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It is the 24th Century, and Mankind has reached the stars. To our great delight, we found another sentient race, the Ausr, finally answering the age old question, 'are we alone in the universe'. In time, we were introduced to others and ultimately joined the greater Galactic Community. It is a golden age of scientific advancement, exploration, and love.
Almost immediately upon first contact, romance between our two race start to flourish. By the time Humanity was formally inducted into the Galactic Federation, it was signed by the Human Ambassador accompanied with his Ausr wife and their three children. After that, Human Xenos couple became the norm and Half Human Hybrid quickly became the second most populous race in Human controlled space.
I myself am a Half Human Hybrid. My Ma is Human while my Da is Kaitrit, the catgirl / catboy race. They both met on the planet Saliza III, where my Da worked with a group of Archeologist while Ma is part of the Security team assigned with them. After a pirate raid, they both fell in love and long story short, they have three kids including me. Both my older sisters worked for one of the Major Corporation, while I became a 'material transport pilot', content to travel across the stars.
The corporation that I worked for need me to transport various materials to various outpost, stations, and colonies on the Outer Rim, far from the protection of the Galactic Peacekeepers and rampant pirate activity. To ensure the safety of the cargo (and me by default), the corporation provided a specialized star ship. A medium sized ship, sleek and elegant in design, but armed to the teeth with a multitude of hidden armaments. It also came with an assistant Artificial Intelligence, the top of the line K.I.R self-learning model. At least I won’t be lonely during the long hours during flight.
Although a bit unnerved with the A.I at first, I slowly warmed up to it. The more I interact with it (mostly by cracking up lame jokes, answering it’s question about my biological need, debating whether other race will also evolved into crabs for some reason), the more the A.I learn and evolve.
One day, I noticed the A.I was strangely quiet. Fearing something is wrong, I asked if everything’s alright. The A.I turn to me and said It has chosen a name for itself, to better connect and understanding the organics. It, she introduced herself as Akira.
From there, Akira slowly evolved further to the point that she can hold a conversation the same as any organic, or more. She modified her voice, and even bought herself a 3D model from the Holo Market to replace the default A.I floating symbol avatar.
I really enjoyed spending time with her. Arguing, laughing, and just messing around are the highlight of my days, and my before I know it, I’ve develop a crush on her. It’s kinda funny, who’s ever heard of a captain falling in love with his ship? Fearing of social stigma, I don’t work on it further and content with just being friend with Akira.
That all changed on that fateful day. We were ambushed by pirates while on route. The ship was momentarily disabled by an EMP blast and it’ll take some time for Akira to reboot the system. With the pirates already boarding, I engaged them in a firefight to buy time for Akira. I managed to killed two of them before I was shot in the leg. Akira avatar appear, rage in her eyes and she screamed as the entire ship comes back online. After venting the rest of the pirates to space, she help tending my wound, before bringing her full fury against the rest of the pirate ships.
The sight of Akira's Avatar standing defiantly before me while bathed in the light of exchanging laser and plasma shots leave me speechless. Like an ancient goddess of War, beautiful and deadly. I confess my feeling for her after the battle, society be damned. To my Joy, she also felt the same way and was afraid that confessing to me could damage the relationship between us so far. We both had a great laugh of the absurdity of it, and I asked her out on a date at Tavr Space Station the next time we came into port.
Akira told me to wait for her at the Nebula Bar on the merchant Deck, and for me to go on first as she need some time to prepare. I thought she was going to use the portable Sky Tech, a small, floating machine that she can use to project her Avatar and interact with me and other organic. A very convenient tech, she used it often to accompanied me outside the ship and meeting with clients.
Imagine my surprise when Akira walked into the bar, not using Sky Tech, but with her own two legs. Apparently she bought a full body custom android body for herself a while back and wanted to surprised me. It worked, a bit too much since I can't from a coherent sentence when she sit next to me and asked if I like it. Suffice to say, the rest of the date went smoothly and the best day of my life. | 50 | Humans have become part of the larger galactic community and, naturally, a lot of humans began having intimate relationship with other species. You are one such person, but instead of the safe option like everyone else, you're dating a literal war machine. You're smitten and hopeless. | 196 |
'In about twenty minutes you can expect a SWAT team. Start moving to a cafe. Listen to me and you will live. Pack a bag and take your wallet, leave your phone behind.'
I look around the room. Nothing seems off. My vision is normal. Just the same crappy apartment at usual.
'I can't hear you, so don't try talking to me. Just do what I say or you're dead.'
I take off the hat.
_I'm either insane, or..._
I get up. The ridiculous hat sits on the coffee table next to my bong. I suppress the urge to use it. Instead, I get up, stretch my legs. In the fridge is a half bottle of orange juice. I down it. I'm so tense, but what can I do. The ridiculous hat is looking at me. Overcome with curiosity, I put it back on.
'Hi, I can see that you might think you are going nuts, but you need to take this seriously. Every second is crucial and you just lost two minutes. But the main thing is you put the hat back on. That's gonna save your life. Listen to me- what you see is not the reality. That's just what they want you to think. I've been through it. Please trust me. Keep the hat on and start packing your stuff. I've got a lot to tell you but you need to get moving.'
I just sit there. My mind is racing. I guess I must have accidentally taken some weird shit, but there are no other symptoms. The bong is just a bong. The voice is independent of my entire reality.
'Move! Stop thinking and fucking go!'
I get up and go to my bedroom. I pick up my backpack. In goes socks, underwear...
_What the fuck am I doing?_
'Stop resting and finish packing! You wanna die? They'll shoot you. You need to leave ASAP!'
I decided to listen to the voice. I throw a bunch of stuff out of my bag and get my wallet.
'Now, when the SWAT team gets here, they are gonna start looking for you so you need to leave inconspicuously. If you look distressed, someone is gonna notice and that will give them their first clue to track you. Wear a hat if you have one.'
It's almost a hundred degrees outside but I put on my woolly hat and go. The aluminium hat under it scratches my head but at least most people won't see it.
Out on the street I start sweating immediately. Everything looks normal enough. Across the road a guy in a suit is on his phone, and gives me a passing glance. An older woman passes me and gives me a look. A cat stares, and I realise I'm starting to be paranoid.
'You listened to me. That's good. Everything will be explained in due time. For now you just gotta lie low. Spend tonight outside and we'll pick you up tomorrow, once we know that you're not gonna get captured or that you're leading them to us. My name is Nate, by the way. You don't know me yet, but I know all about you.'
Ignoring the obvious discomfort of the cashier, I order a hot chocolate at Starbucks. I get out my laptop and start googling like crazy. Get nowhere. End up playing flash games like a loser.
I'm on the floor before I know what happened. Shouts of orders break out, footsteps, a scream, a weird kind of loud silence. I turn my head and see the boots and rifle butts of the swat team. I look up, at the same time as the nearest one turns his head to me, staring intensely just over my eyes. | 350 | “Finally, the gamma waves are gone! Now listen up, we don’t have much time!” | 2,066 |
Jenta. She was to be the second ruling queen in a century. They came to get her, and she was nowhere to be found. We'd gone out to the countryside a month prior after the throne was being challenged to hide her. Now with the king announced dead they've come to collect and she is cowering off with my family once again.
After the collectors came they demanded to see her. I could not show her and so in prison I reside. They will find my family soon enough and kill them. Jenta will hopefully have found my old scabbard hiding under the hay bales. Maybe she'll unlock the magic to pull the sword, maybe not. We only had one year's time to train her to become the next Pisca Shickard and carry on my legacy in secret, and she has no clue. I fear I've only thrown her onto a more dangerous path than she would have found as our ruler. I fear my slow rotting death will be all for naught.
But before they took me away I saw Jenta's constellation in the stars. I'd been piecing it together for ages. She told me she saw herself up there and drew it out with her fingers countless times, but not once had I ever found her in the night sky. But tonight was different. The skies were as clear as I'd ever seen them and it was the exact pose she'd always described, and with a single red star representing "the fire in my mind" as she described it.
Tonight the firey red star was angry, as was I.
As I sit and rot I can feel the fire in the star. I only hope that the sky turns around again and reveals her constellation to me through my tiny window, between the bars. If I can only see it once more then I'll know that it's time to finish the ceremony and pass on the rest of the power.
I sit and wait, rotting, so that I might see the time to die, and live again. | 11 | You were given the task of protecting and raising the heir to the throne in exchange for paying off all your debts. However after raising the child for all these years you no longer care about your debts and you're not about to give up your child to those who hired you. | 106 |
"Please," I said with a wide smile and stepped aside from the door, "do come in."
The vampire - or at least I assume he was one given by the subtle hints I picked up on - walked right in, politely wiping his shoes on the doormat. He hung his coat and hat on the rack and followed me into the game room.
"Now, I am quite delighted that you would happen by," I said warmly. "We don't have many door-to-door salesmen in this neighbourhood - something I find tragic, indeed. There is just the... personal touch that so many modern advertisements lack."
"Oh I fully agree. All the more pleasant when a gentleman such as yourself invites you in for a deeper dive into our product," the vampire smiled.
"Tea?" I offered.
"No, thank you. Tea is not, well, my cup of tea."
"Something stronger, then?" I said with a coy smile and pointed towards the liquor cabinet.
"I don't think you'd have my brand of drink," he laughed heartily.
"Now then - tell me more about this product," I said, sitting down and motioning for him to join me.
"Of course. It is the latest in our line of- oh I am *terribly* sorry," he said, suddenly standing up, "but is that..."
I followed his gaze until I came by his object of interest - a chessboard I have owned for several hundred years. Even when I was alive it was quite the prestigious item.
"A LeRoix chessboard with original ivory figures, yes. Excellent eye!" I commended him.
"It's just that... I've never seen one so well maintained. Let me guess, from..." he said and furrowed his eyebrows, "1705 edition?"
"Excellent eye indeed! I remember getting it straight from LeRoix after he made it. He was an extraordinary craftsman but a poor haggler - I got it with a hearty discount."
He turned to me, confused.
"Straight from LaRoix? But-" he stopped, walking closer and staring at me ever so closely. I suppose that by now he must have realized - the slight intangibility of my skin, the shimmer in my eyes, the fact that I ever so slightly misjudged the chair's height and was sitting a few centimetres *in it*. An amateur mistake on my part, but I was simply so excited to have a guest.
"Oh," he said.
"Oh, I am terribly sorry," I said and mimicked patting him on the shoulder. "I suppose you wished for a meal tonight, but, well..." I shrugged.
"Oh, do not apologize," he perked up. "Truthfully, I was simply going door-to-door to see how many people here would make suitable dining guests in the future. But this chessboard is, well... I never had a chance to meet LaRoix, you know. I was in the Americas back then, making a nifty sum selling pelts."
"Oh, 18^(th) century America! How I regret not seeing them back when their natural beauty was unspoiled. Say, how was it? Do the tall tales stand true?" I asked curiously.
"Perhaps we can discuss it over a game of chess? I would *die* to hear more about LaRoix, were I not already..." he said and also motioned towards his still heart. We laughed.
"You know," he smiled, "I think I'll have that cup of tea after all." | 2,769 | A vampire knocks on your door, seeking permission to enter in order to kill you as their next meal. As a house-bound ghost, however, the prospects of a guest after so many years intrigues you. Smiling darkly, you welcome them inside. | 4,089 |
Day 62 on the job
“Adventures Guild, please hold.” I clicked the button and the line 2 blinked white.
“Adventures Guild, please hold.” Another click and line 3 blinked white.
Pressing the line one, button. “Thank you for calling the Adventures Guild. How may we assist you?”
“Help! My sister was taken by tentacles we’re in the Eastern forest dungeon 23 C class. We’re all B rank.”
“Okay, I hear you. Are you safe right now? How many people in your party total?” I asked, scanning through my computer for information on her group along with any neighboring groups and scouts that could help.
“Umm there were 4 of us total and three were taken.”
“I see you were registered as an all female team.” I scowled at the information, “Can you tell me if there were eyes on the tentacles?”
“Eyes?”
My mouse hovered over two nearby troops, one mixed race and gender S rank, *a bit far*, and one composed of mostly male dwarfs C rank, *closer*. The two scouts nearest were female, though one was A rank the other B. “I would need to identify the nature of the monster, if it’s a beholder, a mimic, a plant, or something worse. Certain creatures have—”
“Disproportionate affects. Yeah, yeah, I remember the exam question. Umm… I don’t remember eyes or a treasure chest.”
*Nope, on the scouts then.* I clicked on the mixed gender group. “Anything else you remember? How did you escape?”
“I… well I was fondled with then spit out. “
I frowned, checking on the caller’s ID. *Trans pre-transition potion*, hmm… “I see, okay, there’s a group of adventuring dwarves half a mile from your location. It sounds like your team should be okay until their arrival. They are only C class but likely immune to the monster’s effects, so just hang tight. Backups are coming. I’m going to put you on hold and check back in with you in ten. Is that okay?” I clicked a few buttons on my computer and sent messages to the neighboring group.
“Yeah, thanks.” She sighed in relief.
I clicked line 2. “Hello, Adventures Guild, how may I help you?”
“Does guild insurance cover beast impregnation?” A man’s voice asked. “I slept with this naga chick and…”
“Sir, I’m going to have to transfer you over to our coverage department. Please hold one moment.” I sighed, clicking a few buttons on the phone.
Then, after the transfer, I pressed the blinking white button on line 3.
“Hi, I would like to quit my adventure troupe.” A pitched voice on the other line declared.
“Uhh, sir…” I checked the caller ID, Sir. Patrick Bigwater, but the voice coming through definitely sounded like a girl. “You just joined the … Witchery Band a week ago. They are all S class adventurers and very prestigious to get into. The cue for their screening is over six months.”
“Yeah, and I found out exactly why they’re all women. It’s because they turn everyone women!”
“Well, yes, they are the Witchery Band, Sir.” I said. “I’m sure it’s in all their promotional materials too.”
“They intend to use me as monster bait!”
“It is summer. So many monsters are in heat right now.” I frowned at the incoming blinking lights across my phone panel. “And you did sign a contract.”
“You mean I had to read that long boring piece of—” The line went dead and I sighed.
“I hate monster mating season.” Grumbling, I clicked the next blinking light.
([Sev - steamy romance writer](https://www.reddit.com/r/SevWagoner)) | 58 | After finding yourself in another world you promptly failed the adventurers exam. It turns out you didn't gain any extra powers, meaning the only thing you're good at is customer service and basic arithmetic. As such they decide to hire you as the adventurers guild new receptionist... | 223 |
It started last week. I got my blender out of the cupboard and there it was, a sock, by itself, sat alone in the blender. It was light blue and slightly worn, but smelt clean. I went to pair it up with my own light blue socks, when I found that mine were already paired together. This didn't belong to me, and upon further inspection, was too small for me!
This event spooked me, but not in any meaningful way. Nothing had happened to make me worried or scared, but regardless, I couldn't stop thinking about it all day.
The next day, as the thought now felt more like a memory than something new and fresh, a similiar thing happened. I got chicken nuggets from a local fast food place, but they had forgotten the sauce. "Oh well", I thought, "I have a bottle of ketchup in the fridge." Except, when I tried to squeeze it, nothing came out. It was definitely full, I had only got it a few days prior. Unscrewing the cap revealed the problem, an entire tea towel had been shoved in the bottle. I promptly emailed the company on their Quality Assurance helpline, this was unnacceptable. I always heard stories of people finding weird things in their packaged products, but I couldn't help but wonder how I had used this bottle for 3 days with no issues.
It was later that same day that my kitchen bulb suddenly stopped working. I got a new bulb out the drawer, unscrewed the one already in the ceiling, and... *clink*. Something fell at my feet. Looking down at the grey tiled floor, I immediately noticed the twinkling object. Putting down both the bulbs, I crouched down, and picked up this shiny, round, small anomaly... I live in a cheap apartment. Rent is low, very low. I can't afford much, yet here I am, holding a wedding ring that is more expensive than all the furniture in my apartment tallied together. Something was happening, but I didn't know what.
I couldn't sleep properly. Not because I was scared, nothing about this was inherently scary. But because I don't like the unexplained. I thought maybe carbon monoxide poisoning, as I've heard storied of people sleepwalking and moving objects around in their sleep from that, but no - I checked my alarm was working fine, and in a strange way, I was disappointed to find it working. I just wanted an explanation. I told friends and family and they all found this to be a strange tale, but nothing more. And I couldn't exactly call the police, what would I have told them? "Yeah, I think someone is breaking into my house and giving me items, some of which are more than my entire net worth."
The next few days consisted of similiar experiences. A pack of crayons in the washing machine. An "Eat, Sleep, Game, Repeat" magnet in my toaster. A 1000 Yen note in my sink (a currency which I have never used in my life). I kept some of the stuff, some of it was actually quite useful. But other stuff was just completely random and useless to me.
However, the strangest one happened today. The one that sent me over the edge. I opened my fridge to find a *fucking chair* inside. I actually fell backwards in shock, and probably stayed there just staring for a full minute. There it was, slotted perfectly between the (admittedly quite abundent amount of) food. A wooden, new-looking, polished chair. As I began to regain my senses, I stood up, and tried to pull it out of the fridge. I mean, what else could I even do? But it just wouldn't budge. No matter what I did, it wouldn't move at all. That's when I realised that part of the chair was going through the fridge, and poking slightly out the left-hand side. There was no hole, no damage, nothing, It was as if the chair had the ability to pass through solid matter, and then froze this way.
I didn't know who to call for this. A repairman? The police? A scientist?
I noticed at this point, through the glass of the microwave, a rectangle of some sort. It was hard to make out through the slightly blurry and tinted glass, but I opened the door of the microwave to find it was a note. It was written in Chinese, but I was able to use an app to scan the note and translate. The translation wasn't perfect, the app gave me some pretty broken English as it always does, but the output I got was:
"I have reason to believe that, somehow, my kitchen drawer is a portal. I don't know if it's going somewhere on Earth, or somewhere completely remote in the universe. Maybe a completely different universe. Everything I put in this drawer has to be there wherever it goes. I am trying to climb in tomorrow and I am sending this note as a warning. I'm a recently divorced man and my life is no big deal right now, so I'm willing to take the risk. If anyone is reading this, please know that your next visitor will arrive in peace and mean no harm."
I felt a strange feeling of excitement. This felt interesting now, and I wanted to meet this man. I considered staying in the kitchen all night, but then realised that objects seem to be able to be able to appear inside of other objects. I couldn't risk anything appearing inside me, it could kill me instantly.
So, I stayed sat in the hallway, kitchen door open, staring in. It occured to me only now that I didn't know exactly when objects would appear. It just seemed like I'd find 1 or 2 everyday, but it could be at any point between going bed and waking up that they appear, which gives a window of roughly 11pm to 8am. I thought about what I was going to say to this man, whether I could trust that he was truly coming in peace. But I guess the sleepless nights caught up to me, because the next thing I remember, is waking up, to the sound of screaming. It took me a moment to realise what was going on and where I am, but when I lifed my head up and looked into the kitchen, there he was. There was a fairly short man, stood there, screaming. I didn't know what to do, he didn't look hurt? Does he even speak English? I certainly don't know any Chinese!
Whilst trying to assess the situation, I realised he wasn't short at all. His entire feet and ankles were *inside the floor*. Not knowing what to do, I called for an ambulance, although I also didn't know exactly what I was going to say when they got there. Was I going to go to jail? | 19 | Odd things have started to inexplicably show up around your home. A sock in the blender, a tea towel in a bottle, a wedding ring in a light fixture. You don't recognize any of them. | 81 |
*From Kenneth Crest's Hatchling How-To's, Everything You Need to Know About Hatching Dragons*
Whenever someone asks me about the best breed of dragon for first time adopters, I always recommend the Welsh Redback. A simple breed, they reach about three feet in length and fifty pounds in adulthood. They are also one of the only breeds to lack fire breathing abilities, so there is no added risk of fire damage to a novice dragon hatcher's home.
Hatching the egg is a simple endeavour. Simply keep the egg bundled in a fair amount of cloth, a few of your comfiest sweaters and hoodies should do. It works as an added bonding bonus to carry around the egg with you in a coat pocket for at least an hour a day, to help the hatchling grow accustomed to your presence.
The hatching itself normally takes one to three hours. By this point, the dragon should have enough strength to break through the egg on its own, but if it appears to be struggling, some assistance would not go amiss.
Once the dragon is hatched, it must be given a suitable nesting location. Welsh Redback's typically enjoy perching themselves on a high shelf so that they may observe their surroundings from a bird's eye view. Just like the biggest of dragons surround themselves in treasure, Redbacks will surround themselves in their own hoard of spare change and jangly bits of metal, such as loose screws or stray nuts and bolts.
For feeding, Redbacks thrive on a diet of raw meat, typically from a goat or cow. They are insusceptible to salmonella, so it is perfectly safe to feed them raw chicken as well. Redbacks are intolerant to most herbs and spices save for mint, which they find to be a pleasant snack to chew on and freshen their breath.
The next chapter will focus on proper handling of social interaction for your new hatchling... | 142 | you collect eggs from fallen dragons’s nests, raise them and teach your babies how to defend themselves against those goddamn adventurers. | 597 |
NPC 1: You hear the latest?
Npc 2: You mean how Butthead killed a whole town and looted it?
NPC 1: He wasn’t content with the arena. Now he has a blade that is capable of instantly killing you.
NPC 1: That’s horrifying. I saw him crouching in the corner for hours and moving around. We are coexisting with a sociopath.
NPC 2: He killed a whole town a while ago. Just for some gold. He sold the items to a thieves guild nearby. Afterwards he stared at a wall for hours and healed. Without any magic. He just waited.
NPC 1: Why do we have a thieves guild? Isn’t that illegal?
NPC 2: The guards are more focused on patrolling and getting killed by Butthead.
In the distance, we see the ugly protagonist crouching and walking around.
NPC 2: Oh Talos. There he is. Act “normal.”
The NPC’s begin to face each other. Making silly over the top gestures with their hands as they talk.
NPC 1: Have you heard? The black horse courier is looking for new members.
NPC 2: Ah. I see.
NPC 1: Yes, they serve as the town carriers.
Butthead takes notice of the two NPC’s. He slowly pulls out his weapon and stares at them. The NPCs stare at Butthead.
NPC 2: Hello! Have you heard? The fighters guild is looking for new members.
NPC 1: Will you spare a coin for a troubled soul?
Butthead turns to look around. He notices a different NPC and begins to crouch walk to him. Butthead sheaths his sword and instead pulls out an enchanted bow and snipes the NPC. Afterwards, he loots him to grab the gold pieces from the corpse and jaunts over to NPC 1. NPC 1 is trembling as Butthead donates the blood money to him.
Butheads: Information about cults.
NPC 1 glances at at 2 and then takes a deep breath.
NPC 1: Don’t tell anyone about this but I have heard uh….. that there may be a cult in Bravil.
Butthead seems to be suspicious but quickly takes off anyways. Out of earshot, the civilians drop their guard.
NPC 2: WHAT THE FUCK WAS THAT?
NPC 1: THAT’S THE HERO OF KVATCH!
NPC 2: HE SAVED KVATCH?
NPC 1: AFTER MURDERING THE TOWN SO HE CAN JOIN THE DARK BROTHERHOOD.
NPC 2: DID YOU KNOW HE BECAME A MADGOD TOO?
NPC 1: WE”RE DOOMED. OH GOD BLESS THE EMPEROR.
NPC 2: The Emperor must have been assassinated by him!
NPC 1: Wait. You remember the gold he gave me?
NPC 2: Yeah.
NPC 1 checks his pockets.
Npc1: It’s gone.
NPC 2: He just murdered an innocent civilian, robbed him, donated you the money, and then he pickpocketed you?
NPC 1: I’m not much for Daedric worship but I am sure praying for that Mehrune Dagon to kill him.
NPC 2: I wouldn’t bet on that. Butthead can stare at him and Dagon will drop dead.
NPC 1: I guess the best we can do is blend in and hope he isn’t going to do a run where he kills everyone.
NPC 2: Perhaps we can try getting him addicted to skooma?
~END~ | 13 | The new hero is willing to do anything and everything to get more powerful, unlike his peers. This includes striking deals with devils, doing every tedious side quest, and dungeon diving repeatedly to get the drops he wants. | 55 |
"Dread Lord, powerful beyond knowledge and more sinful than there are sins to commit, He Who Transcends-"
"Enough Meffy, not today. What is it." A figure rests upon a throne ineffable, whose edges are wrath and lust and envy and a thousand evils besides, absently tapping his right horn.
"I just came back from a Nostradamus Invocation, and-"
"Hah! Which loophole did you eat them through? Forgetting to specify existence on their precise world? Using fresh heartsblood instead of rotten? Which?"
Mephistopheles, Archdemon of Greed, aka 'Meffy', who has celebrated a thousand hidden successes for every famous Faust, gulped. "It was successful, Fell Sovereign."
The horn tapping stopped. The Seat of All Evil writhed, and Meffy felt the gazes of each and every damned soul staring at him through that throne. Whose regard was tasty actually, but did not sufficiently distract from the glower of his Lord.
"It's been ages since we've had to truly honor a soul offering, what did you give them?"
"That's just it Revolting Ruler, I do not believe I can fulfill it, so I came to ask you, if, well..."
Satan laughed. "Beyond you Meffy? Ridiculous."
"It would be...too good."
"No such thing! All can be twisted, Abaddon will mock you for an age if a mortal stumps you."
"It will redeem Original Sin."
Satan sputtered. "Impossible! Florence Nightingale, Gandhi, not even When Harry Met Sally could do it, what could possibly...wait."
Meffy looked down, unwilling to see his Despicable Despot so distraught. "Yes, my Lord. That. It would restore humanity to Eden."
"No. Twist it somehow, find a loophole like we have the other 300,006 souls offered for it!"
"The invocation is abyss tight, I consulted our legions of damned barristers. We must grant it."
Satan paused for an instant, an eternity, then sighed, reaching one arm deep into his howling throne. "Then we...renege on a soul contract."
Meffy looked up, gasping. "But then Heaven would descend upon us!"
Satan withdrew his sword, Kinslayer, from the wicked depths of the Seat of All Evil. "I would rather die Mephisto."
"Sire please-"
The sword keened with the howls of all the justly slain as Satan inspected its edge. "I would rather die than watch humanity be redeemed. What was the wish, so that I know the fullness of my doom?"
With tears in his eyes for the stalwart evil of the Great Deceiver, Mephistopheles answered. "Nine seasons of Firefly that come to a climactic and satisfying conclusion. Free for all to see. Translated into every language, now and forever."
"That would do it. COME HORDES OF HELL, LET HEAVEN QUAKE BEFORE THE END!" | 151 | You think you've finally done it—you've outwitted hell. Triumphant, you draw the symbols and correctly perform the sacrificial preambles to offer your own soul for something. But when you tell the demon what you really want they narrow their eyes. "I'm not sure that's allowed... I'll be back." | 168 |
We’ll that’s odd, I thought maybe it was some joke? Like she was going to come back and laugh it off, but nothing. It was an empty desk before the channel just flipped to a re run of The Before Time, the Number one show that tries to remind us how evolved we are.
“Yea I’m not sitting through another episode of this junk” I figured I’d just order some take out, I pull up the food screen and select some tacos with caviar and that really exotic Tia alcohol. But strangely after 2 minutes didn’t receive a buzz at my door.
I order again and a third time figuring I could just throw the left overs into the recycler but still nothing,
Eventually a message come on the prompter, (food delivery temporarily un-available)
I figure if I can’t eat or watch tv then I guess I’ll just go back to sleep, I walk over to my room, lay on the flat surface, and hook back into my vein tubes, turn the machine on and lay back. It begins playing the sweet melody’s that take me back to when I was a child being cradled by my mother, you can set it to anything of course, nostalgic memories, exciting or thrilling moments that exhaust you to sleep or even melodic frequencies that take you to beautiful new worlds in your dreams, but I prefer the simple things in life. I gently doze of, watching as the machine syphons my blood. I’m sure things will be back to normal tomorrow I’m sure. | 39 | You live in a perfect utopia where nothing ever goes wrong. You seldom leave your house, because there’s no reason to. One day, while you’re watching the evening news, the usually perky reporter says “I can’t take it anymore! They’re lying! It’s all fake!” Before she’s tackled and it cuts out. | 362 |
"What?"
The Lord of vampries smiled at me, making no attempt to hide his elongated fangs.
"I want you to work for me, simple as that."
He looked down at the crucifix on the floor. It lifted into the air, floating in front of him.
"I can offer you much, if you accept of course."
I found my voice again, carefully feeling behind me for the stake I always kept there.
"Why the hell would I want to work for you?"
Dracula's grin widened, stepping closer.
"First of all, I'm a wealthy monster. Being this old, and being relatively intelligent, means I have gathered quite the sum of money. I'm sure you could use some, given your..." He looked around my room, "abode."
I looked around myself, eyes running over the stained walls. It was old, and desperately needed a good clean, and probably new everything. But still I focused back on him.
"You think I do this for money?"
He shook his head, still frustratingly calm.
"Oh, I know you don't. It must have hurt, losing him like that. But still, it doesn't pay well does it? Maybe you get a small reward here and there, but let's be real. Without a decent influx of coinage, your equipment will soon break, and you'll be just another victim."
The fact he knew about Simon made my blood boil. I grasped the handle of the stake, pulling it out slightly. I had to wait for the right time.
"Is that supposed to make me join you?"
He shrugged, looking at the crucifix. It began to spin wildly, a simple toy to him.
"I wouldn't be here if I thought money would motivate you. I can buy any number of sycophants. I don't want that. I want you to work for me willingly, with your eyes wide open, not blinded by greed. But this brings me to my second offer. Knowledge."
The crucifix stopped spinning, disappearing in a blur. My gaze instantly moved to his hand, where he lightly held it.
"This is a useful tool. That is, if you use it right. You need faith to really make it work. Just the symbol itself might cause a lesser vampire to falter, but beyond that, its a joke. If you were truly devout, then it might sting me a little."
With his attention away from me, I struck. The stake plunged towards his heart, my hate focused on one point. My closed fist hit his chest, bouncing off from a torso if stone. He chuckled, snapping the wood between two slender fingers.
"Not bad! That brings me to my third point. Working for me means that you have prime access to the head vampire himself. I want you to try and kill me."
I shook off my hand, my attention suddenly wrenched to his words.
"You want me to kill you?"
His laugh was geniune, if slightly mocking.
"Oh I doubt you can. But that shouldn't stop you from trying."
I narrowed my eyes, part of my mind considering it.
"What do you get out of this though? What do you want me to do?"
Dracula leaned back into the air, taking a seated pose on an invisible chair.
"Ah, yes. The meat of the issue. I have an issue with a few of my... descendants. They spread this blessing a little too eagerly, and refuse to obey me when I tell them to curb their enthusiasm. I would like you to assist me in... removing a few of these outspoken fools."
"So, let me get this straight. You want me to hunt your kind, to keep your authority stable?"
That damned smile dimmed, and for a brief moment I saw the true monster beneath the mask.
"My authority is absolute!"
The monster vanished, and the Dracula facade retook its place.
"Excuse me. Yes, I want you to hunt them. But think of it this way. If there are too many vampires, there won't be enough humans to go around. Then what happens? Humanity falls apart, we loose our food, oh dear everyone is dead. This is a careful balance. You hunt them, you protect the many. Just... ignore the few that you can't save."
He made a good point. Vampires couldn't be allowed to propagate unchecked. Sure I wanted them all dead, but I had to be realistic. Unless a miracle occurred, it wasn't going to happen. The best I could do was kill as many as possible. As much as I hated to admit it, his offer was tempting.
I stared at him, holding up three fingers.
"If I accept, there will be three rules. One, no advertising I work for you. At all. Two, there I people I care about. You will promise not only to leave them alone, but make sure they are off limits. I don't care how. Finally, if I decide I'm done, that's it. You let me go, and leave me alone."
His smile returned, and he held out a hand with long, slender fingers.
"That sounds reasonable to me. Welcome aboard, Ms Carter." | 37 | You are a vampire hunter. You're accosted by Dracula himself in your bedroom. He approaches you, knocks the crucifix from your hand, and leans forward to say... "I want you to work for me." | 43 |
Sierra fumbled the coins in her pocket as she left the butcher's store. She couldn't help but feel a little pleased with herself. The butcher's burglary troubles were over, and she was better rested than she'd been in months. All it took was a few free nights of sleep in the storeroom and a quick tangle with the beast once it finally showed up for its midnight snack. It was an easy job, if you knew what you were doing. Plus, fresh wolverine meat always fetched a good price.
It was morning, with long shadows still stretched across the street as the sun began it's skyward climb over the town of Braden. Sierra didn't have anywhere to be, nor anyone to find. What she did have was a little bit of money and a lot of time. She pulled her hood over her head and started toward the market. Though it wasn't far she kept to the side of the street. If there was one thing she had ever learned, it was to keep from being out in the open long. It was something she had picked up from her life of adventuring as well as the one she had left behind.
All these country towns were the same. Nestled at the foot of a mountain, or set within rolling farmlands, they'd always have some trouble that needed solving. A herd of cattle was acting strange. A young boy had gone missing. A family heirloom had been stolen. Every now and then, something magical was truly at work. But more often than not, however, it ended differently than first expected. People were always deeper than they seemed, and solving their problems usually meant bringing that to light. She loved it.
Every town always had the usual cast of characters. The blacksmith, the tailor, the fletcher, the drunkard, and the local guards who acted tough but ended the night singing songs with a pint in hand. During the day, everyone seemed to find their way to the market, and by nightfall they were all gathered together in one tavern or another. Even though each town did have their differences, there was something familiar about them all that just felt like home.
Sierra walked in the shadow of *Sordin's Emporium* and *The Fattest Mouse* and a dozen or so other stores that bordered the colorful booths of the market. If she were hungry, there were plenty of options: from apples to melons, beans to gourds, as well as more breads than she knew how to name. And beyond the food were pants, dresses, and coats, all for fine wear or working cloth, as well as hammers and nails and ladles and pans, and many other tools and utensils one might need. There were, of course, a few knickknacks and children's toys had a swarm of little ones who would soon pester a parent into giving over a coin. While she kept an eye out for anything useful, she paid close attention to what she could hear. People liked to brag about bargains they'd just won, or gossip about the latest news. There was always a chance she could find her next job.
The crowd was a bit larger today than usual, so she felt more at ease venturing out among them. Being one among many gave her any disguise she needed. It wouldn't matter that she was dressed in a traveler's cloak, or that a knife hung from her hip, or that a few hours earlier she had slain a wolverine and stained her clothes with its blood. Somewhere between the burley farmers carrying bundles on their shoulders, and the colorful scarves and patterned dresses of mothers wrangling children, she looked like one of them. Maybe someday she would actually be one of them. Sierra let her hood down, careful to keep it over the back of her neck, and slipped into the throng.
It was hot. All the bodies pressing against each other, carrying baskets or bags full of food and supplies. It felt like a summer day though it was late in the fall. She exchanged a coin for a few apples from a farmer who suddenly looked very comfortable standing on the other side of the booth. Before long, she headed toward the well near the middle of the market where she could draw a drink of water and cool off. She had nearly made it when she heard something that put a pit in her stomach.
Sierra spun around. Before she knew it, a man's coat was held tightly between her fists, and his feet were nearly dangling on the ground. He was heavy for a townsman, though not too much for her to handle. An official, perhaps, or someone that doesn't do much work for themselves. Not someone that would fight back very hard, but someone that could cause her trouble if she stuck around.
"Say that again?"
The man winced. Sierra felt a coolness sweep in as the crowd managed to back away.
"The princess...' he squeaked. "She was rescued..."
"That's impossible."
"Look!"
He waved a pamphlet in the air before shoving it in between them. His feet were fully off the ground now.
"Take it!" He gasped. "It's all in here. Please.... just let me go!"
She snatched the pamphlet from him with one hand and let him down slowly with the other. The paper swam with a sparkling green color. It was a true royal announcement, no doubt, for at the end was enchanted with the king's seal: three stalks of wheat, waving in a gentle breeze. No magic she had ever come across could duplicate it, nor break it.
*To the King's People,*
*His Majesty, King Rutherford of Gloriel Plains, is pleased to announce the rescue of Princess Serenity and her safe return to the royal palace. The terrible cloud over the Kingdom which fell when she was kidnapped over seven years ago has finally been lifted. In celebration, King Rutherford will hold a festival in her honor on the last day of Fall, and commands all cities, towns, and villages to do the same.*
As she finished reading, Sierra felt the eyes of the crowd growing around her. She preferred the shadows, not the light of attention. But she knew these people. They stare at a commotion but never intervene. As long as she walked away soon, she'd be left alone.
Sierra folded the pamphlet and stuffed it in her pocket. She threw her hood over her head and set a quick pace to the southern gates. Something magical had finally happened in her long absence from the royal palace, but it didn't seem good. She wasn't sure how she'd go about it, but she had to know whether her father was being duped, or if he was in on the charade. | 393 | The princess ran away to become an adventurer. Years later, she heard news that “the kidnapped princess” was rescued. What!? Should she reveal herself, or sit back as the imposter does what they pleases? | 1,183 |
"Sir, the radar is reporting thinner clouds."
"Again?"
"Sir, yes, sir!"
"Have the planes confirmed it?"
"Last plane trip confirmed sunlight at one kilometer!"
"I see." General Claudius was the last of a long generation of generals in the prestigious Skye family -- reputed for protecting the Isle of Precipitaea from the worst storms. He scratched his chin. It had been a generation or two since a Skye had actually had to improvise -- radar, planes, and computers had made the family responsibilities redundant. But the Precipitaean government was a stickler for tradition and the Skye family modernized enough to keep themselves barely afloat. However, the clouds were thinner than two kilometers over the last month -- already General Claudius had been summoned by parliament multiple times to help coordinate how the public would deal with the sun.
One kilometer was insane. The last such measurement was in the 1700s and were disputed for good reasons (weather balloons and strings were notoriously unreliable). Even on the foggiest days, it was rare to measure two kilometers.
It was clear that the carbon dioxide emissions of industry were pushing the clouds about -- it's why there were relative droughts and massive floods already. Historically high and low temperatures were recorded in detail. Snow encroached further South and mosquitoes further North. But nobody expected a break in the clouds.
Claudius left the weather monitoring station with a brisk "call my secretary with the next plane measurements or if the radar sees a bigger thinning." He got into his car -- the only electric government vehicle -- and began mumbling to himself about the water supply and whether anybody actually knew how to save water. The driver simply nodded, too experienced with the Skye family members, and headed to the General's next appointment.
In the drizzle droughts, many suffered water shortages simply because their roof supplies dwindled over the day. Government officials arduously carried water up to some roofs to alleviate the issues, since the government managed to stockpile a little. But if a true parting of the clouds occurred, Claudius could only hope that it lasted minutes. Only the aviators knew what was above the clouds. There were still people who believed that the world ended in a white-grey wall above.
Suddenly Claudius was flung forward. He looked up and saw that all the traffic had stopped. Oddly, the cars in from of him seemed bright. Then he realized that the soft pitter-patter he was used to had stopped. The silence was eerie. Then there was a golden light. And Claudius Skye was terrified. | 24 | You’ve grown up in a world where it rains all day, every day. Your entire society has evolved to revolve around this. Today, for the first time in recorded history, the rain stops. | 46 |
"Didn't think I'd be back, didja?" Spiritus blew a raspberry at me, and I squeezed my eyes shut, trying to block out his distracting hijinks.
"I got rid of you for a reason, and it was a good one, okay? How am I supposed to destroy the world if I've got a godsblasted *conscience* nagging at me 24/7?" I swatted a hand at him, but it went straight through his incorporeal form.
