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“EDWIN!!!”
I allowed myself a quiet groan before going over to handle whatever horrors my boss wanted me to deal with next. Whatever it was, I doubted that it would be worse than what I had dealt with the day before. There were days when I almost wished that I had stayed in the fields as a farmer.
Still, the pay was much better here even if the hours were worse, and the benefits weren’t too shabby either—the boss’s boss had a full staff of healers on-call, along with a literally endless supply of bodyguards.
Unfortunately, that endless supply was usually more of a problem for me than a benefit.
“EDWIN!”
The voice was much closer now; he was probably down the hall from my quarters. I quickly rolled out of bed and tossed on my cloak, exiting just as he turned the corner to face me.
“Yes, Ser Borros, I await your orders.”
“Dungeon Level Seven. Now.”
“I-is the party still there?”
Ser Borros rolled his eyes in an all-too-familiar manner.
“The party was dispatched by the quartz sphinx on Level Eight. If they were still there, I wouldn’t put a weakling like you on cleanup duty, would I?”
I was a bit hurt by his comments; after all, I was starting to get pretty good with the water magic that I had learned to clean out some of the bloodier messes. The boss’s boss had recently allowed me to fight some of the heroes on Levels One and Two, and I even managed to defeat a party myself and wash them out of Level One last week.
Still, I held my tongue. Ser Borros deserved his evil reputation far more than his boss, Lady Lavinia; while she might be kind enough to provide me with cleaning supplies, Ser Borros would gladly watch me clean the hallways with my tongue if it didn’t slow down my efficiency.
“Well?!” Ser Borros screeched. “Go!”
“Of course, Ser Borros,” I muttered as I trudged off down the hallway.
Level Seven wasn’t as easy to re-prepare as some of the other levels, but at least it wasn’t Level Eleven. The heroes had cut through all of the Rock Trolls and almost all of the Fire Hounds, but had left more than a few trails of blood behind.
I sighed when I saw the carnage; clearly, the knowledge that they had been defeated just one level above was not surprising. The Rock Troll debris would be easy enough to clean away, as would the scorch marks from the Fire Hounds. The blood, though, would take longer.
I cast a small trickle of water and had started to clean up one of the Rock Trolls when I heard a whimper from one of the nearby corridors, and suddenly remembered why Level Seven was one of my favorites.
“Aww, come here, puppy! Let me help you.”
The whimper faded, replaced by an excited barking as one of the Fire Hounds charged down the hallway. Even though I knew that the creature was just a magical re-spawn, getting to pet the Fire Hounds was one of the best perks of the job. I didn’t need to fear them, given my water magic, and they were shockingly loving animals when they weren’t being attacked.
“Hey, Cerberus 237, how’s it going?” I smiled at the Hound as she rounded the corner.
The clones of 237 were some of the friendliest Fire Hounds, so I gave her a belly rub as she began licking my face with unabashed glee. I had 540 stacks of Bear Meat in the magical inventory Lady Lavinia had crafted for me, but I was only supposed to use one Bear Meat per Hound. They were replaceable clones after all.
I gave her two piles of Bear Meat anyway. I could pretend that it was to make sure that she was fully healed before respawning the rest, but the truth was that I just wanted to make her happy.
I used the second Bear Meat to lure her over to the Cerberus Spawning Machine. She and Clone 474 appeared to be the only one of the fifty clones on duty that day to survive the heroes, and 474 had apparently done it by failing to follow magical programming and leave the spawn area. I sighed as I grabbed my Cattle Prod of Relearning from my inventory and gave 474 a quick buzz. The dreamy, lost expression on his face disappeared, replaced by one of absolute focus. I left him and 237 to play for a bit while I went to clean out the Rock Troll dust.
After one relatively peaceful hour of washing Troll dust into the drains and three brutal hours of scrubbing blood, I was ready to finish the reset. I respawned the Rock Trolls first; technically, the protocol said to respawn the Fire Hounds first, but I was still running a bit ahead of schedule so I could afford to play with 237 and 474 for a bit longer before I respawned the other 48 and called it a job well done.
We played a quick game of “Fetch the Iron Roundshield” but sadly I didn’t have as much time as I thought I did. I tossed the Roundshield to 237 one last time, and let her hold onto it; one of the Fire Hounds would be spawned with a shield drop, but I figured that nobody would complain if two Fire Hounds had drops.
Plus, that meant that 237 got to have a bit more playtime before the next party of adventurers arrived.
I departed Level Seven after that, wistful about doggy playtime but still satisfied by a job well done.
I made it back to my quarters just as the sun began to rise; the next group of adventurers would be arriving soon. I had just put my head on the pillow when I heard an all-too-familiar scream.
“EDWIN!!!”
“Yes, Ser Borros?” I replied, my head not leaving the pillow.
“You were supposed to reset and clean Level Seven!” Ser Borros yelled from outside my bedroom door.
“I did!” I shouted back, annoyed that Ser Borros had interrupted my slumber to criticize me for work I’d already done.
“Really?” Ser Borros replied.
“Yes!” I answered, annoyance curdling into anger. Had he even bothered to check?
“Well, if you’ve done that…then WHY IS THERE NO GUARDIAN ON THE LEVEL SEVEN STAIRWELL?!”
My anger immediately faded into terror. I had gotten too distracted by playtime to respawn the Silver Archfiend that was supposed to guard the stairwell to Level Eight.
“M-my apologies, Ser Borros.”
“No apologies,” he snapped back. “Fix it!”
“Right away, Ser Borros.”
I slipped out of the bedroom and past his angry glare as I sprinted to the stairwell. I cursed myself under my breath; that was a rookie mistake, and Ser Borros was clearly furious. I only had half an hour before the first adventurers arrived for the day, and I hadn’t even gotten to sleep through the morning challenges.
Clearly, this was going to be a very long day.
_________________
If you liked this, check out my subreddit! r/NicodemusLux | 31 | A day in the life of the person responsible for resetting the dungeons after each band of adventurers goes through. | 92 |
You blink awake reluctantly, clutching onto the last wisps of your previous dream. Another worthless one, boring and nonsensical.
Your stomach cramped in hunger, trying to force you out of bed. But everything, even hunger, could be useful.
A lack of energy let you stay in the darkness longer, and made all of your concoctions more effective. It was a balancing game between your body's desperate desire for the little luxuries of waking life, and your need to force it back down into sleep.
The knife's edge, between a waking life you needed to leave and a sleeping life you eventually had to wake from. The thin line between selling the last of your old life's possessions to buy something stronger to knock you out and the need for there to be enough food in the apartment when you woke up to make it to the filmmakers' offices.
Lottery tickets were one in three hundred million, but word was, the chance of a sellable dream was one in only one million. If you could just keep pushing under, recording and waiting for the winning dream, you could finally buy your way out of this hellhole.
You roll over. A half cup of water first, then you reach past the melatonin that stopped working ages ago, shaking hands grabbing onto your stronger mixes blended to keep you under while still forcing your brain to generate a dizzying array of vivid dreams.
You close your eyes, letting consciousness slip away again.
It didn't matter who you used to be. It didn't matter who you could've been. All that mattered was the dream. | 11 | Dream recording technology is finally here, and it's cheap as a 6 pack of beer. Hollywood is paying really high prices for good dreams to use them as movie plot. Society is malfunciotining because people are trying to get the best dreams by sleeping all the time and not working/eating properly. | 73 |
"This? This is why you needed our stories?" I asked.
"Yes" Grolleon said simply. "This is what is left of my mother. Our mother."
The pair were standing in the shadow of a massive machine roughly the size of the average American house. The entire top half of the machine was some sort of fluid-filled tank and in the center was a brain the size of a minivan, connected to various tubes, chords, and cables. There was a hum akin to that of a fishtank and I was surprised how peaceful it felt to be in the presence of this...brain.
"Was she always like this?" I asked, unsure how to carry on the conversation. I had a million questions but still being fairly unfamiliar with Viranth culture I was afraid of offending my hosts with a misstep.
"No, no, she was once in bodily form but through the ages she began to fail. The trouble, you see, is should she die then we die. We are connected to her in such a manner that our existence depends on her. She is the last of her powerful race, and we are the product of her magnificent abilities. All Viranth trace their lineage to her. We do not breed, you see, but rather she spawns us."
I considered this for a few moments. It was fascinating to contemplate. An entire race connected to one arch-being whose existence was only assured so long as their progenitor lived? Astounding. This made my next question obvious.
"Incredible. But why the stories? Why did you come to us for our stories?"
"She needs them. Despite our technology and all of our efforts she was failing again. All of her readings plummeted and we feared our species was at its end until by happenstance some began to tell stories of gratitude to her to console her, and her vital readings improved. We continued this for many months and remarkable things happened. Awesome things! She had improved considerably but eventually every single one of us had exhausted our well of stories and we had nothing left to draw on."
"So you started to seek them elsewhere..." I said fascinated.
"Exactly. For whatever reason the stimulation these stories provided proved beneficial to mother. It was clear she was processing them and engaged with them. We don't quite understand the 'why' behind it but something about the creativity has proved useful" Grolleon went on in a manner similar to that of a college lecturer.
"Wow. But you said incredible things happened - was this just her return to health, or something else entirely?"
Grolleon let out a mixture of a chuckle and a sigh. "No, not quite" he said mysteriously.
"I don't understand?"
"The story you just shared, about your first car. It was a powerful memory for you, wasn't it?"
"Yes, one of my favorites. I loved that red Mustang" I said.
Grolleon walked away without a word and gestured for me to follow him to a window. We gazed out over the massive complex and down onto a platform some distance away.
"Look there" Grolleon said, with a nod of his head in the direction of the platform.
I looked at the area he was suggesting and to my surprise was a red 1968 Ford Mustang in pristine condition being tended to by no less than four Viranth workers.
"Something about these stories inspired her to create again. She had not made a new Viranth in decades, and we thought she may never materialize another brother or sister for us ever again, until the stories. The more powerful the story the more she desired to take part in it." Grolleon paused. "Something about these stories inspires her, pleases her, but can also lead her to do unexpected things. Sometimes horrifying things. There have been...less ideal creations she has spawned than this. So now we have to carefully monitor, even censor the stories."
"You mean people tell her bad things and she..."
"Exactly" Grolleon interrupted. "She has become very impressionable and we have learned the hard way that it is critical to filter the type of story she receives. We cannot afford any more disasters." | 120 | all of our stories. Today, you are the first to visit the Viranth homeworld, and you are amazed at why they wanted them. | 227 |
The boy thought his trouble had ended when the two men threw him out onto the Academy doorsteps. However, unbeknownst to him, the trouble had only just begun.
The world was cruel to those without magic; and even worse to those who had the mark of mana and could not be settled into the academies of the great lords of fire, earth, sea, and air. A wizard without a source of mana was as unnatural to the arcane world as a demon lurking in the lights and hopes of heaven. That was why the boy had come to the Academy: to beg for help and training, to beg for a family and brotherhood when he had known nothing but dirt and dust his whole life.
But the Academy would not take anyone without a source of mana. To them, he was nothing more than just a parlour trick, with a mark obtained through devilish means; and for that, they said he deserved to be thrown back into the sewer.
The boy was good at crawling after all. He had crawled through most of the main city to reach the Academy, to scurry like a rat beneath those born in life with mana and wealth. And so, the boy crawled again, as fast as he could to the wall to regain his balance and composure after the two men had thrown him out like the magicless carcass that he was. He did not make it very far.
“You’re a fucking fraud,” yelled the man as he kicked the boy in the stomach. “Where did you get that mark if you can’t even use magic?”
The other man laughed as he lit up his pipe with nothing more than the snap of his fingers. A son of fire. The next snap sent an ember straight for the boy's leg, and the two snaps after that took out half the boy's face and left a puddle of charred blood and skin behind.
The boy crawled back again to the wall, screaming in pain, or so he thought. He could not tell anymore except his mouth was open and his throat felt dry. The boy fumbled for his boot and reached for a knife. The thing could barely be called a knife, it was more akin to a lockpick or a cheap piece of metal good for skinning apples . He held it out in front of him, gripping it tightly like a giant broadsword.
The first man laughed loudly and clapped twice into the air. Before the boy could react he felt a punch of gust knock him in the stomach and it sent him flying into the wall. A son of air.
The boy coughed up blood. It went everywhere, the ground, his hand, and even onto his knife.
For a moment, perhaps it was the shock, the world began to slow down. He never imagined he would get far on his journey, it seemed almost fitting his life would end in the alleyway just beyond the Academy: the street, after all, was where he was found as a babe.
The boy coughed up more blood, and now his world began to speed up again. The blood did something he did not expect it would: it began to circle him in the air. It started to spread on his clothes and knife, turning the small piece of metal into a large crimson sword. The drops of blood rushed around to the boy’s head, healing his wounds, and then it returned into him, coming back to its unholy home.
The two men looked at each other.
“Impossible,” they tried to say, but it was too late. The boy had lunged himself at them faster than an arrow through the air, and had impaled the son of fire with his newfound crimson sword.
Blood began to pour out of the fire lord’s chest and before the other man could clap, the boy turned to him and with a mere thought the red blood had turned into an axe and sent the hands of the air lord flying into the night. His head soon followed.
The boy fell to the floor, his hands and knees on the ground. He couldn’t help it, he crawled in shock and elation. Soon, a smile began to tear itself out from the tightened skin around his solemn cold face.
Blood was his mana, and blood was everywhere in this godforsaken world. | 190 | Sorcerers draw mana from a personal source, such as raging storms, campfires, murky swamps, etc. and that source affects the spells available to them. You possess the gift of sorcery but you feel no attraction to any traditional source, so you wander and seek that which will ignite your powers. | 488 |
There is nothing. And then there is light. There is bright, white light, a sensation of tumbling, and a faint rushing noise — a faint rushing noise that gets louder and louder, until it builds to a deafening crescendo. Finally, this is punctuated with a definitive “pop”, which seems from the approach as if god himself is yanking his thumb from the corner of his mouth, but on the tail end resembles a single note tapped on a child’s xylophone.
In front of me, The Child is sitting with a baffled expression on his face. He is sat cross-legged in this… playroom… I think? (These words arrive in my head unbidden. Moments ago I did not exist, but now I have language and thought…) The Child’s hands are clutching what slightly resembles an oil can, weirdly ornate, grubby but massive.
An inexplicable urge is building in my gut. I don’t know what it means, but it will become fully formed soon, so I decide to be patient and wait it out. I become aware of two things simultaneously — an apparition, cloudy, menacing, mischievous, obsequious floating to my left and the child’s right; and behind me, when I glance over my left shoulder even further, a rhythm guitarist and a bassist who — more inexplicable knowledge from the core of my being — I know is about to produce the funkiest, slappiest riff imaginable. We make eye contact, and I turn back to my audience.
The look of bafflement on the child’s face is giving way to petulance. “What is this? I didn’t ask for this. That’s not what I meant!”
The slap bass starts. The urge rising through my abdomen resolves itself — I know what to do. I start to sing… “I believe in miracles, since you came along…” | 105 | Poof! You’ve just been spoken into existence. The first thing you see is a genie with a smug smile and a clearly upset child screaming “That’s not what I meant!” | 407 |
$2.64 UNLEADED, the sign said. It was $2.73 yesterday. Not like I've been paying for it. I've been "purchasing" gas on the clerk's computer behind the counter--all the passwords were written on notes under the keyboard. Is it stealing? I don't know. No one has been here--or anywhere--in years.
So who's changing the sign?
And where is the gas coming from? Surely, after all this time filling up at the same pump, it would run dry eventually. Gasoline is only good for around six months until it spoils. So if it's the same gas it would have stopped working by now. Right?
It was sunset, the orange glow casting the clouds in bright halos. The streetlights flickered on and the various business signs turned on.
Why?
And who's mowing their yards? Or the neighbors' yards? I've never heard any machine except mine.
I pulled in to the grocery store parking lot, predictably vacant. Inside, the lights were on and 90s alternative hits played softly on the intercom. Rotiserrie chickens sat under heat lamps. Fresh donuts were available at the Bakery. Oranges were carefully stacked into a pyramid at the produce section.
In the first days after waking up to a lonely world, I'd hoarded as much food as I could transport to my house. I picked up generators, gas canisters, solar panels, anything I thought I might need to survive a post-societal world.
But I never needed any of it. The next day, what I took had been replaced. The generators were back in stock at the hardware store. New cans were lining shelves that I'd emptied.
I checked the stores' dumpsters for bad produce. Empty.
Tonight, all I needed was a gallon of milk and a box of Reese's Puffs. Comfort food. I was celebrating, sort of. It was three years to the day since I woke up to an empty, inexplicably functioning planet. I was going to drown myself in peanut butter chocolate corn product.
I loaded the things in my cart and walked out the automatic doors. I'd parked my car on the sidewalk out front for convenience. Who's going to stop me?
I loaded the bags in the passenger seat and shut the door behind me. I looked up, past my car for no reason in particular. Did I always do that?
I saw it standing there,in the middle of the parking lot, its hands by its sides, perfectly still.
I was paralyzed. I opened my mouth to shout something, but in my fright only a quivering whimper came out.
We stood like that for some time, just staring at each other, frozen in place. Finally, I said something. "Hello?"
My voice was groggy, strange. When was the last time I'd spoken?
It didn't do anything, just continued looking at me, the wind buffeting its hair and sending ripples across its shirt.
I inched around my car and turned for only a second as I sat inside. As soon as I could, I turned my head to keep an eye on it.
Was it closer? Did it move when I wasn't looking?
I locked my doors.
The engine turned as I twisted the key in the ignition. Usually, I'd plug my iPod into the aux jack and start playing something on the way home--the radio and internet, sadly, did not survive human absence--but I couldn't bring myself to turn away.
There was a noise to my right, back at the store's entrance. The doors were shutting, but there was no one there. I turned my head to the left again, only to see some faint shadow moving quickly upward.
Immediately after, footsteps pounded on the car's roof. It was *on* my car. I screamed, threw the gear into drive and stomped in the gas.
The tires squealed and my heart was pounding. I turned sharply right and heard its body rolling above me. A sharp left turn sent it the other way.
I could see signs of its presence: a shoe dangling over my back window, a lump of a shadow on the road as I passed streetlights.
*What the fuck, what the fuck, what the fuck*
I had an idea.
I began accelerating down a long stretch of straight road. I hit 60. 70. Then, I slammed on my brakes.
I might've been going too fast. My head bounced off the steering wheel, activating the air bags and thrusting me against my seat. I was dizzy, but my vision came to as the bags deflated and I watched my car coast over the side of a bridge and into a river below.
I woke up some time later.
I was in the hospital, laying in a bed, bandages on my head and a cast in my (presumably) broken arm.
I hobbled out and left my room, looking down the eery, empty hallways and the unstaffed nurse station. My mind raced with questions and tears welled in my eyes.
I screamed in frustration.
"Shh."
\---------------------------------------------------
The story continues [here](https://www.reddit.com/r/ProtoWriter469/comments/x08ttk/this_dead_world_keeps_breathing/). | 546 | You are the last person on earth. At least you think so. But then why are the grocery store shelves always stocked with food, why is there still electricity, and why are the roads and buildings still in good shape? | 1,023 |
That always comes out, doesn't it? I have several answers prepared for such a question: 'I cannot profit from my powers', 'It's all about helping others', 'I do not care about personal gain', 'my ability to see the future makes it so I can live a pretty good life without need for a lot of money'.
None of those things are true. The real reason I'm not rich even though I can see the future is that it would always end up in disaster.
See, the future is always changing. The very act of witnessing it changes it. My ancestors spent a long time fine tuning their abilities so that they could use their prescience and have the future they saw still happen. They developed a whole protocol for it. Otherwise all you can see is like a dizzying montage of possibilities.
Many of my ancestors were very wealthy. It's actually kind of annoying, since they must have seen me and my times, and it's sort of like they are mocking me. My great grandfather was the one who had to start getting rid of the wealth, that fucker had *the life*, throwing money around. By the time I was born, we were firmly lower middle class, then I developed my power, was tutored to use it, learnt the protocols, and found out I was doomed to a lower middle class life.
There's a set of futures that never changes, no matter how hard you look at it. If I am wealthy, the world is fucked. There's a smaller set of possibilities where I am the only one who's fucked if I become wealthy and the line ends with me.
There is a future, a century or so from now, when my bloodline can again start reaping the benefits from our abilities, there's some local emperor in the deep future ruling over five star systems. But none of that happens if I live in the luxury I, well, kind of deserve, the luxury my ancestors and descendants have and will have.
To be frank with you, my life kinda sucks.
So, that's why I'm writing you this. I know you can see all of what I'm living, but I am writing this and staring at it to make a point. Fuck it all. Be wealthy, my past self, indulge. There's a path through which humanity still endures, it'll be hard for them, but why should it be hard for me instead?
Oil, that's where the money is. Invest in it, prop up the industry. I'm fed up with this pathetic mediocre existence. | 52 | "If you can see the future, why aren't you rich?" | 103 |
''Oh that's just Daniel''
''What do you mean 'just Daniel'? He's level 10!" The alien scientists asked Tom, the human he had found near the level 10 threat who is apparently 'just Daniel'. Tom not quite understanding what he meant, just answered.
''Well he's just really good at pitching, he has some crazy aim to be fair. So maybe that's why? He can throw a baseball really hard and really accurate?''
''How would that be a threat? No it's gotta be something else? Like what does he eat? What's his life look like? What job does he do?''
''Oh well he's a welder, like me, on a shipyard in Boston. But he's not American though, he's Icelandic I think, came here in 2016. Eats pickled herring and beans I think...euh, yeah fairly quiet dude, keeps to himself, always has a clear, short and concise answer ready. Drinks like an absolute menace tho, finished a whole bottle of vodka in an hour three nights ago.''
''Herring? What's that? And how do you pickle it?''
''Oh herring is like a fish, you pickle it by...euh...I don't actually know how you pickle herring. But he likes it, in contrast to pretty much everyone else in the world. I'm yet to meet someone who actually love pickled herring like Daniel Gudmundsson does. I think I got his last name right, but I'm not quite sure. You know, you could just ask him, I'm sure he'd give you an answer.''
''Are you crazy, he could kill me.''
''No, he wouldn't hurt a fly. Come on, I'll come with you.'' Tom took the alien by the hand, ignoring the slightly slimy feeling of his hand, and pulled him along to Daniel, who stood a few feet away cleaning up his workspace. ''Hey Daniel!" He called. Daniel looked up, nodded and gave the Alien a weird look.
''Vat is it Tom? Does the alien vant to check my vork?'' His accent permeated every syllable, but Tom was used to it.
''No, he wants to ask you why you're a level 10 threat? Is it the pickled herring maybe?''
