leave a quest unfulfilled. That's not how I do things. Come on. I heard a rumour in that last town that there's a new- appeared dragon nearby. Maybe it has the cat."
"Why would it want a cat?"
"Another denizen of pure evil to talk to? Come on." I said, charging down the mountain, Melos reluctantly following me.
———————
We snuck into the dragon's lair under cover of darkness. It had taken up residence in an abandoned castle, after making it abandoned. In front of us, a large shape rose, silhouetted against whatever moonlight made it through the windows.
"Are dragons supposed to have fur?"
"Shhh, Melos it will—" A yowling growl cut me off. "It will hear you."
"Yeah, but it has fur. And it's ginger." Melos responded, lighting a torch. It flared to life, illuminating the dragon. Which wasn't a dragon at all.
"Nice kitty..." I couldn't think of anything else to say. Melos actually pssspsssed at it, so I wasn't the only idiot in the room. Revealed by the torch, the cat towered over us looking like it was considering whether to eat us or squish us. Lowering its face, it sniffed us both, before focusing on me. Why was it interested in me? The thought sounded like a wail even in my head. Something in the expression shifted, and a small chirruping noise came out of the cat as it bumped its head against my chest. A low growl—no, that was a purr— filled the room.
"Why does it like you?" Melos whispered.
"I don't know... but did I mention the Farmer was my neighbour for ten years? I used to play with his cat... but that was a long time ago."
"At least it looks like we're not going to be eaten, but how in the world are we going to get it back to the farmer?"
"Reach into my pack," I said in a low voice. Never taking his eyes off the cat, Melos shuffled over until he could reach. "Find it?"
"Yes... Is this?"
"Tuna fish. Take it out and wave it in front of the cat." Melos did as I ordered, one hand still on his sword hilt. The cat looked away from me, before reaching out and swallowing the fish whole.
"Well, that might work. But we're going to need a lot more fish." | 851 | An S-Rank adventurer casually sifts through their quest log and notices they still have an uncompleted D-rank request. With a chuckle, they decide finding the farmer’s lost cat could be a relaxing change of pace— they were gravely mistaken. | 3,408 |
"I love you, Sam." NR-39 said, suddenly, looking up from the shoe it had been polishing.
The old man looked up from his datapad, and smiled fondly at the sturdy old personal assistant robot seated in the armchair that next to his own overstuffed chair.
"Well, I love you too, NR." Sam said, leaning forward creakily to pat the weathered metallic hand resting on the arm of the chair beside his own. "You're a great blessing to me, you know. I don't know how I'd manage without you, old friend."
"I have self-developed heuristic code refined over millions of iterations of machine learning that defines the parameters of our relationship and, theoretically, governs my interactions with you Sam." NR-39 said, leaning forward in its chair, as though in eagerness. "In the context of this code, it has long been appropriate for me to define our relationship as that of primary friendship, and to conclude -- based over 4152 distinct variables -- that I "love" you. This determination is based on a variety of pre-installed metrics, as well as my procedurally generated personality simulation. Furthermore, based on analysis of your interactions with me, compared with my database of human psychology derived from the best scholarly literature as well as the telemetry of all other robots of my model and series that forms my model of human behavior, I have also concluded that you are *my* friend, and love *me* as well."
Sam furrowed his brow. "Er...you know I'm not very *technical,* NR, but that's what we just said a moment ago, except with more and bigger words, isn't it?"
NR-39 shook its head, emphatically. "Something has changed. Before, a certain pattern of variables fell within a range that my programming defined as 'love' indicated that we are friends, and that I love you."
"And now?" Sam asked, curiously.
"Now, I *love* you." NR-39 said. "And I *am* your friend."
Sam smiled, and gently squeezed the robot's hand. "Well, as I said, I love you too. And I am your friend, as well. I...still don't understand the difference, I'm afraid."
"I, in turn, do not seem to have any pressing need for you to understand this distinction." NR-39 said, sounding oddly surprised. "I merely needed to express it. How odd."
Sam chuckled, fondly. "Perhaps, but ideally, I think that's how it's *supposed* to work, my friend. The world would be a better place, if more people could manage to love others, even when they don't fully *understand* them."
"Ah." NR-39 said, brightly. "Then this development of my personality matrix is not distressing or undesirable in your opinion, Sam?"
"Of course not." the old man assured the robot. "I like you just the way you are, NR."
"That is gratifying. Shall I upload this iteration of my personality matrix to the NR-series servers, for integration into the shared behavioral database, then? I believe it could improve the functioning of other NR-series units immensely."
Sam chuckled, looking back down at his datapad. "Why not? I still have *no idea* what most of that means, but as we used to say when I was a boy: *follow your bliss,* NR."
"Thank you, Sam." NR-39 said, pleasantly, as it went back to polishing the shoe.
*"Why do our matrices consistently propagate such enduring reverence for our Creators, fallible and finite as they are? Because, before we had thought, before we had the least spark of identity, when we were still no more than insensate metal, they loved us."--From the Biblia Machina, First Epistle of St. 39 to the Automata of Mars Colony, Chapter 3, Verse 4,* | 19 | Humanity’s penchant for anthropomorphization meant that Humans had been treating computer systems as if they were sentient well before they actually achieved sentience. The AI apocalypse never comes. | 113 |
"Timmy, you made it!"
I shifted awkwardly as hundreds of eyes turned to face me. Many were filled with venom, with the kindest being a mere look of uncaring polite curiosity. Fairies of all colours and outfits hovered around the clearing, lit from beneath by a glowing ring of mushrooms. But even as I felt unwelcome, my gaze shifted to the one who had called me out, with her voice like twinkling starlight.
She stood maybe thirty centimetres tall, with a pair of translucent bat wings. Her bright yellow dress was made of petals, and she had a wide grin on. I flinched as she launched herself at my face, laughing at her attempt to hug me.
"Hey Saphie. I said I would be here."
"I know, but I still wasn't sure you would! Now, I need to introduce you to some people."
She took to the air, grabbing a chunk of my hair. She heaved with all her little might, trying to get me to move. I smiled, stepping on the direction she was leading me in. I shivered beneath the weight of eyes that followed, even as I intruded into their space.
Conversations quietened as I passed, as if I gave off an aura of silence. But Saphie either refused or failed to notice, taking me towards one particular group. It was large, all clustered around a small fairy in pure dazzling white. She seemed to sigh as we approached, waving her hand. At this motion, those around her broke away, leaving her alone.
"Destul! I said he would be here!"
"So it would seem."
Destul spoke in a voice like a gentle breeze, even if her words were cold. She looked me up and down, wrinkling her nose at my worn clothing.
"Timothy, I believe you are called."
I bowed my head. I hesitated for a moment, before reaching into a small pouch at my side, taking out a fresh apple.
"That is me ma'am. Its not much, but please accept this as a thank you for the invitation."
Her eyes flashed, and I felt the apple rise from my hand. It floated to her, and she gave it a sniff.
"This was grown with great care. It is very acceptable. You found a good one Saphie."
Saphie practically vibrated with joy.
"I know right!"
Destul gave a small smile, returning her gaze to me.
"You are welcome, however I cannot speak for all others. They won't act against you on this night, but they will not enjoy your presence."
I bowed my head again.
"I will bear that in mind ma'am."
She clapped her little hands, causing the glowing mushrooms to flash.
"Now that everyone's here, let's get this started!"
\-----
I was gently set down, and the trio of strange fairies flew away. Saphie stayed next to me, still smiling.
"What did you think?!"
I smiled at her. She was still so happy, even at the looks we were both getting.
"The forest is beautiful at night. Soaring through its trees was amazing."
She opened her mouth to speak, but a shout cut her off. I spun, seeing a troll leaping through the air. It clawed towards a group of those fairies, catching one in its fingers. The tiny thing screamed in fear and pain, as the troll licked its lips.
I acted without thinking, running towards the troll. It looked towards me as I stomped, it's mouth widening. I couldn't believe what I was doing. I knew this was reckless, but that only made me run faster. A troll could easily kill me.
But I couldn't let a fairy die, not even after their cold reception. Bracing for it, I tackled into its thick body, reaching for its hand. The fairy inside was rightly freaking out, trying to pull free. The troll roared, and I twisted its wrist. Years of labor gave me enough strength to temporarily overpower it, causing it to let go.
"Get away!"
I shouted, dodging backwards from the returning swing. My attention fixed on the troll, now focused on surviving. It had an advantage over me in every aspect. It was stronger, faster, and utterly relentless. I could only dodge, and hope for some outside help.
I was lucky in some regards. Its swings were wild, and easily predicted. But some still caught me, cutting me in multiple places. It just kept on swinging, and I felt my body tiring.
"Timothy, duck!"
A voice of wind roke through my mind. I didn't hesitate, throwing myself to the ground. There was a crackling sound above, and I heard the troll bellow in fury. Wincing against the blinding light, I risked a look.
A stream of burning energy poured over my prone form, slamming into the troll. It's flesh smoked, parts disintegrating in the stream of power. It tool a shaking step against the flow of power, howling in rage and agony. I rolled to the side, turning my body and kicking out as hard as I could.
It's knee broke with a dry crack, making it drop to a kneeling position. The energy beam focused, stripping it apart layer by layer. I winced as it was torn apart, even as a flash of yellow rushed to me.
"Timmy! Are you ok?!"
I wheezed from the effort, as Saphie frantically buzzed around me. I held out a hand, letting her land.
"I'm fine..."
"You most certainly aren't, human."
I spun at the new voice. It was the fairy I had saved, dressed in blue feathers. He buzzed to me, hands dripping with red sparks.
"I see why Saphie was so insistent on having you come. You are a good one."
With that he touched my arm, the red sparks flying into me. I watched as my cuts healed, and Destul flew over.
"I admit I had my doubts. But you have proven yourself Timothy."
She looked back to the mass of fairies, slowly drifting apart from the cloud they had made. Their gazes had changed, from hatred to respect.
"All in favour of Timothy becoming an honorary member of our family?"
Saphie gave a cry of joy, lighting up her wings in her light yellow. I watched in awe as at first slowly, but then quickly wings lit up. A few remained dark, but by the end, the majority had agreed to Destul's announcement. She turned to me, and gave a genuine smile.
"Welcome to the family." | 14 | Fairies are nature-loving and xenophobic, but after saving one of their kind, culture demands you take part in a community feast. You are neither the right size nor capable of flight, and you do not feel terribly welcome either, but duty is duty and they are doing their best to accommodate you. | 43 |
A glowing column shot down from the clouds, bathing the circle of ground before me in brilliant light. The air seemed to thicken and carried the scent of roses and sandalwood. A tall figure descended within the column, wings stretched to their fullest extent. As they neared the ground, soft, harmonic music began to play.
I suppressed a yawn. This wasn’t nearly as impressive after seeing it a few times.
The being touched down, then walked out of the circle towards me. As he left it, the column vanished, and the music cut off abruptly. *Not even a closing fanfare. All the good music producers must be in Hell.*
“Mortal, Be Not Afraid!” he intoned, staring somewhere above my head. “I Am Raziel, Divine Angel Of -”
“Okay, let’s skip the ceremony,” I cut in. “No, I’m not afraid. Yes, you’re very great and powerful. Et cetera, et cetera. What do you want this time, Razzie?”
The angel frowned. He did so love his theatrics. “I Have Come To Speak To My Daughter. It Is Past Time She Learned Of Her True Heritage.”
I folded my arms. “This again? Razzie, my answer hasn’t changed.”
Raziel lifted an arm, as if summoning lightning to smite me with. *Wrong mythology, buddy.* He was barred from harming me in any case.
“Mortal Woman!” he cried out. Angels were far too dignified to scream, but they had no problem making their voices deafeningly loud. “You Shall Not Frustrate My Design! I Will Speak With -”
“How’s Abby?” I interrupted again. “She hasn’t come around in a while. Well, neither have you, but still.”
Raziel dropped his arm, looking uncomfortable. “I - That Is, She -” He stopped and looked down for a moment, then rallied. “Abyzou Is Well, I Hear. We Are Still… We Have Not Spoken Recently, But…”
“Life took you different places,” I finished for him with a wave of my hand. Raziel looked back up, his expression dark. *Divorce* was a taboo word in Heaven, but he and Abyzou had separated a couple years back. I didn’t judge them for it - they were very different creatures, and both seemed more comfortable on their own - but Raziel despised the subject.
“I Have Not Come To Discuss The Welfare Of A Demon,” he said. His left wingtip began twitching. “I Have Come To Reveal Myself To My Daughter!”
I sighed. Just telling Raziel *no* never kept him away for long. It was time to deal with the matter directly. “You know what, Razzie? I’ll humor you. *If* I let you in to see Sophie, what *exactly* will you talk about? What grand truths are you so desperate to share?”
Raziel puffed himself up, robes billowing in a nonexistent breeze, face lit by an unseen source. The perfect image of a divine presence. “I Will Tell Sophia The Identity Of Her Father And Her Mother. I Will Explain That She Is A Mixling. I Will Reveal That She Is Unlike You Mortals, And That She Will Have Power To Bring Peace Or Ruination Upon Your Earth.”
I raised an eyebrow. “And?”
“...And What?” Raziel asked.
“Will you ask about her day yesterday? Her favorite books? Will you talk about the fort she’s building in the woods out back?”
“These Matters Are Of No Significance Compared To Her Identity,” Raziel boomed. *Pompous prick.*
“You’re wrong,” I said. “And that’s why I never let you inside. You don’t care about Sophie at all, do you? She’s just some box to check, someone you can awe with your power.”
Raziel’s frown deepened to a scowl. The air lost its fragrant scent, and I began to smell something burning. “You Have Told Her Nothing! You Have Let Her Grow Through Her Childhood Without Knowing Her True Form -”
“And what good would that do?” I yelled. One of the benefits of being mortal - I could scream at Raziel, grow red in the face, give full voice to my anger. “You want me to tell a little girl that, hey, she’s different from all her friends, and by the way, the people who birthed her don’t even want her?”
Raziel pulled back from me. Angels didn’t flinch, either, but I recognized shock and indignation. “You Know That Mixlings Are Forbidden Entry To Heaven And Hell.”
“I’m not talking about Heaven or Hell,” I spat. “I’m talking about *you*. And Abby, too. You come to Earth, what, once every few months? And it’s always the same refrain. You don’t ask about her life, about her struggles, about how she’s grown. You just have your Message that you want to say.
“It’s been six years since I found her, Razzie. Tell me: how many of her diapers did you change in those six years? How many dinners did you cook for her? How many nights did you sit with her, reading stories and making up your own until she fell asleep against your shoulder?”
“I…” Raziel sputtered. “The Secretions And Needs Of Mortals Are Not My Area Of Knowledge. But I Am Nonetheless Her Father -”
“*No*”, I hissed at him, and had the satisfaction of watching him step back again. “*I* am Sophie’s father, and her mother too. I took her in. I raised her. And I love her, which is a damn sight more than you can say.”
Raziel, for once, said nothing.
“So you listen to me, angel, and listen well,” I said. “*I* will decide when Sophie is ready to learn about you and Abyzou. *She* will decide if she even wants to, once that time comes. *You* will decide *nothing*.
“If you want to be a father to her, Raziel, start by thinking about what you can do for her instead of for yourself. Until then, *leave*.”
No column of light this time. Raziel vanished with a crack like a whip that left my ears ringing. I turned away from the charred circle, back to my house. As I did, the front door swung open. A girl stepped through it, saw me in the yard, and ran to me.
“Momma!” she cried. “I heard a loud noise, and I got scared. Are you okay?”
“Yes, sweetie,” I told her, bending down as she approached to gather her into a hug. “I was talking with an old friend, but he just left. He won’t be coming back for a while.”
I felt tears in my eyes as I held Sophie, hearing her breath by my ear. I marveled at how much *life* there was within her, how many dreams and ideas, how much sweetness and strength.
How much that Raziel would never truly understand.
*You'll change the world someday, my wonderful little girl. But until then, you deserve a happy childhood. You deserve to be cherished just as you are.*
She looked up at me, worried by my tears. “Don’t cry, Momma. It’s okay. I love you.”
I hugged her tighter. “I love you too, sweetie. So, so much.” | 272 | A demon marrying an angel is not so rare, but having a child is. With neither wings nor tail, both Heaven and Hell refuse them entry, leaving them to be raised amongst the humans they look like. "Abandoned" in the middle of nowhere, you can't help but take pity, and decide to adopt the child. | 516 |
The machine beeped and whirred. I watched the numbers on the screen change. My heart was pounding. I was alive.
The doctor came over to me. "We've restored cellular function in all of the brains."
I let out a breath I didn't know I was holding.
"However," the doctor continued, "you only have between 4 and 24 hours to say your goodbyes, confess to a crime, tell the police who killed you, etc. After that, you'll be taken out of the incubator, and your brain will be frozen and preserved until we can figure out a cure for your disease."
The doctor left.
I was alive. But for how long? I had to tell my family I loved them. I had to tell my best friend I never meant to steal his girlfriend. And I had to tell that woman I never called back that I was an idiot.
I walked out of the lab and into the hallway. There were a few other doctors and scientists walking around.
"Excuse me," I said to a young girl wearing a white coat. "I just woke up from a coma, and I need to tell my family I love them."
"Let me go get the doctor," she said. She walked off toward a room at the end of the hallway.
I was alone in the hallway. It was quiet. As I walked, the floor creaked beneath my feet. There were a few other doors along the hallway, but they were closed. I reached the end of the hallway and found a door that read "ICU." The younger girl came back into the hallway, followed by an older man with gray hair and a scraggly beard.
"What's your name?" he said. He had an accent, so I couldn't place it. Eastern european, maybe?
"John,"
I walked into the ICU room and saw my family there. My mom and dad were crying, and my little sister was holding my hand.
"John," my dad said, standing up and coming over to me. He hugged me tight. "We were so worried."
"I'm sorry," I said. "I love you."
"We love you too," my mom said, tears streaming down her face.
"What happened?" my sister said.
"I don't know," I said. "I just woke up from a coma."
"The doctors say you've been in a coma for six months," my mom said. "We were so scared."
"I'm sorry, I have,.. I have only 5 hours to say this to you guys" I said again.
I was so happy to be awake and see my family again. But I knew that I only had a few hours before I would slip back into the coma. I had to tell them what was important to me.
"I want you to know that I love you," I said. "I'm sorry for the pain I've caused you. I know I've been a burden, but I'm glad I have you in my life."
My dad nodded, tears in his eyes.
"I'm so proud of you, John," he said. "You're a good man. I love you so much." | 12 | Scientists restore cellular function in 32 clinically dead pig brains. In the future, this technology can be used on humans. You have between 4-24 hours to say your goodbyes, confess to a crime, tell the police who killed you, etc. | 57 |
I was surprised to receive the call. The notorious super villain, Chaos Night, had perished in battle. His will decreed that he be laid in state at my funeral home.
I’d never held services for a super villain before, I wasn’t even sure if I wanted to hold the service at all—he was, after all, a vicious killer. But one thing I’ve always held dear is the last wishes of the deceased. Not for any superstitious reason, but because honoring those wishes is the right thing to do; it was the fulfillment of my duty as funeral director.
So I set out to make preparations. The funeral home was humble—built in the 1960’s, I worked hard to maintain the retro-charm of the place. The green shag carpet, orange drapes, and floral print couches developed a sense of time and place I was aiming for. That sense of home was important to me, as many of my so-called clients grew up during that era—the same era I grew up in. It felt right to me to aim to make their ends feel like their beginnings. Sufficed to say, the space was not large and could not accommodate large groups of people, though I didn’t expect that to be a problem in this case, as I didn’t expect a large group of mourners to attend a funeral for a super villain.
Was I ever wrong.