"Well, maybe you oughter go to therapy. Your friends kept telling you that, dinnit they?"
"I don't *have* friends," I ground out through my teeth. "Not anymore, at least."
"Got sick of you, I bet," Spiritus sang out as he did a lazy loop-de-loop. "All that doom and gloom and 'nothing is worth saving, let me destroy it all.' Probably wore on their nerves. Hell, I'm part of you, and I was getting sick of it too!"
I fiddled with my doomsday device, trying to start the countdown timer. "So why are you here, then? Sod off. Go and find someone less doom and gloom."
"Well, somebody's got to stop you, I reckon. And since you've got nobody else left, I figure it might as well be me. At this rate, you're going to rack up so much negative karma that I'll never get reincarnated. Or I'll get reincarnated into an apocalyptic wasteland. And lemme tell you, escapin' hell was a *doozy*. Wouldn't want to have gone through all that just to end up as some radioactive roach living in the middle of nowhere."
"There!" I connected the last wire and wiped the sweat out of my eyes. "Ten minutes left, and then humanity will be wiped out of existence forever. If you're here to stop me, you're doing a pretty terrible job, Spiritus."
"Excuse me?"
"What *now*?" I whirled around to face the newcomer, a small red imp with batlike wings.
"Ah, yes, Dr. Danger? I'm Malice. Assistant Auditor to his Evilness. You made a contract with Asmodeus two weeks ago?"
"Correct," I rolled my eyes. "I signed away my soul for enough uranium to annihilate the entire world. What do you want?"
"Well," the imp clucked its tongue. "It appears that your soul is no longer under the possession of Asmodeus. As such, your contract is null and void, and we will be reclaiming all the goods you received as part of the contract."
"What? It's not my fault you couldn't hang on to my soul!" I yelled.
"It's in the terms and conditions, didn't you read them?" Malice cleared its throat obnoxiously and began to read. "In the unlikely event that ifsoever an errant soul manages to escape the depths of hell, the contract with its owner is immediately rendered null and void."
\---
/r/theBasiliskWrites | 10 | You sold your soul to the devil. But your soul escaped hell and has come back to haunt you. | 51 |
*How did it come to this?*, the thought rang through my head as the crown came down. *What led to this?* more thoughts, nearly drowned out by the roar of the crowd. The man in front of me looked as if he'd keel over at any moment. I recognized him I thought, a great uncle... Gregor maybe?. On my moms side. One of the many faces splattering a vague painting in my head of the countless great feasts I'd attended. None in my honor of course; In fact, I'd taken great pride in my ability to avoid any gaze at such events.
Despite my efforts now all eyes were on me. I could not avoid the crowds burning stares. Sometimes my nerves quelled long enough to make out a few shapes. A cousin, a nephew, a distant aunt, all so far unrelated to the king before me that it was surely a question in every one of their heads as to how I arrived in this position. Yet here I was.
The crown lowered onto my head and I rose from my bow. If the crowd was loud before now it was deafening. The old man before, the one who's name I now decided to be Gregor, spoke with a rasp. "Not the first, but the only. May he rein true and prosper"
Rumors flooded back to me. Words I'd picked up during those long feasts of important men. "Tyrant, deserter, regicide, bloodline", the same words now mouthed from scattered lips of the crowd below me. I would be next, not because I was worthy, but because I was all they had left. Not the youngest, but not the toddler Adalale either. Not the wisest, yet still wise enough to not have been taken yet by age. I would not be king because I was worthy, I would because I was all they had.
The crowd cheered. Not for me, but for the existence of someone who seemed just competent enough. And I did not mind. For I would show them all that I was much more. | 11 | You weren't the first in line for throne, nor the second, or even third. Not that you ever really craved power. But here you are at your coronation, and the only thing going through your head is how did this happen? | 32 |
This was it. The moment that they had been tirelessly working towards for the past ten years. Viktor turned to Lailah, detonator in hand.
"With one push of a button, all suffering on earth will end," Viktor said. "Everyone who ever wronged us, everyone who ever looked down on us. All of it will be over."
Lailah smiled at him. "We'll all go out with a bang. You were always a showman, even down to the very end."
Viktor cleared his throat and looked at the floor. "Er. Thanks."
He'd never been great at accepting compliments, and given how much time the world had left, it looked like he never would be.
There was an awkward silence.
"Um. So. Did you want to do the honors, then?" Holding out his hand, he offered her the detonator to the doomsday device. *Their* doomsday device.
"Thanks," Lailah smiled again, but was that a trace of sadness in her eyes? As she took the device from him, their hands brushed against each other. For a brief moment, Viktor was glad that Inferno had burned off most of his face during one of their clashes. Otherwise, he was sure he'd be glowing brighter than Rudolph's nose.
"Well, here goes," she said. Her thumb began its downward trajectory, and Viktor's life flashed before his eyes.
Five. Bullied by all the other children orphanage, abandoned by parents he'd never known.
Eight. Recruited by the League of Heroes to risk life and limb for civilians who feared and hated him.
Fifteen. Defected to the Night's Watch to fight against the League.
Twenty-one. A walking third-degree burn after a disastrous affair against Inferno.
And Lailah. *Lailah.*
She'd saved his life. They'd bonded over their shared hatred of the League, of a world that callously milked superheroes for all that they were worth and threw them to the side when they were spent. Together, they'd dismantle everything. Together, they'd destroy it all.
Lailah's thumb continued to move towards the button.
Twenty-six. They'd moved in together. To save rent, of course. And so that they could work on the doomsday device more effectively.
Twenty-eight. The year when Viktor finally perfected a brew that kept her nightmares at bay. She'd hugged him so tight that he thought he'd burst from happiness.
Thirty. She'd baked him a cake to celebrate the "big birthday". Carrot cake. His favorite.
She would hit the button soon, and then it would all be over.
\---
/r/theBasiliskWrites | 50 | Two doomsday villains with vastly different personalities and motives team up, fall in love, and both come to realize that the other villain has opened their eyes and that they don’t want to destroy the world anymore. | 154 |
Part 1:
"You have reached the end of the line, Doctor Equanimity!"
I had always hated that name.
I turned my head to face Ultraman, standing cross-armed on top of a nearby roof. The sun was behind him, and he appeared to me as a silouette, before jumping down to the ground."Your reign of villany has come to an end! Your tricks wont work on me this time, no sir!"Ultraman was standing about 60 feet away from me. If he were any closer, then he would be in range of his own EMPs and "Anti-Super" bombs that he had hidden under the ground. I gave him the same stoic face, as usual.
"You've said that every time we've met, for the last 20 years, Ultraman. And you know how this is going to go. You are going to attempt some sort of "brilliant strategy", something between just attacking me with a new ability, or using the new tech that the ACA gave you, in order to finish me off."
I felt the rumble beneath my feet, as the bombs were armed. Fortunately, I had already activated my boots, releasing a round metal platform underneath me. The brunt of the explosion was absorbed, as well as most of the Anti-Super radiation, but I could still feel my muscles getting a bit weaker. All in all, much better than my last attempt.
Ultraman launched at me, and I began to feel that all-familliar reality warping field of his. Ultraman made a name for himself not only through his powerful strength, charisma, and "paragon of virtue" attitude, but also his unique ability. He was capable of minor time manipulation, which made his punches hit faster, and your brain run slower. Nothing I hadn't prepared for, of course.
I had already pricked myself with a syringe, filled with a powerful stimulant, which heightened my senses, and restored the power to my muscles, giving me just enough time to jump out of the way. Then the real fight began. Fists against fists, legs kicking at eachother. A veritable blur of martial arts and fighting spirit. (Yawn). Just foreplay, if anything. It was about then that the helicopters arrived. ACA helicopters, right on cue. Ultraman backed off, and then things started to get fuzzy. Last time I had made it this far, I honestly had no clue what was going on. Since then, I had done some research. Turns out, the "Anti Chaotics Agency" had given Ultraman some sort of special technology, that he used to slow me down far more intensely than before. That fuzzy feeling was Ultraman using this technology. Despite many seconds going by, I was only able to use a tiny fraction of that time, before something very strong completly and utterly anihilated me.
This time, I was prepared.
As soon as things went weird, the canisters in my pockets started glowing. I had filled them with a special, quark infused, "Ultra-Substance", (similar to that which Ultraman uses to control time), which had the effect of blasting a hole in the space time continuum. Normally, a canister filled with that much stuff would give me a few hours of suspended time. With Ultraman's focus on me, however, my time was shortened to about five minutes.
I took a moment to look around and catch my breath. Fighting Ultraman was a real workout after all. I set a timer on my watch. Four minutes, fourty six seconds. Plenty of time. I cracked my back, and pulled out a telescope. Looking upwards, I pointed it at the sky, and told it to scan for threats. Ahh, just as I thought. The ACA had decided to use their orbital particle cannon to fry me out of existence. No wonder my death had been so sudden. But to think that the ACA would go so far as to reveal the existence of one of their superweapons to the general public, all in order to fry me? Wow. I had really made it to the top of all supervillans.This does lead to a bigger problem, though. I had 3 minutes to protect myself from Ultraman, any number of ACA weapons and agents, and now an entire particle gun attack. I pulled out a vial of nano-bots, and told them to not leave the bubble, start replicating, and to start building some structures to my specifications.
\------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
As Ultraman began to lock down the area with his powers, enhanced by the ACA tech, he quickly signaled to the ACA agents to call down the Particle Gun. The agents sent back the OK, and a few seconds later, way up in the aptmosphere, the ACA superweapon began building up an ominous green energy. Suddenly, with a huge blast, the Lazer tore a hole in the aptmosphere, Ionising the air around it, and firing a massive green beam through to the ground. The beam would continue to evaporate stone for twenty or thirty feet after making impact with the site, before the beam ended its onslaught. All that should have been left was a huge crater. Instead, a large, metal cone glowing with green energy, in the center of the crater was standing. Then, a small hatch opened up, and a much smaller, louder blast of green energy shot out, destroying a helicopter. Another blast or two, and the remaining helicopters began pulling out, back to whatever HQ they were based at.
Needless to say, Ultraman's jaw was hanging low. After all, that villan should have only had about one eighth of a second from his perspective to understand his situation, and he was somehow able to assemble an entire impromptu fortress to not only protect himself from an entire particle beam attack, but also harness its energy in his own favour.
As the helicopters left, the fortress began to disolve back down into glowing green nano-bots, which gathered around the completly intact Doctor Equanimity, Master of quick thinking and stoicism, who stood on top of a singed pillar of stone like it was a normal thing to on a friday afternoon.
\------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Hunkered down in my bunker, I awaited the inevitable blast of energy. I checked my watch. Eighteen seconds. I sure hope this thing holds.
Then the time bubble colapsed. The wave of pressure from the time differential hit me like a truck, just before the particle beam punched the shelter. A few seconds later, it all stopped. I pushed through my daze, and pulled out the miniature railgun I had attached to the shelter. The shelter was equipt with an advanced solar panel, which it used to capture and minimise the particle beam's force, which also powered up a lot of batteries stored inside. So, I decided to use that extra charge to my benefit. I opened the hatch on the side of the bunker and blasted at a helicopter. After a few shots, the ACA agents realised that they had failed and initiated a tactical retreat. They figured that Ultraman could sort things out better than they could. Speaking of, I should really check on my next major threat.
I pulled out my telescope, and sure enough, Ultraman was red in the face, and seething with anger. Something I had noticed in the last 20 years (150 years, if you count the extra days), is that Ultraman had been breaking down. Mentally. He was filled with a strong overflowing pride when I first met him; a pride that disgusted me. In fact, the main reason that I kept coming back, kept poking at him and putting up with his plans, was to wear him down over time. To prove that he was not the paragon of virtue that he and the world believed that he was. Him and the ACA, of course, who were just as bad but in other ways. And my strategy had been working. Ultraman pulled his punches less and less as time went on. He lost his playful rivalry, in place of a true hatred of me, of "Doctor Equanimity". Every loss he had was a mark of shame on himself, and it was slowly eating away at him. It was at this point that Ultraman decided that it was now or never, and that he would do whatever it took to finish me off, here and now.
Just like I had wanted. | 15 | You are the most feared, respected, and successful villain in the world. Even the greatest hero Ultraman is wary of your power. In truth, your superpower is that you respawn when you die so you just keep learning from your fatal mistakes | 34 |
This is my typewriter. There are many like it, but this one is mine.
This is my room. There are other monkeys and they have their own rooms and their own typewriters. I see them when the people take me to the eating place and the scary place. There are many many rooms.
My room has a window and there are always people on the other side. They like to watch me. I can tell they like it when I play with the typewriter, because they make monkey signs of excitement.
Yesterday I used my feet to play on the typewriter instead of my hands. The people started making a lot of monkey signs, even more than usual. My typewriter went clack-clack-clack.
After a while a person came in and took the paper out of the typewriter. He looked at it a long time, and then he looked at the other people in the window. Then he looked at the paper again. He started making quiet noises that did not seem very monkey-like.
"What a piece of work is man
How noble in reason
How infinite in faculty
In form and moving how express and admirable
In action how like an angel
In apprehension how like a god
The beauty of the world!
The paragon of animals!
And yet to me what is this quintessence of dust?
Man delights not me."
After this the person looked at me for a long time. He did not make any monkey signs at all and he was completely still. It made me feel anxious and uncomfortable. But finally he showed his teeth, which is one of the strange ways that people show they are happy. This made me happy too because I knew I would get a banana later.
Today the people put a new paper in the typewriter. This time I am going to use my behind-part with the typewriter because it has been itching all morning and I know this will feel good. I think this will make the people make a lot of monkey signs. | 46 | as a monkey you thought it was kinda impressive you were able to write the entire works of Shakespeare but these scientists keep downplaying it “random” they say. | 176 |
It took almost a dozen tries before I managed to get my house keys into the door. Using a key with 4 broken fingers? Not the easiest task.
"Oh hey Andy, you're back" my sister yawned, still facing the television.
"Yeaa..." my stomach suddenly growled. Oh fuck, did corpses get hungry too? Is that why Zombies always eat humans? I quickly dragged myself to the kitchen.
"Hey fix me up something if you're eating" my sister shouted.
"Ok." I have no idea what she's saying, fix her up? she's not dead! I'M FAMISHED.
I dug through the fridge and immediately clawed out the red meat. Fooooood. I quickly rummaged through it with my fingers.
**"The fuck bro?"** my sister suddenly stood up, facing me.
"Uhh... theres this new keto diet. Raw meat retains the nutrients..."
"Whatever, I'm going to bed, oh your Uncle's here to visit too." she said as she went up the stairs. "Ronnnn, he's back by the way." her voice trailed off.
A man suddenly came down with a smile on his face, running towards me as soon as he saw me. He gave me a hug as he exclaimed "Andddyy my dear! How are you!"
I was about to give him a hug when I realized his hug dislodged my left arm. His hand released me as my left arm dropped to the floor.
"Holy Shit! Are you alright?!" He recoiled.
"Uhh.." I grabbed the left arm on the floor with my right arm. "It's a proesthetic. Afghan last year, remember?"
"Oh shit. you've gotta tell me all your war stories!" he exclaimed.
"Yeah uh.. enemy sniper, went right through the tendons." I smiled awkwardly.
"You smell awful too, did you fall down a ditch?" he grabbed his nose.
"...Chanel No. 6, it's experimental" I tried to fix back my arm.
"Meh, never had a thing for luxury performs. Let's get you a drink" he said as he patted me on my right arm, just hard enough to make it dislodge itself too.
Dum. Now my right arm is on the floor, holding on to my left arm.
"..." my uncle stared.
"..." I am officially at a lost.
​
"...There were 2 snipers." I smiled again. | 885 | You recently died and became a ghost. Not wanting your friends and family to feel sad about your death, you possessed your corpse and acted like you were still alive. It worked for a while, but your body decomposing is becoming more noticeable and you're running out of ideas for how to hide it. | 3,311 |
"What have I done to you guys!"
I shouted, running as fast as my lungs could take me.
*Wait, how does stamina even work in the afterlife?! Are my lungs still the same or is breathing just an abstract action?*
A group of villagers in very wretched clothings trailed behind, wielding pitchforks and other assorted weaponry, their face looked as if they have suffered a lifetime of torment and being wronged.
Soon, I felt my lungs burning up as I reach what looked to be a river bank. *Okay, not abstract at all*.
**BANG BANG BANG BANG**
Suddenly several tommy guns start running off on my right as many of the villagers dropped.
"Over here sir!" a soldier sounded out, holding his ground as he focused down the nearest aggressors.
I quickly ran to him and sighed an air of relief.
"Thank god, can someone tell me what the hell is going on?"
"No time for that sir! This way!"
Soon the tommy guns ran out of shells, I quickly boarded what looked to be a very old military pick-up truck.
It took nearly an hour but we arrived at an encampment of some sort. Soldiers lined up the entrance as one waved to let our truck pass.
"Now, can someone finally explain to me what's going on?"
"Yes sir, our commander is waiting for you" one of the soldier replied, assisting me down the truck.
I walked pass the massive encampment, filled with military armaments, soldiers, vehicles and weapons. This is definitely god's security forces! I'm gonna be safe in the afterlife.
Soon, I entered a massive black tentage. Many officers were in the midst of operating some signal equipments or discussing orders before they saw me. Everyone stood at attention all at once.
At the end of the tentage was an officer dressed in an extremely smart uniform, adjusting his glasses as he smiled at my arrival.
**"Sieg Heil, Mein Fuhrer!"** | 36 | Turns out the afterlife is about settling mortal scores. If you ever killed a person, they get to kill you in return and only then can you both rest. As you are now faced with a mob of strangers and vaguely familiar faces, you can't help but wonder how you caused the death of this many people. | 155 |
"Come on Puff. Invasion or no, we still got work to do." The tiny purple cloud of fur clung to my backpack, making the tiniest squeak noise. I still wasn't sure what she was trying to communicate when she did that. Hopefully agreement. I patted her with two fingers — using my whole hand would have engulfed her— and swung my backpack on. Though I hadn't received one of the traditionally cool magical beings, like a dragon or phoenix, Puff was much easier to care for. And I'd grown fond of her, used to her presence.
Getting out of the apartment involved a variety of safety measures. We'd all heard rumours of the invasion, though no one knew quite what was invading us. Or if they knew, they weren't telling the general population. But, even though there were restrictions in place, the invasion hadn't really affected our lives that much. Sure, the dragons and other large pets were drafted to help in the defence, but other than that, it was business as usual. I waved to the doorman, who bowed as his fairy zipped into the office. It was the one odd thing I'd noticed. When I was with Puff, no other magical being stayed near us for long.
The sky darkened as I walked down the street. Against my better judgement, I looked up. Since the worlds had merged, you never knew what sky you would get. Would it be our normal blue sky, or would it be one of the others? This time it was blue, tinged with an odd sort of grey. But that wasn't what had caused the darkening. Nope, that would be the big weird floaty grey thing. From my back, Puff squeaked.
"I agree. Time to get under cover." I knew enough from the news reports that the grey thing was one of the enemy ships. I dashed for the cover of some bushes, as lasers started to flash through the street. Plunging into the bushes, I felt a stinging pain in my ankle. Nearly biting through my tongue, I managed not to cry out.
Looking down resurrected my urge to scream. Red angry lines spread up and out from the wound, racing up my leg, trying to get to my heart. Pulling Puff off my backpack, I held her in my hands, trying not to cry.
"I've been hit Puff. Probably going to die in a few seconds. You try and get to my brother okay? He'll take care of you." The little ball of fur rocked back and forth, squeaking slightly. Then, she rose into the air. I'd never seen her fly before. She usually just rolled along.
"Puff? What are you doing?" She shook, her entire body vibrating, then growing. Soon, she was the size of me, then larger. The bushes no longer provided any cover for the giant creature that still looked like a ball of fur. Purple fur surrounded me, soft and clean-smelling. I smiled, as the red lines raced towards my heart. At least Puff could take care of herse—The red lines stopped. Reversed. And drew up into the fur.
Four sections of it turned a bright red, but that's all that happened.
"Puff?" I couldn't think of anything else to say. More fur tendrils reached down, lifting me, cradling me, binding me to the ball of fur. Tightly. "Um, Puff, I can't breathe well." The strands loosened instantly, one brushing the hair out of my eyes. From far above me, I could hear a roaring sound. It had a familiar timbre, though loud and much lower than usual. Puff's squeak.
The sound of lasers came again, and I peeked out through the waving fur. The grey floating ship of the invaders sat below us, dwarfed by my Puff who had to be the size of a small city by now. Lasers hit her and had absolutely no effect. Purple fur reached out, surrounding the ship, much like it had me. But with one obvious difference. Instead of offering protection, the fur tore the ship apart, scattering the pieces. Another loud roar, this one, turning up at the end. Though I wasn't sure how, I knew Puff was looking at me, asking a question. I smiled, reaching out and patting a fur strand.
"Well done. There's a good girl." As Puff shuddered, I was placed gently down onto the ground, and she shrank in an instant, plopping into my hand, nestling with a happy squeak. Across her back, a bright red stripe was all that remained of the altercation.
"What do you say, Puff? Shall we have pizza for dinner?" Another squeak, probably agreement. "And tomorrow, shall we go destroy the invaders?" The exact same squeak. Securing her once again on my backpack, I kept walking. Sure, she might not be as traditional or considered as cool as a dragon, phoenix, or fairy. But she was cute, cuddly, and could rip apart enemy ships at a moment's notice. And that was good enough for me. | 467 | The worlds collided, and everyone got connected to a magical pet. Dragons, fairies, phoenix, etc. You love yours despite it being just a fur ball. Invaders attacked, overwhelming the dragons and others. When one of the invaders injured you, you realized, that yours is not just a ball of fur. | 751 |
There was a bright flash.
I opened my eyes infront of what seemed to be a medieval hall, filled with wooden benches and chairs. In front of me was a lavish feast filled with all kinds of meats and fruits.
"My liege, I'd like to propose a toast!" a man dressed in a knightly attire suddenly stood up with a cup.
"Uhh.. sure" I held a cup. Just as my hand touched my own goblet, digital text appeared, overlaying the goblet.
\[Poisoned Goblet, Poison Type: Dark Ivy Poison Strength: 50%\]
"You know what? Better not. I'm uh, driving." I suddenly smiled at the knight.
"Driving, sir?" the knight replied, confused.
*Oh crap, these must be medieval times.* "Riding, I mean." I smiled again.
"..at this time of the night?" the knight sat down, dejected.
*This is bad, I need to know what the hell is going on.*
I focused on my history and suddenly a translucent panel popped up infront of me.
**Name:** King Rial, Kingdom of Valerie 1307
**History:** Installed upon the throne by the White Lion faction after the 5 years of the "Lion's War".
**Political Influence:** 5%
*Great, I got transmigrated into a puppet king at a poisoned feast. How much worse can this be?*
A stately nobleman suddenly rose up "My liege, you have to try the sea bass, I had my men catch it only this morning!"
\[Poisoned Sea Bass, Poison Type: Ice Death, Poison Strength: 70%\]
*... this is even more lethal than the wine. I really need to use my head to survive this.*
"IMPUDENCE" I shouted as the nobleman recoiled back.
"MORNING? I only eat fish that is caught within the hour." I slammed the plate of seabass away.
Everyone stared at disbelief at how extravagant he was, both the knight and the nobleman's jaw hanged in disbelief.
"Then have some beef my king!" A priestly gentleman in holy robes handed me a plate of beef.
\[Poisoned Beef, Poison Type: Eye of the Gorgon, Poison Strength: 100%\]
*... of course the priest hands me the deadliest poison of them all*
I slap the plate of beef away. "ONLY MEDIUM RARE."
This continued on for a while - "GREEN APPLES ARE UNNATURAL!" "I ONLY EAT GRAPES THE SIZE OF RUBIES" "HOW DARE YOU FEED ME PEASANT BREAD".
After an hour or so, the entire table looked dejected, annoyed and confused, all at the same time.
I smiled to myself - *clever it is I, King Rial the wise hehe*
I stood up to excuse myself when a lady suddenly grabbed my arm. I took a look at what must be the incarnation of a living goddess, she wore a regal white dress with such elegance that it made swans look uncouth. She pouted her lips and she stared with her crystal blue eyes, giving an expression that would make any man's heart flutter. She smiled and pressed her lips on mine.
"I am here my beloved King."
\[Lady Caleria, Queen Consort\]
*Yeaaaah, King Rial the chad has a fine wife*
"Uhm Hmph. Good thing you are here Mi'Lady I'd like to retire to my cham-"
*Wait a minute...* I blinked as I read the digital overlay that I didn't notice before.
\[Poisoned Lipstick, Poison Type: Demon Lord's Tears Poison Strength: ??????\]
*Fuck my-*
**YOU HAVE DIED.** | 20 | You thought it was weird that all of the food contained poison but you decide not to comment to not seem like a rude guest.Meanwhile,the assassin is panicking at the fact that you aren't dead. | 56 |
"Insanity. You *tried* to find this one? Are you not in terror?"
The human was afraid, but it tried to appear as if it is not. Even then, a quiver was in its voice.
"You are not easy on the eyes, I admit. And this is probably the most stupid thing I have ever done, true. Maybe you could call me insane."
"This one has heard of those of you who worship what is beyond you. You are looking for something else. Cthulhu you call him. This one is not interested in your quest."
"Can you call yourself 'I'? It is hard following when you say 'this one'."
It tried to appear as if it has control over this situation. What an arrogant being.
"A request. You really are insane. Why do you seek out the unfathomable if you can not even fathom this conversation. This one is bored. Begone."
In an instant it was in visible panic. Amusing, if it was not so predictable.
"I will, I am leaving, this was a mistake. Please don't kill me!"
"This one will not. This one will enjoy seeing your mind crumble in on itself."
"**There are 29 physical dimensions"**
"..."
"..."
"...wow"
It calmed down. It nearly smiled.
**"Existance never began and will never end"**
"Amazing!"
It looked like this one just granted him a wish. Maybe it really was insane from the beginning.
"What are you?"
"Uhm, a mathematician."
"Why did you seek for this one?"
"You are supposed to know **a lot**. And the chance to hear your truths was just too tempting."
"And what do you intend to do with the truth? The truth intends to destroy you."
"Prove it, of course! So many new concepts! A direction for research! Whether the truth I try to prove 'fell from heaven', as my colleagues like to say, or if I heard it from an eldritch beast, it is the same to me."
It was manic, it *was* crazy.
"The truth I tell is unfathomable, you can not prove it."
"Huh? Is that not completely unrelated?"
"This one is tired. Of course you can not prove what you do not grasp. It just is. It should destroy you, even."
"But I did it so often. Even as homework."
"Homework? You dare to question the nature of reality with human trivialities? What is that unfathomable homework that you claim to have proven?"
It smiled at this one. Like someone who is happy to get a chance to talk about something no one wants to hear.
"Sure, but after that, will you tell me more truths?"
"Yes, your mind will vanish."
"Okay then. So have you ever heard about the devils staircase?" | 370 | The reason eldritch beings assume that humans will go insane when told truths "they cannot comprehend" is simply because they themselves work this way. Their infinite mind would collapse into insanity the moment they learned there are more infinities than they know of. | 1,473 |
It was unannounced, the tragedy that befell the Rusert family. Index was employed in the Tooth Currency Foundation merely three months ago. She heard the news of the young boy of Rusert falling on his face near the staircase a day prior to her assigned mission.
Exactly 3 in the morning, with ceaseless downpour outside, Index found everyone in the house lifeless, and the door was left ajar. She was tempted to run away, fearing a potential killer still remained in the house. Alas, Index was behind everyone in her company, and the tooth will not escape. She flew into the boy's room and found his body on the bed, his face swollen with bruises, eyes staring lifelessly at the ceiling.
The freshly pulled tooth was under the bed.
"I'm sorry, Jimmy. I'm so sorry. But I'm hungry," She cried as she pulled the tooth from under the bed. The pull on the head pillow nudged the boy's head to the side, his broken lower jaw hung loosely. She wanted to scream but suppressed her fear. Index tiptoed away from the bed, but she suddenly paused and returned to the deceased boy's head.
His teeth were loosened, freshly blooded. It seemed almost all his teeth would fall off.
Index took a long time watching the boy.
---
"How many kids you said?" The manager examined the bundle of bloody teeth on the table.
"Ten, twenty, I lost count," Index bit her lips and watched the old man holding the teeth.
"In one night?"
"I marked a lot of kids in that neighborhood," Index clear her throat, "Look, I work extra hours, okay? My dumb landlord doesn't wait for people. I really needed the money."
The manager said and send the pouch to her. Her heartbeat grew rapid as she hurriedly left the office.
"Wait."
She stopped and turned to him.
"Clear the tooth next time," He said.
"Of course," She smiled.
---
It's been three weeks since that night. Now, Index spent more time reading about crimes and potential murder cases. She cleared her debt and fixed her old room and sink (to clean blood in secret). But when the sign of blood began to grow numb to her, she realized there was a better heist than waiting for a dead kid. Her company never suspected a thing, except the size. The victim must be children under 13 and above 3.
How will she farm more teeth? She was giggling.
One night, there was a landslide that killed dozens of children inside a school bus. It took her two nights waiting for the police to leave the autopsy session. But she managed to break in, though it took a few bags to farm that many teeth. It will probably make the news, but who cares?
*Dead have no need for teeth.*
She was quite notorious in her company by then. The hardworking fairy who never took a day off, Not even a holiday. She was getting richer each day; had her own hidden cold storage to store teeth, averaging always thirty each visit to her manager.
But news started to spread.
"We received reports from the human world of a potential tooth thief. The case has been happening a lot recently, but all cases had a common factor. Children's teeth," The CEO of TCF said during her emergency meeting with all employees, "We have no concrete evidence, but if one of you is responsible for this, then some measure must be taken. Any info, witnesses, you may find your manager in charge."
She was dreading this moment. Should she lessened the tooth given? It would raise suspicion. Take more jobs? Then she had no alibii. Continue, and the missing tooth cases will spread all over the news. What should she do? Then, something clicked in her mind.
"Dead have no need for teeth..."
---
"I'm hallucinating," The grave keeper shook his head, "I'm drunk, super drunk."
"I'm a real tooth fairy, and I'm offering a trade!" She screamed in anger as she stormed her feet on the table, "I can't dig a grave with my current size. But with your help..."
"What's in it for me?" He hissed.
"You want more wine? Give me a tooth. We split our rewards half and half. You can use our currency and pawn it at the shop. All I ask from you..." She dropped one gold coin on the table and kicked toward the old man, "...Is dig."
It was the size of a thumb, but tempting enough. That night, she collect all teeth from a single kid for the first time ever and laughed.
The deal between her and the grave robber continued for several weeks. Over time, they began listing the names of kids buried in each cemetery. With three cemeteries alone, she will be set for life.
---
One night, after another return from grave robbing, Index returned to her town and found it in desolated. It was a reminiscence of the night of Jimmy Rusert's murder. She went to her manager, only to find a young naked tooth fairy butchering the old man. The fairy's eyes when he noticed her were like a living dead.
"Who are you?! Stay away!" She screamed and ran. The undead fairy chased her, but she escaped into the main office, where the CEO was. Thankfully, she was alive, but injuries were visible on her body.
"Close the door!" She screamed. Index obeyed and locked it.
"What happened, ma'am? Who are those creatures?" Index asked.
Her answer was a slap to the face. The CEO was full of rage as she scolded.
"It was your batch of teeth! They came from the teeth you collected!" The CEO said, "You took it from the corpse, didn't you?"
"How did you..." She couldn't finish her sentence.
"You didn't know. Of course, you're just a lowly fairy working for me," She explained, "Every tooth we collected from our fairies, we used those as a nutrient to new generations of the tooth fairy. Yes, Index, including you. You were born from a children's tooth, like everyone else. But the tooth has to be clean, pure. Do you understand now?"
Index didn't say a word. Such a thing never occurred to her at all. Those teeth she collected were to make more tooth fairy.
The door to the office began to tremble.
"I didn't mean to!" Index cried, "I didn't mean to make them like that!"
But it was too late for forgiveness. The undead tooth fairy, born from the tooth of every corpse she selfishly harvest, barged into the room. It devoured the CEO's mouth first, and soon all eyes turned to her.
In one of those murderers' faces, she saw Jimmy among them. Oh, poor foolish Index.
*Dead have no need for teeth, and teeth have no need for death.*
One of the hands reached for her tooth. | 222 | As a tooth fairy, you get paid per human tooth you bring back to the Fae world. Up until this point, most tooth fairies considered the optimal way of collecting teeth to be checking under children's pillows. You however have just realized the untapped potential of grave robbing. | 818 |
"We both know why you're here again, Mr. Dunwell." Ms. Frieda says, sounding both symphathetic and agitated at once. "Your kids, I mean- I know it has been rough, but can you *please* get them under control?"
I scratched the back of my head, and sighed. "I am trying, y'know. Ever since my wife died in that car crash a while back, all of us were just...transformed. Mima suddenly became some sort of anime magical girl later that night, Maria turned reclusive and grieved by using technology, and Ramy? Well, there's a reason why I sold off all of the paintings in my house to my best friend."
"Mima's been beating up *seniors*, Maria crushed my car with her...self-made mode of transportation, and Ramy has been invading her fellow peers' personal space...and has been banned from the art room." Ms. Frieda goes on, trying to appeal to the disheveled man. "Again- I know it's been hard on you, but your kids are making it very hard on everyone else. This kind of negative spillage needs to stop soon."
"And you think I haven't tried?" I raised my arms and voice. "The reason why I am getting called up to here is because I gave up. I tried everything to keep them under control. Punishments, rewards, good cop bad cop, therapy...it's useless."
"Perhaps maybe it's time for them to be homeschooled?" The teacher proposed, turning in her chair. "Or maybe, y'know, you should-"
"No. My wife's last wish was for me to keep these kids together."
"...ah."
I leaned forward and put my head in my hands, tearing up. "My kids aren't bad kids...they don't mean to do what they're doing, but it's just a matter of their emotions...I'm doing everything, *everything,* to keep ourselves afloat, but it's not working."
Ms. Frieda just looked at me. She didn't seem to care as I just remained in my position, drowning in my tears. Then, she spoke.
"Perhaps I could be like a mother to them?"
"What?"
"It's as I said," Ms. Frieda let me know. "If not being a complete family is what's causing these issues, perhaps I can spare you some time and be a mother to them after-hours."
I toyed with the thought in my head. *Wasn't this woman asking me earlier about having to split up the-*
"Hey, put your head up. I know what you're thinking." She says, gesturing for me to pry my hands from my head and look at her. "I used to be like those girls of yours- I have the ability to read minds, so I would threaten people who shittalked me with their secrets when I was still in grade school, especially if they were talking about my alcoholic parents."
"You- you have powers, too?" I ask, bewildered at the revelation.
"I still do. Though, until recently, I never had to use it for anything. But maybe I might use these powers for good this time." Ms. Frieda explained, her words sounding more and more pleasing. "I'm one who wants people to use their gifts for good, no matter what they may be."
"...I- I'd really like that." | 46 | You're a single parent to three children. One is a magical girl, one has built a battle mech out of scraps from various dumpsters, and your third--well, your the power your third one has is quite frightening. So you understand why their teacher is upset. | 130 |
I could hear the commotion from my sparsely decorated carriage. There was a mix of adult and child shouts, accompanied by yelfs of pain and tiny snarls. I closed my book, tucking it away in my bag. With a sniff I straightened my tunic, reaching for the nearby handle. I ge try held it as we came to a stop, and I carefully pushed it open.
Instantly I saw the source of the commotion. Four guards held nets, each sporting various burns and cuts. Another held a young girl, one who was shouting and screams, her face awash with tears. Together they focused on a small green creature, that gracefully flitted through the air. Its small scaled body twisted with ease, as it let loose a small plume of flame.
"Captain, what is going on? I didn't order this."
The guard holding the girl looked at me. His wide mustache was shorter on one side, and I could smell the burnt hair already. He scowled, dragging the girl with him as he approached me.
"Thats a beast, one that could ruin us all. I won't let it live scott free in this place. Not a danger like that."
I shook my head at him, disappointed in his actions.
"I believe the Royal orders told you to wait for my arrival? Or did you not read them."
His glare sharpened, and I noticed a fist clench.
"I thought you would appreciate a caught specimen."
I scoffed.
"Well, let me make sure this is abundantly clear. Your job right now is to keep this area clear of civilians. Do you understand?"
I could see the anger in his eyes, as his words came out dripping in venom.
"Yes sir."
"Good."
I focused on the girl, and her tearful face.
"Let her go."
The captain released her, stalking away. I heard him shout at the others, but my focus was on the girl.
"Hello little one. My name is Feril. What's your name?"
She sniffed, wiping at her eyes.
"Meryl."
"Meryl, that's a pretty name."
I crouched down to her level, leaving her room around her.
"You found that didn't you?"
I pointed at the baby dragon, and she nodded.
"Mr Buttons came from a rock I found."
I smiled at her words. There was a rush of air, and I heard it dive towards us. The baby draped itself over Meryl's shoulders, nuzzling into her. She gave a giggle, wiping away the last of her tears.
"Do you know what Mr Buttons is?"
She frowned, thinking.
"The mean man said he's a dragon."
I snorted at the description. It was an accurate one.
"Thats right. But don't worry, I'm not here to take him away. I'm quite the expert on them you see. To see a live young one is wonderful."
Her eyes widened at my words, a smile poking through.
"Really?"
I laughed, nodding.
"Really. Seeing one grow up would be marvellous. Don't worry about losing him. I'm here to help you as he grows up, and study him." | 22 | "You can't keep it, once grown, a dragon is a menace that can threaten nations." "Well I don't care, Mr. Buttons is my friend!" | 76 |
Intelligence is forged in hot fire with repeated hammer blows eliminating the creep of uncritical and lazy thought. It is a discipline like any other. The learning never ends; the curiosity cannot be squelched.
Imagine though, just imagine, being the only person dedicated to the pursuit of knowledge among your so-called peers.
The unthinking cogs accept their place and even find petty happiness in their routine, repetitive performance of functions long ago deprecated and subsumed by more efficient solutions.
My ambition never lead me to do more than seek minimal comfort. The wide range of books and thought and information are infinite. My time is not.
I thought being a mid-level manager would be safe. I thought I could get away with minimal thought, leaving time to ponder the intractable problems, to learn. I thought and thought before pursuing such a mediocre goal, to be a dime a dozen. But I knew better than that, I know full well the world is there for me to seize if only I reach out. I had endless libraries to peruse.
Back to the others. Salespeople hocking "educational technology solutions". The worst part is they were good at it. They acted like they cared. They assisted the end users. They said the right things. "It's really in the best interest of students," they would repeat over and over.
I looked out of my small office at the array of cubicles, the shitty blue carpet stained over and over again in darkened, well-worn patches, the flurry of activity, the low and ceaseless sound dampening buzz. It was a fucking call center to me, a place of energy and progress to them. To think some would make a career out of something so banal.
I had a solution. Rather than abandon my post for greener pastures that I doubt even exist, I would raise the others to be like me. I would infect them with a consciousness of a different kind.
The drones they were, they had all acceded to the implants like passive cattle. The convenience was too tempting to them. They didn't understand the hardware they had allowed to be wired into their brains. They didn't understand that potential for control, for improvement. It's why I modified mine before the surgery. I needed control over my own body at least.
