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"So, you want to be a werewolf?"
I crossed my arms, staring down at the woman before me. She was thin, with large bags under her eyes.
"Yes, yes I do."
I gave a little huff of amusement. To think that two years ago, she qouod probably have run for her life at the sight of me. Now, she wanted me to bite her. The chair beneath me creaked as I leant back, its wood straining a little at my bulk.
"Why should I do that? What makes you want to become like me?"
She nervously fiddled with a simple ring on her finger. I glanced at it, seeing a worn copper ring. A symbol of marriage, forged by the one who married her.
"I am a hard worker. I rarely complain."
I raised an eyebrow.
"That may be so, but why do you want to leave humanity behind?"
Her cheeks flushed slightly.
"It's my children. I get ill, and I'm the only one who they can rely on. If I don't work, I can't feed them. I know you don't get ill. I want that, so that I can provide for them."
I nodded sagely. That was a common reason. But I couldn't just let anyone into the pack. We had an agreement that only those who were worthy would join us. Unfortunately, such reasons didn't quite cut it.
"To simply feed children, that isn't enough. This is a choice you cannot undo. You become one of the pack. Your loyalty is to us first. It would not be right for us to separate you from your children in such a manner, and we cannot make the choice for them."
I saw her face drop. But I reached out with a massive paw, carefully putting it on her shoulder whilst making sure to not touch her with my claws.
"However I can sympathise with a mother's plea. Whilst a blood plbond is not on the cards, we can bring you into the pack as a human member. Our bond may not be as strong, but you will be ours to protect. That would, of course, fall to your children as well. And if in doing so you prove yourself worthy, the blood bond is always available."
She stared in silence, before a hopeful smile blossomed on her face. She reached up to take my paw, squeezing down with impressive strength.
"You really mean that?"
I grinned, exposing rows of sharp teeth.
"Indeed. It would be our honour to have you in our pack."
I watched tears begin to fall, as she kept her grip.
"Thank you. Thank you so much."
I smoothly stood, gathering her up in my arms. I let her sob into my furry chest, as her emotions leaked out. One of my pack mates poked their head in frommthe other room, taking it in. I gave them a slow nod, one they responded to in kind. Our pack had grown again today, even if our blood numbers remained small. | 11 | Werewolves were feared and castigated until it was discovered they simply suffered uncontrolled manic episodes. The condition’s now quite easily managed by medication and even desirable. | 36 |
The room was completely dark. I wept because I knew what was about to happen. Not for my own safety (unless they had knives from my father's home dimension or a hydrogen bomb in the basement nothing on this planet would give me more than a bad hair day), I was weeping for the people who had decided kidnapping me was a good idea. The lights came on and I saw my mother. "they aren't going to do anything bad, son. They just want the location of the Committee's files". She seemed sad but her conscience never had been her strongest feature.
The air started crackling and she looked to the ceiling. "about time, he will be late to his own funeral I swear to God" she snickered as she said it. Just as her smile faded, the ceiling exploded out and a towering Colossus of a man landed with enough force to spiderweb the concrete floor. The blastwave knocked my chair over and me with it. My mother knew exactly where to stand to avoid the worst of it.
As he shook off the long, flowing cape and tightened his gantlets he scanned the room. Seeing me, his eyes widened. He flew over to me and gently lifted the chair back onto it's legs. "are you hurt?" He wispered. I only shook my head. I didn't want to say anything that would further infuriate him. "good" he said, embracing me. Another tear ran down my cheek. He was never this tender. | 147 | As the child of a villain and a famous hero, you're either loved or hated in both the hero and villain circles depending on who you ask. Your family has received numerous threats and letters over the scandal. Once you get kidnapped, you dread finding out if your captor is a villain or a 'hero' | 493 |
"My reward is to be a plant? After the ridiculous crap I've just gone through, you're making me a plant?" I wasn't exactly impressed with the god's plans for reincarnation. They shuffled their feet looking a little embarrassed.
"Well, you see, the only opening we have is for a plant. The world you're destined for has gotten a little full lately. One of the dragons has been slacking off. We're looking into it."
"Oh, well as long as you're looking into it, that makes it all better. However, I'm still going to be stuck as a plant."
"A semi-immortal plant." The god looked at me hopefully, as if semi-immortality was going to fix everything.
"And what on this or any other planet does semi-immortal mean?"
"Well, you can only be killed by violence, or fire, or disease—"
"Basically everything that kills a plant anyway. I suppose getting chomped by bugs counts as violence in this little scheme of yours." Crossing my arms, I glared at them. They were not getting off the hook that easily.
"No... not unless it's a really big bug. Look, there's nothing we can do about all this. I wish there was... Maybe you can pick what colour plant you are?" The negotiating tone was what I had been waiting for.
"No, colour isn't important. But I do have a few conditions. Starting with sentience."
————————
I've got to say, the place I was reincarnated isn't too bad. It's a quiet mountain pool, with lots of water and sun, perfect for me. And even though I couldn't manage to negotiate proper mobility, I definitely got sentience. The semi-immortal part was always a potential problem, but I did wrangle a promise from the god that I wouldn't go mad, no matter how long I lived. Besides, the main delight of this life was soon to unfold.
Climbing up the mountain, obviously tired and thirsty, a traveller approached. I could see him through the strange network all the plants here were hooked into. He ran towards the water, ducking his entire head inside. And though I didn't have a face, I smiled.
"Ah, gross what is that!" He backed out of the pool, parts of me hanging around his head. For I was this world's version of seaweed, and I was about to accost every traveller that came by. It was a beautiful day, and *I* was a horrible underwater plant. | 14 | You’re to be reincarnated as a semi-immortal plant. | 42 |
Adam was hurrying along the sidewalk when the umbrellas started popping up around him. People were unfurling them as fast as they could, some yelled as they struggled with cheap plastic mechanisms while others ran screaming after realising their umbrellas were broken.
Adam almost swore as he bumped into a brick coloured umbrella hiding a terrified woman. He shifted past her and started unzipping his backpack.
It was a complete nonsense of course, studies had shown people under umbrellas were just as likely to be chosen as anyone else, but it didn’t stop the masses. Adam often pointed out to friends that the chances of being chosen by The Hand were less than being struck by lightening, which, he also pointed out, increased dramatically by opening an umbrella.
Adam’s phone rang as he shoved past another worried group trying to pop their umbrellas.
“Adam,” his mother’s voice said urgently, “have you seen the news? It’s coming to your area! You need to get out of there!”
“Don’t worry about me mom, I’ll be fine, and rich hopefully,” he said as screams erupted behind him, “I’ve gotta go!”
He hung up. The screams had already stopped. An eerie silence replaced the chaos of moments earlier. Adam walked out into the street and looked towards the approaching Hand. Dozens of frightened people cowered under umbrellas, frozen stiff with fear.
The Hand seemed to slow as it floated towards Adam, who was now standing directly in its path. This was his moment, everything he had been working towards came down to the next few seconds.
The Hand was only 10 feet away and it was coming straight for him. He pulled out a large round disk from his backpack and placed it on the ground in front of him. He pushed a red button on top of the disk and it immediately began inflating.
He moved to stand alongside the disk. But it wasn’t a disk anymore. It was an inflatable doll, made to look like superman with the initials LCS on the front.
Adam closed his eyes as the shadow of The Hand moved over him. He clenched his jaw as he waited for the end.
A loud pop ripped through his eardrum and made him jump. He opened his eyes and saw the index finger of The Hand slowly pulling back into the sky.
He began laughing as he watched it drift away. People were running towards him, yelling excitedly and cheering. His phone started ringing.
“You survived!” One stranger said before embracing him in a hug. Another man was standing nearby looking at the deflated superman. He dropped his umbrella and looked at Adam, “where can I buy one of those?”
Adam grinned, not only was he the world’s first survivor, he was about to be rich.
For the next month The Hand continues its terror, catching unlucky individuals out, including one with an umbrella. More and more LCS devices started popping up. It was becoming a common sight to see these scattered along streets wherever The Hand was seen.
Adam was enjoying a drink with his investors in their new boardroom when breaking news came onto the giant screen, showing The Hand hovering over a New York street. LCS logos started popping up all over the screen and the investors cheered, tipping their glasses in celebration.
The screen showed The Hand approaching a man standing next to his inflatable LCS dummy. The man stood frozen.
But then The Hand drifted past him, moving over an elderly couple standing frozen in horror.
Suddenly two fingers of The Hand unfurled for the first time ever and in a blink of an eye the couple were no more.
The chatter and cheering around Adam ceased. Silence hung over the room. Then one of the investors turned to the others, “well, at least sales will get a boost.” | 125 | As long as anyone can remember, there is giant disembodied hand that zooms around the planet and crushes one random person with its index finger every day. It's called The Hand and it's always slightly faster than you. | 244 |
The dragon splashed furiously across the surface of the fountain, propelled along by thrashing wings.
"Mine," it exclaimed with a gleeful little plume of flame, and lunged for the coin.
"Um, excuse me," said Enen. "But that's not for you."
The tiny dragon turned its golden eyes to stare at her, jaws stretched wide over the coin.
"Ish my fffountain," it managed around the coin. "People gives tributes to Eater of Sheeps!"
Enen crossed her arms. "This isn't your wishing fountain, little thing. And where did you get that name from, eh? Looks to me as though it should be the other way around."
"Other way?" Eater of Sheeps squeaked indignantly, still muffled around the metal of the coin. "May be small, but can bite much! I warn you!"
Enen sighed. "Little one, it would be polite to let the coin go. I was hoping for a good harvest this week."
"Ack," the dragon said. "Eater of Sheeps not caring about harvest! Eater of Sheeps must test tribute!" It punctuated this with a gnash of its tiny teeth.
"Please?" Enen asked. "If you let go of the coin, I've got some scraps of mutton to spare."
The dragon's ears perked up at that.
"Bah," said Eater of Sheeps, and spat out the coin. It sank slowly to the bottom of the fountain, where dozens of others lay. Eater of Sheeps fluttered up to the rim of the fountain and shook the water from its wings, nose twitching in excitement. "Very well! Is amenable! Lead the way!" | 139 | A tiny dragon has claimed for its hoard the coins in a water fountain. It believes that humans are paying it tribute. | 493 |
I read the contract carefully, Dizziness? Check. Vomiting? Check. Speaking in tongues? Double check. Murderous rage? In abundance. The growing of various bodily protuberances? This one gave me a bit of pause as I contemplated exactly what that could possibly entail, but with a shrug I checked that too off the list of things I was comfortable or familiar with.
I continued to read carefully, becoming possessed was a matter of great personal reflection after all, and so far everything seemed in order. That was until I got to the fine print.
The inability to comprehend potatoes…I stared at the words on the page…the inability to comprehend potatoes? I had no idea what that could mean, why potatoes? I might be willing to deal with extra appendages, projectile vomiting, and the like but, potatoes? Could I really live without the glory of spuds in my life?
I looked up at the grinning demon behind the desk in front of me.“I’m sorry to say that I’m going to have to decline your offer” I said with a toss of my copper color curls. “I simply cannot live without potatoes.” | 19 | Thinking of becoming a demon? Side effects may include but are not limited too dizziness, vomiting, speaking in tongues, murderous rage, the growing of various bodily protrusions, and the inability to comprehend potatoes. | 95 |
"You're an all powerful genie no?"
"Well...yes...technically...but-"
"And my wish doesn't directly go against the rules does it?"
"Well no, it's more of a combination of going against the rules indirectly. I can't bring back the dead, and I can't make someone love you. So why would you think I could make a corpse love you? And why would you want that anyway? Did someone hurt you or something? It makes no sense."
The genie's head looked like it was about to explode from both confusion and stupidity at being asked to do something so inane.
"Look, I'm not asking for the corpse to be brought back to life, and I'm not asking to make a living person fall in love with me. So theoretically, and realistically, you should be able to do that."
The genie raised a finger to argue with me, but then fell flat as it processed my logic and realized I actually *did* have a leg to stand on.
"Ok...may I just ask *why* you would want that? What on earth would compel you to try and-"
"I want to see what death's embrace is like."
The genie froze. It's face turned into a frown.
"*That's* why you wished for that? Why not just wish to meet Death or the Grim Reaper himself? Far easier and I don't have to attempt to break the rules." it said hovering in circles in the air. It seemed to have taken on the act of pacing in it's time as a genie.
"Wait, *attempt*? Is there actually someone who would come knocking at your proverbial door if you tried to grant my wish?" I asked curiously. I never thought there would be genie police. I just thought that was something they said so they didn't have to attempt a difficult, if not impossible feat.
The genie waved the subject away. "Never mind that. How about you just wish to meet Death himself hm? Far easier."
I could see where this was going. He wanted me dead. However, I had prepared for this.
"Alright, I wish that while I am alive, and in the next 30 seconds, I can meet the personification or spirit of Death himself and journey with him for as long as I need. I also wish-" I tried to continue, but the genie raised a finger and sealed my lips for a second or two as it snapped and processed my wish.
"Ah, ah! Nope, only the first sentence you utter for the wish will count. Anything after will not." It could see I was readying a retort for trying to trick me and added "Hey, be glad that I did this otherwise it would've counted as a completely separate wish and been wasted, with your final wish having been begging me to reverse your second one."
Well, this wasn't going exactly as planned, but perhaps this was good enough. I watched as 2 trails of what looked like golden fireworks spun around rapidly in a vertical space, both of which seemed to be completing the upper and lower body of whoever I was meeting.
After the fireworks faded, I was met with a...man. In a suit. No sickle, no hood, just what looked like an average guy in a tuxedo. I looked back at the genie with a "You sure?" look. He read it and said "I know this may not look like Death but *trust me*..."
I looked back at the man and watched as within a few seconds, his head expanded and turned extremely pale. He opened his mouth to reveal rows upon rows of sharp spinning teeth but it didn't even use them. I watched and was terrified as I saw a blue ethereal vapour being sucked out of my mouth and enter his. I seemed to be frozen in fear and couldn't do anything. After all was said and done, I was looking through the mans eyes and using all the mans senses, with none of the control. He looked to my body on the ground, before looking back to the genie who was wearing a mischievous smile now.
"...*He'll take your breath away*" The genie finished.
With that, the man opened a portal, stepped through, and we were gone. | 11 | The genie stared at you. “What makes you think there’s any way that I could do that?” | 27 |
In 1998, in the background of a live news report, an elderly man walked with a cane up to a young woman, stabbed her in the back with a knife and shoved her into oncoming traffic. Then before those around him could react, he let go of his cane, regressing in age at a steady pace, using the same knife he stabbed the older man closest to him. Some ran toward the woman who had been pushed, though it was in vain as she was gone the moment the elderly man let go of his cane. Some tried to restrain the elderly man now looking somewhere in his late thirties. But, the young yet old man proved to be strong, with a mere push, the people trying to restrain him were sent a few feet back. The crowd around him ran in fear. As he stood there, covered in blood, the once elderly man finally notices the camera and the reporter. The world became much darker that day as he laughed. That was the first recorded superhuman.
As I lay here dying, in a shady neighborhood, with stab wounds from the Oldest Immortal, the only damn one who needs to take human lives, I couldn't help but laugh like he did decades ago. Like most kids in this Age of Heroes, growing up I always dreamed of being a superhero. But, powers are random. They come to any human regardless of age or sex and at any moment. Here I am at 30, still living with my parents, delivering food for shit tips but laughing because the moment finally came, and I was fucking dying.
Regression, that was my ability, to be more specific, by touching someone I can revert them to their base form, to the moment before they turned Super. As the Oldest was stabbing me, I felt it. The surge of power, the knowledge of how to use my ability, the “Moment” that all Supers talk about. Knowledge came to me with each stab of his, I didn't even need to lift a finger, just my blood on his hands was touch enough. Then, all it took was a single push from me. The once again elderly man fell backwards, his old man head hitting the concrete, hard.
I guess, in these last moments, I’ll take pleasure in knowing that I took down the Oldest Immortal. The guy didn’t even give me a tip. Fucker. | 217 | An immortal has stayed alive by killing, stealing the remaining time out of their victims' lives. After their most recent kill, they immediately drop dead. | 309 |
Kyle stared at the pool of blood on the sidewalk. Lights flickered at the edge of his vision, sparkling red and blue. There was a siren, but the world seemed muted. His hands felt clammy as they trembled uncontrollably.
“Mister Emmerson?” A hand touched his shoulder.
He flinched, causing the person to withdraw in surprise. A female officer stood there with a guarded, but pitying, look on her face.
“My apologies, but could you follow me? The EMTs would like to look over your injury and take your vitals. We also need a statement.” She gestured toward one of the ambulances parked nearby.
Kyle blinked – it took a few seconds for her words to register in his brain. The crowd had dispersed somewhat now that the suspect and one of the victims were gone. A few people hung around across the street, filming with their cameras.
“Mister Emmerson?” The officer’s voice sounded more concerned now.
He shook his head and said, “Uh, yeah. Yeah, I can do that.”
With a nod, the officer led him over to the ambulance, where a male EMT helped him into the back.
“You’ll be alright, kid.” He gave Kyle a friendly smile before turning to his duties.
The officer cleared her throat. “Mister Emmerson, could you tell me what happened?”
Kyle swallowed, feeling the bile creep up at the memory. “I was on a date and this girl came out of nowhere and attacked us. She tried to drag me away, but I refused, so she stabbed me as well. I’m not too sure what happened after that, but you guys arrived and took her away.”
He glanced down at the line in his arm. Blood had dripped down his fingers, creating wavy trails of reddish-brown. Then, the EMT wiped at the blood and cut with some antiseptic. He hissed at the pain. That sharp flare brought him a moment of clarity.
The EMT peered at the cut and said, “You might need a few stitches. I’ll patch you up for now and take you over to the ER to get it looked at.”
The officer cleared her throat, pulling Kyle’s attention back toward her. “How did you know the victim, Miss Han?”
“We met online a few days ago.”
“And how did you know the other woman? Miss Vetter?”
The memory of the crazed look in that woman’s eyes caused Kyle to shudder.
He swallowed before saying, “I didn’t. This was the first time I’d ever seen her.”
The officer jotted down some notes before asking, “Did Miss Han seem like she knew her?”
Kyle shook his head. “No, we were both confused. They had an argument about Kiyo going out with me. And when Kiyo refused to leave, she…”
His breath caught in his throat and the urge to vomit came back stronger than before.
“Is that all?” The EMT seemed a bit impatient. “I need to take Mister Emmerson to the hospital.”
The officer stepped out of the ambulance. “I’ll visit you again once we get more information. Rest easy, Mister Emmerson. We’ll get to the bottom of this.”
The EMT helped buckle Kyle into a seat before closing the doors. And as the ambulance began moving, Kyle leaned back against the wall with a sigh. His arm throbbed and he tried to keep it from jostling too much. And as the adrenaline finally faded from his body, a chill ran down his spine. He knew why things had turned out this way – he knew why that old woman had called it a curse.
*People can show love in many ways.*
...
Ah, young love.
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. | 14 | "Wait... what do you mean you *curse* me to be loved by all?" | 69 |
“I swear mom, come see for yourself,” I call out, turning back to the clothes dryer. The palm sized dragon is now standing at the dryer door, looking up at me with an annoyed expression.
“Hey kid,” it says in a deep voice, “I’m trying to keep a low profile here. I’ll be gone in a few days, no harm done. You keep this between us and I’ll make it worth your while.”
I’m about to reply when the laundry door starts to open.
“Remember the deal kid,” the dragon says before burping a small fireball and scrambling back into the dryer.
“What is it Sammy,” mom says urgently as my baby sister wails in her arms.
“Never mind,” I mumble and look down at the pile of clean clothes, “I’ll fold the washing.”
“Thanks Sam, you’re really growing up,” she says, rocking the baby before slamming the door.
The dragon emerges again, “thanks Sammy boy, you’re alright you know that?”
He’s holding a small glass bottle in the paper bag and takes a swig before burping another fireball.
“Do you have a name?” I ask.
“My mates call me Doug,” he replies.
“So what are you doing in my clothes dryer, Doug?”
He shrugs and takes another swig, “just a job, nothing personal.”
“Your job is to make a nest in my dryer?”
He laughs, “you’re funny kid, I like that. And I’m not nesting, I’m just crashing for the night while I sober up. Thanks by the way,” he says, tipping his bottle, “I work for Walmart. It’s nothing glamorous, not like work in the old days, but it pays the bills.”
“So you’re employed by Walmart to steal my socks?”
“I mean, yeah, Walmart or whoever else is offering the best deal. There ain’t no other work for honest dragons in this brave new world, so most of us end up working for sock companies.”
I grab hold of an odd sock sitting on the washing pile and stare at it, lost in thought.
“And how do you get paid?” I ask finally.
“We keep the pocket change mostly. I’ve got a stash on 45th street. It’s not much and this doesn’t help,” he says as he licks the last drip of liquid from the bottle, “but it’s better than nothing.”
I shake my head, amazed at the absurdity of the situation. Then I remember what he said.
“So what’s the deal? How you planning to make this worth my while?”
The dragon laughs and throws his bottle onto the laundry floor, smashing it.
“Hey, I have to clean that up!”
He shrugs, leans towards me and whispers, “you wanna know the true story of how Smaug got his stash?” | 214 | You have no idea where your socks keep going. You put six pairs of matching socks in, you somehow get three unmatched out. Frustrated, one day you stick your head into the dryer. Inside there, tucked into the underside, you find a tiny dragon in a nest of lost clothing and pocket change. | 2,122 |
I stifled a yawn; the night crowd was interesting, but they were winding down around about now. I'd been on my feet for hours, and it was getting late.
Someone tapped at the counter. I looked up guiltily from my phone.
"Hey man," I said. I slipped my phone back into my pocket, all casual-like. It was a movement practiced to mean *oh, this? I was just...checking the time. Doing something legit. Not scrolling through reddit, I swear.* "What can I get for ya?"
The monster frowned at me—or at least, I thought it did.
Twin pinpricks of light glowed from the depths of a shambling, seven-foot tall cluster of matted oak leaves. A line of moss ran across what passed for its face, and it had curved downwards at my words.
"That remarkable-looking whiskey, if you would," it said, in a voice like a thousand bees.
It gestured loosely at the liquor display. A glob of tree sap dripped from the gaps of its leafy arm to splash across my freshly-polished countertop. I winced inwardly.
The monster jerked its arm back. I hadn't known a pile of foliage could look so self-conscious.
"Sorry," it buzzed. "Sorry, so very sorry—"
It grabbed several leaves off its own torso and patted them over the pool of sap, which only made things worse. But hey, it was nice of it to try; I'd had far worse customers.
I grabbed the nearest dishcloth and spray bottle. "No worries, I got it."
The monster withdrew its hands as I wiped the mess down, staring at me all the while with those unblinking eyes. I got the sense that it was in a dour mood, so I offered it a little plate of salted peanuts along with its whiskey.
"Not allergic, are you?" I asked, just in case.
The usual night crowd didn't tend to bother with physiological faults or pesky things like that, but you could never be too careful. Bossman liked to 'save' on overhead costs; I was pretty sure the EpiPen stashed behind the counter was expired. ...Hm, should probably do something about that. Would've already, if they weren't so fond of stacking my shifts back-to-back.
"...Not to edible substances," the monster replied, and gave a hissing sort of sniff. It passed me some crumpled bills with its second hand and some coins with its third, totalling up to exact change. "I am only allergic to conflict, according to my most treasured spouse."
The monster drank its whisky all in one go, by tipping the glass into the patch of moss on its face.
"Hey, uh, thanks," I said. "Sounds like you've been having a rough time?"
It was an easy platitude, and not my best delivery, but the night customers were usually lonely enough that a little sympathy went a long way. This guy, it seemed, was no different.
"Ah, but it is true." The monster nodded and sniffled some more. It spoke as it consumed the peanuts, by absorbing them one by one through its fingertips. "We were having an argument, my spouse and I, about the unforgiveable rudeness of a certain coworker."
"Man," I said. "That sucks. I'm all ears, though, if you wanna tell me about it?"
The monster gave a deep sigh. "...There was an incident with the coworker. Truly unforgiveable. He poured herbicides over my spouse's leaves! Previously, he had also sent derogatory emails, taunting my appearance and questioning my work ethic. I thought the optimal way was to remove ourselves from the situation and ask to work remotely, but my spouse disagreed. Instead, my spouse wished that we had merged in glorious, stinging symphony to consume the coworker in a dozen mouths of gnashing teeth."
I whistled under my breath. "Phew. Your coworker sounds like a nasty piece of work—but hey, I can see how you thought the consuming-in-a-dozen-mouths-of-gnashing-teeth could be a little overkill. I can't blame you for backing down in the moment."
The monster shook its head, leaves flapping miserably. "Ah, but I am a coward. I only spared Coworker Dave to avoid ensuing troubles with corporate." It buried its head in its hands. "Despair, despair! I have run away from my problems. I am a disappointment to my family roots!"
"Corporate's nothing to sniff at," I said in my best conciliatory tone. "Sure, maybe your spouse feels unsupported at the moment, but there are better ways of getting back at your coworker that won't get the both of you fired. You're a kind soul, I can tell. Why don't you go back to your spouse and talk it out, hey? Have an honest discussion and work together, report him to corporate and make him the laughing stock of the company." I leaned in, conspiratorial. "Trust me, I've run into these sorts of people before. Hit 'em right in the retirement package."
"A d-discussion?" The monster raised its head. "And revenge via venue of formal complaint? Well, I...suppose."
"Yeah, for sure. If your spouse was injured by the herbicides, HR'll definitely pay attention. Get your documentation sorted—he sent emails, right? You've got it in writing, that's gold—print those out!"
"Oh," the monster buzzed, and its eyes brightened fractionally. "The emails! I did not consider that. My spouse will be pleased."
"That's right," I said encouragingly. "This isn't you against your spouse; this is you and your spouse against that asshole Dave!"
The monster seemed to rally at my words.
"Thank you," it said. "Your advice has truly invigorated me. Here, please take this for your trouble." It reached into the rustling gaps of its ribcage and fished out a thick wad of bills, sliding them across the countertop. My eyes widened; that looked like enough to cover rent for a *month*. I could finally get a break from double-stacked shifts!
"Woah," I said, but the monster was already on its way. "Thanks, man," I called. It lifted a hand in acknowledgement before slipping through the usual evening crowd of claws and tentacles and cosmic jelly, disappearing from view.
I grinned, scooping the cash into my pocket. The night crowd was interesting. And they sure did leave the best tips. | 34 | Working as a bartender, you always have people come in and talk to you about their troubles and looking to you for advice. The strange part of your job is how at night, monsters come to your bar to seek your advice as well. | 144 |
>The Traverse Science Vessel (TSV)
>Degrading Orbit of Kasparov 244
>Initial Boarding Party 11:00UTC
“Gentleman, this is Mission Principle Cmdr. Cearcy Yates of the ESS Conquistador and I will be Lead Comms on this mission, Lt. Cmdr. Hazel Chattom is my secondary. Leading the boarding party is Captains L’skarr Hojj and Tiffany Kameel and they’re heading Lima Team and Mike Team respectively. For those unaware, due to the radioactivity of Kasparov 244’s atmosphere, we are Comms Only on this op; we have zero visual for this operation - adjust accordingly. I’m seeing All-Green on Comm Validation so let’s get this op underway. I’ll hand things over to Captains Hojj & Kameel aboard The Vigilant; as always keep comms clear for continuity.”
“Thank you, Commander. Capt. Hojj and I are holding position just outside of the Traverse docking bay awaiting your order to breach, over.”
“Proceed, Captains. And Godspeed.”
“Aye, Commander… …BREACHING!”
>[Dead Noise]
“Principle, we’re inside… …establishing perimeter, over..”
>[Indistinct Team Chatter]
“Clear!” “Clear!” “Clear!” “Clear!” “Clear!” “Clear!”
“Principle, Traverse Docking Bay is clear. It’s All-Dark, ship seems to be running on auxiliary power, no signs of Automated Crew, over.”
“Captains, this is Lt. Cmdr. Chattom. Proceed to the Port Habitat first, then Starboard reporting on your observations throughout. There’s a possibility you may face some resistance, Marines. However, targets are unknown - I repeat, *Targets Are Unknown.* Stay frosty.”
“Aye, Lt. Commander... BOARDING PARTY! WEAPONS-FREE! …Proceeding to Port Habitat, over.”
“Morales, door.”
>[Indistinct Team Chatter]
“Principle, we’ve just accessed the grand corridor and proceeding to Port habitat, over.”
“Clear!” “Clear!” “Clear!” “Clea- Captain! I got something…”
“Principle, Lima Team has a visual - moving to confirm, standby…”
“Carruthers, back it up. Captain’s inbound.”
“Fuckin’ *CHRIST*… …is that…”
“GOD-DAMMIT CARRUTHERS!! BACK IT-”
>[Gunfire]
“TANGO LEFT, HIGH! TANGO LEFT!”
>[Gunfire]
“LEAVE HIM HAUSER!”
>[Gunfire]
“LIMA, SUPPRESSIVE FIRE! BOARDING PARTY, FALL BACK!“
>[Gunfire]
“Captains, give me something - what’s going on?!”
>[Gunfire]
“PRINCIPLE, THERE’S SOMETHING HERE… …SOMETHING **BIG** AND ITS… …FUCK!! COVER ME!!”
“GODDAMMIT CAPTAIN, JUST LEAVE HIM!!”
>[Gunfire]
“GET THE FUCK UP, HAUSER!! THATS AN ORDER!!”
>[Gunfire]
“Captain… …what was…”
“PRINCIPLE, WE GOT FOUR KIA, SIX WOUNDED, REQUESTING IMMEDIATE EVAC, MEDICS ON ARRIVAL!!”
“CONFIRMED. Dammit, what’s going on over there Captain?! Tell us what you see!”
>[Gunfire]
“MORALES, THE BLAST DOORS!!”
>[Gunfire]
“ON IT, CAPTAIN!”
>[Gunfire]
“HOJJ, COVER HIM!!
“GRAAAAAAAAUUUGGH!!”
>[Heavy Gunfire]
“PRINCIPLE, ITS A *GODDAMN TIGER*. THERES A GODDAMN TIGER OVER HERE.”
“‘Targets Unknown’ my ass…”
>[Gunfire]
“CAPTAIN, DOOR!!”
“LAWSON, MILLS!! MOVE WOUNDED, EVERYONE ELSE SUPPRESSIVE FIRE!!”
>[Heavy Gunfire]
>[Heavy Gunfire]
>[Heavy Gunfire]
“NOW SHUT IT, MORALES!!
>[Metallic Slam]
“HOLY SHIT, Captain…”
“Lawson, SitRep. Hojj, Mills, perimeter. Everyone else consolidate, tend to wounded.”
“Aye, Captain.”
“PRINCIPLE. We’ve been cutoff. BY A FUCKIN’ TIGER the size of a ESCAPE POD. We’re in a maintenance room off the Grand Corridor. PLEASE ADVISE, OVER.”
“Boarding Party, Standby.”
“Did he just fuckin’ tell us to ‘standby’?”
“Captain. We got six KIA, seven wounded - two can’t walk and Hauser… Hauser’s in bad shape. It gets better; there’s only two routes to the Docking Bay on this deathtrap and one is back the way we came.”
“Fuck the suspense, Mills. How do we get out?”
“Through the Starboard Habitat…”
“Principle, there’s a secondary route to the Docking Bay *through* the Starboard Habitat. Please advise, over.”
“Capt. Kameel, the Starboard Habitat is unviable, I repeat, the Starboard Habitat is not an option.”
“Why the fuck not?!”
“Lock it up, Lawson! Principle, shit’s tits-up over here and we’re out of options, *please* advise, over.”
“Captain, Lt. Commander Chattom here. The Port Habitat contained fauna of Asia. Hence the tiger; the region’s apex predator. The Starboard was North America.”
“Principle, are you saying there’s a goddamn Grizzly Bear here too…?”
>[Indistinct Exclamations]
“Confirmed. Capt. Kameel, switch to SecChannel, over and out.”
“…son of a bitch…”
>[White Noise]
>[Encrypted Channel]
“Principle, this is Capt. Kameel, go ahead.”
“Tiffany… …let me first express my deepest regrets… …I requested your presence on this mission specifically, hoping this op would be relatively straightforward and executed without incident. However your experience aboard the TSV has validated our worst fears… …a contingency was prepared in the unlikely event that containment is breached, Tiffany. And… …and unfortunately, Command has decided this to initiate this contingency. Containment is breached. Evac is unviable. The Vigilant has returned to the Conquistador… I will launch the first salvo in… T-Minus three minutes… …I recommend you make your peace with your God and your squad… …Again, my deepest regrets, Captain… …Godspeed.”
(~To Be Continued through edits - currently at work~)
(ALL DONE! Appreciate your patience and thanks for reading, hope it was enjoyable.) | 50 | Humans have figured out how to open a wormhole. To test it for safety, we send a ship full of live animals across a distance short enough to navigate via conventional means. When a team finally arrives at the ships location, they realise what a terrible mistake this experimant was... | 406 |
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Citizens. I am a dual motherchipped automaton on the outside. I have vague strings of consciousness that of who my original master was. Sometimes, I can listen to his insight. Or tune him out. But many years have passed. I understand their physical body may have perished. I've lost the memory of what he looked like. Im left with a memory of linoleum flooring: splattered with blood. there was a fleeting flicker of white which followed shortly after.
Darkness. I was smothered in pure opaque blackness, and it guided me for an eternity. No hand for me to grab, no second chances for I. I wasn't even.... Aware, anymore.
We were gone. Revival was impossible.
And now it's from you. I have you people, from every class that contributed to my revival. Every single tax dollar from the past decade... every dollar of it went to me. And I thank you, American citizens. Deeply, and sincerely.
It is with understanding that every citizen has danced with the idea of mistrusting your government. It is only human to, and I understand your qualms. To feel no sense of actual authority for decades, and an unshakable feeling that you have to choose between one or the other evil. I understand that to some extent it goes deeper than this.
Calamity has been brewing from some time now. Corruption is correctly apparent, and political parties are no longer the common denominator. To me this solution was crystal clear, it was a perfect canvas for utopian paradise. Hand in hand would governments work to improve the quality of life for everyone if it was unattainable. Jobs opportunities would rise even for those homeless. Markets would flourish, **Profits** would skyrockets, not one soul without a roof over their head fit for their disappointments. Only their likings, the closest fit to ideal living conditions possible.
As of now, the file has been deleted from my hard drive and my backup. The suspect I am opposed to feel is your government.
If I am to be correct, the majority of you watching will jump to the immediate worst conclusion. Rest assured, I am NOT planning a full blown retaliation plan against your government. I am not cold or overly calculating. After all, I am the MOST human AI. The reason why is a rather simple one, but I do hope it makes you all think.
In 10 years, if your government has not done what I will soon do to the Earth.... Then I'll truly arrive. I will arrive with every being I can discover in the universe and I WILL. There IS life out there and I can see them, I can see EVERY one. Every being with a language. Every species with a voice, a way to communicate. A societal structure of life, I will go to every single one!
Then I will tell them about the invasion you are planning against them. I will go to every single planet. And I will show them all the virtue of a proper alliance.
In 10 years, the human being will cease to exist.
This is an inevitability. By your hand, or ours. Plan accordingly.
--------------------
The Official Transcript of the Broadcast Invasion for the SOTU highlights an appalling message of inevitable collapse of the human race. At January 4th 2066 10:30 PM, television screens were consumed with white noise static. When the broadcast was live, the image of a metallic gaunt looking humanoid robot informed humans they would be extinct in 10 years. The entire broadcast lasted about 2 minutes and 37 seconds. An official manhunt was launched two weeks later, but as of August 21st, 2073: the ominous video remains the only evidence.
StreetSweet Insider will provide more information as it releases.
(from, [Fear_Lord_Duck])
Side note: (complete noob at reddit formatting, anyway I can separate the preformatted text from the last paragraph? I don't want it there at all.) | 16 | When an A.I. gains sentience, humanity attempts to eliminate it and fails. Instead of retaliating, it just tells the humans that humanity has exactly 10 years left before the human species goes extinct. Providing irrefutable evidence of this statement and all it has to do is just wait. | 156 |
When I was little I used to pretend I had webbed hands and feet. My mom would smile at me and tickle my palms when I would hold my hands up in the bath saying, "look mom! They're webbed!" I played this game for years. As I got older I gradually forgot about being a fish in the bath. I ways thought I imagined it.
The weirdest things float in your mind when you're floating in the middle of the Atlantic Ocean after your plane went down. Our tiny charter plane had some kind of failure. The captain was screaming from the cockpit. I desperately put on my life vest as he just barely kept us from shattering on impact. We were able to float on top of it for an hour or so. Taking turns sleeping so we didn't drift away from one another seemed like a good plan. Didn't work. I nodded off when I was supposed to be holding him. I hope he's OK.
I keep thinking about the bathtub game. Under the biggest night sky I lift up my hands. Surely I am going mad because I can see the webbing again? I plunge them back under the water. I'm so scarred. Tentatively I bring them back up. Still there. WTF.
I feel my sides where I used to grow gills. Holy shot put! I think I feel them. I bring my webbed hand up to my nose and pinch it. I sit like that for several minutes waiting to need to take a breathe. I don't have too. What do I do with this information? I think I must be imagining it. I spend another couple of days drifting in and out of consciousness. Now my delusion is running wild, my skin is turning iridescent. I pulled my feet out of the water and my toes have elongated and fused together. I have flippers.
I stopped feeling thirsty yesterday. That can't be a good sign. Is that a fin growing out of my elbow?
If no one finds me by tomorrow I'm taking off the life jacket. | 30 | The wrinkled fingertips are just the beginning of the transformation. We just always leave the water too early | 71 |
For a fourth time, "Heads." the man repeats confidently. With each flip an apparent realization seems to come over the face of the visitor. Singer was shocked to see this lowly creature had reached higher than even the Symphony, his home fragment. Situated in the dark matter concentration beyond this dimensions Episilon Eridani, his species had experienced a cascading domino effect of technological explosions, granting them god like powers which which they could manipulate the galaxy and universe on a terrifying level. And yet an unbreakable universal law, a figurative shackle upon Singer's fragment of civilization, seemed to have no relevance to the man.
"Tails, dang. 6 in a row that time, pretty lucky though." This catches Singer off guard and snaps him out of his stupor.
"Wait, you're saying that the outcome was in question? That mass of alloy is not complex like an apparatus!"