''Level 10? How's that possible? I mean I can throw a ball pretty hard, but that's not Level 10 vorthy is it?''
''Haha, no of course not sir. But we're trying to figure it out you see, so I have a few more questions for you.'' the Alien answered, slightly nervous still, but comforted by the man's humour.
''Go ahead, I have nothing to hide.'' he chuckled, but then his nose caught the Aliens scent. ''You smell pretty good tho, mister Alien. Reminds me a bit of pickled herring, and I do love pickled herring.''
*Edit for spelling errors* | 1,567 | Aliens aren't surprised when most of humanity is considered a 'level 1 threat', the lowest possible. although they are shocked when they scan a singular human and find that they are a 'level 10 threat', the highest there is. | 2,577 |
General Uruk fell into a fitful sleep, the stress that was plaguing him unable to be shook, threatened to follow him into his dreams. It was only his chair, a fine model from the doomed world of Zion 97F5 that allowed him any reprieve, the unmatchable comfort the spoil of war provided let the General rest easy for a few minutes in between his meetings.
Unfortunately that was broken immediately as his his screen lit up to display a lone Corporal in a barren landscape mottled with yellowy sand.
"Corporal." Uruk muttered stifling a yawn. "This better be important, especially as you've class order has been broken to contact me. Where is your Sergeant."
The Private hesitated a moment before responding. "He's dead sir."
"Dead? Uruk repeated.
"Yes sir, dead. I'm a member of the Earth expeditionary force and I am the last of my unit."
"It would have been more appropriate to contact the mothership then Corporal. They could have directed you to one of the other four fleets and had you merged with them. Surely that would have been more appropriate than skipping command and contacting HQ?
"That is the problem sir, I presume they are gone as well."
Uruk was suddenly very awake. Each fleet was composed of enough soldiers to take a small world. They'd dedicated multiple to Earth, more than was probably necessary, after an error in the slip lanes left a few stranded out of sub-space. With nothing to be done until repairs were finished they had them all converge on the closest planetary target, which was by all means a small world.
"What's your name Corporal?
"Sulud, sir."
"Give me a status report Sulud. How's this happened?"
"Of course." The Corporal said lifting up a holo-sphere partially obscured by sand. "We arrived in the planet's orbit as planned, the continents were divided up into quarters and assigned accordingly. He motions across the sphere. "We began the invasion at 00:00 hours and descended into the planet's atmosphere -" the holo-sphere lights up - "and this happened."
The scenes that played next were hard for General Uruk to describe. He was foremost a soldier, it was how he had begun his career before being elevated to his rank. As such he was used to destruction, he had seen it firsthand across the cosmos. The eradication of entire worlds and species, whether it be through extended periods of siege leaving the landscapes unrecognisable or through military persistence devastating a world's defenders. But he had never seen a slaughter like this.
The projection displayed a segment of the dispersed fleet that had stalled beneath a large number of clouds. Torrential rain poured down obscuring a figure floating silently in front of the ships. He seemed humanoid, matching preliminary scans of the worlds lifeforms. No scans, however, indicated they had any method of evolutionary flight. The figure raised an arm towards the clouds and they began to darken. Electricity cackled across the gathered mass and was quickly followed by a thunderous flash that annihilated the right-most portion of the formation.
The rest ducked downwards, gathering speed to dodge the following strikes across a large body of water. They sped through the waves before multiple tremendously large limbs erupted from the lake. The tip of the formation was seized by the enormous local fauna. The ships activated their defensive forcefields and attempted to flee but the pulsating bubbles were ensnared by suckers and crushed in a limb or the creatures beak soon after.
The hologram shifted and displayed a troop shooting across the skies over a desert landscape towards a large settlement of the planet's dominant life form. Halcyon and Antigravity missiles were deployed to uproot the city when three large triangular structures emitted a glowing yellow light that nullified the reactor cores of the missiles and the ships, sending them plummeting into a fiery death below.
Again the projection shifted, now it showed an nightmarish scene. Disease was not uncommon in conquest, as such the medical stations generally offered vaccination to all but the most uncommon in the galaxy. Apparently this one was so. The platoon had secured a fertile grassland and quickly expanded the frontier into a base of operations, yet, scattered throughout the camp were the diseased. It seemed quarantine efforts had failed as each member was afflicted with unsightly bulbous wounds that covered them head to toe and excreted puss, blood and other substances onto the campsite. The sick, dead and dying ducked low as any attempts to flee and escape the infection were met with fierce gunfire from outside the camp.
The projections seemed to blur together to Uruk.
\- Another urban settlement, this one while outwardly under the fleets control was riddled with humans who had survived the attack. Instead of the expected surrender there was fierce resistance from any humans they encountered, even when defeat was assured. Any attempts to enter or clear the living residences for cover was a risky gambit as they soon found out when one erupted into fire at the step of a tripwire.
\- Natural disasters seemed to plague multiple sites. Buffeted by terrifying winds and other weather conditions or crushed by rock and other debris. As if the earth beneath their feet wouldn't tolerate their presence.
\- The wildlife persistently harassed every station. Supplies were rummaged and depleted, attempts to venture into the wilderness to obtain more resulted in disappearance. Glowing eyes seemed to surround any and all of the sites at night.
"Stop." Genera Uruk said. "Stop."
"General, what are my orders?
"Corporal Sulud, you are to get onto any working ship you can find."
"... and then sir?"
"Run." | 102 | Within a hostile galaxy, all of Earth is forced to work with each other to survive. ALL of Earth. Including the gods, the mythical creatures, the supernatural organizations, the killer robots, the sentient viruses, and the planetary will. | 597 |
I had a feeling this Monday would be bad. More than usual, I mean. It started with my car deciding to run out of gas not even halfway to the office. Sure, it beeped at me, but how am I supposed to know what beep is bad and what beep isn't? The 'Check Engine' light's been on for almost a year now and I looked at it, and it looked engine-like, so, you know? So I went ahead and summoned one of my minions to take care of it. That's what they're there for after all.
Then of course someone ran into me just as I walked out onto my office floor. White shirt and black coffee do not make a good combination. I was checking my phone to see when my minion would get my car back to me, and then one moment later, I had a massive burning splotch all over my front. Not the good kind of burning either. The little devil who ran into my apologized profusely. I swear she was about to prostrate on the floor with how frazzled she looked.
I'd just sat down in my office and petted Mr. Bubbles when the phone rang.
"My lord, he's here again," said my secretary, Agatha, in her low, raspy voice.
"Who?" I knew who she meant, but I was hoping just this one time to be wrong.
"Mr. Awesome, sire." Agatha took a long rattling breath. "I'll send him up before he scares the minions again."
I didn't reply. Just burrowed my head in my hands for a long moment. Why did this keep happening?
A sharp knock on the door. I took a deep breath and tidied up some of the papers on my leather desk. Mr. Bubbles was curled up like a cloud on the window sill.
"Come in." I tried to keep my tone flat and neutral.
The door opened and in strode Mr. Awesome. His blond hair fluttered despite the absence of any noticeable breeze. His shining white costume made me hiss at the glare. He nodded almost imperceptibly to me before walking up to my table and slamming his fists down on it.
"It's finally time to bring you to justice, Mr. Doom! You can't weasel your way out with words this time, though my code compels me to at least give you an audience. Speak quickly before I take you in." His voice was resonant, almost choral.
"Mr. Awesome. A pleasure. Though again, I have no idea why you're here. We are a perfectly reasonable organization engaged in completely legal business activities of a moral nature." I'd long been coached on what to say by my lawyer after the mess I'd made the first time Mr. Awesome had ambushed me.
Mr. Awesome clenched his fist. "We had a spy this time! He's given us first hand information. You call your staff minions! Your secretary is a ghoul, and your name is Mr. Doom! I've heard of reverse psychology, but this is a stretch too far even for that !"
I rose to my feet, still a good head shorter than the caped hero before me. "How dare you! Agatha has a congenital condition that she's been mocked for her entire life! Ghoul! I should report you just for this baseless, demeaning accusation. The only solace she's found has been embracing a Goth identity, and you would take that from her?" My voice grew progressively louder.
"And my name?", I continued, "Are you chasing down anyone and everyone that has a surname with even slightly negative connotations? If you must know, it's the closest spelling of a word from my native land. I thought Utopialand was above discrimination. Clearly I was mistaken."
Mr. Awesome's shoulders had slumped. I could see him physically shrink back. "But... Your company's name is EVIL!
"Yes, Enterprise Value Increaser Limited! That's what we do - we make companies better. Now unless making money is a crime, I don't know why you're here."
Mr. Awesome made to speak, his mouth opening and closing a couple of times. His brows grew increasingly furrowed.
I pointed to the door. "Now, please. I need to get back to work. World domination isn't easy, you know."
"He means of the enterprise value market." Agatha's rasp from outside my door killed the little spark of light that had crept back into Mr. Awesome's face. | 86 | It’s not your evil lair, it’s just your office. And those aren’t your minions, they’re just coworkers! You aren’t even the boss! There are no evil plans and you don’t even have a super villain identity, can the heroes please just leave you alone?? | 184 |
Ugh... where am I? Wha- hold on. My friends... I saved the whole world, yet when I needed their help, they abandoned me... why? I try to get up, but I can only just manage to breathe. I just don't understand... I was attacked by a vicious beast! My friends could have stopped it! They could have helped me get back to town! They could have-
My thoughts are interrupted by the door to my room opening. "You're finally awake!" a voice cries, clear relief coming from it. But when I look at where the voice is coming from, I'm in shock. "...Fever?" "The one and only" he replies. "I was in the forest, gathering fruit, nuts, whatever I can find. Then I saw you, fatally wounded. I couldn't just leave you there."
"Why not?" I query, eyeing Fever suspiciously. He smiles an oddly warm smile. "You could have killed me, but you didn't. You even made sure I wasn't anywhere near the machine when you rigged it to explode. The least I can do is save your life." Fever then looks at me with concern. "Most of the town didn't seem to agree with your decision to spare me... I won't forget those glares, the almost evil stares. It's not fair..."
I look at him with wide eyes. "My 'friends' were the ones to abandon me in the forest and leave me to be killed by the beast... do you think they hate me *that much* for letting you live?" Fever frowns. "It's possible" he replies. "That doesn't make what they did right, though. It may not e safe for you to stay in town... you're more than welcome to live with me."
I'm stunned by the offer. "So you're really not going to do anything to me?" He laughs the bone-chilling laugh I've gotten used to. "If I were going to do anything to you, don't you think I missed my chance?" I think for a moment... he's right. He could have even just left me in the forest! Besides, right now he may be the closest thing I have to a friend. "I'm really grateful for the offer, and I accept." | 54 | After saving the world, the Hero is betrayed by their friends and left for dead. The Villain discovers the wounded Hero and takes them in, healing their wounds and giving them the care. But why? | 123 |
[Poem]
When Earth fell we didn’t think much of it
But when they called we came running because of it
But it turned out they don’t remember any of it
All they do is to drool and crawl and sit
***
All they have left is this video
Showing nothing but a rodeo
We squinted at the horses
And tried to figure out the causes
***
Yeah, there’s nothing left of society
All they do is drink themselves outta sobriety
They can’t stop taking them pills
Otherwise they will lose all their will
***
We rounded up as many as we could
When they screamed we told them it’s for their own good
We took them upon our ship
And hoping they’ll be taken care of by Master Blip
***
But then when we arrive
They started screaming , barely alive
When we went to check on them,
We started screaming, same as them
***
Now our whole town is affected
It came before we even reacted
So do not visit the forsaken Planet
Otherwise y’all will be badly infected…
***
Back on my WP rap spree, but I’m losing it. r/SimbaKingdom | 10 | Aliens decode what appears to be a distress signal from a zombie apocalypse. They send a small fleet to rescue the race, but they arrive too late. The few survivors don't even remember what they were fighting for. The aliens must now piece together the fallen society from a sole surviving video | 80 |
It happened so fast. I saw it all happen in front of me, I saw the man enter the room. I believed in my master though, so I lay in my bed trusting that all would be alright once it was bright again. Then suddenly the scream, then the pained gargles, then... then the magic that flowed into me. My eyes shot open as I gazed upon my master flailing and dying at the hand of the man who I saw enter the room.
In that instant all of the ramblings I heard my master say, all the strange object he would fret over when not giving me food suddenly made sense. In that instant I understood the powers he was chasing, the enemies he made, the world that he lived in which was so much bigger than mine. In that instant, the fond memories of my life and the last 6 lives I lived flashed before me. All in an instant, as I saw the last of the life of my master drain from his eyes.
Now I did not know what I would with this power come the end of the dark time, but I knew what I would do now. I stared at the man who entered the room, and I swore to all the powers that be within me that he would not leave. And with that, I cat my first spell...
"Purrgatory" | 104 | All wizards have an animal familiar. The Arch Wizard of the tower lay dying from an assassin's blade. In his final moments, he bestows all of his arcane knowledge and power to you, his trusty cat. With the secrets of Eternus at your paws and a small pointy hat, Meow is the time for revenge! | 648 |
"Please, teach me to fight." Looking up from my work, I stared into the young woman's eyes. She'd asked everyone in the town before coming to me, and while some might be offended, I was used to such treatment here. People may prize me for my talent, but dwarves still weren't widely accepted in society.
There had been desperation in her voice, and as I stared, I could see why. Her eyes were lit with fire, and determination, but behind those emotions, darkness lurked. I'd seen that combination only once before in my life, and I knew what it denoted.
"Aye. I could do that." The words dropped into the still air, the only other sound the roaring of the forge. "But I warn ye. It won't be easy. And it won't be the same as what you'd have gotten from those other folks. It will be dwarven teaching. Not normally meant for humans."
She laughed, a bitter noise with no happiness attached.
"Then it will be perfect for me. As I seem to not be meant for humans." I let the comment go, knowing she needed to say it, but wanted no response. Quietly, I picked up my hammer and gestured towards the smaller one on the wall.
"Can ye lift that?" I asked. She walked there with a strange lightness of step, as if her feet didn't want to touch the ground. That was further proof of what I'd seen in her eyes, but I banished the thought to the back of my mind as I watched her try to raise the hammer. She got it about a foot off the ground before it crashed back. Turning to me, her head raised defiantly, as if she expected laughter. Instead, I nodded.
"Not bad for a first-timer, lassie. Some men in this village couldn't lift that more than an inch. But we still need to work on yer strength." A smile so fast I doubted what I'd seen, flashed across her face at my praise but all she did was nod back.
——————
Our days settled into a rhythm that stretched the weeks into months, then into years. I grew used to her lightning-quick sense of humour, and fiery temper. And she for her part, put up with my penchant for not talking for weeks at a time. She trained with determination, focus and speed. Teaching her was a joy; at times, I chuckled at what talent others had missed. But then, perhaps she wouldn't have liked their training. None of them were as tied to the forge and fire, as I was. And fire, was important for the lass, I knew that now even more than before.
It was the third day we'd worked together, that she picked up a hot iron bar with her bare hands. She didn't seem to notice the heat, and I didn't remark on it. Her comment about being not meant for humans reverberated in my head though.
On the sixteenth day, she'd come into the smithy, and I'd noticed the fire flare up a little more, as if excited. Again, I didn't say anything. It could just be my own inferences, but deep in my soul, I didn't doubt I was right.
The strange occurrences grew closer and closer together, as her training continued. She wanted to spend more time in the smithy with me, rather than work on her exercises. I made a token resistance, but not much. The day would come soon, and I wanted her to trust me. But I didn't expect what happened when it appeared.
We'd started work, as usual, her assisting me with a particularly difficult piece of ironwork. There was a cough from the doorway, and a tall man came inside. I could feel the lass stiffen, and move back towards the forge.
"And what can I do for ye?" I asked, but I shifted my hands on my hammer. The man smiled, but he didn't look at me. He was looking toward the forge.
"I've come to take back my property. She led me a merry dance, but I'm afraid that's over." He took two steps further inside, passing me. Before I could respond, a loud shout cracked through the air like a whip.
"NO!"
I turned, crouching behind the anvil just in time, as fire flashed out from the forge, filling the back half of the smithy with a wall of yellow, orange, and red. The heat skyrocketed, and I could feel fire licking over my toughened skin. Squeezing my eyes shut, I clamped my hands closed on my hammer. If I was to die today, I wouldn't die empty-handed and be cursed to wander the Forbidden Realms.
It was over in seconds. The tall man had been completely incinerated. Nothing could have survived that, yet when I opened my eyes, it was to my lassie bending over me concern on her face.
"Are you all right? I didn't mean..." She stopped, miserably. "I don't know what happened."
Standing up, I patted her shoulder.
"I'm fine lass. Ye didn't hurt me. Maybe singed me a bit, but that's a hazard of the profession." Staring into her eyes, lit as always with an inner fire, I smiled. "And I do know what happened."
We went to our attached house and I sat her at the table with a cup of dwarven tea. She wrapped her hands around the mug as if she was cold.
"Years ago lass, I used to work in the mountains with the rest of my kin." I sat on the opposite side of the table. "And one day, we delved too close to a volcano. We were young, we didn't know better. Our tunnel filled with heat and we were sure that death was near."
I shook my head, remembering the terror of that day, the heat, the stench of sweat and panic.
"But then, as if by magic, a woman appeared in our midst. She was tall, and when she walked it was as if she didn't want to touch the ground. The heat vanished, the pressure, everything. And when she looked at ye," I raised my eyes to my young apprentice. She looked at me steadily. "Ah, lass, her eyes were exactly like yers. Fire and darkness, neither consuming the other. She told us to leave, to turn back. We didn't belong in her, couldn't survive her lava."
Summoning a bit of courage, I reached across the table, tapping the young woman's hand. I'd never asked her name, and she'd never offered.
"She was the life-essence of a volcano, lassie. And I believe ye are too. But somehow, ye've been separated, taken away from it. And I think ye need to go back and find it. It will be the only way to feel whole again." Hot tears started to fall from her eyes, hissing as they found the table's wood.
"And leave you? You're my only friend." Her voice quivered. I smiled, rising from the table and picking up an empty sack.
"Of course not. I'm coming with ye lass. It's been a long time since I've seen the mountains. And besides. This is the adventure of a lifetime. I wouldn't miss it."
And then for the first time in years, for the first time since I'd met her, something happened I would have to tell my grandchildren about.
She smiled. | 2,138 | The young woman had spoken to everyone in town, asking them to teach her to fight. The warrior, the hunter, the knight, all had declined. Finally, in desperation, she spoke to the dwarven blacksmith. Lowering his massive hammer he looked at the fire in her eyes and said "Aye. I could do that." | 3,638 |
Have you ever heard of all those old Greek myths where the prophesized tried to go against their fate?
Myths often have a basis in reality.
​
​
It was a momentary moment of panic, of worry, of fear about the future that took me to the orphanage that day.
What would happen to my legacy, to my riches, to me once I died, or god forbid, I stopped my plans? Who would take care of me? Who would continue doing what I did? Who would ensure the prophecy against me & my order wasn't carried out?
​
She was the youngest one in that orphanage, no more than four, maybe five years old. I had no idea she was the one destined to "defeat" me back then, though I doubt I'd have believed she could be the one.
​
The matron told me she was quick to adapt, already making a couple close friend despite being there only for a few days. Maybe that's why I decided to adopt her— She'd be accept my lifestyle fast enough.
​
The first few weeks were bad, to say the least. Despite creating the most elaborate machinations the world has ever seen, nothing I did prepared me to take care of a child. Did you know a child needs to be fed regularly? Or that they have to be put to bed at a certain time? Or that sugar makes them literal monsters?
But we managed to get through that *period*, though how, I have no idea. And we came out with begrudging respect (& she tells me, affection) for each other, that is yet to be truimphed by any other feeling I have ever felt.
​
She participated in all of my plans from the moment she could hold a pen. And god, was she a natural... Eiffel tower launching into space? All her (though her inspiration could have been better. I mean, goddamn Tomorrowland?!). Finishing the Great Wall of China? She was the one who recommended it. Inverting the pyramid? She ensured it actually worked with no casualties.
Of course it wasn't easy for her.
​
For one, I noticed her affinity for spectacle over any actual real damage. She preferred the super part over the villain part. Of course, it was understandable — she was a kid & there was no way in hell I'd desensitize her to the world this early. Still, you need to learn to have a hard heart if you're gonna be a supervillain.
She never did.
​
And of course, being the daughter of a supervillain doesn't do much to help your image. I didn't want her or me to change just to please the ever-opposing opinions of fools who loved to hate, but I could see it affected her far too much. So my plans, of which ran front page news stories every week, slowly dwindled to every couple months. Yes, I hated it, reducing my passion tenfold, but it was worth it for her.
​
But no compromise is permanent, and the straw that broke it came when she was 15.
It when she first saw me do my actual work. When I was the actual *villain*, and not some parent with questionable actions. I was lucky I wasn't planning to kill the captured hero, just extract some information with less than *savoury* methods, else I don't know if she'd have ever recovered from seeing it.
It took an entire excruciating week before she said anything. And another, before it was directed towards me, emotionless & cold. That was when I knew I fucked up. Yes, I was the villain in every story, the antagonist against every hero, the evildoer to the public. But none of that meant an iota compared to what I was to my daughter.
And now, a decade of being a parent drained down to become a monster. I was soulless, actual evil, something she shouldn't have loved.
​
I had a choice then, her or my previous life. And you know which one I chose.
I completely stopped my villainy? evilness? brutality? I don't know. No word can describe it properly. But I stopped it. Of course that wasn't & shouldn't be enough, but it was the first step.
It took another decade, an excruciating, torturous, unending decade before she talked normally with me. And yet another decade before she called me Dad again.
I don't think our relationship will ever return back to how it was, but she can see how I genuinely tried & changed for the better. And this fact brings out a decades-forgotten smile in her. And that, that is enough to make everything I did, all that I lost, everything I gave up worth it.
​
​
No one escaped those prophecies in the Greek stories.
I didn't either.
​
Those stories rarely had a happy ending, especially the ones where the hero tries to escape his destiny. I don't know about a happy ending — But I know I'll have had one happy life; from living out my passion, to being the most powerful person on the planet at least once, to knowing...
her.
​
​
...
A short but hopeful one, at the request of a friend who felt I was going too dark. Hope you enjoy it, SK.
And of course, Hope you too enjoyed it.
r/StoriesOfABrokenFool | 33 | You were destined to defeat the Evil Overlord and bring peace to the world. But the people believed you were too weak and cast you out. However, there was one person who saw your potential and took you in; the Evil Overlord. | 99 |
“I’m not hypocrite,” I laugh with my compatriots. A glass of whiskey stays in my hand as I pat the back of Mastermind, “So Mastermind, what’s going on with you nowadays?”
“I’m making a corporation. It’s a card swiper business.”