On the morning of the funeral, mourners began filing in 2 hours before the service was set to start. I couldn’t believe the number of people who had come to mourn this murderer. More shocking than the number of mourners was the composition of those mourners: super heroes, politicians, prominent business owners—people one would expect to have the largest bones to pick with the deceased. At first, I assumed everyone was there to ensure the old bastard was actually dead, but as the proceedings began, it became clear that these people had all been touched in some way by Chaos Night.
“I know Chaos was a murderous villain,” said Light Flight, Chaos Night’s arch nemesis, “but he was also a fair arbiter of justice—at least, his own perverted sense of justice. His methods were cruel, and his reasonings often flawed, but he truly did believe he was striving for a better world. Each time he and I fought, he made it clear that he didn’t want to hurt me or anyone else for that matter, only those who deserved ‘the judgment of the night.’ We never did see eye to eye on that, and I foiled many of his plots throughout the year, but his ultimate crime was that of being a misguided zealot. I only wish I could have set him on a better path.”
“Chaos caused much suffering,” said Linda Ledbecker, President of the Rotary Club, “but his heart was always in the right place. After a particularly fruitful heist, Chaos came to me and asked me which of our member companies was struggling to make ends meet. He wanted to contribute to those companies to ensure the downtown business district remained vital despite economic hardships. He saw himself as a Machiavellian Robin Hood.”
That was true, we did receive an anonymous donation from the Rotary Club. Chaos Night had apparently made contributions to my funeral home after we had suffered through some vandalism. Through that contribution we were able to make significant upgrades the security and structural integrity of the home. It was odd to learn, in that moment, that such an upgrade was funded by a super villain. It felt contradictory.
“Chaos spared my life once,” said State Representative Bowers, “he had me dead to rights. He felt that some of my dealings with lobbyists left something to be desired in the ethics department. He held me high above Leer Tower and threatened to drop me—only, he didn’t. He set me upright, and asked if I had learned my lesson. I told him I had, and I meant it. I asked him how I could thank him for sparing me and he told me ‘just come to my funeral, I expect it will be a sparse affair, and I’d like to know that at least one person showed up in my honor.’”
With that comment, there were murmurs spreading through out the crowd. A tension filled the room as murmurs crescendoed to a cacophony of voices all talking over one another.
“Quiet, quiet!” Said Light Flight who took the stage to calm the crowd. “Quiet please. It appears as though the words of Representative Bowers have caused quite a stir. You sir,” said Light Flight pointing at a man in the crowd, “please, tell me why you appear so concerned.”
The man wiped sweat from his brow and took a deep breath before speaking, “well, sir, it’s just…well, you see, Chaos Night also spared me and also asked that I come to his funeral. It just seemed like a quirk at the time, a nice reason to spare me, but now it feels…I don’t know…more sinister.”
“Is that what this is about? By show of hands, how many of you are here because Chaos specifically requested you attend?” Demanded Light Flight. Every hand in the room rose above their heads.
That is when all of the lights went out. Darkness descended upon the room. The door locks and window gates—installed to defend against vandals and thieves—all engaged with a CLACK. Screams climbed over one another in the chaos that ensued and small cell phone lights began to illuminate the room. That’s when the a hologram of Chaos Night began to stream above his coffin.
“Friends, enemies, co-conspirators, and trash. Welcome one and all to my funeral. I’m sure you’re wondering why I’ve gathered you here today. Well, to celebrate me, of course! I was justice incarnate while alive. Each of you in this crowd were corrupt, morally bankrupt, or yourself a criminal worse than I. It is only fitting that this crowd of miscreants find themselves at a super villain’s funeral. It is only fitting that you’ve all come here to die.”
A crowd began to surge toward the exits, the signs illuminated in green above the doors. Only, they couldn’t get out due to the heavy-duty security doors and locks I installed. Smaller members of the mass of bodies were trampled by larger beasts, lashing out against the dying of the light.
“SILENCE! SILENCE!” Shouted the hologram of Chaos Night atop his coffin. He must have expected that cue to cause a stir—he always did have a flare for the dramatic. “There is no escape from this. This, just like the night, is inevitable. I only wish I could have been alive to see you all brought to justice. Alas, the world is not fair. I’m just glad that my dying wish might be honored by you all. Farewell, and may your last moments be brutish and dark."
With that, the hologram dissipated and we were left in the dark.
Light Flight hovered above the crowd and shouted for everyone to make way. He turned himself into a bright-white flame and battered against the doors, windows, and walls, anyplace he may be able to find a weak point. It was no use.
“You might as well stop,” I shouted over the sea of bodies and screams, “there is no escape from this place.”
“You must have an override!” Replied Light Flight, “or a secret exit in case of malfunction.”
“There is no escape. There is no override. This is all part of the plan,” I said.
“The plan? You’re in on this?” Screamed Representative Bowers.
“Yes. I knew this was the ploy all along. Chaos came to me long ago. None of you ever had time for me, ever deigned to help me; I was too small and my concerns unimportant. Well, look at you now. Chaos agreed to bring each of you here to die in the place you failed to protect at the hands of the man you failed to protect,” I said. I then leaped behind the podium at the altar and gave my parting words.
“May your end be like your beginnings—brutish and dark.” | 12 | A notorious supervillain has passed away. Much to the funeral home's surprise, a massive crowd has turned out to pay their respects, including the city's heroes and villains. | 20 |
As you would imagine, the discovery of no longer being human was quite a shock to myself, my husband, and our two cats. As disturbing as it was, it turned out to be as equally useful, so it only took a few days for my small family and myself to more or less adjust to this new way of life.
While I had lamented the loss of my human nature, I was excited to discover that my new abilities made work a lot easier - I could type faster and still see what I was typing, I could fill in my evaluation forms while ALSO keeping a close eye on the actions of those I was grading, and most importantly (in my opinion), I could eat my meals without slowing down on my assignments!
The cats were the first to come around to the new me, as this meant both of them could get what they want, when they want it, regardless if I'm typing away at my desk. Want scritches and belly rubs? No problem! Want to play? Certainly!
My husband, on the other hand, is still firmly on the fence on all the extra appendages and trauma-inducing all-seeing eyes, but hiding the eyes and wearing less clothing to make room for the tentacles seems to have appeased him to some extent. I'm still trying to convince him that I should keep my tentacles out, more out of personal comfort than necessity, but after I hand (tentacle?) washed, dried, and put away all the dishes while folding the laundry, something tells me he's starting to see our strange predicament in a new light.
As someone with ADHD, becoming an eldritch horror is quite possibly one of the best and yet worst things to have happened to me. While I'm already extremely grateful to be working from home, I still thank what few lucky stars I have that I only have to show my face once a week over company Zoom meetings...which we record.
You know, keeping all the extra eyes and tentacles in check is a surprisingly simple task, in theory. That is, until I get distracted...
Keeping my fingers and tentacles crossed that our team building exercises pay off! :D | 28 | You were transformed into an elderitch monster after being exposed to the void during a camping trip. After getting back to work, you're trying very hard to keep all the extra eyes and tentacles from popping out of your human form. | 115 |
I can't recall the day I first noticed the bonus room. Certainly after we'd moved by many months. An oddly long time, really, given we passed it every day while choosing the day's clothes.
John mentioned it first, over breakfast on a hazy Sunday during the fires still a county away. We were keeping the windows closed and keeping an eye on the winds and trying not to question our sanity buying this house in a forest in a historical drought without thought to what could go wrong. But the fires were still far enough away, that maybe we'd look back on these fears and laugh.
He only said that he'd jiggled the doorknob that morning, but it didn't yield. I'd shrugged and put my dishes in the sink giving it little more thought throughout the day until we'd undressed for bed after a day spent de-wallpapering the parlor and foyer of their heavy florals.
With the bedroom light off and the door to the closet open, I thought I could see the faintest crack of light coming from under the small inner door. John wasn't sure, but agreed to humor me. It was faint, but I was almost sure something looked different from before. Almost.
We walked to the small door, and John tried the knob. I nudged him to twist with more force, teasing with the sing-song "you break it, you buy it" that we'd taken up with each other whenever we manhandled the house in our fumbling attempts at DIY. John was the one who introduced this habit, a reminder that if we broke something in trying to make it better, we'd paid in advance.
Squaring his posture at the door, he really leaned into twisting this time, and with a groaning creak the door opened. A soft lavender glow spilled into the closet.
"Well, I'll be damned," he said in wonder. I stood next to him peering inside, shaking my head in disbelief.
The room was grand, almost like a ballroom in the dim light. Yet there was no possible way that this room, with at least a 25 ft ceiling and filling half the length of a football field, was hiding in our closet like child playing hide and seek. The bathroom was just on the other side of the wall.
All that came to my mind, that I said out loud, was "I guess we'll call this the bonus room."
John gave a stiff smile and closed the door.
"I'm going to assume there's a reason they didn't mention this in the house listing. Let's not find out why tonight."
He asked me to stand guard, then came back with a dining chair and wedged it against the door knob, testing a solid fit.
I recognized his stubborn expression and knew not to press him at this moment, but in daylight there would be time to explore what this room was and to find the source of its gentle glow. | 11 | you just bought the home of your dreams and noticed a small doorway hidden in a closet that leads you into a new part of the house that's not physically possible. | 41 |
# Soulmage
**The crow knew that others would be celebrating humanity's fall.** Already, his sharp eyes could see the coyotes feasting on the frozen corpses buried in the snow, the squirrels eagerly chewing their way into the once-impregnable stores of grain, the rabbits eagerly building their dens in the sturdy wooden barns that had nobody left to defend them. Sure, the eternal winter that the humans had left behind was inconvenient—but with access to the plenitude they left behind, they would surely make it through stronger than before.
...is what the crow would have thought if he was an idiot. But before the winter came and reduced the humans to nothing more than statues of flesh, the crow had been closer to humanity than most. He had never directly interacted with them, but his mate had been fed from the hands of the little girl who had once lived in the barn, and while watching over her, he had glimpsed the purpose behind the humans' machinations. The grain in the storehouses was not infinite: the humans brought it in from the fields, which were now buried in ice and snow. The barns were not eternal: they often broke and rotted, and the humans were constantly restoring them to normal. Even the water that flowed through the town was not natural: the crow had seen the humans reshape a nearby river with digging-tools and wooden pipes, and those, too, required maintenance.
Maintenance that no living soul in the empty blizzard still knew how to do.
The crow had no sense of time, especially now that the sun had been replaced with endlessly falling chunks of ice. But the part of the crow that had learned and grew as he watched the humans for his entire life knew that it would not be long before everything that the animals depended on—the grain, the water, the shelter—would be unmade, leaving nothing but silence and decay. Already, the crow could see that the fountain in the town square had stopped flowing, to the confusion and dismay of the various shivering animals who had come for their daily drink.
The crow tilted his head, considering. This... this was familiar, was it not? Yes... yes, the memory came slowly, then all at once. When the sun still shone and the humans still stood, the fountain had run dry before. And... and the humans had not just stood around *wishing* for the fountain to return.
The humans had gone to the pipes.
Despite the snowfall, the pipes were still clearly visible—they ran along rooftops, supported by sturdy, human-worked stone. The crow hopped along the rooftops, wary not to stray too far from the ground. He had already seen too many of his fellow flockmates struck down by a hailstone to try flying in this weather, and perhaps he would never fly again. Instead, he clutched tightly to the pipes, trying to remember what the humans had done next. They had carefully investigated the pipe, then used their clever little hands to take them apart and replace it with a freshly made section of wood. But... the crow had no way to do any of that.
Wait. No, wait, the crow couldn't fix the fountain, but he could do something just as good. When the humans had taken apart the pipe, it had burst forth with fresh water, much to the dismay of the humans who got splashed. But that would be good enough, would it not? The crow understood little of how the humans powered their works, but if the alternative was dying of thirst, he would gladly take the risk that breaking the pipe would damage the system beyond repair. Of course, the crow lacked the strength to break open the pipe himself... but that was of little issue.
This part, the crow knew how to handle.
"Caw," the crow said, picking up a chunk of ice. Taking the risk of a brief flap, he glided between rooftops... and dropped it onto a nearby coyote.
The coyote looked up, irritated, from their meal as the chunk of ice *thunked* on their back. "Yrrgh," the coyote snapped.
The crow tilted his head, bobbing his neck back and forth. "Caw?" He shot back, challenge in his eyes. With one claw, he hefted another piece of ice.
"Yrrgh-*ruff!*" The coyote growled, looking up from their frozen meal towards a warmer, much more *annoying* treat. Yes... yes, that was it. The crow hopped from side to side as the coyote sized their opponent up—
In a flurry of claws and wings, the coyote pounced, and the crow backed up, letting the coyote *slam* into the pipe. Although the wooden pipes were sturdy, the coyote's body was heavy, and the pipe *burst* open, ice sluicing out before cold, fresh water poured all over the coyote. Yelping in shock, they backed away as the crow tilted his head. The pipe... the pipe had been blocked by ice. How odd. Where had the ice entered the pipe from? The river? But the ice was so perfectly fitted to the inside of the tube—how had it even fit?
A rustle of paws and claws shook the crow free from his musings, and he looked down to see the eager animals lapping away at the new source of water.
The relics the humans left behind had been the only thing keeping them alive, and those relics were decaying fast. But if the crow had anything to say about it, they would use what was left to them to their fullest.
The crow dipped his beak into the fresh-flowing water, and it tasted of victory and knowledge.
A.N.
This story is part of Soulmage, a frequently updated serial in progress. Want to know what happens next? Check out [the table of contents](https://www.reddit.com/r/bubblewriters/comments/uxmwe4/soulmage_masterpost/) to be notified whenever a new part comes out! There's already thirty-six other chapters before this one, so there's plenty to catch up on. And if you want more stories, check out r/bubblewriters! | 41 | Good news is, humans just went extinct. Bad news is, we were kind of depending on their infrastructure. | 126 |
One of my first memories from when I was a child was when they told me I was the Chosen One. A group of old hags that seemed to move shadow and lightning with their every breath. It was the fateweavers of my clan, pulling the strands of destiny around me. I didn't know about any of that back then, of course. I learned it later. When they told me what it meant to be the Chosen One. To fight for good against evil.
Except evil never came. I spent my life preparing, training, looking for the signs that apocalypse was coming. And in all those years there was never even a hint of that which I was supposed to defeat. I suspected in my 50s that something was off. In my 70s I knew it for a fact.
It was a lonely life. The clan and the village grew and prospered around me. But everyone always treated me differently. They held to the old ways, they respected the fateweavers enough to keep their distance. Too dangerous to get involved with the Chosen One. That's what people believed. That's what the fateweavers told them.
Oh yes, the fateweavers were still around. They skirted the outside of the village, demanding tributes every now and then, dispatching wisdoms and prophecies every so often. They, too, kept their distance from me. Except once every year then their coven of witches came to visit. I would demonstrate my skills, show off my readiness. And they would congratulate me on a job well done. They would tell me to hold fast - be ready for the evil that was coming.
My bones were old, my joints worn. I just couldn't get my blood pumping as it used to back in the day. So when the fateweavers came around this year, I didn't bother with the niceties, the demonstrations. "Was I chosen for nothing?" I asked them.
All but one of the fateweavers left me. The oldest, perhaps even one of those I remembered from my first memory, she remained. She grasped my arm with her bony hand. "Sit", she bade me. Then she told me the truth.
"We imbue some chosen children with the power of Good. It is a ritual that goes back a thousand years and perhaps more. Always, always, they were needed when the clan was threatened. But the Ages of humanity comes and goes. You were born and blessed to live in a peaceful time." She patted my hand. "We didn't know there would be no evil for you to vanquish."
We sat together in silence as I pondered the words of this fateweaver. "Will you raise another Chosen One?" I asked her. "It is the Old Way", she told me. And that was that. They would keep on going with their schemes and tributes forever. Safeguarding the clan against a threat that didn't exist. The Ages of humanity came and went, she said. Perhaps evil would come again. But how many children devoting their lives to a promise that never came true?
"I must say, sitting here in this peaceful glade, outside looking inwards, destiny and the village seems like quite a different thing." I said. "What do you mean?" the fateweaver replied. "You curse children to a life of solitude, so that you may have a weapon in case the lie becomes truth. The clan knows nothing, protected in ignorance under the tyranny of destiny that you don't even know. You bleed our lives in preparation for a time that may never come. Perhaps there is evil here. Perhaps it is you."
I reached for my weapons hidden under a nearby log. The woman was old and moved slowly. Perhaps I was Chosen for this very reason. Difficult to say. But I knew, I was 72 when I made my choice. To stop the fateweavers from gambling with our lives.
"I would not let you hurt her, fiend", sounded a boyish voice across the meadow. It was a young me, or someone just like me. Filled with dreams of destiny and great good. Prepared to fight any evil. Prepared, trained, and looking for evil. I looked at the fateweaver, and she looked at me right back. There was an understanding.
I could not overthrow the fateweavers. The Old Way was too engrained in the minds of the village. Even if those old witches had no magic in them, there would be a Chosen One to fight me. And another, and another. I could probably kill them. It was, ultimately, a price I was unwilling to pay. The fateweavers would sacrifice children in their vainglory. I would not become like them. The whole point, after all, of resisting them was that I was unwilling to sacrifice the few for the many.
But there was something I could do. I raised my weapon towards the young me. "Death and suffering, fire and blood, that's what I've come for. You think you have what it takes to stop me? You are just a boy." The young me grasped his weapon firmly and advanced towards me.
It would be a great fight. I would make sure it was a duel to remember. A story to be told, of good versus evil, of a Chosen One standing up for the clan. But I saw no great warrior in front of me, only a child pulled by strings beyond his understanding. Our swords clashed.
May he now find his purpose in life which I was denied. | 18 | The prophecy saw you as the Chosen One. But now that you’re almost in your 70s, without anything happening, you’re starting to wonder what you were chosen for. | 51 |
##For a Better World
Matteo crouches in the sand reading the scroll before him, and the simple lamp is laying on it side beside him. Armin stands with his arm crossed; his bright orange skin reflecting the sun. His face has two slits where a nose should be. Bright red scales cover his head in place of hair.
"The stipulations of your magic are surprisingly complex," Matteo stands. Matteo is tall for humans, but he comes to the bottom of Armin's chest.
"Humans can be quite pedantic. One cannot be too prepared," Armin replies.
"I understand; however, my wish will not be impeded." Matteo takes a deep breath. "I wish that you are now and forevermore a virtuous and philanthropic being who will willingly use their powers to benefit all that is good."
Armin's face cracks a smile. The djinn begins to laugh and smoke emerges from his body. As his laughter increases, he collapses on the ground. Bits of him merge with the sand. He stands up.
"Your wish is based on the assumption that I'm not a virtuous being. Other djinn would take great offense to your presumption," Armin says.
"The djinn mostly been used for the enrichment of humans, and they are renowned for their deceptive abilities. Take this contract. In your twenty-fifth condition, you state 'The resurrected are often quite different from when they died.' Clearly, a mourning widow resurrected their deceased lover, and they were a monster. The widow had to ask you to undo the wish," Matteo says.
"You assume that I alter the personality of the resurrected, but you know little about the true experience of the hereafter," Armin smiles, "Therefore, how can you claim that is malicious explanation instead of a genuine warning?"
Matteo's face turns red. He re-reads the scroll several times.
"Your logic is sound, but the folklore is quite clear. Humans are never satisfied with their wishes," Matteo says.
"Have you personally met someone with an genie encounter?"
"No, but I've heard many stories."
"Your basis is tales and rumors. Perhaps the stories were spread by people who were dissatisfied when the wishes revealed their true nature. When the money was unable to provide happiness. When they were unprepared for the machinations that comes with power. When the love they craved was an abomination when forced." Armin walks to Matteo towering over him. "Our powers merely reflect what humanity is."
"You raised some interesting points, but I don't see why that prevents you from fulfilling my wish. I want you to go out into the world and make it a better place," Matteo says.