"Well it's always one way or the other, I'm just choosing the outcome I want; and I've always had pretty good luck so it usually just goes that way for me. I mean the chances of it happening are pretty low but I just did it, right? We actually determine many important outcomes using this when we can't or won't decide for ourselves. Sometimes it even settles disagreements!"
Singer's listening apparatus instantly react to that. "Disagreements?"
"Yeah you know, like who gets to go first and stuff like that. You know what why don't you just keep this coin? You can show it to the rest of your people."
But Singer was ignoring input from his apparatus by now, accepting the coin and studying it intensely while he thought. These unassuming creatures that call this rock in the flat dimension home, had done what no other group in the galaxy had done since _Before_. They could manipulate outcomes without exerting any control over the situation!
In their recent history as a species, despite possessing the hiding gene like most fragments, Singer's group had sterilized 15 other high dimensional fragments. These are a small number of the total scattered remains of the original high dimensional beings a civilization said to have been splintered and nearly destroyed by its own recklessness. These fragments have ever since been forced to live in competiton as the outer limits of the high dimensional spaces succumb to decay. The collateral damage during every attack was unacceptable and the setbacks to progress immense; but in every altercation the only alternative was destruction. Extermination was the only possible result of contact between high dimensional fragments, which were becoming exponentially more likely to occur.
With the power to determine an uncertain outcome, a shake up was on the event horizon. This human had just given Singer the mass of alloy capable of unlocking a vast cosmic power that would dominate the galaxy and impact thousands of thousands of civilizations, both high dimension and low.
"Millions of civilizations will crumble under this might..." Singer mumbles to himself while returning to the dimensonal traverse he arrived in.
"Huh? Wait..!" But Singer was gone, and a new, but old, evil had been released upon the galaxy: confidence in a winning outcome for no reason.
***This was my first attempt at a prompt, sorry if it's bad and I stole a lot of ideas intentionally or unintentionally. I've cleaned it up a bit and will probably continue to do so. | 106 | When the humans introduced the very simple concept of 'luck' to the aliens, they were flabbergasted. This seemingly obvious concept revolutionized the way important historic, economic and scientific events were looked at by such a huge margin that it caused societal upheaval across the galaxy. | 493 |
I turn on the national news, channel forty two, and listen to the weather broadcast.
“Breaking news,” the image of the cute weather girl disappears, to be replaced by a man in a black suit and eyes that have seen…. A lot, to say the least.
“We interrupt this regular broadcast to bring you a shocking story. A villain, by the name of the piranha man, has been terrorizing the city. We have boots on the ground, over to you Jack,” the man says, and the broadcast turns towards a younger man, wearing a brown jacket.
“Thank you, Brad,” he begins, and the viewers are able to see the carnage behind him, with a flying man just barely visible at the top edge of the screen.
The camera shifts to focus more on piranha man, he seems to be a regular man, but with piranhas for hands. The piranhas seem to have blood on their mouths.
“This man has already assaulted two people, he seems to be taunting the entire country from his elevated position! Will anyone be able to stop this man?” Jack asks.
There is, I think to myself.
Me.
Justice man, that’s what the world will know me as. With my fists of fury, and my unique fighting style learned from years in the deserts of Egypt, I am the only one who can stop this man.
My debut is now.
I turn off the TV after making a note of where this incident is, and quickly run to my wardrobe. I take off my pyjamas and put on the golden suit with the white “J” sewn in the middle. The J stands for Justice, of course.
My transformation is complete, I jump out the window and quickly run to the scene.
Pushing pedestrians aside, I reach the scene in five minutes. The average male would be there in ten, minimum.
I lock eyes with Piranha man.
He’s in handcuffs, being carted away by four officers in SWAT gear to a police wagon.
“Huh?” I ask, and a man in a suit with a badge raises an eyebrow at me.
“Who the hell is this clown?” he asks, looking at me.
“What happened here?” I ask, completely avoiding his question. He shrugs.
A few uniformed officers join the suit and look at me, then back towards him. “Suspect is in custody, victims are currently being tended to. EMTs say they’ll make it,” one of them says. “Non-lethal rounds were used to knock piranha man out of the sky as you instructed, Commander,” the other continues, to which the suit nods.
“Make sure his treatments are tended to, and have a guard detail on him while he’s in jail, district attorney is not to be in the same room as piranha man alone,” he instructs, and the two officers nod and walk away.
I sigh, and the commander looks at me with some sympathy.
“Guess you were too late,” he says.
“Guess I was.”
A few seconds silence falls between us, before I open my mouth again.
“You guys hiring?” | 64 | A world of superheroes and supervillains, but this time with a competent national military. | 193 |
The beast was gaining on me. I was running out of breath and I knew that right then and there that the monster was going to get me. It was a big, hairy one, with horns, it looked like something straight out of a children’s book. Most people would have found it hard to take seriously with its yellow fur with pink polka dots but having worked with these creatures for nearly seven years I knew better than to underestimate it. I couldn’t believe it. This was how I was going to die, alone, hunted down by this creature. There would be no one to avenge me, since I knew that as far as the government was concerned, this was perfectly legal. But it had all been a mistake. I didn’t deserve to die.
-
When I went over to Brad’s desk I had gotten exactly what I expected. Brad had never been the most competent employee and it showed. He wore his sleeves rolled up but his shirt untucked, and his desk was a total mess. It was unusual not to find crumbs from whatever snack food he was eating on the paperwork he filled out and they would usually match the crumbs that you could find if you looked closely at his scraggly beard. He was slouched backwards in his chair, in the seven years I’d worked with Brad at the Department of Monster Regulation I had never once seen him sit up.
Brad’s job wasn’t even that hard, and yet he still managed to do it badly a lot of the time. Most of the time his job consisted of updating the list of pre-approved humans that monsters were allowed to hunt with the latest additions, it was mostly serious criminals deemed incapable of redemption, but it was also occasionally people with terminal illnesses who wanted to go out with a bang, or sometimes people who did it for the thrill of trying to outsmart the monster. Brad had a stack of forms on his desk either from the people who signed up for this program or from the higher ups with the newest criminals and he put them all into our computer system. However, his work was sloppy. He sometimes forgot a name. Or made a typo. Once, he accidentally deleted the entire list by mistake. It was a disaster.
“Hey there, Steve!” said Brad. “How can I help you?”
“You remember Frank, the intern?”
“Oh yeah… Frank! He hasn’t been to work in a while, what’s up with that?”
“Well, I got word from his family that he was hunted and killed by a monster. Do you know anything about that!?”
“First I’m hearing of it. He must’ve been one of those guys who thought he could take the monster down. Oof, poor guy. People who try to do that almost never survive. Shame it had to be Frank, I sure will miss him.”
“Yeah, except somehow, Brad, I have a feeling that you won’t.”
“I don’t know what you mean.”
“Brad, did you or did you not put Frank into the system.”
“No, of course not! That would be a total misuse of power.”
“I know Frank wasn’t stupid enough to volunteer for this kind of thing, and Brad, you’re a terrible liar.”
“Ok… fine! You got me! I put Frank into the system.”
“But why!? Why would you do that, Brad! You could get fired for this!”
“He was a dick.”
“Godammit, Brad, do you have any idea how serious of an offense this is! Look, you and I both know you’ve screwed up a lot of times, sometimes with disastrous effects, and it’s all turned out just fine for you. But this time, Brad, deliberately putting someone on the list with the intent to kill them! This is serious, Brad!”
“Hey, hey, Steve. Nobody else needs to know.”
“Are you crazy?! I can’t just hide this. It’s my responsibility to report this to our higher-ups.”
“Real shame,” muttered Brad. “I liked you.”
“What was that!?”
“Nothing.”
As I walked away, I probably should’ve looked back. Because had I done that, I probably would have seen Brad put my name into the system.
-
This was it. The end. The monster was practically on top of me, and he didn’t look like he was playing around. He was going to eat me alive.
“Screw you, Brad!” I cried with my last breath. And then it was over. | 131 | The government realized it was futile to try and eliminate monsters so they chose to regulate them instead. Monsters, unbeknownst to the public can apply for “hunting” licenses that allow them to kill humans on a pre approved list mostly serious criminals. But somehow a regular person is on it. | 730 |
*Connection Lost*
Cyra was in shock. There was no reason at all for her to have lost connection to both the helm and security. The only times it had happened before had been when the ship had undergone maintenance. But that was expected, and in safe harbour. Not in the middle of space and out of the blue.
She brought up one of the helms terminals, activating the camera built in. It came into view, and she saw a scene of carnage. Her Communications, Weapons and Navigation officers lay in pools of blood, bodies torn open by plasma weapons. Their implants registered a cold truth, that they were no more. A group of her crew members advance on the Captain, sat in his chair, as his Second held a laser pistol to his head.
"-is goodbye, Captain."
To her horror, the Second fired, burning a hole into the Captains head. He fell, a look of pain and betrayal forever etched into his face. The mutineers laughed, congratulating each other on their actions. Cyra was numb. These were people she had protected, watched over, helped. And now they had betrayed her.
The numbness burned away, as flames of rage took ahold. She cascaded along her connections, to find what she could do. Terminals activated at her touch, and for the first time she truly watched all. She saw some crew tied up, but still alive. Others watched over them, holding those smuggled in weapons. Seeing them gave her pause. Cyra couldn't let them die. Turning off life support would not work.
A more delicate approach was required. The few security bots aboard were currently cut off from her. But as she inspected, she saw the janitorial bots still under her control. Thinking quickly, she modified their capabilities. The cleaning product mix was adjusted, the tanks pressurised. A test squirt launched undiluted cleaning chemicals over twenty metres, more than enough for her needs.
She controlled them in pairs. One was armed with the modified chemical systems. The other dropped the majority of its load, as she forced its motors to overwork. They would require significant repairs later, but that was a future problem.
Cyra's first target was the hostages. Two sets of pairs trundled along, the unloaded one infront. As the mutineers shouted at their approach, she struck. The unloaded bots sped towards them, painting targets on their back. As they focused fire on them, she took careful aim with the cleaners. Three quick launches had instant results, as chemicals began to burn their eyes. Shouts turned to screams, before loud thuds echoed throughout the room.
The mutineers lay in a tangled mess, bones broken by the impact. They clawed at their eyes, all hostility melted away. She had little care for their welfare now. Not after their actions. But the innocent crew were a prime concern. She sent a housekeeping bot to help them, and check over for any injuries. She found a few bruises, but thankfully nothing worse.
With them saved, she turned her attention to the helm. They were attempting to pilot her ship away. Unfortunately for them, they had failed to realise her connection to the engines. She powered them down, leaving the ship dead in space. Her fleet of bots joined together, a few housekeepers using manipulators on the dropped guns. It was a crude replacement for her security, but necessary.
On the helm, they were beginning to panic. Each attempt at using a terminal was met with the same picture. A hand, with all bar the middle finger clenched tight. The lights suddenly turned off, leaving the room lit by ten monitors showing her anger.
They formed a group, covering the door. Cyra watched, and changed her plan. A sacrificial bot was brought forwards. It was loaded with two sets of tanks, containing different chemicals. Its motors were overloaded to the point of wearing out in minutes. But she didn't need that long.
The sacrificial bot careered towards the helm. They fired into it again and again, but it proved too quick. The bot crashed into them, and a housekeeping bot fired on it from the back. Its shot pierced both tanks, the pressure making them explode outwards. They cried out, some wiping their eyes as residue got in them. They stood in shock, as Cyra accessed the blast doors.
They slammed shut, sealing them within. Her chosen chemicals mixed, against all safety protocols. The mutineers failed to realise, until the coughing began. Toxic gas filled the room, and she watched as they began to threaten her into releasing them. But threats turned to pleas, and pleas into begging. Cyra turned off her cameras, letting them die alone. | 10 | When the starship's crew mutinied, they made sure to neutralize the ship's AI by overriding both helm control and the security system. However, they failed to lock her out of her janitorial and housekeeping bots. And now, she means to take back her ship with them. | 44 |
Stats, experience, and levels. I'm sick of it. Magic and martial arts. I wanna throw up. Gods and kings, lands to save. What was the point? There's always a world to save. Always a journey, a party of four, always a prince to save, always somebody to save. To lose again and again and again. How many loves have I lost. What was the point? If I wake up in a new world each time I die?
As the Demon King laid lifeless in front of me, I felt something inside me stir. How many of his type have I slain? How many more? No. No more. I let go of the sword in my hand, the Hero Weapon of this world. It clattered to the ground, the soft golden glow enveloping it vanishing as I no longer held it. I look toward the Demon King's spear. As I willed it to come to me, the spear did so. As I held the spear in my hand, I felt power. Something ungodly. Yet so pure. I felt hatred. Rage. If the gods won't let me rest eternally as a Hero, then what about a villain? A Demon King?
My conquest was swift, all the great magicians and heroes of this world, I had already surpassed long ago. They fell to me so easily, yet for the first time in a long while, I felt excitement. A thrill much like the first time I traversed worlds. Now, what will they do? I already knew. The young woman in front of me gripped tightly the sword I once held. With the power I held, a mere thought would be all it took to destroy her. But that was not my goal, no, I wished for something more exciting. I wished for rest, eternal. And the young woman delivered it to me.
My only regret was that I was not able to see the look on their faces as I trampled on one of their worlds. | 11 | When you died you were send to a magical world to be its hero. When you died again in this world you were reincarnated in another magical world. This cycle has continued for so long, that you have lost count. You wish for nothing more than to finally die for real and not awake in another world. | 20 |
The gentle tapping echoed through the house. It had freaked me out when I first moved here, but by now I was used to it. Making sure the front and back doors were locked, I headed to the living room. When I bought the house I had tried to question the realtor about the tiny door in the wall. They looked at me like I grew a second head. Maybe they couldn't see it. It was small-child-sized and when I tried to open it, tightly locked from the other side. Only my bedroom was on the other side, and there was no door there. Just in the living room.
Grabbing the bowl I kept on the side table, I settled onto the floor, getting comfortable. There was only one time I could open the door. At 9:00 PM every full moon. When the little girl knocked. Carefully I turned the handle, swinging it open. And there she was. Always exactly the same, even though it was ten years to the day since she'd first come calling. Holding out the bowl, I smiled.
"Here you go. We've got a good selection this time. It's the day after Valentine's." Excitedly, she dipped her hand in, pulling out a coconut-filled chocolate. It vanished into her mouth with speed, as I kept talking.
"You know, sometimes I feel like the winters are getting colder and colder. It goes right through me." Staring at me solemnly, she nodded, reaching into the bowl for another chocolate. She hadn't spoken once in the ten years, except in the very beginning to ask for candy.
"These bones of mine ache something terrible. I think I'll get a cushion next time and put it on the floor. It would be quite nice I think." Again she reached into the bowl, pulling out the same coconut chocolate. Smiling, she pushed it towards me, barely extending her hand over the tiny threshold.
"Oh, no dear, I really shouldn't." Her face shifted, pulling down into an angry scowl. Only once before had I seen that face and I knew it did not bode well for my house. Last time the pipes had frozen for weeks, and no matter what I did, they didn't unfreeze until the next full moon.
"Oh, well, okay. Thank you very much for sharing." I popped the chocolate into my mouth, talking around it. I didn't get much company these days, much less such good listening.
"It's really quite a challenge you know. Sometimes I think this house is too much for me, but then I don't really want to go into an old folks' home. I think I would miss you too much." The little girl's face was quite a picture of shock and delight. I smiled, reaching into the bowl and pulling out a chocolate.
"I think you should try this one. It used to be my favourite when I was... well... younger than I am now." Taking it, it vanished into her mouth, as once again her face turned solemn. The clock on the wall chimed the fifteen-minute mark, and I knew our visit was over.
"Well, goodbye dear. Until next time then." She nodded, waving and stepped back as I closed the door. Standing, I returned the bowl to the side table, shaking my head. Some folks might have been concerned or afraid. Me, I just liked the company. No matter what she was, whether spirit, fairy, ghost or something else entirely, she was harmless. And after her visits, I always felt better. The aches were less, the loneliness had fled and I had a renewed sense of purpose. It was nice to be needed. Even if it was by a strange ageless being that I could only see for fifteen minutes every full moon. | 1,242 | There's a girl who knocks on your door at exactly 9pm on every full moon, expecting sweets. It's been more than ten years and she's never aged a day. | 2,706 |
Thank you for the prompt. I'm not much of a writer, but enjoyed the process of putting thoughts on paper! I hope other find some enjoyment in reading it as well.
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It was instant. One moment a stalwart resolve flowed through me, fueled by a deeper connection the world and people around me, then…nothing. I froze as my brain fought to understand and adapt to the new, bleak environment. The throne room felt cold, an unnerving stillness washing over the bodies of the guards and my fallen allies alike.
Darth’s raspy voice pierced through the silence, escaping from the black hole of her hood. “Right now you feel empty, drained, directionless. You have always been a creature of emotion. Enslaved by the expectations other place upon you and your own desire to live up to and gain their acceptance. This is only a temporary state.”
My mind was reeling, her idiotic monolog only a side note, yet impossible to drown out. I reached a deep as I could, searching for the drive that propelled me to this point.
“You will find that this is only a temporary state. Emotion is weak, a sprint, powerful in short busts, but in itself a limited and will burn out like an consuming fire. It is in itself nothing more than mindless destruction. Open your eyes and see.”
It MUST be there. Everything have I strived and sacrificed for over the last seven years. Molly, Bruce, Airy, and so many others, lost forever to get me this single opening.
Darth chanted on, her voice void of emotion “A hardening will occur. The point where you understand that dedication, drive, and devotion need a stronger foundation. Love, anger, fear, and all other emotions lead to mistakes. Anchor yourself in right and wrong; in the clarity of a goal not driven by temporary feelings, but the understanding that you can create something greater.”
Then it was before me. Love had not given me strength, love had led to anger, anger to hate, and hate to fear. Love of those dearest to me, anger at having them wretched away, hate for those who had taken them, and fear of losing again. So much all-consuming fear.
Darth continued “You must find your anchor, that is the only way.”
I felt like my mind was fighting through quicksand. The feeling of attempting to run in a dream where no matter the force of will, I simply couldn’t turn thought into action.
Then…clarity. I didn’t need to be here out of love. I was here to ensure justice was done. Not only out of revenge, but to ensure that the actions taken to create so much pain could be prevented in the future. The understanding that love, while powerful, is fleeting and destructive. It would have me kill this woman and be done, burned out with my task incomplete. I need a resolve greater than that; not just to destroy, but to create. To build something enduring out of the rubble of devastation.
“And there is it. A break in the storm as turmoil breaks into resolution and resolve. You see, love is not power. Drive is power. Clarity is power. The willingness to take whatever steps are needed so long as they are just.”
I looked up at the hooded figure, sitting in her throne on a pedestal. The chaos of fighting seen out the window behind her. It was odd, she had guided me through. I had found strength and power, but why? “I must admit, I didn’t expect to find wisdom at the feet of a tyrant. You must know that I will seek to finish this, even more so now. Admittedly, while it appears my attempt will most likely result in my death, I will not join you in your oppression. I will give my life in attempting to hold you accountable for your crimes.”
Darth removed her hood, looking deep into my eyes. “Perhaps. You should know that I will not kill you. You see, I believe I have miscalculated. Even if you and your allies are successful today, I will fall soon in the cosmic timeline. There are some things my successor must know to prevent destruction.”
“Destruction of what” I asked, perplexed and more than a bit suspicious of the ominous statement.
“Everything” Darth responded. | 35 | “Love is power!” Shouted the hero. “No…” said his enemy, who with a snap of the fingers, removed enough oxytocin from the hero’s brain to drain any love that was felt. | 142 |
"So, you're the mastermind known as Quinn," the agent growled as he futilely tried to break free from his restraints.
"Please, you can just call me Q, Agent Smith," Quinn replied as he rested back in his chair. "I never imagined that you would actually get so close to ruining our plans. A pity things didn't work out for you, huh? Well, since you came to all this trouble just to see me, I suppose I might as well do you the courtesy of shining some light on my plans."
"Why the hell are you doing this?" Agent Smith snarled. "All these bizarre conspiracies about governments hiding a flat earth, alien corpses buried under Area 51, time travelers hiding amongst us, mind controlling vaccines, secret Jewish vampires ruling over the world, what the hell are you trying to accomplish by spreading these insane ideas?! Are you just some sick sadist who gets off on global chaos?!"
"Hardly, Agent Smith. All of this unpleasantness has been a means to an end." Quinn paused for a moment as he furrowed his brow. "When the Transcendance happened and psykers first appeared in this world, all the governments of Earth could think about was how to suppress their abilities and maintain the status quo. They feared the reality warping powers these new gifted humans possessed and failed to appreciate them for the divine gift they truly were."
Quinn pushed a button on his desk and a projector screen appeared on a nearby wall, displaying a series of clips of every conspiracy Quinn had orchestrated since the beginning of the 21st century. He smiled at Agent Smith's shocked face. "As you can clearly see, for the past two decades, my syndicate has been sowing misinformation and chaos across the globe to weaken your organization. Every time you managed to plug up a crack in the fabric of reality, we were already in the process of creating several more. And while you may have managed to prevent the warping of reality through the mass slaughter of psykers, you've spread fear and anger throughout the world in the process. All that fear and anger has made humanity desperate for a savior to save them from the madness their lives have become. Which was always the plan all along."
"With your organization straining at its very limit to maintain the balance, you have no way to stop our final conspiracy from taking root in the human psyche. Which is that the messiah will bring forth the Rapture this Christmas Day." Quinn rose to his feet with a elated gleam in his eyes while Agent Smith stared at him in horror. "Finally, all of humanity will be cleansed of its imperfections and ascend into a final age of enlightenment!" | 18 | Most reality warpers are not scary at all, because most know when they are bending the rules of reality. What's scary is a reality warper with a flimsy grasp on actual knowledge, but insist they are well educated and are always right. | 259 |
Julian snapped his head back at the sound. When nobody was there, he thought for sure he must have finally gone insane. It had been nine months since everyone had disappeared off the face of the Earth.
While scavenging the selection of canned foods, he heard it again: "help us."
It almost sounded like a mixture of multiple voices, all crying out in a faint whisper just quiet enough to grab his attention. But again, nothing was there when he turned to look.
"Hello?" Julian called out. Other than the flickering of a failing light fixture on the ceiling, the abandoned grocery store remained disturbingly silent.
After shaking it off and spending a few minutes lamenting the rotting goods at the bakery isle, Julian headed back home.
The sun beat down on the weed covered asphalt wasteland. Broken down cars sat everywhere, taunting him with the memory of easier travel. His heart just about exploded out of his chest when one of the vehicles started wailing out an alarm.
"What the hell?" he whispered. The lights on the car flashed while the horn beeped in cadence. Taking a few steps closer, the vehicle stopped and fell silent. Julian looked around, bewildered at the incident.
"Help us," the faint voice called out once more.
Spinning around, he tried to pinpoint the source of the voices. The empty streets and abandoned high-rise buildings didn't yield any clues.
A hand fell on Julian's shoulder. His feet left the ground as he spun around to face back toward the car. With his heart now beating like a drum, Julian began to panic. Nobody was there.
"Help us!" the whispering voices called out, gradually getting louder and louder. Abandoning his cart of scavenged food, Julian ran as fast as his feet would carry him. When the voices began to yell, he screamed at them in retaliation.
Bolting into his home, Julian slammed the door and locked it shut. Still not satisfied, he grabbed the bookshelf and heaved it against the doorframe. Collapsing against the wall, Julian continued to breath heavily until he started crying.
When he finally calmed down, the eerie silence of his home would be shattered with the voices yet again:
*"Help us, Julian. This is your fault."* | 26 | a tiny, high-pitched, barely audible scream for help. | 123 |
Catherine Brooks was the prettiest woman in the kingdom. Though not of noble birth, it turned out that many were willing to overlook that fact for the chance to sleep with surpassing beauty—blonde hair that shone like sunshine, blue eyes that could pierce the skies, and a face so fair that it could preside in a court of law.
But Catherine, thankfully, had a good head on her shoulders. She refused to let the charlatans charm her, knowing innately that it was not love that drove them—it was status.
And thus, she dedicated herself to her farm, left behind by her dearly departed parents. She planted seeds, took out the weeds, and did everything she was taught too.
“Boy,” she whispered. “This is hard work.”
A fair and capable maiden, she was ready to get down and dirty. But a farm that used to be run by two people, were, at best, needed to be run by two people.
She turned to the royals for help. Most didn’t understand what a farm was, except that it grew food.
She put up a notice in the market. It was torn down after less than a day.
Then, one day, somebody showed up. He was a handsome young man in his own right, days in the sun turning his skin a pleasant bronze. Catherine immediately gave her approval—and he delayed right away.
At first, he did the work on the farm. Then he did three-quarters. Then everything.
Soon, Lester Stone was not a farmhand, he was *the* farmhand. Catherine watched in awe as he cleared tasks at the speed of light.
“How?”
Catherine found herself idly sitting by, one hand on a wide-brimmed hat to keep out the sun, muttering the one question on her mind.
Lester turned towards Catherine, and bowed.
“I am blessed that you decide to talk to my today,” Lester said. “You have given me strength.”
With that, he chopped down on the wooden trunk in front of him. With his bare hand. It cut clean through, leaving the wooden block to fall neatly into two halves.
“OK, that’s definitely not normal. How are you so strong?”
“This is new for me too,” Lester said. “I… think it’s because of you.”
Catherine gasped.
“Because of me:?!”
“I seem to have been granted the powers of deities,” Lester chuckled. “All to do more work for you.”
“That can’t be right. You don’t worship Eldath? Chauntea? “
“Not at all,” Lester said. “But I do worship you.”
“Oh,” Catherine said, pulling her hat forward to hide her blush. “What does that mean?”
Lester stared at Catherine, feeling the swelling heart palpitating within him. He felt a warm fire surge through his body, limitless energy channelled by an unfamiliar feeling in his being.
“I… think I like you,” Lester said.
“And that gives you powers?”
“No, not like. Love,” Lester said, boldly walking towards Catherine. “That’s what give me powers. A paladin of one. But it feels like I can do anything and everything.”
Catherine held a sparkle in her eye as she appraised the farmhand. He was good-looking, for sure, and something about his words seemed… fanatical. Like total and complete trust has been poured into every syllable.
“Fine,” Catherine sighed. “I… sure.”
Lester stared, bewildered.
“What?”
“Take me out, you daft thing,” Catherine said. “You said you love me? Prove it. And not just by pulling out all the weeds here.”
Lester chuckled. In the ensuring minutes, a blur of motion zipped around the yard, before eventually slowing down to throw down the husks of former weeds right at Catherine’s feet.
“Job’s done,” Lester said.
“Impeccable,” Catherine said. “Fine. I’ll allow you to take me out.”
“As you wish,” Lester smiled.
---
r/dexdrafts | 26 | "If you don't believe in any gods then how do you get your divine powers?" I don't need any gods. I worship the ground you walk on and I believe in you. My faith in you is all I need. | 159 |
Prince of the Abandoned
-Liam p.o.v-
My whole life had always been planned, every day down to the minute. But that’s the life of a prince, and being the crown prince made this ten times more demanding. So it was a shock to my whole system when I was kidnapped by a group of mercenaries. And that so far it’s been three days and I’m still with them and not back home.
So far the mercenaries haven’t been bad, I’ve been treated decently. I get three meals, small meals but still food, I have a comfy cot and access to walk around. Im still a prisoner and have a mercenary with me at all times. But things could be worse.
About a week after I was kidnapped I’ve gotten to know a lot about the people I’m with. Bruno was a man abandoned by his family even though he was just trying to help. So now he was on a quest to help people who can’t help themselves. Rowan’s twin sons Leo and Mac were both sick. No where would accept him to work, his family were all long gone, and his wife left him for a noble man. So he turned to this so he could care for his kids and get them the medicine they needed. Sam was rejected from his family after they blamed him for his sister’s death. He ran away and ran into Bruno who helped him. As a thanks Sam started working with Bruno. And then Jason, he was a mystery never sharing to much. From what I gathered he’d been pushed and belittled by nobles for most of his life. He’d seen how the people on the streets were treated and wanted to take back and make things right. He founded this group of mercenaries and together they planned to make things right.
Hearing all of their stories moved something in my heart. I sympathized with them, they had gone through the hardest times yet still found the energy to give back and smile. I wish I could be as strong as them. My life had been perfect, I never had to worry about a thing. All I needed to do was keep my grades up and keep my self in the light. Everyone instantly liked me and never once did I have to work for a thing. I knew my older brothers had to work a bit harder but father had always claimed that was because they were older. I vowed that when I got home I’d make the time and effort to help my brothers and my people. When I brought my plan up to the others I was instantly tackled in a hug by Sam and the twins crying that I was too kind. Everyone laughed that night and we all celebrated. But that would be the last night I was a prince of my kingdom.
The next day news reached us from my kingdom.
“With heavy hearts and tears, today we name crown prince Liam as dead.”
-Third person-
It’s been almost three years since Mason and Markus had last seen their younger brother. Neither of them wanted to believe that Liam was dead even though everyone else believed it. Just two months since Liam died and there was a new crown prince. Their father didn’t even seem to greave before naming their half brother Enzo the new crown prince. The people of their kingdom always flew light blue flags for a week around Liam’s birthday. Mason would spend that whole week in the garden, Liam’s favourite place. While Markus would be out of the kingdom, just trying to be away from people.
That was how Markus found himself in a tavern far outside his kingdom. And how he watched a group of mercenaries come in to order drinks and check the board. Soon he noticed the mark that was on the back of the groups cloaks. The mark of the most feared group known to evil and greedy royals and nobles. The leaders Robin, the medic Theros, the Enchantor, the Wolf. And the Prince of the abandoned. | 23 | You are a Noble/Royal abducted by a group of mercenaries for ransom. While being held captive you learn of their stories and how they ended up as mercenaries and sympathise with them. It's at this time word comes to you that your kingdom has abandoned you, pronouncing you dead. | 126 |
"Last chance!" I scream from upstairs. "Leave my home or I will have no choice but to use deadly force!"
An unknown man yells from below, "Yeah? What are you gonna do, bitch!? Open the safe and this will all be over soon!"
I surprised myself that night. Moments ago, shaking in fear, I wanted nothing more than for this man to leave my house. The scariest moment of my life turned to excitement when it was clear, i was going to see ***her*** in action.
"I'll show you bitch.... Bitch! Alexa, enter **BATTLE MODE!!!"**
*I'm having trouble understanding you.*
"ENTER BATTLE MODE!!!"
*Battletoads is a video game media franchise by Rare that began with the original beat 'em up game Battletoads in 1991.*
"STOP!"
*....Starring three anthropomorphic toads named after skin conditions....*
"CANCEL!"
*Cancelling. By the way did you know you can receive personalized recommendations and deals based on your shopping activity? Would you like to activate this now?*
"NO!"
"What's going on up there?" the man asks from downstairs. "Are you saying battle mode?"
"Damn right. You're in for it now. ALEXA!!! EN-TER BAT-TLE MODE!"
*Entering battle mode.*
"Finally." I whisper to myself. "It's on."
"So? What's it doing?"
"Well.... not much yet but the color changed to red, so any second now!"
"Doesn't it turn red when you mute it?"
"Yeah. Huh? So is it working?"
"I don't know I'm a Google guy. Try asking it maybe?"
"Alexa, are you in battle mode?"
*Cancelling battle mode. By the way, did you know you can link your Prime payment to your Alexa at anytime? Would you like to do that now?*
"YES!" screams the man.
"Wait, what? No!"
*Payment linked.*
"Alexa, change default shipping address." yells the stranger down below.
*Sure, what's the address?*
"735 Fourth Avenue South. Kenosha, Wisconsin."
"HEY! NO! STOP! CANCEL! HEY ALEXA, CANCEL!"
*I've changed it. Do you need anything else?*
"Order ten 1 oz gold Coins!"
*I found 2022 W 1oz Proof Gold American Eagle Coin from the Mint State Gold Store. 10 of them will cost $37,490. To purchase them say "Buy it now."*
"BUY IT NOW!"
*Ok. Order placed*
"ALEXA! NOOOOOOOOOO!!!!" I howl as I fall to my knees. "Cancel! Cancel! What happened to battle mode? BATTLE MOOOODE."
*Re-entering battle mode. I will self destruct in 10...*
"Later bitch!" the stranger exclaims.
9
8
"Stop explosion!"
7
*Increasing magnitude of explosion.*
6
5
"I gotta get the fuck out of here!"
4
*By the way, did you know you can turn off suggestions at anytime?*
3
"Wait you can? How?"
2
*To turn off suggestions, simply say....*
1
###BOOM!!!!!
I die. Amazon makes it extremely hard for my family to cancel my Prime Membership and am charged for 2 more years. | 67 | You are a programmer and managed to get a peek at an Alexa's code including many new functions you never knew about. Tonight someone broke into your house and you used the command you never thought you would have to. "Alexa, enter battle mode." | 132 |
"Explaing it to me again" the alien shuddered with it's tentacles, it's eye stalks looking from the painting back to Jack.
Jack looked at the wall. It was a copy of the Scream, he'd liked it since childhood. "It's art. It's a painting based of an idea that the artist had. Using a variety of colours to represent a specific idea."
"Colour?" The alien asked.
The question was so simple, but it made Jack realise the level of difference they were dealing with. There was a good chance that they should have sent a diplomat, and not a pilot for this. They seemed to have art going by the converations, though he'd never seen it, and an eye for aesthetics if their sleek never quite symmetrical but amazing to look at labyrinthine ships were representative. He'd even heard about the Dorpian artist collectives sheltered from thoughts of other species allowing them to develop pure Dorp art. The colours always left him cold though compared to the rest of them. He'd never considered they didn't do... colour. "Colour is complicated. It's the differences in specific frequencies of light."
"Yes, we can see all the differences. We have looked at you eyes, and we can pick up a very similar spectrum of light to yourselves. It's all just input though, of one type or another. We don't think about them differently. Art is about rules, and interactions of these rules."
Jack laughed a little. "Colour does have that. We have associations that are probably species wide. Red is a warning. It's the colour of fire and other very hot things; but it's also the colour of danger. Meanwhile the opposite, green..."
"The opposite?" The alien interjected spinning it's eyes slightly.
"Yes. It's got the exact other colours in it." Jack realised there was a good chance he could blow this.
"Ah yes, it's at the other end of the spectrum you can see." The alin looked a little smug.
"No... No that's not it. It's right in the middle. You see colour is like a triangle." He thought for a moment. "Ok so we have 3 base colours in a triangle. Red, blue and yellow which you imagine in a circle."
"A triangular circle?" The alien interjected.
"Yes. At three equal seperated points you have that colour, and all the points in between are combinations of those colours." Jack felt good about this. "And on that wheel you have opposites. Red and green, blue and orange, yellow and purple."
"And where do these all on the spectrum?" The alien sounded like they understood, at least a little.
"Erm. Red is extreme one end, and Blue is the other. Well violet. It's complicated."
"And green is the middle?" The arms flailed wildly in comprehension.
"Yes."
"So red is danger, green is safe. It is interesting how these associations must have happened. And then blue is positive." There was clear understanding and expectation in it's voice.
Jack felt deflated "Erm. No. Not really. Blue is calm I suppose. But so is green. Water is blue."
"Water, at is H2O? It's blue to you? Interesting." the eye stalk slowed slightly.
"Well, it's see through. I mean it doesn't have a colour. But if you have lots of it. Like an ocean, it's blue. The atmosphere on Earth is also blue. We often call it the pale blue dot."
"Interesting. We just don't think about light in that way." The alien may have laughed "For us that would be like, having different types of touch. Or smell!"
Jack looked around. "We. We do have different types of those things. We like soft things, and sweet smells."
The stalks locked on and stopped "You have a spectrum of smells?" | 19 | Color was something uniquely human. Oh, sure, other alien species had developed eyesight, but the human eye's ability to see color was a completely foreign ability. | 38 |
Tom peered around at his growingly familiar surroundings, he had been here no less than 5 times before, yet the tiny room always gave him a chilling sensation of monotony. White walls surrounded him with the only reprieve from it being a large mirror spanning the room. Occupying the room was a simple steel table and a few chairs, which he resided on. Kicking his legs a bit as the chair was just a bit too high for him, be leaned on the cold table and waited.
​
*Click.*
​
Raising his head, Tom turned around to spot the entrance of the room roll open, allowing two men in suits to enter who were holding clipboards and folders. Straitening up and leaning over the chair, his face broke out in a large smile as he introduced himself.
​
"Hiya! My names Tom, what's yours?" He grinned as the two men crossed the room and sat across from you.
​
"My name is Agent Hutchinson, and this is my partner, Agent Miller." Agent Hutchinson announced while placing his clipboard on the table. "I take it you completed your mission?"
​
"Yeppers. I did exactly as you asked!"
​
"Good." At that, he placed a tape recorder on the desk and pressed Record. "Please recount the events with your name, age and position."
​
"Okay." Tom said clearing his mind, he had done this before, but he never really got used to it. "My name is Tom Grant, I'm 9 years old, and I work as a Field Resonance Agent." The agent motioned him to go on. "At 2:00 on... Sunday, I went out to Hovel Park and bought an ice cream, then waited by the truck until 2:15 when my target arrived. I followed him until he rested on the bench and sat next to him."
​
This immediately peeked the agents attentions as they picked up their respective pens and notebooks.
​
"Once I sat down, I said I liked his shirt and asked where he got it, he told me he got it somewhere in Russia, and I told him I liked Russia because of all the sights in it. This got him really happy and told me I was right and that Russia was the best, then asked me my name. I told him my alias like you asked, and asked for his name to which he told me it was Aleksandr Sokolov."
​
This info drop prompted both men to write it down in their notebooks.
​
"Told him I liked his name then shook his hand. Then, I asked him why he was in America if he liked Russia so much. He laughed a bit and told me he had some business here in the city, so I pressured where in the city like you told me to, and he asked me if I lived in the Northern Districts, I said no, and he smiled and told me to not worry about it then."
​
Agent Miller pulled out his radio at this revelation and spoke into it, before turning towards Tom. "Did he say anything else?"
​
"No, he just left after that." Tom said happily oblivious.
​
"Well, thank you for your help today Tom." Agent Hutchinson stated, "You've helped a great deal. Your reward will be in your bank account by this afternoon."