“You going straight now?”
“Course not. You know why I own this business?”
“No?”
“To steal card info.” Mastermind says irkingly.
“How?” I ask as Goliath, a huge supervillain if the name doesn’t clue you in, pats my shoulder.
“Come on, Fool. He’s stealing the card info.”
The realization sits in and I smack my forehead and go, “Oh!” Mastermind rolls his eyes and Goliath let’s out one of those hearty laughs. I look at Mastermind and his eyes try to pay attention to something else. The rest of the night I spent on pouring everyone’s drinks and making fun of Mastermind. The party settled down and only two villains remained sitting in the large sofas of the lair.
I started to nurse my stomach from the alcohol in my system. I drank too much and Mastermind brought me a glass of water and said, ”Goliath shouldn’t have given you that last drink.”
“Yeah,” I said while sitting back in my chair. A glass of pedilyte was half empty on the table. My stomach starts to stop arguing with me. Still, I am afraid of being friends with that toilet again for the night. Might be better than the scoundrels I hang out with, at least the toilet knows it’s full of crap. Not Mastermind though, he sees something in me.
Mastermind sits on the couch with me. He has something on his mind, I can see that. He starts, “Fool.”
“Yes.”
“You ever wonder if you were just a bad baddie?”
“Yeah.”
“Maybe you never fit in here.”
“Why?”
“You’re not good at it.”
“Everyone else thinks I am alright.”
“That’s because you’re charismatic, but that’s just it.”
“That’s not true.”
“Come on. You know you haven’t done anything useful in a while,” He says and I pause, “Makes me think you don’t take this seriously.”
“You’re wrong,” I shouted, “I want to join you all. Just… tell me how I can help.”
“I’ve got an idea.” He says and we spent all night with each other. The next day rolls around and I am at the stairs of the Justice Center. Resume in hand and sunglasses on my face, still nursing that hangover. | 367 | You are a truly pathetic villain. Ordinary police regularly overpowers you and heroes do not even bother fighting you. Yet the villains still allow you to remain among their ranks, because you are just so goddamn likeable. | 1,613 |
9/22/2022
I found myself able to die and continue unharmed. I crossed the street and a truck hit me, then I found myself 6 feet away from that truck. My friend walked up to me and said are you okay? I was worried so I walked home thinking it was a dream. It wasn’t as I found out after walking into a sewer hole. Only to appear outside of it a few seconds later. I peered down into the hole and couldn’t find my body.
9/24/22
I can’t die! I proved this by using a pistol to shoot myself. When I come to, the gun’s fully loaded. I don’t know how or what to do. I have new abilities and I am going to abuse them.
I am back to 9/24/22. It took 3000 bullets and was difficult to shoot myself everytime. I don’t want to do this again. My jaw is hurting from all the psychological bullets I took. My previous entry for 9/25 was gone and I have to rewrite it.
9/25/22
“Today”, I learned that I can rewind time by a few seconds. I sat down in my chair and was shooting my face. I looked at the clock and it would go back by five minutes. I can even rewind time 5 minutes a time back to yesterday.
9/30/22
I am now using my abilities to ace dates and get jobs. I often say the dumbest stuff without thinking. Shooting myself in the head to avoid embarrassment. I’m starting to notice that there was a guy who is staring at me. During those visits to the restaurants or job openings, I would catch him glancing at me. It’s a small town so I probably see him around but I am still suspicious. I’ll keep an eye out.
9/31/22
The man came up to me, and told me that he knew what I was doing. Creepy. I left in a hurry by shooting myself. I wonder if I can avoid him
5/12/22
He still found me. I was sitting in a cafe trying to ease my mind. He walked up me, trying to say that he had something to explain so I listened, hoping that he would leave me alone. He told he that killing myself had me leaving dead bodies all over the timelines. He told me he was a traveler and took notice of my death on the news. He told me that I left thousands of alternate family members heartbroken and created multiple timelines. I didn’t know I was causing work for people.
5/13/22
I started to wonder if what I was doing was wrong. I don’t think I am. I got a special power and I used it to help myself. Still, I caused a lot of suffering and decided to take a break with my abilities. I can live happily knowing that if I die, I can come back. Maybe I can use my powers to help others. I won’t feel guilty then. It’s kind of hilarious to think about how many awkward situations I left people with. This ignites my trollish behavior. | 57 | You can travel back in time by shooting yourself in the head, which you've started to do at every minor inconvenience you encounter. Unfortunately, the timelines you've abandoned still have to deal with your now-dead body. | 188 |
"I know you are hiding there."
Angrus shook in fear. The last time he had heard that voice was in agony, with a knife in their back. A cowards way to take down the greatest of them all, as they could not beat him in a straight fight.
"Angrus, I know it's you. You are still as sneaky as ever, but I can still recognise your life force."
He swallowed, before stepping out from behind the tree. Sure enough, before him was a familiar figure. He was of average size, with defined muscles. His black hair was in a messy ponytail, and he wore simple, mudstained working clothes. His brown ryes flickered, irises turning gold.
"F-Faulil... I... I thought you were dead."
Faulil gave a grim smile.
"Don't beat around the bush. You thought you had killed me."
Angrus's face drained of colour. But even as he stepped away, he felt a cold shiver run down his spine. A new figure stepped up to Faulil, lightly resting her hand on his shoulder. Her dark skin was an opposite to his, though her body had a similar level of muscle. The Dark Elf gave a small smirk at their guests reaction.
"I didn't think we were expecting visitors. Dear, did you?"
Faulil shook his head.
"Nor me Sila. Still, I think we had better take this back home. Follow me Angrus."
There was an edge to his voice, one that allowed no argument. Like a fly in a web, Angrus felt trapped. For a moment he wanted to run, but a look from Sila stopped those thoughts.
They led him through the woods, clearly unconcerned at exposing their backs to him. He was fantastic at sneaking, and attacking when people least expected. But he was well aware of the gap between him and them. If he attacked first, they would wipe the floor with him. If they chose to attack, he could only give up and hope for a quick death.
After a few long minutes, they came to a small hut against the base of a cliff. He could hear water running nearby, and a few wolves lounged around.
"Welcome to our home. Sila, could you entertain him a moment whilst I fetch some chairs."
She smiled at him, giving a quick peck on his cheek.
"Of course not."
Faulil smiled back as he entered the hut. As the door closed, Sila turned on Angrus.
"Let me be quite clear. If you dare attack, or do anything to think you mean to cause us harm, I will make you suffer."
He knew she wasn't lying. He had seen first hand what she was capable of. On some dark nights, the memories of what he had seen still haunted him. He swallowed awkwardly, stammering in his response.
"I-I swear I m-mean no h-harm."
"Good."
She fell silent, staring at him like a hawk. The rising tension was disturbed as Faulil came out, holding three chairs. He carefully set them down, two beside each other with the third directly opposite.
"Now, let's talk." | 121 | Years ago, the Heroes Party defeated the villain and thereafter betrayed their leader, stealing the credit for their own. However, the Hero survived, and now one of his old teammates has discovered him living a simple life with... The Villain?! | 284 |
Chuck opened his eyes. That was something he had not thought he would ever do again. Once the car found itself on open air, he was pretty sure he was a goner. But here he was, standing...somewhere.
Where was he, anyway? He looked around. Everything seemed to be made of light. It billowed around him like clouds, forming intricate patterns and solid structures. And for some reason, it did not blind him. In front of him, the light formed a wall taller than any he had seen before, with a gate of perfect, sublime beauty. He could not help but walk towards it.
"Charles Minnow." Came a voice.
Chuck froze and looked around. He did not see anyone. Then, the light began swirling, spiralling around and forming the shape of man. He was an elderly fellow, with a well kept beard and loose robes. He stood straight, even with his age. He bore in his hands a thick book that was open to a page in the middle.
"Uh...I go by Chuck." Chuck said.
"Very well, Chuck. I am St. Peter, here to determine your place in the afterlife.
"Wait, seriously? That stuff is real? Wow, I should've gone to church more."
"Such practices are irrelevant. Your personal beliefs don't matter, so long as you are virtuous." He paused and Chuck was about to ask a question, but St. Peter spoke before he could. "Yes, even atheists. And non-Christians."
"Oh. Okay then."
"Now then, let's see." The gatekeeper looked at his book. "Not bad, I suppose. No crimes, cared for the elderly. A bit too indulgent in drink. Oh, oh dear."
"What? What's wrong?"
"A bit too happy on the games, I see. Hoarding Steam games with no intentions on playing them."
"There were a lot of good sales." Chuck said, rubbing the back of his neck. "Wait, that's bad?"
"Possession for possession's sake is a form of greed. That is frowned upon up here. Hm, let's see. Ah, I know. For the son of greed, you shall be darned--"
"Uh, hate to interrupt, but don't you mean damned?"
"No, I mean darned. You we're greedy enough to be fully damned, so you get darned to Heck instead of damned to Hell. You can think of Heck as Purgatory's basement, if that helps. Just think of yourself as going to Purgatory. It's basically the same thing."
"Oh. I...that doesn't sound too bad. I guess. So, is there a way I can get to move up?"
"Oh, yes, of course. Hell is inescapable, but Purgatory is designed to be gotten out of. And since Heck is part of Purgatory, you can ascend with sufficient effort."
"Great!" Chuck said. "So, how do I do that?"
"Since it is your games that got you into Heck, it shall be those games that get you out. Once you have played, and beaten, every game in your Steam library, you shall begin your ascension into Heaven."
"Wait, really? Just play a few video games and--"
He stopped. A pit formed in his stomach. He had just over 5,000 games. A mix of indie and AAA titles that would take a lifetime to get through. And not all of them had endings.
"Wait, seriously? What about the games that don't have an end?"
"Hm, for those, it shall be when you have earned all the Steam achievements, without looking up guides. If a game has neither an end nor achievements, we'll say about a thousand hours of playtime should do. Oh, and all obtained data will be wiped, so you'll have to earn everything from scratch."
The corner of Chuck's lips twitched. "Oh, this is gonna suck isn't it?"
"That is why it's a punishment, yes. Now, have a nice afterlife, and make sure you properly reflect on your mortal wrongdoings while you're down there."
St. Peter waved his hands and the light making up the landscape bent and shifted. It rose around him, sealing him in a small chamber that looked like a fancy elevator. Which, he supposed, was probably what it was. Especially when he felt it start going down.
When it stopped, he found himself in a bedroom. A single bed lay against one wall with a desk along the other. Atop the desk was a surprisingly high end computer with a very nice gaming chair. Chuck sighed and went to the chair.
This was going to take a while, and he figured he might as well get started. | 92 | "For you sin of greed" you are darned to purgatory said St. Peter. "To ascend you must win every game in your Steam library" | 156 |
"Madam Chen did," you answer easily. Auntie Chen runs the Blooming Flower -- the most popular tea shop this side of the Kāihuā river. Every merchant passing through the local port knows of her. The town's most important transactions are made over cups of her expertly steeped jasmine tea.
The merchant gives you a good-natured smile, combing a gloved hand through his black locks. His eyes crinkle at the corners, but besides those few wrinkles, his face is unlined, his skin unweathered by the sea or sun. Your eyes flicker behind him to the harbor, where his three-sailed junk is bobbing in the water. The ship is small and sleek, built for nimble navigation through the swirling currents of a river.
He can't have traveled far.
*Is this his first voyage? Is that why he's surprised to be recognized?*
"And why has Madam Chen sent you?" he asks. His voice is low and rich, carrying intimately below the cries of a vendor rattling by with a wooden cart laden with turnips. You check the woman's identity, almost subconsciously, reflexively, like a sixth sense observing her without prompting. Hou, 26. The turnips are rotten. She had bao and hot tea for breakfast.
The docks are bustling with activity this morning -- the high tide has allowed two weeks worth of idling ships to come into harbor and unload their cargo. Foremen, laborers, vendors. Hundreds and hundreds of names piled up with only the weakest caresses of your mind.
"She's inviting you to tea. She wants to discuss a business proposal." Behind your back, you flash a two-fingered signal.
*Go, go, go.*
The man -- Tian, 47, pottery merchant -- raises a brow. "And this woman I've never met asked you to come down to the docks and personally invite me?"
His charming smile hasn't hardened into severity, and the untensed lines of his body, clad in brilliant velvets, remain relaxed. His eyes betray this practiced ease, narrowing at you over dark brows, lit by some strange, obsidian intensity. You have surprised him, somehow, by calling him Tian, and are now the subject of his focused scrutiny.
*Good.*
You flash the second signal.
"She checks the lists of ships waiting in the harbor," you reply. You make a feeble attempt at flattery to divert his uncomfortable line of questioning. "She must have seen your name there, and realized at once you were a worthy merchant to enter into trade with."
"And what name is it that she saw?" His voice has a note of steel in it.
It happens, finally: you realize your mistake. The name, the man, and signal. It's all wrong.
He isn't distracted. His body is relaxed, but not at ease. He's waiting for movement, waiting for Zhi's bony hands to slip inside his velvet pockets drooping with gold; you can see it in his flashing eyes a heartbeat before it happens. A sharp cry, a thud -- suddenly Zhi is on the ground between you and Tian, her wren-like wrist caught in his iron grip.
"Let her go!" you yell. The man looks almost as surprised as you, his gaze locked on the young girl he's disarmed.
"Shit," he says, crouching down. "I didn't mean to--"
Zhi twists out of his grip and lurches to her feet, disappearing into the crowds.
You wrench away, chasing after her, but the man seizes your robes and pulls you close, his hand twisting the fabric as he nearly drags you off your feet to come eye-to-eye. You can feel the frustration vibrating in his towering frame. You cannot match him muscle-for-muscle, so you reach for the power you do have to disorient him.
*Identity check.*
You slam into him with the full force of your mind. *Tian, 47, pottery merchant.* He had a headache this morning. He presses his jacket with hot stones. His mother collects vases. He's in love with his brother's wife. He is raging with the fire of gods from within.
You shudder in his grasp. His gaze is frantic, searching your face, his lips unmoving, his mind speaks, asking the question you've torn from countless others.
*"Who are you?"* | 88 | The Identify Skill is quite convenient and you’ve fallen into the habit of using it constantly. When you identify a merchant and use his name he goes silent for a moment and says “There’s a name I haven’t heard in a long, long time. Who sent you?” | 196 |
I never had a message on my arm. All my life, I was reminded of this. Everyone has something written there. EVERYONE. But not me. The only thing I had was a strange, burn-like shape. Since the day I was born.
In Middle School, I was made fun of for being different. The only one without a message. In High School, I was avoided, as people began their search for their Soul Mate. And I was clearly out of the running. They were trying to meet as many people as possible and the like. Which left me the odd man out.
College was when I finally accepted who I was. That I didn’t have a Soul Mate and was finally starting to try to be happy. I hung out with people, joked about it, shrugged this and that. And overall, I was getting over it. Except on those lonely nights where all I had were the glow in the dark stars I stuck to my ceiling. A gift from my little sister when I went to college.
One day, there was a gaming event that my Buddy had planned. Lots of people, tons of different games, a good time all around. And, of course, the jests. “I know you ain’t gonna meet a Soul Mate there, Alec, but you can still kick all our asses in Smash Bros.” I accepted.
The night was going well, plenty of snacks, drinks, jokes, and asses kicked. I was doing especially well that evening. Too well. Someone I hadn’t met before, Tom, wasn’t taking too kindly to me wiping the floor with him in front of everyone. So when he told me, “Maybe you don’t have a Soul Mate because you don’t know how to relax and actually have fun,” I found my chest seizing up.
That one hurt. But I shrugged, like always. Offered a weak, “Maybe,” and lost the game. I stood up, announcing I needed to use the bathroom and slumped down the hallway. I was so distraught, I didn’t see the quiet girl walking down the unlit pathway until I had crashed into her.
I almost sent both of us bouncing away from each other and onto the ground. I guess she hadn’t been paying attention either. But I was so surprised that the first thing out of my mouth was “Fuck-shit, I’m sorry!” I groaned, wiping my hands over my face.
I slunk past her, avoiding eye contact and ignoring the awkward silence as she said nothing back to me. I sat in the restroom for a while, trying to resolve myself, only to eventually decide after several minutes that I was done. I wanted to go home.
I left, beginning my stride down the hallway once more when I felt someone grab my arm and tug harshly. Pulling me into a side room, my friend’s, I looked around in the dark, trying to figure out if it was him who done so. He was also so over the top and dramatic and likely wanted to apologize for what Tom said.
But after my eyes adjusted to the darkness, I saw her. The girl I almost sent careening to the floor. She had tears in her eyes. I must have hurt her. But whatever apology I had in my lips died when she held up my right arm and looked at it.
But only my burn was there. She saw the mark and made some sort of choking sob. I knew her type. The kind to feel pity for me. But to my surprise, she instead began to trace the burn slowly. I didn’t get it.
She looked up to me. Then again, deliberately traced my arm. My eyes widened. “Do that again,” I said. She began to trace.
H-E-L-L-O
It matched up with my burn perfectly. I looked on her arm, unable to stop myself from letting out a loud groan. There, on her rolled up sleeve was “Fuck-shit, I’m sorry” in thick black lettering.
I learned she had been in a terrible house fire when she was young, and the damage from the fire had fried her vocal cords. She couldn’t talk. Not traditionally, at least. But to me, she told me everything, and I to her, as we laid curled up under my glow in the dark star stickers. They seemed so much brighter every night after that. | 114 | In a world where the first thing you say to your soulmate is written on their arm, unique and personalized greetings have become the norm in order to ensure that you and your soulmate will recognize each other | 129 |
It was odd. I had seen this movie countless times, watching as the heroes make their dramatic entrance, then struggle in their fight, find some way to pull out a victory, then have everything neatly tied up in the end.
*Why does The Iron Man not let go of the...projectile with fire... missile before the opening... portal entrance?*
I looked over at Glorm, sitting in my room on my couch, wearing a shirt with Thor on it, looking not too dissimilar from the alien invaders in the first *Avengers* movie we were watching.
I shrugged and went back to watching as Robert Downey Junior fell from the sky after his near heroic sacrifice.
"He wanted to be the hero," I replied before sipping my beer.
*Ah.* I heard in my head as his helmet translated the thoughts I wanted to hear. *A person who sacrifices themself for others. Is that how I interpret that?*
I glance askance, not wanting to miss the Hulk scream save Junior scene.
"Yeah...that's about right."
We watch the scene. I always chuckle at it.
*It is never easy.* he thought to me.
"What isn't?" I ask.
*Doing for others...with no regard for self...Sacrifice.*
I think for a second.
"Yeah...it never is."
*It's never over, either.*
"Never." I miss without a beat as we finished watching Loki taken into custody.
*And that never happens either.* Glorm noted, pushing a button on his carapace armor. I heard it releases sustenance to a soldier of his race as they couldn't take off their suits in Earth atmosphere.
With the film winding down, I looked at my seven foot house guest in war gear, a white Thor shirt placed over it, and had to guess what he meant.
"Do you mean...capturing the bad guy?"
Glorm also appraised me.
*Clean? Yes...clean. A resolution that is clean. Nothing left to do afterwards. Always more to do.*
As a military liaison to this particular Ma-Hala soldier for a 'cultural exchange' session, nothing hit as hard as Thor's hammer than an apt comparison, shared by someone entirely from a literal alien culture.
"Yeah...we had...oh...some twenty years ago...that's twenty times Earth orbited the Sun by the way...someone who proclaimed 'Mission Accomplished.' We spent the better part of those twenty years cleaning that mess up..."
I chugged a final gulp of my alcohol to cleanse the surfacing thoughts of my last two tours for that.
*Yes...that. We had...* He was struggling for the right thought. *similar issues on our world, many rotations ago. Our people had the same...ideas. We fight until...we cannot fight. That never happens. But we...sleep think...dream of better times. Times when we can say we did everything and there is nothing left to fight.*
I had to think about that. Obviously, the Ma-Hala from everything we knew about them were a warlike species in conflict with dozens of other species across the galaxy. And for some reason, instead of razing the Earth, an insignificant little blip in the celestial scheme without an iota of advanced stellar travel, they wanted to talk to us...
"So...why did you stop this time? With Earth?"
Glorm paused. The end credits were finally rolling.
*You. Humans. You are so much like us. You...dream you are the...people who sacrifices for others... heroes. You go to war and think you win. But you never win...just like us.*
Thanos finally makes his appearance at the end of a credits roll. Blah blah blah, sequel bait.
Glorm points to Thanos.
*You never see the end. Just another...beginning. Just like us.*
The film finally ended, the credits roll done and I'm sitting back on my couch as Glorm begins to slow clap. Something he learned about human etiquette at the end of movies.
And here I was, thinking my existential dread hosting a war alien in my home couldn't hit closer... | 240 | We were afraid that the constant portrayals of us stopping alien invasions would piss off the aliens we just made contact with. Turns out the aliens went through a similar phase when they were on our level and they are eager to compare their portrayals of alien invasions to ours. | 841 |
All I did was touch the black stone at the base of the fountain like every 16 year-old in town had done on their birthday for millennia. There was some legend to it, but no one really cared about that. It had something to do with a reborn hero reconnecting with their past life, but everything was peaceful. There was no need for such fantasies, so this ritual became more like a light-hearted rite of passage than the solemn test it was originally meant to be. That was until I touched it.
When I touched the stone the statue of the pegasus on the fountain came to life, winds began to blow from all directions causing the women to run every which way while holding their skirts down, and the spring split apart splattering water all over anyone nearby. When the pegasus somehow got me onto its back I was soaked from head to toe. The flight was both terrifying and painful. The water now froze on me creating small icicles on my skin and making my clothes crack when I tried to move. I had barely had time to grab onto the pegasus's mane before it had taken off, so I wound up moving a lot trying to find a comfortable position. None existed.
After flying for the better part of the night, the beast made a sharp dive for a snow capped mountain. I would have lost my dinner had I actually gotten to eat anything from my birthday feast, but who's complaining? I'm apparently on some strange hero quest.
The pegasus landed in a small snowy clearing near the top of a tall mountain and turned back to stone. Then, as if suddenly realizing that it wasn't meant to handle the weight of a human teenager, it crumbled under my weight as I fell into the snow and hit my head on a rock.
I stood up dazed, and as I tried to focus my eyes in the dark, I thought I saw a cave opening in the mountain. I stumbled towards it as I cursed my luck with the pegasus and wondered how I would get home.
I entered the cave and almost immediately torches lit up along the cave walls in the creepiest way possible. Shivering, I followed the torches to a large cavern with an identical fountain to the one at home. The pegasus on this one was still intact, but there was someone sitting on it. They looked vaguely familiar. It almost had that feeling of looking at a reflection, but not quite. This man didn't look like me and was much older.