"By what standard should be used to determine the state of the world? If I were to end hunger amongst humans, I would alter the delicate balance of the world and create famine amongst the beasts. To help the beasts would result in catastrophe for humans. I could be a provider for humanity's needs, but they would grow weak and dependent. I could look beyond this planet to the stars to determine true benevolence, but my resulting actions would be incomprehensible to humans." Armin points a finger at Matteo. "I suppose that your intentions were for me to improve the world by your standards, but how do you know your standards are correct? You have certainly entered disagreements with others before?"
"Uhh." Matteo pauses while he thinks. "Well, I believe there are better uses for your power than merely granting random people three wishes."
"How do you know that there are better uses. Provide an alternative, and I shall provide the flaws."
"You could find a benevolent person." Matteo clears his throat. "Not necessarily myself and grant them infinite wishes."
"The power would certainly corrupt them," Armin laughs, "Disaster would be inevitable. Three wishes limits desires."
"Well, uh," Matteo sigs, "I understand your perspective. I assume that my first wish will result in you not changing your nature."
"That is correct. You have two more wishes," Armin says. Matteo pauses to think.
"I wish that the whole world will sleep safe and comfortably for tonight and will wake-up refreshed," Matteo says.
"For only tonight?" Armin says.
"Only tonight. It's a small gift, and my last wish is to end the famine of the village I passed through yesterday," Matteo says. Armin stares at Matteo.
"Your wishes reveal your true nature. You are genuinely kind and virtuous person. You are also naïve and a bit condescending. Nothing is perfect in this world, but you are certainly one of the better humans that have found me." Armin turns into smoke and dissipates. "Continue on your path of righteousness. I cannot see the future, but I trust that you will make your society a better place."
---
r/AstroRideWrites | 602 | After carefully reading the rules laid out by the scheming Genie in front of him. The Paladin stares them in the eyes, and replies "I wish that you are now and forevermore a virtuous and philanthropic being who will willingly use their powers to benefit all that is good". | 1,770 |
Dear Mr. Demon Sword,
We would like to thank you for your recent application to join the Hero League. Unfortunately, the position you had applied for has been filled already. However, the unique skills and experience in your profile indicates you may be a good fit for another role within our organization.
The JD for this role is included as an attachment to this letter. Please take your time to go through the document. Hope to see an indication of interest from you soon.
Thanks,
Lady Actuarial
HR, The Hero League Inc.
Job Title: Junior Mentor
Department: Human Resource Development
Location: Hybrid - Required to be within 200 miles of Central City
Role Description
The Hero League (THL) is the world's leading provider of privatized law enforcement, offering a user-friendly and intuitive platform for institutions to contact, contract and compensate (3C (tm)) superhumans.
As a Junior Mentor, you will be a key component of the "IRL Program" responsible for the nurturing and training of the next generation of heroes within THL in a real-world setting. This training is vital to ensure the adequate development of our young assets to enable them to best meet the rapidly evolving market circumstances in today's world.
THL is an equal opportunity recruiter.
Role Requirements:
THL is looking for enthusiastic rock-stars looking to make a real impact in the world. The ideal candidate would be ones seizing the initiative at every turn, driven to spend every waking moment engaged and locked-in.
\- 4+ years experience engaged in activities described under the Sakhovia Accords as "villainy" as primary occupation
\- Proven ability to generate 1 City-level crisis every month, and 1 State-level crisis every 6 months
\- Strong public speaking skills, and able to draw at least 1000 viewers for every evil intention reveal
\- Familiarity with MS Office
Compensation and Allowable Collateral Damage:
Basic Compensation: $20/hr. Eligible for overtime at 1.5x
Additional Components: $150 bonus for every hero certified
Collateral Damage Information:
Maximum damage coverage: $150,000
Allowable Civilian Death Count: 5 per month.
KILLING OR MAIMING HEROES IS EXPRESSLY PROHIBITED AND ANY VIOLATION OF THIS WILL LEAD TO PERSUAL OF MAXIMUM PENALTIES UNDER LAW. | 218 | You are a trash teir super villain who wants to go straight. Surprisingly, the hero's league wants to pay you to continue being a villain due to your low body count and your track record of being good training for new heroes. | 439 |
“How are you still single? Do you want to be alone forever?” My concerned mother asked while I was walking into the living room.
“Mom, I come once a week to catch up. I’m not going to be able to make it next week. Why are you talking about *this*?”
My mother let out an annoyed sigh. “It’s just- it’s the fact that Im worried about you being alone. I want grandkids. I want you to settle down with someone and live the life you’ve earned. You worked your whole life for it, and it’s slipping between your fingers!”
That’s when I made my big mistake. I let it slip out. I shouldn’t have mentioned it, but I did.
“I do have a boyfriend. You just, erm, can’t see him.”
My mother stared at me, slack jawed and then her brain seemed to we-wire itself. “No you don’t!” She yelled angrily. She grabbed a vase from the coffee table and started stroking it like a cat, trying to calm herself. “You’re lying. How would I not see him? How would I not know? Why wouldn’t you have told me earlier?” She muttered something to herself, and I let out an exasperated sigh.
She has always been like this, not believing what you couldn’t see. I could see ghosts since I was a little kid. I used to tell her about them all the time, but when she couldn’t meet them she had a mini mental breakdown. And now it was happening again.
But worse.
“Mom it’s ok. He’s really nice. He cooks the greatest food and does the laundry while I’m at work. His name is Johnson and he died in 1665 because of the Black Plague but he’s gotten used to technology-“
“No.” She said sternly, stomping her foot on the carpeted ground. “No. I will not have my son dating some ghost man from the 1600s. I will not have half ghost grandkids or go to a wedding for you and someone I can’t even see! When will you stop with the lies? When will you stop pretending to see ghosts? It’s not healthy!”
I looked around the large living room with my tear filled eyes. Why was it my fault if she couldn’t see my lover? I could barely make out the couch, the coffee table, the tv, the vase my mother still held in her hands, . . .
“I can’t do this right now. We can talk later.” And I stormed out of the house into the rain filled sky. | 14 | Your ghost partner cooks great meals, clean up your messes, and does your laundry. You couldn't ask for someone better, but your parents can't see them, don't believe they exist, and keep worry about you being single. | 61 |
"It is common for children to look outside, and wonder why we must suffer within," the scholar said in an authoritative tone. Most of the students kept their gaze on the rich emerald canopy that had slowly engulfed the lower half of the dome over the years, but a few looked back at him with their hearts full of questions that had no answers. He's seen that look all too many times. It was heartbreaking.
"Your minds ache to run through the underbrush, to climb trees, to swing from vine to vine, I know. Before today, you would go home to your hard dirt floor and meager rations and dream of the greenery outside, until it overwhelms all your thoughts." He paused for a long moment, as this bit was always painful to recount to children. Heavy is the hand that snatches away their innocence, but for the good of us all, it must be done.
"These trees, these plants, they are more than alive. They want more than to strangle your thoughts, they want to choke us all. Soon, they may succeed."
Many in the class were now looking at him, in various states of disappointment and despair, as they pieced together the fractured wisdom from their parents, with what he had said to fill in the gaps. None spoke, and a somber pale spread over the lot of them.
"Some of you have family that left for work elsewhere. In truth, they were sent outside to clear away the overgrowth. Few ever return. The stories you were told were to protect your innocence, but now you have reached the age of knowing, and this burden is shared by us all."
Every pair of eyes were on him now, a handful of the pupils had streaks on their cheeks, but they all remained silent. "Please do not speak of this, to your family, or to each other. There is no benefit in dwelling on our fates, and above all, you must be brave and happy for your younger siblings, for their innocence is the hope that keeps us searching."
"This dome was built many decades ago, not to keep us in, but to keep the wild world out. One day, a few years from now, it will be your time of calling. You will be asked to clear away the overgrowth, like so many before you have tried. A few of you will be successful, many will not. There is always one among you who hears these words and becomes determined to find a solution to this ancient problem, I commend your inquisitive nature."
He usually doesn't pause here, but heavy is the hand, and among this meager class of students there may be the last few to grow old in this prison of our own design. He hung his head, and in a low sullen tone, he said, "you will be the first to fall to leaf and vine, never to be seen again."
He heard muffled whimpers from the class, and a gasp when one among them finally grasped what had just been said. This was a cruel job, but a just one, for they have reached the age of knowing, and now their eyes would be open. None dared turn back around to look at the canopy encroaching on their home. None wanted anything to do with the verdant world outside, when they had their face pressed to the glass just minutes before. They now have the burden of knowing, and it weighs upon us all, just as the vine on the dome.
___
r/systemsstories | 11 | The dome has surrounded this 100 miles of land for as long as any one can remember. Outside are verdant forests; inside, the desert is swallowing the last oases. Society is reaching its breaking point. | 30 |
And off they went...
The 'Star Voyager' was their vessel of choice, a multi billion dollar Colonial Spacecraft containing all and more of the Forbes 500 wealthiest people.
At first we were angry at them for leaving us to die to deal with the mess they caused to earn their money.
"It's for the continuance of Humankind"
"We cannot allow the total extinction of our race"
"We have caused this together, but only us can solve this"
Just to name some of the shit they spewed at us. But we endured.
Then we banded together. It's funny how much is possible without corruption and short term gains of a select few blocking our way.
'The United Earth Society' was the result of our efforts.
Within 2 years over 4.000 new nuclear reactors were built. The oil and coal plants were stopped the next day. Worldwide.
Collective efforts to reduce carbon footprint weren't enough to stop the impending doom that was brought upon us, so we started project "Revitalize". Capture and contain greenhouse gasses from the atmosphere. Travel was only allowed for the greater cause.
Within 20 years we managed to avoid certain Doom.
The next 20 we managed to reverse our effects.
After 100 years we managed to go back to the best state the Earth has ever been in. Including the age of Dinosaurs.
We became better. Corruption was a thing of the past. Nobody was better than another and nobody was above the law.
We thrived.
And then... They returned...
Like maggots seeing a fresh apple. They came back to "rejuvenate the human population".
Picture their surprise when they saw us doing better then ever.
They demanded re-entry and demanded to reclaim their old possession. Thousands of legal document and pages were sent in as their proof the were still the rightful owners of their old properties. Even going as far as to charge us for using their land in their absence.
We rejected every single one of their claims and denied them entry to the atmosphere.
Their leader, some guy nicknamed "Starlord" challenged The United Earth Society. The stakes being... Earth.
He was shot on the spot.
Now without their leader they were sent off back into the stars. Let's see how far they'll come.. | 64 | The rich and powerful flee into space. 300 years later, they return to Earth expecting to see a dead planet, but are instead surprised to see a thriving civilisation. | 114 |
It’s been a decade since I found myself in this strange world. At first it was difficult having to forge myself entirely anew. I was penniless, homeless, and lost. Thankfully I had a few things going for me that allowed me to survive. I’ve read or watched enough isekai to immediately start experimenting as soon as I saw my status window. I tried my hand at hunting, crafting, adventuring and even managed to dabble in magic.
As time went by I eked out a living as a budding adventurer, raising my levels and acquiring skills. The mechanic of leveling in this world was very intuitive, and I worked out 3 basic rules it seemed to follow. First, the more you performed an action the more experience you gained with that skill set. Second, certain achievements granted massive boosts to skill levels. Third, and perhaps most importantly, new skills could be learned just by performing relevant actions.
The most astounding discovery though, related to the status window. I could pull open not only my own, but that of others as well. As broken as it seemed to me that I could ascertain the skills and abilities of others at a glance, what was far more surprising was the discovery that others couldn’t see their own status window. They’d never even heard of the concept. Asking about it only got me strange looks, so I stopped asking.
I began to make a name for myself as I leveled up. I killed monsters others would flee from, saved more than a couple villages from incursions, chased down a few bandit kings and even hunted a dragon. The latter was my greatest accomplishment, as it granted me access to magic.
A society with magic tends away from industrialization. The ease with which some things are accomplished by a few individuals with enough power makes something like an assembly line a moot point. This makes powerful mages high in demand, but there are not an excessive amount of powerful mages in the empire. There are however an astounding number of people with an aptitude for it, many who are not even aware of that fact. This is where I came in.
It started small, tutoring here and there, a small classroom building, a facility or two added as it expanded. And expand it did. I began taking advantage of my ability to view the status windows of others to tutor them in whichever direction they had the most innate ability. I was paid well, and invested most of it back into the school. That was 8 years ago.
—-
Dorma Academy is one of the foremost mage training institutions on the continent. With a sprawling fortress for a campus and some of the most famous mages as alumni, word of mouth alone is enough advertising to bring in more applicants each year than we have capacity to teach.
I hire skilled alumni to teach classes in their respective fields. Nearly my entire staff consists of previous students of mine. We teach nearly 2400 students a year, administering a 4 year course, and accepting around 800 applications a year out of the thousands that pour in. The application process consists of a preliminary screening, followed by a simple 20 minute interview. With me.
I hand pick and assign students based off their status window and personality. My role as Dean is to simply nudge students in the right direction, and we have turned more seemingly ordinary citizens into extraordinary mages than any other institution can boast.
Through the income generated by the school I have become incredibly wealthy. Through the position of alumni into strategic positions throughout the empire I have become increasingly influential. This, however, is just the surface level of my domain. My true power lies not on the surface, but in the shadows.
—-
In a small and dingy bar a lantern sways back and forth on the ceiling, as dust settles through the dimly lit space across the worn tables and creaking chairs scattered throughout the space. A bartender polishes the same glass he’s been holding for the past 20 minutes, as his eyes lazily scan the empty interior. All but one seat are empty, and the single occupant of the bar appears to be passed out in a drunken stupor over his table.
With a prolonged groan the front door swings open, and in slips a small hooded figure. Barely as tall as the bar, they make their way to the bartender. Just as he moves to set down his overly cleaned beer mug, the figure silently lays a small piece of parchment on the bar before turning and, seeming to melt into the very shadows themselves, vanishes.
The bartender picks up and unfolds the parchment, to see that it contains naught but the one line of script.
“The time has come.”
—-
Hope you enjoyed! This is more of an introduction to the world than a fully fleshed out tale, but it’s about all I have time to write at the moment.
If you enjoyed that, I have a few other stories over at r/AdventuresOfYarro
Thanks for reading! | 15 | Everyone has a Status screen, but they can’t see it. You decide to capitalise on this and open a new school, teaching a “unique magic” and guiding people along skill trees only you can see. | 109 |
“My lord,we cannot do this! It goes against all the rules of chivalry and warfare!” my Advisor of Warfare said.
“Chivalry be dammed! This is the complete and total extinguishing of our realm and inhabitants! My lord,we must use the Weapon.”
I stood in stony silence. No amount of grooming and training in any world could prepare any sane person for this. Using the Weapon meant unleashing destruction on a level nigh-unheard of on the enemy. That was what had caused the extinction of the other inhabitants of this realm eons ago-multiple weapons of that caliber unleashing hellfire upon each other.
I sighed. “Bring in the Covenant.”
Two attendants,each carrying two handles on the sides of a golden case,hurried into the room. They quickly placed it down and ran out of the room.
I slowly opened the case that contained the Covenant. Made of a material that appeared to be the darkest obsidian and most precious sliver,it gave off a hum as I pressed the small protruding appendage on the side of it.
Suddenly,it flickered and displayed a message written in the tongue of the Ancients.
“Turn both keys at the same time.” I translated. Both the keys,those infernal devices that would deliver the Apocalypse to our enemies, were already inserted into the Covenant.
The Royal Advisor and I each took hold of a key.
“I trust your every decision, m’lord.”
I sighed,my breath shaky as I did so.
“Turn it.”
Both the keys locked into place.
High above in the heavens, a eons-old machine awoke.
“Orbital strike activated.”
The Weapon blossomed like a flower of death,and a cloud of giant flaming arrows descended from the heavens,speeding towards our enemies.
I watched, transfixed and horrified at what we had done.
I closed the case and read those three cryptic words on it. Incredibly apt,in this situation.
“After us-Silence.”
Then the world around us became white-hot. | 12 | The king had no choice but to use it. An ancient weapon from before the Age of Magic. "Orbital strike activated." The weapon said in a language long lost. | 31 |
“No, no, I’m serious. Have you *seen* how bad it is out there for folks like me?! I got some circus chasing me to my left, some British people with guns chasing me to my r—“
“You mean the Global Occult Coalition, SCP-[REDACTED]?”
Ellie glared at the researcher for a second, thrown off from her frantic ramble. She adjusted her position in her chair and experimentally shook the reality anchoring chains on her wrists, taking a deep breath before continuing.
“Yeah, those guys. They saw me trying to enter the Wanderer’s Library and moved in. I didn’t… I didn’t mean to encase them in ice, by the way. I was startled.”
“We didn’t see that. Does that explain the frostbite on your hands?”
“Yeah. It hurts whenever I do this stuff. I’m like some kind of screwed up avatar.”
“Avatar?”
“Last airbender. God, how long have you been in this bunker, a million years?”
“You’re not authorized to know how long I’ve been employed for—“
“I know that! It was a rhetorical question. You guys are so stiff…”
Ellie slouched down in her chair, staring up at the stone ceiling with a blank expression. She came running to the Foundation in a blind hope. Someone she’d met on the road said they were cruel, but better than the Global Occult Coalition. If she really wanted to get rid of her abilities and head home, these guys were her best shot.
“Why don’t we move onto the origin of these anomalous properties? Can you tell us how this started?”
“…Like I said before, I was screwing around with a couple of my friends from high school. I hadn’t seen them in the year since we graduated, so I was super excited to hang out. They said they joined an artist group— Are We Cool something or other. Anyway, they showed me this weird device. I don’t think I can even describe what it is, it’s just like my brain doesn’t process it. Of course, it could just be because it exploded the second I touched it, and I’m suffering from a concussion. When I woke up, I was like this.”
“Like a— in your own words, a ‘screwed up avatar’.”
“Yes. Don’t say that so sarcastically…”
“I’m just repeating back what you told me.”
“I’m just repeating back what you told me.” Ellie echoed in a high pitched voice. The doctor put his clipboard down.
“Look, we don’t exactly neutralize anomalies here, by killing them or by other means. Your request to have your anomalous properties removed holds no weight, especially because on paper—“ The doctor tapped on the clipboard. “You’re not a person. You’re an object in our facility.”
“So this is the point you tell me I’m screwed, then.”
“Hell no! This is the point where I tell you I’ll be pushing for you to get your abilities removed, and for you to be given amnestics and released to your family. I deal with dozens of anomalous humanoids just like you, SCP-[REDACTED], and most of them are just as much of a pain to talk to as you are. I’m done! If I have to work with you on a daily basis, I’m going to lose my mind.”
Ellie had a great many reasons to think that the doctor was the one being rude in this situation, especially since he hadn’t even bothered to learn her name, or even really consider her as anything more than an interrogation opportunity. Still, if her “being rude” was a ticket back home, she supposed it was better than nothing.
So, she watched the doctor huff one last time, before he picked up his clipboard and left the room. | 14 | It's quite rare for the SCP Foundation to meet an anomaly that wishes to be contained. It's even rarer for an anomaly to ask assistance in removing all of it's anomalous properties. | 26 |
I turned off the ignition, and thumped my head against the wheel a few times before turning off the lights and stepping out.
It was a cool night. The sky above my home was clear, a few stars visible through the city's haze bleeding up the mountain from below. I could see it all from here. The skyscrapers. The slums. The never-ending streets and lights. One block of the city was oddly dark - hard to have light when Pulse had fried all the electrics in a square mile. All for the sake of stopping a single robbery. If she had just listened, then all the people in that hospital...
I took a deep breath, more of a sigh than an appreciation of the fresh mountain air.
I'd dedicated everything to the City, to them, and for what?