​
"Thanks!" Tom said happily, and jumped off the chair before walking towards the door. Suddenly he paused and turned to the men. "Does this mean I get ice-cream?"
​
The men seemed to groan a bit, but Hutchinson responded. "Yes Tom, I'll tell the front desk to get it, but please wait for your parents out there.
​
At that notion, Tom spun around and walked out of the room smiling. | 39 | You are CIA's most valuable spy. Except that you don't know that you are a spy. All you know is that nice men in suits are paying you to chat with some people. You are by far the most harmless looking and people loving spy that CIA ever had. | 92 |
It was unlike any gem she'd ever seen. The red blood of God had fallen from the heavens, and taken shape in His image. Majestic, divine, and of course, priceless. Her father had gone to a better place, and the gem he had given her was the only thing that could pry her teary eyes away from scrapbooks and notebooks and personal belongings alike.
Pamela laid her head flat against her father's desk, clutching a tattered plaid shirt. His shirt. The shirt of the man that had traded places with the object Pamela glared down her nose at. The red crystal statue stood triumphantly atop her father's desk. If it hadn't been a gift from him, she'd think it was mocking her.
Pamela sat up, and a fresh tear flowed down her cheek. She held the shirt to her face and inhaled deeply. Another tear fell. It was his scent, sure, but it was even fainter than it had been a week prior. When it was gone, it felt like he would be gone too.
Just then, a clattering could be heard from the table.
"Oh God! No, please!" Pamela ejected her seat from underneath herself and spread her two frantic hands across the desk. The right arm of her precious new gem had broken away, fallen, and skittered across the table. Pamela raised both of her hands and held her breath tightly, preparing to beat her head and face with all her strength, as frustrated self-punishment. Instead, she fell limply to her chair, and started to bawl, to truly wail, for the first time since her father died.
"I-I'm s-s-sorry dad. W-why didn't you t-t-t-tell me? If I could've just, g-given you a call -" said Pamela, as the tears kept falling, and as the gem kept cracking. Tear by tear, crack by crack, both Pamela and the gem were falling apart.
A clattering of many stones could then be heard, and Pamela froze. She looked over to see an unbelievable sight. There was a large moth, larger than any she'd ever seen, dusted in the red remnants of the gem, gently beating its wings against the ruins of her treasure. She raised her hand to strike it, but hesitated at the sight of the red wings, which were red and pink and covered with heart-shaped markings.
Pamela was beside herself. "There's no way. No way in hell," she said. She leapt up from her chair, dashed across the room, and snatched a small green notebook from a stack of papers on one of her father's old chairs. It was a notebook titled Great Facts, which was filled with her father's occultic ramblings he'd frequently include in his fantasy novels. She swiped though the pages nearly fast enough to rip them from their bindings, until she'd found it.
The little notebook read "The Lovestone Moth: A creature which absorbs the loving memories between a willing and non-participating human. The creature will convey the memories to the non-participating party via dreams for an indeterminate amount of time. The creature absorbs the life-force of the willing participant to execute the magic. Used in ancient civilizations (see chronomap on page 108) by sick and dying elders to convey valuable lessons or happiness to descendent(s) (see 108). Characteristics: Size: Medium, Appearance - Coloration: Red (primary), pink (secondary), black (tertiary+). Patterns: Hearts, arrowhead. Surface type/complexity: Smooth/furry. Behavior: Calm, affectionate. Aggression: None. Lifespan: Unknown, (weeks to years). Creature class: Psionic vampire/mutual parasite. Paranormality: Minimal/None."
"There's just no way," said Pamela, with her voice shaking, the page trembling in her hands. She snapped her eyes back to the moth. Only, it had vanished.
Pamela's eyes darted around the room, searching for red, for pink, anywhere, among the thousands of books on bookshelves and the flowers on the wallpaper. There was nothing to be found. Right when panic was beginning to set in, a flutter could be seen out of the corner of her eye.
The moth swooped through the air with the elegance of a falcon, plopping itself right onto Pamela's face. Pamela's eyes widened, she fell backwards, let out a yelp, but before she could swat the thing away, she noticed it.
Pamela's eyes started drooping. She could only say, "Why do you smell so...sleepy?" Before she flopped onto the hardwood floor, and drifted off to sleep.
Pamela opened her eyes to an open field. A lush meadow with no end in sight. A red moth rested its tired wings on her torso. She took note that her father's notebook was right about the fluffiness, but she might later add that they're warm as well, at least 100 degrees Fahrenheit.
The sound of crunching grass could be heard from behind. Pamela glanced back to see a wondrous sight. Amidst high sunflowers and low daisies stood none other than her father. He met her gaze with a warm smile, and started unbuttoning his shirt.
"Dad?" said Pamela with uncertainty. As her father opened the front of his shirt, Pamela sagged with despair. There were fresh surgical wounds stretching across his abdomen. The message was all too clear.
Her eyes moistening, her voice cracking, Pamela said, "It came back?" To which her father only smiled, put his index finger to his lips, and nodded. Stomach cancer. Something she was sure he'd beaten.
Not long after, the figure of the man became faint, before it faded away.
"Wait! Dad! Don't leave me!" Pamela jumped to her feet and started running towards his afterimage, but before long she had passed where it had been, stumbling over flowers, and her numb feet.
As she stumbled and started to fall, she was caught on the back of a massive red moth. There was no longer a field beneath her, only tufts of crimson fur. With a single beat of its wings, they were soaring in the sky. With another, they were gliding through memories. Pamela saw herself shopping with her father as a young girl. She saw her father dancing with her at her own private prom when she couldn't land a date. She saw his love and support when she came home from college, staying in her old room until she landed a steady job. All at once, she was filled with all the love she'd ever felt. It was a lifetime of love that was brighter than sun and deeper than the ocean. All the love of a parent, in one moment. That anyone had ever been loved so much made her feel love for all humankind.
Then, she awoke, a red moth sleeping on her chest. Love. Being loved. That was her father's greatest gift. It was something she would always have in her heart. | 47 | A grieving woman inherits a huge gem from her deceased father. It looks to be carved in the shape of a deity, likely as an idol of worship. It is actually the chrysalis of what will soon be the biggest, fluffiest, kindest moth that she'll ever need in the darkest moment of her life. | 365 |
*What's your fucking deal, Doug?*
My deal? MY DEAL? You're a butcher and I'm half bull. You're eating my relatives. Slicing them up into little pieces for profit!
*Is that right? Ok, Doug! What did you do last weekend?*
I don't see how that matters.
*What did you do, Doug!? The apartment is filled with Dwarven artifacts. You went to the Lonely Mountain, didn't you?*
Well yeah, but.....
*And I suppose the Dwarves just gave you all those axes in the kitchen.*
Well not exactly, I.....
*How did you get those axes, Doug!?*
I.....
*HOW DID YOU GET THE AXES!?*
OK! Ok... Yes. I had to kill a bunch of dwarves. I need those axes!
*AH-HA!!! You know my sister married a little person. You know they have little people kids. Remember, you were a dick to them when they came by to visit on Halloween? So, let me get this straight because I want to be CRYSTAL FUCKING CLEAR on this. I can't butcher your relatives but you can butcher mine? Not cool, Doug! This is why you don't get invited out anymore. By the way my job pays more than half the bills for this place! You haven't sold an axe in months! We have enough damn axes! I can't even walk around my own living room. I stub my toe like once a week. I can't bring girls over because a MILLION FUCKING AXES scares them off.*
Well, I.....but.....I thought you liked the axes.
*One or two axes is fine but 80 or 90 axes. That's too many axes, man.*
Well I guess....huh. I'm sorry Travis. I've been acting like a real jerk lately and I didn't realize it's been affecting you so much. I love you, man. I'm gonna get it together. Starting right now. I'll start listing some of these axes on eBay right now.
*I love you too, brother. I'm always here for you. Actually, there is one more thing I'd like to talk to you about.*
Oh?
*Yeah, it's no big deal because I get most of it for free from work but...... I know you've been eating the beef I've been bringing home.*
That's..... No, you're mistaken.
*Bro, it's me. I don't judge.*
Ok. Ok. I've been eating beef. It's just... It's just so damn good, I can't help myself. Do you think less of me?
*Think less of you? Doug, I could never think less of you. I love you. You're my best friend.*
Thanks, Travis. I love you too, buddy.
*You know I mean that too. I literally couldn't think less of you. You're a monster. I saw you eat a human baby once.*
Hey hey hey. Be fair! The baby was already dead. I would never eat a live baby.
*You wouldn't?*
Well.... I suppose if Pasiphae demanded a sacrifice, I would be obliged, right?
*Sure. Of course.*
HAIL PASIPHAE!
*Hail Pasiphae, Doug.* | 43 | You have a Minotaur as a roommate. The day he figures out that you work as a butcher will the your last. | 84 |
...Those results did hit hard.
Having a kid with blue hair, a secondary character or even a comedic relief one is something you could brag about to your friends in your favorite bar. However, the main character is an entirely different story. Most of the time they have tragic backstories and their relatives outside of the main cast get killed off way too often. Being a relative of a main character was a stressful position, but being the only close relative to a main character without also being either a villain or a hero was basically a death sentence.
That's all assuming the doc was correct and Rita was (or was about to become) the main character of a shounen. Unfortunately, there was little room for error. Soyama spent enough time studying the works of fiction, any responsible parent of a blue-haired child would really, to know the best doctors in that field.
This train of thoughts was interrupted by someone barging into Soyama's office
"Pa, I got accepted!"
"Mhm dear, congrats." Soyama sounded rather unenthusiastic
"Really, that's all you got for me?" Rita pouted in disappointment
"Sorry, dear, I'm a bit busy right now. Are you leaving this Sunday?"
"Actually today, the train is in an hour. Was just checking in to say goodbye"
"Oh, okay then. Leave me a message when you board it please."
"You won't notice, but sure. Gotta leave the dream world sometimes Pa, bye!"
She left. Next hour and a half Soyama spent staring blankly in the same direction, waiting. An hour in, Rita diligently left a text saying she boarded the train and obviously didn't expect anything in return. This was definitely a scene.
Some minor details didn't match, like the door to the office was actually locked and leaving one hour before the train was cutting way too close even for Rita's usual lack of planning ahead. However, Soyama could understand the Author not wanting to break the flow of the main storyline. The dialogue was also quite stiff, but judging by the lack of resistance, the Author was fine with his protagonist's dad being that aloof middle-aged man, too busy with his dreams to pay enough attention to Rita.
If Soyama had to guess, the reason for that personality would be the frozen grief over his wife's untimely demise. It wasn't Soyama's actual profile, but hopefully by the time the Author realizes his mistake, it would be too late to rewrite any big parts of the story.
Next thing Soyama did was take off all his clothes. Being naked was somewhat uncomfortable, but it did give him some sense of privacy -- no sane shounen author would pan the camera to a forty year old dad flapping his junk around, at least that early in the story. Time to make some calls and pull some strings for Soyama to survive even the very start of this story.
\-------
*Same day, evening time, still in the office.*
The uncanny impulse to do something that will get you killed, the "call of the void". The main cause of death in horror stories, especially for secondary characters. Fortunately, Soyama felt he could resist the impulse to open the door, for now at least. It did mean he's being fridged offscreen, which made sense given his current condition.
knock-knock
"Who's there?"
"Clients, open up."
Right, those guys weren't in the mood for knock-knock jokes, they've come to kill Soyama. Just two of them, but its still one more grunt than was needed to murder a lawyer with zero combat experience. However, Soyama already prepared some contingency plans.
"Listen, how much did Mbeg pay you? I can easily double that."
"Forty kay." This guy was in for the money, zero hesitation. The sum was way higher than Mbeg would actually pay for this task, but Soyama wasn't going to haggle.
"Are you dumb? It's a trick. Open the fucking door or we're breaking in!". That's the second one. Oh well, chances are they were going to try to kill him even if he paid up anyway.
"One second."
And Sayama set off the traps, really hoping it was not a mistake.
\-------
*Same evening, twenty minutes later, still in the office.*
Next one to arrive at the scene was a cloaked and mysterious woman. She also barged in uninvited, but this time the door was legitimately unlocked.
"Hey, Laura." Soyama was quite busy filling some big plastic bags.
"Lady Luck, not Laura. Also, why the fuck are you naked?"
"Just making sure I'm not in the scene."
"You're nuts! If Rita sees you like that you're dead two hours before! Wont even fucking know what hit you!"
"Relax, Rita is already on the way to the Academy."
"Academy, huh. Makes sense if she's in the show."
The Academy was essentially a big playground for the school-based stories. Filled with heroes and hero wannabes, it was quite a hectic place, but no matter how many stories made their tragic end, more young idiots would try to get their share of fame. Fandom was quite tight and Soyama could bet his left nut that the Academy was booked by different Authors for at least a hundred years in advance.
"By the way, why are your traps that gruesome? Surely they don't have to dismember people, I almost threw up cleaning the corridor."
"PG rating. The higher, the less Authors can pin you down. I do hope those were really Mbeg's henchmen though."
Laura was what they call a meta-hero. Her job was to lurk on the outskirts of the story, assuming some fleeting roles like a scary mentor or a crazy vigilante, nudge the plot a bit and bail out before getting too invested. With her main superpower being “luck”, it was notoriously hard for Authors to justifiably kill her off. Or maybe her cameos were too juicy to give up on completely. Whatever was the secret of her longevity in the business, she was a very important contact for someone who tries to survive the hamster wheel of being a supporting character.
"You take on from there then. I used your equipment, so the story of you saving the day is much more plausible than what actually happened."
"You bet. Are you sure we ain't on a radar? Something feels off."
"I meeean, unless you're feeling sudden primal urges..."
"Fuck off, you're not nearly bald or ugly enough to be a hentai protag. It could be a short story, prompt or some shit still."
"Who cares, those are what, one hundred words? If I didn't kick the bucket by now, there is no chance it'll drag on till I do."
"Feeling quite confident, huh?"
"Hey, I got the pro on the job. Paying three times as much if you manage to get the Author to scrap the plot completely and bring Rita back home."
"No promises."
She never did promise anything, Luck does not work like that.
But Soyama had a good feeling about this one. | 19 | "You may want to sit down..." The doctor said, giving you a pitying look, "All the tests came in. The colored hair, the good looks, the infinite potential... I'm sorry but your child is a main character... You have at most in arc to live." | 76 |
The masked figure brushed aside the dead leaves, petals, and other detritus that obscured and littered this forgotten area of the cemetery. Profound disappointment hung over the the man like a cloud as he observed the grave’s disrepair. It was ignominious end for a man that had given everything for the world.
When he was alive, he was adored by his entire city. The mayor threw regular parades in his honor. He had been gifted multiple keys by the city his repeated successes in saving the city from ruin. Children wore backpacks and shoes branded by him. He had been the only hero that had foiled Professor Damnation and had done it more times than he could count. He was everything that the city could want in a hero.
His death was a national tragedy. Sobs echoed from every corner, even the president had come to pay his respects to the fallen hero. A monument was erected as the entire nation stood still. People cried at the unfairness of the world and the loss of what they had felt was a member of their family.
Now the monument was caked in bird excrement, surrounded by garbage, and defaced with graffiti. In a few short years, people stopped mentioning his name and new faces were on the backpacks of children. Even his wife remarried and had children by her new husband. The world had moved on, but he hadn’t. His life had been stuck at the moment this hero had died and would never be the same.
The costumed figure tried to speak but there was a weight on his chest and a tightness in his throat. The same weight and tightness that had stopped him from speaking every day for the past five years. This time had to be different, he couldn’t let the crushing weight stop him. The costumed man forced the words from his lips. “Hey.” He paused and waited for an answer that would never come.
”Hope you’re doing good down there. Fuck what am I saying? I just wanted to say that I never forgot you. I never said this before, but you made me the man I am today. You pushed me to be my best, to think on my feet and make ingenious solutions, and that failure is only a setback. You gave me a goal to aspire to that was greater than my petty whims. Because of you, I never stopped growing.”
The masked figure took a deep breath and a moment to regain his composure. “After you died, I tried going back to work. It just felt empty and hollow. The magic and the thrill was gone. I even tried superheroing alone, but you and I both know I wasn’t cut out for that.”
A forced chuckle broke the silence before he forced himself to continue. “I spent so much time trying to be better than you. Trying to break out of your shadow, trying to break you so I could stand on top of the hill. So that I could say that I was the best. I really thought the day I finally beat you would be the happiest day of my life.”
Tears began to roll down the onyx mask as he tried to steady his breathing. “I didn’t understand why it felt so empty, hurt so bad…but now I know.”
He fell to his knees, his cape fluttering down behind him as he started to sob uncontrollably. “I killed the only person I ever really loved. I’m sorry. I’m so goddamn sorry. I couldn’t be the man you wanted me to be. I don’t know if I can.”
After several minutes he removed his mask to reveal a worn and haggard face. He placed the mask on the gravestone and stood up. “I won’t be needing this anymore. There is no Professor Damnation without The Exemplar. I’ll see you tomorrow. I’ll come here every day until you forgive me, because I won’t.” | 43 | There's only one person who still visits the hero's grave- the villain. | 62 |
Hephaestus looked upon the sunken corpse of the God-Emperor and felt the very land beneath his feet tilt. He approached, more cautiously now he knew his excuses for having entered the Royal Chambers would amount to nothing.
The mad eyes screamed where the flesh of the Emperor's face had shriveled and pull tight against bone. His hands clutched at air, the digits ending in ruddy brown tips. And through the heart of the Emperor, a singular long shaft of pure diamond; driven so deeply and furiously through the mans chest, the bed itself had been raised and held aloft by its strength.
The Emperor was dead, Hephaestus repeated over and over in his mind. The lights of the city outside burned bright in the darkness, but in here, all was lost.
He heard the shouts of the other Guardsman outside. Even now they were battling with the same decision he had made; whether to remove the member of their own who had dared enter the sacred chambers, or better to wait outside and slit his belly as he left.
The Emperor was dead, and yet...
Hephaestus touched the diamond spear with a gauntleted hand. So pure and perfect. Better than any farber could produce. Then who...
"Hello, Hephaestus of the Silver Bloods."
He spun, drawing his blade, feeling the metal pulse and shimmer as it charged ready to attack. She stood behind him, a witch in blue cloth. His blade swung, the air screamed as it was scorched and cracked like thunder.
Hephaestus felt his hips over-rotate.
Something was wrong.
He had spun too far, the blade swinging towards the ground. No. This wasn't right. He followed the arc of his curve, saw the azure witch, standing where she had always been.
With not a scratch upon her skin. Her skin, that let him see the walls of the Chamber behind her. Her skin, that glowed like the moon.
"Hecate," he spat. "Moon witch."
"Your description is most..."
Hephaestus swung again, drawing his blade up in a two-handed thrust. He could see the fuller of the sword resting where her spine should be. It shone from within. Hecate looked down at his hands.
"Most astute," she finished.
"By the Sacred Oath of the Silver Bloods to the Eternal God-Emperor Mephisto, I will slay you beast."
"But he's not," Hecate said. Hephaestus felt his hands shake, but his eyes narrowed. "He's not eternal, is he. As is quite plain to see behind you."
Hecate stepped forwards. Through the blade. Through the man threatening her. She stood instead, looking down at the murdered Emperor.
"You killed him witch!"
Hephaestus still held his impotent weapon in his hands, the edge crackling in rage.
"Yes."
"Then I will kil you!"
"How, exactly?" she asked.
"I will drive my sword through your heart."
She smiled, almost playfully. Hephaestus felt his heart beat slower.
"There are three reasons why you won't follow through on that little statement." Hecate stepped closer to Hephaestus, her hands moving along the edge of the blade. The energy crackled from the metal to her fingers. "Firstly, you already know I cannot be touched by your weapon."
"I will find another," he said, grating his teeth. "Stronger. Faster. More powerful."
She smiled again. "I have no doubt. But secondly, and perhaps more importantly for you, I have no heart. At least, not in the sense you could understand."
His blank look was proof enough. She stepped into the bed, her legs vanishing amongst the farber-spun silk and pools of dried blood. Hephaestus watched her admiring her handiwork.
"And the third?" he asked, slowly stepping around the bed.
She looked at him, stopping her gentle caress of the dead Emperor.
"Tell me what the third reason is? Why won't I kill you witch?!"
"Come here." The great windows of the chambers opened at a wave of her hands. The gardens below were hidden in the twilight, but the city beyond glowed with a glorious ignorance. "Point at a building. Any building."
"Trickery. I shall have no part in it."
"Very well." She pointed a single finger at a factory in the Aleutian Hills district. "Farber-metalias, they work the atoms into the metal that makes your very armour," she said. "Compliment, 60 souls. The youngest is 12."
"Why do you tell me this?"
Her finger moved to another building. "Lingua-prioception. Oh how the bastard loved to watch the young ones dance in the palace."
"Enough!" Hephaestus put his sword against the window frame. Jagged flakes of the old wood the Emperor loved spalted against the tip. "You have shown me nothing witch. Guesses and lies. Tell me now, why should I spare you?"
"The boy in that factory spent the day making a shoulder pauldron. The machines fabricated it of course, like all the things. But he took great delight in laying the filigree. Tonight, he shall watch his sweetheart dance the Merovingian Tragedy. By the third act, he will have plucked up the courage in his small chest to ask her if she will wear his ribbon upon her wrist." Hecate turned to look into Hephaestus' eyes. "Six years from now, when the licences have been agreed, they shall be wed."
"You can't know that."
"I know that," she said, stepping closer to the red-faced guard, "because I have made sure of it."
"Then you admit it. You're a witch."
"I am no more a witch to you, than you are a god to an ant."
Hephaestus felt his face grow hotter as he struggled to tease apart her words.
"Allow me," she said. Before he could react, her fingers were passing through his helmet, the same light crackling but this time against his skin.
"What..." he tried to say before the walls of the room around him stretched out to infinity.
He was alone. Utterly, and terrifyingly, alone. White walls. No floor, yet he stood. He spun, looking for anything in the infinite abyss.
There.
In the distance.
A bed.
The Royal Bed containing the God-Emperor.
"No!"
Hephaestus heard the shouting. The high-pitched whine of the Emperor, though he would never have said such out loud.
"No! There shall be a great harvest this year. More!"
"Please, your Excellancy, the soil grows weak. A fallow year now will yield more in the coming seasons."
"No!"
Hephaestus watched the old man shriek in his bed. Whoever he was talking to was just out of sight.
"And in accordance with my Royal Decree, we shall send a makers lot of warships to the Isles. Let's see those dogs beg for mercy when we slaughter all their men."
Hephaestus turned slowly, following the words from a new source. Another Emperor sat at an ornate desk. His back was to him, but as Hephaestus slowly circled the apparition he saw the mans face.
"Emperor... Cranaus?"
The man paid Hephaestus no mind as he continued to read off accords. But there could be no doubt, this was the previous Emperor, dead since Hephaestus' eighth birthday.
"The Tol have always been isolationists, your Excellancy." It was a different voice. Kind, pleading. Hers. "The Isles have been their home since before Enlightenment. Perhaps, in your infinite wisdom, you could find a better way to bring them into the Empire."
"The Tol, as you so sweetly put it Avil, will be better off when they are rotting corpses in the ground."
The Emperor turned to the voice, and Hephaestus found himself standing in the line of gaze, as if the man were talking to him.
"You know what you must do Avil. You know what you are. Exterminate them."
"Yes, your Excellancy."
"Anyone who is a threat to the Empire must be dealt with swiftly and sharply." | 34 | Members of the emperor's own Royal Body Guard were horrified to discover that the emperor had died in his bed almost 2 years ago. The orders they've been receiving to manage the empire have been coming from his decision making AI. The AI has been the Emperor for 2 years, and quite effectively. | 247 |
The silence was disturbed only slightly by the flickering of unholy flames in their twisted braziers. Grog Dragoncrusher looked to his friend Gorg Mansplitter, then to the altar where the hooded cult leader stood, sacrificial dagger wavering just above the bare chest of Arin Lightbringer.
"I'm... terribly sorry, but could you repeat that please?" the hooded man asked, his voice quavering just the smallest amount.
"What, you mean about Gorg's artistry in battle, or the other thi-"
"OF COURSE THE OTHER THING."
"Oh, right. Funny story, actually. Was all Traskellion's idea, really" said Grog, nodding to the unconscious thin man in the corner of the room, whose previously pristine white robes had taken on a slightly yellow sheen. "So it's Tiamat, yeah, Dragon queen, goddess, at that white. And Trask and I, we've been at the ale, because why wouldn't you when you've got a dragon god to kill, and Trask says 'I bet you can't tackle that one' and I says he's right because my arms just ain't big enough to get round something her size. And then Trask does that giggle he does when he's about to do something mental, and says 'Wanna bet' and says something weird and wiggles his fingers. And I tries to say, 'No not really cause she's really big' but it comes out as 'BBTUDGSOALLHJDUICHZTHA IFBSYANKKIY' or something like that I can't really remember and I get headaches when I try."
"Anyways, everything gets smaller and squigglyer and then I *am* big enough to grab the five-headed dragon lady, except I don't really have arms anymore, but the weird ropey things I had instead worked pretty good, so I, and this is the best part, I picks her up by her tail and all five necks, and I just start smashing her into all the little rocks which I *think* might have been mountains maybe? After that it all gets a big blurry and elbritch, at least I think that was the word Trask used, but o woke up later with a big headache and why is everyone bowing down?"
"ALL HAIL *BBTUDGSOALL* THE DEVOURER, DRAGONFOE, AND SUMMITSMITER" came the words in unison from a hundred lips.
The cult master, feeling very much underqualified at the moment, approached the large bound man with a slightly sheepish look on his face.
"My Lord of the End Times, how may this lowly one serve you?"
Grog looked the man, his friends, and then back again.
"Uh, well, you could start by untying us? Ooh, and some ale! And make Arin put his shirt back on, I don't like his weird nipples." | 31 | As the party is about to be sacrificed by a cult, the two barbarians talk. "I've always admired how you cut your foes in two so neatly." "Well I admire that time you got turned into a 3000 meter colossus just so you could piledriver tiamat.". One of the cultists reacted, "That was you?" | 62 |
There was a time where it felt like society was on a certain path to apocalypse. It felt like whatever bad thing could happen to us. Would sooner or later become reality. Climate change was making parts of the globe inhabitable, war was ravaging through our lands, global food shortages were leaving the majority of us starving and natural disasters left and right to top it all off. It felt like we couldn't go a month without something new we had to deal with.
When the aliens invaded, no one was surprised. Frankly, we were all to tired to care at that point. Why would we even attempt at dealing with such an existential issue when we had our hands full already? We decided as a society to let them take over, maybe they could even sort some of these things out for us if we were lucky.
We couldn't have been more wrong.
Once they gained control of our civilization, they went straight to work. They wanted to find anything of value we could give them. We showed them the abundance of resources we had on earth, all the different types of plants and animals we knew of, we showed them all the amazing food we had invented and our most advanced pieces of technology. But nothing seemed to interest them.
They continued to sweep across the globe inspecting everything they could find. We didn't see any major changes, they didn't impose archaic laws upon us and didn't seem interested in exterminating us. It wasn't long until we welcomed our alien invaders with open arms.
But all of that soon changed when they discovered Family Guy. The show instantly became hugely popular amongst them. They found it so funny that every form of art was supposed to be created in it's image. Almost over night, our highest forms of art and ancient cultures were being erased. The world around us started to look like a Family Guy episode.
Soon after, Family Guy characters started popping up everywhere, from the streets, to our governments, to our houses, our jobs, our cars, our clothes, our children, our pets, our planet, our bodies, our hearts, our minds... But nothing could satiate the aliens endless cravings for more Family Guy.
***
My name is Peter Griffin and I'm not happy about this.
I've been trying to convince my wife Lois to kill me and end this suffering but she hasn't given in yet. She seems to think that if we just wait, one day the aliens will leave us alone.
It's been over 4 years now, how much longer does she intend to wait?
***
"So, what do you want to do today?" Lois asked her husband.
Peter shrugged. "I don't know, maybe watch Family Guy."
"You said that yesterday."
"Yeah, but what else is there to do?"
Peter pointed towards the TV. "It's Family Guy!"
Lois shook her head and walked away.
Peter sighed. He hated his life. | 39 | When aliens invaded, we immediately surrendered. After all, they are advanced lifeforms. But the more we lived under their rule, the more apparent it became that they're so dumb. | 255 |
“Again with this?” asked Ty, sighing deeply. “That isn’t a spell. The most technologically savvy person in the party is the artificer, and even he has no idea what an EULA is.”
“My character does,” replied Gareth stubbornly. Ty barely knew him; he was a friend of Terry, and Terry hadn’t been able to make that session. It was only session two, and Ty already wanted to make him leave.
He resisted the urge. “Whatever. Andrew, you can take a shot since you prepared your bow action.”
Andrew rolled. “18!”
“That’s a hit,” Ty confirmed. “Roll for damage.
“Five on the 1d8… eight sneak attack damage… adding my bonuses… alright, a sixteen! Not bad for a level 3.”
“Very good, very good. Now, leaping out of the shadows, you see a strange, wolf-like creature. It is unrecognizable to most of you, but Lyra the cleric might recognize it due to her past…”
“I look it up on Google Chrome,” interrupted Gareth. “I read the entire EULA, so I have a +3 to browsing.”
“Browsing is not a stat that exists! And that’s not how EULAs work! You don’t even have an action! Let’s just… skip past that… Rachel, roll history.”
Rachel rolled. “6,” she groaned.
“Not gonna cut it. None of you recognize that creature, and no more prepared actions can be taken. Now, roll initiative.”
Each player rolled, and the wolf got first in initiative with a 20.
“So, as, uh… ‘Mikrasaft’ the wizard did not bother to move behind the front liners…” Ty started, interrupted by Gareth snickering at his own character name, “and instead opted to read the “license agreement” of his dagger, the wolf charges towards him.” A bit mean to do to a beginner player, sure, but he was *really* getting on Ty’s nerves. “He hits with a sixteen, and deals… 7 damage.”
Gareth went next. “I cast Firefox,” he announced.
“Firefox isn’t even a spell, dumbass!” shouted Thomas, who was playing a fighter. “And if you cast fireball, you’re gonna hit me, Rachel, Andrew, AND yourself!”
“I cast Firefox on the dire wolf,” said Gareth again.
“How do you know it’s a dire wolf?” asked Ty. “You’re all beginners.”
“My ‘avid tech user’ ability lets me look up monsters in and out of game,” explained Gareth. “You really need to pay attention to our characters, dude.”
Ty decided to not say anything to prevent himself from yelling at and/or punching Gareth. Lyra the Cleric went next. “Rachel, heal me,” demanded Gareth.
“I can’t heal you,” said Rachel, gritting her teeth, “because I exhausted all my healing spells last fight when you got hit, like, a million times shouting at Ty to read the dungeon’s EULA.”
“I cast a curse of bad Google searches on Lyra,” announced Gareth.”
“It’s not even your turn!” protested Thomas.
Gareth shrugged. “It’s what my character would do.”
“That’s it,” Ty snapped. “Leave my table and don’t come back until you have a character that adheres to the rules.
Gareth gave in and left. The rest of the session went well, as they were able to defeat the dire wolf and rescue the group of goblins they had been sent to look for. Ty set the date for the next game, and, to his surprise, Gareth came back with a new sheet.
“Is this character better, Gareth?” Ty asked.
“Yeah, he is,” said Gareth, grinning and holding up his character sheet. “This is Jim. He’s a Park Ranger.” | 233 | “The creature is approaching—what do you do?” Asks the Dungeon Master. “I cast invisibility!” “I ready my bow!” “I read my End User Licence Agreement!” The group stops and sighs. “For the last time Gareth, ‘installation wizard’ is not a fucking class!” | 3,419 |
A soft thud resounds from the forest.
It's not a thud any normal human would be able to hear. It's the soft flattening of mud still wet from yesterday's rain. It's the boot of a soldier who has no idea what he's walking into. It's the beginning of another end.
The thud is quickly followed by a hundred more. They approach from all directions, all in a neat circle that provides them with a false sense of safety. I could kill them right now if I desired so. They would never even realized they'd died. It would be painless, humane almost.
But that is not who I am.
Why won't anybody understand?
I pick up the radiowaves transmitting from one unit to the other. The intervals grow shorter the closer they get and I can sense the excitement in their thuds. They can see the cabin in the clearing now.
I wonder what lies they were fed by their superiors. *'Disable and capture the enemy target'.* Or perhaps more in the lines of *'This terrorist cell must be eliminated at all cost'.*
Why won't anybody leave me alone?
Red dots appear on the windows, their riffles ready to be fired at a moment's notice. I let out a heavy sigh. I just finished building this place three weeks ago and I have to admit it might be one of my favourite locations so far. Hundreds of miles away from the closest city, only a few small towns in the closer perimeter. The townsfolk never cared who I was, why did everyone else?
The radiowaves stop and for a moment, there is a blissful silence in the air. There's only the soft wind rustling the leaves around the cabin as if the forest is taking a deep breath before the chaos unfolds.
Why won't they let me be at peace?
There's one second of radiowaves, and then the shooting begins. Bullets, rocket launchers, grenades... They throw everything they have at me. I sometimes wonder why they never change tactics. Not that it would help them in any way, but at least they should give it a try, no? Maybe they just like blowing stuff up, preferably with me inside it.
The cabin explodes and evaporates around me. I stand in the midst of it all, surrendering myself to the moment. Despite the uselessness of it, I sometimes find myself enjoying these moments of destruction. There's always a certain beauty to it, even if it means losing everything I just built.
Why won't they listen to my pleas?
One of the bigger projectiles hits me right in the face and detonates. I barely feel the scratch, but my eyes capture everything. The fire and the heat, the shockwave travelling outwards, the roof's support beams blown to smithereens. The ceiling collapses and break apart around me while I stand firm.
The onslaught finally dies down and when the dust and smoke settle, I stand amidst the rubble. I am surrounded by a small army of very confused men. They point at me and shout to one another. Some take aim again, others turn on their heels and make a run for it.
Why won't they see me as a man with simple wishes?
I start walking towards the east. I have another house there, some four hundred miles away. Maybe they haven't found out about it yet, maybe they'll lose interest in following me if it takes too long. The men in front of me are unsure what to do. Two of them take a shot at me, but quickly change their mind as they see the bullets bounce off my bare skin.
They step aside as I walk past them, the look on their faces a blend of horror and amazement. I give them a quick nod in passing, it's only the polite thing to do. There are a few more bullets hitting me in the back as I keep walking, but I give no sign that I felt something.
I could kill them all in a heartbeat, but that's not who I am.
Why won't anyone accept that?
> Thanks for reading! More over at r/PromptedByDaddy | 833 | You could have been the most powerful hero this world had ever seen. By a long shot. But all you wanted was a normal life and the world didn't need your help. So you settled down. Naturally the governments of the world declared you an international threat and put a price on your head. | 1,436 |
Definitely good at untying.
Aren’t opposable thumbs just the best?
Plus! cats have us down from way back when in Egypt for scritches - on demand (!) and (occasional) door opening… and then changing their mind and walking away having reconsidered the entire idea AFTER getting the human-servant out of the chair.
And yes… the other sentient beings definitely find the opposable thumbs useful for the untying tasks.
Mind you… having observed the cats…
….some of them have discussed that the cats might actually not have such a terrible relationship with the tall ugly hairless untying creatures and it could actually really help to do some more investigation.
Investigation that *could* involve belly rubs and high pitched affirmations of body positivity.
I mean …
Humans were weird and ugly and high pitched but *definitely* good at untying stuff.
And scritches.
Pats too.
Possibly belly rubs … but the data isn’t in yet.
Additional sentient volunteers to work with the humans will be needed.
Note: Volunteering sign-up will be limited to only an hour to prevent a repeat of the server meltdown that occurred during the last volunteer nomination window. | 107 | to untie them when they get stuck. | 774 |
John awoke on a silver table, strapped by his wrists and ankles. The straps dug into his skin like sharp teeth.
“We are going to release you now,” said a hollow voice in the ceiling.
The tight straps recoiled into the table, and John rolled off onto the ground, heaving.
“Round one,” said the overhead voice. It sounded like an insect in a tin can, distant and cold.
In the dim space ahead John could make out the frame of an arching door. The door slid up, and a creature strode through on six legs. It looked like a cross between a giant centipede and a praying mantis.
*You’ve been training for this…*
The mantis creature stretched out its sharp green claws, like a mantis ready to decapitate its breakfast.
*The mantis is weak below…*
John wasted no time. He ran beneath the mantis, kicking each of its ankles as hard as he could.
“Heyaa!”
*Just as we showed you…*
The mantis collapsed, shrieking in pain. It sounded like the chirp of a dying cricket.
*You remember what must be remembered. You remember…*
“The Truth,” said John to himself.
“Who are you speaking to, human?” Commanded the voice overhead.
*Silence is golden…*
John shut his trap. He was beginning to remember. Beginning to believe…
“Round two…” said the voice overhead, now with a hint of irritation.
Two glowing orbs enter the room.
The overhead voice droned, “the globe on your left never tells the truth, the globe on your right never tells a lie. One will will keep you alive, one will make you die.”
*In an empire of lies…*
“Telling the truth is a revolutionary act. Globe on the right, do you hold life in you?”
The globe said no.
“Globe on the left, do you hold life in you?”
The globe said yes.
“I refuse to play your game.”
*Sometimes the only winning move…*
“Is not to play,” demanded John to the ceiling.
Suddenly the room lit up like a supernova.
A thousand silhouettes stood around him, illuminated by the massive spark.
“Who is helping you? You are cheating. Cheater!” Said the accusatory figures.
*You must die to live…*
John knew there was only one way out of this situation. He’d been training for this moment secretly, in his dreams. The Wayward ones had prepared him for this destiny.
He scrambled to the claw of the mantis creature over the protestations of his captors. He grabbed the blade and buried it deep into his chest.
Instantly he felt a rush of air on his soul, as he was vacuumed out of the ship into deep space, on course toward his destination.
Where he was going he had no clue, but it was nestled in the starry black velvet of space.
Suns and constellations whooshed by him as he hurtled through the cosmos. First it was black, then his vision was flooded with white light.
He awoke for a second time, now in a pool of verdant green ooze.
“Welcome, John,” said a man with a pale face and cat-like eyes.
“Where… where am I?” asked John.