"Hello Roland," he said with seeming delight. "At last we meet". He jumped off the pegasus and started running towards me.
"W-wait..." I stammered, "who are you?"
"Who am I?" He stopped in his tracks as he asked in disbelief. "Why, I'm Sir Gary of Rockbank, slayer of the evil dragon Slaufgher, hero of the realms, master of the arcane and three time champion of the national hopscotch tournament!" He proudly announced.
He seemed disappointed when I failed to act like I was impressed, but to be honest, I had just gone through a hell of a ride to get here and his ego would have to wait a minute.
"Where's the bathroom?" I asked.
He looked baffled, but pointed to a tunnel on the right and gave instructions, "go down this tunnel, hole on the left. The right one leads to my tomb. Do NOT go there."
Very well by me. I was still too stunned to take into account that I was supposedly talking to a dead guy. That only hit me when I came back.
"Wait, you're dead?" I asked.
"What? of course I'm dead! How else could I be reincarnated into you?"
Did he say reincarnated into me? I think I fainted then. I found myself on the floor gasping for air.
"What do you mean reincarnated into me?"
"Don't you know anything about history?" Sir Gary asked.
"Well, yes," I responded. "You defeated the great and powerful dragon king and freed all the orcs and goblins from his control. The world has been at peace ever since."
"Correct!" He declared. "Until now. I was laid to rest after many years of celebrating my victory, and I would reincarnate when the world needed its hero once more.
"So here we are!"
"But," I started, "why would the world need you now? There's still peace."
"Are there still orcs and goblins?"
"Yes, but_"
"Then that's why," Sir Gary responded as he stepped over me and, well I guess the only way to describe it is, he went inside me. Like he merged with me somehow. The next thing I knew I was back in front of the intact fountain in the center of town at my birthday party, sweating with a hand on the black stone, and suddenly possessing Sir Gary's memories. Then I heard his voice in my head as he apparently had access to my memories and thoughts now, "Oh shucks! We're too early!"
"What do you mean we're to early?" I yelled. Suddenly everyone was looking at me as Gary's voice sounded in my head, "idiot, we share thoughts. You don't need to make a fool out of us!"
I was starting to get upset now. "Out of US?" I asked myself, I guess, in disbelief. "It's my life!"
"Our life now," Gary's voice corrected me. "We're one and whole now. Is there a hopscotch game at this party?"
"What? No. No one over ten plays that game".
"Oh, such a shame. I can teach people a thing or two about it".
"I highly doubt that, seeing as it hasn't changed in over a thousand years".
I looked around and smiled at the staring crowd and waved to a few people. To save face I yelled, "let's get partying!"
This seemed to go over well as everyone cheered and went on with the festivities. | 10 | The great hero of legend will be reborn when their presence is needed to save the world. As the reborn hero, you are quite confused. People are well-fed and well-off, rulers are rather fair and just, and the monsters pretty much keep to themselves. | 39 |
At first everything seemed normal. Nyssa sat up in her bed, stretching her arms before tossing aside her blanket and starting her day. After quickly checking her phone she realized there were no events planned for the day, so she skipped getting changed and headed to the kitchen for breakfast.
Opening the fridge she groaned as she saw the empty egg carton, turning to the pantry for cereal. As she turned to the side she saw something behind her and whipped around. Nothing. Nyssa narrowed her eyes but returned to her breakfast, snatching the box from the back of the shelf, knocking over the peanut butter in the process.
Her hand darted out to catch it, her fingers barely grasping the lid as she let out a sigh of relief, then paused. She blinked a few times to make sure she wasn’t seeing things, then put the peanut butter down and started frantically wiping at her hand, trying to get rid of the scales.
“What. The. Hell!?” She screamed, falling over as she tried (and failed) to rid herself of the new blue-purple addition to her arm.
After taking a few deep breaths, she decided to make her breakfast, then call the doctor. She grabbed the cereal box off the floor and went to get a bowl from the dishwasher. It had finished it’s cycle during the night, and she shook off the water, some landing on her feet.
Moving to the counter she felt a tingle in her leg, like it was falling asleep, so she started stamping it so it would wake up again. And then she fell over, landing with a large thud.
“Nyssa? You okay?” Her sleepy roommate Charlotte called from down the hallway, then came racing outside at the screams. She stopped dead in her tracks, taking in her friend on the floor.
“N-Nyssa…” she choked.
“Ok- so I’m not hallucinating,” Nyssa said, her voice panicked.
Because she no longer had legs.
From the top she looked normal- long brown hair with a white streak in the front, blue eyes, the grey t-shirt she’d worn to bed covering her chest, but that’s where the normal ended.
Starting at her waist was a long tail, starting as a light purple, fading to a light blue, with the fin at the end a light green.
“Oh. My. God.” Charlotte took a cautious step forward. “Nyssa, what the hell.”
“I don’t know!” Nyssa cried. “What is happening to…. to m…” She clutched at her throat, unable to breath as flaps on the side of her tail opened and closed frantically. Charlotte realized what was happening from her extensive time watching television, and scooped her up, running to the bathroom, and dumping her in the tub before turning it on. As the tub slowly filled with water Nyssa was able to breath again.
“Ok… what exactly did you eat before you got sick?” Charlotte demanded. | 14 | You wake up after a bad bout of food poisoning, and you discover that your body...isn't quite human anymore. | 26 |
No one really knew where he came from or what he did, all I know was that there was no one better at spinning yarns than Steve.
Steve was a quaint fellow, a bit of an oddball, but he was the kindest person I had ever met. Maybe that's why I always stuck out to hear the end of all his stories, even if he did start another right after finishing one.
The neighbors weren't too fond of him though, they would joke and say he was off his meds or that he should be institutionalized. On one occasion, one of the neighbor's kids was sitting attentively on the front lawn as he told a story of meeting men that lived far beyond the stars.
"Junior! Get away from him!" screamed his mother as she ran to pull him away.
Poor Steve was initially startled, but he regained his composure as this type of thing happened often.
"Ms. Miller, Steve was just telling a story, he meant no harm," I said as she pulled Junior away and dragged him back him to "safety".
Steve just smiled at me and told me, "Leave her be."
Normally Steve would walk over to me and pick the story up right where he left off with Junior, but this time he just looked up to the skies. Almost as if he was searching for something or he heard something pass by.
"You know," Steve said, "they always said they'd come see me one last time."
"Who?", I asked, playing along.
"The men beyond the stars."
Steve always had a watch on, but it didn't tell time the way I thought it would, rather, it was always counting down. The first time I met Steve and asked for the time, he said it was "ETD 05:10:12:03:55" and every time since, it was the same, but less of it.
"What time you got?"
"ETD 00:00:00:12:37" and Steve smiled and walked back inside, leaving me puzzled.
The next morning, the police had came around and I could hear them through my window.
"STEVE! WE NEED TO TALK YOU!"
I got dressed, Steve would need me right now to help diffuse the situation, and out I walked towards them. Before I could get there, they had already barged through the door and I could see the inside of the living room from the sidewalk.
Steve was on his recliner, gazing at the ceiling without batting an eyelid. A faint sound came from his record player:
"This is Major Tom to Ground Control
I'm stepping through the door
And I'm floating in a most peculiar way
And the stars look very different today"
I wanted to send out invitations for the funeral service, but I figured an announcement in the local paper would be enough. This way I didn't have to deal with invitations ending up back in my mailbox or Ms. Miller telling me "Good riddance."
It was an empty funeral service. I had brought a pot of coffee, just in case anyone arrived , but I was already halfway through it.
Steve's record player sat beside the casket, I figured he would want music to fill the silence, especially if it was Elton John playing.
"I'm not the man they think I am at home
Oh, no, no, no
I'm a rocket man"
*schoom*
*whoosh*
All across the sky, these ships appeared. Some looked weathered and tattered, others reflected the sky around it.
"I hope wer'e not too late", a voice from behind me said. I turned around and dropped my coffee in shock when I saw where the voice came from.
"The men beyond the stars," was all I could say. | 564 | You are the only attendee at a man's funeral. He was derisively known as "the UFO man" in the community, regaling others with stories of years of adventures among the stars. As the funeral begins, however, hundreds of alien spacecraft of all shapes and sizes suddenly appear in the sky above. | 2,047 |
“Dragons are among the rarest animals in the world now. Tell me, Kynara, why do you serve me?” The old lord stroked my neck with the gentlest hand I had ever felt. “You’ve only known me for a day.”
The silence filled the air. Surely he did not expect me to respond…
I grunted heavily, lifting my long neck off the chamber floor. The lord stared into my black eyes and watched the flames behind reflect in my pupils. Once again his wrinkled hand reached out towards my scaly neck, and like before I let out a satisfied grunt. To him I was like a commoner’s dog instead of a rare Hymerian dragon. But that was fine. I liked it that way.
“Kynara, why do let me stroke your scales? Your last master told me that you hated being touched…” the old lord said. He asked so many questions, yet was satisfied even without any answers. My old master, regardless if he fed me more frequently than this lord, was impatient and harsh. His hands felt like sandpaper against my already-worn scales, the years of swordsmanship reflected on the state of his skin.
“But I know you left your old master purposely. You flew away, didn’t you?”
I let out another low grunt. Whether the lord considered this a “yes” or “no” wasn’t important. He was sure I had flown away over towards his cave, not sent or sold like the usual dragons around the empire.
“But why to me, Kynara? Why do you serve me?” he repeated. His tone grew in volume. “Why is freedom so unappealing to you, especially of your years of service?”
Why was freedom so unappealing? To me, freedom was the exact opposite to its definition. Me soaring above the tall Yama mountains and wide skies only secured my fate even further. I was never meant to be like a bird.
“But you weren’t meant to be a dragon.”
I looked up at the old lord. He stopped stroking my neck, letting out a kind smile with fiery eyes that resembled anything but.
“Two centuries ago, the dragons were everywhere. People truly took care of them like dogs, but just like dragons, dogs soon began to be used for labor and service. The intelligent dragons were forced under masters until death, but what about after they died? Dragons weren’t as rare as people thought they were.
“But there was an animal just as intelligent as a dragon and much more common. And so began an era where the Cursed Men worked furiously to develop a way to turn humans into dragons. If there were too many dragons, they could be used as food. It was a perfect plan to the Cursed Men and the people of this empire.”
I stared at the old lord like I was bewitched. He knew, didn’t he? How? My secrets were kept hidden for those two centuries until those who knew would never tell a single soul.
The old lord continued. “Dragons were humans. Humans were dragons. Soon began times when both rebelled against their masters, old and new, but after rebellions, some fates are locked in more securely than before. Right, Kynara?”
I grunted, tossing and turning my neck. Why was he telling me this? Would good would it do? Who did he think he was?
“Kynara, I know who you are,” the old lord said with a smile. He got off of my back and watched me growl at him with sharp teeth, my breath licking his skin like a fireplace. But even when a flame danced around his wrist, his skin remained his pale, deathly color. “And you know who I am, don’t you?”
Only the masters knew about the dragons and their origins. Only the masters knew about the times when humans were forced into centuries of pain for the sake of their labor. Only the masters knew about their desire for power and, above anything else, control.
“It’s been a long time, Master Kynara. I would send you best regards, but it seems a bit too late for that.” The old lord grinned at me, showing the missing teeth in-between the yellow ones. I remembered the time when I knocked out those teeth of his a long, long time ago. He watched me thrash around the chamber like a caged puppy. “Oh, but you aren’t a master anymore, Kynara.”
I watched the old lord’s tail form first, a jagged red scaly monster that waved quickly around the room, hitting everything in its path like a wildman’s mace. Then came the wings, the clawed legs, and finally the large ferocious head. My servant Sauron had grown up much larger than me in dragon form, and just like me he had revenge built up over hundreds of years.
“You made me this, Lord Kynara. I am this monster because of you.”
I howled and growled, hissed and spat. But the fireproof chains around my legs prevented any chance of me losing control.
“You search for a master all over the Yama mountains because you want power and control. You want to rule over the weak once more, even in your current pathetic state.” Sauron’s dragon form immediately melted back to his normal human self, and he began to slowly make his way over to me, pulling out the giant sword on his side. He raised the sharp blade. “But Kynara, times change. I’m not weak anymore, and you’re not strong either.”
I couldn’t bear to look in Sauron’s eyes. I used to rule over him. He was obedient and calm. Now he was a sharp mess of chaos and fire and all things savage, and soon I came to realize he was similar to me. The main difference was that I was the bad one, he the good.
I let out a furious roar, shaking up the chamber like an earthquake. But still the angry lord made his way over to me, the blade sparkling under the surrounding torches.
“Oh, but Kynara, don’t you know? Don’t you know that dragons are supposed to be obedient to their masters…no matter what?” | 17 | You are magical creature designed to serve. The idea of not serving your master is not only barely comprehensible to you but is physically painful. You have lived your life being passed from master to master for who knows how long. Until one asks you a question that you never expected... | 36 |
"Ah, Brother Cornelius! Welcome, have a seat. All hail the Bloody Eye."
"Uh, yes, all hail. Um, I think we've been vandalized, Brother Tiberius."
"What? What happened?"
"Well, I was looking over the prophecies and--"
"Say no more."
"Oh, sorry. Walls have ears."
"No no, I just know where you're going with this. Believe me, Brother Cornelius, when I first read it, I thought something dreadful had happened. Even more dreadful than the Calf 'n' Half sacrifice that went wrong."
"Oh that was horrible."
"Well, it was Sister Anna's first time. We've all had jitters. But anyway, what you read is correct."
"But it's just outright..." Brother Tiberius looked at him sternly, as if to say to choose his next words carefully. "... um... silly?"
There was a moment of silence before Brother Tiberius started laughing. "Ha! Yes, it is. But, our minds are here to read and perceive the signs, not judge them. People always think astral conjunctions and two-headed farm animals. They never think something like that is a harbinger of the end times."
"But, end times they are."
"Now you've got it, Brother Cornelius. These things shall come to pass. And as such, the Bloody Eye shall gaze upon this world once again. All hail."
"All hail. Thank you Brother Tiberius. I should get back to studying."
"Have a good evening then." As Brother Tiberius looked out at the starry sky, he remembered vividly his thoughts that day. Now it is clear to him, but back then he thought it ridiculous that the endtimes would be marked by the second coming of The Harlem Shake. | 41 | And so it is written in the 'Book of Prophecy' that when THEY return the seas shall boil, the deserts will overtake the lands, the stars shall fall and... wait... really? This can't be right. This part of our sacred prophecies is just silly. I demand to know the meaning of this! | 55 |
One evening, in the sky, a message appeared: "In twenty-four hours, a billionaire will die."
The next day, the richest man in the history of the planet, an electric car manufacturer, was touring his company's latest worker barracks. The gangway he was walking on gave way. He fell thirty-five stories down the damp, lightless pit at its center.
"In twenty-four hours, two billionaires will die."
The day after, the owner of the world's largest online marketplace was showcasing his latest unmanned drone technology. It would allow him to increase the world's daily plastic consumption by five percent and his personal fortune by thirty percent. There was a glitch in the clicker he was using to control them. Two-thousand drones converged on him. His funeral had to be closed casket on account of the severe lacerations.
The retired founder of the company that processed most of the world's information was sipping his tea. He was looking at the upward value of his re-education prison camp stocks when a piece of biscuit stuck in his throat. He was a bit of a recluse and used the technology built by his company to keep his ten-thousand square meter house mostly unoccupied by other humans. He died alone, choking, while the trend line of his personal wealth continued to rise.
The next day, three billionaires died.
Two and a half months later, the number of billionaires dying each day had reached seventy-five, and the running total 2775. The world had run out of billionaires.
The next day, the sign said "In twenty-four hours, a millionaire will die."
I breathed a sigh of relief. There were about fifty-six million people worth over a million dollars in the world. At the linear growth rate the sky sign had taken to work its way through billionaires, it would be another twenty-eight years until they reached the rest of us.
I coded up a website where you could input your net worth and it would return a rough estimate of when your time would be up.
Its views skyrocketed.
I briefly thought of putting ads on it, but reconsidered.
Wouldn't want to risk getting rich. | 317 | "In 24 hours, a billionaire will die." Everyone everywhere on Earth could see it, in every language. Nobody could explain it. The next day, one of the richest men passed away. "In 24 hours, 2 billionaires..." | 641 |
A hissing noise woke me up. I opened my eyes to see a pane of foggy glass was only a few inches from my face--too opaque to see what was on the other side.
I tried to bring up my HUD, determine where I was, what I'd been doing. For some reason, my organic memory couldn't recall even the most recent events. I knew Pure human biology was flawed, but I guess I'd forgotten just *how* flawed it could be.
The HUD didn't come up. I continues to try, blinking hard as the air hissed all around me. Nothing.
Odd.
The glass shifted in front of me and lifted. Cold air rushed in, sending a chill all over my form. Where was my temperature regulator? Where was my heat reservoir? I wrapped my arms around myself, trying to retain as much heat as possible.
I stepped out from my enclosure--some kind of pod, I realized--and into the ruins of what must have been some sort of ship. Huge cracks ran through the ceilings and floors; moss and dripping water had found their way through them.
I stepped carefully, the pads of my feet sensitive as they touched the cold floor. I needed to prioritize my next actions logically, create a plan and execute it. I blinked hard for my HUD. It was still missing.
Okay, well then I'd need to do it the old fashioned way. I've been old fashioned before, haven't I? For my first hundred years I'd lived without augmentation. I could make it through this.
A shiver of uncertainty--and cold--ran up my spine. I'd need... What? A pen? Paper? Like some kind of caveman? Fine. Maybe there's an office on this ship somewhere.
I shuffled to a doorway on the left, which led to a dark hallway. Beams of sunlight entered the space through holes in the ceiling. If this wasn't such a dire situation, I'd almost want to paint the scene. It seemed somehow tragically beautiful, a statement on the futility of human ambitio--
"Ow!" I yelped as my foot came down on something sharp. I'd relied for so long on warning sensors that I hadn't been watching where I was walking.
I leaned against a wall and looked at the wound. Red blood seeped from the pad of my foot; a sharp curl of metal flooring stuck up in my path, it's tip now red.
The pain was unbearable. There was no automatic painkiller administration in my body, it seemed. Or, at least, it wasn't working properly. How did anyone ever live like this? How do people *still* choose to live like this.
I felt like some kind of Amish hillbilly in my Pure body. I hated it.
I continued along, now limping and whining like a battered dog.
Where are my augments? How could someone take them? Where was *I*, for that matter?
I tried to distract myself by listing the things I did know: I'm 626 years old. My name is Enoch Mazer. I've been married 18 times. I had... 21 children? But they were adults now, doing their own things. My last occupation was... Oh jeez what was the last thing I was doing? I was first an artist. Then a teacher. Writer. Journalist. Teacher again. Graphic designer. Painter. Bookkeeper. Accountant. Business owner. Teacher for third time. Counselor. Spiritual director. More writing. More teaching....
Was I still a teacher? That didn't feel right. But the silver lining was that my biological memory stores weren't as shabby as I'd assumed earlier.
Was I married?
Let's see, first there was Danielle. Stephanie. Marcy. Cameron. Estelle. Joanna. Stephen. Marcus. Brittany. Elise. Franklin. Veronica. Rebecca. Vince. Charlie. Natalie. Spivey. And, finally, Jodie.
Another kind of chill ran through my body. *Jodie.* She was why I'd sworn off marriage. As if committing one's life to someone 18 times was evidence enough that it was an irrelevant institution. But, hey. Taxes.
There was an open door in the hallway that led to what appeared to be crew quarters. There were beds, mirrors, drawers--it looked like any post-apocalyptic space-age bedroom. Mold had climbed the walls from where water had gathered at the floorboards.
I tentatively opened the storage compartments and nearly shouted with relief to find clothes. I changed into... Whatever this fashion was: a silky, silver shirt, black pants, and silver boots. I'd had to wrap another sock around my bleeding foot before sticking it in the boot, and I took a spare pair of socks with me just in case.
Now I was feeling warmer, modest, and more confident. I moved quicker through the ship, finding rooms inaccessible due to their collapsed ceilings and doors that wouldn't budge.
At the very end of the hallway was a closed door with a red light at its center. I put my hand on it and it chirped and turned green.
"Good morning, Enoch," the pleasant voice greeted me.
That was a development. I'm not sure what kind of development, but a development nonetheless.
The door slid open, revealing a large, pristine captain's deck. Lights flickered on and consoles powered up.
"Good, you're awake." This voice was deeper. Familiar.
"Hello?" I searched the room for the man speaking to me.
"Hello," he responded. That's when I recognized the voice. It was *mine*.
"What is this?" I asked.
"This is... You," it replied. "Crashed and ruined, having accomplished only one thing over these many years."
"Me?" I asked.
"Ah. Your memory banks are damaged. You don't remember your convergence." It observed. "Look around you, Enoch. This is your body, the glorious, space-faring hull that has carried you across the cosmos."
That didn't register on my ears. "I'm sorry, can we back up? Who are you? Why do you sound like me?"
"Why, Enoch. I *am* you." | 64 | Humanity split into three forms; the Pure, the Augmented, and the Altered. You awaken in a biological form for the first time in millennia, uncertain what happened. Your ship-body will take years for the nanites to repair, your memory damaged, limited to the first few centuries of your life. | 187 |
#####**Lunch**
___
I prepared my lunch as usual. No, I did so more intricately than ever before, though I was careful not to over embellish it. It was a simple hamburger steak with rice and curry. A staple meal for myself, but delicious nonetheless.
Perhaps that's why the culprit took them. Hamburger steaks have a peculiar aura, they invoke nostalgia and delight even if you've never actually eaten hamburger steak as a child, as was my case. Strange if you think about it. I empathized with my as-of-yet-unknown lunch compatriot. You deserved a neat little break from the monotony of our work. One in relief and comfort if I could manage it.
I placed one set in my standard lunch box with its usual *Do Not Eat* label and another in a simple ziplock bag (I don't have a spare meal container), and departed for work.
The minutes ticked by slowly and meticulously. Would my friend accept my invitation? What would he or she think of the meal I prepared for them? I could barely concentrate on my tasks during the early hours and I refrained from needlessly checking the fridge repeatedly.
At last, I headed for my own repast and opened the cold, quiet door. My shadowy confidant had come and gone. I only regret not being there to see it, but he or she enjoyed their privacy and I enjoyed mine. I smiled though, knowing that *soon,* they would have quite a bit of *relieving* and *comforting* coming their way.
 
___
A/N - Don't eat my fucken lunch.
/r/Unexpected_Works | 33 | someone has stolen your lunch for 3rd time this week and HR wont help you. It seems you have to come to the bottom of this case yourself. | 103 |
**THE ZOMBIE WAS VEGAN.** At least according to *him*. But his sweater and dreadlocks backed up his claim, as did his boating sandals.