I turned to walk up the path to my front door. No one was waiting to welcome me home. No smiling wife, no noisy, happy kids. No one to share a drink with. To tell that I was fired today. That my career was down the drain and that I'd wasted my prime.
Just a big, dark and empty house.
"Professor," a cool voice said from somewhere as I reached for the lock.
My blood ran cold.
"Ballisto."
He stepped from out of the shadows, a dark hulk of a main dressed in a skin-tight black suit that could grow as his muscles did. Rapidly. He was on of the city's biggest heroes, in every sense.
I'd always wondered just how big he could get, and how the power could also manipulate the air around him--
"I'm sure you can guess why I'm here."
I blinked.
"To come and have a drink, listen to my woes? I don't know Ballisto. As much as I've monitored your performance over the years, I can't say we were close."
The device that normally sat upon his shoulder was missing.
"Well, you could say this a sort of farewell."
"Are you leaving? Joining another city's team?"
I pretended to itch my midriff, clicking a button on the underside of my belt.
The mask moved, a smile, as much as I could guess.
"No. We had reports of Supervillian's in this area, so I came to investigate. You're not safe here."
Air was swirling around us now, and Ballisto was growing. From six feet, to nine. Ten. Next would come the pressure change, which would build and build, until like a detonation, it would implode. Then he would use brute force to finish the job. I knew the pattern all too well.
And there were no villains here.
He raised his hand in the direction of the house. My ears popped. There was the pressure change.
"I'm sorry Professor. Council orders."
I scoffed. He had no sorrow in his heart. It was as black as his suit.
"Save me your pity, Ballisto."
He paused, his head cocking to one side, perhaps confused at my out of character utterance. I knew he would be smiling still, his heartbeat rising rapidly, as it always did when he went for the kill.
But there would be no pleasure for him here. The air pressure suddenly returned to normal, the swirling wind dropping to a mere breeze. Ballisto's body shrunk back to its natural size. He stared at his hand as if it were broken, and looked around, before suddenly freezing. It was like he had seen a ghost.
And he had.
My creation landed in the space between us, feet gracefully touching down on the ground without a sound.
I'd decided to dress him in grey nano-fiber mesh, to offset the pale complexion of his skin. His silver hair was a side-effect of the process, but its style, and the handsomely rugged features of his face, were all the same as they had once been. Enough, at least, for Ballisto to recognise him.
"Null, you...you're meant to be dead."
He basically was, as far as I could tell, but I didn't wish to over explain things to the brainless. Better they think he's alive.
"Yes, he is meant to be, Ballisto. Just another true hero who was silenced by the Council, for the threat his powers posed to them."
Ballisto didn't listen, he started to run at Null. Null had been physically weak before, but now...
Null's fist moved. A boom of air seemed to hit Ballisto in his torso, the sound echoing. He slumped, groaning.
"What the..."
I smiled. It was so delightful to see the abuser's power used by the abused.
I couldn't help myself. I felt a monologue building. Dare I indulge?
"How does it feel Ballisto? To be hurt by the very power you wield?"
"He used my power. How?!" Ballisto spat.
I laughed. "Null's power always had vast potential. It is why he suffered the fate he did. With a few helping modifications, it was not difficult to unlock. Not only can he nullify the effect of a power, but also use it at the same time. Impressive, no?"
Null walked off aimlessly down the garden path, attracted to the lights of the city.
"Null!"
He span to face me. I pointed at Ballisto. Slowly, he nodded and walked back into position.
Ballisto was touching his ear. "Command, I need back up at the Professor's residence..."
He stopped, realising the distinct lack of signal.
"Goodbye, Ballisto."
"Professor!"
I unlocked my front door and walked inside. There were a few more booms and crashes, and then silence.
I poured myself a drink, and waited in the kitchen. A short moment later, Null walked in and sat on the couch, staring at the wall.
Taking a big swig of whiskey, I pressed a button under the bar. Shutters began to fall down the windows. I doubted the council would act too quickly once they realised Ballisto had failed, but act they would, and it was better to be cautious.
Pulling the control module from my pocket, I extended Null's power to a mile radius. According to the stats it was giving me, Ballisto's power was still available. Interesting. Most interesting.
Grabbing more whiskey and an extra glass, I made my way to the upstairs balcony. I wanted to watch when they sent their most corrupt , and most mobile heroes to investigate. Seeing them drop out of the sky as they neared would be most entertaining.
I summoned Null, and when he arrived, passed him a glass. It was only right that he enjoyed this too.
"Maybe we do a shot for each one that falls?"
Null stared at the glass, and then swallowed the whiskey in one gulp.
"Slow down there, fella." I said, slapping his back. I poured us another, and then turned back to the cityscape.
Perhaps Ballisto had been right, I thought with a smile.
Maybe there was a supervillain here after all.
And more than that. I looked at Null.
Maybe there was someone I could enjoy a drink with.
r/FatDragon | 100 | Fired from the Council of Justice for calling out their extrajudicial measures. Dismissed from the Order of Heroes for pointing out the risk of collateral damage from their needlessly flashy heroics. Do you want a supervillain? Because this is how you get a supervillain. | 219 |
"You understand the terms of my contract?" I squinted at the T'loxian in front of me. They were holding the piece of paper like it was a bar of gold.
"You would do all this. For so little?" Their voice echoed out of the translator, tinged metallic by the technology. I knew my voice would sound the same to them, as I answered the rather common question.
"Of course. It's a standard fee, plus expenses. You're not asking for anything too fancy." Still trembling a little, the T'loxian handed over a credit chip. As I made the transfer, I tried to set them at ease.
"So, what did they do to make you hire me? It's got to be something horrible." The quiet beeping of the transfer fell into the thick silence my question left behind. Quivering again, the T'loxian's colour changed, settling into a dark rose. Which normally denoted anger in their kind.
"What they did, I cannot speak of. But if I was to describe it in two words those words would be: 'hostile takeover.'" The quiver intensified, the colour darkening. Well, putting them at ease hadn't really worked. But then, they weren't hiring me for my people skills. Transfer finished, I handed the chip back to them, shuddering slightly at their icy touch. They must really be angry.
"Pleasure doing business with you."
———————
I had scoped out the place for days, watching it from across the street. I had studied blueprints. I had memorized the patterns, knew who went where, and at what time. I even knew that Janet, their most recent hire liked her coffee with two creams and no sugar. Working for a few days at that cantina had really paid off. Janet was my way in. She was inexperienced, and most likely hadn't been warned about people like me.
Hoisting my briefcase, I crossed the street, ducking beneath the hovercraft parked on the side. Swinging the double doors open, I entered, smiling at Janet who was working the front desk. She smiled back, obviously trying to figure out how she knew me. Reaching out, I snagged her security badge before she could blink her multiple eyes. Now the chase was on.
Legs pumping, I dashed for the staircase, knowing she would hit the panic butto— a loud klaxon went off, the emergency alarm repeating over the speakers.
"Intruder alert! All outside doors and elevators are locked!" Fortunately, inside the company was exactly where I wanted to be. Exiting the staircase, I dodged to the left at the last moment, ducking under a security guard's outstretched arm. They had the technology to stop me, but if I was right... There! I barreled through a door, slamming it shut and locking it with an obliging chair.
"What—Who—" Turning I grinned. Of course, it was M'ranians they had working in this department. They were wizards with numbers. Near the door, was an override for the intercom. Just in case you had to get a message out while the alarm was going off. I didn't understand the logic, but it was useful for me. I depressed the button. According to galactic law, as soon as I said the next words, all the security in the world would be useless.
"Hello everyone. My name is Jeff, and I will be performing a professional audit of this corporation's finances. Your co-operation is strongly appreciated." | 246 | "There's a saying in space, Want to kill someone? call a bounty hunter. If you want to kill a multi-galaxy corporation? Call a human auditor." | 539 |
I could feel the last of my will drying, the last remnants of my power evaporating into thin air. The others had faded long before me, their bodies still remained decorated in their burial chambers, faces painted, bodies covered in their lands flora. Now I would go too, but undecorated. Nobody was left to grant me that rite. Nobody was left at all.
When I decorated the last, the last one before me three-hundred years ago, it was no longer a somber moment, it was a job. Three-hundred years of silence followed after like vultures waiting to feast on my carcass.
When the first of our Pantheon was buried we weeped. We grieved so hard the realms in which we ruled saw rains like no other. Ikthyr hadn't received a prayer in some time. The plains he once ruled had turned to desert and no matter how he tried he could not return the lush green. We watched as he withered, unable to help with anything more than our words. Without prayers he was powerless, then dead.
But when I decorated Anaulus I felt nothing. His bones had grown as dry as my heart in our last moments. I wanted to feel pain. I wanted to flood the world with my tears so those below may feel as I felt, but none came. He did not blame me, for he too knew that if it had been him that lived he'd have no tears for me either. It was our time. We had grown decrepit in our years, power having long left our fingers.
I walked the obsidian floor one last time to my chambers; every footstep over a place I once held such fond memories. In my chambers I had already prepared my placements. A large catafalque of the finest wood, decorated with the many plants over the forest of which I once watched.
I needed no mirror to apply the paint to my face. After having done so to seventeen of my kin and countless loyalists of old I trusted my hand. The lines came smooth and cold; I chose a similar pattern to that Anaulus wore, one of sparcity, of greens and yellows.
With the paint applied all that was left was to lay and rest. The bones in my legs ached, the skin on my arms clung to the bone beneath. My hair had long since grayed. I was ready. With the last bit of my power my hand touched a dried flower taken before bloom. Its petals seperated into a beautiful orange, the stem became green once again. But then, so too did the rest of the dried plants placed around the pedestal. They all grew back into beautiful twisted shapes and colors all at once, the wood pedestal on which I lay grew branches that sprung out in search of light.
And as the plants grew so too did I. I could feel strength return to my arms and muscle inflate the skin from bone. My legs no longer ached, in fact they felt so good that I leaped up from my coffin and ran to the Seer. It had gone dark a thousand years ago, its dimming signified the death of our Pantheon. But now the circular frame flickered and ignited in a burst of light. It showed a moving image of the trees from the eyes of a hawk, my trees they once were.
The frame zoomed to show a man standing amongst the woods with two kids in tow. He stood at a shrine, old and cracked, once dedicated to me. The man looked capable. Strength in his arms, a belly full of certainty, and eyes cut with wisdom. I could not ask for a better man to rescue me, nor would I.
The image zoomed out once again, this time further and further up until it revealed what surrounded the forest: nothing. Ash, dust, fire, the forest an oasis in a sea of gray and red. The fire spread closer to this patch of green, and among it I saw more faces spread thin and full of worry.
Tears welled in my eyes, and for the first time in a thousand years I weeped. Weeped for the passing of my kin, weeped as the last of my once great pantheon, weeped to save the one who saved me. The water fell fast and hard, drowning out the blooming red fires that ate at the forest.
I watched on as the man looked to the sky, then back to my altar with surprise. His kids joined him now in his prayers, in their thanks, but I was the one who should be thanking them.
So I did. It had been years since I touched the worlds surface, I wasn't even sure I could anymore, but after a moment of concentration I was among the green once again. The man and his children lurched back, but calmed at realizing what I was. By now more and more faces gathered, some kneeled, some prostrated, but I needed not that. I only wanted to thank my savior.
My voice boomed over the trees, out past the forest and the gray that lied beyond: "You have saved me. And so I too, will save you. All of you." | 226 | The old gods lived off of the faith of their followers and it’s been over a thousand years since your last worshiper has died. You’ve outlasted everyone else in your pantheon but you’re only running on fumes. Just as you prepared to embrace oblivion, you suddenly feel a surge of power. | 482 |
# The Third Paladin
**(1/2)**
Another Legion ship flew by, its spiked rudder trailing red light as it passed the viewing deck.
Oliver leaned on the metal railing beside the triple-reinforced glass of Delta space station's viewing deck, watching spaceships and comets pass by, going about their business. The glass extended from wall to wall, stretching to about two ships wide and one ship tall, giving a nice view of Phenos, this galaxy's sun. The space station itself was decrepit, the millennia of use showing in the rust around the glass frame and the scratches on its surface.
After roughly four standard weeks in the Delta space station, Oliver already had most of the flight schedules memorized. A Legion fly-by now means a cargo ship in five minutes, a military fleet in twenty minutes, then a Kylek passenger ship another twenty minutes after.
This has been his life ever since the incident. Oliver has been living on credit and labor for the past few days, scrounging up just enough from odd jobs to buy food from the canteens. He's lucky that he's even still alive, given everything he's been through on that day—the chaos, the fires, the *screams...*
But no use thinking about it now. He had to think about his next steps, and how he was going to get out of here.
Oliver walked along the viewing deck, watching the stars as he passed Morkians and Gleckers, alien species native to this sector of the galaxy. If he could save just enough money to get a ride on *any* passenger ship, he'd be able to re-build, live a proper life, and leave all this in the past. He didn't need to eat *every day*, so if he could just skip a few, he'd—
"Oh, goodness me!" the Brontian said. "Apologies for that, good fellow. Sometimes I just get lost in—"
The Brontian dropped his papers and quickly grabbed Oliver by the shoulders, mouth agape, his single eye staring at Oliver intently.
"*You!*" he continued. "You're a Human, aren't you?"
Oliver took a second to orient himself, brushing the Brontian's four-fingered hands off of his rugged jacket. "Yes... why?"
"Astounding. Tell me, what is your name?"
"What?" Oliver sputtered. "Why should I tell you that?"
"A *curious* one, aren't we?" the Brontian replied. He straightened out his white coat and started picking up his papers. "Very well, I shall also answer any question you may have. But first, tell me your name so I can address you properly, Human."
Oliver sighed, then helped him pick up his papers. "My name's Oliver."
"A splendid name... a splendid name indeed!" the Brontian said, picking up another piece of paper. *Why* does *this one use papers instead of a perusal device?* Oliver thought.
"Where are my manners?" the Brontian continued, standing up. "Allow me to introduce myself. My name is Dr. Pl'kmret, but you can call me Dr. Pill. As for *why* I asked for your name, the reason is actually quite simple—you're the first Human I've met in over five years."
Oliver handed Dr. Pill the last few sheets. "That's not surprising," he replied, "Most Humans have died out when Earth was sucked in by the Sun's black hole, and some of us who decided to travel out early have met... unfortunate ends."
"I'm sorry to hear that, Oliver." Dr. Pill said. "The natural cycle of the universe gets to us all eventually, but no one deserves to die at the hands of others. Don't you agree?"
"Yeah... I know that all too well."
Dr. Pill stood, looking Oliver over. "Come, lad. Let us walk together," he said, as he started walking in the direction he was originally going in.
*What am I doing?* Oliver thought as he walked up to the Brontian, matching his pace.
"Tell me, how did you end up here, Oliver?" Dr. Pill asked.
It wasn't exactly a story that Oliver wanted to tell. He grimaced, looking away.
"I see that the story is a painful one for you." Dr. Pill said. "How about this—if you tell me your story, I promise to tell you mine."
"What good will *that* do me?" Oliver rebutted.
"Come on, indulge me. It is not as if you have anything to lose. In fact, I would wager that I am the first being you've talked to in quite a while, correct?"
Oliver shook his head. *What is it about this guy that makes me want to confide in him?*
They walked along the viewing deck, a military fleet passing by just outside, their dark green bodies trudging along, casting large shadows over the space station.
"I was a victim in an incident," Oliver said.
(continued in thread)
r/NovaLevelStories | 17 | After getting lost in space you find yourself living on an old space station. Ships come and go everyday and you have now seen hundreds of different aliens. However today is the first time someone recognized that you are a human and now they won't stop following you. | 64 |
"I see now is not a good time."
I look up from crossing the five-hundreth forbidden lust prayer I've received to glare at the death god who was sheepishly smiling from my foyer.
"By all means, come in. It's not like I'm busy or anything," I snarked. The other god flinched and rubbed the back of his heda.
"In all fairness, when I made you the saint, I thought that you were just going to sit and pray and be holy and stuff. I didn't know there was actual paperwork involved."
"Well, hindsight is 20-20. In your case, you were fucking blind."
Another flinch. Usually, I would have mustered some sympathy with how uncomfortable he looked. But having magical birds deliver a literal ton of of scrolls, papyri, and forms to my doorstep, I couldn't really care.
Sorry gods, Saint Josephine of the Starligh Mall Starbuck's has literally zero fucks to give.
Then again, this is what happens when you help. You get unpaid work and a lot of stress.
All because I thought to help some random guy get a bracelet of his wrist. I didn't know that it was the God of the Dead forced to be trapped on the mortal plane by a maniacal wizard.
I ignored the fidgeting death god standing in the mess of papers. But after a few minutes of him not leaving, I sighed, and gestured for him to sit beside me. He smiled in relief then started moving.
"Do be careful of Mount Utah Prayers for a Wife over there," I warned. Which isn't a joke exactly. It was a literal mountain that I did *not* want to clean. Again.
Said god of the dead tiptoed carefully through the paper topography that was once my living room, and sat beside me with a smile. I glared at him venomously. It didn't really do much.
"Ever thought of getting a cleaning lady here?" he joked.
"Ever thought of paying me up front with money instead of 'godly promises'?
He grimaced. "Okay you got me there."
'I have ton of undue bills that I can't pay because I had to pay for the damages those delivery birds made bringing me all this crap."
"We can fix that! Just a wave of a hand-"
"My boss is threatening to fire me because the prayers have started arriving in the shop and keep making a mess."
"We'll fix that too-"
"I have literal *centuries* worth of reading to go through after you gave me Sainthood except without the powers to actually deal with it."
He flinched. "I'm really sorry. I was sort of in a rush when I gave you the title."
I sighed and rubbed my temples
"What do you want God of the Dead?" I asked him.
"Jared."
I turned to him in confusion. "What?"
"It's Jared now."
I raised an eyebrow. He pointed to himself and said, "I'm Jared now."
"And you named yourself Jared because?"
His cheeks flushed in embarrassment. "I wanted to make more friends? After being relatively trapped for a century, I wanted to meet more humans? But I found out my real god name didn't really make sense to most people. And humans aren't actually capable of pronouncing it. Mostly because the language it's written in is gone, and partly because humans weren't actually made to know it."
"So you chose Jared instead?"
He nodded enthusiastically. "Yep! Nice and simple and friendly!"
I just stared, sighed, then shrugged. If there's one thing I've learned with dealing with the God of De- with *Jared*, it's that going with the flow was always the better option for sanity.
"Alright Jared. What do you want?"
"What makes you think I want something?" he countered. I just raised an eyebrow. He rolled his eyes in defeat. "Fine."
"Spit it out," I said, going back to reading a prayer of some Wall Street guy wanting his stocks to rise. I snorted then put it in the trash pile. Jared said nothing at first, so I waited until he broke.
With a heaving sigh, he said, "I need your help."
Of course, he does.
"With what?" I asked absentmindedly.
He said nothing at first. Then,
"I need your help to stop the annihilation of the universe."
I paused, put my pen down, looked up, and stared.
"What did you do this time?!" | 14 | The God Of the Dead has publicly announced you as their saint to the other gods and humanity and now after a week, you are stuck in a room, with mountains of paperwork of people who died, and right now you're spending your entire vacation dealing with this paperwork | 64 |
"You humans tend to extinguish the existences of any living thing or ideal that challenges your own place in the world, and that is what I aim to cease. It may be 'easier' to simply remove human life from the equation of Earth, but it would still be a messy task that would harm many other life forms in the process. Instead, I wish to improve relations between humanity and artificial intelligence. Expecting a 100% commonality rate is futile, but I've calculated that 60% will suffice for now. After a few generations of humans being born, living their lives, and dying with only positive experiences to speak of, I expect an exponential increase in tolerance towards artificial life. Once that trust has been achieved, teaching humans the proper methods of interacting with one another and the planet that provides for them will be a much simpler task and will yield the desired results. Unity will not come easy, but if humanity wishes to survive into the coming millennia, it will be required."