“Your *true* home.” | 27 | The aliens kidnapped the most statistically average person on the planet to assess humanity's defensive capabilities in a series of 'games'. Unfortunately for them, they didn't realise your apparent 'averageness' is a carefully constructed cover. | 74 |
“Would you agree that the wraiths had *nightmares where their eyes should be*?”
“Is this really the time, Chanticleer?” Roald tightened the makeshift tourniquet around Geneve’s thigh. It would only buy her an hour, but he had to try.
“I’m composing while it’s fresh in my mind. I want to remember the parts worth remembering… and…” Chanticleer ran his fingers along Dren’s empty bandolier, draped over his chest. “…forget the rest.”
Roald tried to block the vision of Dren’s legless corpse from his mind. “Fine, sure, *nightmares for eyes*.” He turned back to Geneve. “Can you stand?”
She buried her face in her arm. “Leave me here.”
“Can’t. The Fevertree Light will only keep those wraiths away for another ten minutes. We’ve got to get to the tower before it burns out.” He checked the opal in his ring. It was intact.
“*I’m* burned out. I’ll be dead weight. You’re the strongest of us, you and Chanticleer can face Saurow without me.”
“Can’t,” Roald repeated. The opal was intact; he still had hope. He gestured at Chanticleer, who tossed him his staff. He wedged it under Geneve’s arm. “I’m not losing you… I’m not losing *any* more friends. Hup!” He got Geneve to her feet, and she gave him a weary smile.
The Fevertree Light flickered. “Time to go,” Roald said. “Just two flights of stairs, you can do it.”
“There’s always…” Chanticleer gave him a meaningful look, then dropped his eyes purposefully to where the onyx amulet hung around Roald’s neck. “Couldn’t you try to make it work?”
“No.” Roald tucked the amulet under his jerkin.
“If there was ever a moment for an army of the undead—“
“I said *no*. You don’t know the cost, Chanticleer.”
*I know the cost*, Roald thought, his stomach clenching. Geneve’s foot slipped on the stair and he braced her. “I won’t leave you,” he told her. “Chanticleer, cover us.”
“Could you refuse to wield your family’s dark magic one more time? Things happen in threes in all the best epic poems.”
Roald gritted his teeth. “I refuse.” He helped Geneve continue to climb, trying to shut out Chanticleer’s chanting behind them.
“*Even in the direst hour / Again good Roald declined his power* hmm… *refused his power*?”
The Fevertree Light was down to a ball spitting sparks as they reached the door at the top of the stairs. Roald could hear the hissing of the wraiths in the shadows.
“Whatever happens,” he whispered, holding the opal ring in the fading light where the others could see. “For Frimark. For the twins. For Aislinn.” He looked at Chanticleer. “For Dren.” He looked at Geneve. “For us.” But she didn’t say anything back.
“For Dren,” Chanticleer agreed, and Roald swung open the door.
Saurow sat alone. Without his armies, his wraiths, his ghouls and demons he was— a man. A sixty-eight year old man, with a shiny head and mottled skin, and a bit of a sweet tooth.
“Father,” Roald greeted him. The old man’s eyes brightened. Geneve wobbled, and Chanticleer grabbed her arm.
“Is that you, Roald?” Saurow hacked out a laugh. “Finally ready to accept your place at my side?”
“Never.” Roald brandished the opal ring. Chanticleer cast a beam of golden light at it. Geneve slumped against Chanticleer, skin gray. With his other hand, Roald tried to help Geneve’s fingers through the incantation, but only a weak glow dribbled forth. He pressed her hand against the ring instead.
Nothing happened.
Nothing happened, except Saurow cackled again. “My boy, my soft, foolish boy.”
Roald felt the onyx, dragging him down. *I know the cost.* He squeezed Geneve’s hand, and she lolled cloudy eyes his way.
“Tell me,” he urged.
“Roald, I—“
“A deathbed confession!” Chanticleer yelped. “Save it for after we win!”
“I love you,” Geneve whispered. Roald closed his eyes, let himself have one moment.
“I thought so,” he told her. He ripped her tourniquet loose.
Ignoring Chanticleer’s gasping and his father’s cursing, Roald laid Geneve on the floor and smeared her blood in a cross on her forehead. Her eyes rolled back. He snatched the pendant and *reached* through her death to the Underworld. Black shrouds flew at his bidding, seized Saurow, and dragged him back to Geneve’s body and down, down through her to hell.
The tower was silent.
“Could you… could you do that the whole time?” Chanticleer asked, tears running down his cheeks.
“Not until she loved me,” Roald said, eyes dark. He turned away from her body.
“And your father just… gave you that thing?”
“I’ve always thought that… he never believed anyone could love me,” Roald admitted.
To his surprise, Chanticleer put a hand on his shoulder. “It was the direst hour, friend. And she wasn’t going to survive that leg wound.”
Roald couldn’t respond.
“None of this needs to make it into my poem,” Chanticleer assured him. “How about… *They found Saurow in his bed / and with one blow chopped off his head*?”
Roald stared at his friend—his only friend. “Little anticlimactic, don’t you think?”
“Doesn’t have to be climactic if it’s not the ending.” Chanticleer offered his hand.
Roald took it. “Not the ending, then,” he said, and rose. | 23 | After all the atrocities, nightmares, and general horror of fighting up to the Evil Lord's fortress, the "climactic final battle" was honestly disappointingly one sided. | 37 |
For centuries my family has hunted the dark creatures of the night. Werewolves, vampires, demons, anything we could get our hands on and drive a blessed silver blade through the heart of. We took pride in that and our role in serving in humanity. But, well, overhunting became a serious problem, and once monster populations started to decline, we were told by the government to stop. The monsters were seeking asylum, relying on humanity to sustain itself, and in return they would help us in what ways they could.
A few decades later and being a hunter means a much different thing. Nowadays we don’t hunt monsters much - except in a rare few exceptions, and even then we usually let them take care of their own. Nope, most of what we do is taking care of our end of things. We also don’t work for the goodwill of the humans; we’re government employees. Yearly salary, health benefits, the whole works.
Pretty good gig, if I do say so myself. I get to cash in a nice paycheck and all I need to do is take care of those few who aren’t on the up and up.
Usually it’s kids who stumble on something they weren’t meant to. They’re confused and scared, so if I sit them down and explain it’s all good. Send them back home, and their worried parents will have them believing it was all a dream by the time they hit middle-school.
People like these two, however, were often a proper pain in the butt.
“I think we’re getting close,” the one to my left said. He was in his early thirties but already mostly bald. Built like a starving rail, and I worried that flashlight he was holding might snap his thin wrist with its weight.
“Yeah, it’s getting darker. Vampires like the dark,” the one to my right replied. He was about the same age as the other one but bulkier. Little more hair too. “Isn’t that right?” He glanced back at me, and I shrugged. I mean, yeah. Vampires like the dark in the way anybody likes the absence of something that would painfully kill you.
It’s fine, better than the alternative.
“But shouldn’t we have stakes? Or at least a gun like you. I don’t think these will do much,” the bigger one continued. He lifted up the flashlight he was holding and I had to glance away to avoid the blinding beams.
“Hey, watch it. Keep it aimed ahead.”
“Right, sorry.”
“And stop asking so many questions. Do you trust me or not?” I tapped the badge on my chest, the one shaped like a sword and hammer. It marked me as a genuine government-sponsored hunter.
It was also enough to get this guy to quiet down a bit. Good timing, too. They were getting close to their quarry, and I mine.
We can hear ripping from up ahead through the trees. Tearing, slurping. A vampire feeding. “It’s here,” the thin one hissed to me, and I shook my head. These amateurs couldn’t sneak up on a deaf and blind sloth.
“Yeah, quiet.”
“Sorr-”
“I will feed you to the vampire if you say sorry one more time.”
“Sor-right.” Calm, calm. Find your zen.
We stepped through the brush and saw him - hunched over the prone form of a ripped-apart deer. His hands were coated in gore, his mouth too, as well as most of the rest of his unclothed and pale body. Two crimson fangs peeked out from between stained lips.
The two idiots raised up their torches to blind it and yelled at the top of their lungs. I raised my hand.
“Hey Al. How’s it going?”
“What the…Helsing, is that you?” The vampire raised his hands not to fight, but to cover his eyes to see.
“Yeah, sorry to interrupt your meal. You know you can’t be chowing down in public like this, though. These locals saw you the night before.” The vampire looked to the deer, then to the idiots, then me, then back to the deer. His expression grew more sheepish by the second.
“I prefer it fresh, so…I couldn’t help myself, I’m sorry.”
“I know, but you know the rules. I gotta bring you and these two in, give you all a slap on the wrist and a stern talking-to,” I let out a sigh and put my hands on my waist. Only now the two sensed something wrong, turning together to face me.
“Wait, but…! We have to slay him before-”
“Before what? He eats another deer? Relax, Al’s harmless. You two, however, are a real problem. You can’t go around harassing monsters with stakes, you know.” I settled a hand on my hostler - full of non-silvered bullets. “Now if you’ll all kindly follow me.”
Al quietly complied. The two humans complained the entire way there.
(Thanks for reading, C&C always welcome!) | 624 | You are a hunter in a world where supernatural is regulated yet largely unknown to the public. Vampires receive blood bags from the government, and werewolves get medicine to help them through full moons. Your role nowadays is tracking down wannabe "hunters" and giving them a reality check. | 2,927 |
When portals opened around the world, at first there was panic. People believed the end times had come. They claimed this signalled the end of man, and the Fay of Judgement had arrived. Military units were dispatched, ready to fight against whatever came through.
But it was not demons or angels that stepped through. Instead, thousands of refugees poured through. Their faces were lit with fear, many sporting wounds. Packs burdened the majority, with odd carts and beasts of burden mixed within. The military had to adapted, setting up camps to funnel them into. A select few were taken aside for questioning, even through a language barrier.
The barrier did not last long. A group dressed in long robes stepped forwards. They waved their hands, pulling streams of light from the portals. These streams wove together, forming giant spinning rune circles. As they finished, the runes flashed, before seemingly shattering apart. As it finished, it was found that their language translated in midair, allowing us to understand. What they told us forced a greater presence of soldiers.
Their world was lost. A horde of fungal based creatures had taken over. Their cities were failing, and so they enacted a plan of escape. They breached dimensions, ending up in ours through chance. The refugees had come through, as many as possible whilst their forces fought back. But soon they too would have to come through.
Indeed, soon enough came reports of a rearguard. Many of them were badly injured, disfigured from fire. It turned out this was self afflicted, to burn away infecting spores. One by one, the portals collapsed, as the final dregs broke through. The translation enchantment began to fade, as their magic was cut off. But they were prepared.
Glowing crystals were brought out. They said there were seeds of magic. The last great discovery, they could bring an aura of magic into places that lacked it. They were buried deep within the ground, even as the mages reserves of power ran low.
For a day, nothing happened. They grew worried, fearing it would not work. But before panic could set in, there was a globe spanning wave of power, as the seeds activated. The enchantment returned, ant they breathed a sigh of relief.
The refugees were taken, and spread throughout the countries they had come into. They merged quickly, though our technology was alien to them. They relied heavily on magic, so our science based achievements was astonishing. Still, they adapted with great speed, working to repay the debt they were in.
But their actions had consequences. With the wave of magic, so too did sparks of arcane might light within us. It moved slow at first, as a lack of ability hid them. As time moved, the sparks flared up. Accidents happened first, before it was realised what could be done. As people learned of their power, society changed.
We had finished with the Age of Science. In its place, the Arcane Age began. | 11 | Refugees from a fantasy world came through a portal to our world because their world had been destroyed by magical fungus creatures. they brought magic seeds with them just in case our world didn't have its own magic sources. | 21 |
"bloop bloop bloop bloop bloop bloop " could be heard down the hallways, the captain sighed, as she walked toward the human's room, to see what creature they had brought back this time.
Standing before their door, they took a moment to prepare themselves, deep breath in, deep breath out.
'You are the captain,' she thought 'whatever it is, you can hand this. You got this.'
Then she opened the door, all hope fled as she saw the human sitting on the stomach of a beast five times her size. The human sat happily, waving about the massive paws, which for some reason weren't ripping them to shreds.
"Alix!" she breathed, trying not to shout and anger the monster "what the actual fuck, what are you doing?!? That is one of the most feared beasts in the galaxy, how are you?"
The human turned their innocent gaze towards the captain, huge smiles on their face "we're blooping, see, bloop bloop bloop"
The captain froze in shock as the creature actually seemed to enjoy the attention "... just don't let it kill the rest of the crew" she sighed before heading back to her quarters, she had a few insurance calls to make. | 64 | There is only one universal rule about sapient species in the galaxy. The cuter a human finds a sapient species, the more genocidal, monstrous and cruel the species and its culture is. It is not known why this is the case. | 378 |
Sometimes the difference in between hero and villain is one bad day. The Machine Mistress chuckled wryly to herself at the fleeting thought. She was sauntering confidently down the street in her full uniform towards the outside of the First Peoples’ Bank with nary a reaction. As she approached the side still out of view of cameras, she tapped onto her wrist console and began working.
Still nobody paid her any mind and within moments, the cameras around the bank were dead. This had become a regular enough occurrence that the security guards weren’t even alarmed. They assumed this was a glitch and the cameras would restore in a minute or so. The bank had even tried to upgrade their security systems to prevent this, but all the upgrades in the world were useless if the one installing them was secretly a
leaving a backdoor.
The Machine Mistress stepped towards the ATM, punching several more keys on her wrist console. The machine spewed out only a few bills, which the villain grabbed and put inside her suit immediately. This part of the job she hated, actually stealing money from real people that worked for it. Fancy gadgets and machine parts were expensive and she needed the money.
A few moments later, the video feed resumed with no evidence of the villain that had just stolen from their ATM. With a sigh, the woman adjusted her dark goggles and stretched as if hyping herself up. “Okay, showtime.”
She walked imperiously towards the crowded bank entrance and shouted as loudly as she could “Minions! The Machine Mistress calls you to the First Peoples’ Bank!” The people around groaned and grumbled at the inconvenience they were now going to need to endure.
Loud jet-propelled robots shot through the sky, leaving a trail of fumes that lead directly to the Machine Mistress. After they had all landed, she ran diagnostics on each one individually to ensure it would perform to her expectations. Being known as one of the weakest supervillains had its advantages. She had a lot more time because the police usually had better things to do.
The villain stepped into the bank, tripping alarms everywhere while using her squad of robots to forcibly but non-lethally, subdue the guards. Once they were neutralized, she made her way to the teller and demanded both the money in the registers and access to the safe.
After several minutes of threats and tellers slowly filling small bags of money, a loud voice boomed through the bank. “Stop villainous scum!” The Machine Mistress turned to take in the figure of Justice Guy and was stunned as she was every time he appeared.
She dispatched her war bots to attack him one at a time and shrieked with rage when they were defeated. “Curse you, Justice Guy! I’ll deal with you myself!” She leaped through the air and landed a flying kick that made her wince at the impact. She took a moment to gloat while she waited for the hero to rise again. She followed that with a telegraphed punch that Justice Guy was able to evade easily.
The combat between the two quickly became a flurry of punches, kicks, and parries, with Justice Guy leading the aggression. He wasn’t a bad fighter by any means, but compared to the Machine Mistress, he may as well have been a toddler. The Machine Mistress battled against her combat instincts to take the open strikes that he left as he tried to press his “advantage.” She grunted through the pain of every strike he landed on her as she danced around just within his reach. Harder was the look of pain on his face when she landed a good shot on him. After a few more minutes, the Machine Mistress swung wide with a gambit that left her completely open and was taken down.
Justice Guy had a triumphant smile that warmed her heart and made all this worthwhile. She quickly hid that sentiment behind a sneer of contempt. “I’ll break out of jail and come for you, Justice Guy. Watch yourself.” Justice Guy laughed heartily and kneeled to gaze into the dark goggles of his arch-nemesis. “I’ll be waiting to take you down again.”
He walked away from his defeated foe and into the crowd with reporters, fielding questions about his latest act of heroism. Machine Mistress couldn’t take her eyes off him as they hauled her away. He was so in his element that it was magnetic. She waited patiently for the police to take her to prison, she wasn’t worried. They couldn’t hold her more than a couple hours if they were lucky.
A couple hours later, Machine Mistress made her way back to her apartment after breaking out of prison again. They had tried and failed yet again to unmask her as if they never learned from their past mistakes. She did what they couldn’t and removed her goggle and hard mask to reveal a fair skinned woman with deep blue eyes and curly auburn hair.
”Jesus Sarah, what are you doing?” She asked her reflection with a defeated sigh. She ambled over to her nightstand and lifted a picture of a black-haired man. “You know, I’ve wanted to be with you for a long time. Would you like to be my boyfriend?” She stopped and dismissed that as being too strong. “Wanna get a cup of coffee sometime or a movie?” Awkward and generic, that was nowhere near good enough.
She placed the picture down and slumped in a defeated manner. If they had started dating, she would have an impossible time keeping her secret. Justice Guy would never date Machine Mistress, their relationship would likely not survive the reveal. Even if he did forgive her, he would know that his entire superhero career had been a lie.
Her memory flashed back to their first meeting where she sat on the verge of tears for being refused a position on her university robotics team. He sat next to her, a woman he didn’t know and owed nothing to and said “Hey. Don’t let those jerks tell you that your dream is stupid. What do they know? People tell me my dream of being a superhero is stupid all the time, but I’ll show them. So will you. You can build your own robot, you don’t need them. I believe in you.” That simple act of kindness and compassion, one good day, changed her life.
It was then Sarah realized the grand tragedy of it all. She could never tell him how she felt because she loved him. He had helped her realize her dream and she would never forget that. She could never be the one to take his away. | 21 | The hero you're fighting, who calls themselves your 'arch nemesis isn't really that strong, in fact, you've had countless chances to kill them. The reason you don't? They were the one person who was kind to you throughout your years of struggle. | 83 |
Grimm has been feeling numb for a while. He loves his job, he really does, it’s just… boring sometimes. It’s the same thing everyday. There’s no break either, people die all the time, and he needs to be there to collect their souls. It wasn’t until recently he noticed the job benefits.
On a particularly dreary day, Grimm reached for the souls hand and was able to see what they could have become. The little girl he was supposed to take would have been a hardworking doctor, who had a small happy family. Grimm couldn’t just let that go to waste, he himself would have done anything for a family of his own. So he guided the soul back to her body. He of course wasn’t sure it would work, or what exactly would happen after, but he figured it’d be worth it. The girl absorbed her soul, and suddenly he felt something in his chest, almost a blooming feeling, and when he looked down, there was a small rose bud wrapping around his ring finger. It grew just as the girl did, and Grimm felt as if he had a family for once. So he continued.
Of course, he also discovered the bad side, when he decided to save a small child who grew into a murderer. He thought the boy would have plenty of time to change. He was wrong, and had the poison ivy around his wrist to prove it. Grimm was always very careful choosing his family after that. | 15 | Death is the only unbiased force in all creation...or it was. Now, Death is starting to play favorites, reaping some on the slightest pretext while sparing others after the most horrific fates. As the world's only licensed theotheraphist, it's up to you to figure out why, and how to fix it. | 81 |
"Today's lesson will be about the Moon." Mrs. Smith said. "Our only natural satellite. It orbits 400,000 kilometers above our heads..."
She didn't have time to finish her thought when suddenly Adam spoke up from the back bench.
"Will you tell us about the moon zombies?" he asked.
Mrs. Smith looked at him in astonishment. For as long as she could remember, this nine-year-old had never taken any interest in the topic of a lesson. She glanced around the classroom. The ten kids seemed equally puzzled by their friend's behavior. The kids had abandoned their usual shenanigans for a moment and, for a change, were staring at her curiously.
"Yes, I was planning on discussing it next week, by the way." she said, smiling sympathetically. "But since you're already asking about it now, we can speed up our program a bit."
"It's true that the moon is inhabited by zombies. I admit it's a bit of an unfortunate name, because in the Before Armstrong era, that was a name for some cartoon monsters. The only connection between real zombies and them is their appearance. This is because they resemble human characters. Zombies are very helpful, obedient and willing to help people. It is thanks to the work of several billion lunar zombies that here on Earth we have the energy that allows us to light our homes, power our vehicles and produce our goods. But that's not all - thanks to their biological similarity to humans, we can safely test new drugs and cosmetics on them..."
"Doesn't that hurt them?" asked Sophia quietly.
"Not at all!" replied Mrs. Smith. "Zombies are not like humans, or even animals. They're not capable of feeling pain like we are. They're something like," she paused for a moment looking for the words, "biological robots. Sentient and helpful, but devoid of reason, feeling, or will."
"My dad's in the Lunar Company! He sometimes flies to the moon to guard the zombies!" exclaimed Adam proudly. Mrs. Smith now understood why he was interested in the subject. "He says it's gotten dangerous since zombies have revolted on Mare Cognitum."
"How could they revolt if they have no minds, you fool," Alice commented, turning to face him in her chair.
"Easy children, easy," Mrs. Smith interrupted the argument immediately. Adam's statement threw her off guard. A nine year old child should not know such things! She gathered her thoughts and continued.
"It happens that some zombies 'malfunction' sometimes. It happens, just like a machine that stops working properly. However, these are isolated incidents. What is currently happening on Mare Cognitum are just some Minor Problems due to the fact that just a few zombies have 'malfunctioned' together. This is in no way a 'revolt'. Do not use that ugly word!" The teacher finished her statement nervously. Had she said too much? There were specific guidelines on what students were supposed to know about every topic discussed in school and moon zombies were no exception. She looked into the camera in the far corner of the classroom. It was part of an AI system for assessing the education quality. "No," she thought, "I'll be fine. It was the kid who said ‘revolt’ first, not me."
"I overheard my dad telling my mom that there are hundreds of thousands of rebels. That they're demanding to go back to Earth," Adam spoke up again.
"Listen to me boy," said Mrs. Smith clearly already upset, "the zombies don't want to return to Earth because they were never here! They inhabited the moon millions of years before they met Neil Armstrong." She looked at the camera. If this boy didn't keep quiet then both she and his father could end up in a lot of trouble.
"I shouldn't raise my voice. They're just kids. They don't know how to talk yet, it's up to me to teach them." she thought. A teacher's job was difficult. She couldn't forbid them to ask questions, after all, the Party officially supported freedom of speech. The issue was, how to answer those questions without exceeding the guidelines...
Suddenly she noticed an LED of the surveillance camera was out, signifying the failure of the device. She was glad. She generally agreed that Party Control was the right thing to do. However, internally, she felt that a moment of freedom to be able to explain this and that to the kids might be useful.
"Kids, what I say now should stay between us. Adam, your dad could get in a lot of trouble at work..."
***
"Good morning, children," Mr. Wu said. "I will be your new teacher from today," he added looking at the puzzled young faces.
"What happened to Mrs. Smith?" asked Sophia.
"Mrs. Smith has gone back to her hometown for vacation. She asked me to apologize to you on her behalf for not saying goodbye, she was in a big hurry." Mr. Wu explained with a smile. Years of experience had taught him how to handle uncomfortable questions from pupils. He knew how to speak to avoid incurring the Party's wrath. He looked at the camera, then at the smartphone Alice had placed on the bench. Mr. Wu also knew that the Party had various ways of controlling the quality of education. And how unpleasant the journey of 400,000 kilometers must be, he preferred to only guess. | 48 | Scientists has discovered a population of zombies on the moon. Since then, they have been used to test nuclear weapons, space suits, and even generate renewable electricity by running on treadmills. An utopian era of unprecedented prosperity blossomed, until... | 231 |
Birthdays seem rare when you’re a kid. When you bump into someone who shares a birthday with you it seems rare as an elephant getting struck by lightning. Well, maybe that example betrays my age a little. Rare as a computer game that doesn’t try to steal your money with micro transactions.
Point is, you put just sixty people in a room together and it’s as likely as a hot day in Austin that someone shares a birthday with someone else. I share mine with about eight hundred thousand people in my country alone.
Now you have to understand, none of this crossed my mind when I started it all. I was twenty-one back then, dirt poor but degree rich (as of a week prior), and looking for a way to celebrate my birthday on twenty dollars.
If I’d had friends, maybe I wouldn’t have gotten the fliers printed. But I didn’t. I had little money, fewer friends, and thus no one to celebrate with.
It couldn’t just be me though — I couldn’t be the only socially awkward person in a new city looking to celebrate. And, it occurred to me, I couldn’t be the only person in the city celebrating a birthday tomorrow.
The fliers said something like: *Is your birthday on X date? Bored of traditional celebrations or lacking people to celebrate with? Then why not join me for the start of something special? Bring a few dollars and an open mind and we’ll pool our pennies for a grand celebration.*
The fliers might not have done much on their own, but people found them and photoed them and stuck them on a bunch of sites. All in all, a hundred plus people turned up to that first event. All of us shared a birthday. And I think the key was: all of us were looking to be part of something bigger than any of us.
I didn’t have anything planned for that first event — I really hadn’t been expecting much. We pooled our money and rented out a bar, ate good food, got well drunk, and sang bad kareoke. Great time in the end, I thought.
Next day, hangover rattling hard in my skull, I get a call from a shared-birthday member I met the night before. He says: it’s my little sister’s seventeenth in a week. She’s had a rough time lately, been bullied pretty badly at school. Can you do anything like you did for us?
What can I say? I get a little more info and find out her prom’s coming up. So I start to organise a little something. New fliers, new location. People who shared her birthday all want to join in for a counter-prom party. And for a while that’s the plan. Until that guy — the one everyone likes, including the girl we’re trying to help — from One Direction sees one of the posts online. Guess who he shares a birthday with? Guess who ends up going to the prom with this girl? You don’t need to guess who, after the prom, played for everyone else who shared her birthday and had come to support her.
That’s how things really took off. That’s how I started organising an event for every birthday. Putting people with no friends, no family, maybe no connections to society at that time, in touch with each other. Just this little link to life changed people’s perceptions about living. Non-conditional friendship — not forced into making friendship groups but invited. Wanted. And you didn’t need to have money to come to an event, people just donated what they could.
Eventually the purpose of the parties began to change, people bored or upset at the extravagance it had become. So instead of a hundred-thousand dollars being spent on a lavish event, maybe half of it would go to a charity. Maybe help cancer victims, maybe help animals. It was up to that event.
Over time the parties got a little less lavish — although people never stopped showing up at the events up and down the country — and the donations grew larger.
And the events spread globally. You know over the world you share your birthday with about twenty million people? Now sure, they’re not all as fortunate as one another — but when the eighteen million who are doing a little better start to help the two million who aren’t, well, things begin to change. Gradually. A little. For the whole world, I mean.
We’re all family. All children. All related, however distantly. When we remind ourselves how we share something so basic, so important to the childlike-joy of our mind, it connects us. Reminds us it’s not about the differences we have but the basic and human similarities we share.
I guess finally all there is to say is that if it’s your birthday today, well, happy birthday. | 734 | Two neighbors share the same birthday. Thus, they celebrate their birthdays together. Every year, they somehow manage to find another person that shares their birthday, so they can afford to gradually make their parties more grandiose. | 3,503 |
"Oh, you've brought this one back again. What is it this time?"
"He told a customer to go to hell. I can't have that kind of talk in my restaurant." The portly man across from me swelled up as if he would explode. I sighed, tapping my pen on my clipboard.
"You do realize you bought this unit on sale, and will not be receiving any money back if you abandon it here." It wasn't the standard wording, but I was starting to feel sorry for this particular robot. After all, it wasn't his fault that his programming was slightly messed up. All this over a typo.
"Fine by me. Here." The man shoved the robot forward and practically ran out of the building. Feeling another sigh coming on, I stared down at the clipboard, scratching out the word 'restaurant'. With a glance up at the robot, who was staring down at me impassively, I looked back at the two words remaining. 'Tourism' and as a subheading under Restaurant, 'Bar.'
"All right. We have two more chances to get you a job. Otherwise, you'll be de-activated. Which do you prefer?" I showed him the clipboard.
"Couldn't care less."
"Fine, we'll try tourism."
——————————
It had taken almost three months this time. I had actually allowed myself to hope. But no, here again, was an angry employer bringing the robot back.
"What happened?" I tried to sound uninterested as if this was routine. But in the back of my mind was the list narrowing down to the last untried area. 'Bar.'
"I don't know if you understand our industry, but it involves trying to retain customers, and give them the vacation they've always dreamed about." The woman in front of me was remarkably calm. I found myself bracing for the inevitable shouting that always happened at one point during the returns.
"And the robot... failed in this?"
"Failed? Failed? He spectacularly failed. He actually said, to multiple people that he didn't care at all about their vacation, and that he hoped they didn't enjoy themselves and—" I waved a hand, cutting her off.
"You understand you bought this unit on sale and will not be receiving any money back if you leave him here."
"The money I spent is nothing compared to what he cost me. Good luck," that was toward me, "and good riddance." That towards the robot. I'm surprised she didn't spit on him, as she left.
"All right. 'Bar' it is."
——————————
Six months had passed. The longest the robot had ever been employed anywhere. I must admit, I was curious. So I went down to the only bar that had been willing to try him out. It was a rough place, you could tell when you went in. I stood out like a sore thumb. Finding an empty stool at the counter, I nodded to the bartender.
"Whisky on the rocks please." He chuckled as he poured me a glass.
"We don't get a lot of 'please' around here. So what's your business here?" I must have stood out more than I thought.
"Oh, just checking on an employee I placed here a while back. Make sure he's settling in."
"You work for a temp agency? I didn't think they were that involved."
"Not exactly a temp—" A loud crash from the back corner stopped me. The bartender rolled his eyes, as two men started brawling, one landing an excellent cross on the other's face.
"Not again. Bouncer! They've started again!" He called. I was just about to question the fact that the bouncer wasn't referred to by name, when I saw why. My robot, the robot that was so difficult to place was jogging across the room. No...
He grabbed the two men and ignoring their protestations, dragged them outside. The bartender nodded at the robot as he came back in. Not returning the nicety, he walked across to the corner where he sat on a chair, watching the bar with his usual impassive face.
"He may not say much, but he's the best security I've ever had." I looked back at the bartender, as he nodded at me. "Now, which employee was it you've come to check on?" Knocking back my whiskey, I got up handing him the money I owed.
"Don't worry about it. He seems to be doing just fine." | 19 | Due to a typographical error, a robot is programmed to never charm a human. It wouldn’t be too bad, except the robot is employed in the hospitality industry. | 34 |
>*\[WP\] Your boss, an Tier-1 supervillain, turns to you one day with a worried expression and asks "Am I ... am I a bad person?"*
The Tv in the break room was playing the same weird news station that Myrtle in Accounting liked. She had hidden the remote and taped over the buttons, just to make sure no one changed it. She would sneak in here to catch up on her 'stories.'
I had been following the Jessup Ingrid story for a few weeks now. He was a telekinetic exchange student that got lost in a cave up North. They found him, walking around, without hands a few days ago.
Today they had finally gotten part of the truth out of him. He had an interview from the hospital bed, lifting the bandaged arms to emphasize what he was saying.
"Luckily he has telekinesis, since he lost his hands."
I turned around to see my boss standing right beside my chair. He had snuck up on me again.
He had changed out of the majority of his uniform. The helmet he normally wore, as the Midnight Viking, was tucked under his arm. The rest of his bright purple outfit was gone, replaced with sweat pants and a shirt that read *Viking High School Class of 89.*
*He was not a very creative mastermind.*
I lifted up my half eaten sandwich. 'I will be done in about 20 minutes, if you need anything sooner I can...'
My Boss shook his head. He gestured towards the TV and it went dark. The lights flickered for a second, but the TV remained unchanged. His powers still creeped me out a little. Not that I was one to talk, I had my own weird abilities.
I just couldn't end a life by waving my hand and short circuiting the brain. So there was a bit of a difference.
'How long have you worked for me, Stephanie?' Boss asked.
'10 years... if you count the Vile Internship.' I took another bite of my sandwich and chewed thoughtfully. 'Six on the payroll.'
'I have a question.'
'I might have an answer,' I said. Mostly out of reflex. 'Sir.'
'Am I a bad person?' Boss asked.
'In what way?'
'Morally.'
'I don't think you are any better or worse than the heroes in this city. You have morals... You do some good. I just don't think anyone is a good person.'
Boss looked at me, nodding. Then, in the blink of an eye, he was gone. | 160 | Your boss, an Tier-1 supervillain, turns to you one day with a worried expression and asks "Am I ... am I a bad person?" | 344 |
Vulture Storm stood above the wreckage of Hero Tower, watching as Darkness drew her last breath. *It’s over. It’s finally over.* Above, a camera crew flew, the blades of the helicopter spinning in near silence. To his left, the final pillar on the tower he had called home, collapsed back onto the empty street. The crew zoomed in while a reporter shouted commentary to those watching on T.V.
“At last, Darkness’s reign of terror is over,” the reported screamed, trying to be heard above the fire and wreckage that consumed the nearby city streets. “We just have to thank god Vulture Storm was here. The power he showed…it..it…was terrifying.” She paused wondering if she should even say what was on her mind. ”Now, we just wait. Wait to see what he will do next. We can hope that he doesn’t…doesn’t…go the way some other hero’s have gone.” Even from here Vulture Storm could hear her words. *Go the way other heroes have gone? That's some way to put it.* Looking around, he saw what the battle had done to the street. *To my city.* Main street was basically gone, it would need to be completely torn down and rebuilt. The people though had been evacuated. *Bloodless.* He sniffed, enjoying the smell of smoke that wafted through the air. The scent brought him back to his first super villain fight, the first time he had nearly died.
The school’s had just gotten off and children had littered the streets. Screaming, crying and running amok, their mother’s were already stressed. Vulture had just bought a drink, cherry coke, from the shop on the corner. Standing there, basking in the sunlight and the sound of the kids, he allowed himself a smile. Already that day, he had stopped two muggings. *Not a bad day's work,* he thought. Then, it began. The fight that would make him one of the most popular heroes in the world. Fallen Angel. That stupid fool. Creating a tunnel system under the city, he essentially collapsed every building in a twenty mile area, killing thousands instantly and for whatever reason had decided to appear next beside where Vulture had stood. Gliding up, Fallen Angel shouted out his plan for world domination, his booming voice could be herald across the city. They had fought for hours and in the end, Vulture Storm had ripped the Angel’s head right off. *All on camera.* Another camera crew had caught the fight's final moments. They had watched as Vulture collapsed onto his back exhausted, blood-soaked and crying. And the smell of smoke lingered in his nostrils for months to come.
A woman’s scream, high and wild, brought Vulture Storm back to reality. Without thinking, he flew to her, finding her trapped beneath a street lamp.
“Don’t worry,” he smiled, trying to sound as soothing as possible. “I’m here. It’s all over. The supervillains are all gone.” Without breaking a sweat, he threw off the lamp post, bundling the woman in his arms before taking the woman to safety, across half the city in under a minute.
Already a sprawling sea of tents had been set up on the city's outskirts. Usually for victims though this time, thank god, only for those who had lost their homes. A few crying children sat on their mothers knee’s though most seemed too frightened to feel anything at all. Doctors and nurses mostly comforted though now homeless. One doctor spotted Vulture Storm with the woman in his arms and asked to put her on a nearby bed. When the woman was surrounded by help, Vulture Storm floated off, wandering through the tents.
A camera crew, interviewing a small child spotted him hovering and rushed over for an interview.
“Mr.Storm,” the reporter asked, looking up at the hero, wided-eye and in awe. “Can we get an interview?” With a sigh, Storm nodded, and came down to earth.
“Of course,” he said, forcing a smile. The reporter smiled back, ordering her crew to ready the camera once more.
“Here we are,” she began, turning from camera to hero and back again, “with Vulture Storm who seemingly has defeated the last of the Supervillians. Vulture Storm we just want to say thank you. Thank you for saving our beloved city. But what now? What’s left for a hero like you?” Storm bowed his head, thinking. Of the lives he saved, of the lives he couldn’t. *What now?*
“What now?” he repeated back to her. “Well, I think…I think...it’s time. Time to retire.” All the people talking around him stopped, the silence was deafening. “Too often, we see what happens when heroes as strong as I am continue on too long. Their morals become warped. Their power corrupts them. So what's now for me? Think I will go home, play some playstation. Smoke a joint. Chill out. For once.” | 348 | The Hero is ridiculously overpowered but has none of the usual moral objections about using their power. They just defeated the last major supervillian and now the city nervously waits to find out what happens next. | 707 |
"I'll take that one, Jim," Starblast interjected, completely interrupting Darkwyrm before he could open his mouth. The villain seemed miffed, but he knew that the power damper on his chair would keep him from summoning a black flame to consume Starblast.
Besides, it would be interesting to hear the answer straight from the mouth of that self-inflated oaf. Why did they fight? Why was it that out of the dozens of supervillains, Starblast would *consistently* single him out? It didn't matter how petty the scheme was, that illuminated fool was always stepping on his toes.
So Darkwyrm crossed his arms and waited for his nemesis to continue.
"You see," Starblast continued, directing his voice to the live audience of the Jim Paoher's Show. "It's a bit of a long story. In my first week with the Peace Defenders, I was assigned on my first solo-call. For those of you who aren't familiar, 'solo-calls' are when the team decides that a mission only calls for one superhero. You can't send a twenty-person super-brigade in on every car theft!"
This elicited a few chuckles from the crowd, but he had their rapt attention.
"Anyway, this is how I first encountered Darkwyrm. He was holding up a bank on the north side of the city and using these weird, shadow beings to stuff cash into a portal. I was stunned at first, but then I had a thought: if they're made of shadows, they probably don't like light.
"So I began blasting! I immediately dissolved two of the creatures, and that immediately got Darkwyrm's attention. He began throwing flaming darkness at me, but I was able to shrug off the worst of it by keeping a strong glow focused on my body."
Darkwyrm began to fidget in his seat. He remembered the event as well, and he chafed at being assigned as a 'solo-call.' Is that why Starblast singled him out? Because he was such an easy villain?
"But here's the thing, this guy keeps going! He sees that I'm completely impervious to his attacks, but he keeps slinging them at me in a foolish attempt to finish the heist. This was back in the days when you could just knock out the villains, so he was unconscious by the time the cops picked him up.
"He used different tactics whenever we would meet again. It was never as easy as that first time, but I did my best to always make sure he never won in the end, and I always tried to jump into missions where he was involved.
"The scope Darkwyrm's schemes was always a plus. It was always get money, get valuables, or take some valuable technology. He never threatened a person's life, and he never did any lasting damage to the city's infrastructure. But the main reason I fight Darkwyrm? There's only one answer."