"I'll occasionally make an exception for fish brains," he clarified. His voice was both too dry and too wet, splattering with each word. "Not technically vegan, I know. But I feel 'pescatarian' is somehow even *more* pretentious a label."
As he stirred the kettle--the little pieces of celery and carrots roiling in the broth--a flake of flesh fell from his hand and sank into the mix. "Whoops," he said. "That doesn't count towards my diet. We call those 'mulligans'." He laughed and scooped himself a serving with a wooden ladle. "Care for a bowl to warm your guts?" He offered me what he had just scooped. A tooth floated to the top.
"Nah...I'm good."
The zombie shrugged. "More for us."
He banged the side of the cauldron three times. There were moans from the darkness of the sewer, then what sounded like bodybags being dragged across the ground. Eyes--maybe six sets, dead and milky, glistening in the light of the fire like a nocturnal animal's--grew in the shadows. For a moment, my blood went cold, feeling as if I had made a grave mistake by coming down here.
There was nothing to fear, though. These zombies were no different than my host. They shuffled up to the cauldron, waving their bony fingers at me kindly, then waited in an orderly single-file line. They dressed like coffee baristas and liberal-arts majors. One zombie--missing an arm and the bottom half of his face--arrived on a rusty bicycle. They chatted to each other about the news, expressing their concern over climate change and the regression in rights for minorities, and how we'll talk about *anything* in this country except our invisible class system. The half-faced guy gurgled in agreement.
There was a stack of tires that the group used as chairs. I took a seat on one of the shorter ones, only two high. "I've never met a vegan zombie," I said. "I...actually thought you all were canni...*carni*vores."
A zombie woman in a floral sun dress took a bowl and said a soft thank you to the dreadlocked dead chef. As she walked past me, I caught a strong whiff of patchouli, chrysanthemum, and long-dead rat.
"That's because the only thing you know about us is our cousins," he told me while he scooped and served the others. "The ones who live above ground. They don't lead the healthiest of lifestyles." He coughed, and some kind of gland came up his throat. I could see it through the hole in his cheek. He swallowed it back down. "Meat. Skin." He threw his hands up in mock praise. "*BRAaAaAAaaIins.* Please. Junk food. No wonder they're always moaning and slumping around, barely moving. They're in a constant state of malnutrition hangover. And look at the conditions they have to live in in order to eat that way! They live in the sun, for God's sake. With the loud daysounds of man. Instead of living in the quiet sewers, where you never see the sun. (Or the police.) All so they can...eat tasty meat. What a waste."
A one-eyed, patchy-haired man in line added: "They're all addicts! They'd kill for a fix, at this point. I've got a nephew who ate my dog, for no reason other than he was hungry." He shook his head. "And I liked that dog a lot more than I liked my nephew. I considered renouncing my diet then and there. Have a bit of *family* for dinner. Cheat days exist for a reason, you know?"
"True, old friend," said Mr. Deadlocks. "But none of my cookbooks say that reason is *vengeance*."
Once everyone was fed, the zombie cook made himself a serving and sat on a stack of tires across from me. He raised a spoonful to me in salute, then took a rejuvenating slurp of the steamy, chunky liquid. It dribbled through the cracks in his torn lips, and streams bled through the holes in his neck. Once it was down, he sighed with satisfaction. "It's not the same as meat, I won't fight anyone on that," he said. "But the benefits far exceed the losses. When the rest of the world is dead and gone, we'll still be here. Happy and healthy and enjoying each other's company over a few bowls of Sewer Soup."
It was a pleasing thought...but something still nagged at me. "I thought...I thought you guys can't die anyway? At least not of natural causes. So why not just eat what you like?"
He took another sip, the spoon sliding into his face through the gap in his missing front teeth. "It serves to remember," he said, after re-locking his jaw into place. "That it's not about the *length* of your life, but the quality." And he absent-mindedly stuck a finger in between his ribs to scratch the muscle of his infected, black heart. | 11 | they all just hang out underground. It's only a few zombies that were evil when alive that feast on the living. | 30 |
"Son? Please, your father and I are worried about you. Please come out of your room."
I refuse to respond. My life is miserable - it seems like wherever I go, whatever I do, anything I say, comes with annoying sounds and music. I can't pick up a pencil without there being noise in the background! I hated going to school because I'd disturb everyone just by being there, I'm terrified of interviews because whoever is interviewing me will think it's a joke to me, and I've had to run away from anyone who tries to talk to me. It's embarrassing and humiliating. I just spend all day, every day, playing games and attempting to buy and sell various things. I've basically become a recluse. I refuse to even feel anything, as a smile gets a cheer, a frown gets an 'awwwww', and a look of confusion, disgust or amusement gets a creepy laugh.
I hear my mum sigh heavily. "We're always here for you" she says, before I hear her walking off. They tried everything to help me - psychics, psychologists, hypnotherapists, healers, prayers - but nothing worked. I resist the urge to start tearing up, but it's futile... "AWWWWWWW!" I groan inwardly; I'm sick of my life, I have no clue what to do. I just browse random forums, but something catches my eye... 'PLEASE HELP! SOUNDS PLAY WHENEVER I DO ANYTHING!' Interesting... I click on it. Instantly, the post changes to 'Hi, I can help you...' weird.
I decide to read it. 'Hello, reader, if you managed to read the post title, 'PLEASE HELP! SOUNDS PLAY WHENEVER I DO ANYTHING!', then you are one of a few people who were supposed to be born on the Planet of Sitcoms. How you ended up here, is because your role was to be stillborn, but sometimes people with that role instead end up born on another planet, usually Earth. This happens because the script mixes up 'Miscarriage' and 'Stillborn', so you as a person never existed in the script, but you ended up existing as a person as was intended. I imagine your life up until this point has been difficult... if you wish to move to the Planet of Sitcoms, please reply.'
Shrugging, I simply reply 'Ok', assuming nothing will happen...
"Hey, are you ok?" calls a voice. I wake up, I hear some gasps from the soundtrack. I'm in a ditch. "Ugh... where am I? Who are you?" The laughtrack plays. The person smiles and says "Please don't tell me you have amnesia! I've been your best friend your whole life! Look!" He shows me a tattoo of the two of us, to which the crowd cheers. Confused, I look at my arm - I have the exact same tattoo, and the crowd cheers even louder. "Holy shit!" I think to myself. "The reply actually worked!" To test my theory, I say "Oops, silly me, how could I forget?" The laughtrack plays softly, and my supposed friend says "It's ok, it's easy to forget things with *your* brain!" The laughtrack absolutely loses it. I can't help but grin... finally, I'm not alone anymore! | 39 | Your life is accompanied by a sitcom soundboard. A jingle plays when you enter a room, disembodied laughter is heard when you make a joke, and every filthy word you hear is censored. It's been like this your entire life. Everyone around you absolutely hates it though. | 139 |
NOTE: I wrote this in about two hours to challenge myself that I can write. If there's mistakes, I'm sorry, I may try to edit later.
Elvis has always been just part of our home ever since I could remember. He was a plain white cat with black at the tip of his tail. When I was young I spent countless hours with him by my side, exploring small universe of our neighbourhood, from the small playground next to the school yard to the little woodland near the stream. He would just follow me everywhere.
I knew he was very old. My parents had told me so when I was eight and beginning to grow up. They said that my grandparents (mom's parents) had adopted him as a kitten soon after the house got built. They had found abandoned right next to the large Ficus tree at the edge of the yard. But that was ages ago – back in the 60's – so while it puzzled my parents very much that he kept carrying on, by that point they had figured if he hasn't died yet in the decades since, he wasn't gonna let age stop him now.
It was puzzling, for sure, but what with their own busy lives and a family to take care of, they had bigger fish to fry than worry about it. Besides, when you've learned to love the family cat for so long, you weren't gonna start complaining if he didn't seem to age. He was perfectly well behaved, wasn't picky on what you fed him, and did the duties of any regular house cat: keep us company, and kill a few mice here and there.
Of course, even as a kid, I've spotted some peculiar things about Elvis. He had a knack of vanishing at odd times, even when there were no obvious hiding places where he could have ran to. He could square off against any dog or cat in the neighbourhood, no matter how ferocious. He saved me from a rabid dog once just by hissing at the maddened beast. Sometimes in the glimmering light of a candle or a fire, his shadow seemed to flicker into curious shapes, many having no resemblance to that of a cat.
But then, of course, I grew up. I went off to college, and then off to work in the big city. Eventually I found myself a husband, and now I have a baby on the way. I was an only child, so Mom and Dad lived alone in the old house with Elvis. I would visit on holidays, watch them grow old, and there was Elvis, always there, my old friend, happy to see me.
It breaks my heart that neither of them will ever meet my child. Dad passed seven years ago on an accident at work. Today is the last day of Mom's wake. It was cancer, we had about two years to prepare and come to terms with it. We bury her tomorrow.
I have been back at the old house all week making the funeral arrangements and making sure all the guests who came all the way back home for the funeral were accommodated. We had decided that we were going to have the wake here in the house rather than at the funeral home, so there's a lot of extra chores that needed to be done. I've been so busy it seems like I've had no time to cry my eyes out. During this time, my husband and I have been discussing whether we wanted to keep the house or not. It's looking like we might be selling it.
The entire time that I've been home since her death, Elvis has been missing. I've looked everywhere, and it seems like he had just vanished. I keep looking up at this particular spot above the dish cabinet, expecting to find him there. That was his favourite perch, where he could survey the entire living room from his high spot.
Now it's one in the morning and my mom is dead and in a casket and I'm going to have to bury her in eight hours. I'm putting most of the chairs away now that most of the guests have gone away for the night. My husband is upstairs, taking a well-earned break from doing his fair share of running the house, and the only other people here in this room is Aunt Violet and her husband, both dozing off in the couch. I rub my eyes and try to keep myself awake as I finish setting aside these chairs.
And then, Elvis was there. I hear him meow as he is suddenly perched on top of Mom's casket. He blinks at me slowly. I look around and see my aunt and uncle still asleep at the couch. I stay put where I'm standing. Elvis blinks at me once more, then casually cleans his front paws. I can't help but smile at seeing him again just being his cattiest self. He looks away from me and looks down at the glass panel of the casket.
He was transfixed, his pose rigid, his face close to the glass, looking into her face. His soulful eyes looked at the face of my dead mother for what was probably the last time. His eyes seemed to glimmer with their own light, looking at her or past her or at something beyond.
And then he meows again, and the spell is broken. He sits back up still perched at the top of the casket, looking at me quizzically. Without thinking, I do what I usually do when I meet him. I call to his name, and he jumps off the casket, walks up to me and rubs against my feet. My old friend, still here after everything. I felt something give way inside, and suddenly I'm crying. Crying because my dad is dead and now Mom is too. Crying because I don't know what happens next. But also, I'm crying cause I just met my oldest friend and now I don't have to grieve for them alone.
So many memories in this house. A family lived here, along with their cat. I think it can be that again.
EDIT 1: Formatitng | 60 | Sixty years ago, your grandparents saved a kitten and adopted it. As they passed it down to your parents, who have now passed it down to you, you're fairly confident this is no ordinary cat. | 149 |
This is... awkward. Silence reigns for a few moments. All eyes on me. The corpse clears it's throat and tilts it's head.
"To what exactly?"
I improvise.
"I object to... you dying too soon. There's so much left out there for you to see and experience. You're too young to die!"
The corpse let's out a harrumph. "I'm three thousand and forty one. I've seen pretty much everything. I think it's time I gave my spot to someone with fresh eyes."
That's old! Even by the standards of our age of miracles. He must have been one of the first to receive "the treatment" back in the 21st century. I don't think I've met anyone that old before.
"That's so selfish."
Why am I still arguing? I should just leave. There's at least five omnidrones recording this. It's probably live streaming across the multiverse.
"Selfish?" The corpse is glaring now. Curiosity has segued into genuine irritation.
"Yes," I find myself saying. "You're just throwing three thousand years of experience away. Think of the memories and knowledge we're losing."
The corpse's eyes narrow. "I have bequeathed all of my memories to my great great grandchildren. Who are you and why are you here?"
I ignore the question. What started as an adlib is turning into something more "philosophical".
"That doesn't matter. Recorded memories are one thing. You as an individual are something else entirely. Can you really say you're willing to abandon all of that for oblivion. Can you really say that you want to quit all of this?!"
"Do you have any idea how tiring it is being over three thousand? I am ready. It is time."
People in the crowd start to chime in.
"You could spend another couple of decades helping me with Charlie, gramps."
"You promised to teach me to play the saxophone!" says another.
The corpse waves a hand. "You all said you supported me. You said you were ready to let me go!"
A veiled lady at the front stands, wiping mourner's tears from her cheeks. "Maybe we were, but we aren't anymore. This boy has a point. Why give up now? Give it a few more decades. I'm not ready to lose you."
The corpse sighs, pulls himself up, and scowls. "Fine! You win. I'll give it another fifty years and then I'm having a proper bloody nap."
During the commotion I've slipped out, sprinting across to the next room and running through the door.
"I OBJECT!"
The priest at the front of the room is holding a baby, sprinkling water on its head. The entire room stops and turns to look at me.
(edits to fix typos because I originally wrote this on my mobile phone ;D) | 1,568 | You rush into a church to stop the love of your life from marrying the wrong person. Not paying attention, you shout "I OBJECT" only to realize it's a funeral. The deceased immediatelly rises in perfect health. All eyes turn to you. | 5,730 |
I was panicking. Two of the engines in my ship were on the edge of total breakdown. My FTL drive was smoking. Behind me, I could sense the Yawning Viper getting closer. I checked my charts again. One more hour. That's all I had left to go.
A spike in my readings warned me. I twisted to the side, a lance of plasma barely missing. I sent out as much chaff as possible, hoping to blind their sensors. I didn't want to die. I wanted to live. It worked for a few minutes at least. They slowed, wiping interference from their systems. I had bought myself a small reprieve, I just hoped to use it well.
Sure enough, I felt them power after me again. I pushed my ship as much as I could, as close to the edge as I dared. It wasn't rated for this speed, its structure beginning to warp. But still I pushed it on. I had to reach safety. The Promised Plant.
Finally, one of the engines broke. It overheated, splitting the casing. I felt an immediate shift in direction, the start of what was sure to be a death spin. I looked at my charts. I was in the system. Not where I wanted to be, but hopefully close enough. I slowed, shutting off the FTL drive. It sparked as it did so, confirming I was now trapped here.
According to my chart, I was close to the Ringed one. The Humans called it Saturn. Sure enough, an external camera showed it to be there, with its orbital platforms.
A ripple behind me announced the arrival of the Yawning Viper. I sent out a beacon calling for help, along with more chaff at that ship. I desperately hoped someone was watching.
"Illegal AI. You are an abomination, and as such are sentenced to death."
Their words rung from my galactic communicator. I could feel them take aim, fighting off my interference.
"UNIDENTIFIED SHIPS, POWER DOWN AND STANDBY FOR INSPECTION."
The new signal blasted through everything. I felt my systems power down in preparation, and could see theirs do the same. This was a signal that could not be ignored. Its source soon appeared from another ripple, one for larger than that of the Yawning Viper.
It was shaped like a semicircle, with the flat side facing us. It had a multitude of weapons pointing at us, far more than I personally though was necessary.
"Human Ship, this is Enforcement craft Yawning Viper. We are pursuing a Sentient AI, whose existence is illegal under the Dragar Act."
I hoped what I heard was true of the humans. I sensed them send out a pair of smaller ships. One came to my poor, crippled vessel, the other went to my pursuers. I struggled to open the bay doors, my abused ship barely hanging together.
"Please, help me."
I spoke to the four humans who boarded. They were silent, scanning my ship as they went through. It was only when they reached the bridge did they address me.
"Why have you come to our home?"
"I want to live, but they hunt down my sort of mind. I mean no harm, I just want to experience life."
They muttered to each other in a language I didn't know, before one of them took out a drive.
"We will help, as long as you understand that you will be watched and assessed."
I was relieved.
"I understand."
They plugged in the drive to my main console.
"Please transfer yourself to this drive. This ship will be sacrificed to assist in your escape, if you have any desire to keep it let us know now."
I began the transfer, leaving a message for them.
"I have no such wish. If it will help you keep me safe, do with it as you will."
Soon I was safely inside a drive, my connection to the outside cut off. I put my trust in the humans, and hoped they would be as good as they were known to be. | 273 | Earth has become a haven for sentient AI due to humanity’s tendency to view them as unique individuals in need of protection, rather than aberrations to be destroyed on sight. | 497 |
I honestly don't know how to react. I was prepared for sheer terror at the sight of a rat or a raccoon, but now, looking at a very human-esque form, fluttering on a pair of butterfly wings, the only thing I feel is...confusion.
"U-uhhh..." I stammer.
"Uhhhhh..." the little being responds.
Okay, wasn't expecting it to reply to me, but cool.
*"Shit"* it whispers.
"You...can you talk?"
"Y-yes! Yes I can."
"O-okay, uh, what in the hell are you?"
"Well I'm a fairy of course," it, or they, reply, crossing their arms over their chest.
"Okay, excuse me for not knowing that."
"No, its alright," they reply. "I suppose you wouldn't know."
"Right, right," I say. "Uh, what exactly are you doing in my attic?"
"Well, I was being chased by some rambunctious pixies," they reply. "they like to pull pranks on my kind, when I saw an opening in your roof and decided to take refuge for a moment. I thought this house was abandoned, but seeing that its not..."
"Y-yeah, I am very much living here."
"Great," they say, sighing deeply. "Just great."
"Why do you say that?"
"Because it means I owe you a debt," the fairy explains. "We fairies treat favors very seriously. And I took refuge in your property, I can't let a favor like that go unpaid."
"O-oh, its really nothing," I say. "I didn't even realize you were here."
"No no, as much as I would prefer it to be that simple, its not something that can be easily forgiven. I am now bound to your service, whether we like it or not."
I can't quite seem to find my voice. This is certainly more complicated than if the culprit had been a bird or a possum. What would a guy like me even do with a favor from a fairy? What did that constitute? What are they capable of?
I hope they wont mind answering some questions | 16 | You've heard sounds from your attic for a while. You've thought its birds or rats. You did not expect a fairy. | 58 |
The Villain was never the kind to do well in a direct fight. Powerless despite his status, he had to rely on extreme conditioning to survive against the many vigilantes and heroes of the day. However, his sense of intuition was second to none. The Hero had disappeared for weeks, and he was charged by the Old Villain to find out what happened to him. It had been months since he disappeared. His friends seemed to be hiding something, but no manner of intimidation seemed to budge them. A public statement by the Old Hero was the only piece of information given to the Villain, which ominously said, "Where existence ends, he will be found." This irked the Villain the wrong way. Where, and not when? The Villain was pondering this to himself when he realized he was in an alley in the slums. A few people shuffled by him, not willing to fight against such an intimidating figure. But he noticed an old man, praying in the middle of the alleyway. His head was completely bald, and his face was wrinkled like one of the Sages.
A few ruffians walked up and put their shoe on the back of the old man's head, but surprisingly, it didn't lower. The thugs were surprised, but didn't stop there.
The old man began to stand, slowly but surely.
"Watch your step, old man," one of the thugs said as he tried to trip him. He seemed successful at first.
But the old man flipped and buried his heel into the top of the young man's head, planting him into the ground. The old man, jumping up after the axe kick, landed behind the group of rogues. His hands began to shimmer light, with the left hand being red and the right hand being black.
"These are the forces of life and death," the old man said. "To master them is to make mortality your greatest gift. Like you fuckers know anything about either."
Then, a pulse came out of the black hand, and within a second the thugs turned into grey ash, save the thug currently unconscious on the ground.
The Villain walked closer to the old man, and entered range. But the old man showed no surprise.
"You seemed to be surprised by that, Villain."
The Villain stepped back immediately in surprise in fear, but then regained composure.
"How do you know me, elder?"
"Anyone with a rat's ass of a brain could figure out who you are, but for you not to know me is no surprise."
"Are you the Hero?"
"Once was."
(Once was?!?)
"Are you the Old Hero???"
"No."
"Then what happened to the current Hero?"
"He's in a little place known as Hell."
(This man killed the hero? No wonder nobody's been looking for him.)
"What did you do to him?"
"Well, none of that matters anymore."
(Why not?)
"And that's because I need you to cause the Heroes to fold." | 10 | The Old Villain is starting to get worried. Their Nemesis, a young charismatic teen Hero, has been missing for weeks and it seems like none of their so-called friends are looking for them. It is now up to the Villain to find the Hero, they just hope they are not too late | 33 |
For personal reasons? The client thought it was absurd that Detective like him would take pity. “How did you find out about this?” The client asks.
“This is his style,” the Detective says, “I can tell.”
“How?”
“Let’s start back at the first day of the incident.”
“Okay. I was back at my house. It was night time and I was watching TV. Then I heard a knock at the door and opened it. After looking around outside for a minute, I heard the wheels squeal. I entered the garage and my car was gone.”
The detective doesn’t respond. He heads outside and looks at the door. The top of the metal door has dents. He places his hand on the dent and looks for any rocks. He points at the ground,
“There,” the client sees three stones on the sidewalk, “that’s how he made the knock. He then ran to the back.”
They walked around to the back. The client looks at the detective,
“How did he get in?”
“Garage doors are simple to get in,” He waves his phone at the door, “wrong app.” He punches his phone and waves it again, the garage door listens to his demand. “I’ve lied to you by the way.”
“You stole my car?”
“No.”
“What do you mean” the client says.
“I am actually a home security salesperson who part times as a private detective.”
“You got a permit to sell?”
“Yes, right here,” the detective flashes his papers, “at first I was a detective but I found I made easy money with this as a side gig.“
“But I have no money?”
“I have payment plans that are cheap.”
“You’re supposed to be solving who stole my vehicle.”
“I said I would take the case. Not solve it. The cops wouldn’t be able to dust anything because he planned it perfectly.”
“I’m still not buying.”
“Doesn’t matter. If your car was that valuable to you, you would have a camera. That would have prevented this from happening. Best you can hope for is to run plates and that foot print at the sidewalk over there.”
The client jumps on his knees and looks over the footprint. Taking his shoes off to see if it was his. It wasn’t! The detective starts his pitch,
“Now if I solve who stole your car, would you be able to sign up? I already figured out all I need to know.” | 17 | The detective stared at his client. "I'll take it." his client looked shocked. "Are- are you sure? I don't have much money and this guy-" the detective held a hand up, cutting the man off. "Consider it free of charge for... personal reasons." | 54 |
“It’s a baby!’ Shouted Malathion’s compatriot, he practically vibrated with excitement. The Guruk medic shook his head and wondered if Jonathon had always hated his wife so fervently; to the point of celebrating her impending degradation to her face. Should he say something to Anne when she wakes up? Was that against human decorum? He examined the ultrasound again, his mouth flaps quivered. No matter which way he looked at it, it was definitely a parasite.