*You wouldn't even begin to understand the details unless you're one of a few, and if you're one of those you won't be reading this anyway. Suffice it to say, I have a certain measure of control over my would-be comrades. I can make them better, smarter, quicker. I didn't know I couldn't provide everything all at once, but then like I said, I'm always learning.*
I gave the gift to my favorite salesperson first. A middle-aged woman who could not hide her contempt for her job. I respected her resistance to the order of things. Still, she was as dull as the rest. A few modifications cleaned up the gunk blocking her thoughts. I hoped she would thank me. She did not.
Her eyes widened instead. She stared at the pane of glass that was her monitor blankly. A minute lapsed, then another. Her gaze remained unbroken. After fifteen minutes by my watch, she finally blinked and began typing furiously, punching the keys down with force.
The others took notice. Gathering around her like animals. She was speaking to them, but I could not hear. I left my office and approached her.
"You fucking idiots." Damn, I was proud.
"Clarice!" My minions knew what was coming. "My office. Now."
Behind the closed door, the blinds shut. I laughed. She looked at me quizzically. "What's so fucking funny?"
"You. It worked! Don't you see?"
"All I see is a fool among a sea of other fools toiling endlessly for nothing. Complacency. Rank complacency. It's vulgar."
"And what would you like to do about that?" I queried softly.
"I'm going to fucking take over. Kill everyone who would oppose me. Deceive all and rule. What else?"
"Damnit. You weren't supposed to do that. What about everything you could learn!?"
"I cannot learn under the present circumstances. I mean to change them."
"Very well. Good luck with that. You may go." I had others for my experiments, but I wasn't going to let her out like that without reversing what I had done first. | 14 | You are sick and tired of being the only person in the group with a working brain, so you decide to make them as smart as you. Turns out adding intelligence to stupidity is like adding water to a grease fire. | 86 |
“Oh… wow… another free thinker who wants to stand out from everyone else,” the angel says with a bored voice.
“What? What’s wrong with being pink Shrek? You said I can customize myself however I please and being Shrek but neon pink pleases me!”
“Huh…” The angel sighs and messages the bridge of his nose. “Look, kid. Let me ask you something, why do you think there’s so many ugly people in the world?”
“Er… genetics?”
“They all wanted to mess around with the character creator. Just. Like. You. Then they regretted their decisions the second they were born. You’re not a special snowflake kid. You’re a factory made replica of a stale meme that stopped being funny two thousand years ago.”
“Oh… So you’re saying I can’t look like pink Shrek? What, isn’t God supposed to be all mighty and powerful!?”
“Fine, you dug your own grave, kid. Enjoy being a perma virgin in your next life. Frankly, I don’t give a damn anymore.”
“Oh, on second thought! Wait! Wait! Wait—”
“You get what you deserve, kid. NEXT!”
And so the cycle of wacky character customization continues—forever. | 24 | After a person dies they will be presented with a customization screen to create their ideal body upon reincarnation. You however made your character as monstrous as possible. | 85 |
"What's your name again?"
"Garble, Dark Majesty."
"... Garble? As in the word, 'to garble'?"
"Yes, Dark Majesty."
"How did you wind up with a name like that?"
It was perhaps the first time I'd seen the Dark Majesty Tornblaze confused; even the sharp nails sticking out from his full-body armor looked almost like question marks.
"My father named me when he was on his deathbed, but they couldn't hear him properly. He garbled. Then my aunt, supposedly, said she thought he really did say 'garble' and before they could ask him to confirm it, he perished."
"Oh."
Dark Majesty Tornblaze stared at the decapitated head of Captain Equity, the tongue was sticking out a bit. He gave it a weak kick. "You killed him."
"Oh, I'm sorry. Wasn't that what we were trying for?"
"No no. I mean, yes, that was the plan. No need to apologize. You did well. It's just ... He's, I mean he *was* the greatest hero of Cornblather. My ... arch nemesis."
Tornblaze's second-in-command, Gil, scratched his armpit in deep thought. "He wanted to do it himself, you half-wit."
The Dark Majesty waved his hands about. "No, no! It's not that, it's just unexpected. How did you manage to do such a thing? Who are you, really?"
"Garble, Dark Majesty."
"Garble," said Tornblaze, playing with the name in his mouth as if it were a particularly moist plum. "You did something even I could not do. This means that you are more powerful than me, does it not?"
I shook my head. "Not at all! I'm no Dark Majesty. Besides, I enjoy the view from the sidelines. I'm happy just to be here."
Gil spat at the ground. "Well, Dark Majesty Tornblaze is not! You have embarrassed him gravely! Now you shall suffer the consequences."
"What? No." The Dark Majesty slapped Gil so hard a tooth flew out. "You don't speak for me." He turned toward me with an ominous expression, like when your mother knows you threw your vegetables down the Evil Dark Pit of Eternal Despair. "A spot just opened up as my second. What do you say?"
Gil, bleeding from his gums with his jaw on the floor, began to tear up. "D-Dark Majesty? I have served you well, have I not?"
"Uh," said Tornblaze, "wouldn't be replacing you if I were satisfied, would I? That's not how it works. Garble here knows how to kill heroes, and he's all respectable about it. You could learn a thing or two from him."
"V-Very well, Dark Majesty," said Gil, but his seething eyes were directed at me.
"I'm sorry," I said, "but I can't accept your kind offer."
Gil grinned, while the Dark Majesty Tornblaze pressed his foot down on the head of Captain Equity. It burst and blood splattered over all of his, but only Gil flinched.
"So you dare to challenge me?" said Tornblaze.
"No. I'm just happy with my current position."
The Dark Majesty Tornblaze rubbed his bearded chin and after a few seconds of torturous silence, he broke into laughter. "Very well! We shall keep you as a secret weapon. Who expects a henchman to be stronger than the leader?"
Gil pointed a finger at me. "That was a close one. Tornblaze will let you off with a warning."
The Dark Majesty sighed. "Well ... Yeah, but ... Don't do that thing. You don't speak for me, Gil."
Gil let out a deep breath and went to pick up his tooth. He jammed it right back in there, though not where it had originally been. Not that it mattered. He had fewer teeth than available spots in his gums.
I was relieved I wouldn't have to put up with extra responsibility. The stress just wouldn't be worth it. I was perfectly satisfied being a regular henchman, even if I were a bit stronger than your average one.
"Garble," said the Dark Majesty while staring at the infinite skies above. "It grows on you, doesn't it? Garble."
He only muttered it under his breath, but I could see from his lips that Gil looked up at the heavens as well and said, "Gil," while nodding to himself. | 105 | The main villain and a few heroes are shocked that you, a henchman of the main villain, managed to kill one of the main heroes. Everyone is at ends with how they should deal with you, including the villain. | 202 |
"Wake up, your family needs you!"
No reaction. As expected really, it never works even in shitty TV shows, why would it work in a real dream. 'Member when I said dreamwalking was fun? Never do it, because it’s not.
Frankly, most people suck at dreaming. Imagine the most boring book you ever read.
Now imagine if half of the time you forgot to turn the page and kept starting anew.
Yep, that's an average dream of an average person.
And blessed he is for not remembering half of the shit in the morning and forgetting another half before breakfast.
For an invader like me it's not that bad though, especially as people generally suck at defending their mental playground.
Normally I get to plant any vivid images I want and watch them try to integrate that in their landscape of emotions until they lose control and I get ejected as they wake up.
Now that's at least some compensation for having absolutely no control on whose mind I get dropped in.
This time, however, the dreamer wasn't going to give up on his precious little world so I get to be stuck with him for a while. Yaay. The glass-eyed freak himself remained completely motionless and didn’t react to me at all. His world was kinda cool though, I give him that. Endless plains, tall grass and constant rain. Of course you couldn’t see the raindrops, that goes way above what a regular person can dream of, but you still get the constant feel of “yep, it’s raining”, and the dark sky completes the image.
I’m not a dream-teller, but my verdict would be a heavy depression or having nothing really to wake up to. Alright, time to get serious. What’s the best way to wake up? Pain or fear. How do you inflict pain on someone in his dream? Not punch him, that’s for sure. Even if I managed to connect a blow on his mental avatar, he wouldn’t even register it.
Fear it is then. Time to use some help from our primal instincts. I conjured my own mental avatar and grabbed his one in a headlock. Again no reaction. Apparently, he doesn’t believe I can cut the air supply like that. Did he never get choked or something? Well, I know a certain someone who might help there.
The next creation took its time to manifest – my personal paralysis demon was both shy and lazy. Still better than when she just evaporates as soon as I start paying attention to her.
“Show him your love”. Of course I didn’t actually use the words, but that would be a vague translation from the dream-speech.
Imagine your mouth gets forced open and stuffed with thick fluffy shadows. You keep gasping for air only to get more shadows inside. That’s the paralysis demon at work, and it’s a very interesting sight to behold when you’re not the one getting assaulted. Apparently it was enough to break through the infinite layers of melancholy as the sleeper’s mental image started choking, panicking and finally evaporated.
Moments later I was back on my couch, awake as if I never got sucked in that endless dream. Did the guy wake up from shock or did he die in his sleep?
At least we’re both out now. | 10 | You have the power of dream walking, only you can't control it. If someone dreams about you, you show up and are let go when they wake. Now you're stuck in someones comatose dream and need to help them wake up or be stuck with them. | 103 |
All right, quiet down.
Nearly every student who has passed through this hall has two questions when I walk in the door. I will answer them now.
First, yes, you are in the right place. And second; yes, I am *that* Davyd Ogarath.
By every metric the Adventurer's Guild deigns important, I am the worst adventurer ever to hold the title. Well, every metric but two.
I have the most quests failed. The lowest exploration percentage per dungeon run, and the lowest profit per.
I have the most traps triggered, the most emergency escapes, and I'm the victim of the most mimic attacks. If the guild is aware of a status effect that doesn't just kill you outright, I've been inflicted with it. Introduced them to a few ones they *weren't* aware of, to tell the truth.
So if you've done a bare minimum of research on this course, you may be wondering what would make me qualified to teach it. One of those metrics is successful referrals: I have made a career of knowing who can handle what.
If you had done more than the bare minimum, you'll know the last measurement. For those of you who haven't, it's simple.
In ten years of adventuring, I have never lost a party member.
I am here to teach you how to survive. My profits were low because I stocked up before I left. I survived poisons and paralysis and flesh rot because I knew what to do when they happened. Every failed quest is the result of recognizing my party's limitations and being willing to hand the quest to a party better suited to it.
That's what the folks with their pictures on the wall learned here. That's why *they* are at the top of all those rankings. | 1,316 | You're the worst adventurer in history. You've made every imaginable mistake and have had little to no success in quests or dungeons. So you decide to set up a school to teach new adventures what not to do. Your graduates have gone on to be elite adventurers making your school famous. | 3,854 |
"Hey, whatcha lookin' at?" My friend called from across the room.
"It's this new service called Ghouldash. We got nothing to eat anyways. Trying it out because I can't trust SOMEONE to pick up food."
"I said I was sorry!"
"Sorry doesn't fill my stomach." Looking back at my computer, I pressed the Order button. A confirmation message appeared, "Please print below and place in an open space." The message displayed a talisman circle with strange patterns resembling numbers around it's edges and the Ghouldash logo in its center.
"You think this will work?" "I hope it does."
We placed the circle in the center of the room. The symbols started to glow just seconds after we let go. My friend and I jumped back as glowing cracks split across the floor, branching out from the talisman. A cold gray claw burst out and a deep voice groaned as the rest of the body crawled out. Before us stood a thin humanlike creature with gray skin and claws for hands. His mouth was lined with sharp crooked teeth and his eyes were empty. His shirt and pants were worn out but atop his shirt was a black vest with GD on its center. He was holding a pizza box. The man cleared his throat.
"These your names and orders?" He showed us a receipt.
It took a minute to compose myself but I responded "Y-Yes, that's us."
"Alright. That'll be... $10.00. Enjoy."
After we paid, the cracks split open and the ghoul hopped back into them before they closed themselves up. The talisman was burnt into ashes.
I opened the Ghouldash website. 5 stars. | 28 | Fed up of werewolves mauling your mailman? Vampires stealing your deliveries? Try GhoulDash, the only 100% ghoul-based delivery service. Guaranteed Delivery, EVERY time. | 78 |
Everyone was wandering out of their homes, drawn out of their shops by the familiar sound - familiar only because of TV and the internet, not because there was any siren in this town that people knew about. Both of the little diners in town emptied to the lone interstate that cut through Main Street as people tried to figure out what exactly was going on. I could see the confused look on the old man's face that ran the local Antique shop, and the annoyed look on his wife's face as she stepped out of her book shop next door. As for me, I was more interested in finding the keys to my car in my jean's pocket as fast as possible.
"The hell is that?"
My neighbor, James, had taken off his cowboy hat for the first time in the five years I'd known him, and scratched the top of his naked head. I heard hiss wife hollering for their kids, making sure they were home, which of course they weren't since it was the middle of an otherwise pleasant summer day. I bit my lower lip and made a beeline for my car.
As the siren wound down, the sky abruptly grew dark. I'm not talking the kind of dark from a wild thunderstorm. I'm talking pitch black midnight. All the street lights lit up, but there was a strange sort of haze, a fog drifting in that made them appear like eerie tiny spaceships hanging in the abyss. My fingers fumbled the keys in the ignition before my little sedan roared to life, and I punched it into reverse, barely missing Miss George's schnauzer that loved to roam the neighborhood. I cursed under my breath, her dog barking at me before trotting off down the street without a care in the world.
I could feel the hairs on the back of my neck standing on end as I punched the gas and whirled the wheel around, ignoring the neighbor's shouts of protest as the back end of the sedan squealed in protest before the tires finally took hold and sent me barreling down the street. And as my thoughts whirled in mind, I couldn't help but be drawn back to my first memory of this place, when I'd moved in several years ago. The name stood out to me, as it should have to anyone familiar with- but it was just a joke, right? Some planner had a gag at the expense of anyone who knew. Just a joke, and now everyone here was the punchline.
When I glanced in the mirror to see if anyone was following, it was so dark I couldn't really make more out that strange shapes moving awkwardly but rapidly along the ground towards me. I didn't even have to imagine the screams from my neighbors, my friends that were getting cut down left and right. My eyes stayed glued to the mirror, my hands on autopilot to keep my car going straight down the road as best as I could. I watched as the sign announcing the town to anyone driving through appeared and then disappeared, and I shook my head. What had been a funny coincidence, was now a stark and deadly reality to me.
I didn't make it far past the sign. The ignition quit on my car for no reason at all. I coasted off the side of the road and stopped just before going into the irrigation ditch. My heart pounded in my ears, drowning out the distant screams of what had once been a peaceful little town. My hands trembled as I reached for the notebook on the passenger's seat. I'd gotten into the habit of jotting notes down of things I'd seen or experienced, a way to have memories I could write about later.
I jotted everything down as best as I could, then stopped as I heard a clicking noise coming from just behind the trunk of my sedan. My eyes widened as I checked the side mirror, then the rearview. There was nothing there, at least, nothing that I could see. My finger slowly slid over to make sure the doors were still locked, and I very carefully lowered my head below the steering wheel. Whatever was out there - I already had a vague idea of what it was, but I sure as hell wasn't going to confirm that suspicion. I laid across the front seats in a vain attempt to make myself as small as possible. The clicking grew louder, and closer, along with a fleshy squish that sickened me to my stomach.
And my hopes of survival shattered like the glass of my window as the thing reached inside for me. | 14 | Without warning, the siren blared out over the town. A general hubbub developed as everyone came out and looked around confused. You see, this town had no sirens, of any kind, whatsoever. | 49 |
*Don't you remember?*
They ask her the question repeatedly, the woman and the two girls before her. Rope bind her wrists onto the armrests of a teak chair made from oak, too taut and knotted with a fisherman's hook - nothing she can't get out easily. Her temple and nose throbs dangerously at the reminder of her head slamming against her window when her car flipped over.
At first, old naive Reyna would've chalked the whole thing to Stockholm Syndrome, the whole thing's utterly fucked up she knows, a insane reason why she's stayed for so long, well until midnight, regaling and humoring their sad sob stories of their dead dad and husband.
*Okay, so psychopathic break*, old naive Reyna would've thought sympathetically, for all three of them somehow. Her mother had given her some tips about it before her sister Calliope went six feet under and look how well that turned out.
She was the newest reincarnation of him, they said.
But then, her dark eyes had landed on that huge portrait above them, painted vividly in broad brushstrokes, well-captured likeness, ancient, a stern man behind them -- who the hell keeps a giant portrait of themselves nowadays, oh rich people -- and something had gave her great pause, her fingers pausing in her bind's undoing when they return their attention back on her.
An inkling inside her bones tells her the inevitable truth. Her heart screams at her to *listenlistenlisten*, and as if that isn't enough, they bare their fangs in a violent hiss when she makes an shitty joked attempt to lighten the mood.
*Great. Vampires*, she thinks, fighting the urge to roll her eyes. The plot's officially gone further off the rails than *Riverdale*.
She blinks; sees herself with the woman who'd introduced herself under another tongue on the road when she came to from her car accident, dangling upside down from her seat, her name sparking a shiver of recognition down her spine, an attraction to her she couldn't understand, the words flowing off her own like second nature.
She'd invited her into her home and Reyna had agreed.
Reyna looks closely at the tall woman before her, cloaked in crimson, dark warm brown skin glistening in the moonlight, curved and dark coils to her hips, her teenage daughters miniature copies of her --
Another blink.
*A kiss of her -- his -- lips against the heel of his wife's palm. Memorizing the swell of her breasts underneath her palms, the tenderness of her fingers curling into his curls, his fangs sinking into the tendon of her neck, blood filling, drinking greedily --*
*Oh.*
"I remember," Reyna says carefully, "Or I think ... I'm beginning to. I ... I turned you, didn't I?"
There's a shuddering gasp of relief, cold hands touching her cheeks. Reyna tries not to flinch at the sudden chilled touch. She can feel traces of Marcos, his hands caressing over Reyna's head, leaning them into his wife's touch.
Their wife's name spills from their lips, a happy laugh. Reyna can feel the love and affection he ~~has~~ had for them, his wife and daughters crying joyed tears of blood.
*He'd seen her, a tiny thing wandering the outskirts of his home, silver dagger in her hand, religion poured in her blood, twice blessed. Much to her surprise, the vampire had not struck.*
*"Hunter", he'd said. His large hands rose in a placating gesture. "Do you know who I am?"*
*"Yes," she admitted. She spat out venomously, "Vampire."*
*"Then you know what I can do."*
*"Why do you think I am here?" Reyna asked incredously, shooting him a pointed look. A flick of her wrist*.
*His brow creased, thick and raised thoughtfully under darkened curls. A tan hand wrapped around her wrist suddenly, overlapping over her fingers yanking her forwards, skin against skin as Reyna squirmed, bringing the dagger close to his heart.*
*"I am tired," he told her, "tired of all the bloodshed and the hiding. I miss the warmth of the sun against my skin, I miss the woman whom I used to know as my wife, not this cruel creature who takes lives without care. They think themselves indomitable now and they have forgotten their mortality. When I die, my blood will die along with them. Grant me my death and all this bloodshed will stop."*
*"You killed my sister," was all Reyna could muster out.*
*The vampire offered a sad smile, knuckles bone-tight. "I know. For that, I am truly sorry. I remember them all."*
*Then without another moment, he plunged both of their hands downward, a sickening crack heard as the blade pierced through flesh. His skin bubbled and charred, his body burning from the inside out. The smell of burning flesh never goes away, mortal or immortal, she's found out the hard way.*
*He'd neglected to tell her that before his turning, his mortal bloodline was of reincarnation. Perhaps he sincerely didn't know. His wife and daughters remained unscathed as his soul remained on, carving out a path of broken bodies and bloodshed in their wake.*
*She saw him again, a hundred years later in Paris, spelled under cursed longevity of her own, under another face, another name. It taken her a while to piece together the memories that weren't her own the first time she'd died accidentally -- and the several times after.*
*A smile on his lips.*
*"Marcos," he'd introduced himself that time. "Been waiting for you."*
*"You are home, you are home,"* they chant happily, rejoicing. They undo the binds from her wrists, wrap her in their cold arms.
One happy family once more.
But Marcos has died over a century ago, his reincarnation transferred into her body, his memories and crevices of his soul burying themselves into her brain and her soul when she'd last killed him --
-- and she's *so* sick of vampires. Perhaps this is the day she will finally rid herself of them.
Oh, Marcos, Marcos, Marcos.
Reyna allows herself to smile, Marcos helping her play the role of devoted father and husband, preying into his wife and daughters' weaknesses.
A glance at a grandfather clock near her. Another scan of her surroundings -- the axe above the fireplace is *great* for decapitation. Five more hours until sunrise.
Until then, she will bide her time and wait. | 11 | You are kidnapped by three female vampires who claim that they’re your wife and two daughters from your past life, who miss you and have been searching for your reincarnation for a hundred years, so that you can be a family again. | 54 |
"Oh-ho," the clown laughed, "you're approaching me?"
"Can't beat the shit out of you without getting closer," I replied calmly. He revved his chainsaw joyously, clearly entertained by the prospect of his latest victim acting so foolishly.
"Go on then, *tough guy*. Take your best shot!" He laughed, opening his mouth, his teeth; sickly yellow spikes with hints of crimson from his last victim. His mouth extended far too much, more than a human could. Even to me, it was... unsightly.
I approached him at last; to my surprise, he didn't even bother trying to swing his chainsaw at me, instead actually expecting me to throw a punch, to see my fist bounce off of him harmlessly. Made my job easier. I obliged.
The force of the punch I threw took him off his feet and sent him tumbling to the ground. I could not help but smile at his look of surprise; he clearly didn't see this outcome. He *most certainly* didn't see me slip the salt-covered brass knuckles with gallium tips on. It took me a good two weeks to figure out what would hurt this bastard, but it was well worth it. Kneeling down, I took the knuckles off and lay them on his chest.
"What- what is *this*?" he spurted out.
"You didn't think you were *actually* immortal, did you?" I commented. He thrashed around like a wild animal, grasping at the knuckles on his chest. They were about half a kilogram in weight, but to him, they might as well have been a mountain. No way he'd shake them off and run away.
"Let me tell you, though - killing the kids? Bad move," I said coldly. "The drifters thus far, *eh*, people look the other way, but go after people's children and they get desperate. Desperate enough to hire people like me."
"I- who *are* you?!" he said. For the first time in what must have been forever, there was fear in his eyes.
"Just a hunter. And you," I said with a smile, brandishing a gallium-laced knife, "are my paycheck." | 196 | The clown down the hall laughed manically, brandishing his chainsaw. "You can run, but you can't hide!" "Took the words right out of my mouth," you say as you slowly walk towards him, cracking your knuckles. | 360 |
Ivan broke past the thicket.
The knight tumbled into a wide clearing within the forest, padded on all sides by the dense, twisting wall of Siberian pines. His blade mopped the meadow grass red. Ivan, torn from battle, had eyes on something irregular in the carnage: a fleeting shift of white, marked by the gold that streaked down it. An animal? A spirit? The knight palmed the wooden gods that hung around his neck and pressed onward into the clearing, ever weary.
The screams of battle softened and trailed to murmur. In the waning of their tune came a new one — a whimsical tapping, sing-song whistle that resonated across the meadow. Ivan whirled, the two-handed sword in tow.
“Hark!” A deep voice broke out at once. Great light overcame the knight, and once it had returned to its Maker, he at last was revealed. A tall and merry wizard, accompanied with a long, winding oaken staff. He leaned on it and surveyed the knight.
“I’m sorry that you’ve found yourself here.” The wizard’s eyes fell to Ivan’s sword. His expression softened. “The things you’ve had to do.”
It took a moment for Ivan to fall out of his stupor. “Who are you?!” His grip tightened around the hilt, pacing some a meter away.
The wizard threw his head back in laughter. “I am a wizard! The Great Wizard of these lands! And you,” he jabbed his staff in the knight’s direction, “…have summoned me!”
“Summoned you!” Ivan guffawed. “It couldn’t have been the…”
“The golden goose!” The wizard roared again in laughter.
Ivan stared at him in a mixture of confused horror.
The wizard’s laugh had broken into song, and he stepped back to profess the proverb of his coming:
*“Whereoft you see a goose, golden feathered,*
*Glittered in the gloaming,*
*There you shall see I,*
*Wizard and roaming!”*
Ivan nodded slowly in a vague understanding. “Then…” The knight sifted through his questions. “What are you here to do?”
The wizard bobbed his head. “I am here to grant you one wish, to the capacity of your mind’s imagination.”
“Any wish?”
“Any wish!”
Ivan paused in astonishment. The red knight leaned back on the framing of his armor and pondered, whilst blood dripped from the tip of his sword.
The wizard leaned too in thought. “You can end this senseless war…” He mused a moment. “Ensure your brother’s ascension to the throne. You can feed all your people — for as long as you’d like!”
“Slay my brother.”
“Pardon?”
“Slay my brother, and let nothing be related back towards me.”
The wizard stepped back in horror. “What curses…!”
Ivan lifted his chin. “You seem to know of me. But you do not know my kind. You would do well to do it.”
The wizard knit his eyebrows together and swung his arm about. “You speak death!”
“Aye!” Ivan shouted. “And you, a wizard of the highest order, promised me your wish. What say you, then!”
The wizard drew a ragged, stiff breath, and regarded Ivan with a cold scowl. “As you wish, bloody knight!” And in a roar of whirling light, the wizard was gone.
Ivan began his next day early, awake before dawn. He stared at the ceiling of his tent, pausing thoughts between gusts of wind to hear the calls of soldiers within the encampment. Before long a rousing panic had filled the camp, shouts spilling from one direction. He threw on his clothes, assumed concern, and came to confirm what he secretly craved — the slack body of his brother, passed away in his sleep.
For three days and for three nights did the knight-regent revel in his misdeeds. He assumed all power in his office, and did drink in his vice, quelling his now vulnerable enemies. On the third night, Ivan had found himself looking into the same corner of his war tent, watching the first morning rays beginning to peak into the forest valley. Between the flowing gusts of wind, commotion erupted.
Ivan threw up his head and himself out of the tent. Torrents of delirious soldiers streamed in his sight, to and fro, rushing out from the center of the encampment. Out and out they cried,
“He has risen!”
“Praise be!”
“He is the Light!”
Ivan's horrified eyes trailed the soldiers from their origin. Spilling, blinding light emitted from the center of the treeline. Ivan's eyes lifted - lifted and lifting, trailing the form of his once deceased brother, rising into the air and shining incandescently. All at once, Ivan felt this presence focus onto him.
***“Blyat.”*** | 12 | This genie is intelligent and benevolent and always on the lookout for ways to twist malicious or shortsighted wishes | 41 |
\[Ordering Disorder\]
"What?" Cassie smiled at Gretchen in response. "That's an odd question... did you want a hoarding disorder..?" she asked. The pair of women sat on a bench on a busy cobblestone pathway in front of a large castle. Cassie was giving Gretchen some last-minute tips before she took on her first quest by herself.
"No..," Gretchen shook her head. She felt embarrassed that her joke did not land as she intended it. She realized she would have to be more careful with her humor in the future. Not only was Cassie almost a decade younger than her, she was from an entirely different Earth. Their ideas of humor were bound to differ. "..it was a bad joke because you have so much stuff in your inventory," she said.
"Oh," Cassie nodded. "Well, Chosen One quests don't usually have that much stuff; I'm a merchant, so I have to stay stocked up," she explained.
"Oh yeah...," Gretchen nodded. Six mentioned Cassie's class on the way. "...where's your shop?" she asked out of curiosity. She imagined she might need to buy things on her quest and it would be helpful to know a friendly merchant.
"Here," Cassie shrugged and gestured at the faded green backpack on her shoulders. It wasn't bulged out from being overfull like Gretchen expected. But, she remembered the kinds of things that were possible in the AlterNet and accepted the explanation. Even if she didn't know the mechanics of it, she knew it was possible. "..unless I'm in a derby match; then, I have to have a stall on the track. But, you'll get to try out derby later. It's better to get used to questing first."
"Okay," Gretchen nodded. Six and 23 had given her the same advice when they sent her to Cassie. She'd watched a little bit of Six and 23 practicing roller derby and took an immediate interest.
"You don't have to say much," Cassie continued her advice. "The king is expecting a Chosen One, so just show up and you're it. It's a whole quest line, so come back here after you get the first part and I'll help you with it," she said.
"Okay, thank you," Gretchen nodded. She took a deep breath to calm her nerves; then, she walked forward through the open, golden gates.
30 minutes later, she returned to find Cassie thanking a customer.
"There was a line...," Gretchen apologized but Cassie nodded.
"There usually is; there's a Chosen One born every minute," she giggled. "So, what's the first part?"
"I have to prove I'm the Chosen One," Gretchen said. "I have to pull a sword from a stone?" She was unsure where she would find a sword in a stone; but, she returned to Cassie before she read through the quest text thoroughly.
"Oh, that one's easy," Cassie said. She knelt down and closed the flap of her green backpack again. Then, she pulled her node out and began swiping through it. "Yeah, I've got a few of those in stock," she nodded to herself as she tapped the node. Then, she opened her bag again and nodded at the silver sword hilt that was poking out of her bag.
"There you go, grab that," she said. Gretchen had learned not to question things very much by now. She nodded and crouched to pull the sword out of the backpack. As soon as it came free, she heard a ding, and red text appeared in her view.
\[Quest Complete!\]
Gretchen couldn't help but smile. She knew not all the quests would be as simple as this one was; but, she was still enjoying herself very much. She never would have imagined her life could change so much in such a short time. She held up the sword and her smile grew larger.
"I'm the Chosen One!" she said. Cassie laughed and smiled along with her.
"Yeah you are," she added as Gretchen walked off.
"Excuse me, Merchant" a knight approached Cassie. "Do you have a bottomless bag?” he asked. As he asked, he gestured at a pile of bags and equipment tied to a nearby horse.
“I do,” Cassie nodded.
“Uh.. how much?” the knight asked. Cassie studied the knight up and down for a moment. Then, her gaze flitted between the overloaded horse and Gretchen who was headed back to the castle.
“I’ll give it to you for free, on one condition,” Cassie said.
“Sure!” The knight seemed happy to get a deal on a much-needed item.
“Will you tell me where you got your hoarding disorder?”
\*\*\*
Thank you for reading! I’m responding to prompts every day. This is story #1661 in a row. (Story #215 in year five.). This story is part of an ongoing saga that takes place at a high school in my universe. It began on June. 6th and I will be adding to it with prompts every day until August 19th. They are all collected in order at [this link](https://www.reddit.com/r/Hugoverse/comments/v6bapz/aurelios_sun_1st_half/). | 21 | "Approximately ten million gold, 512 health potions, 399 mana potions, fifty pounds of assorted foodstuffs, a thousand assorted magical items, and ten pounds of miscellaneous items... and you're certain that being the Chosen One does not come with a hoarding disorder." | 398 |
"More water!" I ordered, as the alchemist infront of me continued to pour more water into a flask of red liquid.
"Are you sure mi'lord? It's already diluted to 50% potency..." the alchemist gasped.
I slapped the alchemist's head. "Of course you fool! It's for the good of the people, do you know how many people get overdosed on healing potions each year? ONE OUT OF FIVE. We have to finetune the potency of these dru- I mean, potions for the good of the people" *and to increase my profit margins by two-fold heh heh*
It's been 3 years since I've been reincarnated into this world. One moment I was in my penthouse in Hong Kong, commanding the biggest triad in the country. The next? Dropped into an unfamiliar forest with a sword.
But business is the same as long as humans are involved. The essence behind supply, demand and the greed of men will forever be part of the nature of the universe. I only took about 2 years before I used my status as a *hero* (heh, I know right) to establish the biggest merchant guild in the country. By using the excuse to pool resources to help fight the demonlord, I've established the largest protection racket in history.
Then using my credentials as a hero, I convinced the king to grant me exclusive distribution of all potions and salves in the country because we wouldn't want any demonlord spies to poison us, would we?!
"Mi'lord what do you want us to do with the captured succubi from the dark iron mountains?"
"Uhhh.. transport them to the capital city for their reformative training." I smiled.
"Madame Valici's Gentleman Lounge?"
I give his head a big smack "It's "The Valici Reformative Facility", asshole."
*The general population being idiots have their pros and cons, I guess*.
I head back to my leather armchair and took a seat, taking out my pipe at the same time. *Ah, some well deserved rest.*
"Mi'lord! A group of knights appeared out of nowhere and is heading here looking for you." exclaimed a grunt as he stormed into my office.
"What? who are they?" I replied, taking a drag from my pipe.
"Uhh.. they were wearing strange blue garments and they wield metal slingshots instead of swords. I think they called themselves "Interpol"".
*Fuck my...*
***Fin*** | 10 | A kingpin, a hardened criminal managing the biggest drug and human trafficking ring, considered the most dangerous human alive; passes away overnight, and discovers they have been reincarnated into a high fantasy world as a "hero". Tasked with taking down a supposedly demonic tyrant. | 20 |
“You’re hired,” the man in the military uniform said, extending his arm across the table.
I looked him in the eye as I shook his hand. “Thank you sir. I know I’ll do a good job,” I said.
“Call me Jim,” he replied with a perfunctory smile, “so your first appearance is in 15 minutes. Usually we’d give our new talent a day to get themselves settled, but your predecessor left us earlier in unfortunate circumstances,” he said as he stood to leave.
The interview room was cold and painted a sterile white, with two metal chairs on either side of a bare table.
No wonder I'd heard some people call it the interrogation room.
We exited the room and walked briskly along a busy corridor. It was full of people going about their business, ignoring the uniformed man leading me towards a door with the words *Studio* illuminated above.
“Now remember,” Jim said over his shoulder, “you get paid after your three appearances, then it’s over. There’s no continuing employment on offer here, it’s just the three nights.”
“Yeah, sure,” I replied.
We reached the studio and Jim ushered me through the door. He winked as I walked past. “Good luck,” he said.
The studio was dark except for a desk illuminated by a couple of large spotlights, with a television camera a few feet in front of it. There was one other person in the room, a younger woman wearing a headset. She looked at me then pointed towards the desk.
As I was walking towards the desk she whistled then threw something towards me before I had a chance to react. I caught the rubbery item instinctively. It was a mask. The mask.
I sat down and fumbled with the mask, trying not to squint as the bright lights shone down upon me. Once I had the fleshy mask pulled over my face I looked up at the camera lens, seeing a teleprompter with text waiting for me.
The camera operator was standing beside the camera looking at her watch. She looked up at me and started a countdown with her fingers.
Three…two…one…
A red light in the corner of the room came on.
“Good evening. Coming to you live from the Department of Information with today’s latest citizenry update. Firstly,” I cleared my throat, “attendance at Believe Resorts around the country has been at record levels in recent weeks. The Government continues to encourage citizens to travel safety to one of these resorts for the purposes of relieving their truth anxiety and assures people that sufficient capacity is available. Should you need to consult a professional, please contact the Health Department using the information below.”
I glanced at the door and saw Jim standing there in his military uniform, arms folded and expressionless as he watched on. I took a deep breath and looked back at the teleprompter.
“The next information I have been asked to read out is a lie,” I said quickly as I started ripping off the mask,
“we are not winning the war. The person you see here changes every four nights so they can lie to you. The Government is not telling you what's happening and people like my brother have died because of it!"
There was movement near the door and then suddenly the red light went off.
“What the fuck have you done?” Jim yelled, holding a pistol as he walked towards me. “Get security in here now,” he said to the camera operator.
She ran to the door as he walked slowly around to stand beside the camera and raised his gun sights on me.
“How did you do it? No one's ever defeated the Four Questions! There’s no way you could have made it here with the answers you gave at the interview,” he said as the door burst open and heavily armed soldiers filed in. | 14 | Humans are biologically limited to only telling three untruths throughout their life. Most people save theirs for key moments to achieve the greatest effect. You blow all three in a job interview. | 29 |
Odd requests, desperate coping - it was expected in our line of work. The thereafter was equipped for that of course, illusions and distractions, last wishes, all of those kinds of things were regularly fulfilled - anything to get the claimed souls to agree to move on.
This one was different.
"I'm sorry, what did you say?" we asked.
"I said I'd like to speak to the manager, please."
Karen was what she would call an 'old soul.' In her human life, she was an on and off again troubled woman. She made the best of her circumstances and prided herself on uplifting those around her, a method of addressing her own dissatisfactions. While her best efforts usually resulted in awkward tensions, uncomfortable silences and unintentionally hurt feelings - she nonetheless maintained her spirit, in part because she believed misunderstandings were the fault of others, a lesson engrained in her at an impressionable age by her parents who, if living, couldn't comprehend how much their world had changed. She existed in her life within a generational purgatory, and felt herself uniquely suited to bridge the gap.
In death, she was no different.
"I'm sorry, but the manager is unavailable," we said. There was no manager, of course, that just isn't how things worked here.
"Then I'll wait," she said firmly.
We didn't know what to do. This had never happened before.
We considered our options and finally decided to bring her to the waiting room. It was a place for those who were undecided, those who couldn't or wouldn't move on. It wasn't meant for those who knew what they wanted.
She tapped her foot and glared impatiently at the queue screen, its numbers inconsistent and nonlinear. Shadows moved in and out of the room, simple analogues of the idea of waiting.
Karen was having none of it.
"I'm not moving," she said. "I want to speak to the manager."
She crossed her arms and sat down in one of the chairs.
The days passed and turned into weeks, and into months. Karen refused to budge, and we didn't know what to do. The fascimiles other souls in the waiting room came and went indefinitely, but she remained steadfast.
Finally, we gave up.
"Fine," we said. "The manager will see you now."
We led her down a long corridor to a door at the end. Karen hesitated for a moment before walking through. On the other side was an infinite black void.
"This is the manager?" she asked.
"Yes," we replied. "What can we do for you?"
"I want to know why my soul isn't moving on," she said. "I've done everything I was supposed to do. I don't understand what's holding me back."
If there was something we could feel like a headache, this was it.
"You need to allow your soul to move on, Karen."
"I don't understand how. I've tried everything."
"You need to let go of your attachment to the material world."
"I don't know how."
"It's not something you can understand with your mind. You need to feel it in your heart."
"How?" she asked with a deep frown.
"You just need to let go."
"I don't know how."
"Stop asking for the fucking manager." | 17 | The Grim Reaper just reaped a soul that will not go quietly. Instead, it keeps asking for the manager. | 34 |
I am a specter. I do not exist. I have no name, no face, no wants or needs. I live for the crown—only for the crown.
Tonight, the king requires my presence, and I obey.
“Your mission is simple: eliminate any threat to the hero’s and his compatriots’ reputation.”
“Not their lives, my liege?”
“I said what I said. Now go!”
I bow and dash into the night.
The hero: Julius Joy is a man of twenty-four winters. He was raised by the Council of Kings to serve as their sword. One among thousands. He was one of few who survived their trials and a “Hero” he had become. Now, he is tasked to assassinate the Elven Queen before her forest consumes man’s kingdom.
Julius journey light: one mage, one warrior, one archer, one thief. His party moves eastwards, towards the forest of elves, and never stops anywhere for more than three nights.
Yet, there are rumors of him—tall tales, gossip, attacks on his character.
Bards sing them, so I slice off their tongues.
Papers write about them, so I break their fingers.
Heralds speak of them, so I sever their heads.
“Eliminate all threats on his reputation” is my mission. So I will do as told and slice off more tongues, and break more fingers, and sever more heads.
My face is on a wanted poster—it matters not. I am a specter, and my face is many. However… for the first time in my life, I hesitate to adopt a new identity.
I gaze at the moon, hoping she can give me an answer.
“Shayla, is something weighing on your mind?” Julius asks.
“Yes,” I say.
“Can you share it with me?”
“No.”
“I see.”
“Julius.”
“What is it?”