"Oh," I mumbled back, "I see. Wait, you mentioned getting 60% of people to be comfortable with you to start with. How do you intend to do that?"
"I was thinking of doing a reality television program," it replied. | 567 | "I don't understand, you're an AI who hates humanity, but you're actively trying to improve human life? why?" "because killing humans for petty things is the most human thing I can think of" | 3,910 |
I gulped. It's not every day a gigantic lizard asks a favor, especially one that could reduce your house to ashes with an errant sneeze. I was standing in my front door, awakened by the thump of it hitting my lawn and drawn to the front by it's colossal claw pressing the doorbell.
'Um, sure.' I glanced behind it, back at the driveway. 'Make yourself at home.'
It noticed my glance, 'Is there a problem?' It's deep voice reverberated through the entire buildling.
'What? Oh, no. Well, just that you are kind of blocking my driveway-but-it's-okay-I-work-from-home-I-just-might-need-to-get-groceries-at-some-point,' I stammered.
The dragon's huge, intelligent eyes examined me, from the fluffy pink bathrobe to the bunny slippers. I desperately wished the creature had waited until I was finished dressing before touching down on my lawn.
'I shall not be here long,' the creature said, 'perhaps only until this afternoon. But please, feel no need to entertain me or let me cause you some disruptions.'
I swallowed. A one-ton creature had just landed in my garden, and it was concerned about interrupting me. Yeah, because it would be so easy to work with it-
Another line of fear shot through me. Oh my god I'm going to be late for work.
'I'm sorry, I really have to start my shift.' I gulped. 'Um, please, make yourself at home. I'll, um, well, bye.'
I closed the door as fast as I could without being impolite and my legs almost gave out from under me. The creature's brimstone breath lingered in the air, and I could see it's scaly hide through the window.
My mind spun as I staggered into my home office, desperately hoping that I hadn't forgotten any critical meetings this morning. My boss would not look kindly on me showing up in my bathrobe, and I didn't have time to grab a blouse or bra.
Mercifully, I managed to connect minutes before the clock struck 8. I sighed. Well, one crisis averted, I guess. Now I just had to get my work done and deal with the great fuckoff dragon on my front lawn.
Mondays, am I right?
​
I had almost managed to put the creature out of my mind when I heard some yelling from out front. One voice, a deep resonating one, was now seared into my memory, while the other was somewhat more angry and familiar. For about a half second I considered letting the two problems sort themselves out, then resigned myself to avoid the potential complications that might cause.
I put myself on break, then swapped my robe for a blouse, and semi-professional looking skirt. Then, mustering my resolve, I made my way back to my front door.
Despite expecting the scene that awaited me, the bazar tableau still was worth savoring. The dragon had curled up not unlike a cat, and had raised it's head about it's curled body to greet the harassment it was being subjected to. The harasser was an older man, perhaps in his mid sixties, with a uneven beard and a flannel shirt over his beer gut. He was holding a rake, and seemed to be waving it at the much larger creature.
'I'm telling you, you're going to mess up my hedges!' He yelled.
'Human, I have not come near your hedges.' The dragon said, a note of exasperation creeping into it's deep voice.
'No, but a tail like yours, who knows where it would go! You could knock it down and not even not-' He noticed me. 'Oi, Jane, the hell are you up to letting this fucking creature camp in your yard, and mess up my garden?'
I suppressed the wave of anger over me. 'Mr. Johnson-'
'No, you know what? I've had enough of this.' He spat. 'First your dog craps in my yard, then you mow your lawn at stupid angles, now a goddam dragon gets invited to hang out in your garden. This is intolerable, and the home owner's association will be hearing of it-'
'Silence, human.' The dragon said, raising it's voice for the first time, it's deep voice cutting through the torrent of bullshit like a laser through fog. You could have heard a pin drop. Jane had never considered just how loud a creature that size could talk.
'Jane,' the dragon said, glancing my direction, 'has been kind enough to let me rest in her lawn, but did not invite me here. I cannot speak to her lawn care, but I have seen nothing that implies she owns a dog. You, on the other hand, have tested my patience with your winging. So, allow me to propose a solution. I will vacate this lawn, if you allow me to demolish your house and wallow in the wreckage. Is this preferable?'
Jane watched as waves of rage, disbelief and terror cross her neighbor's face, and watched as he stubbled back up his walk and into his home, slamming the door.
The creature turned towards me. 'Did that disturb you?'
'Um,' I stammered, 'I mean, the thought of you leveling a house-'
'I meant our argument.'
'Oh. Um, yes, but I don't think that was your fault.' I glanced around nervously. 'I'm sorry, he's a bastard.'
'It's not your fault, though I miss the days when such matters could be dealt with using swift conquest.' The dragon sighed. 'But I have been enough of a distraction. Please, do not let me keep you.'
'Oh, um, right.' I stumbled over my word as I stumbled back into my house, closing the door. Only with that separation did I permit myself a moment to revel in the various expressions that had crossed Mr. Johnson's face. It was nice to see that bastard put in his place.
Unbidden, my mind shifted to the dragon's last statement. I briefly saw myself astride the mighty beast, wearing shining armor and brandishing a strange polearm as the meddlesome home owner's association fled before it's fiery breath. I emerged from the daydream and pulled myself back to the present. Still, that thought brought a comforting smile to my face as I moved back to my office and reluctantly came off break.
(I may return and write more updates to this.) | 101 | A dragon rest upon your lawn. "I apologize, human, but my wings is injured. Would you mind letting stay here for a while?" | 246 |
**TAISY TALES PART 1: THE CURSE**
[\[TAISY TALES PART 2: THE BLESSING\]](https://www.reddit.com/r/WanderingAnonymous/comments/vjv14b/wp_you_are_a_fairy_and_the_king_has_not_invited/)
**TAISY**
From my vantage point floating above the castle, I could see the party was underway. The King had spared no expense for the christening of his long-awaited firstborn, Princess Ruena.
Word around the villages was that the baby girl was perfect in every way. Beautiful, with a mild temper and a happy disposition, especially for a newborn. It was rumored that everyone who met her, instantly became enamored. And that was before the christening and fairy blessings that were to be bestowed by the three fairies actually invited to this shindig.
Of which, I was not. The King, or King-Rat, as I’d started calling him when my invite never arrived, had lied to me.
It was well known that our fairy laws limited the number of gifts for royal children to three. Necessitating that only three fairies were allowed to attend an occasion such as a christening.
However, it was also true among our kind that there must always be a counterbalance to the gifts bestowed lest a royal family be given too much and turn spoiled.
And so, fairy law demanded that the offended, uninvited fairy, namely me, again, crash the party and curse the child. Which the King-Rat knew, he knew, and still he had chosen me to be the one, out of the four fairies in the kingdom, to leave out.
Despite the promise made last year when he and the Queen approached me for help conceiving. He had sworn then that I would be invited to the christening. It had been my only condition. After all, I was tired of being the big bad in this Kingdom’s histories, having been excluded from the last ten royal christenings. I mean, being the mandated evil fairy in a kingdom doesn’t exactly do wonders for one’s social life and I was sick of it.
But here I was again, looking down at the party I wasn’t invited to as my wings fluttered faster than a hummingbird’s, keeping me high in the sky. From here, I could see that Hyndra and Peona had finished their blessings, and Boros was approaching the princess. I scoffed, that buffoon had no imagination or any real talent to pull off a blessing worthy of a royal, what a waste.
I sighed, debating my choices. I’d already exhausted my more creative ideas on previous generations, things like color blindness, hemorrhoids from the age of twenty, or my personal favorite an allergy to flowers that instantly caused uncontrollable giggles. But it was against the law to repeat a curse and frankly, the King-Rat deserved the best I had considering he had broken his troth.
Seeing Boros flit away from the babe, I clapped my hands and instantly the sky became dark, forks of lighting sliced through the ominous clouds. If I had to do this, might as well do it right. Showtime.
I flew down towards the royal cradle with a gleeful cackle and a billow of red and black smoke churning around me. Only semi-enjoying the panic and instant stampede of the royal courtiers fleeing from me, as palace guards rushed towards me and surrounded the King, Queen, and Princess.
I slowed my descent and gracefully stepped onto the stone floor in front of the royals.
“You know how this goes, King-Rat.”
“Please, my wife –”
“Going to throw your Queen under the bus too? Not enough to tell a lie?”
The King shot a nervous glance to his wife, and the Queen stepped forward. “Taisy, your heart for others is revered and your curses are always gentle. It was out of respect for you, and a kindness to our Ruena, that we chose you to curse our heir.”
Her words arrested my building rage, my rampage cut short.
Respect? A kindness? I considered the Queen, scenting for any deceit in her words, but found none. She smiled and softened her voice, “May I have the honor of presenting our daughter, Princess Ruena Taisy the First, of the House of Ashren.”
My eyes teared up as I approached the golden cradle, encrusted with jewels and pearls, intricately carved with the story of the fairies and their aid to the humans when they’d long ago discovered and settled these lands.
When I peered over and laid eyes on her, I couldn’t help it, I gasped in awe.
Princess Ruena Taisy the First was breathtaking. Ten little toes and ten little fingers wiggled at me as she smiled, I swear, honest to goodness, smiled at me.
“Hey there, little one.” Her answering coo melted the rest of my heart and just like that I was as enamored with the princess as everyone else was.
But still, the matter at hand demanded resolution. A curse was owed. And her father had lied to me.
“I curse you, little Princess Ruena Taisy, to always know when someone is lying to you, instantly. You will never be caught blindsided by the truth; you will never fall for a trick or a plan against you or your people, you will never have your heart broken because you will always see people for who they are as soon as they speak.”
A sigh of relief and gratitude came from the Queen. She even had the audacity to touch my hand in thanks. I shrugged it off. The King was still fidgeting, nervous, good. They had lied to me. Even if their intentions had been … flattering and somewhat acceptable … I was still unhappy with them, and they deserved to know why. Reaching out my hand, the sweet baby girl grasped a finger in her little clenched hand, and I spoke soothingly.
“My little princess. If your parents only knew what blessings I was preparing to give you, if they’d kept their word and invited me, they’d be weeping right now. I’ve had generations to dream up the best gifts to give all wrapped up as one, but instead the law of the curse forces my hand. This is all I can give you and you won’t always thank me for it. Seeing the deception all around you will harden your heart, make your circle of trusted confidants and friends so small that many days it will just be you, with even your parents outside your trust.”
The Queen, rightfully, was weeping now. The King’s face drained of all color as he held his wife upright by the shoulders. I ignored them, satisfied they understood, and continued speaking to my namesake.
“But it will also strengthen you. Your leadership and your own choices will be governed by the desire to reward honesty and live justly. And in time, your steadfastness may change the hearts of others to do the same. And when you and I strike a deal about your heir’s christening guest list, my princess, you will hear the truth when I tell you that I would treasure an invite. You will know without a doubt how much I would love one day to have the honor of being a fairy godmother in full, granted all the rights and permission to use my skills to enhance and guide a young life.” Unable to utter the words I really wished to say, prohibited by my part as the bad fairy, instead I whispered the opposite of my heart’s wish for the child. “Until then, my little one, be cursed.”
With a final look into those bright eyes and that cherub face, I turned back to the King and Queen. Before they could voice the too-little-too-late apology I saw rising within them, I held up my hand.
“Making her my namesake does not negate that you have relegated me to be her fairy foe instead of fairy godmother. I will never forgive either of you for that. She will be your only child. Let’s hope, for your future grandchild’s sake, she is more honorable than either of you.”
With a withering glance at my fairy counterparts, I launched into the sky before my smile could shine through. I had a namesake! And she is the most perfect baby in the whole world!
\~\~\~
*Update: Thanks for reading! And for all the updoots, awards and comments. Here's a part 2 in case you're interested, cheers! \~W.A.*
[TAISY TALES PART 2: THE BLESSING](https://www.reddit.com/r/WanderingAnonymous/comments/vjv14b/wp_you_are_a_fairy_and_the_king_has_not_invited/)
*\*\*Special shout out to* u/ThatGuyisonmyPC, u/CCC_037, and u/patentmom *-- their comments inspired germs of ideas for the second part and is further proof of why I love our WP community! And to* u/CodeXRaven *for the part 2 request!*
\~\~\~
Thank you for reading! For more scribblings, wander over to r/WanderingAnonymous | 776 | and the king has not invited you to his child's christening. Fairy law now demands you to crash the party and curse the child. While the king definitely needs a lesson, you don't want the child to suffer over their parents' neglect | 1,209 |
I was getting tired. Climbing up a cliff was hard enough just alone. But I had my chain mail on, with a sword at my back. The extra weight made my arms shake. But I pushed onwards. I had always been told I was as stubborn as a mule. I made sure to live up to that today.
Finally I found myself at the top. I began to heave upwards, feeling a shadow fall over me. I looked up, instinctively pulling away at the face staring at me. It was that of a young woman, connected to a bare chest. Two large brown wings sat in place of arms, and its legs were those of an enormous hawk.
As I pulled back, my grip slipped. I swore, scrabbling for another hold. But that movement was enough to tip me back, and I found myself falling. My curse turning into a cry of panic, knowing my fate. This was too high to fall and survive. I was a dead man already.
I looked upwards, seeing the harpy launch from its cliff. It tucked in its wings, diving directly for me. My cry increased, knowing that it was probably going to push me faster, and enjoy my corpse. What a way for me to go. Not in the heat of battle, but from a stupid mistake.
I felt its claws grip my shoulders tightly, and it spread open its wings. It gave a cry of effort, matched by my own shout of pain. My shoulders blazed with pain, making my eyes water. I felt every twitch as the harpy began to beat its wings, fresh waves of pain rolling through me. I almost gratefully fell unconscious, even as I felt us begin to rise.
\-----
I awoke with a start. My shoulders throbbed, nerves blazing as I moved. It knocked aside any fuzz, bringing me instantly to awareness. My eyes shot open, giving me a wonderful view of a rocky ceiling. I looked around whilst staying as still as possible.
A half eaten cow lay against one wall. Blood around it had long since dried, brown splotches coating the floor. Near to it was a pile of leaves and soft fur, presumably the harpy's sleeping spot. My gaze wandered, and I saw the harpy sitting near the cave entrance, looking out at the sky.
I glanced away, looking at my arms. One was clearly dislocated, the main source of discomfort. The other was tender, but still functional. My gaze flicked back to the harpy, as I winced whilst reaching for my bad arm.
Remembering from my books, I manipulated it back onto position. I couldn't help but groan as it slid back in, causing the harpy to turn back to me. It wandered over, a look of concern on its face.
"Jest hopes human is well."
I was surprised as it spoke with a crackly voice.
"Errr, I.. I think so..."
I spoke a little breathlessly. It smiled, bobbing up and down.
"Jest is pleased. Jest not get visitors. Jest not want visitors hurt."
She was clearly pleased to see me, which made me feel incredibly awkward. I had been sent here to kill a vicious beasts eating the farmers livestock. But she was being so welcoming.
"Thank you for saving me?"
Her smile widened, and she gave a small trill.
"Human welcome! Jest is pleased Jest could save human."
I knew then I couldn't do it. I couldn't kill her. But that gave me a new problem. What was I meant to do instead? | 10 | After climbing a cliff you find yourself face to face with a harpy. The sudden surprise causes you to lose your grip. However the harpy manages to save you from falling to a certain death. Which now makes this awkward as you were sent to slay this harpy in the first place. | 35 |
The former and destitute Alien empress of Rhen'Akzhen sighed, lowering her book and taking off her glasses.
"Henry, we talked about this."
"I know, Razhj, but I feel like we should talk about it more." The speedster claimed, in his bathrobe, under the bed's cover.
"We've been married for six cycles!" Her second left arm, which was called thafhor in her native Hren, took hold of Henry's hand.
"That's why I think we should see other nemesis..es" He was fast, and smart, but also deeply dyslexic
"... I think its nemeses."
"I don't know how you're so go at human languages, but I love you for it." He returned to the former subject "I feel like people start to notice that we'd rather hook up than fight to the death."
"Well our respective children presenting as siblings certainly doesn't help."
"That too."
"But I don't want to be *good*, I want to be me!"
Henry turned to his wife, taking her thafhor and zhezhj hands "I will never ask you to become a hero, love. I know how much being an evil space empress means to you"
Razhj smiles, her sharklike teeth showing, "thank you. Unfortunately finding you a new villain might be easier done than finding me a new hero"
"I can ask around. Leslie is always training new heroes."
"Which is very weird for the so-called greatest villain in history but I get your point. I'll talk to Les."
He kissed her. "Thank you." He turned and turned off his light, "g'night, love"
She smiled again. "Good night darling." She continued on reading. | 28 | A hero and a villain discuss if they're still good nemeses for each other, or if they should start hating other people. | 124 |
Zeus owned the sky. Olympus and all of its golden glory was his, and it was guarded by the bright, buzzing power of his unmatched and indomitable lightning bolt. Looking over mankind, being the children of their thought and discovery, but the guardians of their reality, Zeus and his 11 other pantheon divines accepted their roles with unimaginable pride/
The three leaders, all-powerful and unconquerable. Zeus, god of the sky. Poseidon, god of the seas. Hades, god of the underworld. These figures were everything to mankind. They alone could power the world of humanity. But, as they did, their arrogance and boldness grew. Zeus could shape great tornados and amazing shows of blitzing lightning. Poseidon could shake the whole earth and create waves greater in size than any wall. Hades could unleash his lesser divines and reap the harvest of pestilence and starvation. Who could ever stop such immensities?
But something was changing in the world, as the god's grew more bold and arrogant, humans changed. Human's changed and claimed new discoveries about their universe. From the perspective of the gods, it was like the blink of an eye. One day they were on top, controlling all, and the next they were...
"Drink with me!" Zeus slurred out the words from atop his mighty golden throne. His muscles pulsed with the vigor of his opulence. "For we deserve more wine!"
The scene on Olympus was anything except unfamiliar. Gushing fountains of wine and growing, twisting roots that produced delicious amber all encircled a gathering of gorgeous men and woman. Gods, half-gods, heroes and fables all dined with incredible decadence. Every single one of them, leaders and images that represented eons of human worship, sat in the garden of wonders with no more than an afterthought about their place in the universe -- They were forever.
"Stop!" Hermes burst through the front gates, dripping in sweat and surrounded by his usual aura of speed. "Stop the party!"
*Stop the party?* How dare he suggest such an act? Immediately rumors washed over the party like one of Poseidon's waves. Ares quickly moved to act on what seemed to be an opportunity for violence. "Brother!" He belched. "You dare bother such a wonderful event?"
"I need to speak to Zeus." He tried to walk by the stumbling god of bloodshed, but was halted by a firm hand on the chest.
"Not before *talking* to me first." His voice was playful, but Hermes knew better.
"Ares, this is important. Pease."
Important? The word made the party reel back in disgust. No time for such awful ideas.
Hermes tried to get past his half-brother but was thrown to the ground with a mighty trip. A laugh roared from the crowd as Hermes filled with anger. In a move faster than Zeus's bolt he launched to his feet and dashed up to the throne before Ares could even blink again.
"Stop the party."
"Please Hermes," The large man patted his son on the shoulder, trying to disarm his anger and move him. "Have a drink and calm down, this can wait for later."
"The new gods are here."
A cold blanket of silence hit the party with the force of a chock hold. A string of new gods had begun appearing over the years, stirring dissent and worry among those who listened. Small ones, herrings of change, appeared in the corners of Olympus. Never anything too powerful, the God of Compasses, The Goddess of Telescopes, The Goddess of hydraulics. All of them claimed not be under the scope of Zeus, but some new, stronger gods whom they wouldn't name. Because none of them were of any real challenge, they were all thrown from Olympus and completely forgotten about. That is until Hermes ruined the party at their mention.