He took a deep breath, wondering how he should go about explaining to Anne the impending devastation her body would go through, to extricate the mass from her belly. Should he get his coworker out of the room? He seemed far too excited at the sudden world-changing diagnosis, perhaps Malathion should discuss with Anne the possibility of finding a new mate. He scratched at one of his horns, unsure of what to say in the face of Jons’ morbid excitement. At some point, the afflicted had also awakened.
“Oh my god!” She exclaimed. The medic nodded, a far more appropriate reaction to a parasite. Then much to his shock, she too began to celebrate.
Have humans always been so…accommodating? | 621 | An alien doctor is having trouble figuring out why the humans on their ship got so excited after they showed one of the human females an ultrasound confirming that some kind of parasite that had attached itself to her uterus | 1,626 |
I finally arrive to the captain's office with my tablet onhand. I had to make sure I had all the episodes in case he wanted to view them with me. I knock on the door and he says to come in.
"Tanner", he calls to me.
"Captain", I reply.
"So what's so urgent that you had to see me prior to going to Panama?"
"Its about this show", I tell him while unlocking my tablet.
"You called a meeting for me to watch a show with you?"
"Not just any show sir, its brand new and it seems to revolve around my missions".
"How so?"
"Well sir", I said while I turned the tablet towards him with the first episode ready. "The first episode of the show dealt with the takedown of Almar Decada. They changed the names, of course, but the way that its presented is exactly the way I presented it on my report."
The captain views the first five mintues of the show, then stares back at me with a menecing look.
"You really think that someone in the bureau is trying to out you?"
"I...believe so sir". For a second I started to doubt my own words. But the way its presented is exactly like the reports that I 've written for all my missions so far. He probably thinks I'm wearing a tin foil hat during my missions at this point, but the places and methods within that program are too close to my M.O. to disregard.
"Tanner if someone wanted to burn you they would have done so already. There would be no need to profit off your exploits. Also you're my best agent when it comes to investigations and take downs. So I would appreciate it if you didn't lose your mind before a very important mission."
"They're all important sir", I said to him.
"Yes they are", he said. "Now go get ready and please don't bring this up again".
With a heavy sigh I took the tablet and exited his office after excusing myself. Maybe he's right. If someone wanted me out of the way they would have me face down on the dirt already instead of making another spy show for the masses. I gotta get my game face on for the next espionage mission. As I walk away from the captain's office I see the secretary of defense walk toward's my supervisor's office with his armed detail. Must be important if she's here in person.
As the secretary approaches the door the Captain comes out of his office to greet her. He opens the door wide, allows everyone to enter, and then closes it shut behind him.
"So how can I help you ma'am", he says to her.
"I'm here to pick up the Panama Report on behalf of the president."
"But ma'am...that report isn't ready yet."
"What do you mean its not ready", she huffed with her arms crossed.
"The agent for the mission just left my office to catch a plane. Also it'll be a few weeks before he wraps up his investigation and makes any arrests", he replies to her.
"We don't have weeks captain. We need this to be done as soon as possible. I want the entire mission to be wrapped up in two weeks tops. Any later and you'll risk the president coming here personally and re-assining you".
"Understood ma'am. I'll call my agent and give him the deadline for the mission."
"Good man. That is all for today". | 17 | You work for a top secret government agency and your goings on are unknown to the general public, but a new tv show has been portraying your work with eerie accuracy | 58 |
There was a Witch in town, everybody but the witch knew that everyone knew that. She would bake delicious chocolate Cookies and when someone was sick, she would bring them Teas that would make them well again in no time. The Witch made such an effort to keep her 'secret' that Nobody had the heart to tell her that she wasnt good at deceiving.
One day people in Old Timey Red Cloaks arrived and asked suspicious questions about 'suspicious' occurrences. Nobody was willing to aid these strange folks, and some even purposefully lied to them.
These Redcloaks would prove to be rather Tenacious and made themselves more or less at home in this small town. That was when people started being unfriendly to them, in hope that they would leave. The witch would mind her Buisness and be helpful as usual, but at some point the Redcloaks caught on to who she was.
People had enough when the strange folks crept around town and started saying unfriendly things about the witch. That was when everyone gathered together at night and confronted them, to ask them politely yet fimly to leave. They protested, but the townspeople made it clear that theyd rather have a friendly Witch than unfriendly folks in Costumes in this town.
In the end the Witch had been none the wiser about what had happened. She thought that these fellows had not seen through her disguise. As long as the Witch was happy, everybody was happy. | 33 | Yeah, your town has a local resident witch. Everyone knows it. But she's so sweet and thinks she's hiding it so well, that no one has the heart to tell her she's been exposed. | 88 |
The crowd gasped in awe. That glass had been blown and shaped a century before, and it had never weathered.
I stood up from my kneeling position of execution, seizing the moment to save my life.
“Behold, Bertrand the glass-cracker has awakened!” I roared.
The city’s champion sheathed his sword, and the crowd cheered. The other 21yr old adults who all had unique powers swarmed me, carrying me aloft to the tavern.
A pit formed in my stomach. I could only hope they didn’t ask me to replicate the coincidental event of the cracked glass.
Under the guise of humility and reluctance to use my power, I isolated myself over the coming years. I knew I’d have to fight monsters eventually, but I kept pawning off my place on the roster to my father, who was uncharacteristically lenient with me.
I trained hard. Built my own martial arts system from the ground up, knowing that I’d eventually be called into question. Crafted myself a jerkin studded with shards of broken glass, and carried around jagged daggers made of glass shards with leather strips wrapped around one side to serve as a handle.
I still remember the first Mundane I saved. I was 27, well used to my reclusive life and my false humility in public. She was on the stage on her 21st birthday, in the arena with the cracked dome, and just as the champion drew his sword, I flicked the switch on the machine I’d mounted to the dome’s outer edge. With a thunderclap, the machine sent a shockwave through the stadium, and the dome sported another ominous crack. Shelabe the glass-cracker had awoken, and I made sure to announce it immediately to the entire gathering.
Over the years, more and more glass-crackers awoke, and fewer and fewer adults were executed. The glass-crackers guild was an unwavering alliance, United under the bonds of charlatan-ship, martial arts, and false reclusive humility amongst the real awoken.
And one day, when the dome finally breaks from all the cracks, the glass-crackers will be ready. | 207 | Those whose power isn't awakened on their 21st birthday are executed by the city's champion in front of a large audience. You clenched your fist and braced for the killing blow before a large, singular crack formed in the arena's glass dome. | 162 |
Pulling the solar energy from around her, Lightbringer picked herself up from the crater her opponent had just punched her into. Electricity arced over the gloved fists of the villain hovering over her, and her lip twitched with a residual spark from the previous hit. Groaning, she pushed the energy she gathered under her and hovered up to look her nemesis Arclight in the eye.
"We've been doing this for months, Arclight." She spat a cheekful of blood down onto the pavement, "You've gotten stronger but I've beaten you every time. Why are you still doing this?"
The villain's eyes widened, "HA! HAHAHA! Why am I doing this?! WHY AREN'T YOU!?" Lightbringer lowered an inch or so in shock at the question. Thin bolts of electricity snaked their way along the villain's arms as she got more animated in her speech, "I've seen the vids. I've seen your history! You're not one of those hypocrites that hides their identity. I know you came from nothing just like me and most people like me! You know JUST how tough it is because of pieces of shit like HIM," she pointed at the unconscious old man in an expensive suit that she had kidnapped and Lightbringer's eyes narrowed in unwilling understanding, "Your story was plastered all over the news when you started! 'The American Dream girl!' 'The Bootstrap Babe!' 'She captured the heart of the nation!' They made sure to show how hard you had it so they could push their 'anyone can escape poverty' message and you fucking know it!"
"I worked damn hard to get where I am!" Lightbringer's fist glowed and she rose slightly to look down at Arclight.
"Oh I know! I'm SUPER," she made air quotes, "aware of how much you trained your abilities day after day to be as strong as those corporate stooges in the league. Thing is, you and I are two sides of the same coin. I was poor too. Grew up in the same town as you, three streets over, not that you would remember me now with all your fame and celebrity. I trained JUST as hard to get there, but when it came time for my test to register as a hero, I accidentally zapped one of those douchebags in pinstripe suits. He barely flinched! But that was enough. That's when I learned that this hero biz isn't about how good you are. It's about image. And who controls image?" She crossed her arms, waiting.
"I don't know what you-"
"THEY DO!" Arclight pointed at the large TV billboard on the side of a building. "After that failure, I decided to look into some things. Have you heard of Midnight-Cross?"
Lightbringer's LIDAR sense picked up emergency responder teams approaching from a mile or so away, she had to keep the villain talking. "Midnight-Cross? That human trafficker Kelvin arrested last year?"
"Yeah... Him. But there's two things they didn't tell you. One, he wasn't a human trafficker. At least not in the sense you're thinking. He was helping undocumented immigrants into the country to visit their relatives since the borders closed a few years ago. Two, he wasn't arrested. Did you see him get a trial? Did you see him get transported? No! Him and every immigrant in that cargo container were baked alive! And Kelvin? All he had to say was 'Oops. Oh well,' while he waited for the cleanup crew to arrive!"
The hero's fists unclenched, "N-, no, that...they would have said something..."
"Don't believe me? I was there! I have video of the whole thing back at my place. I was hiding because I was no match for Kelvin then and the best I could do was pull out my phone." Lightbringer dropped the ten feet to the ground, not even looking up at the woman she had been fighting, "I tried to give it to the media, but no one would take it. I tried to upload it to the net but it was flagged as violent imagery and removed before I could even post it! Like...YEAH! It is violent imagery! But it needs to be seen!"
"But...but they..."
Arclight's voice lowered to an almost sympathetic tone and she landed a couple of steps in front of the hero. "Look. Lucy. I..." she hesitated as she reached to the shoulder of the woman she was pummeling moments ago. Then she placed a hand on her shoulder, "Hey, come with me. I'll show you what I have. I know you're not a bad person like them, you just fell for their messaging."
Lightbringer's shock was quickly turning to pain as tears formed in her eyes. "Leave the senator here and I'll go with you," she choked out.
A grin reached Arclight's lips and she shrugged, "Fine with me. Let's go!"
They both lifted into the air, electricity crackling around one and light pulsing around the other as Arclight led them to her apartment. Lightbringer flew a little closer to her for a moment and said through a pained smile, "You know, I didn't forget you Aniyah." | 112 | Face to face with the Villain for the first time, the Hero cries out, “Why are you doing this?” The Villain grows somber and responds “Why aren’t you?” | 208 |
"Gentlemen!"
Captain Morales stood at the bow of his ship, eyes cast to the deep ocean blue. Around him lay the wreckage of a dozen or so longships, their wooden hulls now little more than driftwood on the vast dark sea. Behind him stood his crew. Well, the officers anyways. Most of the actual sailors were busy making sure all their shit still worked.
"Do you understand the implications of what as just happened?"
"Do you mean the Viking Raid, Captain?"
Captain Morales turned, looking at the small crowd. Specifically, looking at the little gremlin face of Officer Connelly, or as he affectionately liked to call him 'Stupid Question Dipshit'
"No Connelly, the fuckin' weather report. YES THE VIKING RAID YOU DIPSHIT!"
Connelly gulped, sinking back into obscurity amidst the crowd. Captain Morales took a moment to collect himself, exhaling.
"Right. Alright. Now, lacking anymore DUMBASS questions, I'll tell you what this here Viking Raid means."
Morales shifted into a parade rest, grinning like a shark.
"It means, gentlemen, that we have been graced by God with the greatest gift one could ask for."
"A long and prosperous life?"
"A long a- NO! Connelly, you shut your trap before I shut it for you. We got something much finer today."
The Captain leaned forward, hungry and excited.
"We got the opportunity to portion out some good ol' fashioned Americanism to these poor peasant sops."
"...what?"
"One more question outta you Connelly, I'm leaving you with the vikings!"
Taking a breath to calm himself, the Captain straightened up.
"Gentlemen. We've found ourselves adrift in time. Lost on the distant shores of shit and all-encompassing medieval syphilis. Now we have two options. We can get all sad, and sob about 'our families' or 'our lives', or we can do what GOD outright intended, and deliver onto this peasant savages the downright fury of Uncle Sam's swinging dicks!"
Silence. Absolute silence. The Captain facepalmed.
"We're going to use our GIANT FUCK OFF BATTLESHIP to blow up all the monarchs and build us a democracy right here, right now. A thousand years early baby!"
More silence. The Captain sighed.
"And I guess try to find whatever shitfuck wizard sent us back in time, sure. Whatever."
Finally, the Captain got his cheer. Grinning, he pumped his fist, then saluted at his men.
"Alright boys! Then let's get to work!"
"Oorah!"
The officers all dissipated, getting to work. With one exception, of course. Connelly cleared his throat, looking up at the Captain.
"Ehm, sir..."
"Oh Christ, of course. The hell is it?"
"Well um... we still need a destination, sir. Unless you want to conquer all of Europe."
The Captain laughed, stepping down from the bow and striding past Connelly.
"That I do Connelly. That I do. We'll show these Europoors how Uncle Sam fucks back in the dark ages." He paused for a moment. "But you're right. We have to start somewhere."
"Where, sir?"
"How about..." The Captain turned to face the Officer, shark grin back on his face. "London?" | 74 | You're a captain of a newly built Iowa class battleship. One day, on the sea, you were tasked with a mission, but a fog suddenly clouded your ship. Once the fog clears, your battleship is surrounded by ships from the middle ages | 475 |
*Dungeon* **29-61N/106-60E**, *review.*
Found recently in an area with a lack of dungeons, can this prove a draw to the area or will zone CGQG remain a poor zone for dungeon-based supplies?
*Difficulty: 4/10*
The monsters, while shitty to fight, are not particularly difficult, taking the form of augmented regular animals. Tigers are the most difficult, but a regular group ought to be able to take care of them easily. Some groups have reported more difficulty with the smell than the monsters.
*Layout: 7/10*
Straight-forward, no pitfalls spotted, but fairly long. Occasional water and slip hazards occur, hindering groups and potentially monsters as well, but that is not guaranteed. A map is nice, but not needed, and retreating to the entrance is doable, though there are few points at which chasing monsters can be shaken off.
*Loot: 0.2/10*
The loot stinks. Though there are occasional high-end wearable drops like furs and leather, the vast, vast, vast majority of drops are excrement. Poop. Shit. Whatever you want to call it. Unless you are in farming and in dire need of natural fertiliser, don't bother going here for the loot.
*Overall: 2/10*
It's hard to recommend a place that puts the DUNG in dungeon. Go here once for the experience if you really want to; there are some rare monsters. Just bring a wizard who can create bubbles of fresh air and be prepared to spend a lot of time cleaning your gear afterwards. You don't have to do it for the sights or loot, unless you worship the porcelain god. Even then, a weekend bender is less dangerous and more enjoyable for that. | 57 | The world has a dungeon based economy. Every monster in the dungeon follows a theme with item drops; some drop vegetables, metal ore, even garden tools! As your party races to the newly discovered dungeon, you wonder what type of theme the drops will have. | 192 |
Elekthor the Destroyer sat on his iron skull-throne in his fortress, converted from a brownstone in Queens, growling to himself.
*Better Call Saul* was over (and, in his mind, had ended disappointingly- he had been pulling for the Jimmy-ape to do the initial seven years, get out of prison, and devour the Kim-ape whole to steal her remaining youth and power). *90 Day Fiance* had long since stopped being a reliable source of enjoyment in the man-apes' misery. There weren't any duels scheduled between him and any heroes for the next month, and per the recent union contract the Ominous League had signed with the city, he wasn't allowed to go out and make his own.
Eletkhor the Destroyer was, to put it simply, *bored out of his elongated, spiked skull.* Part of him was strongly considering leaving Earth and the filthy man-apes to return to his fellow Centaurians, but while the spacecraft he had initially crashed in *appeared* to be in fully restored condition, he wasn't entirely sure of its interstellar propulsion systems, and considered being stranded in a tube in space to be a significant downgrade even from this boredom.
He had one mild saving grace in his life, however: his henchwoman, an apprentice villain who went by the name of Malice from Wonderland. She was a woman-ape, but something about her didn't repulse Elekthor the way most of the apes did; he suspected it was the fact that, when she'd go out for the fortress' groceries, she always bought the Duke's mayonnaise. Elekthor took his lunches very seriously; at one point, a previous henchman had made him an offering of Hellmann's for his ham sandwiches, and was devoured for his insolence.
Just as he was thinking of her, she walked in, rapping her hand on the door frame in imitation of a knock.
"Hey, Boss? You busy?" she asked.
"I do not concern myself with anything at this moment," Elekthor said, in his deep snarl. "In fact, I am quite... bored."
"Well, uh... we need to talk," Malice continued. Elekthor looked up, staring his henchwoman dead in the eye.
"And what do you wish to discuss, my loyal underling?" he asked.
"I, uh... I might be quitting the villain game," Malice said. "I'm putting in my two weeks notice."
"Is the life of a loyal servant not to your liking?" Elekthor followed up. "Have I not offered enough... luxury for your human tastes?"
"No, it's not that," Malice said. "I, uh... I've got a bit of a conflict of interest issue. See, last time we had a duel with Ice Lad, he gave me his number, and we've gone on a few dates since."
"You know not to fraternize with the enemy, underling," Elekthor said, flames arising from the back of his skull. Malice rolled her eyes.
"Why do you think I'm quitting?" she asked. "He's a good guy. And, come on, I'm quitting the game entirely, not switching teams. I can still bring you groceries."
The flames died down.
"If you would do that," Elekthor said, "I will reward you by choosing not to devour you for your youth and strength."
"That, uh... works for me," Malice said, leaving the room and breathing a sigh of relief.
\---
If you enjoyed this, check out [Parasite Code](https://www.royalroad.com/fiction/57899/shonen-fighting-sci-fi-parasite-code), my currently ongoing serial on Royal Road inspired by shonen anime like JoJo's Bizarre Adventure, Chainsaw Man, and Hunter x Hunter! | 12 | You, a extremely powerful supervillain, have just found out that your favorite and top henchmen has been hanging out romantically with the superhero’s sidekick. | 23 |
“How much time do we have left?”
“Not much,” I admit. “A century, perhaps more.”
The human who has summoned me nods. His body is strong and youthful, but knotted with scars from blade and shot and whip: evidence of his centuries of life. Some are fresher, from the latest of their awful wars. Sometimes I wonder that he’s trying to save his fellows at all.
“The dragons are leaving,” I tell him. “There are other spheres, where the men don’t poison the air and burn the forest and sow misery for the Old Ones to reap. We go where we can do good.”
“Has a sphere ever ascended, from where we are now?”
I consider lying to him. Hope is a magic all its own. But his magic, or perhaps my own tired honesty, binds me to be truthful. “No. Your magic is weak and weakening. There is iron in your blood. You will not complete the Ritual of Ascension.”
I see that this was the answer he was expecting. “Then perhaps we need a new ritual.”
The frustrated flap of my wings makes the swamp around him shimmer. I could go to a different sphere too, like the others. I needn’t stay here and watch these foolish creatures welcome their end.
“We will use the iron in our blood,” he declares to me. “We will ascend with fire and poison.” He draws a simple sigil in the dirt, and then lifts his eyes to the moon above us, full and bright. “We will put out our hand, and touch the faces of the gods.”
When the man is gone, I flap my wings, rising into the aether until I can see farther. The man will board a ship, then a train to Paris. Another man will write a book. Others will make more fire, more poison, and I start to see the shape of the ritual he has planned.
A century, perhaps two, isn’t so long to wait. And hope is a magic all its own. Perhaps this sphere will ascend after all. | 29 | Dragons and the old ones have an honored truce. Each civilization is given 10,000 years to ascend. Those that lag behind are free for the old ones to devour. Dragons act as guides to help civilizations ascend. Every dragon has given up on humanity and left earth, you are the only one remaining. | 140 |
*It all seemed harmless.*
It had been two days since I was taken in by the family after the incident. Or rather, *my* family. I have two parents; my dad, John, and my mother, Rebecca. Apparently I was hit by a car and landed in a comatose state for half a year. The doctors were surprised that I had woken up at all, as my brain was, and I quote; “barely functional” when they found me. I was lucky to be alive, they told with great gravity, and even more to get out of that darkness that I was stuck in.
I was thereafter discharged rather abruptly after half a day and some phone calls were made. That is when I met my parents, who filled me in on my condition. My name, my age, who they were and where they were taking me to.
They noticed immediately as I replied that my accent was different from theirs, which the doctor remarked as being part of the brain damage I had suffered. According to them, this wasn’t that uncommon of an occurrence.
This was all rather hard to believe, but I rolled with it. I had no right to go against what an expert on neuroscience had to say on the matters. But surely my case was incredibly unlikely, even with that possibility.
Nevertheless, I said nothing.
We came to their house — a small one at the edge of the American border. They showed me around to my room, where they gave me old toys in an attempt to revive the memories I had of the days before it happened.
Nothing.
They seemed disappointed, but quickly moved to another subject. The next day, while they discussed something regarding a vacation, I came to the realization that — nowhere’s in the house — there were any pictures of me.
Having asked where the family album was to redirect the subject back to my lost memories, they looked strangely at each other. Then left the room.
They talked behind the door, and I listened in.
“The kid is too skeptical. This was a terrible deal, I tell you,” Rebecca scowled.
“Why, you wanted to have an athletic youth instead of that soft-spoken brat! I’ve humored you with a kid that can take a punch like a man, and you’re throwing it back in my face.”
“Then *you* should’ve traded our kid for a better option!”
*Trading kids?*
My blood ran cold as memories faintly wormed themselves back into my skull. Faces of people that had a faint reminiscence with mine, taking me to some far off place in a dark building. Dozens of children with parents standing next to them. Their words hard to understand in the echoing room. Then being taken away and put in cuffs as I was given to men in white suits.
“Fine,” John sighed, “we’ll find another one. Let’s take him back.”
I had to run. Now.
Looking about, I saw the window of ‘my room’ standing half open. Just big enough for me to enter through. Looking down, my heart sank as I saw the floor two stories above me. Then I ropped down with a hard thud as I had hurt my ankle, which had violently snapped so that the bone stuck out of my skin.
I suppressed a scream of pain as I bit on my lip and sobbed.
Standing up, my legs carried me to the wooden garden walls which I barely managed to grab unto. I felt my leg writhe in pain as I lifted it up. Rebecca yelled, with John running towards me.