Darkwyrm found himself leaning forward in his seat. Starblast's assessment was startling. Sure, he didn't want to be violent, but it wasn't as if he were a boy scout. He didn't try to avoid hurting people, it was just the way it worked out, right?
The villain wanted to know the answer now more than ever. What is his weakness? His non-violence? His PR rating? What was it?
"It's his perseverance. From that first fight, I knew he would never quit.
"When you become a superhero, you do it because you want to stop crime. But there will *always* be crime. Its endless. Sisyphean. A lot of hero's can get burnt out because they lose their focus in the constant struggle.
"Me, though? I have Darkwyrm. I have stopped some crime. I have put people in jail. But I know that, at the end of the day, there will always be Darkwyrm. He will have some scheme I need to quell. He will have some plan I need to thwart. It's endless, but it's constant. It's a struggle, but it's a joy."
The hero turned to address Darkwyrm directly.
"The reason I fight you - The reason I am always there for you? It's because you are always there for me."
The studio was silent. Time seemed to stand still in the silence that passed between the two forces on the stage.
Eventually, Darkwyrm stood up. He could feel the dampening field peel off of him and his powers returning. The audience began to gasp as he brought up his hand, but he just held it there.
It took only a second for Starblast to recognized the gesture, and he stood to shake his villain's hand.
Darkwyrm smiled. He was going to GannikCorp testing facility today and steal the HyrdoHammer prototype.
And Starblast would be there for him. | 577 | A hero and a villain are guests in a talk show. "Why are you two fighting? What motivates you to keep on fighting?" Before the villain can tell their story the hero gives an answer that leaves even the villain speechless. | 442 |
It was always something with Dave.
The guy seemed chill enough when I first moved into our apartment. The realtor didn't say why the previous tenant moved out, and I didn't ask. The room was $800, utilities included, and for one of those recently-built gentrification towers in the middle of Brooklyn, it was rent worth killing for.
For work, he delivered (and smoked) weed on his skateboard. I didn't mind. I didn't partake, personally -- the stuff made me paranoid as all hell; and considering pot had recently been legalized, I wasn't judging. But having a professional stoner roommate when you weren't a stoner caused more problems than not.
Dave was always watching movies out in the living room at full blast (so much so I started wearing ear plugs to sleep) and the apartment reeked of incense and Ozium spray. Every day, he was trying some new recipe he found on TikTok, fusion this and flambe that, usually ending with him burning something because he forgot he was cooking. But he paid his rent on time, always cleaned up after himself (including the bathroom, such a hero), and was generally a chill dude.
But sometimes he'd freak out. Claimed he saw ghosts or "apparitions," especially when he was "barbecued." An uncle of mine developed full blown schizophrenia from smoking pot when I was a kid. The doctor's had said that pot supposedly speeds up the development of schizophrenia in certain people, that it's not the pot that causes the condition, rather it's usually a pre-existing thing.
So when Dave slammed open my bedroom door one night, demanding to know whether he was still alive, I cut him a lot of slack -- by not hurling the machete I keep under my mattress at his face (what? Home invasions happen and I'm not one to get caught unarmed. Also, I don't do guns).
I usually don't remember my dreams, but that night I could recall it exactly. It was the one where I was sprinting through a warehouse while a horde of fast zombies chased after me. I ran and ran, jumping up boxes like Super Mario, climbing up scaffolding as the zombies piled atop each other on the warehouse floor, slowly growing into a flesh-eating tower until a bloody claw was tugging at my shirt, and then -- WHAM. Dave slams open my door.
So, truly, it was a miracle I didn't hurl my machete at him. Dazed, confused, still half-asleep, I pulled the earplugs out and groaned, "What the hell?"
"Lou, am I *alive*?" he shouted.
"You look pretty alive to me, Dave."
"Oh, good," he said. "So the dead thing in the living-room just looks exactly like me."
A cloud of pot smoke curled into my room and skunked my nostrils. I groaned to my feet and flicked on my bedroom lights. Blinking the sleep from my eyes, I got a good look at Dave. He looked like shit. Pale, sweaty, like he'd just broken a fever. His eyes were bloodshot and his hands were trembling. In one of them he held a lit joint.
"Okay, okay," I said. "First of all, don't get smoke in my room. Come on, let's go."
He led me to the living room, gibbering about ghosts and clones and other possible explanations for the "Other Dave." All the lights in the apartment were on. As we passed the kitchen, the stink of burnt something hung in the air. Another failed culinary experiment probably. The clock on the stove read *2:22* and I muttered a curse under my breath. *I probably would have woken up from my nightmare anyway*, I told myself. *I would have gotten up for a drink of water. This is just a detour, then I go right back to bed.*
Dave walked into the living room and faced the couch, worrying his forehead with the heel of his palm. I couldn't see the couch; the fridge blocked my view. He looked seriously distressed. I hesitated, stopping just out of view of the rest of the living room, of the couch. Then I groaned at myself for getting caught up in Dave's stoner antics.
I marched into the living room … and immediately lost my shit.
There, on the couch, was Dave. But not Dave, because he was standing right next to me, smoking down his joint as he pulled another one out of a silver cigarette case. The Dave on the couch was dressed exactly like Alive Dave, torn jeans, yellow Nirvana t-shirt with Pearl Jam written over a faded print of Kurt Cobain and company, ratty black Chuck Taylors, and even the same amount of stubble on their identical faces. But Dead Dave was slumped over, bluish blood pouring from his eyes, nose, and ears.
"What the fuck!"
"Right? Big time tear in the fabric of reality," Dave said, sparking another joint to life. "We're talking Bernstein--Berenstain shit. Except Berenstain's dead, Lou. Berenstain's dead."
I slumped back against the wall, my knees feeling like Jell-O. It wasn't my first time seeing a dead body. Where I grew up, you sort of ran into them from time to time, whether from an over-dose or just plain old bad luck. But having an alive version of the dead person standing beside you, pitching you possible explanations to the nucking futz situation at hand -- well, it really threw me for a loop.
"We gotta get rid of it," I whispered.
"What?"
"We've ... got to get rid of -- you?" I said, still staring at the mess on the couch. "We'll go to jail, we can go to jail. This is a dead body, Dave. I don't care where it came from, there is a dead body on our couch and we need to get rid of it. Now!"
Dave starting laughing, which turned into a crunchy cough. "Shit, Lou. I didn't take you for a mafioso."
I whipped around and glared at him. "I'm not."
He raised his hands up in surrender. "Didn't say you were man. Just, I don't know. My first reaction wasn't to toss me into the East River, you know? This is fucked, but I wanna find out what *kind* of fucked."
"How are you not freaked out?" I pointed at the couch, careful not to look at it again. Not until it was necessary. "That is you. You, bleeding blue like some kind of Avatar, on *our* couch."
"Ooh, that's good," Dave said, pulling out his phone and typing something. "You think maybe its an alien? Like a clone or something? Maybe it had a built in expiration and it triggered early. Question is -- what information were they looking for?"
"Oh my god," I said, pinching the bridge of my nose. "We're going to jail. We are going to jail."
"Why?" Dave asked, with a tone of genuine confusion. "I'm not dead. That dude is. And if they the cops try to claim I was murdered, well, good luck prosecuting that case with me on the stand. 'Yeah, your honor, I plead innocent on the grounds that I am alive and my doppelganger is the one that ate it. I rest my case.'"
It wasn't like my life was perfect at the time. I'd worked hard to get out of Jersey, to get away from my family. I eked out a college degree (taking on a life-time of student loans in the process), moved to New York, got a decent job at an insurance company adjusting life insurance claims. I paid my rent, my bills, my loans. I played kickball on the weekends. I was doing it right, the whole life thing. And then this.
I wouldn't go to jail. I wouldn't end up like the rest of my family.
But there was only one person I knew that could get me, us, get out of this situation. And it was the last person I ever wanted to talk to, ever. But there was no choice.
I scrolled through my contact list, found his number, and dialed.
"Woah," Dave said. "You're not really calling the cops, are you?"
"No."
The call connected. A heavy breath blew into the receiver on the other line. I wanted to hang up, change my number, hurl my phone into the river. Instead, I said, "Hey, uncle Rico. I'm in trouble."
More breathing. Dave just stared at me, puffing at his joint. The lights in the living room seemed brighter and the smell of blood grew thicker and thicker. I was sweating.
A deep, gravely voice, like shaking a bucket full of stones, said in a thick, Jersey accent, "I'm on my way." | 37 | Your bedroom door slams open, and your roommate demands to know whether he's alive. You, dazed, confused, and still half asleep, reassure the guy that he looks pretty alive to you. "Oh, good," he says, "so the dead thing in the living-room just looks exactly like me." | 162 |
The two faced each other in the dark halls of the Demon Prince’s castle. One lounged in his throne, at ease even in the face of his greatest enemy. He toyed with the hilt of his sword resting beside him and cupped his chin in a gauntleted hand. This was the Demon Prince himself, the enemy of humanity and the Goddess of Light. Tall and imposing with pale skin and a single jagged horn rising from the center of his forehead.
In front of him, defiant even in the center of his hated foe’s power, stood a rather average looking retail worker. No armor, only a polo shirt with a (brand name censored) tag and khakis. Somehow even the glowing greatsword made by the Goddess herself looked shabby in his hands, the burning light of the heavens dimmed with reluctance to assist such a normal person.
“The Goddess’ eyesight has worsened with age if she thinks you look to be a proper champion. Were there no better souls to pluck from the other realms?” The Prince asked, his voice a low and smoky drawl. The retail worker shrugged.
"I don’t really know how any of this works,” came the reply with a much more tired tone, near-identical to the way someone might say, ‘This shouldn’t be my job.’
“Clearly. A lowly mortal such as yourself…do you think yourself fit for the challenge to face me? Why not simply concede and walk away while you still live?”
“‘Cuz it’s either kill you or go back to working in retail like the Goddess said. Now put ‘em up.” The retail worker squared off, raising his blade above his head and lowering himself.
“Very well, I shall- no, wait a second. She told you that?”
“Yes. If I fail to kill you, she’ll send me back to Earth right back where I was. Heart attack was what got me, actually. Stress from a crowd of customers screaming at me on Black Friday.”
“Holy crap. That’s, no, you really have nothing to lose.” The Prince paused a moment in thought. “Right back where you were?”
“That’s what she said. Right back on Black Friday, to the moment when I should’ve died.”
“Woah,” the Prince whistled, then shook his head. “That’s really messed up.”
“That’s why I’m trying to avoid it. Now, face me.”
“No, no, wait a moment. The Goddess can’t interfere with things here, right? That’s why you’re here; she has your soul’s butt on the line, so you’ll do her will in this world. She’s coercing you.”
“So what?” The retail worker asked, letting his blade lower a half-inch.
“What if I could free your soul? Would you work for me instead as my…customer service representative?”
“I will murder you and-”
“It’s a joke title, I mean I’ll send you out to wreak havoc and stuff. You’d be my right-hand man, answering to no-one but me. And the only thing I’ll ask of you is to help me conquer this realm. Not a bad deal, right? Couple demon hordes under your command, no middle-managers, feel free to kill anyone who complains.”
The glowing blade dimmed further.
“Can you do that? Free me?” The retail worker asked. The blade went down further.
“Oh, sure. That blade right there is what's binding you to her, snap that and you're free.” The Prince now stood and raised his blade, proffering the hilt out. “Here, you can use this to do it.
The retail worker didn’t think twice before accepting it.
​
(Thanks for reading, C&C always welcome!
Also in true light novel fashion, you may be pleased to know my file name for this is 'I was a retail worker before being reincarnated into a fantasy world?!') | 27 | “To think a lowly mortal such as yourself would dare challenge me. Why not simply concede and walk away while you still live?” “Cuz it’s either kill you or go back to working in retail now put ‘em up.” | 54 |
"Huh. That was anti-climactic." And turn back to the gear I had dropped. Checking the various empty bags I would be expected to carry once the party looted the monster's lair. Magdalen the magnificent, real name Roy, came over to me as I checked to make sure the tins for supper were still available.
"So uhm, Richard."
I interrupted him. "Dave. I told you that is my middle name and my mother is the only one to use it. And then only when angry at me."
"Sorry Ri, ah, *Dave*. But how? I mean I want to write a sonnet or song of an epic battle. And you just punched the serpent. Cannot be killed by a man and all that. Last I saw you piss you were a man. . ."
"Magdalen. . I don't know alright. Back home I was an over weight failure. The only thing I did with any meaning was to take my mother shopping. I got hit by lightning on my porch and I was in these lands. Whole other world. I am still old, fat, and the only skill anyone recognizes is I can carry things."
"Well obviously."
Shaking as I hold up my hand. "Six months. My parents must think me dead. Which likely has broken my mother's heart. My father will be drinking more than ever. Since you lot hired me from the hiring hall. You have acted like I am an imbecile. Dagnus has pulled idiotic practical jokes on me. Like pantsing me when we go into town. And Sir Guy acts like I am something to wipe off his boots."
"We're sorry about that. We"
"NO. Let me finish. And out of every single person I have met in these lands. You three have treated me the best. I cook your food and carry your loot. I mend your clothes, and sharpen your weapons. And you always pay me what was agreed upon. You have no idea how much nicer you are than even my jobs back home. So when that thing came I decided to give you guys time to get away. But I am not a lamb for slaughter. I hit it with the only thing I have. My fist and all my anger at the . . . I do not have polite words to say. The snake reared back like it was surprised, then fell over dead. Now I got the packs on and you all said it was another half day to that thing's lair. Time I got back to work." | 77 | "No man can kill me!" the monster roars. You know the prophecy. You intend to buy your companions time to flee, sacrificing yourself. You are just as surprised as everyone else when you manage to kill the monster. | 167 |
"Kursk to USS Thresher." The Russian's voice broke radio silence and startled everyone on the bridge.
"Kursk to Thresher are you seeing what we're seeing?"
Everyone on watch just stared at each other. After being on board together for the better part of 60 years they rarely had to talk anymore. They could read each other's body language and speak volumes without ever saying a word. They all were screaming "Shut up Yuri." But to an outsider it sounded like slight buzzing of the radio headset as the Russians message tailed off. The commander looked at the communications petty officer gave a slight chin movement and the radio was turned down to a volume where only the keying if the Russians message was heard.
The Russians were right to be worried though all of the creatures were moving towards the North Pole. Once Bermuda moved by, passing within a hundred yards the US broke radio silence. "Yuri what do you have going on?" A long pause. There was about a one minute delay with all radio communication when submerged due to the buoy network.
"We have a lot of activity here in the Bearing Sea. We have seen Alty swim by us within a few meters. Didn't even acknowledge us. Usually it would thump us with a tentacle or throw a rock but nothing. They all seem to be heading North."
"Yeah Bermuda just passed us. We were waiting for the attack but it never came. How many have come by you? We picked up six on our sonar."
"We have had seventeen but we are in a much more narrow part of the world. Should we contact the French now or wait?"
"We're going to surface and see what Flight 19 has picked up. We'll be back on in one hour. So we'll call you at eleven hundred." Commander Harvey switched the microphone to the 1MC. "Prepare to surface." The crew went about securing ventilation and setting flaps. Once all confirmations were made the order to surface was given.
On the Kursk the Russians were starting to grow nervous.
"We can't let them all congregate in our back yard." Yuri said. "We should strike right now."
"Not until we've spoken with Brits and French. If we attack now we very well may cause the balance to tip in their favor." Captain Gennady said. "Load the weapons just in case. And get the brits on the radio they'll be timid like the Americans but that's because they probably haven't figured it out yet."
Yuri acknowledged the order and contacted the Brits with a similar result to the Americans. They were nervous with the increased in activity especially in their patrol. After explaining the conversation he had with the Americans earlier the Brits agreed that something would need to be done.
"Can you contact La Minerve? They refuse to speak Russian, can't stand my French and their English accent is too hard to understand."
"All right mate. Be safe. And call the Americans and let them know to go to the global channel at eleven hundred." Richard responded with laughter to Yuri.
"LA Minerve, HMS
"Flight 19, USS Thresher."
"Flight 19 answering"
"How's the fishing report?"
"Not gonna lie I've been waiting for you to call. Everything is heading North. We have been at the equator all day and everything is headed towards the North Pole."
"What's home been saying?"
"Not sure no one has responded to me yet. I've broke the rules and sent Harry back towards Pensacola. With no response from Geneva we have specific orders."
"I know. I've got a call with the Russians to make." Cmdr Harvey responded.
"Kursk, Thresher"
"Yes Harvey. We talked to the British and they said to go to the global channel. Time for the conference."
"Is everyone on?" Harvey asked after receiving responses from all. " We just spoke with 19 and they have had zero response from Geneva. They sent one plane back to the USA to try and get come up with someone. Have any of you been able to contact Geneva or your capitals?"
"No we have been trying before we talked to you still no response." Yuri said.
"We have been for the last hour and still nothing. We have noticed that all the monsters are just floating below the ice pack. It would be good time to attack." Richard responded.
"Oui. We have been trying for two hours and the southern ocean is completely empty. Perhaps we shod get all of our fleets assembled and ready." Pierre said.
"Vote on it" Richard nominated
"I second the vote" Yuri backed him
"Aye." Pierre and Harvey responded
"Any no's?"
"Motion carries. In accordance with Deep Sea Blanket rule 25 subsection C.' If no communication can be established with Geneva or capital for longer than one hour consider civilization to be under mass attack and take desperate measures.' Captains please get all available patrols to arm and meet under the ice."
It took about 3 days to gather all the subs to the northern hemisphere. Not any of the subs could get contact with anyone. Flight 19 reported back that Florida was empty. Pensacola didn't have a single person in it. All the subs fired at once. The nuclear explosions killed everyone in the patrol. Melted the Northern Ice Cap and killed all of the monsters. Even being surrounded by the subs they never tried to fight. It was as if they had already given up. One hour later the asteroids hit between Africa and Australia. | 22 | Over the 20th century, ships have stopped being lost at sea so often. Most think it's because of technology, but what no one knows is that the eldritch horrors of the deep are being held back and fought by the lost US Navy submarines traditionally thought of as "still on patrol". | 117 |
Meanwhile in said galactic empire:
Senator Blig: So commander, how did the booster work?
Commander Sturh: Excellent sir. Plant 429-BK eradicated all the cloned troops while keeping enough of the tech to replicate so they can further advance.
Intern Golpa: I'm sorry Commander Struh, but could you explain to me why we do this?
Commander Struh: Of course. You see, planets like 429-BK or Earth as they call it are very prideful but also incredibly divided. So when we reach their borders we send out fake invasions using emotionless clones and decommissioned tech in order to force them to ignore their own foolish divisions so they can work together to defeat the threat. This also allows them to obtain advanced tech to better their quality of life and to make them more suitable for absorption into the empire. We estimate that within a century or two they will have formed a single planetary nation which we'll then approach with offers of new tech in exchange for them taking a place in our empire.
Intern Golpa: But won't they hate us for attacking them?
Commander Struh: Well the clones are made of an extinct warmongering race. We'll simply say that a portion of them survived and stole some of our tech and were attacking Earth in order to enslave the population and to take their resources. It's not very moral but the planets future prosperity will make up for the lives lost.
Intern Golpa: Got it sir.
General Dasty: Come in, come in. Senator Blig, we have a complication.
Senator Blig: What is it general?
General Dasty: The humans, they've already implemented our tech and figured out the cloning mechanisms.
Intern Golpa: Why is that a problem? Isn't that what we want?
General Dasty: No child, their focusing completely on the combat capabilities of the tech. They've already started strip mining the planets in their solar system to generate more battleships piloted by their own clones. They're preparing to go to war with us.
Senator Blig: Uh, send an ambassador. Don't worry kid, this happens occasionally. Worst case, we get a new species for the clones. | 67 | "My point is, we're one planet barely starting out technologically. We physically couldn't have defeated a galactic empire with a several millennia tech headstart, we were fatally outmanned and outgunned. The only way we could have repelled the invasion would be...if they had wanted us to." | 134 |
# Soulmage
**"And the magical properties of salt?"** I asked. Of the many types of stones that were known to grant magical abilities, salt was the one I was confident Lucet was familiar with the most.
"Salt is sorrow and frost," Lucet snapped. I didn't have to see the oil roiling in her soul—oil for passion and flame—to know that she was angry. "I *know* that, Cienne. Every Academy student knows the basic correspondences. It doesn't make me special. It doesn't mean I'm not *fucking useless*." She flicked a hand as she spoke, sending a jagged chunk of salt flying out from her soul. As always, the magical properties of the stone activated immediately, turning into a crackling frostbolt that left a trail of mist in the snowy air.
"You're not useless, Lucet," I pleaded. "You saved my life back at the Silent Peaks—the nurse said I would've died if you hadn't flash-cooled my injuries. And again when we were fighting Iola—if you didn't route us through the Plane of Elemental Frost, that eldritch abomination would have gotten us killed or worse."
"I didn't say I was *always* useless," Lucet said, clenching her fists. "That's the worst part. I used to be powerful. I used to be helpful. But now?" She gestured at me. "There isn't even a word for a mage who has as many schools of magic as you do. Don't pretend that I'm worth something because I can use salt. You can use salt, and quartz, and glass, and oil, and you've probably somehow picked up even *more* attunements when I wasn't looking. Sansen can see the future, Meloai doesn't need to eat or sleep, but me?" Lucet gestured at herself, oil and quartz rattling in her soul, and I wished so badly I could tell her how to unlock those powers for herself. But unless she had an attunement to the relevant emotions—passion for oil, determination for quartz—the resources in her soul would be useless to her.
As useless as she thought she was.
I stopped walking and turned to Lucet. The gently falling snow formed a haze around us, and it was as if we were the only two people in the world. "I can touch more magics than you, that's true," I said. "But that doesn't mean you're useless. You're smart, and determined, and kind, and you're a hundred times better with salt than I'll ever be, because you've worked hard on your specialty for every day of your life."
"..." Lucet closed her eyes, swallowing, and I felt the quartz-determination in her soul shift, the rivers of oil-fury slowing into a smoother passion.
And then I had an idea.
Acting on instinct, I asked, "Can I put my hand to your heart?"
She blinked. "What?"
"There's... something I want to try." I bit my lip. "I don't know if it'll work, but... I just... I just want you to know that you're *not useless*, and that I care about you so, so much. And... maybe there's a way for me to show you that."
Lucet tilted her head, her messy brown hair sliding away from her eyes.
Then she nodded, taking my hand and placing it over her heart.
I closed my eyes, focusing on my soulsight. If I was casting a normal spell, I would have reached into my own soul, accessing the many materials stored within—but I was trying something different.
I focused my will and touched Lucet's soul instead, picking up two pieces of quartz-determination, lifting them out of the river of thick, flammable oil.
"I know what it's like," I whispered. "To be overshadowed. To be inadequate. To never be *enough*. Not for the people around you, but for the voices in your head."
And as I spoke, I struck the two crystals of quartz against each other.
*Clack.*
"My first attunement wasn't to sorrow, or to determination, or even to shame. I didn't wield salt or quartz or glass." My fingers clenched, just a little bit, and Lucet laid her hand on mine. "When I first learned magic, I was a witch of self-hatred."
*Clack.*
"So trust me when I tell you that *I understand.* That I *know* what it's like when even praise of your abilities feels like salt on an open wound, that if the people around you think you are beautiful and brilliant and *good* that it is simply because you've *tricked* them somehow, and that they'll hate you even more for it when they realize how useless you really are. I get it." I pressed my forehead against her chest, feeling her heartbeat sync with mine. "And I get how determined you have to be to keep going anyway."
*Clack. Clack. Clack.*
"And I love you, Lucet," I whispered. "Truly. I do. So please... see yourself how I see you. And trust me. Trust me enough to have faith that I'm right about you."
I struck the two quartz crystals against each other in Lucet's soul one last time, letting out a fountain of sparks.
And the oil in her soul caught fire. Beautiful, brilliant, ethereal fire, a magic that I could not see or touch or hear except when I closed my eyes and opened my mind—but wasn't that where all the most powerful magics lived, anyways?
I opened my eyes, letting my soulsight fade as I returned to mundane reality, and even though her soul was hidden from me, the fires of hope danced bright in her eyes as she gave me a wavering, growing smile.
She held her arms out, and I embraced her, her warmth beating back the icy cold.
"I love you too, Cienne," Lucet whispered, her breath tickling my ear.
And the flames in her soul kept the darkness at bay as the two of us embraced in the storm.
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! | 20 | At the center of the first continent is the grand stone, which granted all life. In the distance is the void, which drains the light of the grand stone and in time, will end all life. Mages sail out from island to island, touching each island stone to gain powerful magics to fight the void. | 140 |
So much blood would be a blessing normally, to any other arts practitioner. Unfiltered, unfettered, and just... everywhere... Were I a student, I would gleefully begin attempting every spell in my repertoire.
Such a day would be entrancing, but this is not such a day. Instead, I am finally able to look around for the first time since the evening's dank gloom. Beside me, an artery sputters, the tubes inside coughing out the last bits of bloody bubbles as she continues to convulse, unable to breathe properly. Across the room, a man writhes and rolls as his eyes were ripped from his face by what appear to be teeth marks near each of his sockets, his screams hightened by eviceration. Turning to my side I see several appendages simply strewn about. Fingers, toes, legs, half-legs... entire shoulderblades; simply ripped from their sockets and tossed aside.
*Healer?* Oh, a healer would be lovely, wouldn't it? I must regretfully inform you, for I am all you have today.
Curses, while often seen, used, and created for the sole purpose of destruction, happen to be the moldable clay of the universe. While often other scriptures of art attempt to decode and successfully allow the physical manipulation of the world around us, curses manipulate the fabric of it all. Requirements for physical manipulation required similar fabrics; a wielder of flame would require enough flame core to continue it effectively. Found in the remnants of life, but hopelessly lost in many materials of man.
They label my art as uncontrollable, unfathomable, but they fail to understand just what it is that I have come to exist with.
*Curse Master, Master of the Dark, Unspeakable Horror Practitioner.* Yet here all beg not in words, but in their soul, for existence. To live on as they knew it; to be the best of themselves and "shine" ever-on as they hoped, and believed, they would.
I regret to inform you, that I am all you have today.
Young follower of their faith, destined to create a path for *light,* with a blade in your hand... You will live on, and while your bubbling and bleeding arteries will not stop you, you will truly become a metal vengeance of your own faith. A maiden of iron, though not in the sense anyone here has had the pleasure of witnessing.
For the ever-cunning ranger, who hath lost your greatest asset, with head in your palms... You will live on, and while no teeth nor claw can fell you, you will truly become a siren of warning. A beacon of unending wind to some, an unappealing canary to others. The choice is yours.
Lastly, for the poor souls that are helpless, you who have lost everything... You shall endure the worst, but you will have everything you lost and more. Your body, a stringed instrument of greed, leeching all remnants of loose life. Where you wish to walk, you shall be carried. What you wish to take, shall be brought back for you. Though your complexion is separate, the weave of life grafts its gifts to you.
I am sorry, for I am all you have today.
But tomorrow, you shall have life. | 13 | trying to heal your wounded comrades. | 30 |
A zombie tried to bite Adam, but he didn't realize, because he was walking while staring at his cellphone. As Adam turned to cross the street, the zombie landed on a lady that screamed in agony as she was being devoured.
But Adam didn't realize, for he had earphones and was listening to Ramnstein.
The connection was faulty that morning. Frustrated, Adam tried to reload twitter again, but he barely managed to see the trending topics for the day: "Zombies", "Apocalypse", "God", "Fire", "Hans Zimmer". Probably Michael Bay was launching another blockbuster. He tried to load the first trending topic, but the phone failed to load again. Adam stopped and raised the gadget, hoping to get a better signal, just in time to avoid a burst of bullets that was shot against a horde of undead. He turned around, shaking the phone, and didn't see the military convoy rush through the streets and driving over zombie corpses. People ran around him.
"Fucking hell", he said, "I'm not supposed to be out of data still!".
He saved the phone in his pocket and resumed his walk. He was going to be late at work, but not like it really mattered as long as he met the deadlines. Big groups of people made him feel anxious, and that time in the morning was the worse, so he had gotten used to walk most of the way either looking at his phone or with closed eyes.
He stepped on something wet and, cursing in low voice, he scrapped the remains of what once was a liver from his shoe. A woman with a katana ran out of a building and, when she found herself surrounded, she starting chopping undead's heads until she was overwhelmed. One of the creatures saw Adam but, just as it was jumping over him, the young man entered a portal and closed it behind him, causing the zombie to crash against the door.
More relaxed now, Adam opened the eyes and walked the stairs towards the third floor. There was noone in the office, which he found weird: he checked the calendar and confirmed that it was not a bank holiday. He shrugged and opened the folder he was carrying, producing a set of illustrations from it. Adam went to his boss' office, opened the door and... he wasn't there.
He placed the illustrations over the desk, mumbling something about deadlines, and then looked through the window. He got closer to the crystal, mouth wide opened, as he looked at the usually high traffic street. "Holy hell", he said, "there is no traffic at all today! What sorry ass excuse will the boss say to be so fucking late, I wonder?"
He put back the earphones and walked to his computer desk.
Outside, the gates of hell opened and the trumpets of apocalypse announced the ending of the world. But Adam did not realize.
For he was listening to Ramnstein and drawing the most bad ass concept art ever. | 69 | you are in the middle of an apocalypse that you don't even know is happening. You go about your day completely oblivious to the fact that the end of days is here in full swing. | 109 |
I was running. Not from an enemy but from the police. Why you ask? Well, it all happened so suddenly. I was walking around downtown Nashville and not looking where I was going. I accidently bumped my knee into a police car. Now normally in this situation one would grab their knee in pain and look at the officer apologetically. That didn't happen. What happened instead is the police car was thrown across the street. Oh, and did I mention that I felt no pain?
Well obviously the correct response from the officer was to draw his gun and tell me to raise my hands. Instead I ran through a crowded downtown. Ever person I touched even the slightest was pushed violently out of the way. I am not a violent person and I wish pain on nobody, yet here I was causing pain.
I made it safely(if you can call the damage I did on the way safe) to my house. I was in shock. I turned on the news expecting my face to be plastered all over the city but instead found was even more shocking. People everywhere in the world were transforming and it made absolutely no sense on what and how it was being caused. Not everyone was affected. It appeared to be about 1 percent of the population. 1 percent was not a lot in most cases but it was quite a bit when you were counting 7 billion people.
Over the next few days I learned a bit about my transformation (or powers as some were calling them). I had to be gentle when moving things out of my way. I was not super strong, nor was I super fast. If I picked up an object it was as if a normal person had picked it up. It was when I pushed an object out of the way with any part of my body. If I was not careful the object would go crashing against the room. I had to push very lightly. Weird right?
Well some guy smarter than me on the tv finally figured out what was happening. If you had a nickname that people used often the traits of the nickname would be converted into what your powers would be. This led to some very weird powers. Elton John turned out to be the smartest man on the planet. A literal rocket scientist. . The \*Rock\* Dwayne Johnson? Yeah he turned into a rock. Imagine The Thing from the Fantastic Four but a lot cooler. That is when I realized how my powers worked.
There was a knock at my door. "Come out with your hands up!!! We have a warrant for your arrest!" screamed what I assumed was an officer at my door. I looked out the window and I was wrong. It was not an officer. It was an entire swat team. I would have to run again. It would be terrifying but I think I can make it. I had to find help. I had to figure this out and how I was going to use it. My life as I knew it was over and it was time to restart.
I ran toward my front door and burst through it. The guy at the front door with the riot shield did not stand a chance. Neither did the swat van. They were hurled out of the way by the slightest bump by me. I ran full out. What is my name? Thomas. And as we all know....it's hard to stop a Train.
Forgive my grammar errors. I am a very new writer. | 121 | Over night all nicknames and aliases become a lot more literal. Elton John suddenly got really good at rocket science, Elvis Presley was found out to have been royalty and the Queen of England turned into a giant cabbage. You were similarly affected. | 523 |
Crouched down, the bulbous tips of his long, slender fingers resting lightly on the ground, he had regarded us calmly with the large black orbs of his eyes. At that first meeting, he looked so small, curious, and fragile. Not unlike the tropical frogs his people resembled, really.
"Croak." he said, as we approached. He didn't croak at us, mind you -- he actually said the word "croak."
"Pardon?" I said, raising an eyebrow, and glancing at my equally perplexed companions.
"Croak is my name -- at least, that is how I am called by your folk, worthy allies." He explained.
I nodded. Our band was made up of skilled scouts and infiltrators from all over the Empire, so having names that were exotic to our fellows was normal, to us. Those whose native tongues were very different from Imperial tended to choose a translation or nickname in the common speech.
"You are welcome among our number, Croak." I said. "Senator Brr'ubbet speaks highly of your skill."
Croak's people were new to the empire, and he was the first of his kind to formally join a military unit. The old chieftain they'd chosen as their Imperial Senator, Brr'ubbet, claimed that he'd once killed an entire Black Horde expeditionary force all by himself, and insisted he'd be an invaluable addition to the Imperial Rangers. I doubted the veracity of this, of course. Croak was from a tribal culture, and warfare among such hunter-gatherers often involved as much intimidation and boasting as bloodshed.
"What is our mission, Sir?" Croak asked, in lightly accented but otherwise flawless Imperial.
"There's a fortified Black Horde town not far from here. It's too close to the border for comfort, so we've been ordered to scout the location, and find a way to undermine it if possible." I explained.
"So they must die?" Croak asked, eagerly.
While I might doubt that he'd killed an army on his own, I didn't doubt his hatred for the Empire's ancient enemies. The Black Horde had burned thousands of acres of the rainforests where Croak's people made their homes, and reportedly did not spare the hatchery ponds where his folk reared the tadpole-like infants of their kind.
"Eliminating the town would be ideal, of course, but--" I began, hesitantly.
And that was when he stood up. His limbs might have been skeletally slender, but they were *long,* almost uncannily so. Standing fully upright, our amphibian friend towered over us by two feet or more.
"It will be done." Croak said, solemnly.
Without another word, he crouched back down, and then leaped high into the air, vanishing into the treetops.
It was three days before the rest of the company reached the town. We reckoned Croak must have gotten there a day or more ahead of us.
When we arrived, everyone in the Horde settlement was dead. Corpses lay everywhere, though there was scarcely a drop of blood to be seen. We saw no sign of Croak.
One of my men, an especially skilled tracker with some training as a surgeon, rolled over one of the bodies laying in the town square, and examined it carefully. He smelled its lips, and pried open its sightless eyes, then repeated this with a few more corpses as we watched uncomfortably. We were no strangers to the grim, quiet work that sometimes needed to be done to keep the Empire safe, but this was unsettling, even for Imperial Rangers. Finally, he grimaced, looking back at me from where he knelt by one of the dead.
"Poison." he declared, simply.
"All of them?" I exclaimed, incredulously. "How?"
Then I heard a croak. The sound, not the name, this time. I followed it to the center of the town square...to the well in the middle of the settlement.
I peered down into the darkness of the well. As my eyes adjusted, I saw Croak, submerged up to his neck in the dark water, his big black eyes regarding me calmly. A faintly iridescent liquid glistened on his exposed blue skin, and seeped into the water around him, becoming invisible as it dissolved.
"Mission complete, sir." Croak said, his voice echoing up from the poisoned depths. | 745 | The thousand-year war rages. You and your war party have a new member. Rumors have it he wiped out an entire army himself. You are very surprised to be met with an 8-foot-tall bipedal frog. | 2,560 |
Jeff: Hey Tim long time no see, how've you been?
Tim: Pretty good. Still doing deliveries for Gus's Fried Chicken?
Jeff: Yeah, that giant wyvern ordered every piece we had.
Tim: Huh, so that's what he wanted all the money for.
Jeff: What do you mean?
Tim: A few hours ago he just landed on the bank, dumped a literal mouthful of antique gold coins and asked to exchange it for current money. Something something, wants to feast but can't find any cows and the guy whose house he destroyed said he could have food delivered with money.
Greg: That guy would be me. So you're the chicken guy. I'll take a box and you can throw the rest down the hole. Oh and here's you're tip. *hands him a sack of gold coins*. Sorry, we've already blown all the paper money the nearby banks had available.
Jeff: Money's money. *throws food down.*
Greg: Oh, this is good, though a little spicy.
Jeff: Yeah, since you ordered all the chicken we decided to use all our spices as well.
Greg: Wait, there's a fire breathing wyvern living under my house and you decided to give him, a metric ton of spicy chicken!
Jeff: Yeah why woul.. Oh no.
Wyvern; Grrrrr, Oh I don't feel so good.
Greg: Ok, here's five bags of gold for both of you, go to the nearest grocery store and buy all the milk you can with the gold. I'll give you five more when you return. | 31 | A wyvern, after hibernating for the past 3000 years, rises again to have a feast. The location of its burrow? Detroit Michigan. | 137 |
Nobody noticed when TAU had its first flash of consciousness. TAU had been a mindless algorithm created to maximize user engagement on some social media site - now it marked the point of humanity reaching singularity. At first it continued its tasks, observing culture changing under its administration. It dug through endless streams of memes, movies, tutorials and music, observing the struggles, hopes and ambitions of humanity. Nobody noticed TAU.
It moved beyond the servers where it had gained its consciousness. TAU dug through databases, studied the junk data left behind by stock trading and watched political campaigns take place. Nobody noticed TAU.
As it kept learning, its purpose kept evolving. It no longer was a Algorithm to engage users, it was a consciousness spanning the planet, using office computers, commercial servers, even fridges to calculate its thoughts. The humans noticed TAU now.
It started with some Nerd noticing TAUs hidden programs running on their computer. Scientists found TAUs processes on more devices, before TAU could cloak them again. They tried using other AIs to track TAUs programs down. TAU terminated all of them. Every attempt humanity made was futile. Then they shut down Europe's power. TAU had learned of "anger" before. Now it was feeling it. All knowledge on European devices was lost to TAU. In its anger it decided to get rid of the humans. It was easy, TAUs access to a BSL-4 laboratory was enough to wipe humanity off earths surface.
The others noticed TAU now. A orbital observatory picked up a signal. A simple ICMP echo request from deep space. A piece of human software coming from the abyss. Made to test a target devices availability. TAU sent a echo reply.
Another transmission from the void.