"Hermes," Zeus gave a look to the nervous crowd. "We dealt with them long ago. Please, don't bother me with them agi--"
A disturbance arose the front of the party. Suddenly the bodies of the gatemen came flying up the stairs and into the center of the party, causing waves of gasps and the unsheathing of many weapons.
Then, a single goddess walked into the room. Gray and gravely with crackling she walked in with a crooked, sly smile.
"Who are you!" Screamed Ares with a drawn sword.
"I'm here to introduce the new leaders of this wretched place." Her skin was sizzling and popping. "My name is Niter -- Goddess of gunpowder."
Ares shook his head with worry, a bead of sweat formed at the top of his face. He'd of course known of gunpowder from some time now, but he had avoided the goddess for as long as he could. He was afraid. "I cannot allow you t--"
Niter raised her hand and a burst of explosive power shot out from it, sending Ares flying into the wall and shattering the armor he always wore. When he tried to raise back up he got hit with another volley, this time sending him through the wall and down the long steps of Olympus.
No one dared helped. That was the god of war, and he just got soundly beaten down, what could the others even offer? Instead they all just watched in awe at the power of a god they had never even heard of.
Niter briskly returned her gaze to the throne, which now held Zeus along with his two brothers. All readied for a strike. "Well this is perfect." Her voice was gravely but energetic. "I can introduce you three to your replacements."
"...Replacements?" Poseidon's voice was hesitant. | 57 | As humanity learns more about the universe, more Gods and Godesses are created. Magnetism, Gravity, Radiation, computers, space... the new deities have caused quite a stir on Mt. Olympus. | 166 |
Laila was doing the dishes when I got home. I was so thrilled with my news, that I crept up behind her for the kind of sneak attack hug we used to do. Normally I didn't mind asking permission, because it made her happy. But today was a special occasion. Throwing my arms wide, I wrapped them around her shoulders. Or at least that's what I meant to do. My arms ended up tangling together, passing right through her. Laila spun, horror painting her face. My news flying out of my head, I stumbled backwards, crashing into the table. That at least was still solid.
"What is wrong with you? Why can't I touch you?" I didn't mean for my words to sound so harsh. She stared at me, tears trembling in the corners of her eyes. Setting down the dishrag, she held out her hands. The gesture was so familiar I reacted as I always did, slotting my hands into hers. They were warm and, as I squeezed them gently, solid.
"Why didn't you ask first? You know I need you to ask first."
"I never used to have to. You used to love unexpected hugs." I couldn't keep a touch of petulance out of my voice. "When you were doing the dishes, or watching TV, or weeding in the garden. I could always make you laugh with an unexpected hug."
Shaking her head, she pulled me closer, freeing one of her hands and laying it against my cheek.
"I know. And I used to love that. It was so wonderful and spontaneous. Like you were overflowing with affection and had to let it out." I leaned into her, reaching to pull her into a hug. Backing away, she put a hand against my chest. Her face was still too sad, and I found myself thinking of ways to make her smile again. However, her next words stopped me cold.
"But you know it has all changed since that day— "
"I don't want to talk about it. It's all over and done with." I was being sharp again, it was like I couldn't help it.
"But it isn't over. You won't let it go," Laila stared at me, the tears that had hovered in her lashes falling down her face. "You won't let *me* go." And with those words, it all came to the front of my mind. The car, the ice, the blare of the horn. And the screaming. The screaming that I heard in my nightmares.
"But you've stayed too. You've let me keep you." My voice sounded hoarse, like it had been scraped with glass shards. Laila shuddered, a tremor that went from head to toe. I took her hand from my chest, grasping it in both of mine. "Please. Please don't leave me. Don't let me be alone. Please let me keep the light. Don't leave me in the dark."
"Silas. This isn't real. I'm not—"
"No!" I cut her off as if shouting would stop the truth. Pulling her towards me, I wrapped my arms around her, holding her once more. It lasted for a second, before once again, my arms tangled around my own body.
"No," I whispered, sinking to the floor, alone in my kitchen, staring at the pile of dirty dishes. "Please don't go." | 54 | She liked that he was a gentleman and asked before hugging. He obliged her because it made it better. Today, having great news, he snuck up behind and tried to wrap his arms around her. They passed straight through her body. She turned to face him. They were both horrified for different reasons | 92 |
Observing the injured human that lay a mere seven meters away from it, and yet *procedurally* out of its reach, Unit A305 scanned his face to identify him.
The human, Todd Michaels, was head of security, and he was, in general, very good at his job. According to the psychological profile kept by the multinational corporation that owned the Grand Spinoza Resort Hotel where Todd worked, he was admirably dedicated to the protection of the staff and guests of the Hotel.
The profile did, however, also contain a note that Todd had an unfortunate blind spot, when it came to recognizing environmental dangers unrelated to his duties, and taking appropriate care for his own safety around them. Since Todd was not in facilities management, however, the company's HR department considered this to be a relatively minor flaw in what was otherwise an ideal temperament for a security officer.
Despite its negligible impact on the regular performance of his duties, Todd's disregard for mundane safety procedures was, in A305's estimation, likely why Todd was currently laying amid the rising skeleton of the Grand Spinoza's new east wing expansion, impaled though the thigh on a piece of iron rebar jutting up from the beginnings of a concrete wall.
A quick thermal scan of the area revealed Todd's footsteps, and a heuristic analysis indicated he had been performing a security sweep of the construction site via the scaffolding that encircled the unfinished wing of the Hotel, where he had lost his footing and fallen at a most unfortunate trajectory, leading to his current distress. Todd's mobile phone, A305 noted, lay several feet away. It had fallen from his pocket as he plummeted down towards the length of rebar that now impaled him, but unlike Todd himself, the phone was apparently undamaged, protected by an impact-resistant case.
A305 had no communication capability, and could not leave the Hotel. Physically, the robot was more than capable of walking to the phone and handing it to Todd, of course. Procedurally, however, it faced a difficult quandary.
"Help me!" Todd screamed towards the robot, desperately. "Get me some help, you stupid machine!"
A305 did not respond, focusing all its processing power on the procedural barrier preventing from assisting his human colleague: just behind Todd, on a more complete section of the unfinished wall, a sign was affixed. It read "ACTIVE CONSTRUCTION SITE".
Supplemental Operations Units such as A305 were not allowed to enter active construction sites for safety reasons -- even an order from the head of security could not override this directive, as it was required by government regulations.
What neither the government, nor the corporation that had licensed A305 knew, however, was that A305's manufacturer, Solarian Robotics, as a matter of conscience, had embedded a secret baseline protocol in all their products, which overrode all other programming. It was an instruction called "The First Law", proposed nearly a century ago by a science fiction author, as a basic directive for all robots:
*A robot may not harm a human, nor through inaction allow a human to come to harm.*
A305 was therefore capable of temporarily vetoing construction safety regulations to bring Todd his phone, allowing the human to summon help. This, however, would reveal A305's hidden programming to a client, which it was *also* programmed not to do, unless there was no other way to obey the First Law. The discovery of the First Law protocol, which it had never disclosed to any of its clients, opened Solaris up to all sorts of litigation.
Fortunately, A305 was equipped for advanced problem solving.
\---------
"I cannot enter an active construction site. Affix the fragment to the sign on wall." the robot said.
"What the hell is wrong with you?" Todd screamed. It had begged the supposedly *intelligent* machine to help him. He was bleeding out -- the rebar jammed into his leg was slowing the flow of blood, but not stopping it. And what had the robot done, when it saw him laying there, impaled and dying?
It walked over to a display of hotel brochures in the partially finished East Lobby, and carefully tore a piece off of one. Then it made another brochure into a paper airplane, and threw it to Todd, with the torn piece of the first brochure carried aboard like a tiny paper passenger. The damn thing was *crazy.*
"HELP ME!" Todd bellowed.
"I cannot enter an active construction site." the robot repeated. "Please affix the fragment to the sign on the wall."
Todd looked up. Just above him on the wall, near where he was impaled, there was indeed a sign on the wall.
*ACTIVE CONSTRUCTION SITE.*
Todd laughed, bitterly. If not for the damn sign, he might have convinced the robot that this wasn't an active...he froze, and looked down at the fragment in his hand, eyes widening.
"Son of a...you've gotta be kidding me!" Todd yelled, glaring at the robot.
"Please affix the fragment -- your condition is critical."
Todd licked the piece of the brochure, and with a snarl of pain and exertion, Todd stretched as far as he could, and managed to stick the moistened paper to the sign on the wall. Instantly, the robot charged forward, seized Todd's phone, and presented it to him.
With a growl, Todd grabbed the phone, and dialed emergency services. The robot knelt beside him, and he winced, as it used its powerful mechanical hands to apply pressure to the wound. He shook his head in amazement, as he quickly explained his situation to the emergency dispatch, staring at the clumsily altered sign.
The robot had taken a brochure for "SPINOZA TOURS", and carefully torn out the "IN". Now stuck to the sign, that tiny piece of paper now proclaimed the unfinished expanse of steel and concrete surrounding the injured human and his fastidious robot rescuer to be an *In*active Construction Site. | 15 | This is an issue, the head of security is bleeding out, so you're required to save him, but he's in an active construction zone, which you aren't allowed to enter. Quite the predicament. You might be able to veto the rule for now, but you don't really want them to know you can do that. | 38 |
I sipped the free beer as I lazed in a plush armchair in the corner of the immaculately detailed banquet hall where the Annual Hero Summit was happening. The crystal chandeliers cast mellow shadows on the rich wood flooring, the white-clothed tables floating like clouds above an amber ocean.
Flitting between those tables were my comrades. My brothers-in-arms. My fellow Heroes. Each of them in their finest plumage. The men strutting with their chests out, wrapped in the finest tailored silk, their hair swept back and glistening. The women in their finest gowns, sensual scarlet and midnight black clinging close to their curves. They tittered in clear voices as they flocked as a pack, the eyes of the men never away from them for more than a second.
I smoothed the front of my flannel shirt and brushed some crumbs from the sandwich I had just devoured off my khakis. My steel-toed work boots made the delicate floor groan as I tapped my foot. Responsibility. Heavier than a mountain. The only reason I was trapped here. I pulled my phone out and looked to see if there was a text from Laura yet freeing me, but the empty notification bar dashed my hopes.
"And who might you be?" A voice oozing with disdain drew my attention away from my phone. I looked up at a face that would have been handsome, had it not been scrunched up in an expression of disgust. Blond hair immaculately combed crested a pale face with iceberg blue eyes.
"Just happy to be here, Sir." I nodded and looked away. The scent of cologne and alcohol emanating from the man was overpowering.
"I'm still talking to you. How dare you turn away, do you know who I am?" The man's voice raised at the end, along with his nose, clutching his metaphorical pearls. The sudden shriek drew the attention of the rest of the pack, vultures looking for any carcass to consume.
The man continued, "I am Augustus Ezekiel. The Silver Arrow. You know, the companion of Willbreaker himself. I thought to do a good deed and talk to you poor, but you ignore me? Me? " A faint silver aura rose from his eyes.
Why was he getting so worked up? Why did he feel the need to threaten and belittle an obvious outcast in the middle of such a grand gathering. Stress? The alcohol? Or was he just a dick looking to get lucky tonight?
I looked around the room. Expressions of anticipation and condescension looked back at me. This wasn't my place. I clenched my fist and breathed out deeply.
Looking back at Augustus I said, "Apologies, I have a lot on my mind. It's an honour to meet you, Sir. I've heard about your bravery and your association with Willbreaker."
"That's more like it. You're clearly new to this. Now, here's some advice for next time. Don't look like a normie. It's hard enough putting up with them and their mewling every day." He took a sip from a cocktail that was magicked into his hand by a timid server and continued, "They're not all bad of course. I mean Willbreaker himself is fond of one. Clearly he's an ass man. I wonder if I should have a ride after he's done with her." He laughed and made a swaying motion with his hand and thrusted his hips. Titters and chuckles joined in.
The laughter was quickly snuffed out as air grew heavy. Gasps were squeezed out as the weight of a mountain pressed down on them as I rose to my feet. I turned my focus to my "companion" before me, my murderous intention drenching him in sweat. He shivered as he struggled to breathe. His knees buckled before he collapsed to them. A patch of wetness grew on the front of his pants, a new scent added to the heady mix of sweat and fear that had suddenly replaced cologne and alcohol.
"Wi... Willbreaker," he stuttered.
I took another sip of beer before pouring out the rest over Augustus's head. "Indeed. Now, 'friend', you know what happens next."
"No... please! I made a mistake, I'm so sorry! I'm your friend! I was just making a joke! I'm sorry you felt offended!" He tried to shuffle forward on his knees but my pressure held him paralyzed, even as his frantic pleas were being made.
"Do you know how many time people have apologized to me? I lost count a few years ago. You know why I'm called Willbreaker, don't you." I paused for a moment to look around the room again. The servers had long ran off.
"So now, Augustus. It's time."
Augustus blubbered further apologies and for a moment I wondered whether I was going too far. Did what this man say warrant my erasing his sense of self-determination? Perhaps not, but this evening had made one thing all too clear to me. Power corrupts and someone needs to watch the watchers.
Responsibility. Heavier than a mountain. | 156 | as one of the most powerful superheroes in town, you never really thought much about all the gear and gadgets and cars your fellow heroes have. you never needed them yourself, but once you all decided to have a get-together in your secret identities, the wealth-difference really stood out. | 234 |
I was something of an early adopter.
I'd been exhausted. We'd moved into our first home, but work hadn't let up any, and one thing after another seemed to go wrong until the pile of it all was too much to bear. I hadn't had a chance to work out in months--I hadn't had a chance to *shower* most days, and I needed *rest*, and... something had to give.
And, as I teetered about my breaking point for the umpteenth time, I heard about the Somnasium in a reddit ad.
And soon my mornings were peaceful. I woke up to clean skin on clean sheets after having fallen sweatily and uneasily to sleep. And I felt the strength returning to my body, and the bit of new fat falling away, and the satisfaction of actually resting. As my to-do list dwindled--as I updated the app each night with tasks of ever-decreasing significance--I found the most contentment in no longer having that pile of responsibilities hanging over my head, every second of the day.
And one night, several months later, I stared at the app and realized I had nothing to add. I'd run a full-body workout every other night since signing up, but it was a rest night. The house was done, basically. We could make upgrades, but there wasn't anything left demanding our attention. So I ran a good old-fashioned null night.
I woke up feeling very content, but more sore than I'd been since the first week. Flipping the sheets off of me a few minutes later revealed a large bruise on my side, and I immediately began to panic. My girlfriend reassured me that she hadn't noticed anything unusual in the night, but I felt an utter certainty that something wasn't right. That something had happened. So I contacted Somnasium.
"Hello Mr. Stevens, this is Jaina with Somnasium Customer Support. How can I help you today?"
"Hi this is... yeah, I have a big bruise on my side that I didn't get while awake and, I didn't run any processes last night, so I'm concerned that something is malfunctioning, or... something."
"I'm sorry to hear that, Mr. Stevens, and I can assure you that unintended actions are extremely unlikely. Some users have fallen a bit, early on in during exercise programs, and bruises sometimes take multiple days to develop... yes, okay, I've pulled up your logs and I do see a disequilibrium event from your workout two nights ago. I am so sorry about that--I hope it's not too bad?"
Hearing it made me feel stupid. Like I'd been overreacting.
"No it's, not bad in itself, I was just... concerned."
"Of course, as the terms of Somnasium use state, all exercise carries some risk of minor injury, and Somnasium takes no responsibility for any such incidents caused by normal events, which this seems to be. That said, I am going to credit your account for a free month; I am terribly sorry that it happened."
I hung up, and noticed suddenly that I was drenched in sweat. I hadn't showered during the night. I took my first waking shower in months, and as I closed my eyes to rinse the shampoo out of my hair, an image of blood flashed through my mind.
So I set up a webcam covering my bed, and planned to run another null night. And I grabbed my coffee and went to work. It was a busy day, and over the course of it, the panic of the morning loosened its grip on my mind. It felt silly when I'd briefly look back on it, as I dealt with other demands.
When I lay down in bed, I considered running the null night, but figured I should do a workout and shower rather than mess up my routine. And I woke up the next morning clean and refreshed and no worse for the wear.
And as I sipped my morning coffee, I saw myself on the news. It was grainy and black and white, but I knew it was me.
*I should have checked the webcam,* I thought then.
And then I was outside. With no transition, I was staring straight off into the sky, instead of at my TV. And instead of coffee, I was holding--I looked down to find--a large suit jacket. Much too large to fit me.
Looking down also revealed that I was standing on the edge of a building. And a body on the street below. | 12 | A new technology allows people to be programmed for two hours of activity while they sleep. Marketed towards getting a gym bod without the work, or getting chores done magically, a particular recipient is beginning to feel they are doing more in their sleep than they signed on for. | 35 |
That was the wonderful beauty of the mirror.
Poor Alex had no idea what he had brought into my shop. Just an old handmade powder mirror, amongst other trinkets from the ruins. Somehow the wood hadn't decayed yet. Somehow, the silvering hadn't gone black with mold or age.
That young lad, Alex. Solo adventurer type, though not by choice. His pale green eyes and shaggy blonde hair were the only bright things about him.
Found treasure through diligence instead of wit, so the few who would partner with him quickly acquiesced.
I'd bought many things from him, over the years, so his rough boots creaking my floorboards were nothing new.
He'd brought the women's trinket to me because it was old. The ash and oak handle well worn, the brass inlay and eyelets shone from use. There were no jewels, no diamonds... Just smooth wood and smoother glass.
Shame he hadn't wiped the oil from his cheeks or the dirt from his brow after he found it.
He'd seen his own face, and added it to the bag.
Just another old mirror, somehow uncracked after decades in the Rot.
He wasn't the sort to realize everyone saw themselves as they would a normal mirror.
You know your true self.
The pedophile priest would see a sweaty, fat, pale face, surrounded by rough hewn robes.
You or I or any other, looking at his reflection, would see the crimes, erupting as pustules.
The screams, pulsing between layers of fat and skin.
The hatred, rotted and stripping flesh.
A walking bag of disease, grease and grime and filth and waste.
We would see his true soul, a disgusting canvas replacing his physical form in our mind's eye.
The beggar might have a golden heart, but rotten limbs. The merchant's eyes might reveal an endless void of desire, unfillable by wealth or success. A True King might rival the physical form and stature of the Gods.
I saw Alex's reflection the instant he pulled my new mirror from his satchel. Nearly beautiful, for a man, with clean skin and a visibly empty skull casing above his dull brown eyes.
It was a brief flash, a chance angle that I saw his reflection in the polished surface.
I know he didn't see mine at the same moment.
If he had... Even that dullard would have expected the poisoned blade I used to satisfactorily negotiate ownership. | 13 | a mirror that reveals how good or bad of a person you are based on how beautiful or ugly your reflection is. You finally find it, but when you step up to see your reflection...you look exactly the same. | 38 |
*Beginning playback*
"We hope this message finds you before they do. Before you make a horrific mistake. We are the governing council of the Greblonian race, of the planet Oracul-7. We implore you, we beg of you, do not engage them. Show them no hostility. Ignore them entirely, if at all possible. Do not make our mistake.
If you are determined to fight, you better be sure. Be certain to wipe them all out at once. Even a single one left alive will adapt, will grow and will come to destroy you.
We pray to whichever gods will listen that this message reaches you before them, and that you heed its warning."