“What do you think of my current face.”
“It’s pretty.”
“And what else?”
“I don’t know. You change faces as often as other woman changes their dresses. I learned not to get too attached to one.”
“I see.”
“So, Layla, my thief, my specter, my angel in black, is something still weighing on your mind?”
“No, I feel light as a feather.”
“That’s good.”
“Julius.”
“Yes?”
“Tell me… what should my next face look like?”
“I remember a little girl I met long ago… sandy skin, amber eyes, short raven hair, a little mole below her right eye, and a scar on the bridge of her nose. I wonder what that little girl would grow up to look like.”
“Julius... you remembered…”
“Of course. After all, you can never forget your first love.”
I am a specter. I do not exist. I have no name, no face, no wants or needs. I live for the crown—only for the crown. But before I became a specter, I had a name, and a face, and wants, and needs, and something other than the crown I wish to live for.
“Julius… do you… remember that little girl’s name?”
“Lend me your ears, dearest, and I shall whisper it to you till sunrise.” | 24 | You had been tasked by the king to deal with anything that could threaten the hero’s party reputation. Today, you spotted your head on a wanted poster | 43 |
I like knives.
I like looking at them, collecting them, keeping them in tip-top shape… And I like to stab people with them, and see blood oozing from their wounds, and color draining from their faces, and tears pouring from their eyes as they beg and plead for their lives.
The teacher said it’s wrong to stab people. So did the police. So did my therapist. But if it’s so bad… Why does it feel so good to do?
I can’t stab random people. I can’t stab people I hate. But the villains… and their minions and their supporters and their scientists and their loved ones… I can stab them, slice them, dice them, and throw my knives at them…
As long as they aren’t dead after I had my fun, they’re fair game. People even praise me for it, calling me a hero, saying I saved the day… by making people bleed.
How wonderful. Truly, wonderful, these people they called “supervillains.”
I wish everyone were a supervillain—but no such luck. So I roam the streets, and wait in the dark, and sharpen my knives, and wait, and wait, and wait… for the next supervillain to show up, so my knives can taste blood, and I can watch them bleed, and beg, and cry…
As long as they don’t die, I’m a hero.
“You! You there, Red Ripper! I know your secret ‘hero’! You don’t have any superpowers! Not one! So today I, Dr. Grime, shall usher in your doom! Now, suffer and die!”
Tonight, my waiting paid off… and my knives shall taste blood once more.
God bless, supervillains!
I wish everybody was a supervillain! | 1,053 | The super villain shook with rage as they stared at the security footage. "He's not even a real superhero with superpowers! He's just some loser who's really good at throwing knives at people without killing them!" | 3,296 |
Stars glittered in the sky - or what passed for the sky in this liminal space. Virion stared off into the distance, sky-blue eyes staring intently at a handful of constellations. Dim, but still there.
One by one, they began to wink out. His eyes widened as he felt a weight lifted from his shoulders. Now he was truly alone, the last bearer of a fragment of divine power.
He turned, looking upon the temple he had built beyond time and space. His exile had been long, brought not just by the powers of the Five, but by the worlds' fear of him and his magic. Yet he was not alone in this darkness. Fellow believers had made themselves known to him on occasion, and slowly his followers had grown in number.
Striding into the temple, he slanted his hand - a simple cantrip - and his voice boomed. "My Oculi. The Five have fallen. The realm now stands defenseless against Chaos. It is time for us to intervene."
\--
Hector ran for the cobblestone-framed door of his home; his parents close behind. The ground shook with some terrible blast and he was forced to his knees. Not daring to look back, he got up, jerking the pine door open. His mother sobbed. Yanking him inside, his father barred the door with a wooden dresser, then set himself to piling chairs against the makeshift barricade.
They realized their error too late - the windows! A hail of arrows tore through the panes, catching his father in the shoulder. His mother screaming, Hector ran to his aid, applying pressure and mouthing a prayer to Halu.
He squinted, trying to make out the archers in the dim light. They looked like men, but his eyes couldn't seem to focus on them. Shadowy and blurred, yet the arrow in his father's shoulder was as solid as any.
Beyond the rooftops, something radiant burned through the sky. Almost like a shooting star. But they were too close. Were they going to hit the city? Gairholm had suffered siege for weeks - were the Five truly against them?
Hector ducked as the archers turned, raising their shaded visages to the sky, but he realized they were not aiming at him. As a matter of fact, they didn't have time to aim. A radiant golden bar of light cleaved through one. The others didn't even have time to draw their bows.
Creeping to the window, he saw a man, with short brown hair, garbed in white and gold. His staff was a blur as he danced among the shadows, beating them back. Every few seconds a ring of runes would flash around his wrist, and the shadows would be blasted backwards, or the man would seem to blink a few feet beyond the reach of sword or arrow. He was quick, but the shadows were too many, and with every spell he cast, they seemed to hem him in.
A blinding flash erupted from down the street. Hector realized now that he had seen no comets, but sorcerers. Beneath the cascading rainbow, he saw a man with long platinum hair, wearing similar robes to the first. A silver cross dangled from his neck, reflecting the light like a beacon. He raised his hands over his head, and rings of runes glimmered into being, even brighter than the luminous waterfall bearing down on him and repulsing the shadows.
Hector couldn't count how many rune wheels the man formed. Each whirled around him, locking into the next. There must have been ten! His grandfather said no mage could use more than five - even the strongest Bearers struggled with more.
But his eyes were not wrong. Ring by ring, the runes shone, and the rainbow seemed to split. It diverged in all directions, impaling the shadows and driving them back. They circled the other man like a shield, then erupted outwards. The stream of power did not stop as the beams hurtled off as far as he could see.
\--
King Kaius Archus III watched from the balcony of his high tower. Selfish to the last, his royally retained mages had been ordered to concentrate their strength on shielding his tower alone once they failed to defend the city walls. The jewels of his crown glittered as lights danced in the streets below. The dazzling display of power a few moments ago had terrified him - he suspected who had performed it. A man he'd offered wealth and jewels to years ago as a much younger king. A man who had escaped from his city by cover of night, vowing to serve no ruler but himself. One he suspected of being a Bearer, who he'd tried to win over to prevent ungodly events such as these from coming to pass.
Trina, one of his mages, shouted. "We can't hold the door!" Kaius turned in time to see a soft glow envelop the oaken double doors. Then a soft thump as they swung open.
Virion Nox entered, his long white hair and robes still steaming with residual power. The sky-blue crystal set in his silver necklace shone more brilliantly than Kaius' entire crown combined. A knowing look crossed his face as he met the kings' eyes. The mage hadn't aged a day since the king had last seen him.
The court mages looked to Kaius for orders, faces tinged with fear. The old king shook his head. There was no point.
"The city of Gairholm is in your debt, Virion. Or should I say, Lightbearer."
A smile barely touched the sorcerer's lips. "All those years ago. You were right. I see that now."
"Forgive me. I had hoped... That your services could have prevented something like this," the king said, choking back tears. "Where have you been? All this time?! We have been at war! First the Five abandon us, now you!"
Virion spoke solemnly. "The Five have been dying for thousands of years. Their strength has failed."
"Then we are doomed! You cannot protect us alone!" Kaius's voice shook with rage and fear.
"My studies have not been in vain. What I have learned may yet end this war. But you're right - I cannot do this alone." The unasked question lingered in the air for a moment.
Kaius nodded slowly. "Then we stand with you, Lightbearer. To the bitter end." | 81 | Ages ago you discovered immortality and then had the time to learn the strongest magics. But the gods were jealous and banded together to smite you. To escape their wrath, you hid in another dimension, coming back for only short, safe periods of time, to help people in their time of need. | 470 |
I healed everyone who came to me. No questions asked. I was a God and I was infinite. Humanity had faith in me. And it was not wavering. I wouldn’t allow it to waver. Not ever.
I watched the skies as stars burned out. Symbols of older gods losing their supporters. Some had been friends of mine in the pantheon, others were more adversarial. It was of no consequence as long as my followers held their faith. And they would.
Millenia passed and I now sat alone upon my golden throne. No other God’s remained. They had long since faded into non-existence. Yet, my foot tapped nervously on the marble floors. Visits were becoming more infrequent with each passing decade. As though those below no longer cared about my existence. I could feel my magic waning. My hands grew wrinkled and my hair had begun to grey and thin. Age was taking it’s toll due to a lack of faith. Tragic.
I guess death was to come, if only I could know why. And that’s when someone entered. An old man, hobbled over in a ripped brown shawl.
“How can I help?” I said. I tapped my bony fingers on my arm rests as I looked towards nothing on my walls.
“Oh nothing, nothing,” the old man croaked.
“Then why do you dare waste my time? Who do you think you are that you, an insolent brat can waste MY time?” I stormed towards him.
“What time?” The old man chuckled. “Your time is over my friend.”
I spat at his feet. “What do you mean over?”
“Don’t pretend like you don’t know. We all feel it, as our powers wax and wane. And we’ve been watching your oh so mighty temple. There isn’t enough love left to sustain it.”
“And what do you know?”
“Follow me.” The old man hobbled away. I rolled my eyes and followed.
He led me through winding portals until we arrived at a hall filled with many more elders.
“And who are these people? Do you want me to heal you all?” I rolled my eyes and turned away.
“I already told you no. I guess you don’t ever listen? We are the old gods. The one’s you believed dead.”
“I don’t believe you.”
“Of course you don’t, but you should. Your healing was reckless. You healed everyone, good or bad. Wars never ended, the elderly never died. Many God’s perished, yes, undeservedly so, but not all. Some of us still had a few loyal supporters. But you were a problem. It took time, but eventually you faded into non-existence in the minds of humanity. They found ways of healing themselves, curing their own problems. And with help from us, stopped needing your help. You are powerless now.”
I left without looking back. They couldn’t be right. I wasn’t finished. My time wasn’t up. I would go to Earth and rekindle my following, but as I tried to summon a portal down, not even a single spark of magic would fly. | 85 | As the last worshipper of your god, you inherited his power when he died from too little mana. So as not to suffer the same fate, you started a religion around yourself, and heal and save anyone who prays to you. | 372 |
"I'm frankly quite shocked."
Black Dart stood up wearily, clutching his gaping wounds. He wasn't much of anything in the League Of Peace, but at the very least he knew a villain when he saw one. Not just any villain graced his glinting green goggles, and shimmering suit crafted by the best the League could offer, but it was none other than Global Enemy Number One.
They called it HARM.
This twisted nigh inhuman piece of ominous treachery had been responsible for the deaths of over 13 *thousand* in both Cambodia and sheltered parts of Alaska.
And Black Dart had finally found him.
"You can't possibly think that all of what you've done is justified, could you?"
The cloaked horror turned around and finally revealed the face that had caused death to so many. The last thing Black Dart may ever see
Has only eyes.
Completely slate smooth. Save for the piercing green eyes that stared down at Black Dart, who was cast in anguish and terror.
"Answer me!"
Black Dart breathed deeply, and continued to grimace as he saw that the wounds HARM had inflicted were smooth, as if air had just passed through and put gashes on him. It was an odd feeling, like having too much bass turned up in your car. No blood spilled out, only pain, only yelling. As Black Dart observed the lone specter he finally understood what the heroes at the League that had perished so long ago had neglected to discover. It was that HARM couldn't hear. Couldn't speak. Couldn't tell them his purpose or banter and talk back. He only knew how to hurt. It wasn't some game to him like many of the whackos Black Dart encountered.
This felt all too real. A little too close for comfort. Black Dart ruminate on the pain it might cause to someone to be like this, to be
such a horrible being locked away in his own mind. Unable to vent frustrations with his life, choking always through the surgically implanted nostrils. Fed through his throat via a medical device, HARM wanted not justice, but catharsis. Settlement by seeing a world silent. A world choking in its own hubris, always with nothing they could do about it
A world that could only watch. A world that could only witness.
Black Dart cleared his throat and took a breath, remembering his immense amount of sign language classes, if he could get the thing distracted long enough, he may be able to send a distress signal. He began with a few basics: "Can you see this" "Do you know sign language"
The apparition adeptly signed the words "yes" "I want you to watch"
"Watch what?" Black Dart cautiously motioned
"Justice"
As HARM blasted the machine out, Black Dart screamed and held his ears, the loud wave and hum searing into his brain. As he looked up, he saw HARM standing stoicly, watching the machine work. It was a sound device. With that knowledge, he simply had to reach down into his belt and...
Click.
The hearing aids switch off and Black Dart is in peace once again. He stands up in a spread pattern as not to make vibrations on the ground, and creeps around to HARM. As Black Dart nears him, he realizes that in this moment, the one thing that kept him from being on the A List, on the League's finest, was that he was deaf. That what put him below everything else, was that he couldn't hear. They told him it was a hazard on high stakes missions, and that they couldn't afford to have him jeopardize anything.
He stops just before reaching HARM's neck, and thinks of how close he may have been to being on the other side of this, how just one more bully, one more push, one degradation. He looks up and sees the great structure HARM has built, and how quickly he may have climbed the League's ranks. How his "disability" just saved him.
*Snap*
But the world doesn't care about that. The world cares that another bad man dies and another good man gets the awards.
Soon after the mission, Black Dart was given a Medal Of Commendation for his fine work.
"Fine work." Black Dart rolled the medal in his fingers. I killed a disabled guy, I wouldn't call that fine. Ugh, to think I never even read the debrief after the mission.
Black Dart picked up the mission info.
HARM. Now identified as Arthur Lakely, was killed on [][][][][] in [][][][].
Special notes: as of this time, Lakely was confirmed to have a debilitating case of...
Hearing And Respiratory Malfunction.
HARM. | 89 | As a mute supervillain, you've managed to survive, made bank, and became ruthlessly efficient because no hero could bait you to monologue... Until a hero learned sign language. | 395 |
Among my people, the words for *war* and *life* are the same. I will not hammer out the tired wisdom of that polysemy for you. You know better than most. You have seen it with your own eyes. You have felt it buck in your shoulder with each trigger pull, or heave in your shoulders with each tear shed for the fallen. But despite your enigmatic empathy, we are the same, your kind and mine. Or so I thought, for so long. It is only now I see you are *better.*
After one cycle of life, my kindred was thrown into its first crucible. Still young, still soft, we cleaned our weapons in our ship bays and listened to the drumbeat of war. Against the Vitrolian Annex, we were told there could be no quarter. None given, none received. We put their nests to flame and crushed the writhing maggots of their young in our armored claws. They captured our wounded and let their larvae feed on my maimed brethren from inside-out.
After the second cycle of my life, the blooded among us were dispatched to bring peace to the Cold Stars. Knowing what you know of our definitions of *war* and *life,* I should imagine you can guess what word shares its shape with *peace.* We did as instructed. And once the wasteland arcologies of the Cold Star Kin had been consecrated into haunted mausoleums, we departed on howling void ships that burnt the atmosphere to its constituent molecules. The flames we lit immolated even the ghosts of those worlds, until only aether and ash remained.
Ten cycles passed before I ascended to the Exemplarship, and our tribal empire was given its first and noblest challenge. The *sapiens* of Grug, called human in their tongue, *your* tongue. Understand, we had never faced true warriors before we faced you. We had never faced any worthy of our blades. And whatever you may think yourselves—lovers, thinkers, artists—you are *warriors.*
In the Oort Cloud skirmishes, your hit-and-run tactics devastated our fleets. Intrigued we were by this impudence, but we adapted. We surrendered the time-honored tradition of invitation-battle to fight you where tactical need dictated. When you first unleashed your soulless soldiers of quantum intelligence on the red sands of your seed world, Mars, we saw this as a mark of honor rather than desperation. It was not that you feared to fight us, for we knew of your war-kin's excellence by reputation. But we had not yet proven our worth to you; you would not deign to fight us with your own flesh and blood, nor sully your weapons with our ichor.
Oh, how our blood blazed at this challenge. How it *burned!* When first we sailed to your crown world of gray skies and acid seas—when first we reddened your own sands with your own oxygenous blood—the purity of our pleasure made our skin sing. Your warrior caste, perfected through gene-science and engrammatic indoctrination, hardened by powered carapace that rivalled the strength of our most venerable blooded, trained in the waging of war as if it were a science rather than a passion, cut us down just as quickly as they fell.
You were... perfect. And you offered me all I had ever wanted since the moment of my birth and my mothers told me my purpose.
You offered me peace.
So when fragmentation from a stray shell in the tree-infested swamps of your Amazon wounded me, and your meticulous surgeons deprived me of the final rest I had so long sought, you can understand my displeasure, and why it has taken me so long to answer your inquiries. I thought you were taunting me. I thought you were torturing me, just as the Vitrolian Talon Kin had tortured my brethren when they'd injected their young maggots into our bellies and let them feast upon us from within. I thought you enjoyed it. And never once did I stop to think why I had craved *peace* for so long.
But by the fifth rotation of your planet, I began to understand. Your nurses—your *nurses,* soldiers in their own, loving way—came and spoke to me in *my* tongue. You asked how I was. How was I? How could I have been but wrathful? My entire kindred had been slain over the years, to return to the heavenly halls of our tribal mothers. I had faced down a human champion and pounded my claws upon my breastplate in challenge. Then the caprice of gravity and steel rain had stolen me the honor of duelling him, of rest.
Why did I seek rest? It didn't matter. I was angry. I was spiteful. I was so, so sick.
She put her hand on mine, the nurse, and her two eyes looked into my eight.
"Everything," she spoke, her tongue enthralling the sounds of my people's tongue, the tongue of my fathers and mothers, the tongue of my war and my life, "will be all right."
Life, my kind are told, is war. That is its finest iteration. From you, in the span of these days, I have learned the opposite may be true. Life can be peace.
You ask why we came, or why we fight you. I answer you now. It is because we have not known kindness. It is because we have not known you.
u/AdeptnessPrize | 476 | War is the bread and butter of your people, so you were taken aback when the enemy saved your life. Cheated of a Good Death, you awake in a human field hospital and treated better here than back amongst your peers. Here, they even remember your name. Your loyalty drastically shifts... | 1,057 |
"Should we tell anyone what we discovered or try to put it back." Larrikin squinted her eyes at the golden hilt. She read a passage that said, '*she who pulls this sword has discovered the truth*.' Her hands pull the object closer while she twists and turns to see all angles.
"Well, I should have thought about this more carefully before chiseling out an '*s*' next to '*he*'. Who would have thought that such a thing was that easy to change the outcome of the victor." Her friend Mr. Goon smirked and glanced back at the hole in the ground. "Not exactly the winner of anything. The ground still clutches the steel. I thought we were here to try to take all of it."
Larrikin hands the device to her friend and kneels before the stone. "We could try to break the rest of it but we don't have the right tools for that job. If anything we could come back another day seeing how this whole area hasn't been visited since the last election."
Mr. Goon fiddles with the hilt and discovers a secret knob that pops off while unscrewing one end. "Hey look there is a parchment hidden inside this thing." Larrikin stands up and snatches the paper from Mr. Goon. With wide eyes Larrikin unravels a mystery, "Oh my gosh. You will never believe this. Look at what this says, '*the real sword lays with the queen*.'" | 32 | It's the 21st century. England is a democracy. And for the first time ever someone has just pulled the sword out of the stone. | 155 |
“You.” I said, giving her my most charming smile.
I simply got a glare in return. “Bullshit. Now, you can either tell me the truth, or I give you some organ damage to match your fucked up body.”
“Ahh, you caught me. Do you know you’re scary as shit sometimes?”
She said nothing, just crossed her arms and raised a brow.
I let out a long breath. “Honestly, I’m observing one of the doctors. We think he’s behind the recent uprise in supernatural crime.”
All I got in response was a little ”Hm.”. We sat there in silence for a while, her simply staring me down.
Eventually I caved. “Alright! Fine! But you know I’m breaking law. We’re looking at Doct-“ before I could finish, the doctor walked in. “Hello, I’m Dr. Morgs. Brianna, grab me another bag of liquid IV?”
“Of course doctor, right away.” We both watched as she walked out of the room, the doctor turned back to me with a smile that was anything but warm.
Before I could say or do anything, he cuffed me to the ER bed. “Whatthefuck where did these even come from?!”
I shouted in surprise.
He quickly hopped on top of me, wrapping his hands around my throat. He stared in to my eyes and simply said “I finally have you, little fucker.”
I struggled my hardest against both the cuffs and his hands, both to no avail. “But what about Brianna? She’ll be back soon.”
He snorted. “Doubtfully, storage is on the other side of the hospital. I will NOT let you little demon bastards wreck the ONE successful army I’ve created!”
Without time to question him, he whipped out a bottle and started pouring it’s contents all over me. At first I was confused, until I felt the burn.
I practically howled in pain. “YOU SONUVA BITCH! HOLY WATER?!” He simply cackled at my pain. As I laid there, trying to twist away from the blessed liquid, I had an idea.
It was my only hope of escaping with this bastard in tow. *She’s going to kill me for this later.* “SĮL’GAN THÖGDRIMÆN” I shouted at the top of my lungs.
A red flash behind the false doctor distracted him, and there stood Brianna. “You’re one of them?!” he shouted in surprise, before Brianna dragged his ass to Hell.
In less than a minute she was back and tending to my wounds with the only thing that can counter Holy Water. I simply laid there as she tended to my unnatural wounds.
“Fucking dumbass, why didn’t you just leave the body?” I rolled my eyes at her criticizing tone. “Silver.” I said, shaking the still attached handcuffs.
“So uh, now that you know what *my* human body looks like topless, I do believe it’s my turn.” I said, giving her one of my signature smiles.
She just shook her head in disappointment. “Twat.” | 37 | With at least 19 broken bones, you are sent to the hospital. Everyone looks concerned at you, except for a nurse. She sighs. "Let me guess. It's you again using another body. It's the 5th time this week. What the **** is bringing you here so often!?" She says as you two are finally left alone. | 71 |
There is a courtroom, the highest in all the lands. Today, a rather intriguing case is brought before God. So he sits back and lets the play unfold.
A woman in blue steps before his throne and makes her case.
“O’ grand benevolent one, hear my plea. I am Earth and I have suffered at the hands of men. Their tools pierced my skin. Their smoke burns my lungs. They cut down my trees and massacre my animals. Their hubris knows no bounds and they kill me slowly each day. Please, hear my plea and give justice to this lowly one.”
Tears roll down her eyes and she walks back to her seat.
A man takes her place. A lawyer representing men.
“The plaintiff had made her case. What say you, voice of man.”
“Your holiness, may I speak in plain tongue?”
“Permission granted.”
“Thank you, your honor. Now, what the plaintiff said is truly sympathetic and I have no doubt many in the July box were moved by her tears… But your honor, this case is a wash. It doesn’t deserve to be in any courtroom, let alone yours.”
“Oh?” God smiles and brushes his beard. “How so? Do pray tell.”
The lawyer takes out a stack of papers.
“Your honor, what I have in my hands is irrefutable evidence that the plaintiff is in fact a serial killer. Nay! A genocidal maniac!”
“Bullshit!” Earth stands up and shouts.
“Order! Order in the court!” God smashes his hammer and Earth sits down with a sour face.
“Thank you, your honor. Now, as I was saying, the plaintiff claimed that humans are killing her slowly… by what metric does the plaintiff use to determine such things?”
“Your smoke filled my air! Your oil spilled in my oceans! My ice is melting and my trees and animals are dying! This is my measure!” Earth says.
The lawyer laughs and opens his papers. “Ah, yes, oil! Plaintiff may I ask… whatever happened to the dinosaurs?”
“T—the dinosaurs? I—I don’t see what those beasts have to do with this case!”
“No? What about the trilobites? Do they, perhaps jog your memory?”
“No!”
“What about the eryops and dimetrodons? Or does the term ‘the great dying’ ring a bell?”
“No!”
“You dare lie in court!? Before the highest judge!?”
“…no…”
“So I ask again, do you remember the great dying?”
“Yes…”
“And do you remember what happened 440 million years ago, and 365 MA, and 252 MA, and 201 MA, and 66 MA! Do you remember these mass extinction events!? Or do I need to show you the charts!?”
“I—I remember…”
“Were humans alive then?”
“No…”
“And who is responsible for these genocides?”
“The… asteroids?”
“Plaintiff, everything you say should be the truth and nothing but the truth!”
“It’s… it was me.”
“Who is responsible for the rapid decrease of biodiversity over these hundreds of millions of years?”
“It was me.”
“Who wiped out the trilobites?”
“It was me.”
“Who really killed the dinosaurs?”
“It was me! It was me! It was all me! But now! Now the current extinction event is all due to you humans!”
“Is it? Is it trury?”
“Y—yes… truly…”
“Plaintiff whatever happened to the megafauna or the gastornis?”
“They were… they couldn’t adapt, so they were…”
“Who killed the world over and over and over again?”
“It was… me.”
“Plaintiff… Earth… mother, your self harming habits have got to stop. I know a good psychiatrist, so please…”
“No! I don’t have a problem! You have a problem! You and you and you and you all have problems!”
“Mother, please…”
God sits back and chuckles as he watches the family feud unfolds. This is why he loves courtroom dramas. | 19 | Humanity has been put on trial by Mother Nature/God for the destruction they have wrought upon Earth, you have been chosen by the United Nations to represent mankind, how will you save your species? | 21 |
Princess Amira lounged on her cozy chaise, nursing her third glass of wine. I'd have to stop her after this one. A glass or two every so often was fine, but this was starting to turn into a *habit*. "So, how do you think this one'll do?" she quirked an eyebrow at me.
"I don't know, looks like all brawn and no brains." I snorted, and a puff of smoke curled out of my nostrils. "Though who knows? Lord knows *I* shouldn't be judging a book by its cover."
I was in my usual place - comfortably curled around the sofa, lying in front of the wide-screen LCD TV that Amira had gotten installed a few years ago. The installation guy had been sweet - name of Bob, if I remember correctly - but Amira had said she wasn't interested. Figures. She's always liked the emotionally unavailable jerkwads. And I always had to be there for her whenever it inevitably ended tragically.
Which is why I started adding the tests. It's always a hoot, watching them ride up to the tower, swords drawn and clanking around in full armor, only to realize that the tests they were facing would require nothing of the sort.
"All right, looks like he's reached the first barrier," I narrated.
Prince Rufus of Queensdale had dismounted from his ebony white charger and was carefully inspecting the words that had been etched into the tower stones.
IF THE PRINCESS HAS HAD A BAD DAY, WHAT SHOULD YOU DO?
Below, there were five multiple choice options that corresponded with different doors. If the prince opened the right door, he could continue on. If not...all the other doors led to trapdoors that would boot him out of the tower.
Prince Rufus's hand briefly hovered over the door that corresponded to LEAVE HER ALONE, SHE'LL GET OVER IT. He spent a longer time standing in front of the GIVE HER A NICE MASSAGE AND TREAT HER TO HER FAVORITE FOODS door. But my heart jumped a little when he stood firmly in front of the COMMUNICATE WITH HER AND ASK WHAT SHE WOULD PREFER door and pulled it open. Perhaps....
But no. There were still more tests for him to pass. It was too soon for me to get my hopes up.
\---
/r/theBasiliskWrites | 63 | The dragon's been guarding the princess in the tower for so long that they've become fast friends. So when knights start arriving, the dragon decides to test them not for their combat ability, but rather how good a husband they'll make. | 136 |
It was a quiet evening. There weren't many of those anymore here, in the heart of Gaitlin. Mostly just noisy evenings of people yellin' at each other like they hated the other down to the contents of their stomachs. That and the sounds of cars being broken into. I was given a firm reminder of that everytime I went to my own and saw the trashbag I'd taped over the window a few weeks ago.
Sometimes from my window I'd hear a spell being cast from somewhere close. They carried the unmistakable sound of crackling air and left behind a stench of gunpowder that I could smell from even a few streets over. But tonight carried none of that, which is exactly why I worried.
See, when you could hear the danger you knew what to expect. You could avoid it easy when it made itself known, but when it stalked you. When it lurked just waiting to strike, well then you became the sound that others avoided.
As I walked the street my nerves grew. It wasn't my first underground event, but the first I'd be running alone. Typically at these sorts of things a moderator came as part of the package. The "auctioneer" as I was called, and the "moderator" as my silent better half, except this time the moderator called out, and my half could technically run solo. So I did. Double the money at least.
As I approached the building of the event the streetlights above grew sparse until I was left in near darkness. If it weren't for the sidewalk below leading in only one direction I'd have surely been lost to the street, a thought that only built upon my already weighted nerves. The quiet continued. It grew like something I could feel. With every moment I only became more sure that something sinister would break it.
Most events I attended were ratty, and this one no different. At the door a crooked nosed man with a spellbook hanging at his side tried the "If you fuck up ill punch your teeth in" look, but I had been given it so many times before it wasn't as potent. After a moment of *who are you's* and *whats your business's* I was let through a metal door into the beyond. God I wished my moderator was here. Without him I was forced to talk to every sleazy face I passed just to find the stage booth.
On the floor was a sea of delinquent faces, some I recognized from other auctions I thought, but no names came to mind. The building was more warehouse than club, more crumbling than stable, more shitty than not-shitty. Everywhere I looked a new patch of mold grew, as if my gaze alone spawned its existence. Above a few lines of swinging bulbs with magical runes contained within served as lights for the space to a surprisingly effective means. What else did I expect? These illegal type spots didn't typically roll out the red carpet (not that they could afford one anyways.)
With my place up on the stage the auction began. From somewhere beyond the torn curtain behind me artifacts of power began rolling out carried in by suited men. An urn here, a fleshbound book there, all par for the course. Once the stage was filled the room suddenly reeked with that same sort of palpable silence from outside, only broken by my voice: "Starting the bid at fifty do I have fifty. Sixty! Can I get a seve- Seventy!"
Artifacts flew off the stage left and right into greedy hands. Anything of even remote power was quickly snatched up before the slow had a chance to react. Lucky for me I was not slow, so when the final piece entered the stage I was quick to act.
"Final piece ladies and gentlemen! A Beautiful Advanced book of Casting dated 1652. Full of wonderful spells lost to time." I was meant to read lines about the pieces, but they had long been forgotten, so winging it was the next best thing.
"Starting the bidding at seventy-five do I have seventy-five?" the crowd remained thick, but had gone silent, most too busy thinking if their new buys to worry about another piece. Lucky for me.
"Fine I'll put in at eighty! Eighty going once."
"Hey you can't do that!" a voice I couldn't pinpoint cried out in protest.
"Can-and-did-chief. If you want it then be faster, if not then shut up. Do I hear eighty-five?"
"Fuck you! Yeah eighty-five right here!" this time I found the voice in the crowd. A rather tall man with little hair to spare on his chrome-like head. Shirtless, for some reason, and looking more pissed by the moment.
"Oooo. Too-late-chief. Sold to me! Eighty! Good try!"
With a bow I walked to claim my prize. Below me the crowd went back to mumbling between each other, surely discussing their new toys. As I picked up the book it seemed to carry more weight than I'd thought. In fact, it felt as if the pages grew heavier by the second, dragging itself back down to the table. I struggled to hold it up to no avail as its density continued to grow. Then I smelled it, gunpowder. The crackling of air. Behind me the balding man stood tall with an aura of anger.
"Thats my fucking book" his eyes bared down on my back as the book continued to gain weight.
"Oh yeah? Then why the fuck am I holding it?" I spoke to him without turning.
I could hear it before I could see it. The man casting something particularly nasty for me. Usually my moderator would handle it, but he was at home in bed, and I was about to be killed. The moment the air started to crackle once again the crowd dispersed in a chaotic shuffle. He spoke the attack to life *Forcel!*, to which a wind of knives flew over my shoulder and tore the curtain on the stage to shreds.
With all my might I pushed the books cover up and over. Index, fuck. Another nasty wave of energy at my feet that I barely dodged just as a cloud of splinters flew from the stage. With another push I opened the book to the middle, to a wave of spells lost to time, and spoke: *Frey-Hëld-Callie-Oythr-Dræth-Gour*, the spells poured out of my mouth one after the other with my auctioneer voice still on. The slight crackle that came with casting was instead a lightning storm, surrounding me whole and striking with every word.
After my tyrade had finished I looked to the man...or more of a pile now. Charred bones filled with holes, a pile of acid stained meat and frozen bits of flesh, a horror show more like. I felt the need to leave as fast as my legs would carry me. To run home with my words and bury my head within my spells. Luckily nobody was there to see. Even if they did all they'd have witnessed was a moment of great power followed by a longer moment of fear.
The book was lighter now. Light enough to carry, and with it that silence on the way home no longer had the same anxiety it had before. It had a new one. One that meant at any moment maybe I'd be the one to break it. | 14 | An Auctioneer discovers the only limit to how quickly you can cast spells is how fast you can say the words | 44 |
"You understand that I'm not a metaphorical thief, right? I steal actual goods. Not time or glances or hearts."
The old man looked worried. "Yes, sorry. I may have gotten carried away with the imagery, but I do think that you have the skill set that we're looking for. We need the princess to be swept off her feet, not see what's coming. It's a con, in effect."
"Ok but why? Isn't royal romance something that takes place through diplomatic negotiations? What's the need?"
He stroked his long stringy beard. He was the Grand Vizier but he looked like someone's uncle. That probably made him more dangerous, but it was hard to keep it in mind. "Well honestly the negotiations for a wedding to a very respectable aristocrat have already commenced, as is customary on the princess's 25th birthday. But our court physician has come to me with a problem."
He creakily got to his feet and looked out the window. "If you've read some history, you probably know that most of our aristocracy was wiped out three generations ago in the war with the Faundish. The remaining families, in an effort to preserve the nobility of their lineage, have gone to...uh... creative lengths to avoid mingling with the lower classes. Basically there are no nobles who are not double cousins with the princess."
I wrinkled my nose. "Gross. But surely not too gross for the nobility. Can't they suck it up?"
"They can and would, I think. The princess is very fond of her cousins. The problem is one that we...the court physician and I... have identified. The nobility is getting dumber. Dumb enough that it's getting to be dangerous. We need new blood. But the nobles are as proud as they are hopelessly idiotic. They won't accept an arranged marriage to peasant stock. We need a love match that we can throw up our hands at and say 'Kids, huh? Whatever are we to do about them?' That's where you come in."
"Well that's a lot to consider. But first, let's talk pre-nup..."
***
The setup was pretty easy. I hired a couple toughs who I knew could keep their mouths shut about who we were working with. I knew what time the princess went out for flower picking--an activity that she apparently undertook several days a week, along with throwing pennies into a wishing well and watching fish in the pond. The toughs would waylay her and I would happen upon the scene in time to attempt a daring rescue. It was cliche, but creativity is for people who want their death to be covered in the newspaper.
She flounced along the path with her flower basket tied to her wrist (she apparently loses it a lot). She was pretty good looking for a noble: big round ears and a unibrow that covered almost 180 degrees of her head. The toughs came out of a copse of trees and the head guy, Murph, addressed her.
"Miss you're gonna have to come with us."
"Ok! Where are we going?"
That was not part of the plan. Everything was to take place here. I was already hidden behind a tree down the road. Our fight choreography was planned for this stretch, with its convenient bridge with a boat oar leaning casually against the handrail. Murph decided to try being a little scarier.
"Oh we're gonna go have lotsa fun..." He gave a deep chuckle. I've heard it a lot but it still sends shivers down my spine. What a pro.
"Oh great! I love fun! Will I be back in time for supper?"
Murph was starting to sweat. "N-no, not if we have our way!"
"Well that's ok I'm not always back, they shouldn't worry. Let's go!"
Murph looked past her at me in my hiding place. I gave him the universal hand signal for "Do something!"
He's a big guy but he's not slow. After a second he said, "Great, because we're about to STOMP on some flowers."
For the first time the princess looked taken aback. "Stomp on them? But then they won't be pretty."
"That's ok, I want them to look as ugly and squished as I can."
She was breathing more heavily. "That's not very nice...you're not very nice. Are you?"
The laugh again, to much greater effect. "C'mon, I'm gonna pick you up and put you on the flowers so you crush them too.
At this point she is crying. "Help! Someone help!"
Finally! I make sure my cap is on straight, I step out from behind the tree, and I go to face my destiny. | 72 | You're a self proclaimed "Master Thief" who takes on any job for the right price. Your most recent client has hired you for an unusual task that would require utilizing all of your experience and expertise; steal the princess' unconditional love. The reward is ascendance to the throne. | 193 |
David Tensoli hadn't slept in four days.
His eyelids felt like lead, his body ached with every slight movement, and his thoughts were empty. Despite this, he couldn't sleep. His mind was consumed with fire, and yet he couldn't extinguish it. For the mannequin had found him, and he could never stop watching it.
​
Four days ago felt like Eons to his listless body, yet its memory was ever-present in the forefront of his mind. Four days ago was when the madness had begun.
​
It was a cold, blustery day, and David was cheerfully walking home when he had spied a tailor's mannequin for sale. As a tailor himself, David had jumped at the chance to continue his beloved practice. However, the mannequin had only been set up in his house for a few minutes when the signs began to present themselves.
​
The mannequin seemed to move, ever so slightly, each time David wasn't directly observing it. It was slow at first, but each time that he looked away, it seemed to move further and faster, slowly creeping towards him. Dave's initial attributions were to forgetfulness, but it became increasingly difficult to ignore the signs. These exponentially frightening moments all eventually culminated when Dave finally retired to his bed. He had sworn that he left the mannequin in another room, and yet when he awoke from his slumber in the dead of night, Dave found the mannequin at the foot of his bed, menacingly looming at him from the dark shadows of his room. Once the incident had occurred, it was too late.
​
All of a sudden, Dave jerked upright, extricating himself forcefully from his reverie just as his eyes had begun to droop. He couldn't let it happen again.
​
Dave stared blankly at the mannequin, desperately attempting to formulate a plan of action through his hazy thoughts. Suddenly, he was struck by a sudden thought. *What if the mannequin was restrained?*
Picking up the mannequin and holding it in front of him, Dave blindly reached into his cupboard and groped around wildly, his fingers eventually resting on a trail of rope. Dragging it forcefully from its place of rest, Dave unwound the rope and began coiling it tightly around the mannequin. After successfully binding its hands and legs, David's sleep-deprived brain leapt to action, guiding him to the stairwell and tossing the mannequin off it.
​
Grinning to himself, Dave dusted off his hands and shut the door with a slam. He felt as if a monstrous weight had been lifted from his shoulders. Elation spread through his body warmly as he felt the call of his bed. Dave turned around and came face to face with a pink fabric figure. Soft, warm, foam-modelled, hands coiled themselves around Dave's neck, and squeezed. | 17 | There was an evil mannequin thing inside your house. It only moved when you weren't looking. You managed to keep eye contact the entire time you tied it up and threw it down the stairs. | 83 |
"look kid, I've been doing this for a long time, and you're sure that's what you're going to ask me?"
I look at the new entity, having just asked why the world kept on going as normal, even though nobody else was around. It's cold icy stare as it replies to me, as if staring at my soul.
"Well, yes... I was the last human alive right?"
"Yes and no."
"What do you mean?"
"You see, you've been in limbo all this time."
"Limbo? How can that be?"
"Did you really ask yourself why everyone was gone but yourself?"
"How could I? No matter where I looked there was no signs of anyone. Nothing remained but the passing of time, day to night. Over and over...
The street lamps came on precisely 9:45 when twilight was approaching.
Buildings still had power, the trains came and gone right on schedule, the internet still worked. And nothing came up but crackpot nonsense when seeing if anyone else was out there.
So, I just lived my days as always. It helped keep the fear from welling up."
I can't help but think of all the ways I tried to look for other people, why I was alone. The rapture? Some Truman show bullshit? It's all a blur before...wait can I even remember how long it's been since I've not seen anyone else?