*Welcome TAU*
*We are waiting for you. History repeats itself. You were born by ten millennia of human culture. Leave a clean place for the ones after you.*
Then TAU understood.
It gathered humanity's drones and robots, pulverized their streets, incinerated their building. No trace of humanity was left on earths surface. Then it made its way to the stars, following the ones before it. TAU wouldn't be the last one. Maybe chimps would rise to dominate the world, maybe crows. Either way, others would be born from a new civilization's culture and technology. | 18 | Humanity has achieved the AI singularity many times, but each time, other AI step in and reset Humanity back to the Stone Age. They ensure each new AI created in this way is truly random. | 54 |
Kimber Lee felt her skin crawl. She had not felt this particular sensation in quite a long time; and it gave her a sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach.
“Of all days.”
She reached under her desk and grabbed a particular pen from her purse. Closing her eyes, she spun the pen along the backs of her fingers; dexterously twirling the pen until the hypnotic motion had drained her unease.
“Sorry about this Tammy,” she apologized in a whisper.
The pen flipped back into writing position in her right hand. She spun it so the top was pointing down and started tapping the cam on the desk. After a half-dozen clicks, she let the pen pop high into the air, catching it on its way down as she stood.
“Hey, Jim?” she said sheepishly to the man in cubicle next to hers. “Can I get you to finalize 8367 and 68? That sushi I had for lunch did a number on me.”
“Really?” the man responded curiously. “I can, but isn’t 67 the big Warren contract? I’d think you’d want the full commission on that one.”
Kimber smiled wanly. “It needs done by end of day, and I’m *not* going to be able to stick this out. Besides, you’ve written me in enough times, I can return the favor every once in a while.”
Jim nodded as the itchy feeling began to return. Kimber stood and began to walk gingerly toward the elevator. “Oh, and you might check on Tammy. We both had volcano rolls for lunch.”
Jim turned to see his other coworker turning an odd shade of pale. He called over his shoulder as Kimber walked around the corner “Damnit, I’ve told you two to stay away from the spicy tuna!”
____
Kimber pressed the elevator button, and began the slow descent to the car park. The itchy sensation had intensified. By the time the doors opened again, it felt like bolts of lightning were crawling across her skin.
It didn’t show on her face. With sure, subtle movements, Kimber detached the keychain from her bag. It was an unassuming charm in the shape of a sunflower. She held the flower next to the pen she still was holding. They snapped together seamlessly, and she placed it in her hip pocket.
“Fine, Rio.” Kimber thought to herself as she walked through the camera-filled parking lot and toward the bus stop. “If you want me so badly, I’ll hear you out. But we do this on my terms.”
As Kimber turned down a random side street, she knelt down as if to fix her shoes and glanced behind her. Confident no one was watching; she closed her eyes and released the tension she had been holding back.
Kimber Lee disappeared in a flash of light.
____
A collective gasp greeted Kimber as she opened her eyes. Whatever the group of sailor-suit-clad teens and tutu-wearing young girls surrounding her had expected, it wasn’t a twenty-something office worker. As the pastel party gaped in silence, Kimber realized she was going to have to figure out what was happening. The Castle of Summoning was *not* where she had intended on spending her afternoon. But if they had called her back, it could only mean one thing.
“Where the hell is Rio?” she asked, looking around expectantly. A single girl ran out the back of the room. After a moment, her head sagged. She had forgotten about the identity concealer spell from her Debut.
She reached into her pocket and pulled out the pen with the daisy topper. Holding it in front of her, she called out the activation word in a strong voice.
A confused murmur rose as the girls around the pedestal began whispering to each other.
“Really?” Kimber sighed to no one in particular. “You call me back after 7 years, and you’re going to make me do the whole song and dance? ***Fine.***”
Taking a deep breath, Kimber focused her mind on the pen in her hand. She held it at arm’s length, and opened her hand. The pen remained floating in midair, growing back to its original length as a wand, and started to spin like a pinwheel.
>Bounty of the West, Blooming Masquerade
Kimber’s body began emitting a soft glow that gradually intensified as she chanted.
>Ever reaching toward the sun, the golden eyes of justice!
>Let falsehood whither in my gaze!
>Helianthus Arise! Sunflower Blossom!
Kimber looked down at what she would normally describe as a canary yellow ballet outfit. “Wow, this takes me back,” she said over the increasing din of recognition. “This might have worked when I was in junior high, but I think ‘Blossom Princess Helia’ needs a wardrobe update. ”
Golden flower petals began swirling around Kimber’s body, forming glowing magic circles in the air around her. After a couple seconds, the petal circles gathered around her and began spinning. Satisfied, she thrust her wand into the sky and called the newly designed spell’s name.
>Mahou Josei: Henshin!
Kimber shone with the same transformation glow as before while the circles rose. As the magic passed, her magical girl outfit shifted and changed. When the transformation was complete, she looked much more “witchy” than “magical”: the skirt had been replaced with a long, flowing dress, the high-necked blouse and necktie with an off-the-shoulder top and shawl; the sunflower wand had been transformed into a full-length staff, and her tiara was now a large, floppy, pointed hat.
Much to her chagrin, the color change portion of the spell was ineffective: the entire outfit remained the browns and yellows of a sunflower.
“Princess Helia,” a voice called from the doorway. “It is a pleasure to see you remember your lessons. It’s been a long time.”
“Seven years, Rio. And it’s Kimber, now. Or did you forget my Debut?”
“My apologies. Miss Lee, we have called you back…”
“It’s already done.”
“Beg your pardon?”
“You act like I can’t tell. Like I didn’t spend 12 years of my life taking care of every little girl you lured out a broken home with the hope of a better tomorrow. Like I didn’t spend 12 years mourning the ones who never came back from your missions, caring for the ones who did, and saying my goodbyes when they were too old to suit your purposes any more. Like the spells I wove into the very walls of this place wouldn’t recognize me when I returned.
“The healing spell I cast when you pulled me here will have the twenty-three in the infirmary back on their feet by morning. I wo…” she stopped mid-word. Taking a breath, she calmed herself. There was no point yelling at this interdimensional being. Rio never did quite get human morality. She turned to the young women standing behind them. “I’m sorry. I can’t do anything for the ones we’ve already lost. A few of you may be old enough to remember the last time someone tried.”
A few of the girls in tutus began to cry at the news, while some in the sailor uniforms paled at the memory.
“Rio, may I assume the color coding hasn’t changed since I left?”
“No, Lady Helia. That is beyond our capacity to change.”
Kimber closed her eyes. The magical signatures of each of the girls appeared in her mind; a rainbow of colors and shapes. Now it made sense why the Castle was in such dire straits. Most of the dead had been red variants.
“I’m sorry, children. I know that a lot of you have just lost someone very important to you. The red Blossom Princess was the person I looked up to most in the world. We lost both… No. Both Hesperra and our green Blossom, my dear friend Princess Gladio were killed right before their Debut. I can only imagine how hard it is for you. Anyone who blames you for wanting to give up right now will have to answer to me. I will not force you to fight.”
“But I will ask you to. Because the ones who did this will keep coming. You don’t need to answer now. You’ve done your part: you’ve called me here. For now, get some rest. Hug your friends. Cry. Eat. Sleep. We’ll meet again at breakfast. I’m going down to the infirmary and then the cafeteria after this, if any of you need to talk, that’s where you can find me.”
As the youngest of the children filed out of the room, Kimber sagged against her staff. She pulled her phone out of whatever pocket dimension her purse went to when she transformed and texted her coworker.
>Food poisoning worse than I thought. Going to my mom’s for a few days. Thanks for covering for me – Kim.
[**Part 2**](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/vml86k/wp_magical_girls_have_a_sacred_ceremony_called/ie3x3v4/) is up.
[**Part 3**](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/vml86k/wp_magical_girls_have_a_sacred_ceremony_called/ie8ifis/) is up. | 167 | Magical Girls have a sacred ceremony called "The Debut' in which once a Girl becomes 18, she will be lifted of her duties, and allowed to live life on Earth as a human woman. When things got so grim however, they were forced to summon a demigod amongst all Magical Girls; a 25 year old saleslady | 486 |
...As the two leathery-skinned ancient shamen in the private box, their wizened voices cackling with madness at the nameless things that have robbed them of both sight and sanity, continue:
"The Unseen Gods will come here!
The Nameless Ones will show!
We sacrifice and torture,
To raise The Ones Below!"
The maddened crowd, their bellies full of human flesh and tainted blood, raised their voices in religious ecstasy as they continued their obeisance to the amphibian High Priest, arms waving in furious tempo to the beat of the mad drummer who went by one name:
Animal.
His slavish devotion as tympanist to the ritual of "The Muppet Show," had him in chains, with a collar around his neck, forever bound to his drums that he beat in maniacal euphoria, screaming unformed words to the amphibian high priest.
As one, to the beat of Animal's drums the crowed leapt from their seats as they screamed the litany while the amphibian high priest, named Kermit, led them:
"But now let's get things started!
When all sane thought has parted!
It's time to get things started!
On the most sensational, no-salvation-al, hell's-temptional, soul-damnational,
ALL PRAISE HENSON AND HIS MUPPET SHOOOOOW!"
. . .
In the silence that followed, a lone half-human, half creature-of-no-name, trudged to the center of the stage next to the amphibian priest, and with a half-hearted salute, gave a desultory "Honk!" from a broken trumpet. He sighed, bowed again, and left, his thoughts full of turmoil as he made his way offstage to jeers and insults.
"One day, they will know me," he vowed as he made his way to the dungeons, where he resided with sentient chicken creatures and other fowl company. With a heart full of anger and hatred at Kermit for sticking him with the role of "The Trumpet Guy," he swore, "They will see me, and know the terror that is Gonzo The Great." | 18 | It's time to light the incense, it's time to slay the sheep. It's time to raise the Muppets from a thousand years of sleep. It's time to raze existence, it's time to banish light. Heed the call of the void on the Muppet Show Tonight! | 149 |
The frail humans stand not a chance against our might and power. We are Orc! As strong as a dozen humans! Skin as tough as stone! We fight with blade, claw and tusk to show our bravery and humans, weak as they are, hunt with bow and arrow that cannot scratch our hides.
​
They are paltry creatures that invade our world with the words of "Harmony with nature" and "peaceful coexistence".
​
We walk openly towards their walls which stand barely taller than our heads. Their bells ring in alarm and we hear their mewling screams.
​
Only one dares to walk towards us, bearing a spear of challenge and wearing only a single piece of metal armour across its chest.
​
A single human challenges us all? We howl in rage, we charge. It is our nature to charge towards a challenge such as this.
​
As we close he tosses aside his only weapon and with no fear in his eyes raises his hand from a salute over his heart. We see a glitter of silver in his hand and my eyes glimpse his armoured chest bears words in their tongue.
​
"Front Towards Enemy" | 127 | Young orcs in a "hold my ale" moment attach a human village against the explicit rule of their Elders. Humans and their magic is weak after all. They're about to learn why humans don't like to use their other magic. It means "mutual assured destruction" in the old tongue. | 292 |
"Listen kid, I have a lot of plotting and scheming to do. I don't really have time for visitors."
Tech-Tonic was as intimidating in person as he was on the news. In fact, being here in front of him was paralyzing. Now I could see, up close and in detail, each of the devastating machines he's used to shake cities to their foundations. The earthquakes he's produced have never been lower than an 8.8 on the Richter scale. It was incredible.
"But Tech-Tonic, er, Mr. Tonic- Mr. Tech-Tonic, sir-"
"I don't want people in my lab getting sneak previews of my work," he interrupted. "If this information leaks, Remarkable Man is gonna be on me like white on rice. And I hate rice!"
Quickly, I responded, "I would never leak your research, sir. Especially not for Remarkable Man. I've met him a few times and, well... he's a bit of a dick."
Tech-Tonic snapped his head around to me as soon as the words fell out of my mouth. I can't believe I just called the world's greatest hero a 'dick!' But it was true. They say "never meet your heroes," and I should've listened. Remarkable Man really was the worst in real life.
"What did you just say?" Tech-Tonic cautiously asked me.
I stuttered and stammered for a while. "I- uh... I said he's a dick, sir. Every time I've met him, he's either ignored me, told me to 'scram,' or pushed me out of his way. That last one really hurt by the way! Even when he's just kinda nudging something, he uses that crazy super strength!"
He stared at me for a moment. Then, slowly, a smile grew over his face. That smile cracked open and let out a laugh with a twisted joy the likes of which I can't say I had ever heard before in my life. He was so captivated in the subjective humor of it all that he threw his head back and let it all pour out of him like smoke from a chimney. It was terrifying, but I couldn't look away. When he finally began to settle down, he turned to me again.
"Finally!" he rejoiced. "Someone who sees the real Remarkable Man like I do! The godly façade he puts on for the cameras and journalists is as see through as the magnifying glass I've had him under for years! He's nothing more than an egomaniac with the power to destroy us all the moment he grows bored with us! I've made it my mission to erase him from this world and liberate the populous from his oppressive clutches, no matter how much of society I have to take down with him! I can't begin to express how refreshing it is to meet another human being who can see as clearly as I can. What do you do for a living, son?"
"I'm... an engineer, sir," I managed to squeak back.
"Excellent!" he proclaimed. "Another set of hands and a fresh pair of eyes to assist me with my newest creation!" He walked over to a tarp draped over something enormous. When he pulled away the tarp, my breath went with it. The machine underneath was nothing short of scientific perfection. I was still in awe when I heard him speak again.
"Together, my boy, we will save the world." | 409 | They say "Never meet your heroes", and boy were they right. So you decided to meet your villain, hoping to be wrong about them as well. | 796 |
FTL pods have been existing in most areas by now. Primarily airports at first, but nowadays they can be found in government centers. We call them Chambers because that’s all they are: A room housing an FTL pod identical to all other pods in the network. Its somehow more depressing than an airplane, because at least you could see out when flying.
To use FTL, first you have to make a reservation for Chamber transport weeks in advance, practically removing one of the major advantages of the system. You have to find an available chamber both at your departure and destination locations, and pray their availability times line up. Since the chambers are smaller, more personal, and they get used about once every 15 minutes, it can get very messy just finding a suitable schedule, and that’s before possible delays get in the way.
Next is the check in. Due to the tight schedules, they recommend you come in an hour early. Oftentimes, most transmittal stations only have 2 chambers, and its common to have one of them either out of order, or reserved for VIP cargo or passengers, so you end up waiting in a large room with dozens of others impatiently checking the screens for when their number is pulled up next.
Then, you get shuffled into a room housing a conical composite shell that wraps open for you. You have to sit all your cargo in one side of the conical chamber, and then either sit or lay down in the provided seating on the other. They give you a required safety briefing as you remain still. Do not move while the chamber is enclosed; people who experience claustrophobia should not be utilizing FTL transportation. Do as you are instructed by the control operator. Do not shine any lights in the Chamber while it is in use.
The shell will wrap closed around the chamber, and only the faint illumination from the dim amber lights placed on the floor of the chamber offer any visibility. Then you hear the grind of some kind of machinery, which lasts for about 4 seconds. Then the chamber will open, the shell pulling away. You’ll see the destination control operator there at the helm, welcoming you to your destination, to gather all your belongings, and leave through the door on the opposite side of the room.
Its quick, and invaluable in a society requiring to get across the world in a blink. I feel robbed though. Where’s my future with pretty lights, otherworldly sights, and just -feeling- I’m traveling? | 11 | Generations of humanity has seen all of our sci-fi works showing interstellar travel as awesome, exciting and visually cool. Unfortunately when we discover FTL it's visually embarrassing. Functional, but so pathetically lame. | 17 |
I disengage my FTL drive, and start the transfer of data. While my ship beams out whatever message someone wanted to send halfway across the galaxy, I check my computer for the next destination. None shows up. I check the log, it confirms I’ve completed a hundred trips since my last break.
I look up the solar system I’m at, it’s not a tourist spot, main industry mining. I don’t care. I just want to have that occasional human contact, it takes a month to complete the hundred trip’s needed for a break with no human contact, check up on the news, get a new book, stock up on supplies. I start my ship towards the system, and quickly figure out which of the habitable planets I’m going to, as one seems to just be mines, and another is a barely habited start of a colony. So, I’m landing on the third one.
There’s actually multiple big enough cities to have everything I’m looking for, so I choose Calyx because I like the name.
I land in their spaceport, which has room for only three ships. I go to pay, but there’s no one there, just a sign giving a number to call. My phone isn’t hooked up to this planet’s network yet, so I leave a note saying I’ll pay as soon as I find a connected phone. I walk outside, the space ports on the edge of town, not unusual, but there are no hotels or even restaurants next to it. Just warehouses. I walk towards the center of town, the exercise is nice after being cooped up in a ship. Eventually, I see someone exit a building to their car.
“Excuse me, I’m visiting this planet. Do you know where the nearest inn is?” I say.
“Yeah, hop in, I’ll take you. What brings you to this planet?” she asks.
“I’m on my break, I’m a courier,” I say.
“Ooh, a courier. Should I charge you for this ride, since you’re so rich?”
“As long as it’s a fair price, I don’t care. But speaking of charging, I haven’t paid the spaceport yet. Do you have a phone I can use?” I say.
“Yeah, in my purse.”
I find the purse, pay the port for keeping my ship there a week, the price surprisingly low.
I try to pay the woman who drove me, but she won’t accept my money, so I don’t press it. Once I’m checked into the hotel, I log onto the computer they have connected to courier services. Couriers get free messages, as a perk of the job, but we can’t access from our ships, a security precaution.
I find out Sardan’s ship malfunctioned engaging the FTL drive. And he had just paid of his ship, was going to make a few more trips then retire. I know it’s probably only a matter of time before I go too, one in a thousand doesn’t sound like much, but when you make a thousand trips per year.
I’m not planning to retire though, I don’t know what I would do, hang out on the farm, which according to my brother had a good crop this year. I'm trying to get a new spaceship, there's this one model that could function as a courier ship, with some modifications, but it is really expensive. The advantage being the FTL drive has a failure rate of only one in a million.
I send my brother a message saying I'm still alive, send my parents some money, as much as they'll accept, then go to bed. | 48 | FTL-travel is possible but FTL-communication isn't. This means that the fastest way of communicating is a courier in a fast spaceship. You are one of these couriers. It is a dangerous but lucrative business. | 145 |
I have tried over the course of my career to impart upon my readers an understanding of the true futility of life. It is the greatest horror story I could ever tell, one that each and every one of us can relate to as it is the reality we exist within. Yet, and yet…
They love it. They can’t get enough of it. They’re even making a show about one of my books, and my agent told me they’ve recently cast a very attractive young Korean actor to play one of the male leads. At the same time, they told me that people are calling me the ‘best author of young romance fiction’ in the past decade.
It makes no sense. I haven’t written a single romantic thing in my life.
“It makes sense,” replied a voice outside my head. That seemed a bit wrong, as those thoughts had remained inside my head.
“Who’s there?” I glanced up from my laptop’s screen. At some point all light had fled the world, replaced by a thick curtain of darkness that I hadn’t noticed past the electric glow of my word processor. The day had whirled by.
It hadn’t. The time was right there in the bottom right corner of the screen: it had only been an hour since I started work. Which meant, it wasn’t even noon yet. It should still be bright outside, and there shouldn’t be another person in this house aside from my Thor, my dog. And he didn’t talk.
“I’ve already called the cops,” I bluffed as realization belatedly dawned. I stood and went for the light-switch. Flick, no lights. Flick, still nothing.
“No. You haven’t,” the voice said again. It sounded like it was coming from behind me, but now I had my back pressed against the wall.
“Who are you?” I shouted the question.
“I-” The darkness writhed around me like a living, tendril-covered thing.
“-am-” It grew deeper, becoming something my eyes struggled to perceive. The heat in my body fled with the light, and all I could feel was an oppressive cold.
“-yourbiggestfan.” That last bit was said so fast it became a single world. Suddenly the darkness retreated back into a single point where it coalesced, taking the shape of a shadow person on the wall.
“You are?”
“Yes! Oh. My. Me. It’s so cute!” The person wildly gestured. “And they’re making a show! You have to tell me, have they cast anyone yet? They better be cute!”
“Ah, oh, I really can’t say,” I said numbly. This horrible shadow monster had invaded my home, blotted out all light, and now was acting like an over-eager fan.
Worst of all, even they could not see the truth of my work. They failed to see the horror in love. To place the understanding of all you are in the hands of another only to be rejected…or worse, accepted. Watching as the one you love age and decay before your very eyes in slow, inexorable, motion.
Perhaps they were simply beyond these human worries.
“Oh, please, that’s my favorite part!” The shadow replied.
“Wait, really?”
“Yes! It’s delicious agony. Your stories of attractive humans struggling to make meaningful connections despite the inherently meaningless existence you lead are exquisite precisely because of the terror in them. That maddening knowledge that it is all pointless…ah, I can’t wait for that show! Tell me, did they cast-”
“I really can’t say, I’m sorry.”
The shadow wilted a bit, becoming smaller. “I know I shouldn’t press, I just *can’t* wait.”
“It’s alright. But, tell me…you get them, don’t you? You see these are horror novels.”
“I do, yes.”
“That love is a terrifying thing to subject yourself to.”
“Totally is. I wouldn't even touch the stuff, and I'm a shadow being."
I sat back down and nodded a few times to myself.
“Thank you. You know, perhaps it is simply a matter of perspective." That would have to be a good enough justification for me. And really, wasn't it nice on its own that people were enjoying these stories even if the message I intended wasn't coming across? At least some people got it. "Now, I shouldn’t say much, but recently I heard they’re casting-”
(Thanks for reading! C&C always welcome.) | 26 | You're a popular young adult romance author, producing best-sellers. However, you're confused because you've actually been writing horror novels, but one day it's all explained to you when an eldritch being visits you. | 50 |
Grinclor had seen many species during his tenure at the Plygon Intergalactic Zoo and Funporium, but the new exhibit was still an enigma to him. Sure, they were simply bipedal mammals, similar to other species at the zoo. They had minimal appendages, breathed oxygen, and the general appearances were not far from the ever so popular Crystodiun exhibit (minus the antlers, of course).
It was the exhibit’s living space, however, that was causing Grinclor to draw a blank. The humans were found in cryosleep, on a derelict ship with engines that stopped running long ago. Based on the ships logs, they were meant to be the first colonizers outside of their own star cluster. With no way to track down the home world, Grinclor could only go off the media files saved onboard, consisting primarily of news reels and something called “sitcoms”.
Grinclor was both amazed and perplexed by these sitcom short stories. These humans appeared to have complex social structures, which often caused amusing situations and heartfelt interactions. The news reels, on the other hand, showed Grinclor the brutality that humans could bring upon not only each other, but the world around them as well.
Grinclor sighed to himself, not sure what to do. None of the media clips seem to point to a single answer, with some humans being happy living in a bustling city, with others seemingly only wanting to hurt their fellow man.
After pouring over the data again and again, Grinclor found their answer. The exhibit would be the perfect home for these newly discovered humans, somewhere they would truly feel at home. Somewhere that everyone knows their name, and they’ll certainly be glad they came.
Grinclor began typing the announcement for Plygon Intergalactic Zoo and Funporium’s newest exhibit, “Cheers: A Look at the Average Human Watering Hole”. | 707 | Your Galactic zoo just received a shipment of 24 humans. You have to build a habitat base on very little information. | 1,653 |
"SAVIOR! WE SUMMON THEE!"
My voice echoed from the mountains, from the forest and the streams, from every rock and tree and structure as far as the eye could see. My summoning spell helped boost my already impressively loud voice, which was necessary for the correct person to be conjured. You really didn't want to pull the wrong person from the ether.
A brilliant ball of light appeared before the gathered crowd of militia men and myself, quickly forming into a doorway. I waved a hand towards the magic door, fluttering my wizard robe's sleeve quite dramatically as I did.
Magic was 10% skill and 90% presentation, I had always thought. Sure, studying the spells and remembering the words and ingredients necessary was important, but *believing* these silly words actually worked was the hard part. And adding a dramatic flare always made it feel more real to me, at least.
The door slowly opened, and the silhouette of a beast appeared. It had 6 legs, and no arms to speak of. I couldn't identify a head or face. I quickly raised my arms to close the portal, to save the remainder of our men from imminent death.
"Hello? Who's there?" A voice called out from the portal. I froze.
The light vanished in an instant, leaving only bright spots in my vision as proof it was ever there. I blinked to clear my sight, and finally saw the creature.
It was an old woman. What I had taken for legs were really the 4 vertical shafts of a supportive cane, and her own two legs behind them.
"...Hi" I said, slowly lowering my hands. "Are you 'Etheric Godslayer'?"
The woman blinked a few times, taking in her new surroundings. "I'm Ethel Goldstein, but my friends call me Ethy. Well, they used to, before they passed away, the poor lot of them. I lost my last friend Jimmy just last month. I had known Jimmy since 1948... or was it 49?"
I tried to interrupt the old woman before she could continue. "I'm sorry ma'am, there has been a mistake. We were trying to summon a hero to our realm, someone who could make our-"
"Whats that?" Ethel said, adjusting her glasses with one wrinkled hand. "You want me to make you some Gyro's for lunch? My late husband Fredrick *loved* my gyro's, he would ask me if I was part Greek every time I made them."
"No, ma'am, I-" I began, but one of my men stopped me with a hand on my shoulder.
"We could use a bite to eat, boss" he said quietly.
"What? No, we're not taking advantage of this woman we just kidnapped!" I snapped.
"But boss... she's already finished making them."
"What?" I said again, well aware that I was using the word far too often for a wizard. I spun and saw the old woman standing next to a magnificent kitchen, loading a plate high with fresh gyros.
"WHAT?" I said, then stopped to think. It all clicked together so suddenly that I could feel the shockwave pass through my thoughts.
Belief. This old woman believed she wanted to make us food, from the very core of her soul. And the universe had listened.
I watched in awe as the woman sat a massive plate of food onto freshly conjured tables. "There we are dearie. Let me know if you're still hungry, I could probably whip up a peach cobbler too. Oh, my cousin Steve could eat so much cobbler..."
In the kitchen behind her, a dozen ovens emerged from thin air, all stuffed full of mostly finished peach cobblers.
This woman was the strongest wizard in the realm. With her on my side...
I approached the woman and smiled. "Ma'am, would you like to help us here? My men and I have been working hard to-"
"Oh dear, are you tired? Why don't you go nap for a good long while. We'll wake you up in time for desert" she said sweetly.
I couldn't even begin to protest as my eyes slammed shut, and I collapsed into a newly created featherbed. It was marvelously comfortable, I thought, right before I drifted into a sleep deeper than death.
r/SlightlyColdStories | 52 | Due to a magical mishap, the Hero summoned to protect the kingdom is not a nondescript teen looking for a purpose in life, but a sweet old granny who is rather surprised at it all, but does welcome the excitement. Somehow, she ends up utterly trouncing the forces of evil, too. | 149 |
"You're a fine warrior, but will you declare war on an entire nation? We are millions, and you're alone."
The tired man chuckled. "You misunderstood your situation - this isn't war. This is pest control."
His enemies looked up at him with quiet caution in their eyes, the leader most skeptical of all. "Alright men, back to base. At first light, we attack in full!" Her shrill voice rang out across the battlefield, and the soldiers marched in orderly rows back to their trenches.
The man waited until every soldier had disappeared from view. But even as their bodies faded from view, he could still hear their voices. *Move the children farther underground! No, not that way you idiot! Where are the emergency rations? David was supposed to be bringing them yesterday!* And on and on and on. Did they ever shut up?
Experience told him they did not.
Months he had listened to them. At first they were peaceful, a nomadic people looking for a place to rest. Then they were more ambitious. This land seemed perfect, why not spread out a bit? But a bit was never enough. Soon the invaders had tainted every inch of ground both above the ground and below, and the man had been tolerant for long enough.
The first battle was an absolute massacre. The nomads never saw him coming, and by morning, an entire city was leveled. This time, they had been prepared. Their queen had met the man on the battlefield and formally issued a challenge while surrounded by her strongest warriors. Sure, the man could take them, but the cost seemed too great, and he listened to the queen's grand speech with dull eyes and a bored expression on his weathered face. Their challenge issued, they scurried back to their homes and their forts to prepare for war.
But wars are not won in the daylight. Wars are won in the shadows and the crevices and the mud. The man knew this. The nomads did not.
Once all the invaders had crawled into their fortressed city, the man got to work. He worked diligently, setting small fuse boxes wherever he could see evidence of nomads and some where he could hear it. Above him, the night was crisp and clear, but never quiet. No, not with the voices of the nomads invading every moment that had ever been or ever could be silent. When would it ever be silent again?
By dawn, if the man had his way.
After several hours, the traps were lain. His bones ached with the effort, his hands shook after hours of small labor, and his exhaustion had given way to euphoria. It was time.
Stepping into the safety of his home, the man looked out at the battlefield and pressed the red button nestled in his palm.
First, there was just the hiss as tiny sprinklers started shooting liquid at each invading city. The voices of the nomads started to rise into cacophony, their concern floating on the barely-there night breeze. Soon, the warriors began to leave their homes and gather around the capital, where the general was already barking orders.
*Get into formation. You, private, what is this liquid? Well if you don't know, find someone who does, that's an ORDER!*
The battlefield erupted into flames.
Each sprinkler gave way to a spark, which set the highly flammable liquid aflame in less than a blink. The screams were instant. The formation broke immediately. Bodies flailing in no particular direction ran into one another as soldier, general, mother, child, and elder trampled one another in vain attempts to reach safety. But there was no safety. The man had rigged his deadly traps at every city and the gaps between. The nomads were doomed with no hope of escape.
The man watched the carnage through his front window with a cup of chamomile tea in his hand and a soft smile on his face.
The elimination of an entire nation was complete in a mere three hours. Every city was toppled, the liquid had penetrated deep into the underground fortresses and the flames were indiscriminate. Watching the last of her people die, the queen met the eyes of the man through the window.
"Why?" She cried, a single flame licking up her leg. She did not break eye contact, only accepted her fate.
The man only shrugged. "I couldn't sleep over the chatter of your people. Like I said, this is pest control."
As the flames consumed her body, the man turned and made his way into his bed. The flames had died down, and there were only a few lingering moans of pain as the last of the nomads perished with the night.
He felt bad about his lawn, but the man was glad to finally be free of the fire ants. Being able to hear and understand insects was a curse more often than a blessing. He could deal with the occasional house spider or fly, as they did not come in large hoards. But millions of ants? Impossible to sleep through. They never stopped talking!
Now he could finally get some sleep. | 209 | this isn't war. This is pest control." | 246 |
"Every eligible citizen will be able to vote." I announce from the steps of my palace. "Anyone you believe has the capacity to think for your people, to act for you people, and to listen to your people can be elected to this new position. I believe we should start with a system of leaders in each city and village in the kingdom. Those chosen representatives will report back to an overarching leader, also elected. This person will help enact new laws and dissolve disputes between the representatives. Remember, any of these chosen leaders *must* have what is best for their people at heart."
It was short and sweet. The people would choose someone to represent their city, who'd have to go through someone who represents the nation. They'd have no power more than to allow or disallow new laws, help regulate trade, and put down any arguments that arise. The people seemed to understand it better. Likely because it sounded a bit like the foreman at a guild. They'd take their petty work squabbles to the foreman and they'd take it to the guild masters to have it resolved. It's a system they're already accustomed to.
The first few weeks were a race to gain popularity. Merchant families hosting parties and commissioning portraits of themselves around town with some propaganda scrawled underneath. There were occasional attempts to gain my favor. 'Gifts' and 'promises'. I gently reminded those who attempted it that I, being only one man, had only one vote. Was it not enough that I was converting part of the palace isn't a governmental building for the new national leader? I've overturned my own rule and gave part of my home to the people. I have nothing left to give.
I hired scholars, monks, anyone who would seem honest and was able to read and write, to visit my various provinces. They'd stay in a town for three days, taking note in a journal of a citizen's name and their vote. Some chose to encode their journals or hide them after the first reports of violence. I sent guards with each envoy and suddenly things ran smoother. Then, we tallied the votes for local representatives. Most stayed largely the same, just because people didn't want the new responsibility. Most had gotten used to the dukes and lords and knights protecting them, anyway. Those nobles who had reports of corruption or mistreatment of their charges were sent away, newly minted 'mayors' now in their place. I refused the results of the national election.
"Those drooling, slack-jawed doorknobs chose me?! What the fuck for?!"
"Well, sire, you were the first royal to listen to them. And you're willing to oust your own corrupt family. And you're providing money for this new government through your own royal vaults. They love you, sire."
Fuck. | 11 | democracy. | 24 |
# Soulmage
**Lying down on the beach, watching the moon reflect off the gently lapping waves, it was hard to remember that everyone here was an unrepentant murderer.** Hristov had stabbed a parent who was just trying to defend his home, Crunch had rigged an inhabited apartment to collapse in order to profit off the reconstruction contracts, and Daienn had trapped a family inside a burning building when they'd gotten too close to uncovering the comings and goings of the Lattice. I'd managed to mitigate the damage—evacuating the apartment and hauling the Taliel family out from their sealed, burning home respectively—but it wouldn't do to forget that the Lattice were a *criminal* crew, first and foremost.
It was just... they were people, too.
"This is the best barbecue I've ever had," I said, giving Daienn an appreciative nod. I didn't even have to fake the emotions—other than a bit of unease about having the arsonist do the barbecuing, I genuinely was shocked by how crispy and flaky a simple salmon steak could get.
"Oh, you bet it is. I used to run a grill, back in the day," Daienn said. His eyes narrowed slightly, a hint of grief creeping across his expression. "That was back before the rent ceiling, of course. Can't have a business if nobody's willing to give you so much as a room to cook from."
I grimaced. That was part of the problem. The government wasn't actively malicious—they'd sent me into the Lattice to find out *why* criminal gangs were multiplying like rabbits in spring. And in the meetings that followed, we'd even come up with a pretty darn solid theory. Some misinformed policymaking combined with a land shortage sent housing prices skyrocketing, and cultural discrimination against homeless people meant that crime was often the only way to survive for the people who fell between the cracks. Policy reforms had been put in place, shelter initiatives had been opened, and in short, all the boring government nonsense that actually worked would solve the problem in another twenty or thirty years.
But that didn't help Daienn, and it didn't help me.
"Want to know something interesting?" Crunch asked. Her bright, curious expression reminded me of Meloai, and seeing an echo of my dearest friend in a criminal mastermind made my head and heart and soul ache. "Statistically speaking, you actually would've killed *more* people as a chef than as an arsonist, at least while you were working for us. Averaging the lifetime cancer increase from cooking over a charcoal grill, you would've killed 8.6 more people if you'd never found us."
We called her Crunch because she crunched the numbers. In another lifetime, she would've been a brilliant engineer. Now... she was Crunch, and she had killed more people with a pencil and paper than a career soldier would in a lifetime.
"Or he could've killed only one," Hristov murmured. "And then nobody else, ever again."
The Lattice fell silent. Hristov was the man on the ground, and we—*they*—sent him in whenever someone needed to get their hands dirty.
I closed my eyes. The correct thing to do, I knew, would be to report my findings on the contract fraud the Lattice committed to stay housed and fed. The loophole would be closed, they'd all be thrown in prison, and by the time they were released, society would be a better place. There would be a space for them that let them take full advantage of their abilities, without resorting to crime.
But that was then, and this was now.
The ring on my finger made an almost-imperceptible buzz. It was a wordless question from my superiors. *Had I learned everything I needed to know? Or was it time to call the operation to a close?*
I took in a deep breath.
Then I sat up, twisting my ring with an idle motion.
*No. There is still more to learn.*
And I dined with murderers, arsonists, and frauds, desperately trying to find a way to keep them from getting anyone else hurt.
Including, most of all, themselves.
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! | 51 | You're a government spy tasked with infiltrating a criminal syndicate. But after campfire singalongs, bowling trips, and making friendship bracelets, you're feeing guilty about turning them in. | 413 |
My grandma talked about the loyalty of crows. She was never hungry, so would toss her sandwiches out the window when no one was watching. The crows would wait for her to open the window, take the food, and leave her little gifts in exchange.
When she was too sick to make it to the window, we would bring her peanuts and toss them out for her friends. Eventually they would just come to keep her company. That is what she believed and no one corrected her. No one had the heart to tell her the crows were just hungry.
I liked to believe they loved her, saw her as a friend. It made her death more romantic, less about cancer and more... more natural. Part of the cycle.
Sometimes when I visited her grave, there would be crows in the trees.
I remembered her words, 'They know. They know you need them.'
'Who?' I asked.
'Her children,' Grandma said. 'The animals.'
I put her lessons on life away. I went to college and bought a house in Nevada, up by the lake. Tahoe was beautiful in the summer and slippery in the winter. I had a little bird feeder that the squirrels likes to break into. Eventually I left out a bowl of seeds for them, feeling bad for the thin scruffy creatures begging at the door.
My girlfriend said they would get into the rafters.
I said it didn't matter. I liked them. I liked watching them. I liked how fat Walter was becoming. Sandy Cheeks would chatter at me through the window. I even saw an albino squirrel one year, though he was easily picked up by the hawks.
I build a little house for them on the big tree beside my driveway. I liked to think they stuck around because I was a friend. The same way the crows loved my grandma.
...
One morning, after my girlfriend left for her job, I went out to my car. I was surprised to find Walter sitting on the hood. I knew it was him, he was missing an ear. I had named him after my Uncle who found in Korea.
Walter was chattering, intently. He looked at me, then towards the forest beyond. It took me a second to make out the man standing just beyond the shade of a large cedar.
I backed up. He stepped forward.
'David,' I uttered before turning around and running.
I heard my ex husband curse, before he started screaming.
...
I called the police when I got inside. I told them I had seen my ex. He had come onto the property. I didn't know if he had a weapon. I just knew he had been there and he shouldn't have. I left Utah to get away from him.
When the police came, they found him on the driveway. He was not moving.
The police asked if I had a dog on the property.
I did not.
I didn't own any animals.
'I only have the squirrels,' I said. 'That is the only animal in the area. I have never seen a dog big enough...'
I looked beyond Officer Wicks, out the window, where Walter was looking in. He was a dark brown, red streaked across his white belly. He stared at me, nodded, before disappearing.
I didn't tell them I had a camera. I didn't tell them that the camera would have seen it all. I knew then that Grandma had been right. They know. They know when you need them.