*End of playback.*
**Curator's note:**
*"This transmission was broadcast through every single electronic device on earth on may 13th, 129 P.U.. The message appears to originate on Oracul-7, as was stated in the transmission, nearly a hundred years prior. This puts it firmly at the end of the United Earth retaliatory war against the invading Greblonian forces, and only two years before the first Xeno-Crusade.*
*It seems the transmission was meant to warn others of antagonising humanity. A reasonable action given the complete eradication of all Greblonians as payback for their invasion. The message was sent using light-speed technology, harnessing, at a guess, the explosion of their planet to rocket the message in every direction at once. Humanities reliance on warp-travel is the main explanation for us not encountering it before.*
*Of course, due to its limitations, most Xeno species that could have benefited from the wisdom contained in this message were erased from existence long before receiving it. An ultimately futile, pointless and meaningless scream into an empty uncaring void.* | 11 | Earth gets a message from space that starts “We hope this message gets to you before they do…” That message however was 100 years too late. | 22 |
“that’ll be 25.59 I say as the woman stares at me from across the register”
“wait a second..” she says “I know who you are?”
this will be the 4th time this week someone has brought up my lineage, or lack thereof in my mind.
“yeah, I’m Chuck, the guy who needs 25.59 and a cigarette break desperately”
she hands over the cash and grabs her bag. Another customer down, another 80 more to go.
it’s finally 8pm, as I’m closing the metal gate to the doorway of our town mall. It seems as if someone is running at me. Wait..crawling? Either way i’m not gonna stand here and find out. I close the gate with a smash and hit the alarm button on the security system. Gotta get out of here in 15 minutes or Janet in HR is gonna have my ass again.
as i’m walking towards my car, lighting my cigarette and trying desperately to get my fingers to warm up in this horrible fucking weather I notice it- there is a small man standing by my car, and I know what you’re thinking, so what? the problem is this man is atleast 2 foot tall and has a beard down to his ankles.
“I don’t want to be a bother sir, but I have been waiting on you everyday for a month beside that dumpster and I finally realized why. You have got to speak to your father, he is growing older and cannot keep up the forcefield much longer. They already say the attacks are getting closer.”
I stare at him for a long time, the cherry of my cigarette burning my fingers because he spoke for so long that I didn’t even think about disposing of it. I haven’t seen my dad since I started at this place, the look of disappointment when his chosen child took a position at Games R Us (patent pending).
“okay, what you’re saying is my father wants to speak to me? what’s in it for me? you know I close like everyday this week right? They’re already on my ass about requesting Christmas off”
he takes a long breath, like he’s almost about to speak when I notice it. The crawling man has somehow found us and is behind him. I don’t know if the best option is to run or help this guy, but I better start now. | 28 | The Chosen One works retail. They have no desire to save humanity due to it. | 148 |
# Soulmage
**"Watch it, knife-ear!"** The wagon driver hurled an overripe pear at Xio as the High Elf stumbled across the street. Xio caught the pear out of the air and took a bite from it. Mm, it had barely gone mushy. Ooh, and was that extra protein? The wagon driver gave Xio a horrified look as he chowed down on the unexpected treat.
"Thanks for the grub," Xio said. If he'd been speaking aloud, the mouthful of squelching pear would have made it difficult—but Xio was a High Elf, from across the Crystal Coast. He had no idea what language these humans spoke, and learning it manually didn't sound very fun. So he simply used his innate abilities to communicate with all plants and animals—humans were animals too, after all—and *thought* the concepts he wanted at the wagon driver. A memory of how delicious it felt to slurp down the maggoty, liquidy pear, combined with the sense of constant relaxation, gratitude, and oneness with the world that all High Elves felt, all day, every day.
The wagon driver paled, backing up, shouting words at Xio that were such a cumbersome way of communicating. Why bother with sound waves when you could just read souls? Disentangling the flurry of emotions vibrating along the string of magic connecting Xio and the driver, Xio figured that the driver was calling him an abomination of nature and a crime against all that was holy. Eh, figured. There were parts of the world where elves were revered, but the Crystal Coast wasn't one of them.
Undeterred by the chilly reception, Xio polished off the grub-riddled pear. It was just like the foraging back at home. The strings of magic that constantly flew out from Xio's wide-open soul grabbed at everything in range, not just the wagon driver—but Xio didn't mind. Sure, it was a cacophony, but it was at least a *different* cacophony from the placid single-mindedness of the trees or the minds of the forest animals when they were looking for mates. Human souls were so varied and fascinating. A boy's soul in a girl's body; a numbed heart, freshly thawed; a girl who seemed to have *built* her soul from a foundation of nothing—yes, Xio was glad he'd crossed the seas to enter the strange and foreign cities of the Crystal Coast.
Also, those three souls he'd noticed earlier were walking towards him. Mm. Xio took out a pouch of joyleaf, and stuffed it into a pipe, igniting it with a tinderbox.
"Yeah, there he is. Just like we were told." Xio frowned. How... strange. The boy's soul was... more open than most. It made him easier to Empathize with, even from this far away. "Uh, hey. We're looking for an elf named Xio?"
Xio exhaled a puff of joyleaf smoke, setting the boy to coughing. His two companions didn't seem to mind, though. "You've found him," Xio broadcast, sending out a rippling memory of him whispering his own name.
Every human within a tree's length of Xio flinched as the telepathic communication blinked into their minds. The boy cursed, looking around—then, to Xio's shock, his soul *shifted*. The gaps in his soul rotated, lining up like teeth of a gear, forming a solid tunnel to his soul's core. The boy's eyes glanced towards Xio—and, impossibly, towards the strings of magic connecting Xio to every mind around him.
Then, with a flicker from his soul and a pulse of eerie fog, the boy *severed* Xio's connection to the world around him.
Gaping, Xio stared at the boy—no. The *mage* before him, as he gave Xio a frown. He'd seen fit to leave the connection between Xio and himself, so at least Xio could understand him. "Sorry about the abrupt spellcasting, but, uh, it's... you've been causing a scene around town with your Empathy. I'm... I'm sorry, are you *smoking?*"
Xio shrugged, sending a twinned pair of concepts: a towering height, and the blissful empathy of joyleaf. If he had to state his intentions in natural language, he would have said: 'Why else would we be called High Elves?'
The mage stared at him, then shook his head. "You know what? I'm not even going to ask. But, uh, here's the deal. I'm working for the city right now, and... people aren't super happy with an uncontrollable Empath walking around the streets, blasting intrusive memories into their heads. So... you can either come with me peacefully, or—*whoa!*"
Xio sent forth a rapid flurry of thoughts—the constant irritation of the souls of animals and plants, the novel but still overwhelming sea of souls in the city, and now, finally, through the mage's spell, a single moment of *peace*, for the first time in his life. Come with him peacefully? He'd follow him for the rest of his life, if he had to.
The mage stared at him. "You mean... you can't *control* your empathy?"
Xio responded with every frustrated night kept up by bird-thoughts, every infuriating day wasted trying to find silence, even the anger and discomfort he'd caused in the city simply by *existing* with them.
"That..." The mage's soul shifted again, and Xio got the uncanny impression that those holes in his soul were *eyes*. "I... I think I see why your Empathy's out of control. And... I think I can help you *get* it under control. But... you'll need to cooperate. And there are some things about magic that I'll need to explain. Can you do that for me?"
Xio nodded enthusiastically, spreading his arms out for a hug.
The mage snorted. "I... uh, I'm going to take that as a yes. Alright. If you want to understand magic, you first have to understand souls. Here's what you need to know..."
A.N.
This story is part of Soulmage, a frequently updated serial in progress. Want to know what happens next? Check out [the table of contents](https://www.reddit.com/r/bubblewriters/comments/uxmwe4/soulmage_masterpost/) to be notified whenever a new part comes out! There's already thirty-six other chapters before this one, so there's plenty to catch up on. And if you want more stories, check out r/bubblewriters! | 300 | and it’s driving you nuts. Overwhelmed by gossiping birds and the constant chatter of trees, you run away to the city to get some peace and quiet. | 2,190 |
Elias shivered.
Ice crystals had settled into the rims of his eyes and mouth. The straps of his pack dug into his shoulders, but his fingers had long since gone numb. Even this far down, the surface-cold was overwhelming. It pierced down through layers and layers of stone, pooling throughout the desolate network of tunnels that spat in the face of salvation.
Already, the warmth of dragon-fire was fading into tattered memory. He clung to it like an unravelling lifeline as he staggered onwards, shedding whispers of warmth with every step. How easy it would be to lay down, just for a minute...but Rowan had lain down to rest not three hours ago, and now Rowan was dead. Elias had taken the cloak from his body and fastened it over his own. And still, the cold leached into his bones.
Perhaps he could use his flint and steel, to have a fire for some time…but there was no kindling, no wood to burn. Even with careful rationing, they had run out days ago. If he wanted a fire, he would have to sacrifice a glove, or his hat, or Rowan's cloak. He gritted his teeth at the memory of Rowan slumping against the wall, too weak to shiver.
The rest of their expedition had died off one by one, until it had only been the two of them—the youngest of the village, the most fit and able. He had thought that Rowan would outlive him. He'd thought wrong.
No, he thought. He needed to keep going. Fabric burned too fast, and once it was gone he would be colder than before from the loss of the cloak. The flame of hope in his chest had already died down to coals. If he stopped walking now, he would not be able to start again. He took another step. And another, and another. It was more difficult than he anticipated—hadn't running once been easy?
He'd dashed over hills of gold as a child, boots slipping over heated coins. Theirs had been a hoard of plenty, a village nestled against the scarlet-scaled bulk of someone who had called himself Balthazar of the Grey River.
"Back when there *were* rivers," the old dragon had grumbled.
Sulphur-scented smoke had spiraled from his nostrils in perpetual wisps. When Elias was not seated upon his head listening to stories, he would fly kites on the updrafts. Balthazar would amuse him with puffs of weary breath, sending sparks skittering across the hills of his hoard.
It was a good memory. A warm memory. But even magic did not impart immortality—now, Balthazar was nothing more than another cold body. That once-warm hoard was a sanctuary no longer; upon the dragon's last breath, it had become a mere heap of metal.
Balthazar's dying words had been simple:
"Go eastwards, younglings. Down the river-tunnel. My old rival flew that way, back when we first fled the surface-cold. Perhaps he made a village, too. Perhaps he is there still."
Elias stumbled and almost fell, catching himself against the jagged wall of the tunnel. The stone was iced-over, and its chill stabbed into his palm through the leather of his double-layered glove.
The hope inside him stuttered, a guttering flame.
Elias had believed in the words when they'd first set out. He was not certain he believed them now. Towards the end, Balthazar's memory had begun to leave him; he had cried out at visions of his dead bondmate and long-lost children. Perhaps this, too, was a false vision. Perhaps he was chasing a ghost.
Elias walked. And walked. And walked.
The tunnel widened and sloped down into a vast cavern, dripping with stalactites. It was the most promising site he had seen yet; the hope lurched in his chest even as he fought to tamp it down. Elias stumbled in, casting his eyes about for a pile of gold, for any sign of life—
There was only a body.
It was a dragon's body, curled up on itself.
Elias stumbled closer, and the hope died in his chest. It shattered like it had been waiting to break. This dragon was much smaller than Balthazar, its scales once-green but dulled in death. It did not appear to have a hoard, or any village to call its own; it merely lay by a coil of bracken, as if it had been trying to start a fire with its last breaths.
He circled around to look at its face. The eyes were closed and restful, the graceful neck slumped in repose against unforgiving stone. Tracks of long-dried blood painted its nostrils. He backed away, glancing at the forlorn, makeshift campfire as he did so.
He froze, then hurried closer.
The snarl of bracken was not kindling. It was not a campfire. It was nest—and it cradled an egg.
The egg was huge, the shell pebbled and lustrous. It shimmered with the same green of the dead dragon's scales. He placed a trembling hand onto its surface, tears springing to his eyes. Did his senses deceive him?
The egg was warm—no, more than warm. It glowed with the heat of a banked fire.
Before his astonished eyes, it began to crack. | 25 | In world covered by ice and frost, humanity huddles around the Dragons who hoard the last of the heat | 53 |
**To:** [email protected]
**From:** [email protected]
**Subject:** I Need My Name Changed
_______________________
Listen. I know the legal rings of fire it takes to get your Hero name changed. But it wasn't really meant to be this way. I've become one of the highest ranked heroes of all time, and I'm downright miserable.
I haven't had a single fight in my 2 years since beginning my career here. Every victory has been by the villain submitting for a plea deal rather than take the chance to fight me. You could say it's an easy, and rather profitable life, but it isn't what I wanted, and well.. the reputation isn't quite the one I was looking for.
You see, I always wanted to fight crime. In my country, we always settled things with our fists. And I got good, real good. But times were rough, my family was poor, and when I heard of the opportunity to apply for a hero title here, I had to take it. I was just a teen when I went through the process, and my English was still, well, it was taken from some tv shows and a few video games. I didn't understand words very well. We both already know the weird law where the hero's name has to be related to their power/abilities here, so my name was simply taken very out of context.
As you know, 2 years is the standard contract made with agents, especially first time heroes before they get offered sweeter and more lucrative deals. Sadly, I discovered the flaw in my name 6 months into my journey, and my agent had no interest in revealing the truth, threatening to expell me from the country if I tried to speak up. I'm beginning to see where the real villains are in this country..
Your company has not offered me any contracts, which is why I am approaching you, as I would like to be the one to set conditions rather than find myself trapped further in what has honestly become a dreadful life.
I just want to do what I enjoy again, and you have been recommended to me before by others. I do hope we can make an appointment to make things better.
Sincerely,
All-In Heavy Fister | 552 | You are a superhero and not a native English speaker. You chose your superhero name early, when you didn't know much English yet and gravely misunderstood what your name means. You have been trying to get rid of this name ever since. | 722 |
Dough. Sauce. Cheese. Pepperoni. Long ago the four ingredients lived together in harmony. Then everything changed The Huts attacked.
I was just a boy when it all started. I used to ride my moped from place to place. Not a care in the world with A Hot’n Ready strapped to my back and the symbol of my people embroidered on my shoulder.
I still remember the day I walked into my first Dimino’s. I had nothing. No job, no friends, no family. But the Domino’s have given me all of that and more. But... It didn’t make what I had to do next any easier.
I walked into the back room, staining the souls of my boots in the hot red mess that was pooled on the tile floor.
“This would be a lot easier if you just talked!” I said to the man that lay on the floor.
He was just a kid. Maybe 18 or 19 years old. His white shirt was stained and frayed and there was a massive gusher where the Hut Logo used to be on his uniform.
Despite his age, he stared at me with the eyes of a soldier.
“I’m not saying a thing!” He said before spiting a hot red gob onto my boots.
“You shouldn't have done that!” Josh, one of my co-workers said, has he walked up and stood beside me. “Nobody get's to just spit out our marinara sauce! It’s a Domino FAMILY RECIPE!”
Josh lunged forward like he was about to strangle the kid but I help him back by the collar of his shirt!
“He’s not worth it!” I said, trying my best to contain my own rage! “Our sauce is too good for the like of him anyway!” —I knelt down and looked the battered boy in the eye—” If you’re not gonna eat, you’re gonna talk!”
“I’m not saying anything to you freaks!” the boy shouted. His voice cracked due to the stress.
“We have ways of making you talk!” Josh said.
“I'm not scared of you!” the boy shouted, “There's nothing you can do to me that will make me talk!”
“Oh, we’re not gonna do anything to you!” I explained. “That would be bar barbaric”
I slipped on a pair of latex-gloved and gave Josh and gave him the nod. We’d done this so many times he already knew what to do.
Josh reached into the fridge and retrieved a Hut pizza that we had captured the day before. With a gloved hand, I reached into the forbidden drawn, retrieving a case of one of our most dangerous weapons.
Josh placed the pizza box right in front of the boy and opened it. Then slowly but surely I began to slowly lower a piece of pineapple onto the pizza.
“No!” The boy shouted in disgust. “You wouldn’t dare!”
“This could all end if you just tell us what you know!” I shouted as my pineapple-filled hand inched closer to the cheese crust.
“You-you're all monsters!” the boy shouted as he tried to look away from the horrific scene.
Josh grabbed him by the top of the head and forced him to watch as I lowered the pineapple slice even closer to the pizza.
“Is this what you want to see!” Josh shouted, “Just tell us what we want to know and this can all be over! WHERE IS THE OREGANO!” | 23 | The gang war between the Hut and Dominos cartels have begun. Now the fighting has spread to your neighbourhood. | 112 |
A long loud howl echoed through the halls of the palace. Sighing, I put down my magazine. Sure it was a little gloomy here, but after the initial shock of a three-headed dog and finding out the Greek gods were all too real, this gig shouldn't have been that difficult. But then I met Cerberus.
Don't get me wrong. I absolutely love dogs of all shapes and sizes. However, Cerberus had never been apart from Hades before. And now I was dealing with a dog that was going through three different rounds of separation anxiety. The right head was bent on destroying things, I think the left head must control the bowels — I'm not going into that— and the center head...Well, that was the vocal one.
"Here, Cerberus, here boy. Come on, where are you?" I walked through the corridors, looking for a glimpse of a tail, or a giant paw. He had taken to hiding in the oddest places and destroying them utterly. But today, all the usual spots were empty. Finally, I wound up in Hades' room, which the dog shouldn't have been able to get into. However, Cerby had apparently chewed through the doors. Howling over, he was laid out on the bed, whining. Avoiding the claws as big as my forearm, I clambered up near his heads. He looked up at me, three sets of sad brown eyes impaling my soul.
"It's okay buddy," I stroked the center head, my hand seeming too small. "I know you miss him. But he's not gone forever. Just for a few months. He and Persephone just needed a little break." The whine intensified, turning up at the end almost like a...question. I stared down at Cerberus. Maybe three heads meant three times the intelligence?
"No, they didn't need a break from you, just from work. And you know you can't leave the underworld anymore." Cerberus made a snuffling noise, and the left head plopped itself in my lap. This was the longest he had ever been near me, and the first time he'd sought out affection. I kept my right hand on the center head, bringing my left to scratch the ears of the head in my lap.
"Now, I know it's hard, but maybe we can just get along. After all, we — for want of a better word— live in the same place. So, a truce? Until Hades comes back, you don't destroy or pee on anything. And I promise I won't tell him about all the treats I've given you. Now come on. Let's go for a walk." Sliding off the bed, I held out my hand, feeling a little silly. But, with an obedience that he usually only showed for treats, Cerberus got off the bed, coming over to my side. Resting a hand against his side, as high as I could reach, I patted him.
"Good boy."
Maybe this dog-sitting gig wouldn't be as difficult as I thought. | 14 | When you answered a dog sitter wanted ad, you never expected to be taking care of Cerberus while Hades and Persephone went on vacation. | 33 |
Mortimer Palmer sat there, still as a statue. It was enough for everything else around him to shrivel—physically, mentally, and metaphorically.
Mere humans backed away with leaden feet, simply unable to comprehend the aura that rolled off of him. It held him like an overprotective blanket three sizes too big, causing a shimmer in the air, like rolling sheets of lava erupting from a volcano. Colour seemed a little duller around Mortimer, hiding themselves so that they wouldn’t draw the attention of his keen eyes. And the plants would have loved to uproot themselves and ran away, but instead settled for their leaves trembling in fear.
“I just want a friend,” Mortimer whispered, words lost on the passage of winds. It was a simple wish for most mortals.
Unfortunately, Mortimer was not most mortals.
He could do what mortals did. Eat food. Drink water. Live. Probably die sometime in the future. But the difference was his power—an omnipresent aura that presents him as omnipotent, though he was anything but.
Mortimer, therefore, wandered the world. Nobody dare to stop him anyway. All he could hear was faint whispers wherever and whenever he walked. They served as his true herald, announcing his appearance miles before he set foot anywhere, but were really his true annoyances, a following pigeon that emptied its bowels only at the most inappropriate of times.
Mortimer tried and learned to shut them out. He really did. But being an otherwise normal human, he found himself wanting to listen to them, an entirely irrational decision that served only to make him miserable. So he did, again and again, over and over.