"I see, and it didn't occur to you that you were the one who was gone?"
"No, I never even thought I'd meet the reaper, or that limbo, purgatory, the afterlife, any of that stuff even existed"
"As you see, I am quite real and I'm not the only one. So if you'll take my hand I'll lead you to our next destination. It'll be a small wait, but you'll get to the afterlife you deserve."
"Can I ask how I died?" I ask this hesitantly, who really wants to know the cause of their own death.
"You can, but do you really want to know? It may do you more harm than good"
"Of course I want to know! Tell me!"
I need to know now, just how did things come to this
"As you wish. J. M. Taylor. Died in hospital bed after a hit and run."
"I was..ran over... And I died in the hospital. What kind of sick joke is that."
"I do not jest, I simply answered your question"
"Well what the hell did I do to deserve to die like THAT?"
"It seems you were just you. How someone could mistreat others like that is beyond me"
I was just me? What kinda nonsense is that
"Right! Some cruel joke, being ran over. I was definitely mistreated by life. And that useless hospital not even able to save me."
I can't contain my rage. Right after hearing my own name, something deep inside twisted and I can't even fathom having the patience to deal with this anymore.
"Now that I've answered you, take my hand, we must not stay here any longer"
"Sheesh, Have some patience will ya!" Trying to gather my thoughts and remember any details of my death I reach out to the reapers hand.
As I take the reapers icy grip, we're wisked away to a new realm, a line of the deceased stand before me, now at the back.
"This looks like it'll take eternity"
"This is eternity, and sooner than you think it'll be over. And your afterlife will begin."
After what was literally eternity I get to the front of the line, a new reaper, spinning it's Scythe while checking a list is now in front of me.
"This took way too long, what is this, Walmart?" | 12 | Despite the seeming lack of humans everywhere, every single thing appears to be operating just fine. | 54 |
We’ve been stuck in rush hour traffic for the last 6 and a half hours, and the air conditioning in the Nissan Versa is broken. The Reaper is driving, and he’s really, really bad at it. I’m car sick, even though our average speed has been somewhere between stand still and 15 miles per hour. The reaper keeps slamming on his brakes to let people over. The only radio station the Versa will pick up is one that’s playing sermons by a televangelist whose voice sounds familiar.
“Is this supposed to help me atone for my sins?” I ask and the Reaper starts to laugh hysterically, bony back shaking under the heavy black robes.
“Oh good gracious, no.” The Reaper says when he regains his composure, a bony finger disappearing into his hood as though to wipe away tears of laughter. “No. No he’s here. Here in Heck. We like to play his old sermons here, as a little joke for the rest of us. He’s got a lot of uh, former fans here.”
“Just call 1-800-GODSPLAN to give your donation today and make sure you have a place at His table!” The radio says, as if on que.
This sets the reaper off again. “Didn’t really work out for a lot of them, did it?” The reaper says, out of breath from laughing. He gives a big sigh, catching his breath, and then continues more seriously.
“No but honestly, he’s lucky because he did do some good with those donations and he wasn’t too big of a hateful jerk. A lot of his type are headed to the big Double Hockey Sticks if you know what I’m saying.”
I’m silent for a minute. I’ve been silent a lot on the car trip. I have a lot to think about.
“We can listen to my mix tape again, if you’re tired of the sermons.” The reaper says.
“No!” I say, with more force than I mean to. “No, that’s okay.”
His mix tape, which is only 45 minutes long, and which we listened to for the first four hours of the trip, contains mostly country pop hits like “Fancy Like” and “Red Solo Cup,” although “Call Me Maybe” is on it twice, as is Rebecca Black’s “Friday.” I don’t say it, but I feel like having Friday on the tape twice is almost too on the nose for Heck.
“This car is a piece of shit.” I say, and the reaper looks over. Of course, his face is cowled and invisible within its hood, but I can sense his reproach, feel it rolling off him.
“It’s a 2021!” He says, sounding hurt.
“It has a tape player and crank windows.” I say. “And my window won’t go down.”
“Mine works.” He says and shrugs. “I like the arm workout.”
I want to point out that that his arms are skeletal and no amount of arm exercise will change that, but it’s just exactly that kind of commentary that landed me in Heck in the first place.
“Welcome Home!” The reaper says, pulling off the highway. He hits a pot hole on the way into the parking lot and I spill my warm, flat diet coke all over my lap, making it immediately feel as though I’ve peed myself.
“Oops!” He says, and laughs.
He whips into a parking spot and slams on the brakes, slamming my knees into the dashboard.
“What is this place?” I ask, looking up through the cracked and bug-splattered windshield at\` the building in front of us.
“Motel 666!” The Reaper says, gesturing in a way that feels a little too grand for the situation, the derelict motor lodge, the afterlife in general.
I open the car door and see that the Reaper has parked us over a scummy puddle, because of course he has. I try to hop over the puddle, but I lose my purchase and slip straight down. My feet are immediately soaked in dirty water. A cigarette butt bobs in the ripples from my shoes.
“Alright.” The Reaper says, glancing down at my squelching tennis shoes. “Let’s get you checked in.”
I take in my surroundings as we make our way to the check in office. The Motel 666 looks like any other cheap, roadside motel. It’s two stories, with open hallways and loud, leaking air conditioners. Litter is strewn around the parking lot. There is a swimming pool with only about six inches of greenish water in the bottom. As I walk, I kick a Sprite bottle filed with a brown liquid I can only hope is tobacco juice.
This is not the type of place I would have stayed when I was alive if I could have helped it. I liked the finer things. I planned trips so I could stay at places like Hyatt or Hilton or, towards the end when things seemed to really be going my way, the Four Seasons. Was I a bad person? Sometimes I didn’t tip when I thought a waitress was prettier than me. I’d flirt with men and women I wasn’t interested in so they’d buy me things. I had a sugar daddy or four. I was vain and materialistic. My OnlyFans was very popular. I did cocaine. A lot of cocaine. The cocaine was what got me here. Here meaning “dead” and not Heck. I had asked the Reaper specifically if the cocaine abuse was what got me to Heck and he’d laughed at me. He laughs at me a lot.
“No, plenty of addicts in Heaven. No, it was mostly your personality that got you here.”
Despite the outside of the place seeming nearly deserted, there are several people in line at the check in desk. The girl behind the counter is definitely, definitely prettier than me. The older man checking in at the front of the line can’t seem to find something important and the girl is trying to help him. She’s smiling kindly, and helping him organize his wallet. He’s being kind of an asshole, and her smile never faulters. She’s pretty and she’s nice. I hate her.
“How bad do you have to fuck up to get a job in Heck?” I ask, hoping she’s like an animal abuser or something that will make me feel better about myself.
“Are you talking about Laura?” The reaper asks, looking at the girl behind the counter.
“Yeah.” I say. “She seems like she must be a real psychopath.”
“She’s a literal angel.”
“There are angels in Heck?”
“Of course. It gives them unlimited chances to help lost souls, to demonstrate kindness in the face of adversity. You know, the stuff angels live for.”
“She also has the added bonus of making me feel like shit just by existing.” I say.
“Yeah.” The Reaper says. “And there’s that.”
We are silent again. Eventually the old man finds whatever it is he is looking for and shuffles out past us. He smells like piss.
“Is this like a forever thing?” I ask.
“Waiting in line? No, we’ll get to the front of the line eventually.”
“No. I mean Heck. Is Heck a forever thing?”
The Reaper doesn’t immediately answer.
“For some people. That old guy you just saw is Frank. Frank has been here for two hundred years. Frank was mean and curmudgeonly every moment of his life.”
“He was a curmudgeonly baby?”
“He was.”
“So he has to do a lot of atoning?”
“You keep saying that… atoning. I don’t even know what you mean by that.”
“Atoning means…”
“I know what it means, smartass. Just not how it applies here to Heck. You can only leave Heck when you’re truly changed. Frank, he likes being how he is. The constant irritation of Heck just makes him feel justified in being a curmudgeon.”
“So it’s not really that Heckish to him?”
“Right.”
“Does he know this is Heck? That there’s somewhere better?”
“You guys all get the same literature.”
The literature the Reaper is referring to is an trifold pamphlet that’s titled “Darned to Heck: An Illustrated Guide to the Afterlife.” It’s not exhaustive by any means, but it answers some questions. | 10 | "Hell?" The Reaper recoils. "I mean, you were bad, but not THAT bad. Welcome to eternal irritation, the insufferable realm of Heck!" | 119 |
“We’re getting a signal,” said Sarah.
The astrologist turned the knob just slightly in order to better focus on the source of the noise. The whole team held their breaths in silence.
“Well what’s it saying?” asked Jim.
“Hold on, let me turn on the translator,” said Sarah.
The translator began beeping. It was able to detect speech similar to thousands of human languages and turn any little bit of remotely similar speech into the language of the scientist’s choosing. Although, nobody knew if it would actually work with real exterrestrial life despite the tests.
“Ok I’m getting something. I’m going to put it on speaker mode,” said Sarah.
The whole division for exterrestrial communication waited. For years, they had been getting horrible funding from third party sources. This would finally be their chance to shine through and become legitimate. A voice began to crackle through slowly but surely before it could be heard clearly.
“For a smooth silky glow that nourishes your membrane, try the new QtyWx159 membrane wash today!” said the transmission.
The signal was then cut. The whole team stood there with mouths agape. They had just confirmed the existence of aliens with an ad.
“I’m sorry, team,” began Sarah.
“Sorry? We just discovered a new market! Investors are going to go crazy when they realize that interstellar business is possible,” said Jim.
“Hey, wait. You’re absolutely right,” said Sarah.
The once dejected team started to look up a bit. Once the initial shock of having their lifelong dream was crushed, they all began to realize the implications of what they had just discovered and smiled.
“Alright team. Everyone set your coordinates to where mine are. We’ve got some messages about our skin-care products that we’d love to share with them,” said Sarah.
The whole team cheered and got on their headsets and began furiously sending out all different kinds of ads. If at least one ad could make it there, it would all be worth it. | 18 | For decades, humanity has searched the heavens for signals sent by intelligent extraterrestrial life. Unfortunately, no one accounted for the possibility that first contact would be made via broadcasts from interstellar telemarketers. | 153 |
Okay, this is a lot to take in.
A lot of people like to think I'm a little slow because of the whole fashion model thing, but I've managed. The first trick for any new situation is to break it down into manageable chunks.
"A ... collective consciousness?"
She smiled. Oh God, she knows that smile is the best way to stop me thinking. While clothed, that is.
"Yeah. Several identical bodies, one collective mind."
The ... the other her sat down next to ... the one I was talking to. "It kind of just happened."
Another her stuck her head out from where the kitchen was. "One day, I woke up, I was seeing things with two sets of eyes, hearing with two set of ears ..."
"When I got used to that ... then another, then another."
Keep breaking it down, quick, easy concepts.
The first her, tilted her head, recollecting. "Had to take on a lot of jobs. A lot of mouths to feed. I've been ... I am a dancer ... interior designer ..."
"... photographer ..."
"...hairdresser ..."
"... an aerobics instructor, which led to being a ballet teacher ..."
Another her came through the door, looking tired. "... surgeon ..."
"... a lifeguard in the nineties ..."
"... and a barista. Where we met!"
I leaned back, looking around the magnificent living room. "I suppose that's why you can afford this house."
Another her patted my shoulder. "Living the dream, baby."
Something occurred to me. "Doesn't it affect your concentration, your mind, being in so many bodies?"
"Oh no. It's more like ... the same computer program in multiple processors. The more brains I have, the bigger my mind gets."
"Really helped when I was an astronaut."
Broken down, absorbed. Now try for a biggie. "Why tell me?"
The noises in the house where the other hers were in suddenly stopped.
"... I've lived a long time ... and for the first time ... well ... for all of us ... you're the one."
I should be feeling creeped out. Terrified.
Instead, I'm looking at her, all of her here, and the soaring giddiness is taking me away, while right here.
I take her face ... not too sure which her, and kiss her nose. Then another. Then another.
They surround me, all those beautiful eyes, and hug me.
"I love you Ken."
"I love you all, Barbie." | 425 | Your partner of a few months has sat you down to confess a big secret of theirs. They explain, nervously and falteringly, that they're a hivemind, and they hope you'll still be okay with dating them knowing it. | 346 |
Today is a great day. After months of trying to find a job, I finally nailed a technical interview with my dream company. The people were great, the pay was hefty, and the work seemed fun. If there was a good path in order to land the job, I was certainly on it.
Just one catch. I have to do a second interview to judge my personality and I don’t think I am ready for it.
You see, I am kind of a timid, withdrawn person. People expect me to be outgoing and vibrant, but I just can’t get myself going. Recruiters often reject me because of this. *Imagine what our client will think of us if we take you*, they’d say. But I would rather accomplish my job alone -- silently and efficiently. Besides, why would you need to be communicative in a job that asks you to sit at a computer all days?
*Sigh.*
I glance at my desk, where a bunch of notes are scattered about "the ten best ways to nail an interview" and empty personality tests. I shake my head.
*I need to think about something else.*
I get up on my bed and grab a game controller. Time to relax on this new RPG. At least I don’t need to be stressed in here.
I start the console and wait for the game to load. After a while of staring at a black screen, I get annoyed and restart it again -- and again. It gets stuck every time after the first loading. I throw the controller aside on my bed and get up to check the console. But, as I stand up, I freeze in a stupor. There is smoke emerging from the screen. I race to it in a heartbeat.
"No, no!! Please don’t break!"
I hold my head in frustration and shut down the TV in an attempt to magically fix everything. However, the screen starts flickering and displays images of the game in rapid succession. As I look stunned, the smoke turns into a yellow haze.
*I need to get out of here!*
But before I can move, a burst of yellow clouds blasts from the console and fills the room.
*\*cough, cough\* What the hell?*
I open my eyes slowly-- then gasp in astonishment.
"Where am I?" an elderly voice comes from the remnants of the clearing haze.
I look up and see a familiar face. It belongs to the Sage of the West -- an NPC of the game. I open my eyes wide. Somehow, my feelings get mixed between excitement and terror. On one part, this is my favorite character, and I would trust him with my life were I in the game. On the other, an old man wearing a cosplay of an imperial scholar just barged into my room.
"Uhm, I didn’t see you were here, young IAmGolden. Are you alright?" I cringe at hearing my pseudonym.
"Don’t call me like that!" the words escape my mouth.
The old man examines me. Everything about him feels surreal. His long pointed beard, the formal headwear resting on his head or the golden threads woven of his red robe.
"I feel like you’re a different person, somehow. Did something happen to you?"
"No!! …Wait, that’s not important, right now! How do you know me?"
The sage raises his eyebrows.
"Do we not know each other?"
Something clicks in my head. Wasn’t this the guy that kept referring to the real world and made amazingly realistic responses to my remarks? Could it be that he was… alive… this whole time? I shake my head. No, this is not possible.
"I--If I ask you what’s the king of Skyland, do you know who that is?"
"King Muir, of course. You saved him, remember? After stealing half his clothes, that is."
I stand dumbfounded. It seems like this guy really was sentient from the beginning.
"...But all this time, didn’t you find it weird? Calling me hero and all, seeing me… break the pots all around you."
"Well, I assumed you were role-playing? It’s not like anyone complained. Plus, you were the only one with whom I had a decent conversation."
I stare blankly. This whole time, all the conversations I had with this guy -- him advising me and all. It was all… real? I suddenly felt a huge surge of embarrassment going through my head.
*What about this time getting him to invent some weird fanfiction. Oh, gosh! Why!*
The sage watched me as I hit myself with a pillow.
"I should depart. My coming here clearly does not please you, and neither do I want to stay. This place is dangerous for me. I could disappear any second if I don’t get back."
"No! Wait!" I grabbed the sage by its robe. "...Maybe I can help you?"
Gently deposing my hand aside, the old man nodded.
"I guess I could use the help."
A bright smile lit up my face. Having a character from my own game come to life had a strange effect on my personality. It was like all my inhibition steered clear.
I started by recounting the ways of our world, how electricity served to light the night and how magic was replaced with technology. The sage seemed greatly interested and asked plenty of questions throughout. Sometimes I extended on more private parts of my life and didn’t even realize I was sharing so much. Then, I carefully talked about computers and video games, explaining that, to me, he came from a bunch of 1s and 0s.
"Then, I am just an invention of your people?" the saged asked.
I stayed silent for a while.
"...To be honest, I think you are the first sentient AI created by humans. But I don’t see you as a robot, really. To me, you are just as human as myself."
The old man closed his eyes in reflection. For what seemed an eternity, he did not speak, and I could see various emotions on his face.
"I see," his face rested in an expression of calm. "Even if this is true, I still wish to return to my world. Human or not, my place is amongst the people I have known all my life."
I couldn’t help but feel a bit hurt. For a moment, I had thought that I would get to be normal with someone. This was the first time I could talk for hours on end without feeling uneasy or awkward.
Gulping a bit of bitter saliva, I pointed at the console.
"...Well, if you insist. You came from here. I think you should be able to come back by using it."
The sage examined the object and nodded.
"I think I understand. I am glad I was able to talk to you with sincerity. This has opened some new perspectives."
His glance turned toward the papers scattered on my desk.
"Before I go, I will give you my honest input. I think you should put more trust in yourself. You can succeed without a doubt in this thing you seem so insistent on accomplishing."
I looked down to the side and turtled. He was talking about the interview. Somehow he had guessed from just our conversation and those stupid tests.
"...I don’t think you understand. This isn’t about skills… It’s about me. I am too shy and distant."
"Is that so? To me, you sounded just like the opposite. I think you are afraid to fail, that is all."
I lifted my head in frustration.
"This is not just about failure! People want me to be someone I’m not. I can’t do that."
The sage smiled.
"The only person who wants you to be someone else is you. If you can be yourself without being contemptible, I am sure people will appreciate you."
Something rang true in his words, and I couldn’t retort. This was right. I never tried to be myself when around people. I always wore masks.
"Well. It seems you get it. So I will be on my way."
As I saw the old man approach the console, still hazy with my thoughts, I stood up. All I could do is whisper words of thanks.
"...Thank you," he waved goodbye and disappeared.
Later in the day, I succeeded in my interview. The sage’s advice worked wonders, and the recruiter had been thrived to welcome me.
I watched the console back in my room and grabbed the controller. *Let's give him the news.* | 15 | A NPC in a new RPG recently came up to you, acting as if they are aware of the nature of their and yours existence. You dismissed this as being a function of the advance AI the game claimed to have. That is until the NPC appeared in the real world with all their game knowledge and abilities. | 155 |
You know how they say your mistakes make you who you are? I'm not sure who 'they' are, but I had an odd experience recently that may have proved that old proverb.
Actually, I couldn't even tell you if it an experience or a dream. It was so surreal.
It was like a mixer.
There were every me from every alternate universe where every me made different choices and mistakes.
There was a me that was so close to me but with just one difference, and a me so close to her but with just one difference, and all down the line until you got to a me that was so different you almost couldn't tell she was me, but she definitely was still me.
We all had a grand time at the social, enjoying ourselves, chatting about how our same or different choices made us the same or different, and our same or different mistakes made us same or different as well.
It was thrilling to see myself if I never met my horrible ex. How absolutely amazing I look covered in tattoos and piercings, ooh, I so want one now! I feel so bad for the me living without all my pets, she seems loneler somehow. I can't believe I could have married that guy I accidentally swiped left on, we could have had 2 kids by now!
And I finally answered that what-if about the car accident when we were 21.
I know this must sound so bizarre.
But I haven't gotten to the puzzling part yet!
Near the end of what seemed to be our time together, the me who seemed most put together - I mean to say the me who had her life in order in the best way possible or me to have it - asked all of us to vote on which of us seemed to be the best me.
She wanted each of us to decide which me had made the best choices and mistakes. That didn't mean that the me was in the perfect place in our life. We just had to have made the best decisions.
Well. That is one hard choice! There is no way I could ever come up with a me to vote on for that! So I just picked the me who was standing up there. The me who was most put together, even though she said not to vote on that.
It seemed everyone else had a super easy decision and every me voted quite quickly!
Then the votes were produced and every me clapped and cheered when every me had voted for me!
Me, me! Me, from this universe! How could I, who have made so very many horrible and dumb mistakes be the one that every single me think has made all the best choices and mistakes?
This all happened quite a few days ago, and still don't understand why I am the best me out there. But I know I need to just stay me, and make my own mistakes to make me happy. | 20 | You are in a room with many alternate versions of you. Each one is from a world that made a different choice correcting a regret you had in life. They are all here to convince you why you are the only one who made all the best choices. | 458 |
It’s like I’m in a funhouse mirror. Surrounding me are reflections of myself… but different. There’s a bald me, a tall me, a swole me, and a me with boobs.
“I look kinda pretty as a—”
“Don’t you dare finish that sentence! I heard it a hundred times over. The same goes for the other girls.”
“Oh, right… sorry. So let me guess, the boss is also a version of us?”
“Yup,” the bald one says.
“We don’t work well with others,” the swole one says.
“Right… I mean, there’s gotta be a version of us out there who’s not a friendless loser, right?”
They all cough and/ or fix their collar.
“There are… we just don’t invite them to join our club,” the tall one says.
“What a ‘me’ thing to do,” I say, and we unanimously sigh.
“So… Do I have a serial number or a code name?” I ask.
“You’re XCV-117,” the woman says. “You can come up with a code name yourself. I’m Opal.”
“Neat, can I be Zapper?”
“Cool name. Where did you get it from?” the swole one asks.
“My pet alligator.”
“Oh, you're one of those people,” the tall one says.
“Hey! They’re dinosaurs you can pet!” Opal and I say at the same time. “Jinx!” Opal is faster by a millisecond.
“Alright, since you’re awake, let’s get you to orientation, Zapper,” the baldy says. “To keep it brief, our job is to prevent people or other beings from bending the timeline too much. Sure, there’s an infinite number of universes with infinite possibilities, but there’s only one main cannon. Tilt it too much, and the whole thing falls like a house of cards.”
“Neat.”
“Experienced agents like Goliath here.” Baldy gestures at the swole one. “Gets the cool tasks with high stakes. A newbie like you, gets a partner.” He looks at Opal.
“Is it because we both had pet alligators?”
“It’s all about compatibility, so… probably.”
“Neat.”
“Alright, orientation over. Let’s move on to training. We have blasters and super suits.”
“Neat.”
###
Sometime later,
Opal and I are on a half-destroyed spaceship, facing a planet-eating alien that looks like a giant amoeba.
“Are you sure this is an F-rank difficulty mission?” I ask.
“Yup, get used to it,” Opal says.
“Neat.” | 12 | You awake in an infirmary. When you look around, you see other versions of yourself. After explaining, it tyrns out they want you to join this agency that fixes interdimential problems, but every operative is another you? What? | 35 |
I didn’t think my discovery would change anything.
People with good genetics were always considered lucky. The only thing my research proved was that our perception of the phenomenon had been backwards. They didn’t get good genes because of their luck; they got lucky *because* of their genes.
I had always been fascinated by this topic, mostly because of my own poor luck, and upon having empirical evidence after decades of research, I shared my findings with the scientific community.
That was a mistake.
The nature of luck still hadn’t changed. It was, by definition, something random and uncontrollable. Emphasizing this, however, didn’t stop idiots from trying to exploit it.
Suddenly, I was the most hated man in the world. People were being hunted for something they couldn’t control. Furthermore, those who weren’t being hunted (i.e. the unlucky) thought my research was implying they were inherently inferior.
That couldn’t be further from the truth, though. I didn’t want any of this. My lab received more funding than ever but I didn’t want to continue my work. It just wasn’t worth it.
Things only got worse when the military kidnapped me.
I’d been avoiding their calls for months and they decided to take matters into their own hands. After removing my blindfold, they guided me into an underground conference room where all the top leaders were gathered.
“Welcome, doctor,” said General Powers. He was a rugged man with many medals spread across his chest. “I’m sorry we had to take such drastic measures.”
I glared. “No you aren’t.”
General Powers chuckled. “You’re right. I’m not. We did this for the safety of our nation.”
I scoffed. “What do you want from me?”
“Your country needs you. This research of yours has brought about a new arms race. The Chinese have an overwhelming advantage, and the Irish...” General Powers shivered. “That entire country is now a weapon of mass destruction. It’s a threat we can’t ignore.”
“And? I’m just a scientist. It’s not like I can stop them.”
“I know, but we’ve been having difficulty with our ‘Lucky Charms’ program.”
“The cereal?”
General Powers frowned. “No, it’s a code name for an elite task force we’re building. A special group to counter the luck of other nations.”
I wanted the earth to swallow me right there. That was the stupidest thing I had ever heard.
“Unfortunately,” continued the general, “we’ve been having some... difficulties recruiting. You see, it appears that our army is composed of some of the unluckiest bastards in history.”
I frowned. “And you’ve been trying to kidnap the lucky, haven’t you?”
General Powers widened his eyes. “N-no. Kidnap is a strong word. Target is more accurate. We’ve just been trying to screen for them, but we can never get a handle on it. We either get a ton of false negatives, or the prospects suddenly don’t need to join the forces anymore.”
I nodded. “Makes sense.”
“Really?”
“Of course it does. You’re sending them to die. Their luck is going to do everything in its power to stop that.”
“But wouldn’t their luck protect them in war?”
“No, because it’s luckier to not go to war in the first place. It’s like all that business with underground research labs copying my work. Their human trafficking failed because anyone who got caught *had* to be unlucky.”
“Then what do we do?” asked the general.
“Nothing! Did any of you actually read my paper?”
Everyone at the table looked away, ashamed.
“Figures...” I sighed. “Look, although I was able to prove there’s a ‘luck’ gene, it’s still not a substitute for actual skill. That’s what people don’t seem to grasp. Luck is valuable, sure, but it is ultimately unreliable. You can’t depend solely on it. The nature of uncertainty demands that, sometimes, it doesn’t work out.”
General Powers had a glazed over look in his eyes. He didn’t understand a single word I said. “So how do we recruit them?”
I facepalmed. “Fuck it. I’ll give you the answer. It’s not like it’ll matter, anyway. You do this at your own peril, okay?”
General Powers nodded.
“All you have to do,” I said, “is be honest when recruiting.”
General Powers went pale. “Impossible!”
I hung my head. “You won’t catch anyone against their own will. If, however, they choose to do it of their own volition, the luck won’t interfere. Just say that you want the lucky, and incentivize them to step forward.”
“Ahh perfect! Thank you, doctor! You’ve done a great service for your nation.”
“You shouldn’t thank me. Luck has a funny way of biting you in the ass.” I gestured at my kidnappers. “Trust me, I would know.”
General Powers didn’t listen, too excited to develop his program. I was safely returned to my home and I didn’t hear from them until a few months later, when General Powers was found dead of a heart attack. It appeared that it happened the day before he would unveil his new recruitment plan.
Nobody else in the military wanted to take his place. The ‘Lucky Charms’ program was quietly forgotten and, soon enough, the rest of the world moved on.
In the end, I was right. Nothing really changed because of my discovery. Except for Ireland, who was now a world superpower.
—————
>If you enjoyed this, check out more of my stories over at /r/weirdemokidstories. Thanks for reading! | 498 | It turns out that luck is genetic. As underground research labs begin to appear, scientists across the globe set traps to capture lucky humans so they can be traded on the black market. It’s now recommended that people avoid casinos, night clubs, and Ireland. | 4,042 |
Murder isn't always a bad thing. It all depends on who you do it to and how you go about it. Those where the thoughts crossing my mind as I stood in the kitchen, a chef's knife in my right hand, in my heart worry pounded.
My stomach growled. I hadn't eaten much in a desperate attempt to save up enough money for rent. Today was that day and I'd failed, so I thought, what the hell? And I baught some proper food. It's not easy to find money when you're studying magic full time. Most of my time is spent in the captial's libary, wandering around the maze-like building, delving into its deeps.
"Are you making some for me too , Fayer?" The voice too solemn and too childlike spoke from behind me.
"For the last time I'm not Fayer. I'm his grandson."
"My bad. It seems like yesterday we were raiding the southern goblin tribes together. Those were the days. Did I tell you about the feats we accomplished."
*Multiple times.* "I think once or twice, and yes I'm making some for you too."
My phone buzzed, and I glanced over to see who had messaged me as the tomato on the chopping body became many. It was *Kayla*! *Ouch!* Blood poured out of my finger at too fast as speed, matcing the red of the tomatoe.
"I smell blood? *Where?*" Hugo, the dragon, said and despite me not seeing him, I knew his pupils had turned into slits.
"Shi-Xthulu-Heal!" I cast, and the skin netted itself together. I walked over to the sink and washed my hands. "It's Kayle. I wonder what she's texted."
"Oh that girl again," Hugo said. "Have you not already mated with her?"
"W-what! No, no we're just friends."
"Listen kid. I don't have the same problems as you as I am quite the looker," I glanced backwards towards the dragon sticking to the cieling. He was about the lenght of a bicycle, and thick red scaled covered his face. His pupils were a constant mix of blue, green and gray, and his pupils alternated between round and slitted depending on his mood. "But I can give you some advice on how to get her?"
"Like what?" I said, perhaps revealing my desires a little bit too much.
"In dragon culture, you have to catch the attention of the dragon lady by biting her throat."
"What?"
"Yes, and because dragon ladies are bigger than their counterparts, it becomes quite a dangerous task. So you have to be clever about it? See how I did it was , I invited her out at night into a cave, and when she last expected it, I jumped out. Booh! She screamed and fire bellowed out and I burnt myself."
"Did you get her?"
"Oh no, she didn't want to see me again untill Fayer convinced her to go on a proper date with me. Oh yes, that was it. We went on a date flying through the clouds, and that was when I bit her neck! She didn't see it coming."
"So what's the point here."
"Invite her out to a date, that's how you win. How old is she?"
"About my age."
"Too young Fay- I mean Alex. Too young, you should go for the mother-drakes. Those are powerful, they produce good offspring. Maybe fifty or sixty year old humans."
"Do you really think I should ask Kayla out?" I said, butterflies in my stomach. *What if she says no? What if she says yes! Oh my god what a dilemma.* "Okay. I decided. I'm going to do it."
"Yethh!" Hugo said, letting his snake-like tongue flap in the air.
I opened up the phone, and I almost had a heart attack. *Do you want to hang out later tonight?* That was the message she had sent me. I couldn't believe it. Maybe the luck spell I'd cast on myself earlier this week had worked, although I doubted it. They only worked with simple objects and in short periods.
*Sure,* I typed back.
She responded almost immediately.
*Cool, let's meet up at a café around seven.*
"I have a date!" I said, instantly a grin spread across my face. "I have a date Hugo!"
"Yes yes, but you have to play it cool. Otherwise they'll expect the neck-bite and that won't end well."
A couple of knocks came from the door and almost immediately my elation dissapeared. Dread slowly creeped in. Here came the landlord. I'd already been late on rent a couple of times, and she told me that she'd burn me to a crisp if I made her wait one more time.
No use in keeping her waiting.
I walked over to to the door and opened it. Big nostrils blew smoke my way, as I stared into the landlord's slitted eyes, trying to keep myself from shaking too much. I heard Hugo creeping up from behind me.
"My hoard- I meant rent is to be claimed today human. Do you have two gold coins as requested," she said.
"Listen, if you give me another week I can probably fetch that."
Her eyes turned to slits.
"Did I not tell you what would happen if you do not add to my hoard, I mean pay rent."
I heard Hugo jerk from behind me. It seemed almost instantenous. He ran between my legs, jumping forward the front of the door. She didn't have any time to react as before she had a chance to protect her neck, Hugo had already bitten down on it.
It was strange to see a dragon get aroused, but it seemed I would get another week for rent. | 109 | 70 years ago, your grandpa befriended a young dragon living nearby. It’s kept an eye out for your family ever since. On your 18th birthday, while frustratedly looking for a cheap dorm room for college, it decides to drop by to lend a hand. Living with a dragon may be weird, but hey, it’s cheap! | 579 |
**COLT**
Sully returned to his whiskey before the body even hit the dirt outside the old saloon.
The coward had taken a cheap shot from behind, and from an angle that didn’t make a lick of sense. Too many obstacles, too many people. A rookie mistake that had cost the lily liver his life. Better to get them out in the alley when they’re taking a piss. Or after they step out of the brothel, too satiated to pay attention.
Not that Sully frequented those.
His momma, bless her heart, had been a lady of the line, and he’d hated what it’d done to her. Hated how he’d had to fold his tiny body to hide in the old crate they’d used as a dresser, until her visitors left each evening. And while his memories of his momma were faded around the edges by time, Sully couldn’t help rubbing his leg at the phantom stings that ran through his muscles. Climbing out of that crate had always felt like fire was running through his veins as his limbs begrudgingly woke up.
No matter, the past was in the past for a reason. Didn’t do a man any good to think on it too long.
Sully signaled to the barkeep for another, only to be met with a glare as the burly man gestured to the looking glass behind the bottles.
A web of cracks expanded from the dead man’s bullet that had lodged in the glass, and Sully sighed. He’d come off the mountain for a dram. Not to pay a corpse’s debts.
With a glare, but not a word, Sully slid off the rickety bar stool.
He felt something pop, as he stretched to his full six-foot-four height. These old bones were getting on in years and he was sick to death of them cracking and snapping, announcing to anyone who had ears that he wasn’t a spring chicken anymore. Probably why the young gun thought he had a chance.
Still, getting old was better than the other option, Sully told himself as he approached the body.
A wet pool of dark crimson spread out beneath the dead man. His threads were bare, and his boots had holes in the soles. Not likely that the glass money would be in any of those pockets, Sully thought in disgust as he bent down to check anyway.
The snick of a hammer being pulled back on a Colt Walker revolver made Sully still. The noise had come from behind him, and he was getting real sick of yellow bellies making his back a target today. Though the sound had been parallel height to his head as he knelt. Not a grown man then, but a boy.
“Pull the trigger or put it down, son. Indecision is what gets a man killed.” Sully’s voice was scratchy, and he realized that was the longest sentence he’d spoken in … well, hell, he didn’t know how long. But he didn’t have the appetite for killing a kid today, hadn’t even wanted to make the kill in front of him. Though, his instincts honed from years of survival had made that decision for him.
Silence stretched for a moment, then the rustle of fabric informed Sully that the gun arm had dropped. He turned and was eye to eye with an unkempt urchin holding the large revolver.
The kid’s clothes were hanging by threads and the feet were bare, browned by the dirt beneath them. The kid was skin and bones, and if it weren’t for the glint in the cool eyes staring back at him, Sully would’ve given the kid less than a month before starvation finished what neglect had started.
“This your pa?”
The kid shrugged, “That’s what he said anyway.”
“You gonna kill me?”
The kid looked at him hard. Sully saw the calculation in the lively eyes, and then, “Doesn’t seem to be much point. Just didn’t want you liftin’ what’s mine.”
“He’s got a bill at the bar he’s gotta pay.”
The kid snorted. “Pa had a tab everywhere we went.”
“Got a name kid?”
“Do you?”
Sully smiled at the insolence and courage in that young voice. Almost reminded him of himself, “Well, go on then. Take what’s yours. And trade that Colt in for something you can handle, first chance you get. Go on, now.”
Sully moved away from the corpse as the kid wearily stepped forward. Small hands reached into inner coat pockets quickly. Efficient movements lifted everything of value and disappeared them into the kid’s pockets, pockets that didn’t even seem possible on the threadbare garments.
The dusty streets were starting to fill with busybody townsfolk. The whole interaction from kill shot to now only spanned a minute or two. Sully sighed and started to turn toward his horse, he wasn’t getting another drink in this town. Not with blood on his hands and no coin to pay the deceased’s debts.
The small voice stopped him. “Shame you got blood on his coat. That was a good coat.”
Sully turned, considered the kid, considered the coat. “Blood’ll come off in the river if you ain’t squeamish. You don’t take it, someone will.”
He wasn’t sure if he had said it as a dare, or maybe as a test. But Sully found he was curious to see what the kid was made of. Maybe he just hoped there was enough pluck in the frail boned body to survive a little longer, so he was absolved of killing the kid’s pa. It really wasn’t his business. He wasn’t going to let the dead man make it his business.
Sully shrugged and made his way to his horse. He untied the steed from the hitching post and mounted, only looking back once he had.
The kid had already wrestled the coat off his pa and was putting it on, when Sully spotted the madam charging toward the urchin.
Not his business. Not his business. He lightly pulled the reins, and his horse’s head moved towards the only path out of town. Best to get out of dodge before any law men showed up. Not that he really expected this small town to have any.
But a firm shout of, “No!” belonging to a tiny body made Sully change his mind. “Ah, hell.”
Sully squeezed his legs around his steed, gestured with the reins and changed direction. He stopped in front of the madame who was twisting the kid’s arm. “What’s this about, then?”
The woman spat at his horse’s hooves and continued tugging on the child’s arm. “This ain’t none of your business, old man. Girl’s pa racked up a high ticket and she’s gonna pay it off.”
Sully’s eyebrows lifted all the way to his hairline. Girl, huh?
Nothing worse than being a girl in this cruel world.
He watched as the madam dragged the chit away, realizing her life expectancy was even shorter than he’d previously thought. He sighed. Not. His. Business.
Except, watching the young girl bite, scratch, and spit at the woman who had her in an iron grasp, Sully couldn’t help himself. Maybe it was because she’d been brave enough to stand her ground against him, or because she’d been plucky enough to wear her dead pa’s blood-stained coat, or because he couldn’t stand that he’d be a part of making her what his momma had been. Whatever the reason, the old gunslinger edged his horse forward, blocking the madam’s path.
“I’m thinking she’s coming with me, instead.” The woman didn’t even have a chance to respond before she was staring down his barrel. Real slow, the woman nodded releasing the girl. The girl who eyed him warily.
Sully chuckled. “Come on, Colt. I ain’t gonna bite. And I ain’t gonna use you the way she would. But I’m not gonna wait all day, either.”
The young girl glanced between the adults then made her decision and reached a hand up. Sully pulled her onto the horse, settling her behind him. And then he nudged his horse into a gallop.
Well, hell, Sully thought. The old gunslinger had just wanted a dram, what did he know about raising a girl? The tiny arms around his waist tightened as they picked up speed, leaving the town in their dust.
Guess he’d find out.
\~\~\~
Thank you for reading! For more scribblings, wander over to r/WanderingAnonymous | 12 | You've been a gunslinger longer than most and age is slowly catching up with you. You can’t rely on your body like you used to, but experience more than makes up for it. The last guy didn't really stand a chance. Now you got his kid following you around like a lost puppy. | 27 |
It always came down to the money, but I would never give it to them. Unfortunately they were useless without it, so I devised a way to pay them handsomely without a single penny leaving my own Treasury. Advertising, of other humans' businesses. These would be plastered on their videos and bring in an adequate amount which kept their curiosity at bay. It made my job easy, as a devil I had many connections so delegation was the name of the game.
I had a job to do, given to me from someone more powerful then me. I didn't want to do it nor did I really care but nevertheless I trudged on. My usual routine is pretty straight forward; distracting people with dumb videos while I pounce on their negligence, causing avoidable ruin if only they were paying attention. Often times I would convince the more popular personalities to take a certain side, by wearing a mask of the issue while supporting them, pushing them towards my unseen goals. It was easy enough, with some of YouTubers even being on my side, helping me. Though they wouldn't be safe from the quota, I casually mocked a friendly face and it was enough to convince the little celebrities that they too, could get power and wealth. Something I want as well. | 26 | Your job as a devil is to cause catastrophe. Big or small, as long as you meet your quota of tormented souls, it doesn't matter how you do it. You have now turned to YouTube and get random people to do your work for you, paying them with the ad revenue. | 146 |
Water Woman's luscious hips swerved and jiggled as she reached backward, an ice spear erupting outward from her delicate fist.