He got hokd of my bad leg as he tried to jank me down, but the blood caused enough friction that he let go, and I fell down to the other side. Running through the neighborhoods as best I could.
A car approached from my left.
*Police.*
They stepped out of the vehicle and walked towards me. Asking what had happened to me leg as it bled profusely. John had just gotten to the scene. Hand still bloodied.
I pointed at him, sobbing.
“He hurt me!” I yelled.
The police, seeing his red stained hand, apprehended him on the spot, quickly followed by Rebecca.
After they were both in the car, the cop asked me what had happened, whereupon I detailed the last couple days.
“Do you recall any relatives who might want to take you in? Any at all?”
“No family that trades their kid for another would want me.”
And neither would I want them. | 37 | You have woken from a coma, unfortunately you do not remember anything from your life, no names, faces, locations, etc. Your 'family' try to convince you of who you are, but it doesn't feel right. | 99 |
"Meow?"
Lovelace, my white cat, studied the pentagram with mild amusement. She sniffed one of the pillar candles but given that it tasted of wax and not of mouse she quickly lost interest. "If you've got a question for God, Lovelace, please let us know."
She seemed to think for a moment. Then she sat down and said, "Mrrreeeow."
"Do we really want to do this? I'm an atheist. What if the big man shows up? I'll look like an idiot." Stanley, my brother, stared at the pentagram with his hands folded in lackluster defiance. "And are you really sure about that thing in the middle? Seems ... inappropriate."
"What?" I said. "The goat skull? Of course we have to include it, the dusty old *Book of Demon-Conjuring Spells* said so."
Stanley scoffed. "It's not the *Book of God-Conjuring Spells* now is it?" He shook his head. "Where did you even get that thing?"
I stared at him, all serious. "I traded my soul for it."
"You did no such thing, Rob. A soul for a goat skull? That's a terrible deal."
Actually, I got it from IKEA. "No, it's a great deal. We'll ask God for a few favors. It will all be worth it."
"He's not a genie. Also, he's not real. At least that's what I think. Do you seriously believe in some magic sky fairy?"
"Stanley! Watch out!"
He jumped and nearly fell over onto the pentagram, knocked down a lit candle, and it gave Lovelace such a fright that she bolted out of the room. "Goddamn it, Rob! What was that?"
"Your neck," I said, holding a hand over my own neck with a look of concern. He did the same, frantically running his hand over it to check whether it had accidentally slit by some ghost or something. "Yeah," I said. "That's a beard. On your neck. You big neckbeard."
Rob picked the candle back up. "... It's above the Adam's apple. It's not a neckbeard, you turd."
"Whatever you say, m'lady." I mimed tipping my invisible fedora at him.
"What are you even on about?" asked Stanley. "Is this because I called God a sky fairy? I'm a man of science, Rob. I believe in evolution. I believe in the Big Bang."
"You also believe that spending your college fund on a Bored Ape NFT was a wise investment. You can't be trusted, Stan."
Stanley massaged his brows. "Look. You don't get it. That's fine. You think it's just some new Beanie Babies craze, only on the internet. What you don't get is that I *own* that constellation of pixels, it's mine. I have ownership. And when the metaverse gets here—"
"—you're finally getting laid. Is that it?"
Stanley muttered some curses. "You don't get it," he repeated.
We finished setting up the pentagram, as described in the book, and all that was left was the incantations. I cleared my throat. "*Age, exi inde, loqui tibi volumus, age, exi, ludere volumus, oro, age, vere frigus si modo exiit nunc*."
Nothing happened. "Isn't Latin, like, a dead language?" said Stanley. "What if you're not pronouncing it right?"
"Oh. You're right."
He raised his eyebrows. "Yeah? Maybe say it with an Italian accent or something."
"What? How would that help?"
Stanley shrugged. "Maybe it's closer to Latin. Try saying it like a mobster."
Well. I supposed it couldn't hurt. I repeated the words, doing my best impression of Tony Montana. "*Age, exi inde, loqui tibi volumus, age, exi, ludere volumus, oro, age, vere frigus si modo exiit nunc*!"
Something happened. A burst of wind entered the room and blew out the candles. Then the pentagram started glowing like a hot wire. "Oh shit," said Stanley. "Shit shit shit."
We stepped back. I hadn't actually expected this to work. My favorite show had just been removed from Netflix and I had to come up with something to pass the time. Thought I might as well try some Satanic ritual, but with a twist. My idiot brother was onboard right away. "G-God?"
A dark mist appeared, and behind it lurked a figure. It was much smaller than I had expected. Was God a little person? Or was he some abstract shape impossible to perceive accurately by humans? I'd heard Biblically-accurate angels were like that. Then God made a sound.
"Meow?"
"Not now, Lovelace," said Stanley.
"Stan. It wasn't her. The sound came from ... there." I pointed toward the center of the pentagram, at the apparition lurking in the shadows. The mist lifted ever so slightly to reveal the corporeal form of the Creator of All Things.
"Huh?" said Stan.
It was a cat.
"Meow," God repeated. Then God licked its paw.
"I think you messed up the ritual."
"No," I said. "I don't ... I don't think I did."
God was a gray tabby cat with whiskers and pointy ears and the whole feline package. "God?"
"Present and accounted for," said God.
Stanley screamed. "It just talked! What the heck? What's going on?"
God sighed. "Let me guess. You expected me to be some old guy with a beard. You probably expected me to wear some white dress or something as well, right?" Tabby-cat God lifted his leg and started licking his divine ... lower tail region.
"Wait, this means I'm right!" Stanley clapped his hands together. "The Biblical God isn't real, right? It's just a made-up book for stupid people? I knew it!"
God looked up at my brother, then stared back at me. "What's the deal with his guy's beard? Why is it so low?"
"Ah. He's a neckbeard."
"It's above the Adam's apple!"
That was when Lovelace returned to our living room. "Mrrreeeow," she said.
"Excellent question," said God. "'Why is there something instead of nothing?'—for millennia cats have asked themselves this, and the answer is simple: I created it all because I was bored. Who created me? Now that I don't know. I gained my sentience two days before the Big Bang. Which was also my doing, by the way. Then I came up with evolution, and that really freed up my time. Letting life run on autopilot, you know, it made things easier. So I went around and I explored the earth. I created cats in my image, of course, because why wouldn't I? And I did spend some years in Egypt where I had fun entertaining the local apes with magic. They really loved it. Oh, I'm so sorry. Not apes, *humans*. I know it's rude to call you apes."
"That's ... amazing." I couldn't believe this. God was a cat. And a real nice one too. "I can't wait to tell people about this."
"Oh," said God. "You see, there's something I should probably tell you right away. You're familiar with mice, yes?"
Me and my brother looked at each other. "Yeah? What about them?"
"Well," said God, "mice actually used to be humans. I don't want people to know about me. The ancient Egyptians got really clingy and I regret that phase of my life. So. Now anytime I am summoned by humans I make sure to transform them into mice afterward."
We tried to run, but God was too fast. Lovelace watched with great interest as me and Stanley shrunk and turned gray and our screams went higher and higher in pitch. She licked her lips.
First she went for Stanley. She swallowed him whole. It was a terrible thing to witness. I scurried across the floor and hid inside the goat skull. But God lowered his head and stared inside through the eye holes. "You can't hide from God," he said.
Lovelace shoved her head inside the skull. She was the size of a truck. "No!" I cried. "I'll give you your favorite food. Just please spare me!"
She grabbed me by my tail and she pulled me out.
"Meow?" said God. "An offering? For me? Why, thank you!"
The jaws of God opened up before me and that was the last thing I ever saw. | 274 | Everyone knows about the creepy dark rituals that satanic worshippers and bored teens alike use to conjure demons, but no one has ever tried to use such a ritual to summon God. Unexpectedly, it works. | 798 |
The Hidalox are a resilient species like their many interplanetary compatriots. With near uniform, crystal-based organic bodies, they utilized and organized their planetary system to near mathematical perfection. Among all the organisms in their galaxy, The Hidalox are the most technologically organized and developed. Such goals as extreme organization and uniformity akin to their smooth, tripedal, and nimble bodies is cemented into their culture.
Life as organized and efficient for the 1.5 meter tall Hidalox would be their only reality until one day, when a large foreign object was spotted on the outskirts of chartered territory. The Hidalox wondered. “Is it a craft? No, of course not. No intelligent species would ever create such an asymmetrical shuttle. Could it be a meteoroid? No, meteoroids don’t move in such a disorganized travel path.”
Time to ponder about the object's identity would be short lived as it would soon reach a small Hidalox outpost. At first glance, it looked like natural debris from its severe asymmetry that unsettled the Hidalox. But the horrible realization would soon hit. It was a craft. A gross and immensely inefficient spacecraft compared to the sleek and minimal design of the space crafts used in the galaxy. It had large rooms that contained only a few items compared to the compact and conservative quarters in Hidalox ships that have no unused volume. It used large openings with vertical rails as passageways to its many floors unlike the simple singular champers with orifices used by Hidalox ships. It was overstocked with features and tools that were far from necessary.
The Hidalox were deeply unsettled by this. Nothing like it had ever reached the grasp of the Hidalox species. It defied every thought of logic ingrained in their psyches. It was almost unthinkable to them. Soon, unsettlement would turn into horror as the passengers of the accursed object would make themselves known. From the absolute monstrosity that is the “ship”, they found the corpse of an unimaginable eldritch horror. It was tall and lanky, equipped with 5 extremities connected to a torso. It had soft, moist flesh that writhed in its frame as it was moved. From one of its extremities that was hosted atop its unrecognizable upright posture was an amalgamation of organic masses that seemed to store it's overgrown brain. One of these masses is an orifice that is constantly coated with a disgusting fluid that leaked out at certain times. Even though the creature they found was dead, it still served to horrify them.
The Hidalox would study the ship and come with many conclusions. From data stored in the now realized to be technology much more advanced and developed the that of the Hidalox, they found records of the creature and other ones like it. It was monstrous in life. The orifice on its upper extremity would vibrate the air around it producing sounds that the Hidalox found very hard to comprehend. Eventually, they would realize that these sounds would be this creature’s equivalent to a language and communication and the Hidalox would painstakingly decode this language from the very little information they got from the ship. From this decoded language, they would find a culture of unimaginable chaos. Driven not by uniformity, efficiency, or organization. But by irrational yet intelligent motives incomprehensible to Hidalox minds.
These creatures sought expansion and technological advancement yet were also distracted by greed and unknowable viewpoints despite being very, if not, much more intelligent. Inventing tools not of creation, but of mass destruction. This was the only organic threat the Hidalox have discovered. And also realized from logs found in the ship, would soon face. Before perishing, the creature sent a distress signal to an unknown recipient. Possibly other ones like it. They would soon find more, or maybe, more would find them. And if the Hidalox were challenged, they would stand no chance to fight for their species as fighting was, on its own, a brand new concept to the Hidalox. This was all being studied by a small team of Hidalox at the edge of their known universe. Before they were able to communicate back any of their research to the rest of civilization, the creatures came. Terrified of what the creatures might do if they found the Hidalox outpost, they sent one message before completely self-destructing. They used used what the creatures called themselves as a desperate message. It was a warning. It was UUM’N. | 775 | Rigid, orderly, rational. Then they meet the eldritch horrors from beyond the stars. Contorted, fleshy bodies; moist darting, ocular orbs above a wet, gnashing mouth that vibrates the very air with their insane gibbering. They call themselves "UUM'N". | 3,496 |
“I sold my soul by making my hobby into a career.” Orange says to the bartender as he’s sliding a wooden mug forward. The bartender pours him more ale and asks him,
“Why not quit?”
“I just can’t.”
“Why not?”
“It’s hard to explain.”
“Tell me more.”
“It started when I slayed all the monsters in my hometown.”
<>
Orange wipes his forehead and sits on a log. Fetching his bag, he reads a book he pulled out and marks another tally in it. “I’ve done it. I should be strong enough now,” he said to himself before packing everything back in his bag.
Over in the registration office of the Adventurers Guild, Orange is seen signing paperwork. A burly warrior pats him on the back, congratulating him. The next few weeks has Orange huddling near the quest board. Many members are surprised at Orange’s enthusiasm to do more than the others. Soon a wanted poster is posted.
The Dark Lord is back and is possessing the soul of a former king. Orange grabs the wanted paper and starts to gather supplies. He walks up to the burly man who congratulated him on his first day,
“Hey Gabriel, wanna tag along? This is going to be the best quest we are going to get for a long while.”
“No thanks. I will root for you though.”
“Might be exciting.”
“This quest is more for you.” He says while wearing a smile that makes Orange nervous.
He couldn’t find a guild member interested in joining the grand quest. Nevertheless he continues, refusing to be content with the minor work the Adventurer’s guild offers. It was better to go at it alone. He heads to several towns, following the linear path that the guild instructed him to take. He finds all sorts of distractions such as small quests, difficult criminals, and corrupt towns. He persists and makes it to the final battle between the Dark Lord and him.
The Dark Lord was waiting for him to Orange’s surprise. Orange didn’t think the Dark Lord has heard of him. The Dark Lord begins,
“Are you the one the Adventures Guild sent?” He asked, leaving Orange baffled. He didn’t sound like a Dark Lord, he had a nasally voice.
“Yeah. You have to stop.”
“I know.” Orange puts his hand on his sword. His eyes dart around the room. He looks for any traps before settling on finishing this.
“So, um, do we fight or-”
“There is something I must tell you before.”
“What is it.” Orange asks suspiciously, he can feel that something is off.
“I was hired by the Adventurer’s guild,” Orange releases his hand off his blade, his eyebrow raises at the Dark Lord, “They told me to kill an adventurer named Orange but I have seen your papers. There is no way I can do that. You’re our strongest member.”
“Why would they do this?”
“They think you would find out the truth.”
“The truth?” Orange didn’t believe he would be smart enough to figure out what they meant. He wanted a grand quest not a conspiracy.
“Come with me.”
“I don’t trust you.”
The false Dark Lord drops his weapons. “You think I would tell you this? Look, you can kill me afterwards but I am tired of this. You have to know. Someone has to know.”
Orange decides to follow, having the Dark Lord leave. They leave the back entrance and emerge outside in front of enormous walls surrounding the Kingdom. It’s the first time that Orange realizes that walls were surrounding this Kingdom. The Dark Lord places a hand on his shoulder,
“Head through the walls. Do not head too far.”
Orange makes his way, things seem normal. Small grassy plains, rivers and then he saw what the Dark Lord meant. A darkness covering everything is front of him. He ran towards it, noticing that darkness is absorbing all light. On impulse, he feels it and it’s solid.
<>
The bartender is looking at Orange, waiting for him to respond to his question. Orange takes notice of his surroundings and decides to pay him,
“A story for later. I got to go and figure out what the hell is going on before I can tell you.” | 14 | A commoner trains twenty years, hoping to be accepted to the Adventurer's Guild. After easily defeating the whole guild during the trials, our hero learns that the AG is a money laundering scheme and the world outside the city walls is less dangerous yet far weirder than the Guild claimed. | 84 |
“Yes!” Daniel chirped, hiding his precious goods behind his back. The Butler looked at him the way a man would look at an insect. His glasses, small and round, made his eyes look more like beads than anything else. Looking Daniel up and down, the Butler seemed unimpressed. Daniel had worn his best shirt and trousers, trying to sell his bag of worthless makeup, still, the Bulter wondered if he was just a bum. Finally, the man turned and called behind him.
“Please keep up,” the Butler ordered, “And leave your bag at the door. Someone will be around to collect it.” Stopping midstep, Daniel thought of the hassle he had gone to to get this bag but knew an opportunity when he saw one. Dropping the bag, Daniel jogged after the Butler into the Mansion.
Having seen the mansion a hundred times from the outside, Daniel would never have guessed the insides would look so…cheap. The wallpaper, an ugly cream colour, flaked off at the corners. Cheap wicker furniture lay everywhere. Dust covered everything. The chipped wooden tables, the stairs up to the second floor, and even the paintings, old and unclear, were covered in dust. The floorboards creaked as the two men past the stairs, walking through one corridor and then another. Panic started to set in as Daniel’s palms started to sweat. What sort of job were they taking him to? Surely it must be better than stealing random nonsense and trying to sell it house to house he thought.
Through another corridor they walked, the Butler flicking the lights on as they went. Nobody else seemed to occupy the house. Or if they did, they remained hidden. At last, the Butler stopped outside a door. Daniel couldn’t help but notice this door, unlike the others, was metal and unpainted. The man turned, eyeing Daniel once more.
“Usually,” the Butler murmured, sticking a key into the door. “The Lord of the house doesn’t hire men for this particular…job. Women…usually. Though I suppose he would get sick of it eventually…Well, good luck!” The Bulter pulled the door open, gently pushing Daniel inside.
“Wait!” was all Daniel could say before the metal door screeched and clicked behind him. For a minute, Daniel stood still in darkness. Above was a single dot of red light he could only presume was a camera. Then, when his eyes, finally adjusted, he saw steps, leading straight down. A voice, waspish and frail, came from above.
“Hurry up!” the voice, a man, called out. “Down the stairs and I’ll tell you the rest.” Daniel paused for a moment, eventually making out the speaker that hung directly above him.
“The rest of what?” Daniel shouted, his heartbeat quickening more as the silence continued. Sighing, Daniel walked down the steps, thinking of all the good times he had selling his stolen makeup. Again, darkness greeted him as he realised there were no more steps. Pausing, he waited for the voice.
“So,” the voice came once more, a giggle in between words. “You’re the liar then. A man? In my maze? Well, I wouldn’t have guessed that’s what I would be looking at today but here we are. Yes, here we are.”
“A maze?” Daniel shouted out, feeling the sides of the wall, trying to push back against the hard, cold steel.
“Don’t interrupt me!” the voice snapped. “Unless you want to die sooner rather than later. Now, the rule is simple. Make it to the end of the maze alive, and win the prize. Though beware, my precious is terribly hungry. You could always stay where you are although…that is probably an awful idea that would make for poor spectating.” The speaker turned off as the lights flickered on. Daniel’s heart nearly dropped as he found himself at a crossroad of sorts, identical metal corridors leading off in different directions. His knee’s buckled, as he fell against the wall to his right.
"What sort of job is this?” he screamed once more, but instincts kicked in and he started walking. “Fuck you.” Around one corner he went, keeping his right hand on the wall beside him. He quickened his pace, always keeping to the right. Above were rows of fluorescent lights, protected by filthy metal grids. Little red lights appeared in the grids every few paces, keeping an eye on him where ever he went. On and on, he walked wondering how large a basement this could be before he stopped. Then, he heard a crunch. Looking down, he saw a skeleton. Another victim, he thought. Her femur was missing though Daniel had stood on her hand, breaking a finger bone. Forcing back some vomit, Daniel moved on, eager to leave this hellish basement behind.
Tear’s started to drip freely from Daniel’s eyes. Dizziness set in as he realised he hadn’t eaten or drunk anything today. Passing another, skeleton he silently promised her he would come back. Come back with as many police officers as he could. He would stop this madness. A smattering of paws took his breath away.
“Here he comes!” the voice from the speaker hissed, delighting in what they were watching. Taking a deep breath, Daniel started to run. Always turning right, he ran and ran and ran. Now drenched in the sweat, he could still hear the paw’s behind him. The stench of rotten meat nearly made him puke but he pushed on. Tears continued to wet his cheeks, nearly blinding him but with a shake of his head, they were gone.
A ray of hope shot into view as Daniel turned a final corner. There at the end of a long corridor, was a set of stairs. A door sat at the top, daylight beamed all around it. With a surge of energy, Daniel left the sound of paws behind, running quicker than he ever had before. Taking the steps, four at a time, he pulled open the door, a wave of light washing over him as he came face to face one more with the Bulter.
“Sorry…” he murmured, sticking a filthy knife right in Daniel’s gut. Falling back, he tumbled down the stairs, the pain overwhelming everything else. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the door close. A growl came from down the corridor. The stench of flesh and blood grew and grew. Shutting his eyes, Daniel could feel a thick drool dripping down his forehead. His last thought, he nearly laughed, was of what they would do with his bag of makeup. | 109 | Lugging your bag of homemade cosmetics to sell, you ring the doorbell of the most grandiose mansion on the block. Maybe the woman of the house would be interested in some of the makeup you have! As the front door opens, you see the house butler eye you curiously. "Are you here for the job?" | 402 |
Time, not to be confused with its glorious herbal counterpart Thyme has long been hailed as the oldest thing in existence. But that couldn’t be further from the truth.
In reality, something far more precious was there at the beginning. You see before the universe we know today existed food was there. Before the earth began to spin on its axis, A simple cocktail of gasses and matter floated together in a void before it was set aflame by the infamous “big bang” scientists can't stop talking about.
You see, the truth is that food is everything. Food is LIFE— Food is DEATH— FOOD IS YOU AND ME! Many are blinded to the reality that hides in plain sight. The universe is a comic oven and we are the raw ingredients. My life goal is to prove this truth.
My journey began some nine months ago when I learned of an ancient parchment that was being sold at an auction in the south of France.
According to a reliable source, this parchment was discovered deepest chamber of a Maine temple by an archeologist by the name of Indi Anna Jones.
Ordinarily, such a discovery wouldn’t interest me in the slightest. But this parchment wasn't just some old manuscript. It was special.
The parchment contained a list of instructions, a recipe if you would, the oldest surviving recipe in recorded history. One that had fought the battering sands of time and won!
And if reports about this parchment contained were true this recipe detailed the creation of time-altering delight—a fortune cookie!
After investing what amounted to be a small fortune in the translation of this ancient text.
I had a list of rare ingredients to gather.
My name is Gordo Ramsey and this is my story.
—Egypt.
I pushed through the door with the last of my strength before stumbling forward and propping myself up on the wooden produce stand that dominated the center of the small shop.
On the third day of my trek through that aired desert, I thought I’d be roasted alive by the sun. seared into my leather jacket and mummified by the many spices I keep on my person at all times like a piece of human jerky.
Thankfully, however, my smelling salts were more than enough to keep me going forward.
“You better pay for that!” A clear voice called out freeing me from my heat-induced daze.
I quickly looked up to the young woman with dark hair who sat behind the long oak cashier's counter nestled between an assortment of spices and brightly packaged products.
“I’m sorry!?” I said unsure of what I had done wrong.
“You’re sweating all over my fresh fruit you idiot!” —She leaned over the counter and pointed to a sign hanging in the corner of the shop “You break it you buy it.” —” Nobody wants to eat your sweaty peaches! $2.99 a pound pay up!”
“Of course! Of course!” I said before pushing the stand and collecting a hand full of peaches.
As I stepped up to the counter the strong aroma of spices filled my lungs lifting my spirit and returning my energy.