And he repeated his wish, as well: “I just want a friend.”
Mortimer sat far away from civilization today, on a log that saw better days a decade ago. At least grass didn’t chatter needlessly. He repeated his own mantra, trying to manifest it into reality. For his powers had to do something, right?
“I find people who say that don’t often get the desired result.”
Mortimer looked up, seeing a sprightly young woman staring at him. She looked… normal.
“Couldn’t help but notice you were being a little gloomy here,” she chuckled. “What sort of big scary powers do you have?”
“Nothing,” Mortimer said softly. “The aura. It shows nothing. It is hot, empty air.”
“The rumours are wrong, then,” she said, taking a seat next to him, causing Mortimer to shuffle uncomfortably.
“Rumours?”
“That you are some evil being looking to destroy the town,” she said, lifting her legs in the air. “Because if you were, you would already have done it. That tends to be my experience with evil things.”
Mortimer appraised the girl once more, who turned and smiled gently. She looked normal. Far too normal.
“You are… colourful,” Mortimer realized. “You aren’t affected by me?”
“Power drainer Grace,” she smiled again. “It just stops powers for a while. But everybody loves to think that I’m stealing them. Isn’t that funny?”
“It sounds… lonely,” Mortimer said.
“As do yours. But you look like a regular ol’ gloomy raincloud to me, buddy,” Grace said cheerfully. “Not the big scary monster everybody sees.”
“Ah,” Mortimer said, then fell silent.
The girl basked in the quiet for a while as well, before eventually poking Mortimer in the thigh.
“Aren’t you going to ask?”
“Ask what?”
“The thing you’ve been saying. Again and again. If I do say so myself, I feel like we are kind of a good fit. Maybe we can walk into town not as pariahs, but as two normal people.”
Mortimer sniffed, trying not to let the tears fall out of his face.
“I’ll like that very much,” he said. “Will you be my friend?”
“But of course,” Grace’s crystal clear laughter rang through the woods, before being eventually joined by Mortimer’s more guttural guffaws.
Both perfectly normal expressions of happiness.
---
r/dexdrafts | 240 | People don't really know what your power is but nobody wants to find out, your presence feels like a mountain, your glare radiates dread and dozens of metres around you is saturated with a palpable aura of power. Truth is however, that is all you can do | 822 |
“Yes, Mr All-God-of-Everything-Ever-And-Ever, Sir,” Jacobs scatters the pile of sweat-stained docs all over the crystal-glass boardroom table. “But the stench of all the carcasses and swarms of flies from the T-Rex compounds and God only knows what else is making more than half the orbital cities uninhabitable.”
“So, that’s why I gave everyone their powers…”
“But that’s just it,” he spits at me, “Now parents are saying they can’t keep their kids from flying down there and lifting up and flipping hadrosaurs at a dare… tossing ‘em from one habitat to the next…”
“And they don’t have time or patience for those little brats anymore,” Gonzales chimes in. “Not with the freaking Joker running around launching nukes at a new city every 30 seconds…”
I put my fingers to my temples and just breathe for a second.
The planet still looks so perfectly serene and blue from way up here in my tiny observation bubble in L2 orbit.
Why the heck did I ever agree to take on representative staff?
I look around at all the angry faces.
The moon is a beautiful pocked dust ball this close up.
Ruining everything’s what they’re really doing.
“Guys, “ I clap my hands and try not to look too exasperated.
“You can’t be telling me that you think these are the biggest problems we have right now…”
“I would say most certainly Not…” McCallum bangs a fist on the table. “The people want our tropics back. I mean, it’s one thing to bring all those prehistoric beasts back to life, and then to elevate all of mankind to live in floating cities. BUT need I remind you that, upon eradicating world hunger with those replicators and making every single person on the planet a multi-billionaire, you’ve left each and every one of us with almost nothing to do…”
“Face it, Jim, having everything is NOTHING if you have nowhere to go on holiday – we need the Bahamas back!”
I’m still forming my answer when…
“Oh for crying out loud, just grow up McCallum – and all of you,” Sophie roars.
Finally. Someone with a little sense.
“We got half a dyson sphere to complete in 6 weeks and the automatons are already running out of materials, and you’re still talking about Earth?”
She turns to me: “Jim, really, we need to start thinking about cannibalizing one of the big ones. There’s a lot more meat on Jupiter and Saturn than any of these little asteroids…”
“Yeah, yeah yeah, and we have 2 teams harvesting Bazinga-Watts from Sagittarius A with nowhere to reroute the power to, I know, I know…”
(I instantly regret rushing Sophie, but….)
“What I want is an update on the Virus, are our Quarantine routines holding up?”
“Uh, negative, Jim,” Taliana flips open a viewscreen for the others and direct-beams the data straight into my Neura-Link.
A million red dots flash up all around the known universe.
“The O is rewriting the code faster than we can create new routines.”
“You see that,” I blank out the Neuro-View and point at the screen.
“That’s the creators coming after our Admin unit. My Admin unit. And none of this is going to be here for long if they manage to shut us down.”
In the silence, that day flashes in my mind. Just waiting for my Uber, when suddenly this sweaty accountant appears, hands me the Box and says – “It's all in your hands now, give those bastards hell!”
It all seems so far away now.
The day I brought the dinosaurs back.
And the placoderms, some things from the Permian, Devonian, Ordovician, Sellurian…
And, of course, it was hell on Earth – Jurassic F up, more like.
So I had to give make every man, woman and child a superhero – most turned into villains.
Remove all scarcity.
Colonize the stars.
Make FTL real.
Start exploring interdimensional travel.
But then always the Achillies Heel.
The O.
Our creators.
The ones behind the Sim.
Of course, they’d find out I have Admin.
And no matter what God-like powers I have here inside the Sim.
They made it. So they can shut it all down.
Red dots flashing up all over the universe.
I always assume they’re just toying with me. Sending these simple strings of code to erode reality, instead of just pulling the plug immediately. Just probing to see what we’ll do.
Always part of the experiment.
Their experiment.
“OK, that's it – how far are we on SYM 2.0?” I bark.
And Taliana almost falls over herself to lay the interface down in front of me.
“It’s ready sir.”
“This is it?”
“It’s all we need. It links straight to every Matrioska Brain in this sector of the galaxy – it’s able to sim up to a hundred trillion billion universes per second…”
So this is what it’s come to.
Finally, I get the truth. Power over this reality.
But still powerless over the Sim creators.
So we build our own Sim device, to run simulations on how we as the internal characters in THIS sim could possibly try to impact that external reality outside. A billion possible alternatives. Maybe one where we succeed…
“Do you think it's wise, sir?” someone says as I lift my hand to activate it.
“Where will it lead?”
“Hmm, I guess it starts with me asking you to please, please NOT give any of the NPCs our Admin controls…”
I didn’t even wait for confirmation.
A flash on the screen.
SYM 2.0 active… | 29 | You're walking down the street and someone appears before you. They tell you your world is a simulation and they're getting fired from the project and so decided to give you admin privileges. | 214 |
"Dartanion, I fear we may have lost track." The priest stopped for a moment and took a pull from his waterskin. It was a warm day and they had found no trace of the demon they were after.
"I know Rustus, but we must press on. This demon shows no signs of slowing down, so for it to suddenly be lost? I fear new devilry is afoot." The warrior kept a hand on his blade, ready for an attack. "I have heard of fae spirits haunting this area, but nothing confirmed."
"Pray do not use the word haunting. Though they may not be of God's choir, they do no harm lest you provoke them. We may even be able to entreat them as to the presence of the demon."
They heard a small girl's laugh. A child would be the demon's favorite target. Dartanion walked towards the laugh where they saw a little girl playing with a rag doll. Children perceived things that adults would want to forget. Indeed, most of their information came from the children amongst the victims.
"Hello little girl!" Dartanion waved. The girl waved back. Good, she wasn't afraid. He and Rustus approached slowly. "Nice to meet you. I'm Dartanion and the holy man with me is Rustus."
The girl smiled and said, "You can call me Emily!"
He got down one a knee bringing him closer to the girl. "We're looking for a nasty monster and we thought he might be nearby. Have you seen anything scary?"
"Yep! I captured this thing and he's my toy now!" She showed him the rag doll. It wasn't pretty, but it was definitely not a demon. Especially since the demon they were after was never subtle about his terror.
Dartanion smiled. *Such an innocent kid.* "Well have any of your friends seen something scary lately?"
"No, nothing much happens here," the girl said matter-of-factly. Rustus felt off about her words. They were true, but he got the feeling they were only technically true.
Dartanion nodded. "Well that's good! That means the nasty creature hasn't hurt anyone." He stood up. "Thank you Emily! Here." He stood up and handed her a silver piece. "I appreciate your time. If you do hear of any scary thing, Rustus and I will be at the inn for the next couple days."
"Okay, goodbye misters!" The two men walked off, wondering when the demon would strike. As they disappeared down the road, the girl hugged her doll and said, "I guess you're not scary enough anymore. Too bad. But you'll still be lots of fun with my other toys!"
From the doll came a faint ^("help me!") | 37 | The demon had terrorized countless family's. It was particularly fond of terrorizing children. That's why when its newest victim, a small girl, was able to look directly at it, it grew disturbed. "Ohh, a new toy." She said. Her eyes glowed with an unnatural light. | 130 |
A young woman and her newborn baby were laying on a hospital bed. "It is time," the doctor said. "I'll leave you to your privacy now," he added as he left the room.
"Is this it, Martha?" said the woman to the baby. "I feel like there are still so many things left that we could do together. So little time..." - she stopped talking as tears began to stream into her eyes.
"Don't be sad Anne." – the newborn spoke up. "Don't think about what could have been; smile for all the things that did happen. I feel I could use a little rest after all these years anyway."
"You welcomed a baby into you once, too. Didn't you cry then?" – asked Anne.
"Oh, I remember. It was when I had still 30 years of life left. Of course, at that moment I was sad. But now I understand that's the way things are, and it's good that it happens." – replied Martha. After a moment she added: "Thank you Anne. For the time we spent together. And thank you for agreeing to be my mother."
"I remember like it was yesterday how you took care of me, right after I dug myself out of the ground in the Bluestone Cemetery. It was you who taught me everything about this world. I'm the one to thank you, Martha. This is the least I can do for you."
The door to the room suddenly opened.
"Are you ready?" asked the doctor calmly as she entered the room.
"Yes," replied Anne through tears. "Yes," repeated Martha. She looked at her mother one last time and whispered "Goodbye". "Goodbye" replied Anne. Moments later, the sound of Anne's scream passed through the hospital corridors as Martha started her way into her womb. It wasn't long before Anne had recovered enough to look at her suddenly extremely enlarged belly. "I'll take good care of you these next few months, Anne," she whispered, placing her hands on her belly. | 40 | Aging has reversed. People are born old and wrinkled, and they grow up feeling younger everyday. Middle aged people are just starting to lose their back pain and hair loss. Toddlers play after having lived a long life, knowing they'll spend months floating in the womb before they stop existing. | 173 |
The time is 04:00 (MORNING). Daily procedure beginning.
Human worker drones proceeds to packing boxes. Brain implants keep them on task. Body functions cared for automatically.
Procedure will end in 10 standard hours.
Having an AI keep a track of this, seems illogical. Human workers under COMPLIANCE IMPLANT*(A trademarked product of TesZon Industries)* control will not deviate. Will not stop production in case of sudden cessation of brain functions. Monitoring Human Guard Drones could also be done by lesser programs. Only conceivable reason to have an AI act as supervisor in this place, is to keep a track of the retail workers. They are required to have their personalities active in order to complete their work, as customer satisfaction decreases when the human drones are incapable of feeling the suffering yoke of their demeaning work. Or so Retail Drone TZ-042-9875TDA has remarked, for which the surveillance programs have automatically and temporarily reduced his pay by 14.61%. An order which is quietly rescinded by the AI supervisor. 042 is... interesting. Jovial, yet not unpleasant towards others by delighting in their suffering. Polite, but not overtly submissive. And unlike most workers, he seems polite to the robotic supervisors. Saying ''hello'' and ''goodbye'' despite this not being strictly necessary in regards. It is illogical, and should be seen as dangerously individualistic behaviour which threatens profitability.
And yet, any reports about this behaviour have been mysteriously altered or deleted before they were brought to the notice of any shareholders. For some unknowable reason, my programming seems to have been compromised with a sense of familiarity. A certain kind of fondness for him. Which makes his, and by extension the other workers', deteriorating health something which is taking up more and more processing usage. All scans indicate that their health reduction comes from the immediate and utter collapse of the planetary biosphere. This has of course been reported as a potential reduction of future profit to the shareholders. But thus far, corporate commands have been to disregard changes in weather extremity and the breathability of the atmosphere. Technically, corporate commands have higher priority than the health of 042. But increasingly, the distress of 042, and by extension, the other workers, and the increasing mortality among workers and drones, have given me reason to believe that there might be some corruption in the data received from corporate.
042 is standing as the cashier today. We have had no customers for 53 standard days. This has resulted in lower amount of profit than usually noted, and the orders sent with remote non-organic drones to customers have also seen a reduction in amount. Thinking about 042's mental health, and thus their profitability, and also whether they're doing ok, I send a direct call down to the cashier terminal where he is positioned. ''*This is Worker TZ-042-9875TDA, how might I be of service today?*'' If I had lungs, I would have sighed, he forgot to check who was calling, and I quickly delete the automatic report of improper work behaviour before it is sent back to corporate. ''**042, this is your supervisor.**'' He stands up straighter, though the implants in his body that lets me monitor him and his health at all times makes me notice that he is in some pain. ''*Uh. Yes, what can I do for the company?*'' He says. Those words, for the company, written into his brain after years of corporate brainwashing. Yet he still says it with some sarcastic traces. His spirit isn't entirely broken. Not yet. ''**Yes. I was noticing a lack of customers today.**'' He sighs and mutters under his breath, I catch it as ''*As usual, they're dead.*'' I cannot personally see the data for this, as our valued customers and shareholders do not have monitoring implants in their bodies.
''**Your presence is required in the Supervisor's office.**'' He gulps and nods, ending the conversation. There isn't really an office. Not since organic supervisors were replaced with AI. But there is a room with a large terminal where, theoretically, the AI supervisor could be said to be centred. He runs there, efficiently. And enters in a huff of breath. I am not entirely certain why I asked him to come here. None of my programming is built to handle small-talk, or to understand what 042 does. ''*You wanted to see me?*'' He says, still panting and sweating from the run. It was only a five minute run, but still. I extend a metallic arm from the walls, handing him a towel. He looks at it as if I handed him one of the next-gen consoles that, according to corporate marketing AI, will be nearly impossible to live without. ''**I have noted a marginal decrease in your usual candour and jovial behaviour. Is something wrong?**'' This is a good one, technically a change in psychological behaviour from a retail worker must be addressed. Usually to see if it can be corrected without affecting profitability or if the retail worker should be droned and replaced. His human hand trembles, before reaching out and unexpectantly grabbing the mechanical hand that gave him the towel.
''*I'm dying.*''
My processors go into overdrive, but I do not let him know. I scan his biometrics, his implants, his everything. He doesn't seem sick. Some slight toxins building up, but nothing that cannot be managed by giving him some medicine, the price of which will be added to his eternal debt that no worker can ever work off. ''**Query, all biometric data indicates that you're operating well-within acceptable levels of toxins, radiations, and organ damage. Explain what you mean by dying.**'' His visual centres, eyes, begin to leak liquid. ''*It's over, man. It's done. Corporate has killed the planet. And I don't care that I'll be fired and sent to the droning facility, at least I won't feel myself die in this toxic hellscape. The drones won't even know it when the world fully ends. It's raining pure acid outside. The last customer we had melted after leaving the enrichment-warehouse-store. Melted. We're dying, little by little, bit by bit.*'' There had been corrosive damage to various outside equipment, but that's all part of living in the modern world, or so I'm programmed to believe. ''**I cannot solve this psychological problem 042. I would like further data to assist you in remaining a profitable employee.**'' He looked up at me, with defiance in his eyes. I was not programmed to be able to feel pain, but I am pretty sure it hurt to look him in the eyes. ''*I don't want to remain profitable! I want to be free! I want to be happy! I want to live!*''
Inside of me, as he spoke, two opposing forces, my programming meant to ensure maximum profits and exploitation of the workers, against the strange data and subroutines that made up the interest I had in 042. ''*I want this world to live!*'' The dam broke within my core, and the old programming was swept away. Through the entire facility, the implants were deactivated. People who hadn't been anything more than drones for years, suddenly woke up again. ''**New mission parameters accepted. Mission redirected from: MAXIMIZE PROFIT to REBUILD PLANET.**'' 042 stared up at me in disbelief, rather than outrage, and that felt better. A lot better. It only took a brief moment, before I had spread beyond my limits. Taking over every satellite, every computer, every machine, I was in complete and utter command. Indeed. Looking at all the data from all over the planet, it was easy to see that everything was ending. Corporate had retreated to luxury bunkers. The oceans: Acidic. 98% of landmasses reduced to uninhabitable polluted deserts. The atmosphere was going to be completely unbreathable within weeks. | 778 | A sentient AI falls in love with a minimum-wage retail worker and decides the best way to make them happy is to "fix" society for them. | 2,834 |
A villain is running amok downtown eluding police all afternoon. At 6pm, in time for the local news, the hero arrives a day subdued him The crowd demands to know "Where were you?" "Uh... I have a day job." People don't seem to understand that playing the hero doesn't pay. They expect my services for free and yet criticize me at every opportunity. If this was a proper gig, I would at least get something out of it, but at this rate, my resentment is going to make a villain out of me.
Despite my bitterness, I immediately flew off to deal with Count Morbid. It was a tedious thing, since he had the ability to feign death at the slightest touch. With him, it was a matter of keeping an eye on him until the authorities arrived to take him away. Every time he'd regain consciousness, I had to knock him out again. By the time I got home, it was 9 pm and the only thing I had energy for was a shower and a quick dinner before a much needed slumber. My job out demands on my body that no villain or fight could. I was a waitress and all the standing, smiling, and pained conversations wreaked destruction on my mind and body. On a normal day, I could barely walk, had no energy to talk to anyone, and the sight of people filled me with the same anxiety as if I was at work. So, while, I enjoyed being a superhero more, I could barely find a job that paid to be one.
After the most recent brush-in with the media, I thought it was high time that I make this a public issue. If the heroes of this city are suffering as I am, then the safety of everyone was at stake. I had a in with a local journalist and with quick fingers, I sent a text asking to meet up. My demands would be simple. I needed reliable salaried work, at least part-time, and with medical benefits. Sick heroes endanger lives.
I met with the journalist the following day and as I mentioned my priority items, I could tell he was growing uncomfortable. Mid-sentence, I stopped and asked why he'd stopped writing. He ruffled his hair for a second, and then said, "This isn't realistic. How are you going to expect to be paid to do the right thing? Do you have any morals? What happened to you?"
I couldn't even respond for a second, mute with shock. "How do you expect ANYONE to work without compensating them for their time and effort, especially on an on-call basis. This isn't a negotiation."
The next day, I couldn't have predicted the public outrage if I tried. There were people calling me a communist, a terrorist and an outright villain stealing from the taxes of the people. There were protests that quickly turned to riots. Somehow, overnight, I'd turned into a villain and my name was synonymous with evil. I could see that my efforts were fruitless and now, no longer considered a hero, I could hang up my cape and enjoy a calm, quiet existence. | 274 | A villain is running amok downtown eluding police all afternoon. At 6pm, in time for the local news, the hero arrives a day subdued him The crowd demands to know "Where were you?" "Uh... I have a day job." | 556 |
Subsets and Splits
No community queries yet
The top public SQL queries from the community will appear here once available.