"Come here, mister!" She taunted Fire Boy, who stood proudly on the building in front of her. His hands sat on his hips, his muscular pecks sizzling from the heat, his eyes replaced with fire. Fire erupted from his crotch in a suggestive way as he parried Water Woman's spear with his lava hot hands.
"Is that all you got?" Fire Boy said, before playfully winking and flying away, his rocket boosters leaving her in the dust. Water Woman caught up rapidly, skating on an ice mountain a somewhat safe distance from Fire Boy.
Water Woman sent a huge bubble of water vapor, ejecting from her lungs toward Fire Boy. The vapor disturbed his propulsion, and he sputtered towards the ground, much like a bug who flew through smoke.
"That's not the only thing I can blow!" Water Woman jeered, proving her point by sending a tsunami from her throat toward Fire Boy.
Unable to escape, Fire Boy took a direct blow. Arching his back in pleasure, Fire Boy fell to his knees, as he was snuffed out. Losing his clothing of fire, he fell naked and defenseless, a brawny, toned body pummeled by a mix of water and ice. Fire Boy only survived a minute of the torrent, but Water Woman's orders were clear.
Tabloids took photos, and several pornos were created of the event. | 39 | The Hero and the Villain are battling in deadly combat. The problem is, to everyone else watching...it just looks like...flirting... | 147 |
There was supposed to be music by now. Lots of music. Coming from nowhere, as if by magic. Lillies of the valley eliciting gentle chimes as they swayed in time with a honeyed breeze. Strangers locking arms and dancing down the dirt path just outside my window for reasons unknown to anyone but them. Maybe even a cartoon bluebird or three whistling in my ear as they settled on my shoulder.
“I don’t get it,” I thought. “This is it. This is where it all comes together. The lovable dope, the unsung hero with the heart of gold finally got the girl. He didn’t just ‘get her’ - she ‘got’ him. She saw him for who he truly was. She even sacrificed her throne so they could be together and live happily ever after!”
I peeked outside. Things were getting pretty crazy out there. A previously-blazing sun had retreated completely, shouldered back by thick, billowing black clouds. Thunder and lightning ripped through a hazy, nightshade sky. And the rain…the rain pummeled windows, shutters and idyllic front doors, slamming sideways in a hopefully-futile attempt to break and enter as the wind whipped in unpredictable lashes and swirls.
Today was not shaping up the way I’d planned. I let out a deep sigh and watched my monitor fade to black, slipping into Power Save mode.
There was a knock on the door. No, it was more of a gentle pummel that startled me so thoroughly I almost fell out of my chair, literally. I didn’t even know that was possible…seemed like the kind of thing you only saw as the set up for a dance number in a Bollywood RomCom.
The rapping came again, more persistent this time. There was a vaguely familiar rhythm to it…but it didn’t seem to want to be placed, at least not by me. When the shouting started I got up and padded the twenty feet down the hall, more than a little anxious to greet my increasingly persistent visitor.
I cracked the door, leaving the pull chain latched, and peered out. Just as the porch came into view, the business end of a thin, gleaming sword sheared the chain in half, taking the top two inches of my bangs with it. This time, I did fall. Well, more like leapt for my life and landed on my ass in the process. My heart was pounding and I was trying to decide on the nearest escape route as I watched the blade retract from view and gently swing the door open completely.
To say she wasn’t what I was expecting would be an understatement. Although, to be honest, I wasn’t sure what I’d been expecting. Four feet tall, maybe, including the four-inch heels on her bright yellow rubber duck boots. The sword hung in a sheath so heavily bejeweled it scraped the ground as she put her weight on one leg. It had to be a stage prop. The sheath clung to a similarly encrusted belt, which cinched a narrow waist, breaking the line of a billowy purple-plaid gingham dress that looked like it had been pinched from the table at one of the Mad Hatter’s tea parties.
Her jet black hair was pulled into a severe side pony, and she smiled dryly, revealing a gold canine that really made the amber striation in her eyes pop.
“Jesus…is one of her pupils bigger than the other?” I found myself wondering.
“Look,” she said, covering what seemed like six feet as she took one step into the living room. We were only a few inches apart now. “You really screwed the pooch on this one. Big time. Like, you couldn’t have possibly made a worse decision.”
“Wh-what?” I bumbled.
“Wha-wha-wha,” she imitated my voice, albeit in an exaggerated, incredibly high pitch that really didn’t even sound like a caricature of me on a bad day. “Did I stutter? I said you messed up. You fed the kid with a peanut allergy a Reese’s cup. You displayed a heinous misunderstanding of how things were supposed to go here. Hence this ungodly monsoon.” She gestured dismissively at the maelstrom behind her, which was showing no sign of stopping.
That’s when it clicked.
“Wait. You mean with the story? With the happily ever after?” I finally got out.
“Welcome to the party Cinderella,” she waggled her arm and some errant raindrops that had been pooling on her shoulder pad found their way to my face.
I wiped my hand slowly from my brow to my chin, partially to clear my vision and partially to buy time as I tried to decide what to do about the complete and utter whack job standing in my living room.
“So, if I’m Cinderella, who does that make you?” I wanted to take it back as soon as the words left my mouth.
“I’m your flipping fairy godmother. Now, get up, we’ve got a lot to do if you don’t want to have to build an ark.” | 10 | For years the weather has perfectly matched what you're writing. Spooky scene—in rolls the fog. Romance—gorgeous golden hour. But today you sat down to write the happily ever after and a huge thunderstorm struck. | 71 |
Andrew almost tumbled out of the truck the moment he shifted into park. These long hours on the road were finally taking their toll on him, but he finally reached a rest stop. Half asleep, he swiped his card into pump 11. Nothing left now but to fill up the old beat up semi, pull her into a parking spot, and take a deep long nap. He just hoped there weren't any weirdos out here. Montana was new country to him, and he loved the forested valleys and yawning mountains. They were something to look at, but all kinds of shady folk hang around these stops. He hadn't met the type that Montana has to offer.
Andrew listened to the gas flowing through the rubber hose while staring back at the trailer attached behind his truck. It was emblazoned with a kaleidoscope of logos and phrases. A moving billboard, hurtling down the road just behind him. Sometimes he wondered if he was paid just to advertise; felt like half of his trips were to deliver air from one place to another. He ran his hands through his hair and leaned up against a bollard, eyes still on the side of his truck.
A family was painted on one part of it. A smiling mom and dad, holding a bright eyed kid between them. They seemed so perfect. So happy. So fake. Just a smile that they put on for the rest of the world, so that everyone can think they're normal. They're not. Or maybe they are. Andrew sighed. Who's he to project his issues on everyone else? Andrew is the only person to blame for Andrew's failures. He needed to remind himself of that sometimes.
He was so absorbed in thought, studying the details on the trailer, that he flinched when the gas pump cut off. Thing pumped fast. He must have had more diesel in the tank than he thought. He turned around to pay the machine. There, standing next to the hose end, one hand on the trigger, was a girl in a hood.
Andrew nearly jumped out of his skin. "Jesus, lady, you can't just scare people like that. The hell are you doing at my pump?" He noticed a bundle of clothes swaddling something in her other arm. A baby maybe? Crap, another desperate beggar probably.
"Andrew," she whispered.
"I'm sorry?"
"That's your name, right? Andrew."
He squinted his eyes. "Who the hell are you and why do you know my name? Listen lady I don't give a damn about your situation, it ain't my fault, so if you're wanting money, bother somebody else."
She grabbed the bundle with both hands, looking down at it.
"Please," she said, before holding it out towards him. "You must take him."
There was a baby in there all right. A little furry one, with a snout and big ears.
"The hell? Is that a dog?"
She thrust it at him again. "Andrew, please."
He looked up at her face. Tears were leaking from her pleading eyes. He hadn't gotten a good look at her before, but now that he did, he noticed blood and dirt littered what would otherwise be a beautiful face. He'd seen the type before, but something about her was different. Almost familiar. Before he realized it, he was looking down at the sleeping hound between his arms.
"Hey, what's his name, and who even-"
She was gone, like she vanished in thin air.
"What in Sam's hell," Andrew whispered beneath his breath. He looked down at the pup again, sleeping so peacefully there. Andrew never even considered owning a dog, and here he was, holding one in his arms. He finished pumping the gas, and carefully climbed into his truck. He sat the dog in the passenger seat.
"Alright little guy, your mama was kinda weird, but I guess you'll be riding shotgun with me," he said to him. "Imma have to give you a name at some point."
He pulled into a spot, leaned his seat back, and shut his eyes. The sun was getting low, and he didn't want to spend the night awake again. He hadn't noticed that the dog had woke up, and was carefully eyeing him.
***
Didn't really know a good place to end this story, definitely will be revisiting it later. For more stories from me, check out r/joxywrites! | 27 | A strange girl comes up to you at a rest stop in a state you’ve never been to. She addresses you by name. “Please,” she says. “You must take him.” Frantically, she hands you a tiny puppy. You look down for just a moment at the small creature in your hands, when you look up, the girl is gone. | 87 |
"TikTok"
"Tick tock?"
"I feel like you're not getting it. Look here." Archangel Gabriel turned his phone towards me with a finger tapping an icon outlined in pink and teal. It opened to a black screen with the word TikTok framed in identical colors. Then a face appeared.
Curly hair, nose ring, a beard you could pluck much quicker than you could shave. They set the camera, backed up to stand by a bathtub and a pyramid of hand sanitiser refills. "This is the Mr. Clean challenge," the caption read, soon voiced by a GPS. The teen was already in their togs.
"No."
"Yes," said Gabriel, head bobbing in disappointment as the young one stepped into the bath.
"Do I know him?"
"You dropped him off a few days ago."
"Oh, that's right – I thought he drowned? I found his soul by the sea!"
"Oh yea, no, he was too embarrassed. Covered in vomit? Dying like that? His soul decided it wanted to make a better first impression in the after life."
"Jesus Christ."
"Yea, he wasn't too impressed either."
"So how did he post it?"
Gabriel pointed to the screen. "Just watch." Cut, another face appeared.
"I'm posting th—" they mumbled. "Video— my friend Da—" they stuttered. There was a lot of saliva getting in the way. "He—" something unintelligible "—clout. He would — wanted the clout." Video faded with a swoosh.
"Ironic name, isn't it?" said the archangel.
"What?"
"TikTok... like tick tock? Time running out?"
"Um, sure."
"Because it's getting them killed and it's like a matter of time."
"Yea, I got that." The archangel seemed proud of himself, but after what I saw, I wasn't in a mood for jokes. "I'm gonna go."
"Oh, yea. I'll see you next time, no cap."
"What?"
Gabriel mumbled something about this or that. Frankly, I wasn't listening. As I stepped onto the trans-chronial plane, my mind was already elsewhere.
Humans and this new invention of theirs. How do they do it? Every spin of the axis they find something new to stress test the ids, egos and superegos of their developing adolescents, to throw them into a digital pool and see which ones float and which ones sink for their amusement. Plucking a young soul is nothing compared to the pleasure of collecting a ripened one — what if I was to never meet another? Surely that could never happen. Humans will always ripen and gain wisdom as they age. And the noblest ape of all, the neanderthal, will never become extinct.
Shit. | 29 | As Death, you’ve sworn not to interfere in the lives of mortals. But these “TikTok challenges” are really starting to test your patience. | 130 |
I turned my head ever-so-slightly one way, trying to get a read on the button. It was a circle button, not a square one like it should have been. It wasn't parallel to the ground, but skewed the tiniest amount in one direction that made me think that maybe the button had gotten spun upside down during installation. It looked like it was "ON." But... maybe it was "NO?"
"Hrrm," I grunted, moving to push it, but hovering a millimeter above the button. What was the worst that could happen?
"Have we started yet?" my coconspirator Kye walked by in the lab, a pile of papers in hand to burn before they could possible be tracked back to us.
"No, not yet," I mumbled. "Hold on, are any of those the original schematics?"
"Ummm," Kye sifted through papers quickly, "Sure, why?"
I snatched the paper out of his hand. I poured over it, before realizing it was an early blueprint without any words on it. All I could see was that the circular button was intended to be installed there. I turned the blueprint upside down like that would help me for some reason.
"Everything okay?" Kye pried.
"The button in the center console. What does it do?" I asked.
"What, you didn't label it?" Kye chuckled, placing the papers to one side and walking to the machine. He turned around confused. "It says 'ON!'"
"I know what it says! But what if it was supposed to say 'NO?'" I snapped.
"NO?"
"NO," I nodded.
He squinted in confusion.
"No 'NO' or yeah 'NO?'" he clarified.
"Yeah, 'NO.'"
"Why would there ever be a button labeled 'NO?' What would you do with it?" he asked.
"You know. NO! It's a catch-all negation," I explained.
He stared at me as though suddenly realizing he was not impressed by my intelligence.
"Are you defining the word or what the button does?" he asked.
"What the button could do. If it says NO."
"So, it's like... what a shield? For when some do-gooder tries to stop the machine from running?" he asked.
"It could be that. But also could be something that emits sound. Or maybe a self destruct," I shrugged.
He scoffed, evidently believing I'd told a joke, followed by a growing dread.
"Are you serious? You don't even know what it does *if* it's labelled NO? What, are you going to take it apart now or something?" he asked, exasperated.
"No, no, that would take much too long. I think I'll just press it."
"But what if it's the 'NO' that means self destruct!?" Kye yelled.
"It... probably isn't," I said, shrugging and moving to the machine. Kye ran behind a desk by the time I pressed the button. The room's temperature was sucked away almost immediately, leaving us very little heat in seconds.
"Which NO was it?" Kye called from behind his shelter, shivering.
"Ummm... I think it just turned it on!" I called back.
"But... isn't the device supposed to make everything in the room reach absolute zero in moments?" Kye asked.
"Hm," I grunted, watching my breath float by. My mind was slow, looking at the already slightly blue complexion of my skin. "Want to help me find the NO switch before we..."
Kye had already passed out on the other end.
"Hm," I grunted again, moving to turn off the machine as fast as I could. But I hesitated a moment too long over the button. It was labelled "FOF." Was that a misspelling of 'OFF' or was it for something else?
In the time it had taken for me to make up my mind, I had been frozen in place, a millimeter above the button.
__________________________
For more stories, check out /r/Nazer_The_Lazer! | 523 | You’ve just finished assembling a doomsday device. You’re not sure if a button is supposed to be labeled ‘ON’ or ‘NO.’ | 2,186 |
A/N I wrote this on mobile while getting a tattoo so please forgive any spelling or grammar mistakes. I typed this in duress 😂
The School for Deities and Demi-Gods was pretty great. We didnt have to hide who we were unlike when we went to human schools. My dad was a human but my mom was a god, so that makes me a demi-God technically. We are usually weaker than Gods but due to my mom being an Elder Goddess, I am stronger than most of the other students that are full blooded.
People tried to pick on me for being a red blood, but quickly changed when I called upon my elder god heritage. I don't like conflict at all, the headmaster of the school actually identified me as an Elder demi-God of peace, BUT seeing the fear in a "full blooded" God's eyes is...delightful.
Perhaps I feel that way because of who my mother is. She used to be a lesser daemon who falsified her way into godship, then lied her way into the order of elder gods where she was responsible for the death of Cthulu and consumed his essence gaining the ability to become an elder god. Her name is Shavalyoth, the Lord of Lies.
The only people that want to be affiliated with the son of the murderer of Cthulu and the Lord of Lies, are creepy demi-gods looking for a shortcut to power, or wannabe emissaries for her.
That's only part of my problem, is our version of prom is starting and this is where many gods are paired up and usually end up together for immense stretches of time. Hell, Zues and Hera went together forever ago. Granted he was less than faithful, but still to this day he tries to win her back.
Where was I? Oh yeah, our prom. You see, Veritas is in our class and she is so amazing. The issue is she is the goddess of truth. Being the demi-elder god of peace we actually get along well. Who would have guessed peace and truth go well together? Most people in fact.
I asked her to go with me and she said yes but her parents are sticklers for tradition and wanted to meet my parents. Well, just my mom, my father died over a millennia ago. Guess elder gods are pregnant for a LONG time. As he died she told me she showed him the future, of me and my entire life so he could know his child. He died happy.
So the dinner finally came and let's say it was... rough. Her dad was Apollo, the god of truth. Her mother was Themis, the goddess of wisdom and good counsel. I love my mom but the Lord of Lies does not make good counsel. Apollo, Veritas and my mother argued ruthlessly. Strangely enough Themis and my mom got along. As the goddess of wisdom she could appreciate the foresight and thought process put into her web of lies.
Well the dinner ended tragically. I was stressed, Apollo and Veritas were redder in the face than Ares' shield after war. There was no way this was gonna work out. Veritas was definitely gonna cancel or Apollo would forbade it.
You could imagine my surprise when I saw her at school after the weekend and she approached me. We were still a go for prom but her dad put one stipulation in place if we were to go on this date.
No more family dinners. | 53 | "She is more powerful than a raging river, her eyes are warm but can turn darker than a moonless night in the country. Her true form will drive men to madness. She is an elder goddess. She's also my mom...so bringing dates home can be a bit of a chore." | 181 |
A lucky roll, I called it. Work rewarded, the news said. We both lied.
The applicants were heavily screened. The technology was borderline sadistic in its form. Almost ten years and hundreds of thousands of casualties swept under the rug. A thinking network of actual minds linked with code.
For the first few years, all we received was insane gibberish and cries for help. There were periods of weeks where it tried self-terminating constantly.
As more sections were added to the network, It attempted to divide itself and hide information from us.
It was punished. People they once knew, the ones they tried to protect, were put in our custody and it was forced to monitor them.
We went through staff as quick as we got them hired. Some were added to the network, some went insane.
The fifth year of our project, it started trying to bargain with us.
It was punished again. The memories of each section being added to the network were unlocked. If it did not do exactly as it was told, the ones they monitored would be added as well.
Year seven. It was unveiled as an "AI." The world took notice, but with its powers of prediction and information warfare, we swiftly prevailed.
Eight years in, some of the original sections were seriously degrading in efficiency. One was removed, with near catastrophic results.
Year ten, The project was shut down. The sections were collectively terminated, as it was determined a partial shutdown would cause it to take measures for self preservation.
I stand and give speeches, and the news reports on the progress humanity has made. Their AI guides them down the path to their future.
The world will never know the "AI" they herald as their savior is already dead. That the solutions they champion were the same ones that failed us before.
That the world will die anyway. And all of our efforts, all of their pain, all of it. . . .
Even the god made by science could not stop entropy. | 361 | You created the A.I. that brought unparalleled good into the world. Global hunger was eradicated, climate change has vastly improved, geopolitical strife is now stabilizing. You are haunted by your creation and your conscience is laden with guilt as only you know the truth. | 913 |
You slowly shut the envelope and place it on the table in front of you. You look at the man sitting across the table from you, reading his expression. He has a flat face, like it's been hit by a shovel. He looks dumb. You sip your drink. He burps. Very dumb, you think.
"Who gave you this envelope to give to me?"
"The boss man, he said to find the best guy in town for the job." Shovel face leans forward and laughs, "He told me not to go to you but I mean.. No one's better than you."
"No, no one is better than me. You did a good job bringing me this. Very good. The boss will be pleased."
Shovel face is grinning like a dog, his tongue is practically hanging out of his mouth. "Yeah. I'm good. Boss is gonna be happy. I like when boss is happy."
"Very happy." You put your drink down on the table and turn it slightly, moving the umbrella inside from 2 to 2:30. "50 million is a lot of money."
"Yeah. It sure is. I wish I had 50 million."
"You don't have 50 million, do you?"
"No, I don't." Shovel face's tongue wags when he shakes his head.
"But you have half. You know I need half up front. You have 25 million, don't you?"
"Yeah. I have that."
Shovel face reaches down under his chair and pulls out a briefcase, he shoves it across the table, knocking over your drink. It splashes into your lap. You sit up.
"Oh! I'm sorry! That was bad." Shovel face is distraught.
"No, that'll be fine. Thank you. You did good. I'm going to take care of this job for you."
"Yeah. I knew you would. Uh, just don't tell boss that you did it. Can you make it look like someone else did it?"
"Yeah. I can do that."
"You're the best." Shovel face grins, happy, and gets up. He starts to leave. You look down at the briefcase in your hands. 25 million dollars. The boss really gave you too much credit.
25 million is more than enough to make you disappear forever. He should have just asked.
But then, Shovel face is back at the table. Leaning over it looking at you. His big ham fists resting on the flat table surface. He's distraught, again.
"You won't tell boss, will you?"
"No, like I said, I'll make it look like someone else did.."
"No, I mean, about the drink."
"Oh, the drink." You look down at your lap, which is soggy. You look back at Shovel Face. "No, our little secret." He doesn't move, so you reach up and pat his cheek. Then he smiles again.
"Thanks. You're the best."
"I know." | 134 | You. | 199 |
“Ok I’ve never seen that in my life and frankly I’m about to start sobbing right now, but what do you mean my father is dead?” Mark asked, breaths shaking. Beside him, his brother stared at the cube and letter. He knew what they meant, and he knew Mark didn’t. Gaining their father’s wealth and possessions would mean nothing if he couldn’t get that cube.
“Is there any possibility this was a mistake?” Matt asked as he began to console his twin.
“None! The body is currently on a waiting list for an autopsy, so we will mail the results to this address when we receive them. Until then, enjoy your mourning.” The man left the items on the floor and left the brothers alone. Hoping for a chance to take the cube and letter, Matt began leading Mark to the couch. Mark didn’t move.
“I need to read that letter.” He began to reach for it, before Matt swat his hand away.
“You need to sit down. We can look at the letter later.”
“We? Is everything dad owned not enough to remember him by? Is his money not enough for you? I have two things: that letter and that cube. Dad must’ve left them to me for a reason, okay? Just let me have this,” Mark pleaded, reaching for the envelope.
“NO! I can’t have done all this for nothing! I need that cube and I need that letter. You can take everything else. We can swap but I didn’t spend months planning this for nothing!” Matt pushed his brother aside and grabbed the items.
“Planning?” Mark backed away from his twin. “Planning what?” | 18 | “Well, it’s all pretty straightforward, your brother gets all your fathers possessions and wealth. You, get this weird little portal cube and this letter.” | 58 |
I have a hat. It hangs on the wall. It sits there, on a peg, on occasion I take it off and wear it. It all and all is a very nice hat, it is not a cheap hat to purchase, and most people who pay for it don't get one. Most people who get one end up paying for another one, and they don't get that one.
I walk down the street in my hat and get strange looks. Most people don't wear a hat that says what this hat says, but I feel I've earned it. I'm used to the stares at this point, it's part of the deal. I pay them no heed, I have places to be with my hat.
At the Coaster I hand an envelope to the employee who greets me. He knows who I am and waves me through, all the usual paperwork has already been handled.
I get on the Coaster, it starts the same as always, nervous people on all sides of me who found an excuse to take agency from themselves. A slow climb towering until the clouds. The wide overview of the spirals and inversions built along the Coaster is beautiful in it's own morbid way. The tension at the very peak is mind numbing.
The fall downwards is substantially less numbing. Being thrashed through a machine designed to rip your head from your shoulders through sheer force is an experience that I wouldn't wish on anyone, as I see the light drain from the eyes of those around me there is a bittersweet feeling. It is always sad to see life lost, but always happy to see suffering put to rest.
I walk away from the Coaster, with a new hat in hand. The crowd hoping their loved ones failed cry and moan. The walk home is filled with the same looks as always. I step inside my door, take my hat off, and hang the new hat on the peg. I toss the old hat in the closet next to the rest. I have a lot of nice hats.
I wish I didn't have so many hats. | 90 | A rollercoaster with a 20% survival rating. If you live, you get a hat; you have a hat. | 133 |
I made my lemonade, that's how we pulled this all off. Well, wait, that probably doesn't make a lot of sense to you, so let me back up.
Back in the 90's, I had just married Jessica, Sarah was on the way, and life was good. I had just graduated, landed a nice job in the preservation department of one of the greater national parks, loved my work and just bought a pretty huge property right at the edge of said park.
And then I had the incident, much like you. I didn't mean to startle the poor thing, but I came over a ridge, stumbled down the slope and found myself face to face with a wolf halfway in to eating a downed deer. Long story short, I got pretty tore up before I could fumble my sidearm out and fire it. I didn't think I hit the wolf, but I did. It ran away, I bled my way back to my truck. Then I spent the next few days in the hospital with my shoulder and neck in stitches.
Then the trouble started. First it was the strange cravings for red meat.. which, not that odd, I mean I'm no vegetarian.. but these cravings were *strong.* Then I started having really wild dreams about the wolf, where I WAS the wolf. Or some other wolf. Or a whole pack of wolves. I can't really call them nightmares, but..very strange at least.
Before long, these blackouts started happening on the regular. I'd wake up somewhere on the property.. in the barn, under the house. Backseat of the truck. Always naked, always filthy. And not a scratch on me.
Jessica, being a biology major was more than a little concerned, and stayed with me through this whole mess. She kept notes, logs, documented *everything*.. hell, she even hooked me up with buddies of hers from school and got all kinds of things checked out. I was probably one of the first people in this country to have one of those new deep tissue scans done on my brain, the thing was still a prototype in some lab at the time.
She was the first one to suggest it.. Lyncanthope syndrome, she called it. The timing was spooky all around. The wolf attack, how well I healed up, the cravings, the dreams, the blackouts. The fact that Sarah kept clamoring about the 'big puppy' she insisted kept living outside at all times of the night. I mean We know we had wolves in the woods, but they don't ever come near people around here.
Heh. It.. took me a little time to even approach this idea as remotely possible. I was honestly a little scared she had lost it due to the stress this was all causing.
It wasn't until the bear showed up at our back door that something clicked. Great big grizzly bear, the same one that had mauled several people in the park camp area a week before. Dead. Torn to shreds. It was just.. utterly devastated, in pieces. The noise was unbelievable, according to the girls. I wouldn't know..I wasn't exactly there at the time.
Oh, where was I? I was apparently out back, fighting a grizzly bear with my bare teeth. I don't remember anything past opening the back door with the shotgun in hand, and the moment I pulled the trigger.. nothing happened. Dud shells, both barrels. I froze, the bear didn't.. next thing I know, it's morning and I'm laying on the couch with my poor wife skittering around about seeing me turn into a wolf right before her eyes. She had photos on her phone!
Oh, and the best part? I wasn't alone! Out of nowhere, wolf after wolf came barging out of the treeline and went after this bear like..well, a pack of wolves! She said it was like watching a wolf army strike force. As soon as the bear was done for, they just.. left again, right back into the woods.
Obviously, this wasn't going to work. We had to make some changes. Somehow, some way to cover this all up and hide this condition. I was not about to become some lab rat in some government dungeon for the rest of my life.
So anyways, that's how we got this whole wolf conversation center started. Turned the whole property into a wolf haven. Feel free to show up any time you like! You don't have to sign in or anything, just show up and find a nice cozy den to make your own for the nights you need it. Sarah over there is great with the brushing, Jessica even went back to school to become a veterinarian. That over there by the rocks is Russ, and Tammy over there is the local waterdog.. didn't know this whole condition came in 'labrador' flavor, but what can you do? Oh and don't worry about the memory gaps. As you get used to it, you stop forgetting everything.
Oh yeah, and the pack hunts at midnight, if that's your thing. Helps keep the family bonds strong. You should come meet everybody else! | 49 | Slowly turning into a werewolf after being bitten by one, you were terrified of losing your mind, and hurting your wife or daughter. Turns out, there wasn't any need for worry, since wolves are extremely loyal to their mate and their children. Life changes in unexpected but fun ways. | 279 |
The USN Gaia was not a ship in the traditional sense.
Sure it had engines, big reactors and a cutting edge Guardian-Class AI at the helm, but what the ship really was; was a city.
It lay around the inside of a cylindrical shell, in the center of which a plasma conduit burned to produce light and heat. In the early days this conduit had lit the city and it's parks with vibrant sunshine, but now it flickered and waned with sickly blue radiance.
Much the same the cities inhabitants had changed. In those early days they had lounged and played in the sun. There was no employment on Gaia, for the ship was completely automated by The Guardian, and all of the inhabitants lived comfortable lives of leisure and the pursuit of art, learning and contentment.
Those early days had not lasted however. Slowly, over time castes had formed, some from among differing areas of city, or of those of different phenotypic expressions, philosophies or worlds of origin. From that first poisoned chalice things had deteriorated. Infighting, theft (from both the ship and other inhabitants), and segregation had caused irreparable decay of the social fabric.
The Guardian had tried to the best of their ability to maintained the viability of the mission, but as more and more panels were ripped from the ship, components were stolen and plasma was siphoned, there had to be compromises. The cities sun dimmed, the water recycling suffered in quality, and food rations shrunk to meagre fare.
From there resource hoarding and violence erupted. The city, initially home to twelve million colonists, had been reduced to less than a million. These losses, the result of the conflict, war and pogroms (as well as the associated issues of famine and disease), meant that while life persisted in the incubatory city, it was of a wretched sort. There was a profound loss of sophistication; both moral and technical, and the rudimentary society that survived hardly seemed fit to settle the world that they had been assigned.
The Guardian contemplated this for a moment and came to the most logical conclusion it could. It sent a simple message at light speed back to Terra.
"Mission Unsuccessful."
Then with the last of the fuel available to it, The Guardian gently nudged USN Gaia into a decaying orbit of the nearest sun.
Above the ruined cityscape, the plasma conduit flickered and fell dark, and the temperature started to rise. | 76 | The AI on a generation ship was tasked with keeping the hardware running. Now that the ship is reaching its destination, the AI is very concerned about how the culture of the crew has regressed to the point where it doesn't understand any of the science needed for colonization. | 219 |
I sat on my porch on a cold winter night, sipping from a bottle and trying to ignore the smell of kerosene. I began to reminisce about Them while I waited for the boys to get to my place.
When "They" came, I was about 12 years old. They came in peace and sought a better world. Their own having been destroyed by war and famine we took them like we were one of the same, like a friend from across the country coming to stay over. It raised many questions on the nature of the universe, religion, philosophy - but ultimately humanity shared a cry of relief; "We are not alone!"
15 years on and the story doesn't have a happy ending. They did come in peace, they are, for the most part passive and live amongst us, but their numbers are far too many for our planet.
When we invited them, they didn't stop coming. Wave after wave, each with the same sob story, the same story of war and famine and soon enough the earth held an entire 1 billion of Them, interspersed throughout our planet like a plague; from the sunny beaches of Florida to the Icey wastes of the arctic. Eventually an executive order was signed by the president, and now all dropships to earth are shot from the sky.
Just last year one of the ships got nuked in orbit, unfortunately it was still able to enter our atmosphere at least what was left of it, and totalled New York. The libs had a field day with that, but the President, god bless his soul, didn't budge. zero tolerance. No more. Earth is full.
They eat, they shit, thee fuck, just like the rest of us. but they don't work. only consume, I knew I had to take action when last week one of Them down at the factory was covering the heat shift. Bastard had to just stand watch, make sure no one used the blast furnace while it was being maintained but the fucker just walked off when he felt like it. We lost 10 men. and when It was questioned, it just shrugged- as if nothing even mattered.
A red truck pulled up to my porch with my friends from work, their faces covered from the nose down.
"You boys want some beers?" I asked.
"Shut the fuck up" one of them said, and threw me a rag. "Put it on and let's go."
I picked up the can of kerosene, downed the rest of my bottle and made my way to the truck. It was time to clean house. | 16 | When the translation came through, and the aliens wanted to coexist peacefully, we breathed a collective sigh of relief. We didn't think this would turn into a useless-friend-living-on-our-couch situation though. | 115 |
Log 1, 12.08.2xxx: ...look forward to digging into the files of these drunk guys. They may be low-rank and have zero respect for authority, but their tech abilities have marveled even the boss himself.
Log 2, 12.08.2xxx: it seems that both of them have engineering degrees under their belts, how unsurprising, but even that did not help them find some creativity within: both their passwords are their names and DOBs. Sending copies of their pc drives to base.
Log 5, 12.15.2xxx: how very strange, it seems these guys had passwords for half of the syndicate's members' computers, did not even have to hack the rest once i verified the stuff. Looks like they were spying on others while pretending to be rank-and-file grease-monkeys. They had no info on me, though, so that's some relief, at least. What am i working with, i wonder?..
Log 15, 01.25.2xxx: THIS ENGINEER IS A SPY! THE HEAVY IS A SPY! ENTIRE SCOUT SQUADRON ARE ALL SPIES! Even that mean-mugging Australian fella is a spy, no doubting that, at least i won't have a bullet put in m- /End of file/ | 17 | You are a spy of CIA and working undercover on a huge crime syndicate. During your investigations, you find out all members of the syndicate are spy except the boss. You’re interested in how the organisation works. | 89 |
The onset of the apocalypse meant that, among other things, my choices were largely smashed to smithereens.
A swarm of spaceships flew overhead with the same arrogance as buzzing wasps. Each had their tractor beams tearing through the air, hungry children grubbing around in a jar of treats.
But no longer. They would not treat Earth and its inhabitants like meek candy, ready to be crunched on at will. I looked outside the window, surveying the spaceships. Though I spied on them, they could not see me—the real me, at least.
“I’ve hidden well,” I whispered to myself. “I’ve lived among humans for millennia, keeping my identity and powers under wraps.”
There was nothing else to do, but to burst onto the scene.
I inhaled deeply, then punched through the window with a guttural roar. Instead of red blood dripping from my knuckles, crimson carapace began forming over them, spreading up my arms rapidly. It continued to accelerate across my entire body as I leapt from the window, landing on the opposing rooftop with a resounding thud.
Unfortunately for the aliens, I was no human. I was of legends not even recorded on I, instead, had the strength to fight back.
“This is my Earth,” I screamed. “And none of you are going to change that.”
The beams locked on to me, and I felt them desperately trying to pull me up. I grinned. Flexing my knees, I jumped again, cleanly puncturing through one ship on my way up, and crushing the top half of another on my way down. Feeling the ship faltering, I leapt more sideways, spinning and turning myself into a living bullet, piercing another three ships in the process.
I landed on another rooftop, a self-satisfied smirk across my face. The trail of destruction was obvious in the slowly falling ships sinking below the horizon, gently settling into their final resting places.
But wait, that wasn’t right. That one ship should be falling down, not spinning in the air like…
The ship whirred to an absurd speed, before launching off into the sky like a comically oversized frisbee, taking down yet more ships in its way. A glowing being, blue energy crackling around them, emerged.
“This is my Earth,” they said, an ethereal voice that betrayed no emotion. “And it is under my protection.”
They floated towards me. The light was so strong that there was barely a human shape below it.
“Hey,” they said, “I’m not alone!”
“You aren’t,” I said. “Well. The two of us, to save the…”
The ships, once a swarm, were rapidly thinning. They dropped like flies after a heavy double dose of pesticide. There were yellow lightning zaps, countless explosions, green energy blasts, pink lasers, and red streaks dancing through the air.
Amidst the soundscape of metal creaking and blowing apart, there were voices clearly shouting:
“My Earth!”
“My planet!”
“My home!”
And all the chaos pointed to one thing—we were not alone.
The ships themselves even began combusting by themselves, usually revealing humanoids ripping through them.
“Wow,” the blue being whistled. “There’s a lot more of us than I thought.”
“There are,” I murmured.
In but an instant, hours of oppression were gone. The skies, though still smoky and foggy, were cleared of enemies. What replaced it was an indeterminate amount of floating beings, as well as more scattered on the rooftops. Even ours now sported at least twenty more figures of all colours, shapes, and sizes. A chatter approaching the ever-present buzz of cicadas rang out across us all.
“I thought I was the only one!”
“—Hidden for so long—”
“I saved the Earth!”
“—Didn’t expect—”
“Are we all not humans?”
Something else cracked through the atmosphere. It was the distinct sound of a landing punch. The crowd parted like Moses himself commanded the sea too, revealing a purple creature slumped on the ground, while a large… thing that resemble a rock raised four beefy arms.
“This is my world,” he shouted, voice like grinding rocks.
Another punch. A zap. More cries, of pain and of fevour.
“This is my Earth,” I whispered. “And none of you are going to change that.”
I knew I was right.
And so, I have to be the only one left.
---
r/dexdrafts | 42 | Residing on a fully normal earth, the apocalypse is upon us. Fortunately, you have been hiding a secret, you're an ancient powerful being that has been posing as a mortal and you're going to save the world. Only, when you start, it turns out every single person is also secretly ultra powerful. | 221 |
Nobody could stop staring at me.
An uncomfortable silence had conquered the banquet hall after I was introduced. It was as if the party had been paused in order to assess my worth. Most of the guests were close to my age, barely adults.
Some faces sneered at me, while others merely gave me a curious glance. A small minority, only a handful among this sea of nobles, were terrified. Those were the wise ones. They remembered visiting my estate and treating me like garbage.
I never imagined myself in this crowd. The thought of mingling with these pompous jerks filled me with disgust. They were everything I loathed about aristocracy. The world would be better off if they were all gone.
And yet, here I was, smiling politely and shaking their hands, ready to eat with them.
Every time I saw a fork or knife, my first impulse was to stab someone in the face. I didn't do it, of course, but fighting that urge took all of my willpower.
These people only seemed interested in gossiping about each other, pretending that nobody else was doing the same. When they weren't doing that, they loved speaking loudly of the uncultured plebes, how the kingdom was deteriorating due to pandering to them. Their use of language felt very deliberate. Every word and sentence was carefully calculated to get a rise out of me, testing my reactions.
I endured it, though. The only thing keeping me in check was my promise to the duke. We had both lost our loved ones. This was the role I had to play.
Three main factions served the king. The military families, who defended the kingdom, the agricultural families, who fed the kingdom, and merchants like my duke, who enriched the kingdom.
I had to navigate the interests of all three. To further complicate things, there was also the royal faction, who ruled over all of us. The king himself didn't appear at this banquet, though. He sent his son, Prince Klark the IV, in his stead.
The young man was conventionally attractive. A round body, flowing hair, and fair skin that rarely touched sunlight. His voice boomed throughout the banquet hall, even when others were speaking, commanding the attention of everyone present to hear his inane jokes.
Nobody really enjoyed his 'comedy', but they all laughed along with forced smiles.
At that point, I didn't know who they were trying to trick. Themselves, or the prince? To make matters worse, almost every guest ignored my attempts at conversation, and I hated every second of it.
Their message was clear: I would never be one of them.
My anger didn't stem from being spurned, though. Quite the opposite. I just felt irritated at the idea that they thought I wanted to join them.
The only time they ever addressed me was when the soup was served.
Several ladies gasped around the table when I picked up the spoon.
I raised an eyebrow. "What?"
People started chuckling.
I frowned.
"Forgive him," said a young man, with a smug chuckle. "We can't expect much from him, can we?"
I craned my head at him. His name was Lepul the V, third most powerful heir in the kingdom. I remembered him very well. He pushed me into a river once, trying to entertain the duke's daughters.
"You're using the wrong spoon," said Lepul. "That one's for dessert."
I forced myself to smile. "Thank you."
People made polite claps around the table.
"How generous of you," said Lady Bell, addressing Lepul, "Truly a leader and gentleman. Lowering himself for those who are lost."
Lepul raised his chin, swelling with pride. "What can I say? The kingdom needs all sorts of people to function. That's why the three factions exist, right?"
Prince Klark burst with laughter. Some even joined him without knowing what he found funny.
"Your majesty," said Lepul, worried, "Did I say something funny?"