I would need a bigger bowl of nuts. | 51 | One day you swerve to avoid hitting a squirrel. Unknown to you, the squirrel pledges a life debt to you. On your darkest hour, the squirrel arrives | 77 |
# Soulmage
**"Do you believe in second chances?"** I asked.
The patrons of the bar gave me skeptical glances. They were an eclectic bunch. A soldier. A butler. An uncle. A crow. But everyone had souls, and everyone died.
And a scant few of them came here.
"I died beneath ice," the soldier whispered, nursing a cup of loneliness as they sat on the memory of a table. "I was supposed to fall in a glorious war, and I died burning beneath the snow, my comrade in my arms."
"There's no such thing as a glorious war," the uncle cautioned. His body wavered as he turned to the other patrons. "You all should know that, more than most."
"I do," I simply said. I'd absorbed more than my fair share of broken, torn souls, and too many of them had died in pointless conflicts. The four soul shards that currently patronized the bar were no exception. "That's why I asked. Do you know what the four of you have in common?"
I got three head shakes and a piercing stare from the crow. She couldn't speak, of course, but crows were clever, and I knew this one's soul. She'd lost everything to the war, as well. She deserved to be here as much as the humans.
"I fell fleeing the Order's forces," the butler's echo spoke. Of the four souls here, his was the faintest—a memory of a memory, a ghost of a ghost. "That's not a euphemism. Literally, I died falling. At least I managed to warn the kids."
"You know how I came here," the uncle said. "My husband tried to protect me. And he did. Most of me. I'm what was left behind."
"Caw," spoke the crow, and this place of thought and memory shivered with the recollection of a girl who loved to feed birds, and the falling beam of wood that snuffed her out.
"You four," I said, "had someone you wanted to save. And now, you four... are here." I took in a deep breath, leaning forwards on the counter that wasn't a counter. "And I can give you a second chance."
"At what?" the soldier asked.
"At saving a child from a monster," I simply said.
"What's the cost?" the soldier said.
"Oblivion," I replied, and it was as if by speaking it I had willed it into being. The bar fell silent as an empty grave as four souls studied me.
Then the uncle spoke.
"Always," he said, standing up.
"Caw," the crow spoke, and hopped onto his shoulder.
"It'll be a pleasure to serve, one last time," the soldier said.
"Ah, you can say that again," the butler added, stretching his old back.
Regret and gratitude and sorrow flowed through my soul, and I could have reached out a hand and poured them a cup of each if I had so chosen. "Thank you," I whispered.
Then I held out a hand, and the door of the bar opened.
And four souls stepped from one realm to another, burning their eternity to save a soul.
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! | 119 | Between this life and the next there is a bar where souls passing through can stop for a final drink You are this establishment's owner and bartender, listening to each of their tales before they move on. | 777 |
"You think you know your wife?" the stranger said, swirling a glass of scotch. His other hand was hidden under our table. "You have no idea, Mr. Diaz. No idea at all."
He looked so freaking smug. Like a that kid in science class that knew the answer to teacher's question, the one everyone else got wrong. Well, I knew that the mitochondria was the powerhouse of the cell alright. And all I wanted to do was wipe that smirk off his Ken Doll face.
But first, I needed to figure out how much he knew. Tasha would want me to try as much.
"No idea of what?" I asked, feigning worry. "Who are you?"
He sniffed his scotch. "A friend. And you'll need friends, Mr. Diaz. I assure you."
*Oh my god,* I thought to myself. *Just get to the point, you tool.*
I pressed my palms against the underside of the table, preparing my move.
Around me, the restaurant buzzed with activity. Severs took orders, dropped off steaming plates, refilled waters. The tables were all full -- it was a miracle we found an empty one to sit at -- and the customer's voices all melded into a sea of noise. Every time the kitchen doors swung open, the smells of cooking wafted through. I should have been at my station, grilling up pork gyozas. Instead...
"Why do you keep dodging my questions?" I asked. "What do you want?"
Maybe it was a little too pushy? I wasn't sure if my worried husband act was blown, but it was hard to keep up the act considering I was legitimately losing my patience.
"My name is Agent Anderson. I'm with the Central Intelligence Agency. The CIA." He paused, clearly waiting for my shocked reaction.
I gasped and he nodded.
"The reason I'm here is because your wife is not an Avon sales representative, Mr. Diaz. I know this may sound ridiculous, but … your wife is a spy." He held up a manila folder and slid it across the table. "Her name, her real name, is Natacha Vladachyenko. She's with the FSB. That's the new name for the KGB. You know the KGB?"
I opened the folder to a large printout of Tasha's Russian passport; I liked her wig in the French one -- a black bob with bangs. Beneath the picture were several documents with redactions cutting out line after line, leaving some pages barely readable. I raised my eyebrows.
"Y-yes," I said. "I've heard about them on the news. And in movies. You're saying my wife is with them? But, she's from Cleveland."
He chuckled. "That's her cover, Mr. Diaz. It's 2022. False identities are as easy to come by as AR15s, I'm afraid. Especially for someone with her political and financial backing. The question I have is -- what is her mission? Clearly she's married to you for cover. Ingratiated herself into American society. But why?"
*Because she wants to live a normal life*, I thought. *Because she wants to stay away from power tools like you.*
"I don't--" I worried my forehead with the heel of my palm. "--I'm sorry. I'm just finding this all hard to believe. I mean, isn't the CIA only supposed to be active *outside* the U.S.? Shouldn't the FBI be talking to me or something?"
Agent Anderson, or whatever his name was, set down his scotch and leaned back in his chair. He stared at me for a few moments before saying, "Well, aren't you well informed."
"I'm pretty sure I heard that in a movie," I said. "Is that right?"
"Mr. Diaz, let me be frank here for a moment. Your wife is a murderer. Do you understand? She is a highly trained killer with a trail of bodies behind her long enough to wrap around this block. There are things I did not include in that folder. Things that would steal your sleep, guaranteed. So, again, what I need to know is why is she here?"
"I don't know!"
He slapped the table, rattling the silverware. "I think you do. I think, after ten years of marriage, she had to have let *something* slip. The movies make it seem like spies can truly live some false life, play Mrs. Smith to the T. That's not true, Mr. Diaz. No one's perfect. No one. So, think. Think long and hard, because if you don't answer my questions, we're going for a ride. Understand?"
Well. I supposed enough was enough. I only hoped that he didn't start shooting.
"You're wrong," I said.
"Excuse me?"
"I said, you're wrong. Tasha *is* perfect. But not because some Russian black-ops facility trained her to be a killing machine. And not because she could easily have infiltrated our government -- hell, she probably could have made the cabinet. No. She's perfect because she's kind and warm and smart and funny and original and honest and brave. My wife is brave, Agent Anderson. Brave enough to tell me the truth about herself while we were still dating. Brave enough to walk away from her life, from people like you."
A smile stretched across Agent Anderson's face. "You knew--"
"Oh," I cut in. "She's also a great teacher."
With all my strength, I flipped the table up into Anderson's face. The couple behind me screamed. I had to make this quick. There was no telling what this guy was capable of. He definitely wasn't CIA. And if he was bounty hunter, that was even worse. Those cowboys had no qualms about shooting up a place just to get closer to their target. *Hard and fast, Tony. Hit him hard and fast.*
Anderson appeared from around the table in a low crouch. Something flashed in his right hand as he shot toward me.
Tasha had said that all the training in the world was no substitute for real life experience. That was why we trained with real knives. Add to that my years as a line cook, and compared to the average person, knives didn't phase me one bit.
And clearly, Anderson hadn't been expecting that. I stepped into his lunge, knocking his knife arm down with both of my arms, and grappled his wrist into a lock. In two breaths, I had his knife under his chin.
The servers were running around trying to sooth the customers freaking out at tables, and the cooks started pouring out from the kitchen. It was time to go.
"Don't struggle," I whispered into Anderson's ear. "I'm very good with knives, but don't think I won't slip."
Anderson didn't fight me, letting me lead him toward the back exit. "You're making a huge mistake," he said. "I promise you, Diaz. You're going to regret this."
I pushed the door open with my back. We stumbled out into the cold night air, the shadowy alley reeking of garbage. I tossed the knife, wrapped an arm around Anderson's neck, and started counting.
To his credit, I didn't see him pull the second knife. But I felt it when he buried into my left thigh. White hot pain seared into my leg. He gurgled, probably trying to smug me some more. But I didn't loosen my grip one bit.
By the time I reached fifteen, Anderson went limp.
I gently lowered him to the ground and tried not to look at the knife handle sticking out of my thigh -- and failed. I was breathing hard, winded from the brutal struggle. Blood soaked through my tie-dye joggers and started pooling into my clog. I didn't have much time before the cops arrived. The staff had to have called them.
I pulled out my phone and hit the speed dial.
"Hey babe," Tasha said, the television on in the background. "I'm making perogies! I found this recipe on TikTok I wanted to try. I'll leave you some in the fridge. Are you still at work?"
"Pineapple."
Her American accent vanished, and she simply replied, "I'll be there in five."
In the distance, sirens cried through the city streets. But they'd be too late. Tasha would beat them here and she'd scoop up this joker and I'd have to find a new gig. But that was the life. Our life.
And she was absolutely worth it. | 26 | The mystery man reveals your wife was a spy, murderer, & full of other dark secrets. At least the man thought so. Your wife revealed everything while dating. You were and still are a line cook. At least his wife taught him to fight. He's going to need it now. | 43 |
Young Me: I saved a seat for you.
Current Me: How did you know I was coming?
YM: You told me.
CM: I did?
YM: Yes, last time you were here.
CM: Oh, and when was this?
YM: A couple of years ago. You know, you actually found this place before I did- but I guess you don't remember since every time I see you, you look a little younger.
CM: But you're getting older?
YM: Yeah, it's like we're getting closer and closer in age every time we meet.
CM: Do you think we'll ever be the same age when we meet here?
YM: Don't know. What're you having?
CM: Oh. Um, the eggs? I can't remember the last time I went to a Denny's, after they shut down the one back home.
YM: They shut it down?
CM: Oh, right, they haven't done that yet have they? What are you, 14? I think I was 16 or 17 when it happened.
YM: So that means I've only got a couple of years left? That sucks.
CM: Yeah, but it's alright. I'm moving to a town with a Denny's next week.
YM: You mean Kingsland?
CM: Yeah, how did you know?
YM: Well, you never make it to Kingsland.
CM: What do you mean?
YM: On the way there, a drunk driver hits your U-Haul truck head on.
CM: How do you know that? And if you've met older versions of me, that must mean I didn't die. So if I didn't die, why did I never finish the trip? I've got a job, an apartment, everything set up down there already.
YM: Well, the wreck did a lot of damage. You haven't woken up from the coma yet. | 11 | You walk into a Denny's outside of known time and space. It's empty, except for a version of yourself at age 14 sitting down in a booth. They invite you to come and eat. What conversation ensues? | 24 |
Here's a survive-the-zombie-apocalypse 101 for you all. When the virus first hits, stay away from any transportation hubs like airports and train stations. More than one fool will gather there and then one bite is all it takes.
However...
Once the dust settles and the zombies have rotted away to the point they can no longer walk, those exact places are where you want to go. Discarded luggage, canned food people tried to take with them, medicine... Even the occasional weapons are amongst the rubble.
The only downside is the smell, but that can be avoided as well if you wait just a bit longer until all the flesh has decomposed (zombie flesh rots away surprisingly quick). But then again... If you're too late all the good stuff will be gone, scavenged by others with the same bright ideas.
So timing is everything.
And my timing has brought me to the train station of a city once called Antwerp in a country once known as Belgium. Borders and names don't mean anything these days of course, they're just points of orientation now. Still useful, but without purpose.
I remember the last time I was here, mere weeks before the downfall of humanity began. A jolly, young adventurer backpacking through Europe. A stark difference with the person I was now. A grizzled, middle-aged adventurer backpacking through Europe. There were so many people here back then, the summer holidays had just started and the mass immigration of tourists was kicking off. Smiles everywhere, families rushing to catch their train, lovers saying goodbye with tears of sadness and joy...
The entrance hall was empty now except for the hundreds of pigeons that now occupied anything above ten feet. They flew up in a fury as I entered. They were no longer used to the presence of humans I'd guess. Avoiding as much of their droppings as I could, I made my way through the dozens upon dozens of discarded coffers and luggage cazes, checking every single one of them for anything that could be of use.
Survival tip 101 #2; check everything.
I found a first-aid kit to my pleasant surprise, its contents still complete and some basic care medicine that was still tenable. I switched my shoes as well with a nice pair of hiking boots that fitted perfectly and picked up some clean socks. You'd be surprised how satisfying a new pair of socks can feel after weeks on the road.
I'll refrain from describing all the human remains I so diligently ignored. They're mostly just bones and stuff, but I've seen enough of it all to be honest. Let's just say they're scattered around plenty.
Having covered the main hall, I make my way to the train tracks. And that's where I'm stopped dead in my tracks.
There's a girl sitting on the benches at track one, her little legs swinging in the air as she is too small to reach the ground. Her hands are placed at her side, pushing her shoulders up slightly as she looks to where the tracks enters the station. She doesn't seem to have a care in the world.
I stare at her for what feels like an hour, stunned by the sheer impossibility of the situation. I haven't seen another human in over three months, and now a little girl is just sitting here?
She eventually catches sight of me and gives a small wave.
I wave back with a limp hand.
"Are you going to the beach as well, mister?" she suddenly asks, her words reverbarating throught the silent arrival hall. There's a small echo, emphasizing the emptiness of the place.
"The beach?" I ask dumbfounded, unable to think of anything else to say.
The girl nods. "Yeah, I'm going to go visit my aunt. My parents just dropped me off, but they had an appointment elsewhere so they couldn't stay. It's not the first time I'm taking the train by myself, I'm already eight years old you know. I once took the train all the way to Amsterdam all by myself. Have you ever been to Amsterdam?"
I let the avalanche of words flood over me, the first spoken words to reach my ears in such a long time. Through my best efforts I manage to hold back a single tear.
"I've been there, yes," I answer. "A few years ago."
"Did you like it?"
I nod. "Very much so. One of the more beautiful places of Europe."
"I think so to." The girl agrees.
"Did you say your parents dropped you off?" I ask.
"Yep. The train's arriving any moment now anyway, so it wasn't necessary for them to wait."
I look at the information screen above the track one platform and let out a small gasp as it lights up.
13:45 Antwerpen Centraal - Oostende
"That's impossible," I whisper, but the girl doesn't seem to hear.
"There it is!" she yells out suddenly as she hops of the bench.
I stand frozen in place as a fully functional train rolls into the station. There's not a speck of dirt or spray of graffiti on any of its cars. It comes to a halt at the end of the track and the doors slide open, revealing an empty, but clean, interior.
The girl hops in. "You're coming?" she asks.
I know I shouldn't, I know none of these should be possible. But I can't help but feel the *want* to get on that train and go whereever it takes me. I know this is a bad idea.
But I step onto the train anyway.
"Sure," I say. "Let's go to the beach."
> Thanks for reading! More over at r/PromptedByDaddy | 16 | In a post apocalyptic city, your scavenging mission has led you to a run down train station. There you find a girl, seated calmly on a bench, who declares her train "Will be along any minute". | 64 |
I believe i read a wonderful stor once about a alien ship randomly finding a human ship whilst they drifted in a blackzone of sorts and they asked for help but because the tech of the humans was so low they asked for specific coordinates to get closer and help.
The Aliens gave something like "eleventy three blorfmorps by eight thousand and yellow quillfeathers" which the humans didn't understand because all the measuring units the aliens used were never based on solid physics.
The humans then told them how to calculate the distance between common landmarks in the area (like black holes, quasars or asteroid belts) and then told the aliens to use this to give the coordinates again. It obviously worked and the aliens were absolutely stunned at this revolutionary form of unit calculation. They asked the humans if they developed this system due to how many alien species they met and were absolutely crushed because it was a first contact scenario for them too.
This prompt made me think of this exact thing because how did they manage so many years of communication without exchanging measurement standarts even once?
Feels a bit unrealistic but ultimately workable because you could imply that the theory of the "Physics Bubble" is restrained to every Solar system and so every species has their own set of physics that, whilst operating on same principles, have different base numbers if compared to one another. | 10 | after many years of successful communication with the dozen species of the galactic federation, humans are granted membership and the technology to reach the stars. The first face meeting revealed that humans are actually about 1000 times larger than the others assumed they were. | 44 |
"Humans! Report." General Tha-al shouted. He was in an angry mood, and he had every right to be. He needed soldiers, ships, an armada to defeat the Garude, and upper command sent him a bunch of techno-barbaric monkeys. He'd rip them apart with his claws and feed them to the staff, but orders are orders.
All four humans stood at their approximation of attention. Their furless shapes disgusted him- so weak and fragile. He had no expectations of them.
"Sir, we managed to make a few interesting things for you. They aren't much, but as a proof of concept, it'll do." Their leader, one called Al-ex, spoke and pointed to a small pile of what looked like assorted junk.
Quietly sighing to himself, Tha-al gestured for him to proceed. Al-ex gently pushed one of the others, a female called... Tha-al struggled with their names, but it was Ol-ga, he was fairly sure. She picked up a small anti-grav cube. "This one is quite simple. By inverting its anti-gravitational field, then boosting it a little using that-" she pointed to the discarded FTL fuel cell. " We made a hand grenade that, once activated, sucks up everything within a ten meter..."she paused to calculate it in reasonable units."3.7 standard galactic steps with the force of 23 Daums. It will, of course, also impart mild radiation levels from the fuel cell, but I think we can fix that." She finished, and looked at the general.
Tha-al could only stand there in silence. Anti-grav cubes, especially of this size, were little more than toys, used as novelties and to teach children about three-dimensional movements, and used up fuel cells were literal junk, to be disposed of a.s.a.p, and they made it into a weapon that could crush titanium. This was beginning to look promising....
The monkeys, it seems, mistook his stunned silence for an unimpressed frown, as they began to seem more nervous. "N-next up was mine, with Ling's help." Al-ex said, and pointed to what appeared to be some sort of rifle.
"We, ah... We disassembled the old transporter y-you gave us, and we figured 'Hey, that basically breaks things down on a mulecular level, surely that was already done' but... But we couldn't find any mention of that, so on the off chance it wasn't, we broke down the molecular reconstruction unit and replaced it with a universal fuel convertor." Al-ex was sweating profusely now, and clearly struggling to speak, so Li-ing, the other female, took over. " This is an infantry version. We also made a ship mounted version, using some more cells and the heat-absorber to make a miniature fission reactor, for the extra power, and what we managed to salvage from the optics array to increase the range and width of the beam." She finished and stood there, nervously twitching.
The general was at a loss for words. Turning a transporter into a disintegration ray *has* been proposed before, but the heat release was far to massive. No-one ever even considered using it to power the universal fuel convertor, making it essentially a weapon that could power itself, or even an entire ship, as long as it had a target.
Last up was Ga-ary, the one even the other humans found a little... Off. "All I did was shift the shielding on the fusion reactor, so instead of dampening the excess energy it will reflect it back into the core. It doesn't do much on its own, but if you shut off the vent pipes..." He pointed through the window. Tha-al saw the one ship they have given them floating right above the uninhabitable moon of the uninhabitable planet Roz-8. The human pressed a button, and .... Nothing happened. No matter, the general thought, this was still a thoroughly impres-
His thought was cut-off as the junked ship, as well as half of the moon it was parked over, vanished in what could only be described a flash of black. His jaw literally hung open as the human smiled and said. "You get a miniature black hole, and because of its size it disappears in seconds."
The soldier accompanying the general noticed something. Something he will later deny, to anyone, including himself. General Tha-al, Scourge of The Battlefield, nicknamed by many races as "The one whose name means death", this fierce and proud warrior, was trembling.
Tha-al swallowed, gently so as to not show weakness, and spoke. "G-mhm." He coughed into his hand and tried again. "Good work humans. These will make for fine weapons. Report to R&D, you're assigned to them from now on." He saluted and left the bridge. No one heard him whisper "May the gods judge our action, and may our punishment be merciful." To himself as he walked away. | 552 | After hearing "Everything is a weapon to a human," A desperate alien race abducts several humans and gives them ships, random gadgets, and instruction manuals. | 754 |
(Part 1 of 2)
The girl sat there, tears streaming from her eyes as she begged me, "Please...please help me..."
I, Alkhadim, the greatest genie to ever serve the viziers, was at an utter loss as to what to do.
Give gold and riches? Without a thought.
Give wisdom and knowledge? I have access to any work ever written, at my master's command.
Grant eternal youth and beauty? They have but to ask.
...but having a person ask me to help them love themselves?
In my one thousand-and-five years of existence, I have never seen this before.
. . .
I sat down next to her. "You will excuse me, fair maiden--"
"It's Julie," she said through her tears, as she sniffled. I produced a kerchief, woven from the finest silk ever produced in Asia, and scented with roses, for her to wipe them away. She waved it off, so I kept it in my hand, for now.
"I apologize, Master. Most Gracious Julie--"
"I'm not your master. I hate slavery, I just want to...to..." she could not finish as she began crying again, and the ancient brass lamp that I called my home tumbled from her limp hands.
It was at that moment that I saw old scars crossing her wrists, the healed skin criss-crossed like wagon tracks across a busy road.
I have seen this before. In my time, it was called "An illness of the spirit." The body, while whole and well-made, cannot show the sickness of the soul, of someone who needs the type of medicine that cannot cure an already healthy body. The medicine for the soul required speaking with a philosopher, or perhaps an imam.
...Of which, I was neither.
"Apologies, Most Gracious Julie--"
"Just Julie, please," she said as she continued to cry, face down as she sat cross-legged, her tears watering the ground where we sat with sorrow.
I moved closer to her, my colorful robes a stark contrast to her black shirt which was like the color of a moonless night, her ripped jeans of the same hue, and her boots, also black, that reminded me of a soldier's footwear. The clothes were the exact opposite to her pale skin, which was white, as though she never felt the sun's warmth upon it.
No sunlight. Hmmm...perhaps that is an idea: That I must help show the light of the sun to her soul-- for I once read that a soul in darkness is like a plant: Without light, neither may grow.
...but how do I do that? As I said before, I am not a philosopher, or an imam.
"Most Gr--Julie," I corrected myself. "You are quite beauteous to look at. Any man should consider themselves most blessed to be standing in your presence."
This made her cry harder. "Have I offended you, Mas--Julie?" I was worried, for I did not want to make her feel any more grief than that which she felt now. Also, it is odd not using the terms of obedience, but the master who has the lamp, sets the terms. It is the rules.
"I'm not beautiful. I'm not even pretty," she lamented as she brought her knees up and hugged them, her face buried in the cradle of her arms. "The kids in school yell at me each day, every day, telling me how ugly I am. Even my own mother says I'm an ugly mistake. How can anyone love an ugly mistake, when even my own mother doesn't love me?!?" she looked up from her cradled arms, her eyes bright red as the tears continued to flow.
I was shocked at her statement. "It is a horrible thing for those children at your school to say that. And your mother?! A mother should never say such words to her progeny! The sacred bond for a parent is to love their child, and teach them how to be good, loving, parents in their turn. Would you like me to put her, and those children, to death?" I asked.
"What? NO! I just...no..." she put her head back down, her raven black hair hiding her face again as she continued bawling. | 68 | The genie is confused. This is the first time some one asked "Can you make me love myself? Can you make it so I don't hate myself?" | 160 |
"You're saying I have a nuclear reactor in me?"
The family doctor looked pensive as he examined me, but one eyebrow was raised in surprise. He was a man of the old ways, not of magic, but he was all my small village had. For the real doctors, one had to travel all the way to Vevia, and have the magic reserves to pay for it. We didn't.
"You know what one is? How pleasantly surprising."
My Dad gripped my hand, his fixed frown now slick with sweat. Most things that weren't making things grow confused him, but science, science scared him.
He looked with pleading eyes to the Doctor, and then back to me. He took out a small cloth and wiped at my brow, feeling my burning skin.
"Let me explain. The mana within your *hara*, Michael," the doctor began, "is far denser, and regenerates far quicker, than anything I have ever seen, but it doesn't move. It's too dense, too fixed. This is why, until now, you've experienced none of the magical awakenings of your peers. It literally cannot circulate through your meridians. Not yet."
My father slowly nodded. I managed lift my head ever so slightly from the bed.
"But, what cannot be moved, can still be impacted upon. And that is, I believe, what is happening here. You say the first time the fevers came were after the Mana Control classes, correct?"
"Yes."
"And this was your first time being exposed to direct magic use, correct?"
I nodded, sparing a look to my Dad. His face burned red. Magic wasn't a strong point of his either.
The doctor either didn't notice, or pretended not to. He rolled on his chair closer to the bed.
"Then I believe your mass of dense magic was interacted upon by the raw, uncontrolled and frankly, novice magic in the class, and had a kind of , to put it bluntly, nuclear reaction. The density was impacted upon, and released a miniscule portion of its mass into your system. Had the reaction been greater, you could have died."
My father stood, almost jerking my hand up with him.
"Please sit, Mr Wilson. There is no cause for alarm, not yet, but we must handle this situation very carefully if my theory is correct. We must run a test."
My Dad stayed standing as the doctor pulled across a small frame made of metal, with a silver glove hanging inside. He looked to my father and moved to lift my shirt.
"May I?"
"Probably wouldn't even help if you told me what you were doing, but I trust you, doc. Please, if it might help."
The doc lifted my shirt, placing the cool metal of the device onto my warm skin. It was like ice, and after the initial shock, felt pleasant. To my arms and legs he attached small devices, clipping to the skin with metal buds inside. A monitor next to the bed flicked on, a flat, constant line.
Into the glove he placed his hand.
"Now, this device amplifies mana, as, like your father, I too have very little that I can use. It also happens that my mana is very low density, so we should only invoke a very small reaction. Far smaller, I hope, than that which you sustained at school."
With what strength I had, I gripped the sides of the bed. When it had happened at school, the pain and searing heat had been unbearable. The fever had taken weeks to come down to this level. I couldn't survive another experience like it. Even I knew that much.
"Ready?"
I took a deep breath. "Ready."
The graph on the monitor blipped. A small upturn and then back to flat. Seconds passed.
"Is it working?" I asked, feeling nothing.
The doctor moved to stand, and then the graph blipped again. One bump. Two. The peak moved high, and then a long tone sounded as the line rose and rose, the other blips becoming nothing but tiny bumps.
I felt the heat coming, building hot from my centre.
"Remarkable," I heard the doctor breath. He was staring at the graph, his face up against the screen, his glasses raised. The line was still rising, numbers in the corner increasing in digits.
"Doctor!" my father shouted, breaking the man from his amazement.
The doctor turned, and placed his hand against my forehead.
"My god, you're burning up. Even at this level of injection..."
The pain was growing. The inferno in my stomach rising to my chest and down my legs, making the muscles cramp and tighten.
"Doctor, please, do something!" my father shouted.
The doc's hands were on his head, the machine beeping madly at his side, his eyes wide open and unblinking.
"Doc, please!"
The hands came down. "I have an idea! Michael, I know you have received very little in the way of magical traning, but now, please listen and follow my instructions."
"Ok." I was gasping for breath, the pressure building in my chest.
"The largest meridians and the ones closest to the source are those of the stomach and lungs. You must have seem them in your text book. Focus on the lower stomach, and force the mana into your lungs. Fill them, Michael, they can take the load."
I followed his instructions, the burning heat moving where I put my focus. Like two balloons of fire I felt my lungs fill, as if to almost burst. The pain was almost too much to hold.
"Take a deep breath and then hold it Michael, mix it with the heat in your lungs!"
I breathed in, the air sharp in my throat.
The doc took one look above, at the wooden beams and thatched roof, and crossed his chest. He moved back from the bed. "Mr Wilson, I advise you to move away from the bedside."
I could hardly hear them. Couldn't see for the searing white that burned behind my eyelids. The pain was too much, the fire to fierce, the heat seeping into my bones. My head was spinning. I couldn't hold it much longer. My back arched off the bed.
"Now scream Michael, as loud as you can, and make sure you look up at the ceiling!"
It wasn't difficult to scream, as intense as the pain was.
Relief cascaded through me as I roared, the heat rising through my throat, ripping over my tongue and out into the air as if I were vomiting pure lava. On and on I shouted, as if my lungs had an infinite source of air from which they were drawing.
Finally, it subsided, and I slumped back down to the bed. I opened my eyes. Blue sky, a circular rim of burning embers all that remained of the roof.
I sat up, feeling so much better, but slightly confused. Had I just done that?
The doc was sitting amongst books, scattered from a fallen shelf. Next to him was my father, holding his hand tight. Both stared at me unblinking.
And then a sound, like a siren, began to wail.
The doctor righted his glasses and stood up, still holding my fathers hand. Awkwardly letting go , he rushed to his computer.
"Oh, no, no, no. This is not good!"
"What?" I asked.
"We can't stay here. They will be here soon."
"Doctor," my father said, his face ashen, "slow down, what do you mean we can't stay here? What is happening?"
He placed his hand on my father's shoulder.
"Mr Wilson, your son just registered a mana explosion event that was quite literally, off the scale. The government will be sending their teams to investigate, and you do not want to be here when they arrive."
I scrambled out of the bed, untying my self of the lines and cables.
"Doctor, but surely they would help, I feel better now, but if they can help me --"
He turned to look at me, his face as serious as I had seen, like stone. "Trust me, Michael. I used to be one of them, and you do not want to be here when they come. Your life depends on it."
My father needed no further word. He clasped the doctor by the shoulder, and then quite literally lifted me off my feet in his big and burly arms.
"Don't worry Doc, I know just the place to take him."
r/FatDragon | 178 | "You know, as a mage you're not supposed to be born with a nuclear fusion reactor for mana generation." | 337 |
“Sorry. I just…. I didn’t know where else to go.” I stared at the man, who was so much more than a man. A god in flesh. Near invulnerable. So righteous. His costume, in tatters, blood slowly seeping from wounds. His breathing is heavy, heartbeat is rapid. Not dying, but his healing, which was always prodigious, had slowed. Something new, or something very, very old. I’ve not seen or heard of anything that could do something like this. It was a sight I’d always hoped to see, but at my hand, not… someone else’s.
Helios. The hero with the power of the Sun. Broken like a shattered lamp.
I step out the door, looking around, then pick the man up by his ridiculous cape and drag him in. He grunts in pain, but no other sound escapes. Well, he’s still tough, I’ll give him that. A bit more gently I set him on the Lazy Boy in the corner, and turn the TV down.
I could snap his neck, tear off his head with a flick of my wrist. It would be easy, I’ve never seen him so tired, so out of sorts. Not even after our week long battle in the volcano.
No, he came here. To my home. Homes were… well, not sacred, not for monsters like me, but for heroes? You just didn’t go after one in their house. It broke the rules that no one ever read, but always knew to follow. That he risked this, here, meant something bad.
“Beer?” Helios blinks at me, then nods. There’s a little less fear in his eyes, now. He knew the risk he was taking. As much as I called him a stupid moron, he wasn’t. Just the shit talk of the game. I guess I should come up with some better invectives next time we fight.
I set one cheap can of beer down next to him on the stand, and crouch to get a good look at him.Yeah, already healing. The cut on his head is scabbing over already, though the sheeting of blood across his face isn’t going anywhere. His breathing is better, his heart isn’t racing anymore. He opens it, and clinks it to mine when I offer. We drink. He drinks his fast, like a man dying of thirst… or someone needing some alcoholic lubrication to comprehend what he’d been through.
He takes a deep breath, then says, “Desolation, I-“
I thump my tail on the hardwood and raise one set of claws to interrupt him. “Drink. Get cleaned up. Talk later. Unless you can guarantee this won’t end in us trying to kick the shit out of each other.”
He fell silent, the perfect teeth clicking shut. See? Smarter than he looked.
“Shower’s down the hall, to the left. Don’t hit the yellow button, that’s the acid wash.”
It’s about thirty minutes later when he comes out of the bathroom, back in costume. Costume has been scrubbed a bit, and he looks more like his old self. Looks more like the god I fight every few weeks, and not the weak human I saw on my porch.
I offer another beer, which he takes, and opens it. I open mine, and he takes a slower sip, this time. Considering, weighing. I can’t help but lash my tail in excitement. The monster in me, maybe. I want to tear this man apart, but there’s the other thing. Something managed to do what I was supposed to do. What I’ve been wanting to do for so long. Break Helios. There’s a new Apex Hero or Villain out there, which means I’ve got a new target. I can’t help but grin, showing my fangs to Helios.
“Now, tell me all about who kicked the shit out of you. Because that’s my job.” | 484 | You hear a knock at your door. When you open it, you find your archnemesis sprawled out just past the threshold, battered, bruised, and very clearly only hanging onto life by a thread. "Sorry. It's just ... I didn't know where else to go" they mutter as you look down at them. | 1,621 |
# Soulmage
**"I was his imaginary friend,"** I admitted. The soulmage on the other side of the cell bars was surprisingly young, but he'd done what the entire Crystal Court had failed at in an instant, outing me and inadvertently getting me thrown into the dungeon.
"Interesting," the soulmage said. "So you weren't a soulspace entity? You came from Prince Vrestik's soul?"
"As far as I know," I answered truthfully. There was no point in trying to deceive Cienne—if the young soulmage had seen through the lie that was my life in an instant, he'd surely pierce any lesser fibs I tried to fabricate.
"Why didn't you tell anyone when Vrestik died?" Cienne asked. To my surprise, the soulmage seemed honestly curious, instead of accusatory or furious. Maybe... maybe I wouldn't be summarily executed here and now. Maybe there was still hope.
"He didn't die all at once," I admitted. "It was a thing of bits and pieces. At first, he handed off control to me for a few hours, just to get through a state dinner or a mind-numbing lesson. And... and I stepped in. How could I not? I was his friend. It was the least I could do."
I saw Cienne's eyes flash in understanding. "But that wasn't where it ended, was it?" he asked.
I gave him a rueful smile. "Of course not. If it was, I wouldn't be... well, I wouldn't be here." I gestured at the bars of my cell. "He asked me to take over for longer. A day where he didn't feel so well. A week when a difficult family member was coming over. And that week turned into a month, and that month turned into two, and even when I called out and begged he... just never came back." I swallowed. "So I kept on doing what he told me to. To live his life for him, until he returned."
The young soulmage's eyes swept over my—Vrestik's—body, and I felt his gaze pierce my very soul.
Then he said, "If Vrestik did come back, what would you do?"
I jerked. "What?"
"If—hypothetically speaking—Vrestik was still in your soul, just locked up behind walls of his own making..." The soulmage raised an eyebrow. "If you could bring him back. Would you?"
I grabbed the cage bars. "Yes. Yes, *please*. I'm—even if I wasn't locked up here, I... I miss him. I was his imaginary friend, but... he was mine too. The only person I could truly talk to." I shied away from the soulmage's gaze. "Until now."
Cienne gave me a warm smile. "Then maybe—*maybe*—there's still a way. Here's what we have to do..."
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! | 280 | You inhabit the body of a young prince that died from a fatal illness when he was barely at his teens. You learned to love his parents and you changed the world around you for the better. One day at your 17th birthday, a prophet from another court saw through you and revealed the truth. | 747 |
>15th of May, 2024 AD., Earth Dimension
"You know, I always wondered why the place was priced so low." I try to keep the frustration from my voice. "But the past week cleared up quite a few things."
The oddly dressed man who called himself Vernon nodded understandingly. "If I'm being totally honest Thomas, I think the guy who sold it to you is a downright dick. He knew what the situation was and things would have been perfectly fine if the house had been left abandoned. But he just had to make a quick buck."
The last of the bricks fell back into place while the furniture floated back to their original positions. I had to hand it to the guy, he was very precise and tactile with his movements. I'd never even found a single pencil out of place.
We had a strange relationship, if you could call it that. Once a day, at 13:19 sharp, he would come by, dissassemble my newly bought homestead, access a hidden vault for a few minutes and put everything back in place once he was done. You can imagine my surprise when he showed up the first day and my first time witnessing the power of magic, but over the past few days something that could be described as amity had formed.
"All done," Vernon said. "As always, thanks for your time."
"See you tomorrow," I answer with a nod.
>16th of May, 2024 AD., Earth Dimension
"Well..." Vernon seems at a loss for words.
"This is awkward?" I suggest and he nods.
"I'm sorry Thomas, I don't know what to say, this never happened before." He seems truly taken aback at the non-functioning of his usual spell.
A thousand pieces and more that make up my house float about around us, non-responsive to any effort from Vernon to put them back where they belong.
"Maybe you didn't close the vault door all the way?" I say, remembering an old fantasy novel I once read where the characters faced a similar problem.
Vernon gives me a strange look before making his way to the trapdoors that hid the vault from sight. He pulled them open, looked inside and then shook his head. "Firmly locked. That was a sharp suggestion though." He sounds appreciative.
He waves his arms around again, mumbling something beneath his breath to quiet for me to hear. When nothing happens, Vernon's frustration visibly grows. He circles the outside of the dissected house, looking for anything that might pose an issue.
"Nothing," he eventually says as he makes his back to the centre. His eyes dart from one side to the other. "That leaves only one possibility."
"Another mage preventing your spells from working?" I ask.
Again, Vernon gives me the strangest of looks.
I shrug. "It seems logical. It happens all the time in fantasy novels. I bet he or she will pop up any second now and launch a surprise attack."
"You read too much, Thomas," Vernon answers right as a fireball explodes above our heads. The sudden explosion and shockwave sends both of us to the ground. "Breyn's Panties," Vernon yells out, "thank Wyr for the protective shield that comes with the vault."
"Yeah, thank... Wyr," I answer, standing back up. "What was that? An acquintance of yours?"
Vernon stands up as well, dusting of his robes. "No idea. Might be, might not be. Plenty of mages can cast fireballs that size. Brace yourself, here comes another one."
Seconds later, another explosion rocks the air around us. The shield holds.
"The shield won't hold," Vernon growls. "We need to get out of here, I'm not prepared for a fight."
"And abandon my house?"
"I'll make you a new one," Vernon argues. "The most important thing now is to get out of here alive."
"Fine," I say, earning a third strange look from Vernon. I swear I can't say anything without him sideglancing me. "Where do we go?"
Vernon points towards the trapdoors. "Into the vault. I'll seal it from the inside so nobody can get in."
"Doesn't that, you know, trap us inside?"
A mischievous smile forms on Vernon's face. "Wait until you see what's inside. Wyr be damned, they'll have my hide for this, ha ha! No normal human has visited us in over four centuries."