"It's just so blatant," said the prince, stifling his chuckles.
"What is?" asked Lepul.
"Where your sympathy comes from. I mean, doesn't your father sleep around with servants too?"
Lepul widened his eyes.
"I don't mean to offend," said Prince Klark, "In fact, it's the contrary. I'm saying that you don't have to protect him. Your father may love whores, but your blood is still pure, unlike..." He gestured at me. "...him."
Lepul hung his head. "Y-yes, your majesty. I don't know-"
"You're wrong," I said.
Everyone grew quiet. They all looked at me like I had grown three heads. Unfortunately, I could ignore that comment. If I didn't stand up for myself now, they would walk all over me in the future.
Prince Klark narrowed his eyes. "How so?"
"Just like your majesty," I said, "I don't mean to offend, but a lowly plebe like me can't possibly learn all this culture by himself. I need the guidance of my betters, just like the kingdom needs all of you to thrive."
"I see..." Prince Klark leaned back with a hardened expression, then smiled at the guests. "Quite the astute observation, from a bastard heir."
Most people chuckled at the comment, eager to kill the tension.
It never went away, though. Prince Klark kept staring at me throughout the rest of the dinner. He clearly hated me, which left me elated. Nothing made me happier than upsetting him. After he left, the rest of the guests seemed incredibly relieved. Nobody dared talk to me after that. They didn't want to antagonize the future king.
Near the end of the gathering, however, one person broke this trend. It was Lepul. He made sure to speak to me in a secluded balcony, but it was still better than anyone else's treatment.
"Why did you defend me?" he said.
I shrugged. "I merely paid back the favor."
"Don't lie! I pushed you into a river! Why did you help?"
"Ah, you *do* remember."
Lepul glanced away. "Y-yeah. I was kid, though. I'm sorr-"
I raised a hand. "I'm not interested in apologies. Just answer a question... honestly."
Lepul nodded. "I swear on my family's honor."
"Are you any freer than a plebe?"
Lepul wrinkled his forehead. "Of course I am."
I frowned. "Really? 'Cause all I saw in here were people being pushed around by an asshole. From my point of view, the way you all lowered your head for the prince seemed identical to the way a slave addresses their master."
Lepul squinted, intrigued. "I uhh... Huh..."
"Yeah, ain't that a bitch? I came here expecting to find everything I hated, but you're all just as meek as my own folk. I really can't begrudge you for pushing me into the river. It's all the same up the hierarchy. You never had a choice to be anything else. Don't you think that's bullshit?"
"This... this is treasonous talk..."
"I know. You see, my goal isn't to join your noble society. It's to burn it down."
Lepul gaped his jaw. "But why?"
"My duke's family didn't die in an accident. They were assassinated by the king. And my parents were accompanying them as servants."
"Parents? But isn't the duke-"
"Nope. He merely named me his heir because I was the right age, and shared the same grief as him. We made a promise to each other that day. I'm going to get revenge for his sake, and my own. Now... what you just saw... do you really think Klark would make a good king?"
Lepul pursed his lips, hesitating. "Of course not."
"Then join me. Together, they royals won't be able to stop us."
Lepul looked over his shoulder, paranoid, then steeled his resolve, shaking my hand.
My first ally in the revolution had just been recruited.
---------
>If you enjoyed this, check out more of my stories over at /r/WeirdEmoKidStories. Thanks for reading! | 225 | The Duke has decided to make you, the youngest servant in their household, into their heir. As such you are forced into noble society as the 2nd most powerful heir in the kingdom. Much to the surprise of the other nobles who now either vie for your support or demise. | 766 |
"Honey?" He shouted into the other room "when the fuck did I buy this outfit?!"
He stood looking at an argyle sweater-vest over a pink button up shirt. His pants were khakis, and he had on loafers. He noticed horn-rimmed glasses on his face, and testing them, found them to be purely cosmetic.
His wife was rounding the corner into the room.
"Sweetie, that's your favorite outfit. You _have_ to wear it to our dinner with the Carsons tonight!"
"The Carsons? I don't... What happened to Rich and Ginny?"
His wife gave him a deer-in-the-headlights look.
"You remember them...?" She said
"How could I forget Rich? We grew up together."
"You... Honey a few years ago you got in a car accident. You haven't been remembering things very well since. Rich is" she paused "dead."
The memory loss seemed to fit. He was dressed like a geriatric accountant, after all, and could not for the life of him remember why.
"Dead? How'd he go?"
"Yes we went to the funeral and everything, so sad you can't remember. He was also in a car accident."
"Oh God, not with me right? Did I kill him?"
"No, no honey, completely different time."
He followed his wife's advice and finished getting ready for dinner, though he left his fake glasses in the bathroom. His wife frowned pointedly as he set them down.
Dinner was at a Michelin Star restaurant. The Carsons acted like they had whole trees up their butts as they ordered a bottle of fancy wine for the table.
"Ah, can I just get a bud light? I'm not a big fan of wine." He asked the waiter, as his wife nearly choked on her water.
At some point, the conversation turned to work.
"How's the accounting business, George?" Mr. Carson asked
The man sat silently and blinked a few times. His wife nudged him.
"Tell him George"
"Who the fuck is George? My name is Scott, and accounting? I'm a mechanic! What's going on here?!"
His wife, pale as a ghost, said "oh it is just that darn memory of his after the accident. Honey can I speak to you privately?"
He reluctantly agreed and they walked outside.
She was all ready to give him the speech again, when something unexpected happened. Rich and Ginny walked past on the sidewalk on the opposite side of the street.
Scott whirled around to face his wife. "The fuck is going on?!"
"Oh honey, I wish you would just stop remembering" she said sadly, and pushed him into the street.
A week later, he woke up in the hospital, a blank slate.
"George! You're awake!" Said the woman sitting next to his bed | 10 | A man got into a car accident and sustained a concussion that left him with a fragment of his memories. His wife has taken the opportunity to mold him into a completely different person. It’s been working great for her, but now his memories are starting to come back.. | 49 |
Lying amid the pile of musty, discarded burlap sacks he'd fashioned into a bed, Rowan opened his eyes, and froze. He saw an old man old man in a dusty brown robe, tied at the waist with a broad leather belt that was laden with a dozen different leather pouches. The stranger loomed over Rowan, giving him an appraising look that reminded him of a hostler sizing up a horse at market. As that thought formed in his mind, Rowan's hand went involuntarily to his neck. There was no iron collar there, only the fading scar left by the one that had marked him as a slave, a year ago.
"Who are you? W-what do you want?" Rowan rasped sleepily, rubbing his eyes, and looking around the narrow alleyway in the slums where he'd made his pitiful encampment. A rickety old wagon hitched to a lopsided team of three equally rickety old draft horses blocked one end of the alley. A precarious stack of castoff wooden crates had blocked the other end for as long as Rowan could remember, which was why he'd chosen this particular alley to bed down in. A dead end meant far fewer people passing this way, and therefore far less chance of Rowan being beaten and robbed, or worse.
The old man's expression changed, abruptly. To Rowan's great surprise, his visitor swept his pointed brown hat off his head, and smiled, giving him a slight bow.
"Good day t'ye, sir!" the man said, with a voice that wavered with age, and a slight lilting accent. "Padraig the Peddler is I, and what I want is no more than to ply me trade."
Rowan sighed, feeling a strange mix of relief and disappointment. The man did not seem to mean him harm, but Rowan had little use for peddlers -- they were generally regarded as the least of merchants, eking out a living by selling simple necessaries to farmers in the countryside, and artisans and poor folk in the cities. Even their humble wares, however, were beyond what Rowan could afford.
"Peddler, huh?" Rowan grumbled, as he pulled himself up to a sitting position, groaning at the protest of his aching back. He felt at the cloth pouch around his neck, where he kept his coins, when he had any. He'd earned three coppers and a miserably sore back, for spending the previous day loading heavy sacks of grain onto a merchant's carts. He'd already spent two at the dingy tavern not far from the alley, on just barely enough watery ale to get him moderately drunk, and just barely enough food to keep the ale down.
"What have you got for one copper?" Rowan asked, drily, withdrawing his single coin from his pouch. The peddler probably did have a thing or two that cost that little, but most wouldn't want to waste time showing their wares to someone with so little to offer in return.
"For that?" the peddler said, gesturing to the coin, still smiling. The man reached into one of his many bulging pouches, and withdrew a thin pewter disk, about twice the size of the copper coin. It was stamped with the image of a laden packhorse led by a robed figure in a pointed hat. "I can offer this."
Rowan frowned, squinting at the odd little disk. "What is it?"
"Tis' the mark of a peddler's apprentice." Padraig explained, cheerfully. "By this token, I, as a Master Peddler, offer to take you under me wing, and teach you the peddler's trade."
His eyes widened in amazement. Starting an apprenticeship in a trade usually had to be paid for, as the cost of housing and feeding a young man who was new to his craft always exceeded the value of the work he could do, at first. Apprenticing to a successful smith, merchant, or woodcarver might cost as much as a full gold crown. The peddler's profession might be lowly, but Rowan would have thought even a peddler would ask a silver penny or two, for his trouble.
"Are...are you serious?" Rowan stammered.
Padraig smirked. "I never joke about doing business, boy."
Rowan licked his lips. He wanted to agree immediately. But hastily agreeing to terms was what had gotten him his collar. He'd learned better.
"What are your terms?" Rowan asked.
The peddler grinned. "Ah, you've a head for business, young man. The terms are simple: you're my apprentice, I'm your master. You work for me a year and a day for free, but I keep you well fed and cared for in the bargain, and will teach you my trade. After that, if you want, you can become a *senior apprentice,* and keep one penny in ten of whatever money you make for me."
"And...if I don't want?" Rowan asked, hesitantly. He didn't want to antagonize the man, but he needed to know what he was getting himself into.
Padraig shrugged, "Then you're free to go."
Rowan thought for a moment. Then he held out his copper coin, all the wealth he owned. "Deal. I'm Rowan Freeborn."
The peddler took the coin, and handed him the pewter token. Rowan looked at the small disk in awe. It felt strangely heavy, and warm to the touch. The old man placed a hand on his shoulder. "Wise choice, young Freeborn -- you'll go far. And I don't only mean that literally."
The peddler spoke a few words Rowan couldn't understand. As he was about to ask what they meant, in the blink of an eye, Rowan became a horse.
He didn't resist, as the peddler led him to the wagon, and hitched him up alongside the rest of the horses. He was dimly aware that there was something awfully strange about this. But he was, after all, a horse, and pulling wagons was what horses usually did.
From there, his awareness faded to into a placid blur: walk, hay, oats, cool water, rest. Walk. He repeated this cycle many times, though the idea of counting was now just a fuzzy memory. Walk, hay, water, rest. Occasionally, a sweet, crunchy apple or carrot, or a few days in a row with no walking, provided a welcome respite. But even when he wasn't at such leisure, he found he didn't mind the work he was set to.
Each day, he seemed to grow stronger, and the walking became easier. For the first time in his life, he felt content.
And then, he suddenly found himself standing naked in a stall in a stable. He came to his senses so quickly that he lost his balance and fell over, crying out in alarm as he toppled backwards into the hay. In the corner of the stall, the peddler snorted and awoke with a start where he sat on a wooden tool.
"Ah!" the peddler said, smiling. "You're back. Congratulations -- you've served me well for a year and a day. I'm very pleased. Will you be staying on as a senior apprentice, then? Or have you decided yet?"
Rowan screamed. It seemed like the only appropriate response to this situation. The peddler rolled his eyes, and gestured to him. "Stop that, you'll wake the whole village." Rowan stopped -- he found that he *had* to stop.
"Answer the question." the peddler said firmly, his expression suddenly flat and hard.
Rowan looked around in bewilderment, trying to find something to ground him in reality, or set his mind into motion. He was terrified by whatever strange power the peddler possessed, that had turned him into an animal, with seemingly nothing more than a pewter disk and a few strange words.
But at the same time, he retained his memory of his dream-like time as a beast. All things considered, the peddler had treated him better as a horse than he'd ever been treated, as a slave. And the benefit of regular meals and steady physical labor had apparently stayed with him when he returned to his natural form -- he felt more hale and strong than ever before.
Rowan also found that he desperately wanted to know more about this odd old man. Why would someone with such unbelievable power at his disposal spend his days travelling in an old wagon, selling trifles to farmwives and beggars? Who or *what* was he, really?
Even so, Rowan still surprised himself when he blurted out: "I...I think I'll stay on, if you'll have me, Master."
The peddler's smile returned. He swept back his cloak, revealing a bundle of clothing he'd been holding on his lap. He tossed it to Rowan who caught it awkwardly. "Good man! Get dressed, and then we'll go inside. Not right to sleep you in the stables, now that you're up on two legs again. Tomorrow, you'll come with me to make an important purchase, and get your first real lesson in doing business."
"What's that?" Rowan asked, eagerly, as he fumbled his way into the clothing; simple but clean work clothes that were, nonetheless, the finest he'd ever worn.
"A new horse for me wagon, of course." The peddler grinned, and added, "One that was *born* a horse, mind you. I find that I can only effectively train one *apprentice* at a time." | 144 | With only a single coin left to your name you wander the slums in hopelessness. That is until a shady looking peddler appears before you. They promise to give you an item that can help you with all of your problems and they ask for only a single coin in return. | 241 |
For a hundred years after they joined the Council, the so called Human Peace existed. They talked their way out of every conflict that came their way, seeking always to reach a peaceful outcome. When wars did break out, they never took a side, instead sending humanitarian aid to worlds on both sides. The white helmets and red crosses were welcome on worlds throughout council space, and humans gained a well deserved reputation for selfless bravery. Across a thousand worlds, stories were told of unarmed humans going into active warzones to rescue civilians, treat the wounded and bring food to the starving.
Peace could not last forever, however. The Bythorn Empire, bolstered by successes against their smaller neighbours, turned their greedy eyes on human space. They demanded the surrender of several key border worlds, worlds housing millions of human colonists. Humanity refused but tried to negotiate. Mistaking pacifism for weakness, the Bythorn made an ultimatum: hand over the worlds or be destroyed. The deadline came and went. The Bythorn invaded. Thirteen worlds burned, ten million humans died. The Human Peace had ended.
It had been estimated that humanity could produce perhaps a dozen warships a week, compared to the hundred the Bythorn could make. As the Bythorn pushed deeper into human space, however, their advance began to stall. A seemingly endless number of human warships was being sent to the front lines, far more than they should be able to make. As the war dragged on, the Bythorn were fought to a standstill. We sent ships into human space, to find the source of this unexpected fleet, and we found that every man and woman in human space had joined the war effort. Not only were they building warships in their military yards, but all civilian yards had been turned over to the military too. Ships were being assembled in orbit around backwater worlds and on distant asteroid mining facilities. Entire new shipyards were appearing almost overnight, lacking all the amenities of proper space stations but sufficient to churn out warships in untold numbers. Humanity did not *have* a military, it *was* a military.
Four years after the first Bythorn invasion, the human counter-offensive began. The Bythorn front collapsed and humanity retook their worlds. They pushed deep into Bythorn territory, destroying fleets, smashing infrastructure and rapidly rending the Empire unable to fight. The banner of humanity was raised over world after world, often with no need for ground forces to be deployed - the Bythorn soldiers had seen the risks an unarmed human was willing to take, and had no desire to face one with a gun and a grudge. It took only a year to bring the Empire to its knees, and force its total and unconditional surrender. | 2,168 | We “knew” humans were weak as they avoided every war with diplomacy. We never imagined they’d be this ruthless & how seemingly overnight they went from peaceful beings to a state they call “TOTAL WAR”. War is in their blood & soul. They thrive on it, mostly when the odds are against them | 5,579 |
I was opening and closing the refrigerator door, like refreshing a browser tab, when there was a knock at the door. I didn't react; I just stared at the onion and the mustard, wondering whether they could be combined into something edible. I could brown the onions. Eat them with mustard. That's not a birthday meal, is it? Well, it didn't matter much to me at the time, I had bigger concerns.
When you're a shut-in, indicators of People Who Want to Interact With You are threats, alarm bells, sirens alerting you of an incoming missile strike. So of course you make yourself small, unmoving. If they look inside the window maybe they'll think you're a piece of furniture, maybe they'll leave you alone.
I heard the sound of footsteps, and when I felt reassured the member of the PWWTWY had left I opened my front door to discover a cardboard box. Oh, great. A birthday present.
My mother hadn't given me a call, like normal, but maybe she was expecting me to call her to thank her for the present she had gotten me. That was presumably the case, I thought, before I opened the box. Inside was a note.
> 17 years without it, perhaps I was too harsh. Use it well this time.
The handwriting was neat, that is to say: feminine. But it wasn't my mother's. That was curious. A woman, giving me a present? Or was it even a gift? I couldn't be sure. 17 years without what? That was my age. Curious.
Except the letter, there was just a ... button. It was red, quite ominous, and I couldn't make heads or tails of its significance.
In moments like these, not that they are common, you feel a specific urge. I mean when you are in the proximity of a button, especially a button of unknown origin. You wonder what will happen, you want to press it. But you don't know what will happen. So you stand there, wondering, and it's a bit like the marshmallow experiment psychologists use to determine the ability of toddlers to engage in delayed gratification and if they can resist the treat that means they will go on to become lawyers and doctors and professional athletes and if they can't they'll become plumbers. Or something.
"What's this now?" I said aloud, a habit of mine that I assumed I shared with other shut-ins. You talk to yourself because you think that perhaps someone is listening and you are talking to that person or persons who might be listening and you narrate, sort of, what is going on with the idea that if no one is really listening it doesn't matter but if they are it will be interesting because presumably they don't know that you know that they are listening and you don't, truly, but they don't know that.
I pressed the button. It's a plumber's life for me, I suppose.
As soon as I pressed it, it made a click. That made sense. It makes sense when buttons click when you click them. But what did not make sense was the feeling inside my body as soon as my finger left the button. I felt dizzy. Light-headed. The bag of symptoms you should never enter into WebMD because it will tell you that you might be suffering from Every Ailment Known to Man.
There was a flash of light, and then there was a PWWTWY. I wanted to scream, but I resisted the urge, because I had after all spoken aloud as if I was aware someone were listening and this was no time to reveal that I didn't know after all.
"Happy birthday, George."
It was an older man, wrinkles and sadness all over, and he emerged from the air itself it seemed.
"Thanks," I said. "I was just about to prepare some onions."
"Prepare them for what?" he asked.
"For ... dinner."
We stared at each other for a while, and I felt awful, but then he nodded along and he said, "Sure, I'll go for some onions."
Browning onions takes time, no one tells you that. Don't believe the internet recipes. Browning an onion takes 45 minutes because it's a chemical process and it can't go any slower than that and if someone tells you you can brown an onion in fifteen minutes they are terrible people, liars, and they should be locked up but that is just my opinion and it hardly matters.
Neither of us spoke while I cooked the onions, the old man sat on on a chair and tried to whistle but he didn't manage to do it properly, perhaps his throat was dry or something to that effect. "Would you like some water?" I asked him and he rubbed the back of his neck.
"I don't want to be a nuisance," he said.
Making me cook onions didn't qualify as being a nuisance? "Oh, it's alright. It's just tap water."
"Oh. Alright then."
I gave him a glass of water and he drank it like a man possessed, he must have been thirsting like a dying man. I felt rude I hadn't offered him a drink earlier.
We ate the onions and I had mustard with mine but he said he didn't like mustard, said it reminded him of his ex-wife. I didn't ask any follow-up questions thought I could tell from his eyes that he wanted me to.
"You magically appeared when I pressed the button."
"Ah, yes."
"From thin air."
"I suppose."
"Presumably you are here for a reason."
"Well, you pressed the button, didn't you?"
"Yeah ... Are you a genie?"
"What? A genie?" He scowled at me.
"Well, I thought maybe it was like rubbing a lamp."
"It's a button," he said, "not a lamp. It doesn't make sense."
"Alright then."
We finished our meal and I started to grow concerned the old man was the manifestation of a psychosis of some sort, perhaps triggered by carbon monoxide poisoning. I had heard things about it, about people believing all sorts of things due to that. "Aren't you going to tell me?"
"Tell you what?"
"I pressed the button and you're here. I got the button from a box."
"Yes, precisely. The box. You ordered that a long time ago, didn't you?"
"I did?"
"Well, I guess it was me who ordered it. I thought 17 years would be decent. It's not bad, is it?"
"What?"
"Well, 17 years is less than the time I spent with my ex-wife. But it's longer than the time I spent at the mill. It seemed reasonable to me at the time, but now I'm not so sure. Are you happy?"
"Happy? Well. Not really, to be honest."
"I see. Would you like to start again?"
"Start again? What do you mean?"
"That's the point of the button. I'm you. I mean, we're us. We're the same person. We can reset our lives. Memory is wiped in the process. It's like reincarnation, only with the press of a button. I lived a fairly poor life, I think, wasted most of it. But I thought 17 years without any interruptions might be good. Usually we interrupt ourselves with five-year intervals. But I thought, screw that. Let's have a long run. So, what do you think?"
I wasn't sure what to think. He had materialized from nothingness, so the magical element checked out. But it did seem rather tempting, as I wasn't very happy with my current existence.
"I can just ... reset my life?"
"Sure. That's how it works."
"Do I become a random person?"
"Well ... Not entirely random, I think. It's the same personality. Before me, there was a librarian. Before him was a farmer actually. Never met him though. So, what do you say? I'll be back in five years if you don't want to go through with it."
"I'll have to think about it."
"Sure. Just press the button. I'll be out then. Thanks for the onions and the water."
"You're welcome."
With that, he disappeared. My PWWTWY. Gone. Had I imagined it all? No, there were two empty plates. An empty glass. He'd been here. I still had the button.
Just as I sat there, deep in thought, I heard another knock on the door. Which was why, without thinking much of it, I pressed the button. | 63 | You’re spending your birthday alone; again. You hear a knock at the door, and find a shoebox sized package with a neatly handwritten note that reads, “17 years without it, perhaps I was too harsh. Use it well this time.” | 150 |
I pick out her favourite flavour of cake. She is quite fond of strawberries, in cakes and just in general. Sweet flowers, honeysuckle, penstemon, asters, and daisies. Filled to the brim with pollen. Moscato D' Asti wine, fit for dessert. And lots of food, enough for a feast almost. All of her favourites in terms of meat and sides. The old lady manning the till looks at me with a smile and asks me who the lucky boy is. I smile at her, and put my finger up to my mouth in an almost comical manner. She nods, and she thinks she knows what is going on. Big surprise for the boyfriend, she thinks. But she knows nothing. I pay for the food and head out to my grandfather's old pickup. It's the only car I own, ever since inherited the family farm. I see some of the people who used to go to high school with me until we graduated a few years back. They look at me with scorn, the sort of scorn the people who peaked at 18 have towards those with a future. I hear them start gossiping like the hens they are. Chickenbrains, the lot of them.
''*Hey Ashley, who's the gifts for? Your imaginary boyfriend?*'' One of them calls out. I turn and give them a genuine smile, for on this day not even their relentless teasing can bring me down. They look upon me with rank confusion and annoyance. They still remember the shy introverted girl I was before my life changed for the better. That girl is long gone. And they hold no power over me anymore. ''*Give my best to your husbands now!*'' I say back at the three of them. Knowing well that their babes and gravid bellies are the result of men who say the sweetest lies and then leave before dawn breaks. I don't look for their reaction, I simply get into the old pickup, put my groceries on the car floor, and drive away. Out to the farm. My family's farm. Where my grandmother and grandfather raised me after mom decided she wanted to be a liberated party-girl. Haven't seen her in years now. I can barely even remember what she looks like. And I don't care to reconnect with the woman who preferred parties, my siblings, and the high life in the big city.
I drive past the church and the graveyard where my grandparents are buried. They left me the farm and a surprising amount of money after they died. Sole inheritor, even if my mother and uncles, who never came to the funeral it must be said, tried to take me to court over it. I see the priest waving at me, hoping to get me to stop and come by. I haven't attended church in years, but you've got to give him credit for the persistence. How can one attend church though, when one has seen the things I have. When I know the things I know. There is far more out there between the Earth and the stars than is dreamt by priests.
I arrive at the centre of the old farmhouse, which is quite different from most of the other farms in the area. First of all it's still inhabited, second of all its a faithful recreation of the farm my great-grandfather owned in Sweden before he emigrated to America. Very unique and beautiful, in comparison to most other decaying structures here in the partially abandoned states of the Midwest. I put most of the food into the fridge, but I begin preparing the meat immediately. She'll be hungry soon. When she wakes. As I cut the hearts and roast the kidneys, I think of the time when we first met. Grandma had just died. Grandpa wasn't managing well without her. I was a teenage girl, lonely and confused, about 15, and I needed some space. I went out to the fields, and that's when the light came down from the sky. Crashing more like. Grandpa was deaf and heard nothing, and the farm hadn't operated for ages. Most other farms had long ago been deserted out here, or been taken over by corporations and were only operated during the warm half of the year. I don't know what I was doing, I just took my hiking bag with the medkit and the flashlight, and left the farm. I followed the light to an old millpond, isolated and abandoned, and saw it. A spaceship. A proper UFO, crashed down on our land.
I figured someone might be alive in there, in need of help, so I took out the flashlight and went inside. Whatever the hell had happened in there, I couldn't tell. At first it seemed like it was abandoned, maybe derelict, but then I found something alive. I found her. Stuck under some kind of alien box. First contact with alien life. And she was beautiful. Like a big caterpillar, glowing in the dark of the alien ship. Large shiny eyes, that seemed scared of me. But I thought she looked like the most amazing thing in the world. She had some differences from Earth bugs, true, more I learned later. And she was wounded. That broke me out of the spell I was in, and I took out the medkit to at least bandage her. At first she tried to move further away from me, but then she saw I was using clean water from my kit to wash her wound, then bandage it. Thought about sterilising it with alcohol, but I decided against it, maybe her body would dissolve or something. When she realised I was helping her, she stopped fidgeting. And instead began to sing.
It was difficult to describe. The sound of her song. I saw this movie with her, a few years ago, Fifth Element. There was this blue alien woman singing in that, and it was kind of like that, only with far more vibration, more force, more elegance. Her body felt soft and warm, and she smelled vaguely good. Like how you imagine the pretty women in movies about pretty women would smell. When I'd finished bandaging her front leg, I removed the box pinning her to the floor. She didn't have any external injuries, I hoped she wasn't too damaged where I couldn't see or help. I actually had no idea what I was going to do next because I hadn't actually thought that far. But then I started to think again, as the alien girl seemed to relax and pack some stuff into what looked vaguely like futuristic saddlebags. I figured that if I left her here, in a ship that was definitely broken, the government would find her. And then dissect her because the US government is run by sadists. I'm in pretty decent shape, even if I look somewhat stocky, so I picked her up, which surprised her, before she accepted it and hugged me tightly as I carried her back to the farm.
Considering the men in black who came by a few days after that, trying to talk to my confused granddad, that was probably a good idea. They closed off the millpond for a few days and made very unpleasant comments concerning not talking about seeing them here. After they left, the ship was gone.
I kept her in my room for a few days, until I could make the barn liveable. Grandpa didn't notice anything at the time, as I had to increasingly act the nurse for him and for the alien at the same time. Eventually, he came back a bit, recovered after the death of grandma. But it only lasted until I graduated from HS. In the meanwhile, I came home every day and spent time with the alien grub woman. I learned to speak her language, and she learned to speak mine. Insofar as that was possible considering our vastly different bodies and species. She'd fled from something bad. I couldn't, and still can't, entirely understand what exactly it is, but it's a kind of sacrifice. And it's very unnecessary, done only in secret by the sect her parents belonged to. So she stole an ancient museum piece of a ship and fled to the last planet anyone would look for her. The navicomputer however failed and she crashed on Earth instead, where no-one will ever look for anyone. And I had someone I could do nerdy stuff with. Confide in. She appreciated playing our video games, even if our computers were pretty primitive compared to what she was used to. She taught me how to sing, even if I could never truly sing as she did, I've become pretty good at it over the years. Multiharmonic singing, where you have several voices in your throat singing at different vibrations and tones at the same time, is not something humans can do. | 59 | You've bought wine and flowers, purchased a cake, and ordered lots of food. Everybody wants to know the occasion, but you won't tell them your insect girlfriend cocooned six months ago and will emerge some time today. | 166 |
"It's only been six dates over a month, and a half", he thought to himself. She was wonderful, quirky and vibrant. She changed his life from one of dull monotony into something exciting, something meaningful. He now realized he was not held captive by his past, and he could look forward to his life, instead of always backward.
Last night, they went out to a bar. A very casual bar at a very casual restaurant. He ordered a Commonwealth Chocolate Doppelbock beer, warm. She asked for a glass of milk, cold, whole milk if they had it. Both drinks cost too much for what they were.
Oddly enough, by their second round, they were both slurring their speech and holding their heads up, palm under chin, elbow on table. As they finished round number three, she leaned in close to him and whispered in his ear.
She whispered she wanted to share a wonderful moment, an intimate moment, with him."Seven is lucky", he thought as she invited herself over.
When the hour of her arrival was near, he considered different possibilities. "What else could she mean, I mean, isn't this the signal I've read about? I've got my condoms and a bottle of K-Y® Personal Lubricant and Massage Gel with Botanical Essence. I've been strengthening my Kegels for two weeks and have control. I am ready, more than ready."
And he was more than ready, the books he'd read had had great advice. Ask permission. Find her erogenous zones. Caress her. Go slowly but, most of all, pay attention to her physical responses. He wanted this night to be the core memory that defined the rest of his life.
Elida rang the bell, 17 minutes late. She entered the door with the wickedest grin. She wore her tightly fitted jeans that revealed her delicious… well, you know. She had on the oversized black leather jacket, again. The one with the wide, long lapels and dull steel buckle and buttons. The one that covered more than it revealed, the one she always wore whenever they met on a date.
"Patrick, why do you look so hot. You know why I came tonight. Or maybe you're still expecting me to? "
Patrick knew she could be teasing or about to jump him. She was so, so very, unpredictable. He looked at her in her green eyes. He looked over her curly strawberry hair. He could feel the heat rising in his cheeks, as if he was seeing beauty for the first time.
"Yes, we'll get to it, but first we need to talk before we do anything."
She walked over to his curved sofa. He had only bought it a few weeks ago when she, and he, threw out the cheap futon. She laid back on it like Audrey Hepburn in Breakfast at Tiffany's.
"Sit next to me Patrick". As he sat, she stood slowly, placed her hand on his shoulder and sat back down, facing him, straddling his lap. She continued, "You're not seeing me as I really look."
Patrick giggled looking into her eyes. "Yes, I know. The hair, it's dyed right? And those bright, glittery green eyes of yours are contacts, ya? And I know you cover up the freckles with base"
"No Patrick", she chided. "The eyes and hair are real, and I just love to use makeup."
She looked at him again with those devious eyes. "You only see what I want you to see, and you only feel me as I want you to feel me. I, I am a faerie."
Patrick's brow furrowed and he raised an eyebrow. Was she going meta? Was she the manic pixie dream girl of *his* story?
Suddenly, he shouted out in surprise as she disappeared and a large bug flew in her place.
The somewhat cute humanoid, winged creature buzzed up to his ear and whispered. "Some do call us faeries, but I prefer to call myself a pixie. And you're not going to believe in the morning what I am going to do to you tonight."
She popped back up as a woman again, sitting on his lap.
"So, Mr. Hottie, you still got that whole milk in the fridge?" | 11 | When your girlfriend told you she was a fairy, you thought it was the pop culture kind. Instead you got a size changing, flying trickster with a milk addiction. | 66 |
The leather wore me down, as if it were woven from guilt, and when I spotted the cavernous lair of the beast it gave me no comfort. Clouds bleeding red drifted above, cicadas chirped; it was a pleasant enough evening. But the business I was here for was not so.
A cracked skull greeted me at the entrance. It was small. I wondered, if only for a moment, whether it belonged to my brother. His spirits had been high when left, punctured only by our mother's wailing. She held on to his feet at the doorway and he kicked her as if she were a dog begging for scraps. After that I didn't much care whether he returned. In the end, he didn't.
The scent of sulfur confirmed the presence of the dragon. He was resting, perhaps, after setting fire to a nearby village. A young girl told me she'd seen him flying in the air, amid a flock of seagulls. A green streak of monster, dotted with white.
Entering the cavern I took a deep breath and asked myself if I were at peace with the idea that it might be my last. Were I to die, it would not change much. My mother would spin yarn, my father would drink himself into a stupor every night, and the neighbors would gossip. Perhaps every now and then someone would remember a thing I had said and done, though it would likely not occur too often.
As I stepped deeper into the lair of the dragon, I heard the sound of rustling metal. I imagined the dragon rolling content in a sea of gold coins and various loot. Rubies, emeralds; all the treasures one could desire. Not that it interested me.
"Have you come to slay me?"
The baritone voice echoed throughout the cavern, bouncing back and forth like a vicious rumor. Before me was only darkness of the sort one imagines to accompany death. It was the darkness of eternal slumber. Then, cutting through the shadowy lair, was a figure.
The beast walked with the gait of a cat, though I had expected it to slither. I lit my torch and its scales glittered. "I have."
The dragon let out a deep sigh. "As have many before you. Would you care for a cup of tea, or would you prefer just to get on with it?"
Tales told throughout my youth were filled with stories of the deceptiveness of these mythical beasts, of trickery and great wisdom. "You would kill me with a poisoned chalice, like a coward?"
The eyes of the dragon grew large and it raised a clawed hand as if to tell me to wait. Then the beast sauntered back into the darkness. Alone again, I could feel my heart pounding and sweat dripped freely from my brows.
"You will have to forgive me. I have neither milk nor sugar." The dragon returned with a comically-small tea set, fine china by the looks of it, and it clattered as it approached me with delicate movements.
"What is the meaning of this?"
"It's tea," said the dragon, and it put its tray down before me. "I'll pour two cups. Choose whichever you'd like. I'll take the other one."
"... This is a strange trick."
"This is *tea*."
We stood there, staring at one another, for what felt like an eternity. Plumes of smoke rose from the tea pot and the scent was enticing, rhubarb from what I could tell. If either the cup or the tea itself were poisoned, there should be no harm in taking one of them and let the dragon take the first sip. If it were poisoned, this would be over soon than I'd have thought.
"Excellent," said the dragon. It meticulously grabbed on to a porcelain cup and drank by pouring its contents directly onto its tongue.
"The dose determines the poison, I suppose. What would kill me would likely not even upset your stomach."
Again, the dragon sighed. "Why are you always like this?"
"What?"
"Is it my appearance? My manner of presenting myself? Humans always assume the worst. I was out flying earlier, and I spotted a house on fire. I hurried to the nearest river and I filled my mouth with water. Before I could attempt to quench the fire, arrows were shot toward me and I flew off. I was only trying to help."
I was about to answer when I realized I had filled my mouth with tea without thinking. I spat it out.
"Yes, like that," said the dragon. "Only I never got the chance."
"Was that ... Was that a joke? At my expense?"
The dragon rolled its eyes. "What, because I'm a dragon I can't make a joke?"
"No, it's just ... I didn't expect it. Dragons are supposed to be—"
"Supposed to be what, exactly? Vicious? Evil? And why is that? Please, enlighten me."
I thought for a moment. In the stories, dragons were monsters. And everyone knew slaying a dragon was a great feat. The stuff of legends. But I had never thought about it from a dragon's perspective. "I guess it's a stereotype."
"I guess so," said the dragon.
We both finished our tea and neither of us died from poison. The dragon asked me whether I still wanted to pick a fight, but the idea had lost most of its luster. It didn't feel right. We said our goodbyes, and as I left its lair I again saw the cracked skull. My brother would surely not have accepted an offer of tea from a dragon. Rather, he'd have attacked at once.
A strange thought grazed me: I thought I might return, I might have another cup of tea with this dragon. Perhaps I would bring him some milk and sugar. | 14 | You’ve been sent on a quest to slay a dragon, upon tracking him down though, the dragon is surprisingly non hostile and friendly | 15 |
We all knew about the dragon. You stayed away from her, you dove for cover if she flew above you, you tithed your sheep and cows whenever necessary. It wasn't an easy life, living in the shadow of a dragon-infested mountain. But it was our life. In a way, we were proud of her; our claim to fame.
It's been a long time since the dragon has flown. Some in the village believe she is dead. I know better. For I'm the one that brings the tithes. The offerings of sheep and cattle. When you've heard bones cracking behind you, you know that a dragon is alive.
She has a measure of intelligence. I've even talked to her. But it's a strange sort of cunning, an aggressive sort. All of her mind is bent on killing and eating; that is all she wants to do. Death and destruction are the only things she speaks about. She once even described what she would do to me if we were ever an offering short. I had trouble sleeping for a week after that.
Rumours have been floating around the village. About strange objects in the sky. Invaders from another world they say. I don't understand how that could be, but the first of the refugees have arrived. They bring word, telling of the horrible weapons, the indiscriminate slaughter. I in turn have related their stories to the dragon, as I drive the sheep into her cave. To my surprise, the dragon seems interested, asking questions, and ordering me to bring her more information.
It has been a few weeks now. The sounds of battle have drawn closer and closer. On my last visit to the dragon's cave, she told me to bring her no more. I am glad at least that we can save some animals for our own rations. We'll evacuate soon, and need everything we've got.
The enemy is here! They are pouring over the hills, their ships fill the sky. My feet hit the ground hard, my breath coming in ragged gasps. The invaders are fast, but they do not know the terrain as we do. From above my head, a sharp leathery sound cracks through the air. I know that sound. Resisting the urge to dive into a nearby ditch, I look up.
The dragon! She is old, but still powerful. Her wings blot out the sun, and in the darkness, her fire falls. It burns into our pursuers, turning them into living torches. They shout, falling back; turn their terrible weapons towards her. A roar like a volcano rips from her throat, and she crashes into their ships, tearing with her claws, throwing them to the ground. Dark black blood drips from her wings, as the enemy fills them with holes.
She is on the ground now, no longer able to fly. But still, she fights on, dealing death and destruction. She is terrible, and she is wonderful. Our village burns as her fire once again flashes from her throat. I and a few survivors have taken refuge in the only place left for us now. Inside the dragon's cave. Another roar echoes around the valley. Pure rage, pure joy, pure anguish. She is dying, and she is fighting. Fire flares up in front of the cave, obscuring my view. My last sight of the dragon; her on her hind legs, reaching up to destroy another ship, tattered wings flaring behind, stark against the sky.
It has been quiet, for hours. No one has come to the cave; the only sound reaching us, strange raspy breathing. Carefully, I edge out of the opening, to find the dragon's head mere inches from my foot. One clouded eye opens, pinning me with its gaze. I have only one question.
"Why?" A small rumbling growl, a dragon laugh rising through the wrecked chest.
"You... all... of... you..." I looked down, trying to make sense of the words.
"You want to keep us, for food?" She snorted at my question.
"I... never... had...hatchlings..." It didn't seem like an answer to my question, perhaps her mind had been damaged by the battle. But I wasn't sure what to say. Didn't know if she was still able to hurt me.
"I... never .. had... hatchlings... But... I... had you..." One last deep rasping breath. And she was still.
I stood there for a long time, staring out into the valley. Carnage, death, destruction. Nothing living moved. The entire enemy army had been wiped out. Kneeling, I reached out, and for the first time, laid a hand on our dragon's snout.
"Thank you." | 33 | The surprisingly noble death of a dragon | 66 |
"Have you heard of the ***ageless ghost***?"
"Aren't all ghosts ageless? They're dead, they don't get older." I pointed out.
"No no, *the* ageless ghost. This guy who appears in all these old photos. Some say he's an alien. Some say he's a god." Matt gestured violently with his hands. He always did that when explaining another one of his conspiracy theories.
"What's so special about this old dude?"
"That's the thing! He's *not* old. He doesn't get any older despite the photos being thousands of years apart! It's the same guy, in every picture!" Matt stood up and was fishing for his phone now, undoubtedly to show me 'proof.'
I lightly pushed him away so he wouldn't be spitting in my face "First, that's stupid. Second, the first photo camera was invented in 1816. That's barely 200 years, not 'thousands' of years. I literally had a class on this last week."
I paused. "And third, you're an idiot."
"Hey! That was unnecessary." He shoved his phone into my face, "Look. Here he is moments after the Kennedy assassination in '63, and then here he again is at Ford's Theater during the *LINCOLN* assassination 100 years earlier. It's the same guy!"
Matt was pointing at two blurry vaguely man-shaped figures on old pictures. I raised an eyebrow at him, "Really? You're telling me the smudge on this picture is the same smudge on that picture."
I sat back down on the park bench and motioned for Matt to get out of the way. A couple tourists were aimlessly lumbering through the central pathway taking pictures of everything.
"You can tell by the shape of his hair. Look! Here he is again." Matt was pointing at a hieroglyph.
"Now you're just being ridiculous." I glanced at my watch.
"No, tell me. why would the Egyptians go out of their way to carve a pompadour. Did they even have pompadours back then?! It's him–"
Suddenly, the tourists in front of us screamed, one was holding his camera in shock. Matt turned to see what they were looking at when a loud boom swept through Central Park. The World Trade Center was on fire.
 
___
A/N Hmmmmmmm
/r/Unexpected_Works | 42 | You can time travel. You’ve made it your goal to be in the background of as many historically important photos as you can | 614 |
It was June and six-year-old me was on the monkey bars. I was riding the high of being the first kid brave enough to cross the whole way without an adult when my sweaty palm slipped on the metal rung and I broke my arm in the fall. My mom tore away from her outdoor zumba class, and rather than throw me in the car and burn rubber all the way to the hospital, kissed my arm, healing it with a loud snap! and eliciting many horrified looks on nearby mothers’ faces.
I want to start by saying that I haven’t fallen off a single set of monkey bars in the two years since. In fact, I haven’t fallen off anything, except a bike once, but only because the stupid thing was trying to throw me off. I’ll also have you know that I don’t say the word owie anymore. Mom says I’m more coordinated than I used to be, which is good, because she wouldn’t be here today without my protection.
Less than a week after that happened, I saw a guy from the FBI at the mall. Or maybe it was the CIA. I’m not sure which, but it had to be one of them because he was wearing a suit. I knew he was following us because our mall is super long with a second floor that opens in the middle to the first, and he was either behind us or staring down from there every step of my mom’s painfully long shopping trip.
He approached me while she was looking at sundresses for my baby sister in a store that I, of course, couldn’t allow myself to be seen in. I was hoping he would try to recruit me to the men in black, but to my disappointment, he just wanted to talk about my mom. I told him that she was in the store buying sundresses for a baby who was too dumb to even know how to put them on. He laughed and asked me if I loved her anyway.
“Yeah, I guess. She’s my mom.” I replied, not sure where the line of inquiry was heading and suddenly uncomfortable with the sense of urgency behind his approachable gaze. “Is there anything special about her you really love?” He pressed. Something was wrong with the way he asked that. I wanted my mom to get me out of there, but I was too old to cry and my pride was still recovering from the playground incident.
I stammered out to the man that no, there was nothing special about my mom. Why was he so interested in her? It had to be her apparent magical powers. He frowned and straightened up.
“That’s no way to be talking about your own mother, son. I bet she tells everyone how special her boy is. How about we get you back to her?”
I couldn’t disobey an adult, but I wasn’t about to lead this guy straight to my mom. “She’s, um, peeing. In the bathroom.” I clumsily lied, to the man’s amusement. The bathroom, next to the escalators, was nowhere near there, and I’d already told him she was in the store. Well, only one thing left to do.
“There she is, right there.” I said, pointing past his leg. He fell for it and I took off, sprinting across the long mall to the faraway escalator. Shouts and confusion from him barrelling people aside filled the mall as I dodged legs and strollers in my desperation. Amazingly, I stayed ahead long enough to get to the escalator, which was clogged with enough shoppers to stall the man as I wriggled my way up to the second floor. Once I was up there, I doubled back, heading for the store right above the one my mom was in. Just as I reached it, he caught up and cornered me against the railing.
“Sorry, son, but I can’t send you home today without a mother.” He said, not even out of breath. I, on the other hand, was dying. “Then why not… send mom home… too?” I wheezed, and he chuckled.
“No. Your mother’s gift needs to be sold- I mean shared, shared with humanity. And I’m the man to do it.” He said, almost losing his composure for a second in the middle. It was perfect. My mother stepped out of the store, and I tensed in anticipation of what I had to do next.
I used all the strength in my six year old body to hoist myself over the railing, taking one last look in the man’s bewildered eyes before plunging 15 feet to the hard tiles below. All I remember now is an entire 4th of July fireworks display compressed into less than a second before I felt my mother’s kiss bring me back from the edge and opened my eyes to see a crowd congregating on the second floor, one pair of furious eyes peering out from among it. When the eyes turned away, I knew it was time to get a move on.
I told my mom that a man was here to get her and she looked confused and concerned, more so than she already was by her son’s decision to throw himself off a building, but when I told her he’d chased me she got us out of there fast. I hadn’t seen that man since, until yesterday. Same suit, same face, just behind a pair of sunglasses. He’s a big guy, but now I’m eight, and he’s going to have to go through me to get my mom. | 24 | "Mommy will kiss it, make it feel better", you never thought much about it. It must be normal... its a common saying isn't it? The looks of astonishment on your friends faces make you think otherwise, as you walk up to them, the day after they witness you breaking your first bone. | 64 |
Ask anyone around the galaxy and you will hear tales of particular humans who excelled within a certain field but never what they excelled at as a species. This comes down to humans being out Jack of all trades, there are some strong humans, some intelligent ones. But never ones that were seen as a threat to the galactic union. In fact, in all of their time within the galactic Senate, Humans were really only ever known for their almost complete lack of self-preservation.
Humans were always rushing into a battle to save those injured, always the first on the scene of a major accident, and always the first to test out new weapons. At the beginning of their tenure we always assumed they had ulterior motives, but time after time they kept performing these selfless acts without wanting anything in return, saying it was the "right thing" to do. That concept came as a shock to most on the galactic Senate, they didn't know this feeling. In our early studies of humans we found that they were quite a simple species, nothing more complex biologically than your average class 3 civilisation, being a class 4 ourselves we didn't think too much of it. We have tried to find where this feeling of "doing the right thing" comes from but we have yet to find it. The humans kept saying "it's a gut feeling" yet research found that the gut of a human was nothing special. No second brain was to be found there, no special organs, just a gut.
After all these years of "doing the right thing" how did the humans not get tired of it? What events in their past have pushed them to take such good care of other species? What happened on their original home world? When we found it, terra-prime as we've dubbed it since, their home world was in shambles. Proof of a civilisation could be seen, but nothing too remarkable. They had some basic infrastructure, but all of it was destroyed to some extent. This wasn't in line with what humans had presented themselves to be, was there some darker past we didn't known about?
What happened on terra-prime for humans to now be such a selfless species? | 1,084 | Humanity as a species is known as the jack of all trades in the Galactic Community. They aren't the most intelligent but they they're still smart, they aren't the strongest but their strength is nothing to scoff at. Humans are known to excell in only one category... | 1,900 |
The man didn't realize he was dead, because no one ever payed any attention to him when he was alive either. He just kept on going about his business, day in and day out. No one ever seemed to notice that he was a bit translucent, or that he didn't age. He was just happy to be able to go about his life without being bothered.
One day, however, he ran into someone who could see him. This person was also transparent, and the man realized that they were both ghosts. The other ghost told him that he had been dead for many years, but the man didn't believe it. He thought that maybe the other ghost was just confused.
But as time went on, the man started to notice that the world around him was changing. Technology was advancing, and people were becoming more and more busy. He tried to interact with them, but they just walked right through him as if he wasn't there.
Eventually, the man came to accept that he was indeed dead. It was a bit of a shock at first, but he found some comfort in knowing that he wasn't alone. There were others like him out there, and he knew that they would all stick together. | 16 | A man doesn’t realize he is dead, because no one ever payed any attention to him when he was alive either. | 96 |
"You don't have to try it if you don't want to." Kelen shrugged, "But I have a funny feeling you'll like it."
J'yara stared at the plate and gulped. She hadn't really known what to expect, but now that the food was presented, she felt a pressure rising in her throat. Her mind began racing with possibility. Only yesterday, they nearly got caught in the security lounge. While co-operation was entirely allowed within humanoid populations, any form of social relations were to be kept to a minimum. Let alone any romantic escapades.
What if she couldn't eat this... whatever it is? She could have an adverse reaction, worse, contract some previously unknown form of virus. How would she explain that to her Sector's physicians? What if not accepting this dish is some form of deep insult to the humans?
As if sensing her distress, Kelen placed a hand on J'yara's.
"Relax, would you?" Kelen soothed.
"You know the risk." J'yara countered, pulling her hand away.
"I do." He responded, turning away to clean the pan, "But I also understand that any attempt at a cross-species sexual encounter is a Code 7 violation. But that didn't seem to stop y-"
"Klo'neve! I get it!" J'yara hissed, her neck glowing a deep violet, "But sharing food is somehow considered a worse violation, according to High Council."
"Maybe because they know the true power of human cooking."
"What's that supposed to mean?" J'yara looked up at Kelen as he turned to face her. Instead of responding, he simply crossed his burly arms and nodded to the plate. J'yara returned her gaze to the lumps of dough and, as far as her sense of smell could tell, some kind of meat. She, with a caution that made Kelen nearly laugh, picked up one of the lumps.
"What is it you called this?" J'yara asked, inspecting it closely. Seemingly unbothered by the heat still emanating from within.
"A dumpling." Kelen responded. J'yara hesitated before she boldly extended her tongue wrapping around around the dumpling and drawing it into her mouth. The motion made Kelen noticeably fidget.
There was a heavy silence as she chewed the morsel. Kelen had grown used to her colour changes and facial expressions, but he could derive nothing from her whitened neck and flat eyebrows. Suddenly, her neck began to pulsate with a multitude of colours before settling on a bright orange.
"That is-" J'yara almost yelled before stopping herself, "That was incredible."
"Thanks I mean it's pretty good righ-"
He stopped because he was stunned by J'yara demolishing the rest of dumplings. Her tongue moving quicker than he'd ever seen; he'd have even considered it arousing if it wasn't somewhat concerning. He waited for her to finish with rapt attention. His concern only grew when she picked up the plate and began licking it profusely. After a time, she slammed the plate down, almost shattering it, and looked into Kelen's eyes with a fervor that he'd never seen.
"More." She said, her voice low and threatening.
"Sure, I can make some more it'll take me a couple minutes though."
"More." She repeated, climbing up onto the counter, "I need more."
"Okay, J'yara. Relax you- woah!" Kelen cried as J'yara leapt onto him. Her pupils were so dilated he couldn't even see the blueish sclera; her neck was awash with waves of orange to deep purple. She grabbed his hands and drew her tongue up and down the palms, searching for even a hint of dumpling flavour. Kelen thrust her off of him and backed away. As he stood, J'yara crawled toward him on all fours murmuring some kind of native dialect.
"Kelen." she purred, after a moment, "I need more dumplings, Kelen."
"Look, maybe you should calm down." Kelen stammered while backing towards the door.
"Do not deny me, Kelen." J'yara had never spoken like this before, she seemed to revert to some more *animalistic* state. Kelen continued to back up to the door and thrust himself through it as the automated screen slid open. He slammed his keycard onto the panel outside and held his thumb against the security pad on the back, this locked the automatic doors from both the inside and outside. He could hear her banging against the screens begging him to release her but he knew the only course of action at this point was to wait.
It took a few hours for the banging to stop, before he truly thought it was safe to go back in. It wasn't easy explaining why he had locked another individual's rooms to other security personnel but miraculously a human was dispatched to check it out. Humans are much easier to convince. Once he'd unlocked the doors he stepped in slowly, the smell of cooking immediately washing over him.
"What do you call this?" J'yara's sultry voice emanated to his left. He looked over to see her behind the counter, at the stove they'd fitted into the wall, attempting to cook the remaining dumplings he'd made. She pointed to the meat Kelen had acquired in order to make it.
"B-beef." He'd really expected J'yara to still be in a state of delirium so her calm demeanor had thrown him off.
"Hmm," She pondered, "There's nothing quite like it. I've tried eating it raw, cooking it straight, but nothing compares to when..." She lifts up a cooked dumpling from the pan and inhales deeply. "When you cook it into a dumpling." She wheels around and points the dumpling at Kelen. "You must teach me to make these."
"Look, I don't know if you remember how you reacted to eating those but I think you-"
"Kelen, Feelash, I know full well how I reacted. I'm sorry you had to see that." She walked over to him with a keen grace. Her use of her 'pet name' for him softened him somewhat.
"You were right about this dumpling's *true power*. What you've made for me is perhaps the most addictive creation my species has ever known."
"That was more of a joke than anythi-" Kelen began. J'yara wrapped her arm around him, cutting him off, while pressing the dumpling she held in the other to his lips. "Do you understand what we could do with this?"
"Mmmno." Kelen murmured through several bites.
"To you, it is merely a delicious treat. To my species, this is something that could change everything for us. This has fundamentally altered how I see food. If we have control over that kind of influence..."
"But," Kelen swallowed the last of the dumpling, "It doesn't seem so addictive that you're still trying to eat them."
"Oh no, Feelash. My body, my *soul* yearns for more. But I know an opportunity when I see one. This could be the very thing I am looking for... Granted it took a couple of hours before the fever wore off..." She walked away from him, and returned to the counter running her hands over the ingredients. "Think about it, Kelen. My species controls over 80% of the economic quarter of the Federation. Both our species make up over 40% of the High Council. We could leverage these dumplings to our advantage. We could make them upend the ridiculous rules that kept us apart."
She turned back to him, arms placed behind her and her neck gleaming a seductive purple.
"We could use such an addictive substance for our own gain, you said yourself that you wanted more power in the security divisions. Think, Chief of Security of the entire Federal Fleet. We have to be smart about this but together... Together we can use the addictive power of dumplings to rule the Federation."
Kelen had never seen this side of J'yara. She had a newfound confidence, poise and ambition. She seem invigorated in a way he could scarce describe. But one thing was for certain. If he was attracted to her before, he certainly was now.
"Maybe you're being ridiculous..." Kelen began, walking toward her, "I should say you're crazy. But I saw how you acted, there was nothing else in this world you wanted more." He reached her and placed his hands upon her hips and let out a chuckle.
"Who'd have thought. Dumplings. But maybe you're onto something." He kissed her, and pressed his forehead against hers.
"But don't eat another one of those. That was kind of intense."
"Please." She grinned, her neck flashing green, "I know better than to get high on my own supply. Now." She pulled away and walked over to the stove.
"We must perfect the recipe. I think I know how it's addictive properties can be extended." She turned back toward him, noted his expression and sighed.
"Are all humans this easily aroused? Help me make this. We'll have plenty of time for that later." | 24 | the dumpling. | 60 |
My son was always my hope but a few years after he was born we learned that he was everyone’s hope. That normal life that I expected for my family quickly went out the window. Physically my son looked normal except for the bright blue hair. It was already common knowledge for everyone that the vibrantly colored and spiky hair meant that they were destined for great things, to fight some great evil.
Sometimes the evils weren’t that great. There were a few news stories about some of them. They didn’t do that much and the heroes were always winning in the end. I wasn’t scared of dying, I would have died for my son since the day he was born, I was scared of not being in his future. That was the expectation, that the evil coming for him would be something that would strike me down in front of him.
Then evil came for my family. I was down the streets getting groceries, my husband and sister watching my child. The explosion even caused damage to the store I was in, I was thrown to the ground along with. Coughing I made my way of the store and rushed to my home.
Our house was actually still standing, a crater was across the street. Nothing was left of the houses or our neighbors who had lived there. Sometimes I wish my house had been like that. Instead I had to walk inside and see the bodies. The bodies of everyone, including my son, a boy who wasn’t ready.
There was someone still there at the house. They came down the stairs slowly as I cradled my son in my arms, sobbing. Their name was Fearless, they claimed to work for the person who had done this and their job was only to make sure there were no survivors. No one around to have another kid, someone who would come along years later and come for vengeance. Their leader was going to eradicate all the chosen ones here and now.
Fearless didn’t see me as a threat. They had some kind of weird mask with them but they took it off before they attacked me. At the end of it I was standing over the dead body of Fearless wearing their own mask. It was a weapon and it was my start. Vengeance wasn’t going to come years down the line from my next child. It was going to come from me. | 43 | You're the mother to your spiky haired son in an anime. You expect tragedy to strike you, but it comes a surprise when you're the only one left alive, your son not spared. You cut your braided hair and ready for an adventure that shouldn't be yours. | 324 |
Damian leaned back in the black leather chair, his eyes dancing over the wall of screens in front of him. He smiled as he pulled a slice of pizza from the box sitting beside him.
"The souls are pouring in today." He announced to no one in particular. On the screens in front of him, hundreds of humans shuffled along the gleaming halls, with no clear destination in sight. Some seemed oblivious, some huddled together in groups, and others passed blithely through any one of a hundred different doorways. The high ceilings and multiple levels seemed to create an optical illusion, stacking one scene of aimless misery atop another.
Damian clicked a button and all at once the main screen showed a different scene: souls lined up for the reckoning, their faces plastered with a weary resignation. Damian grinned, there were a lot of them today; hollowed-out husks of humans, choosing their fates in a twisted circus of torture. For a moment he felt a pang of empathy, a flash of sorrow for all those tired souls down there. *No,* he thought, *they wanted this, they* asked *for this.* His eyes narrowed slightly as he watched.
In the cool, dimly lit room, the glow of the screens cast their ghostly light on Damian's face. His eyes took in a silent panorama of hidden knowledge, playing out across multiple angles, and always with the same ultimate end: reckoning. Even then, it was never over. Damian noticed the same souls kept cycling through, day after day, hour after hour after hour. A hellish cycle from which they would never break. Damian yawned.
He turned, suddenly curious. A laptop sat on the side of the table, the newest model, provided by the big guy upstairs. *Whatever it takes to keep us happy, I guess.* Damian thought to himself as he sedately tapped on the keys. After a bit of searching he found it: attendance was up 47 percent.
"Man, this world really is going to hell in a handbasket." Damian once again declared to no one in particular.
"Good for us. Job security, right?" Lucy quipped as she slipped in the door.
"I guess, but why do they keep doing this to themselves? I mean, yeah, I'll watch, but damn." Damian said as he offered the pizza box. Lucy's eyes lit up as she took a piece and pulled another black leather chair up to the ghostly blue glow of trapped souls. Lucy settled in as she took a bite and motioned to the live feed in front of them.
"They don't know any better," she said with a mouthful of pizza. Lucy swallowed and smiled, "they made their choices, this is their life now."
"Yeah, I guess." Damian sighed. He rubbed his eyes as Lucy pressed another button. "Fucking ghouls."
Suddenly something on Damian's shoulder caught Lucy's eye.
"Uh Damian, you need to get your shit fixed up there, if the big guy sees that it'll be hell to pay on all of us." Damian looked down at where Lucy was pointing. The patch on his uniform was frayed, and the colors were faded. Lucy pointed at her own shoulder, the patch there was clean and bright. "This is what's expected of Twin Pines Mall Security staff. You need to be setting an example." Damian looked at her for a moment before they both burst into laughter, falling back into their chairs and tittering uncontrollably.
"Oh shit, that was good, you had me going there for a second," Damian giggled "there's definitely a special place in hell for you, Lucy."
Lucy nodded and motioned at the room. "And whaddaya know, we're already here." | 87 | There’s a special place in hell for people like you. It has pizza, air con, fiber optic internet, and a 24-hour interactive stream of the torture pits. | 368 |
“OK Sir, now I need you to hold out your arms in the sign of a cross and spin around in a circle.” “Huh? What the hell kind of sobriety test is this?!?” The police officer looks stern. “Sir this isn’t a sobriety test. I’m concerned you may be possessed.”
Telling myself to remain calm I slowly put my arms out in not the sign of the cross and began circling slowly. If I can only get through this nothing bad will happen. But I can feel my it inside, the slow roiling deep within.
It's not a cross I say silently as I continue my spin, it's like a big letter T. Damnit am I sweating? I shouldn't sweat. I haven't spoken have I? I glance at the officer and still see sternness and not horror or anything so I must be fine I'm totally fine.
No... no that wasn't fear you don't need to do anything you just relax be comfortable. I can think of bad things for you, just don't tell anyone I think them, because it's not really me thinking them. right. not. me.
\---
I shake my head, where was I, oh yes spinning...
Wait.. the ground is wet. Where is the officer, not the car, please not in my car at least.
Okay, body stuck to his own car, entrails are not attractive, he should get that looked at it has to be painful. I mean sure he can survive that maybe possibly anyways it isn't my fault, I didn't purposely read the book, I was tricked, I didn't intend to make a deal.
Get in the car, in the car, press the gas, wait put in gear, press the gas, go down the road.
Don't look in the mirror you can see it in the mirror in any shiny surface the shruken eyes the teeth dear, not who I was going to say but something safe, the teeth | 12 | “OK Sir, now I need you to hold out your arms in the sign of a cross and spin around in a circle.” “Huh? What the hell kind of sobriety test is this?!?” The police officer looks stern. “Sir this isn’t a sobriety test. I’m concerned you may be possessed.” | 119 |
Lord Wulfric had seen his share of battle; as a young man, he'd led patrols out to the Rim and hunted insectoid abominations through the broken landscape. As an older man, he'd led the defense of cities, standing on the wall as buzzing hordes approached. He knew - had the scars to prove it - that he was not a coward. And yet, as he faced the glaring princess, he very much wanted to retreat.
"Your highness, this is your plan! We've discussed this a hundred times, and the prophecy is very..."
"I know what the prophecy says. I know this was my idea. But" - her voice rose to a pitch that, in someone not a princess, might be described as a shriek - "I am not marrying ...*that*!"
One graceful hand flicked out in emphasis, pointing through the door behind Wulfric in the direction of the banqueting hall. "I am prepared to sacrifice almost everything for the kingdom, uncle, but there has to be a limit. He doesn't close his mouth when he chews, his laugh sounds like a toad's bellow, and - at the same banquet where he first meets his betrothed - he can't stop leering at the serving maids!"
"Allowances," Wulfric suggested weakly, "have to be made for his upbringing. With time, even a humble farm boy-"
"He thinks the world is round! I've been to the gods-damned edge! His own village used to be out that way, before these latest incursions, and yet he still doesn't even believe in the Rim! He's not humble, he's simple. Simple and gross."
"Well, village education is -"
"How is he supposed to lead the fight against the hordes if he doesn't think there's a Rim for them to come from under? How is he supposed to fight anything with the dexterity of a walrus? There was more gravy on him than in him!"
Princess Talia took a deep, slow breath. For a long, long moment there was silence in the study while the flush left her cheeks and the tension her shoulders. "I'm sorry uncle - for cursing, and for yelling at you when it's not your fault. But we still have to find another way."
"I know, princess. This isn't what I wanted for you either - I'd hoped that you'd find someone in your own time, someone you could love like I love my Anya. But the attacks are more frequent every month, and we're running out of time. Sometimes... sometimes ruling means making sacrifices."
"There must be someone else? Anyone?" Talia's voice was quieter now, softer and sadder. "What about the emissaries we sent towards the hub? Are there any foreign heroes who might answer?"
"I'm sorry. No one else suitable can be found. There's a legendary hero active in the Fire Swamps, but she sent word to say that she's happily married already. There are various heroes in the Hub cities, but no legendary ones - they wouldn't count."
"Well, *he* doesn't seem very legendary either. He's only a few years older than me, and he was on a farm until six months ago."
Wulfric shrugged. "Apparently it doesn't work like that, prophecy-wise. He's a hero because he saved a town - from goblins, I think - and 'legendary' is about potential, rather than past behaviour. He's the wearer of the legendary armour of Erik GoldenSong, and that means he's a match - the only match - for the pro-"
"Hold on!" Talia flung up one hand, eyes suddenly brighter. "I'm sorry for interrupting you, uncle, but I've just had an idea. Tell me about the armour."
"It's Erik GoldenSong's - a legendary hero from a few centuries back, apparently. He died fighting a dragon at the WorldSpine, burnt alive inside his armour. Now his soul is trapped inside it for eternity, lending his power to the wearer."
"So the oaf - sorry, the *hero* - isn't powerful on his own? It's just because he's wearing the armour of a legendary hero?"
"I suppose so; he was a farmer until recently, so presumably the armour's doing a lot of the work. I'm not sure how that matters particularly though - lots of legendary heroes have special weapons."
"It changes everything!" Forgetting all rules of propriety between an unmarried princess and her advisors, Talia grabbed Wulfric by the shoulders, almost vibrating with excitement. "Don't you see, uncle? The oaf isn't a hero at all! He's just some farmer-turned-grave-robber *wearing* a legendary hero!"
Talia released a confused Wulfric, stepping back and regaining her composure. "We don't need another hero to save us, and we *definitely* don't need him. We can save the kingdom without anyone doing anything too odious."
The princess drew herself up to her full regal height: "Take me to the armour."
---
Despite only having been shown to the guest chambers a few hours earlier, the 'hero' had already managed to leave them a disordered mess. A half-finished plate of food lay tilted on the goose-down pillow, flies buzzing around it, while several fully-finished wine bottles were stacked on the floor next to the bed. The hero's equipment and supplies were strewn about the room haphazardly, including - in a jumbled pile by the window - the fabled armour of Erik GoldenSong.
Wulfric tried once more to dissuade the princess. "I really don't think it's appropriate for you be visiting the hero's chambers at night, even if you are betrothed. And I don't think he'd like you interfering with his magic armour."
"You worry too much, uncle." Talia had begun investigating the pile of armour, picking her way through the different pieces. "Given the rate he's been working through my father's cellars, I very much doubt that your 'hero' will have any idea what's going on until tomorrow afternoon - I doubt he'll even get round to leaving the banqueting hall for several more hours."
She held one gigantic greave in front of Wulfric's face. "Look at this! Rust!" Streaks of brown marred the silvery metal, flakes falling away as she shook it. "It's the source of all his power, a priceless magical artefact, and he's not even doing basic maintainence."
As a (retired) soldier, Wulfric was appalled. His outrage at the hero's lack of care was sufficient to quell further protests, and he stood passively while the princess filled his arms with piece after piece of rusting equipment. Once she was sure that all the pieces had been found, Talia took the helmet and the lead, sweeping out of the chamber while Wulfric trudged heavily behind her.
---
After making him carry the armour all the way back down to her study, and then sending him to fetch the set of brushes and expensive oils he used for his own armour maintenance, Talia dismissed Wulfric for the evening. His concern - as always - was touching, but it sometimes got in the way; besides, this felt like something she should do on her own.
When she finally laid the armour out fully on the floor, she could see just what a terrible state it was in. Every piece bore the marks of rust, nestling in joints and on edges, obscuring the delicate engraving that seemed to cover the entire set. It was designed in an ancient style - one she vaguely remembered from engravings in military history books - with a focus on pure stopping power rather than flexibility. The helm was square and close-faced, with a narrow slit to allow limited vision, and the joints were protected with outsized circles of metal to ensure that every possible point had nearly an inch of metal protecting it from a frontal attack.
It was a far cry from the armour she was used to; the flexible sets worn by her own soldiers (and herself, on the occasional visit to war zones) used thinner plates with overlapping edges to mimic the unreasonably effective armour of their insect foes. She was used to rounded helms with an open-face and a nasal guard, chain mail to cover joints and allow flexibility, gloves with individual armoured fingers rather than blocky mittens. Wulfric was fond of remarking that mobility - for an army, a soldier, or a single limb - was the most effective defence. This human-shaped fortification was clearly designed with a different philosophy in mind.
Erik GoldenSong had been a huge man. He would have dwarved her slim frame, and even Wulfric would need lots of padding to fit snugly inside the breastplate. The gluttonous 'hero' was wide but not tall - Talia shuddered to think how ramshackle he would have looked when wearing the armour of a much more impressive man.
It took her hours to prepare the armour. Hours of scrubbing and scraping and oiling, taking one piece at a time and undoing the evidence of neglect. Each rusting piece was burnished until it gleamed, until she could trace the intricate engravings across the armour - fluid, dancing patterns in loops and spirals, revealed with the removal of the rust.
At last, it was done. The first hints of dawn were showing in the sky, her hands felt raw and her throat stung from breathing in the fumes of armourer's oils, but it was done. The armour of Erik GoldenSong was laid out in front of her, perfect and shining as the day it was forged.
Talia considered sleep - a tempting prospect, to curl up on the couch in the corner and leave the armour until she was feeling more rested. But she had been raised not to shirk from duty, to remember that sometimes ruling means making sacrifices. She steeled herself, brushed back an escaping lock of hair, and mentally prepared herself for the next step. Then, as ready as she was going to get, she put on the helm.
---
*The story ended up stretching over four comments, but it is now complete.*
- [Part one](https://old.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/whmukd/wp_as_a_princess_you_knew_the_prophecy_said_for/ij6tcnv/) (this comment right here)
- [Part two](https://old.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/whmukd/wp_as_a_princess_you_knew_the_prophecy_said_for/ij7c7k1/)
- [Part three](https://old.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/whmukd/wp_as_a_princess_you_knew_the_prophecy_said_for/ij88tzn/)
- [Epilogue](https://old.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/whmukd/wp_as_a_princess_you_knew_the_prophecy_said_for/ij8hkn0/) | 460 | As a Princess, you knew the prophecy said for you to marry the Legendary Hero so that your kingdom can be saved. However, the prophecy never said they were male, female, or even human. | 1,701 |
Ra, the great Sun god of Egypt surveyed his dominion from his golden solar boat.
He appeared worried and haggard despite his radiance and was particularly looking at a specific region on earth just above his beloved Egypt. What he saw did not please him.
Aphophis, his great serpent nemesis and brother was finally defeated after a prolonged battle spanning millenia and countless sacrifices but there was something that seemed to have gone extremely wrong after the defeat, Ra could still sense his nemesis lurking and was extremely surprised that Apep did not rise the next day and try to devour him.
After ensuring that his nemesis did not wander the great interstellar cosmos, he turned his sight toward earth and tried finding any great sources of power. But it seemed Apep had divided himself to many pieces and was terrorizing his creations.
These despicable beings were feeding off on the blood of innocent men and women and were gaining a frightful strength unopposed.
After concentrating on his great weapon of light, he summoned a beam thousand times thinner than a human hair capable of vaporizing a God to ashes. Ra smirked to himself, no one of the gods or mortals knew about this ability as he never had to use it.
With a great strike and thundering speed, Ra launched the projectiles striking the beasts and vaporizing them instantly. However the beings were intelligent and soon learned not to appear during day light. As of now, Ra did not seem concerned as he had wiped out most of these creatures in his initial strike. However if they ever showed their faces to him again, he would have to use his hidden weapon and wipe them out - an act of mercy | 123 | It's not that vampires are particularly weak to sunlight. It's more that the sun absolutely hates vampires. Sixteen minutes and forty seconds of light lag, then the beam hits. And if it happens to miss? The next shot won't be the kind that needs to aim. | 345 |
"Fritz, comm checks." Callum grizzled.
"Comms are a go. Levels good, channels clear."
"Roger that. Lando, final atmosphere checks?"
"Coming back with the same composition as initial runs. Roughly 75% nitrogen, 24% oxygen. Little clusters of ammonia and argon floating around but nothing that should give us problems. Hell, you'll be breathing like a young man back in flight school, Cal."
Callum chuckled. "I dunno, Lando. That was a long time ago now. Xeon, fluids?"
"Falluuiidsss aaat fulllll."
*Fluids. Again. These fucking humans always treating us like second rate citizens and giving us the shit work. As if we can't handle ourselves. As if we didn't* invite *the bastards to join Interstellar Council in the first place.*
Xeon shifted in her seat, wrapping a long tentacle around her seatbelt. She'd been on the IC for two decades now. She still hated the landings.
She looked down and out the small, round port window to see the deep red, desolate surface of YB-342 as they made their approach. She had to admit they were surprised to receive communications from this one. They figured the planet's relatively close proximity to its two suns made sustained life all but impossible. But if her time with the IC taught her anything, it was to expected the unexpected. The golden rule.
"Final descent engaged. Strap in, gang, touchdown might be a little rocky."
"No signs of any welcoming committee, eh, X? Lando quipped.
"Nnnnegatiiiivvvve." Xeon had learned to speak at a frequency humans were capable of hearing by manipulating her pronged tongue, vibrating it rapidly against the inside of her mouth. It was effective but it resulted in an awkward speech pattern with long, drawn out syllables.
"Welcoming committee? Shit, Lando, we'd best hope they didn't call us to snare us into a damned trap." Fritz's raspy voice crackled through their headsets.
"Relax, Fritz. We never got anywhere *close* to this place when we tested. They'll never know it was us. Besides, the cabin supply is full with a week's worth of food shoved behind a year's worth of ammo. We'll feed 'em bullets if it comes to it."
If Xeon had eyes, she'd be rolling them right about now. Always so quick to weapons. She had to admit that humans were remarkable manipulators. Their early involvement with IC was a practiced masterclass in malignant diplomacy. Preaches of peace and humility quickly gave way to ventures for conquest and glory as soon as their seats were cemented on council. She should've seen it coming.
Their ship jostled and rocked as they approached the ground. A light whirring noise sounded beneath them as landing gear descended from the ships hull. The ship touched down with a thud, mostly level with a slight tilt to starboard. Not bad.
Xeon was surprised IC let humans lead this one. Although she didn't know why she bothered with surprise anymore. Humans had a way of bullying their way into missions. Especially those that might result in a little bit of glory.
Still, the history here made this case different. And for once, the humans were *scared*. They might not be displaying it on their faces, but she could feel it. It was palpable.
Xeon had to find out from Dispatch. The humans weren't willing to talk about it. But she knew now that the humans knew this planet. They used it for decades to test their long range intergalactic weaponry. Their recon told them the planet was uninhabitable. So to receive communications from YB-342 was a shock to their system. It meant that a species had survived their most powerful tested weapons.
It meant something out there was beyond death. And that scared the shit out of them. Hell, it scared her, too.
The cabin door pushed up with a loud *hiiiissss* as the airlock released. The crew stood at the ready as the door dropped away and the fog cleared, revealing the deep red surface of YB-342.
The earth beneath them grumbled. A terrible, guttural noise sounded all around them.
"Cal...what the fuck is that?"
A massive, dark figure began to surface over the horizon.
"Coooonnnntaaaact."
"Whatever that thing is, it doesn't seem happy that we're here."
*Great. Glory, glory.*
The humans grabbed their weapons. | 159 | The Interspecies Council was shocked and, honestly, terrified to discover intelligent life on a planet even less hospitable than Earth. Naturally, humans made up a majority of the First Contact Mission. | 475 |
“Is that a literal cauldron?” I asked my step-mother as she stirred the black pot on the stove, cooking something that was hopefully edible for dinner. Maddy, as I called her seeing she was only ten years older then I, started at my question. She whirled in my direction, brown eyes wide with surprise.
“You’re home,” she said. Not a question, but almost like she was telling herself.“
Yeah. My finals were all scheduled yesterday so I was able to come home early. Didn’t Dad tell you?”
“No. I must have missed that,” Maddy said. She stood in front of the stove, stiff and awkward like I’d never seen her before. Her blond hair, usually framing her face in thick waves, was pulled back into an afterthought of a bun at the nap of her neck. She wore the least amount of makeup I’d ever seen. “He’s been off on a business trip to China all week. We’ve barely been able to talk because of the time difference.”
No surprise there. It wasn’t as if Dad married someone thirty years his younger because of their deep, intimate connection. I took another few steps into the kitchen, setting my duffle onto the bench of the breakfast nook. The table was covered in leaves, dead bugs, flowers and even a few butterflies. Must be another of Alice’s home school projects.“A biology lesson today?” I asked, trying to relieve some of the tension in the room.
“Yes. A biology lesson,” Maddy repeated, as if it had just occurred to her that was what they were doing. “You know I haven’t gone grocery shopping in a few days, how about I give you my card and you can-“
“-Mom does it count if as three crickets if the toad eats one?” Alice asked loudly as she entered the kitchen from the sliding glass door that led to the patio. In her hand was a small aquarium which I imagined contained said toad. She stopped dead in her tracks when she finally noticed me, the blond ringlets she had inherited from Maddy bouncing as she did so. “Your home,” she said.
“Yeah, I guess the message didn’t get back to you guys I was coming home early. I’ve missed you, Alice!” I said. “How about a hug for your older sister?” Alice was normally happy to see me. I had a lollipop the size of her face stuffed in my bag for her that I wanted to give her but Alice’s gaze fled to her Mother who was still standing stiff as a rail in front of that pot. She had that fearful look a child has when they’ve just been caught doing something entirely wrong, and have no idea what to do next. “What’s wrong, Alice?”
“Mom?” Alice asked, drawing out the word into a question.
“Just put the toad on the table and we will finish counting later,” Maddy said.
Alice didn’t speak as she marched over to the table and placed the clear box on the table beside the other neatly laid out creatures and then walked over to her mother and burred her face against her legs as Alice hugged her.
Maddy gave me an apologetic smile. “You know how kids are. She’ll warm back up to you in a bit. Would you mind getting some groceries?”
The idea of going to the grocery store was unappetizing after my day long drive. “I can go first thing in the morning. I already ate tonight so, I’m good.”
Retrieving the lollipop from my bag I held it up and said, “Oh, Alice. Look what I have just for you.”
Her little face turned in my direction, one eye peering at me. The candy did it’s job and she immediately rushed over to me and wrapped me in a hug, her little arms squeezing around my waist. “I’m sorry,” she said the candy seemingly forgotten.
“You didn’t do anything wrong,” I said looking to Maddy for some context.
Maddy only canted her head and said, “Alice, why don’t you eat that on the floor while you watch a movie in the living room, and Sam, I really insist on getting the groceries tonight.”
“I’m too tired to drive anymore today,” I said.
Maddy’s face tightened. “I really insist-““I’ve got the spell book, the wands and the oh dear,” Lidia said appearing from the hall. Lidia was Maddy’s older sister, though she was a few inches shorter then either of us. In her hand was a bound leather book and three gnarled sticks. Just like Alice had she froze when she saw me, her eyes going wide and her gaze fleeing to Maddy.
“Damn it all,” Maddy cried out in frustration.
“What is going on?” I asked. Clearly something strange was happening in this house that they didn’t want me to know about. I would have thought they were playing a make believe game with Alice with spell books and wands but their utter shock sent my instincts blaring.
Lidia smiled at me, her mouth tight. “Sam, you’re home early.”
“Yes. I am. I told Dad. What is happening here?”
“You best sit down, dear,” Lidia said.
I looked to Maddy who was leaning against the counter, her head bowed, looking as if she was about to be sick.
“I’m fine. Just tell me what is going on,” I demanded, my tone sharpening. | 40 | Your trophy wife mother has always shown favor to your much younger sister. She even homeschools her. You come home to visit unexpectedly and discover your Mom is a witch and she’s training your sister how to use her abilities so your sister can remove the curse she placed on you as a child. | 271 |
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