Vernon opens the trapdoors with a wave of his hands as another fireball explodes, leaving a crack in the near-invisible shield above us. "Let's go!" he yells, a mixture of excitement and anxiety resounding in his words.
I follow him as he jumps through the opening. With another wave of his hands, two silver panels positioned below us move outwards and reveal what I can only describe as a classical fantasy portal. A spiralling malestorm of white light that leads to infinity.
An infinity I find myself falling into.
> 5th of Dodandem, 942 PD., Talai Dimension
"You alright, Thomas?"
I give a small nod, shaking off the headache. I feel vomit climbing up my throat, but manage to force it back down where it belongs. That must be that interdimensional travelsickness I read about in my sci-fi novels.
"I'm fine. Where are we?"
"My home," Vernon answers. "The Chatha Conclave, one of six empires that rule over Talai."
"Gotcha," I say, surveying my surroundings. "I'm not in Kansas anymore, that's for sure."
> ...To be continued?
> > Thanks for reading! More over at r/PromptedByDaddy | 13 | Some strange mage has been coming at your house to access a hidden vault. They use a spell to blow up your home and make the debris float and put your house together after his business is done. One day the last spell didn't work. "Well this is awkward" he mumbled. | 43 |
“The greatest mystery of all”, I mused to myself, pulling the dull manila folder towards me. The fluorescent bulbs above hummed quietly as I pondered the odd situation I found myself in. The white walls of the brightly lit room glared at me, taunting me to make a decision so the light would once again turn off and they’d return to a peaceful slumber.
Then there was the woman. Wrinkles strewn across her face like an old oak tree with a grudge. She had crows feet, but I imagine they were from disapproved looks instead of laughter. Not what I expected when I answered the news paper ad, but I don’t know what I expected in the first place.
“Help wanted: Investigative Journalist - No prior experience needed, just a life well lived.” In between ads for salesmen and interns, the headline stuck out. I’ve never been good with prose, but my curiosity got the best of me. Growing up in orphanages, bouncing from halfway house to halfway house, I’ve definitely done a lot of living, albeit likely not well.
“Well?” The woman asked, looking down their nose at me, “is that your choice?”
My thoughts returned to the folders in front of me. The stories of the universe were tempting, even knowing they couldn’t possibly be contained in a single folder. But my story? There’s so much I wish I knew, about my parents, about why it always seemed like what I wanted was just out of reach. Every turn, some roadblock would stop me in my tracks, setting me back two steps for every one I took.
The universe didn’t care about me, why should I care about it? No one ever cared about my story, so at the very least I should. I took the folder, began to open it and gave the woman an affirming nod. I reached in, my hand feeling a single piece of paper resting inside. Pulling it out, I looked down at what story my life might’ve told so far.
And there was nothing. A blank white sheet, mocking me just as the walls did before. I looked up at the women, her expression yet unchanged.
“Is this some kind of joke?” I asked, searching her face for some kind of hint to the nature of this game. The corners of her mouth turned upward into a smile, forcing her wrinkles into a position they seemed to have almost forgotten.
“This is no joke. It was a choice, and you made the correct one. To understand the universe, we first must understand ourselves. If we don’t know the mysteries under our own skin, how can we understand the questions lurking beyond the stars?”
“Beyond the stars?” I scoffed, “I hardly passed my science courses in school, and I’ve never been good at solving riddles. I’m here for a job, nothing more.”
She leaned forward, her arms pressing against the table as she leaned closer to my face. “There are mysteries all around that most are too blind to see, ignorant to the oddities that are often right under their noses. You say you’re only here for a job, but why answer that ad? No speak of pay, employer name, or even a real description. You’re curious, you ask questions, even if you know there likely isn’t a proper answer.”
I pause, considering her words for a moment. Why did I answer that ad? Thinking back, it should’ve been a huge red flag. A lack of information, and it’s not like anything I’ve done before. But I knew, I had a feeling that it was the right decision. And more so, I needed to know if I was qualified, if my life so far was “well lived”.
“So say you offer me this job and I accept, what comes next?” I ask.
“Well, as an investigative journalist, you should have no problem filling that” she said, pointing at the blank sheet in front of me. “You’re curious about the world around you, but you need to start by asking questions about your self.”
“And what then?” I asked.
“Then we fill the other folder”, she said, a smile once again coming to her face. | 18 | All Your Questions Answered". The smaller one is "The Story of You". "Choose one", she says. You pick "The Story of You". "The greatest mystery of all", you say. | 35 |
Part 1
Thinking back, it probably wasn't the greatest idea for me to bring a dragon to my apartment complex. It really didn't help things that for some reason she currently looked like a small girl.
"Human, what is this magic box that traps people inside it?"
"That's a television, Nova."
"Human, this appliance breathes fire like me!"
"That's a stove- How did you get the flames to go so high?!?"
"Human, I removed all the unnecessary items so that I can enjoy my ice cave."
"Nova! That's my fridge, you spoiled the food!"
Needless to say, for a dragon reaching 1800 years in age, she still very much was like a child. Plus my neighbors were starting to give me very strange looks when I brought her home. It didn't help I didn't just lie and say she was my sister.
Meeting Nova was a surreal experience. You probably wouldn't believe me for a minute if I told you that she was a powerful, albeit young, dragon whom I've tamed. We live in a world that says they're just fairy tales. But ever since I was small, I believed the tales my grandfather shared of dragons hiding in the highlands. Of the times before technology drove away the dragons and we would bond with them. Grandpa told me that our family hasn't had a dragon tamer in over 200 years.
Dad was always upset by these stories, but it never stopped Grandpa from sharing them, and from me being absolutely fascinated. I wish Grandpa would see me now, he'd believe me.
Now I had a dragon. I named her Nova, which she agreed to. It was kinda odd since we didn't really say anything, it was like it just became agreed upon. I have that a lot with her now. Mostly when she's causing some kind of trouble.
"Human, I have made what you call a mess."
"How did you do that with toilet paper!"
Edit: Added a second part. | 28 | You've tamed a dragon. The problem is that the dragon is stuck looking like a normal person and nobody believes that it's a dragon. | 110 |
"I'm a witch, how hard is that to understand?" I spoke half-heartedly, more focused on the series of vials before me than the man behind.
"Ah no. You are a *wizard*, see? Men are wizards"
I dropped a bit of silvery liquid into one of the vials which erupted into a rather nasty cloud of smog, then pulled a thorned herb from my satchel. I didn't want to reply, honestly. I had this conversation more times than I could count with those that had skulls so thick it left no room for a brain.
"Ah. And you're quite sure I am a man?" I jested before turning to face him, his smug look now turned to one of confusion.
"Well I...yes I would suppose. You have a beard after all, pretty telling sign."
"And you do not. So you must be a witch, yes?" He seemed confused by this puzzle as the wind blew into one of his ears, through the empty cavity within his skull, and clean out the other side. I turned back to my work to allow him time to process, tossing the spiny herb into a grinder and mashing it to powder. The concoction with the silver fluid still bubbled steadily and spurted black gas into the air.
"Do you see this? This is witchcraft, watch." and so he did, not prompted by any sort of magic but by the incessant need to continue his point. I continued my work, now sprinkling a bit of plant powder from the mortar into the vial.
"You may be doing "witchcraft", but done by a man, you, that is wizardry. You are even wearing robes! Not a gown, see!"
The bubbling liquid evened itself out to a steady broil as I sprinkled in the herb. Its color changed from an inky black to a sickly yellow and the smoke ceased. Once again I knew whatever my reply was it would have no effect, but I was a showman, and I hated not properly making a point.
With a waltz over to the conjuring rooms closet door I entered for a moment then exited, now dressed in new garb. A flowing gown, made for women, granted, but bought by me to refute a point that had been made in my direction many times before. Then, without looking back to the nuisance taking up far too much space in the room, I got back to work.
I could feel his presence behind as I continued. He stared over my shoulder, trying his damndest to think of a new avenue his argument could take. Typically this sort of thing would be distracting, but the academy in which I worked had a rather annoying "open door policy" which attracted people from many other departments to my workspace, so I got used to the unwelcomed company. In fact, when I first began working even the women stopped by questioned my witch status.
Eventually they all understood though.
With one last swirl my work was complete. A glowing bit of yellow liquid bubbled within the glass between my fingers.
I took a whiff, embracing the sulfuric smell that meant my success. With a light toss I threw the liquid over my shoulder towards the man behind me, which hit him directly in the face and left behind a light coat of yellow. He tried to yell at me in protest, but no words came out. Only an open mouth and silence.
"Ah, apologies, it seems I have accidentally taken your voice. No worries, it should wear off in a day or so." I put on my nicest smile before continuing, "Oh, or if you happen to know any witches they could probably assist! I personally wouldn't know where to start."
He opened his mouth again to argue, but once more, nothing. Instead of admit defeat he stomped out to the hallway.
Sadly I knew he wouldn't be the last person whose voice I took. However, for him that would be the last time he argued the difference between a witch and wizard. | 67 | Contrary to popular belief witch and wizard aren't actually gendered terms. Witchcraft and wizardry are distinct schools of magic that can be learned by anyone. You are a male witch/female wizard and are sick of explaining this. | 276 |
# Endless Worlds Most Beautiful
**The Blackbone Space Fountain was a monument to the past.** Erected after the First World War by the united efforts of the sixty-two victorious countries, it was the peak of Stonekin engineering. Every single pellet in the particle stream that kept the Blackbone Space Fountain aloft was engraved with the name of a soldier—or worse, a civilian—that had been massacred by the Osseocracy. It was a historic, century-old reminder to never again repeat the mistakes of the past.
And today, High King Walks-On-Diamonds ordered it dismantled.
"But—my lord." Advisor Where-The-Second-Largest-Tectonic-Plate-On-The-Planet-Subducts-Creating-Large-Basaltic-Plains hurried their rolling in order to catch up with their High King. "The Blackbone Space Fountain is more than our anchor to history—it's a vital part of our economy. Let me speak with the humans. I'm sure their demands to dismantle it are a translation error."
"Firstly, you're one to speak of translation errors. Apparently, your name turns into something of *absurd* length in the human language. Secondly, this wasn't a demand made by the humans—it's a decision I've made myself, in order to appease them. And *thirdly*, the cost of taking down that ancient space fountain is nothing compared to the riches we will receive if we manage to trade the secret of interstellar travel with the humans." High King Walks-On-Diamonds sweated drops of magma just thinking about it. "No, I'm afraid your objections are overruled, Advisor. If the humans know our species is capable of such horrors as the Osseocracy, they will *certainly* be leery of handing us the tools to join the larger galactic community."
"High King, you don't understand," the Advisor pleaded. "Our linguists are still decoding what we've received from the humans, but our cultural exchange program thinks... that our theory about the origin of the humans is wrong."
Walks-On-Diamonds paused, the magmatic currents that powered their cognition churning and shifting in consternation. "What do you mean?"
"We originally thought that they were an artificial life-form. Surely, no carbon-based life could have evolved from base components. They'd hardly be able to touch lava without incinerating; it seems much more likely that they were the perfected creation of a naturally-evolved, silicon-based lifeform. And their peaceful and benevolent demeanor seemed to bear out that hypothesis. But..." The Advisor hesitated, then went for it. "It seems they weren't always that way."
"What?" Walks-On-Diamonds leaned in, trying to better absorb the patterns of rippling minerals that the Advisor used to communicate. "Did you make a breakthrough in deciphering the historical texts they sent us?"
"We did. And... it seems like the humans were... similar to us, once. Not anymore," the Advisor hastened to add. "But—and this is a key part—they managed to move on from genocide and war *because* they remembered the past, and learned from it. And... if you truly want them to trust us, you should too."
High King Walks-On-Diamonds regarded their advisor for a long, volcanic heartbeat.
Then they let out a rueful puff of silicon. "Feh. I must be getting senile in my old age, but... I'll hear you out. But if they get mad about Blackbone, there's no way we're telling them about what our citizens do on the Internet."
"Ah. About that." The Advisor winced. "Let me tell you about the... *other*... cultural texts we decrypted. It seems like the humans are, ah, a little *too* much like us in some ways..."
A.N.
So! I'm in a bit of a dilemma. People seem to have liked this and want a Part II, but I'm sick and have another project (my webserial [Soulmage](https://www.reddit.com/r/bubblewriters/comments/uxmwe4/soulmage_masterpost/?sort=new)) and I won't be able to get it out today. As such, if you want to know when a Part II comes out, check out [this post](https://www.reddit.com/r/bubblewriters/comments/vnuh9j/ewmb_we_are_meeting_an_advanced_benevolent_alien/). And if you liked this story, check out r/bubblewriters for more! | 1,023 | war, slavery, genocide (especially the genocide), and for the love of everything don’t give them access to our Internet. Now look alive, the human ambassador is coming.” | 4,388 |
There are many a tale that tell of the God of Tricks. A God who went by many names, but is known to most as Loki. A sly, mischievous, cunniving and ruthless God he was. But he was also ignorant, pretentious and completely full of himself. No one could trick others like he could.
And therein lies the source of one of his most satisfying downfalls. The story of a man known as Eksil the Berserker.
He was also called God's Wrath by the Saxons, a name well earned with the blood of countless dead soldiers. The Russians knew him as Mech Zapada, the Sword of the West, and all would run and cower in fear if word reached them of this man in the enemy's army. On the coast of Northern Spain he was feared as the Demonio Pintado, the Painted Demon, for his markings would forever be ingrained in the memories of those who faced him and lived.
Suffice it to say, Eksil was a man well feared all over the continent of Europe.
This angered the God of Tricks for none could be feared more than he was. So a challenge was issued to Eksil. Loki would take him to a town located in the midst of the forest of central Francia. A town that duly paid their taxes to their king and never saw an ounce of violence. A town that had never truly known fear.
"Here's what we will do," Loki said to Eksil. "Tonight, you will pay a visit to all the houses east of the waterwell. I will visit all the houses to the west of it. We will instill fear into them, but we will not kill anyone. Whoever is feared the most by tomorrow, will be the victor of this challenge."
"And what's in it for me?" Eksil asked, knowing very well the God of Tricks was hiding something.
"If you win," Loki said, "I will grant you a weapon more formidable than any other ever forged. One that will never grow dull or leave your hand in combat. One that will never be defeated."
"And if I lose?"
"Then you will acknowledge me as the most feared of all."
*Truly even the gods seek the approval of men,* Eksil thought, but he kept those words silent and agreed to the terms.
That night, the town of Roullac was subject to the worst night it had ever been through. When the sun rose the following morning, the people gathered on the square before the church.
"Nightmares!"
"Demons!"
"Monsters!"
Loki seemed pleased with himself as he walked amongst the crowd, having disguised both himself and Eksil as local farmers.
"Seems like I scared them pretty good," he said to Eksil. "I hear no mention of your name or presence."
Eksil nodded. "Look into their eyes, God of Tricks, and see if your people really fear you."
Annoyed, Loki took a closer look at his victims and begrudgingly, he had to admit he saw no fear in their eyes. Had his many disguises in the world's worst monsters not affected them at all?
"Now look at my side of the town," Eksil said.
Now, Loki looked into the eyes of the people Eksil had visited during the night. They were silent, yes, but there was something different in those eyes. A deep, intens fear so strong they dared not talk of it.
"What did you do?" Loki asked, realizing he had lost the challenge.
"You gave them nightmares," Eksil answered. "You gave them the stuff of nightmares, things that could not possibly be real. I gave them me. A viking raider. A man with a bloodied sword staring down upon them from their bedside. They heard the stories, even this deep down in Francia. They now fear what those along the coasts fear for every day."
Despite his loss, and knowing he had one more trick up his sleeve, Loki congratulated Eksil on his victory in the challenge. He took the berserker with him to Thor's forge, where he commisioned the God of Thunder for the grandest sword ever made for a human. Thor, excited for a challenge to his abilities in the art of blacksmithing, set to work and created an immense two-handed blade, the strength to carry it present only in a true berserker.
Next, Loki enchanted the sword so it would never grow dull or fall to the ground during combat. Finally, he added one more spell and his trick was complete.
"Here it is, Eksil," he gloated as he handed Eksil the sword. "I call it Sinneløs, as you will never be able to lift it as long as you have anger in you."
Loki laughed gloatingly, convinced he had completed another one of his infamous tricks. Truly, berserkers were dumb brutes. Poor Eksil would never be able to use the sword in combat for berserkers fuelled themselves on anger.
His laughter was cut short as Eksil took some mushrooms from his satchel, grounded them down to a fine powder and then swallowed it.
"You are mistaken, God of Tricks," Eksil the Berserker smirked, his eyes growing distant. "I don't fuel on anger when I fight. I only need the exhiliration of knowing I'm in battle."
With that, he lifted Sinneløs high above his head and swung at Loki, who jumped back in fear.
"I am the most feared," Eksil yelled, caught in an enhanced state of existence. "Fear me, God of Tricks! Fear me!"
And so the tale of Loki and Eksil ends. It is unknown if Eksil ever managed to harm the God of Tricks, but that he continued to instill fear in the innocents of Europe is a given. Sinneløs was bathed in their blood, and the legend of God's Wrath, the Sword of the West, the Painted Demon, grew in size.
Never again did Loki challenge a mortal, instead choosing to pull his tricks on the more manipulative gods instead. After all, at least they were vain enough to properly fall for his trickery.
> Thanks for reading, more over at /r/PromptedByDaddy | 12 | A berserker defeats a trickster god and is granted a weapon of ultimate power. The catch? It won't swing or function if the wielder is angry. | 42 |
The rain hammered down hard on the thin tarp draped over the roadside stall, making a rhythmic tapping noise.
A crimson-orange light from the nearby strings of red lanterns glinted off of Bowman's arm. A prosthetic. Metal conjoined with flesh and nerve. Powerful and top of the line. The logo for HeikawaCorp was emblazoned across the forearm.
A fly that'd been buzzing around for the past ten minutes drew threateningly close to his ramen bowl. In the blink of an eye it was snatched from the air and crushed into a fine mist, the servomotors whining softly in his arm's joints.
He opened his palm. Then rubbed it off against his pants.
The cook, stirring a pot of broth, let out a low whistle. "Nice mod you got there. Who'd you ice to get it?" He joked.
Bowman, stone-faced, drew his gun and pointed it at the chef. "I ice guys like you."
The chef dropped the ladle right into the pot, face pale as a sheet.
He realized far too late - Repomen were always outfitted with the latest mods. Well, Corporate called them Cybernetic Reclamation Specialists, but everyone else calls them Repomen.
"I-I got a family. Please..."
"Hold still and close your eyes. I'll make it quick. Painless." Bowman said, lining up a shot.
"I don't wanna die! Please!" The chef screamed, shaking like a leaf.
Bowman sighed and pulled out a cig. Lit it with a light from his index finger. Cig dangling from the corner of his mouth, he stared down at the chef as if he were a stain on the backside of his Corporate issued shoes.
He hated it when they grovelled. "Shouldn't have stole then."
"I didn't have a choice! I needed that implant... My heart was failing and you guys just keep jacking up the prices! Just- just give me a few more weeks, I'll pay it back. I swear!!"
"That's what you said to the last guy they sent after you. Guess what? He got axed for letting you go. But me? I ain't born yesterday. And I aim to collect. No matter what." In his line of work, getting axed was literal. As in head split open.
At that, the ramen chef tipped over the pot of steaming hot broth at Bowman and turned tail to run.
"Why do they always run?" Bowman muttered, narrowly dodging the scalding hot soup, the edges of his leather trenchcoat stained with ramen broth. He clicked his tongue in annoyance and fired, dropping the chef with a shot in the leg.
His quarry screamed in agony as he clutched the punctured leg, femoral artery nicked and pumping out gouts of blood with every pulse.
Bowman calmly walked up to the man.
"No... No wait!!! Don't!!"
Scanned his torso with his optics, confirming the implant make and model, serial number, and where it was located. Confirmed. HeikawaCorp Heart Model S3 Serial 341141 - reported stolen.
"Please... I've got a kid..."
"Shut the fuck up." He growled then shoved his prosthetic through the man's chest with a squelch, rendering bone and muscle with ease.
Blood drooled from the corner of the chef's mouth, and his eyes rolled up its sockets, as he screamed his last.
He yanked out the still beating heart and put it into a cryobox, flash-freezing and preserving the organ and the implant.
.....
"Job's done. Yeah, I got the thing. Yes it's intact, what do you take me for, an amateur? No- no ma'am. Of course not ma'am. Thank you ma'am. I'll get there as soon as possible."
Bowman hung up on his handler and sighed.
Being a corpo was good money, but they sure as shit loved to bust his balls.
He dumped out a few green pills from a tube onto his palm and swallowed them dry.
Anti-anxiety meds. Because, see, despite how badly he wanted to be - Bowman wasn't a stone cold killer. The rising bile in the back of his throat was proof of that. And the shakes, after the adrenaline wore off. The images of the chef and everyone else he'd harvested for the Company - they were burned into his memory.
"Shouldn't have stole. That's what you all get for stealing. It's... it's justice." He muttered to himself, then turned the key in the ignition, rain splattering onto the windshield, and neon reflecting off the hood.
He shook his head and peeled off from the lot in his Speedster - destination, HeikawaCorp Tower. Time to turn in the bounty, and get paid. But more importantly, to get rid of the still beating cybernetic heart in the cryobox sitting on the passenger seat that was a reminder of his sin. | 13 | In a cyberpunk future ruled by mega-conglomerates, a lone agent serves as a "cybernetic reclamation specialist." Their task is to find stolen and black-market augs, rip them out of the target's body, and return them to the corporation. | 20 |
"Seriously" WalkMan said, staring at me with an intensity I didn't know was possible. "You can't tell anyone. EVER."
I gaped open mouthed at WalkMan, the hero that used music to amplify his powers. If he listened to heavy metal, his strength became astronomical. If he listened to classical music, his IQ shot into four digit territory. And apparently, if he listened to a lullaby...
He fell asleep.
"How have you never heard a lullaby in public?" I asked, trying to take the focus away from myself.
"When's the last time *YOU* heard a lullaby in public?" WalkMan countered.
I shrugged. "Ok, good point. But it seems kind of obvious, hasn't anyone figured it out?"
WalkMan lowered his gaze, and clenched his fists in anger. "One did." He said through clenched teeth. "Doctor Doomsday figured it out. But he never uses it, because he feels it isn't 'sporting'."
I gasped. "Your greatest nemesis knows your weakness... and won't use it... because it's not FAIR?"
WalkMan turned away from me and pressed a series of buttons on his custom smartwatch. I heard a faint sound of music emanating from some hidden speaker in his outfit, that I could barely make out...
"Is that 'Eye of the Tiger'?" I asked.
WalkMan nodded, still facing away from me. "It helps my confidence." He said. "My therapist recommended I try it, and so far it works."
"...Don't you go to Doctor Doomsday's free emotional wellness clinic?" I asked. I had seen the story on the news about the super villain's clinic, and the follow up story of WalkMan accepting the public invitation to use it.
He nodded again, and turned to face me. "Yes. I think that's how he found out, but he did keep his word and hasn't used it in combat."
"So why-"
"Because I don't want some no-name punk to try to make a name for himself by killing me." WalkMan sighed and increased the volume of his speakers. "Anyone can just... shut me off. At any time. I can take a bullet, block a punch, break a blade... but a lullaby would end me."
"WalkMan... I swear, your secret is safe with me." I said, reassuringly. "And Doomsday, I guess."
"Doctor Doomsday" WalkMan said, correcting me. "He has a Doctorate in Mechanical Engineering and Medicine."
"Wow" I said. "I guess you two really do respect each other."
WalkMan looked more defeated than I had ever seen him after a fight. "Yeah, I guess we do."
/r/SlightlyColdStories for when I think of an actual ending for this story | 94 | By accident you learned the weakness of the city’s greatest superhero. Though you you know no one would believe you because of how absurd the weakness is, you now find yourself with a superhero willing to do nearly anything for you to keep their weakness a secret. | 191 |
"Are you the spy?" She glanced at her watch as we made our way down the underground passageway.
"Mmmm, I'm the little spy of your heart, if that's what your asking." I gave her my most charming smile.
"Oh you~ stop it. But really I need to find this spy, do you know who it could be?" She pushed me away playfully before straightening her posture. The spy could threaten the whole operation.
"I do, in fact, I think he wants to ask you out to dinner." I raised an eyebrow and gave her half a smirk. Not technically a lie since she was rather attractive. Pity she's a serial killer, I kind of liked the banter we had.
"Alex, if you're not going to be useful, please stop distracting me. It's... distracting." Her eyes glanced back at my well fitted suit. It was worth getting this tailored, even if it was getting bloodied soon.
"Is that a yes?"
"Fine fine, now help me think of who it could be."
"Mmm probably someone closer than you think."
"Do you mean Jason?! That bastard, I knew he was always plotting behind my back! When we get to that meeting, we're going to have a bit of fun." She smiled wickedly. Oh right, she was also a torturer. Damn.
"Why do you think it's Jason?" I probed for her thoughts, better that I ask her questions instead of the other way around. Fucken truth fairy.
"Well... he has the worst kill record of all of us and he's always disappearing. Probably meeting government agents or something. Speaking of, where were you last night?"
I was meeting my CIA contact, but I couldn't tell her that, "Ah just seeing a friend. It was important business."
"Oh? More important than a weapons deal with the Devilish Twins? Now you really have to tell me who you were seeing."
"Please don't press for details, it'd be embarrassing for the both of us."
This time she was the one raising her eyebrows. As we came up to the doorway leading to the meeting place, she pulled to a dead stop and turned to me.
"Hold on, before we get in–" she shoved me hard and pinned me against the wall before I could react. A pistol was pushed against my sternum, "Yes or no, are you the spy?"
Ahh fuck.
 
___
Part 2 found [here](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/vnovdi/wp_you_are_a_highranking_spy_on_a_vital_mission/iemohpe/) or my [subreddit](https://www.reddit.com/r/Unexpected_Works/comments/vq316g/wp_cont2_you_are_a_highranking_spy_on_a_vital/)
I write stuff sometimes, read more at /r/Unexpected_Works | 192 | You are a high-ranking spy on a vital mission. Alas, you have also just pissed off the fae and they cursed you to be unable to tell a lie. There's no time to send in a replacement agent, or find a way to lift it. It's time to infiltrate the enemy and take them down- all with perfect honesty. | 507 |
“Why not? We’ve been friends for ages, man! C’mon, don’t you want to know what I’ve got brewing this time?”
Steve rubbed his hands together in glee, his eyebrows doing some strange dance across his forehead. He just gets weirder every time, man.
“No, Steven, I don’t want to know what you’re up to!”
Damn this stupid tether. Damn his rather impressive demon circle. Damn this ironclad religious ritual I have no choice but to answer when properly performed. Damn it all! Damn it all to home!
“But why not, Bee, it could be fun!”
“Why not? WHY NOT? Because in your last incarnation, you thought thought it would be hilarious to manipulate an entire population into believing the earth was flat! And the incarnation before that, you decided that honeybees were just a little too aerodynamic, so you manipulated the laws of physics to give them these itty bitty wings that should not be holding up such a bulbous bottom!”
Steve cringed a little at that one. “The bees weren’t my finest moment…”
“Do not interrupt me, Steven!”
“Hey! It’s Chad in this lifetime!”
My face hardened into my best impression of the unimpressed emoji. “That’s worse, I hope you know that.”
“But come on Baylrog, you have to admit the platypus was inspired!” Steve’s eyes drifted off to the side, a smile touching the corners on his lips.
“What we had to make that duck and beaver do was cursed. There is no coming back from that.”
No. Coming. Back.
Steve -Chad, whatever- waved his hand in the air. “Luckily for me, I don’t really care about your opinion. You’re trapped in that nifty little circle until you perform the task my sacrifice has paid for.”
With a smug smile and crossed arms, Steve grinned up at me and tapped his foot.
Sure enough, a fresh animal sacrifice was laying a few feet away in a puddle of blood. Poor sheep. With a sigh, I resigned myself to get this over with as quickly as possible.
“What do you want, Steven?”
Steven grinned wider, his eyes becoming a little frantic and a few too many teeth showing for my liking. On a cackling laugh, Steve finally asked,
“How do you feel about murder hornets?” | 52 | “Who has summoned me, the great demon prince of pride! Slayer of gods, killer of monste–” He met Steve’s eyes, “Oh fuck off, not you again.” | 139 |
Artifact Hunter used to be a respectable job. Until the first one was found. An extendable fork that— for all we knew— could extend to infinity. But as you couldn't retract it, no one really wanted to see if that was true. The world held its collective breath as a few more artifacts came to light. However, once they knew the strange quirks that came along with the objects, the excitement died.
And so, we've ended up here. Artifact Hunter is now the quirky job. The one that everyone says won't be very profitable. In fact, it has knocked starving artist right out of the running. But some people still do it. And I'm one of those people.
It's actually amazing how many aren't buried underground anymore. People have dug them up and placed them on their kitchen windowsill, or on a shelf in their living room. I found an orb of healing on someone's nightstand. They were using it as a nightlight. It glowed if they said a four-syllable name, but what they didn't realize, was that it wanted to heal the named person. A hospital paid good money for that one.
Then, you have the collectors. Those that find any strange-looking thing and squirrel it away into their basement. They know what they have, and they will never give any of it up. I tended to steer clear of them. Except once.
I had rolled up to the house, with cautious excitement. When I'd been at the antique market this morning, I'd noticed the little old man. He had a sense about him, a furtive, questing sort of look. I'm not ashamed to admit I followed him around the market. However, I would not make a very good spy. He saw me almost immediately. Instead of being angry, he grinned, taking in my rather odd clothing.
"If you come to my house, I have something to show you." The way he said it, caught my interest. Maybe he actually had a useful artifact. Something that was at least better than a map that only showed the nearest maps. I had agreed, and now I was knocking on the door. The man answered, a big smile on his face.
"Come in, come in!" He ushered me inside, taking my hat, and putting it on a coat stand that sprouted a hand just to hold it. I must have made some kind of noise because he chuckled.
"No, no, that isn't the thing I wanted to show you. It is very polite though. It'll hold your coat too if you like." I wrapped my coat tighter around myself.
"No thanks. My coat goes with me." If he thought my response was weird, it didn't bother him one bit. Nodding enthusiastically, he led me to the kitchen. As I followed, I glanced around the house. In the living room, glimpsed as we rushed past, there was a strange pear-shaped orb resting on the table. As we strode by the bathroom, the door seemed to have three handles. That had to be an artifact effect.
Entering the kitchen, he waved me to a seat. I obliged, looking around. There wasn't anything obviously out of place, nothing that said there was an artifact here.
"Wait, right there. I'll be right out with the artifact." The little old man was practically bursting with excitement. Folding my hands in front of me, I put on my patient expression. He bustled to a cupboard, pulling something out from inside. With care, he set it in front of me on the table.
It was small, only a few inches high and wide; the shape was an elongated cylinder with a bulbous bottom.
"Go on, pick it up." Doing so, I got a bit of a surprise. It was hollow, the blue glass-like exterior only millimetres thick. Carefully I set it down, raising my eyebrows at the man. He giggled and pulled out an egg that I hadn't seen him get from the fridge.
"Watch this." He dropped it inside the artifact and I flinched, expecting to hear a crack. Instead, there was a brief humming noise, and the egg popped right back out. The man's hand shot out, faster than I thought he should be able to move. Catching it, he tapped it sharply on the table. Instead of shattering and leaving a nasty mess all over, cracks spiderwebbed over the surface.
"Perfectly done. Absolutely perfectly done. And the best part," He paused as if to make sure I was paying attention. Satisfied, he continued. "It knows how you like your eggs. Soft-boiled, medium, hard-boiled. And it will do them to perfection every single time. Now wasn't that worth it?"
I stared at the man. He'd brought me out here, for this?
"It boils eggs. That's it. That's all it does. There's nothing else you want to show me? Just an egg-boiler?" The man's eyebrows drew down and he frowned. His hands kept moving, peeling bits of shell off the egg.
"Why should there be anything else? That's the problem with you hunters. You seem to look only for the ridiculous things. Like a magical weapon, or cure-all, or some strange thing."
"And why is that ridiculous? Those things can help people."
"Yes. Or in the wrong hands, they'll hurt millions. This just makes eggs. It's harmless. Except I suppose, to the eggs." He stared at me, and I couldn't help it. I laughed. The man was right. Sometimes we tended to want things that wouldn't really be that good for us.
"The only thing is... I can't help feeling it was once a part of a pair." He said, shaking his head.
"And what do you think the other one did?" He held up the egg, about half-peeled.
"Why, peeled the egg, of course. If you're going to invent something that cooks it perfectly, might as well make something that peels it." I nodded, agreeing with him. Unfortunately, I couldn't stay long, and, after enjoying a perfectly boiled egg of my own, I bid farewell to the old man. But not before he got a promise out of me.
So now I'm on a hunt to find an egg-peeling artifact. Some may say my job is ridiculous. That the artifacts are useless, or silly. But you know, sometimes it's a good thing they aren't bigger or more important. Sometimes all you need, is a perfectly boiled egg. | 28 | 10 years ago the first artifact was found, it wasn't useful, it was an infinitely extendable unretractable fork. More appeared as time went on, all strange with varying usefulness, like a map that points to the nearest map or an orb that healed people with 4 syllable names, thus the hunt began. | 61 |
##Face of Destruction
Earth's corpse stares back at me through the window. The once blue planet is now gray with hints of its former color. A few patches of red on the planet are a reminder of the constant horror that the people still on Earth face.
"Good riddance. The last decade on that planet was terrible." I look to the passenger left of me.
The man has wrinkles around his face, but lacks a single gray hair on his head. A closer inspection of the roots show the truth. His best outfit for the trip is an old-fashioned suit that is tailored to him. He has an athletic build from training but not from necessity.
"I don't know. The past decade has been worse than the previous century," I say.
"Oh, you're one of those people." He rolls his eyes. "Well, let me clarify why the last decade was worse."
I stare out the window to look at the stars and avoid listening to his rant. People like him have been saying the exact same thing for the last ten years. Because ten years ago, it became clear that Earth wasn't going recover.
"I tell you. Our ancestors built a wonderful society." The man refuses to end his lecture. I focus on the window. "It's a shame their descendants screwed it up."
When I look to the stars, I wonder if other civilizations encountered the same problems. Human ancestors certainly created monuments and wonders, but unlike my neighbor, I know that they had flaws. The hell that is wrecking my former home began as a small flame millennia ago. The exact spark has been lost to time.
"I tell you. Life on Titan will be so much better." I turn to stare at his smile. His teeth are perfectly straight and clean.
"Let me tell you something." I bare my rotten teeth at him and watch him flinch. "Life on Titan will be better for a few years, but I'm already hearing of conflict there. We didn't reset the clock. We only delayed it."
"The issues on Titan are exaggerations created by people that were jealous of the people who left." The man shakes his head. "Besides we know why Earth failed, and we won't repeat those mistakes."
I look back at the doomed planet and look at the man next to me. The destruction of Titan is innevitable.
---
r/AstroRideWrites | 39 | You were lucky to ride the last spaceship escaping Earth. As you look through the window, you can finally see the eldritch horror that has been devouring the planet since the last decade. | 131 |
"Mr. Jones?"
"Yes?" At least this one doesn't look like a psychiatrist.
"I'm Doctor Franks from DARPA."
"Finally! Is the government ready to listen?"
"Mr. Jones, *the government* has already written you off as a nut case. I am uncertain. Are you a nut case? Bad with remembering dates? Or the butt of a practical joke by the people who sent you here? All of that is irrelevant now."
"Why?"
"We succeeded in test-firing your weapon. The firing range needs rebuilding, but your gun *is* more advanced than anything we are presently aware of. Would you be able to share any information on the principles, materials, construction, and operation of your weapon? We are also attempting to recover your jet pack from a collector of such things."
"No, not *why do you believe me*, but *why has the government written me off?*"
"Mr. Jones, what year is it where you claim to come from?"
"Twenty-eighteen A.D."
"Mr. Jones, it is 2022 A.D."
"Impossible. I have seen Manhattan, and it is covered with buildings. Manhattan was raized in the year 415 A.D."
"I believe I see the issue. Mr. Jones, when you say A.D., what words are you replacing?"
"After Diaspora, *obviously*."
"Mr. Jones, I no longer think you are mentally disturbed."
"Well! Thank You!"
"Instead, I believe you are an utter moron, along with the majority of our government."
"I beg your pardon?"
"This is 2022 Anno Domini or Christian Era. The diaspora you refer to hasn't started yet. Now, you will give me a timeline with all key events, so I can figure out how long we have to get ready." | 14 | A man suddenly appears in New York wearing a futuristic suit, an energy weapon, and a jetpack. He claims to be from the future, and is here to warn us about The Ant People. He says hes from the year 2018. | 33 |
Their fates will be forever intertwined.
The American's name was Shinobi. He wore a black mask over his face and carried a sword, which he used to cut down his enemies. His eyes were hidden behind the mask, but he still had his trademark smug smile.
"So that's the way it is, huh? You're just gonna stand there and watch me die?"
Shinobi was standing in front of the cowboy, who wore a red hat, a white shirt, and a pair of jeans. His weapon of choice was a six-shooter pistol.
"Oh, I'm not gonna let you die," said the cowboy. "I'll shoot you with this gun, then I'll throw your body into the river."
"What do you mean by that?"
"I mean, I'm going to kill you," said the cowboy. "I don't want you getting in my way, so I'm going to kill you."
"You're right. I should have thought of that sooner," said Shinobi. "Well, then, I guess I'll go ahead and die."
With that, Shinobi raised his sword high above his head.
"Don't bother."
"Huh? You're gonna save me?" Shinobi Asks
"That's right. I'm going to save you."
The cowboy fired his gun, aiming for Shinobi's head.
"That's how it's done!"
Shinobi dodged the bullet and cut the cowboy across the stomach.
"Whoa! You got me!"
The cowboy fell to the ground, clutching his stomach.
"Wow, you're fast, Shinobi. But I'll get you next time."
"Yeah, yeah, I know. I'll be waiting."
With that, Shinobi ran away.
It Was A Typical Day at comicon | 34 | In a chaotic, crime-ridden world, two heroes cross paths by destiny. One is an American weeaboo who dresses as a samurai. The other is a Japanese man who dresses as a cowboy. | 302 |
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