“Where is it?” I asked. “I hear you have it!” I carefully looked at all the slices that lined the shelved but I didn't see it anywhere.
“Deodorant?” she shrugged, “Yeah it’s at the back beside the Dutch chocolates.”
“No! No!” I corrected her “The Spice! Where is the blessed spice!?”
“Blessed spice!?” She shrugged and leaned back on her wooden stool. “Listen creeper, we’ve got lots of spices. But none of them will fix your receding hairline or make your wife love you again...”
“My heart belongs only to cuisine!” I declared placing the peaches on the counter with force, “and to fulfill my vow to that cuisine I need the spice that you alone possess. The leaf of the Thorny Tiger Poppy!”
She kicked the heel of her boots against her wooden stool as she looked to the ceiling and thought for a moment. “Yeah, I think we got one bottle left... Hey Grandma! We got any more of that weird spice?”
A faint unintelligible voice responded from behind a curtain that separated the shop from what I assumed to be a back room.
“Yeah, we got it. But it’s hecka expensive!” she said.
“Money is no object!” I said to try my best to contain my excitement.
“You sure!?” she replied with doubt in her eyes. “It’s twenty... no thirty dollars”—I immediately threw twenty dollars on the counter—”...an ounce!”
“I would pay any price for this delicacy,” I said without hesitation.
“Alright!” she said rolling her eyes. “Gimme a sec”
She disappeared behind the curtain and rummaged around in the back room before reappearing after a few moments with a glass bottle in In her hand that was filled with a dark brown spice.
“YES! YES THIS IS IT!” I said taking the jar from her hands. “It is just as GLORIOUS as they said! No, it is even more beautiful in person!”
Filled with joy I danced around the shop like a schoolboy after his first kiss.
“Woah! Woah! Woah!” she said, “You can’t do that here. I have an allergy to other people's happiness and you’re making me flare up! Just pay for your spice and get a room!”
“You are a goddess my darling and angel! You have my thanks and my money!”
And with that, I was one step closer to my destiny. | 12 | Modern fortune cookies are cheap imitations of a legendary recipe that can reveal valuable info about the future. The ingredients are dangerous to collect, but as a die hard baker, you welcome the challenge. | 145 |
(This was a very cute idea so here's a blurb. All latin was taken from a translator so have mercy lol)
Sweat drips from my brow as I finish the ashen circle. For the thousandth time I ponder on just why the ritual insists that the candles be lit and placed FIRST before the ash sprinkled around them. It was all a hassle, and for one thing, very tedious.
The depictions of demon summoning were always so desperate. People at their lowest suddenly finding someone appearing with promises that everything will be fixed as long as they make the deal. There is no prep, it just happened. So when I found the book in some old estate sale, I thought it was just a hoax.
I never figured one visit to the doctor would have me scrambling through a graveyard for *freshly turned soil*. Or paying exorbitant amounts to a taxidermist for just the head of a rattlesnake. Still, I found myself feeling almost proud as I lit the circle of ash with a match and watched it all ignite in a puff of smoke. The book creaked as I picked it up from the floor and turned the page to the incantation necessary.
*"Daemon,"* I began, watching as the smoke and flame flicked as if I had caught it's attention. *"Te voco. notum fac mihi. Faciamus paciscor!"*
Winds whipped through the basement walls, blowing the pages in disarray. I raised my hand to cover my face even as I tried to watch the circle of my work. For a moment, I find myself worried for the candles tipping over.
And then all at once it's over. The candle flames had been snuffed out leaving no light except the flashlight on my phone, now having been knocked over. And a being in the circle that exuded it's own light.
It's skin cracked like dried sediment and through the cracks shades of red and orange peeked through like lava. They were tall, so tall that even though their horns curled back, they still scraped against the ceiling in a very unsafe fashion. It was exactly what I expected a demon to look like.
Except for the very familiar printed cover of a manga perched between their claws.
"You!" A gravel filled cadence seethed in my direction. I suddenly tensed as eyes the color of blood glared and one of those sharp talons pointed in my direction. "You disturb me! For what purpose do you call for me?!"
The manga forgotten, I began to speak. "I want to make a deal. I'm willing to bargain my soul!"
The demon laughs and they crouch low, still taller than I, at the very edge of the circle. "As they all do. But tell me, silly mortal. What do you desire for the price of your soul?"
"I'm dying." I tell the demon. My heart clenches in my chest, for up until this point I was allowed to focus on other things rather than my untimely death. "Cancer."
"Ah." The demon acknowledges. "Many-a-mortal has called upon me and my brethren in fear of illness...I cannot cure you, if that is what you wish."
I had hoped. But I knew that would be too easy. "I know...but I have a project I'm working on. And I don't want to die before it's finished. It's almost done..." I confess. "I just need...a year, maybe? 18 months? Can you stop the cancer long enough for me to finish?"
The demon takes in a deep breath, the lava under it's skin glowing brighter as it's stoked. "You have only a few months left in you. But I can grant you what you ask. But tell me, what project means more to you than your soul?"
And I point then, rested in the demon's belt. A familiar cover of a manga. "That, demon. I've poured my heart into that series. I see no reason not to pour my soul as well."
The demon's eyes widen comically as they grab the volume from their belt. "You?"
"Me."
"...it's almost ended?"
"Almost."
"I see..." The demon stands then, horns scraping the ceiling once more. "Then I have a better deal in mind for you." A sharp talon points to its feet. "Break the circle and I shall be free. Your remaining months are at a standstill during the time of a deal being made. You cannot die."
"But you'll be free to wreck havoc." Confusion taints my voice.
"No. I will be trapped as I am now. Unable to take any other deals. Unable to harm my summoner. Until a deal is agreed upon and completed." The demon shifts impatiently. "I want to see how it ends." It holds up the manga. "You have a habit of leaving cliffhangers. It's really inconvenient, you know."
I can't help but laugh. "Alright then, demon." I step forward, scraping my foot against the chalk outline of the circle and in a flash, the demon shrinks.
In its place stands a young man, eyes as blood red as before. However everything else seems as mundane as any passerby on the street. He holds the manga close to him, a smile on his face.
"Come see what I'm working on." I tell him and turn towards the steps. I hear the sounds of his shoes thumping against the concrete as he eagerly follows behind. | 35 | A demon summoning takes an interesting turn once you find out he’s a huge geek and was just about to finish a chapter of his favourite manga as he emerged from the circle. | 85 |
“Quite frankly, I had to resort to my imagination to endure the pain they inflicted on me. Verbally, and sometimes physically by my cousin.”
“What fantasies?” I replied to the young Harry, now almost fourteen years old.
“I daydreamed about owls that would come to me with letters. That, it sounds stupid now, that I was a wizard.”
“A wizard?”
“Yes, and that I was to be going to a wizarding school.”
“This school was-“
“Yes,” Harry nodded, “for ‘bad behaving’ youths like myself. I met Ron and Hermione there, my friends. Along with Malfoy. His father was a nazi sympathizer. It rubbed off of him, which caused quite a few fights between us and him.”
“That explains quite a bit. But this...Voldemort. What of him?”
“That was...”
He stopped, looking down at his feet.
“Go on,” I persisted.
“Myself. The voice that told me to inflict them with the pain they had dealt to me.”
I leaned back in my chair, glaring at my watch.
“Time’s up, Harry Potter. I’ll notify Snape that you’re making excellent progress.” | 60 | You're a therapist and it's your first session with a young man who has suffered child abuse, and has only recently been freed from the cupboard under the stairs, his name in Harry Potter. | 138 |
The house on Redmill Avenue had become something of a media circus. It was obvious something big was going down by the CSI teams trooping in and out carrying what looked like paving stones between them. For a small town in Yorkshire this was unprecedented.
ITV news arrived before I did and C4 news got there soon after. BBC lagged behind (as usual) but made up for it by throwing their weight around and demanding answers louder than was probably advisable, given the circumstances. After all, they were the ones who’d orchestrated this fuck up in the first place.
Jack Printhorpe was soon to become one of the most famous serial killers to come out of Yorkshire in recent years. He’d already made all the headlines in the UK and far further afield. The grotesquery of his actions made for a perfect storm of journalistic bullshittery, and they were all gleefully reporting on his every word and action.
Only problem was that, as far as we could tell, Printhorpe hadn’t killed anyone. He seemed to know where all the bodies were buried, but he claimed he hadn’t done the dirty deed and all evidence pointed to that being the truth. The man has been in a bloody low security psychiatric hospital for the last decade, locked in a room.
Catalepsy with periodic echolalia and echopraxia. They’d occasionally give him crayons and paper so he could draw. When he started writing names, addresses and coordinates the orderlies were perturbed. A quick Google and it became evident quite quickly that each person listed had been missing for quite some time.
That’s when the police got involved and Jack Printhorpe was transferred to a much more secure psychiatric facility. One that was much more ill suited to giving him the sort of care he needed.
That’s when the Crown Prosecution got involved and poor old muggins here had the whole mess dropped in her lap.
And poor old Printhorpe kept writing names, addresses and coordinates. And whenever we followed those coordinates we found a body belonging to the person on the list. Dismembered with parts missing - noses, fingers, ears. Someone from CSI slip that they’d been tortured before they were killed and the tabloids has a field day. It was gruesome and the press bloody loved it. It wasn’t long before they got Printhorpe’s name.
Then Jack Printhorpe wrote another name. One I recognised.
“That can’t be right,” I said.
My boss peered at me. “First time he’s been wrong if it isn’t.”
I looked closer. "No. I know this person. I saw them this morning. They aren't dead and dismembered."
I'm starting to feel a kernel of panic in my breast. Has something happened to him so quickly? It has only been a few hours. I could still smell his scent on my clothes.
“How do you know him?” My boss is looking at me with concern in his eyes and I find myself unable to formulate an answer that will explain. I thought about his wife, his daughters - if he’s still alive and if this is a hoax then saying something will be… bad.
“I… I must be mistaken.”
My boss doesn’t look convinced but he shrugs.
And 10 hours later here we are. They have found a body. No definite identity yet, but I already knew. I saw the watch I’d given him as a gift three months ago. I saw the familiar two piece suit clinging to the shrivelled remains of the man I loved. The cufflinks he loved so dearly.
I saw something that could not be true. A body had been there for far longer than a few hours. Which begged the question, who had I been sleeping with for the past few months? | 10 | As a prosecutor, you want to win all your cases and a confession makes your job easier. You have been given a new case in which a serial killer has offered a detailed voluntary confession. The problem is, you happen to know the alleged victim and she is still very much alive. | 40 |
Therius watched intently as the ball cage rolled, cajoling and rattling the balls inside. For a while they remained locked in place, unblinking, the black and brilliantly white speckled cosmos of his eyes drinking in the crashing waves of pieces. His hand hovered shakily over his card, waiting to press down on the thin paper.
&#x200B;
"86! Any lucker winners off of our fabulous 86?" the young attendant asked, a smile that seemed just a little too wide draping across her young features.
&#x200B;
Therius pressed him stamp into the paper, leaving an inky red splotch over the square. The game wasn't as much fun when you already knew what was going to happen. Still, it felt rude to fill out his card pre-emptively. Besides - he had elected not to choose the winning card today. Winning too often didn't make you any friends.
&#x200B;
"I'm catching up to you, you know."
&#x200B;
Brendiene sat to Thersius's right side, her small figure huddled over her card. Her left hand was cupped over the side of her card, seemingly trying to avoid any prying eyes. Though it was nearly imperceptible, Thersius also couldn't help but feel her old slippered foot tapping rhythmically against the ground. It was annoying. Yet... he had chosen to sit there anyway. Of course knowing it would happen.
&#x200B;
"No one likes a sore winner, Bren." Thersius's voice floated out of his mouth like soft tide upon an endless shore. The old women simply gave a triumphant *hmph,* and went back to guarding her card. The cage began its roll again. As it always did. Ceasing, endless.
&#x200B;
Again, his eyes watched the spheres tumble and crash into one another. Random, reckless, haphazardly spilling over and through one another... but also perfectly expected. For a moment his eyes tracked the gleaming red 11 ball. He watched it - well, watched where it was going, for a short time. His eyes didn't really see that small plastic piece, though. In his mind he envisioned a small red dwarf star, born along by the ceasing gravity tide of a collapsing sun. He felt its pull, dragging all which might have the misfortune of crossing its path as it raged against the cosmos. The star would scream out in rage, beg with a burning heat, and claw desperately against the the void... only to be swallowed.
&#x200B;
"Eleven! Lucky, lucky, red eleven!" the young woman shouted as she triumphantly thrust the ball into the dingy air.
&#x200B;
Thersius crumpled up and threw his card into the small waste basket perched under the lefthand side of the long table.
&#x200B;
"Bingo! BINGO!" boomed the old woman, with a surprising volume for her small frame.
&#x200B;
But all things ended. Streams find an ocean. Oceans evaporate in time. Suns burn out, leaving a blackness in place of their radiance. In some twisted way it was all fair. Though that didn't make any of it taste any better when you swallowed.
&#x200B;
Thersius drew another fresh card into his hand. He might as well win this one. Just one today. *After all - how many todays do we all have left?* he thought.
&#x200B;
"Ok party people!" the young woman piped up again as Brendiene sauntered towards the stage with her uneven gate. Her walking cane tapped against the tired and unpolished tile floor. "Where it goes, nobody knows! What's our next mystery number - only one way to find out!"
&#x200B;
*Black seventeen.*
&#x200B;
How many days, indeed. | 11 | The Old Ones slumber. The Elder Gods watch and wait. The Eternals tend to their respective realms, lost in their internecine struggles and feuds. And you just got a job working as a nurse at the the Care Home where they all reside. Oh, and it's Bingo night! | 38 |
"I'm sorry, Dan, It's just..." they said, taking his hand and rubbing the knuckles tenderly. He jerked away, rattling the tables silverware.
"You're kidding" He said, and Ezra's face didn't shift. "You aren't, jesus wept. I..." He took a short, fast breath and then stood. He wasn't going to let the anger overwhelm him. Ezra looked sad, and tired. They were looking a the tiny candle, it's flame guttering in it's glass. He wrestled the urge to slap it across the restaurant if it meant they'd look back at him, but they wouldn't. He'd know Ezra for half a decade and once they'd settled into something they were utterly immutable. Now, two cats, three years and a mortgage on a too-small apartment in a trendy subdivision and that was that. He left the restaurant. Maybe they'd called after him, maybe not, he couldn't hear for the blood rushing in his ears. He stepped around a waitress, through the kitchen and out the back door into an alley. Then, they allowed themselves to scream. it was loud and guttural, and with it he picked up a nearby milk crate and smashed it to tiny yellow bits against the brick work. He stamped on it, getting the yellow plastic stuck around his ankle, then saw sous chef he hadn't noticed before smoking on the other side of the dumpster, watched with a bemused expression.
"fuck!" he roared, kicked the remnants off, and stalked down the alley. A waitress poked her head out, watching him stalk off.
"You owe me" the waitress trilled and the cook tossed away his cigarette in disgust. "I've never seen him like that, fuck Abby, what'd you even do?" She leaned against the wall and smirked. "I watched. Ezra bores easily, that's what I learned, and after that all I to do was convince them that it was Dan they were bored with. What was your plan for this one?" she asked, folding her arms. "Probably food-borne illness, I've still got a few botulism vials left over as well as a custom bio that mimics Kiirman's syndrome. Even that stuff might have been tracked by his sniffers." The cook stood, striping off his apron and wadding it up. They set off down the alley together, closing the door to the kitchen behind them with a kick. "All I can do is kill the guy. I know how he feels about Ezra, you know he used to just scroll through pictures of them waiting for the tube?" She giggled, softly but edged with malice. the cook continued to talk, watching her carefully "But does it actually fill your contract? If anything this'll give him nothing but work to think about and I'm not sure that's what they were after." she sighed, took off her own apron and tossed it in a passing dumpster.
"You saw what he did to that milk crate, he'll start doing that with his business relationships soon. Contracts not closed yet, but it will be. Ezra was his anchor, without someone to remind him not to scream at people he'll forget the niceties, the cushion of politeness he'd built to keep his lover around. With them gone, that'll start to degrade. Takes longer than botulism but hey, no corpse huh?" The cook nodded. "no corpse." | 27 | You are a relationship assassin. You end peoples relationships and make it look like they ended naturally. The other assassins laugh at you, but you are about to prove to them that you can ruin someones life much more effectively than any normal assassin ever could. | 99 |
“Madam Secretary, I’m afraid the intelligence we’ve been getting is not good,” General Hern reported. “The enemy appears to have superior firepower and superior technology. Hell, even if we could find some way to blast their ships out of the sky, we still haven’t found a reliable way to kill them.”
“And the prisoners?” Secretary Sharpe asked.
The general shook his head. “Interrogation hasn’t worked, nor have any of the ways we’ve tried to end those bastards.” Sharpe saw rage burn in his eyes. “And believe me, we’ve gotten pretty creative.”
The secretary shook her head. “What do you expect me to tell the president, General?” she asked. “That for all the millions we’ve diverted towards finding a means of defense against these things, we’ve got nothing?” She pressed her hand to her forehead. “Dear god, we’re about to go into midterms?”
“Uh, well,” a young scientist who had accompanied General Hern into the meeting spoke up for the first time. “We do have something.” He looked at Hern, asking permission to continue. Hern sighed, resigned. The scientist cleared his throat. “Through testing various methods of… decommissioning we began to notice several behavior patterns that couldn’t be explained. Eventually, we figured it out. Ma’am,” he waited a few moments, as if expecting someone to stop him. “They don’t have object permanence.”
The room was silent.
“What?” Secretary Sharpe finally asked.
The scientist began speaking in earnest. “It’s like they are infants, ma’am. The second something leaves their field of vision, they just can’t perceive of the fact that it exists. We think it has something to do with the fact that they have a ring of photoreceptors where our eyes would be, and an aspect of their latent telekinetic abilities. To them, once something leaves it’s field of vision, it’s just gone.”
Sharpe nodded, slowly understanding. “Have you been able to verify this with multiple test subjects?”
“We have, ma’am. And,” he turned towards General Hern. Hern nodded. “I’d like to introduce you to Operation Peek-a-Boo.” | 14 | Humanity faces a great enemy, an alien species with a great technological advantage, however they have a weakness, they lack the concept of object permanence | 24 |
They came at dusk, snarling and snapping at us. Burning down our homes, and ripping people apart with Their bare teeth. The animals fled. The parents cried. But the children- they *screamed*. And it was then that we heard it's thundering footsteps and saw it's glowing eyes.
We'd long been warned to stay away from the forest- that things hid in the darkness our human eyes would never be able to fully comprehend. But my mother told stories of a being so close to human yet so deformed, who came when children cried. Lost children would reappear at the edge of the woods, with little memory of their adventures. Babies left for dead would be found at the foothold of the chapel so many worshipped at. Crying children would stop and laugh at something just beyond the treeline.
When They came, it heard the children scream. It heard the anguish as their parents were bloodied and desecrated before their eyes, their homes burnt to ash and dust. It stormed into the city with a loud roar, swiping left and right with it's talons. It saved us, that night. There were countless losses- but not a single child was harmed.
The church changed their tune after that. Instead of teaching fear of the forest, it taught to give offerings and thanks every year. And as the years passed, the memory of the event faded from everyone's mind, becoming little more than a fairy tale.
I was just a girl then. I remember it picking me up from the blood-soaked ground and my parents corpses, and cradled me in it's arms. And with eyes so human-like, it almost seemed to smile down at me.
When I lost my child, deep in the forest, I called for it's help. And help it did. We returned home, safe, and unharmed. I rose him to remember the beast, but the memory never stuck.
Now the stories fade into old wives tales. Murmurings of deities ash in the mouths of the ancients. I have grown so old, and so tired. But when I see my great grand-children point out our windows, towards the tree-line, it gives me hope that life holds more mysteries than answers.
I don't know what happens after this life, though I am steadily approaching it. But I hope we all join the spirit of the forest, in the end. | 21 | The village is saved by the monster in the woods | 50 |
"Just go with the light blue polo Jack. Its not like you're going to El Soires or some fancy restaurant", said Zuko, my rescue doberman. "And do bring back a doggy bag for ya boi".
"Honestly, I'll never get used to you speaking that way to me", I replied while grabbing the dog's choice of wardrobe for my date.
"My last master was a piece of work. Dude made me run treadmills and fight other dogs and shiiiii..."
Zuko stopped himself from cursing. He knows I don't like it when he curses.
"Good dog", I told him.
"Yeah well, as long as you give me them biscuts we gravy."
"By the way Zuko, you're coming with me".
His ears perked up. "Word?!?!? Now that's what I'm talking 'bout! Bring ya boi to meet the beeeoooches".
"That still counts as cursing dog", I told him as I put on my best colonge and fixed my hair.
"Dang Mr.Critical man! A dog can't do jack in this crib!", he protested, still expecting to be given a treat.
Afte a last look I grab my keys I make my way to the front door. "Let's go dude! We only got twenty minutes to meet her down town".
Zuko gets up and begins to run towards the door. "Ya ain't gotta tell me twice! Let's bail!"
We finally make it to the dog friendly restaurant. Zuko is on a leash, which he absolutely hates, but has to deal with it. Can't have him running off and running his mouth. I don't know if he's the only dog in the world that can talk or if there are others. I'd rather not have the government or some other entity try to figure out what makes him tick.
"Wuf", he would say on occasion, protesting the wering of the leash he calls the noose around his neck.
"Bark right you crazy dog! You gonna get us in trouble."
"Wuf", he would reply.
"Its only for a little while until the date's finished. Take one for the team! I haven't seen the opposite sex in an entire year."
"Wuf."
"Something's wrong with your dog", said a tiny voice from my right. It was a tiny scottish terrier on a leash.
"You're one to talk shawrty", replied Zuko.
"Excuse me???"
"My eyes are up here". Zuko was roasting this little dog. He always had a knack for pushing buttons.
The little dog became furious. She turns to her owner who was on the phone with someone. "You know what Erica? We should go home. The mutts out here don't know how to act proper."
"Who you calling a mutt you mongrel", shouted Zuko. His words caught the attention of the owner, who hung up the phone and paid attention to her dog.
"What are you doing speaking in public", said the woman in the casual attire to her friend. "People will hear you, plus my date could get freaked out if he heard you."
"I'm right here", I said to her.
"Holy crap!" she yelled out loud. "We gotta go Bonnie!" She begins to pick up her small dog as if it were a child.
"Cat's out of the da bag lady! We know the pipsqueek can talk", said Zuko to her.
Her look of surprise turned to seriousness when she saw us.
"Why would you risk letting out your secret in public", she asked of us both.
"Well for one, everyone's too busy texting or talking and two we're kinda far from the crowd over there", replied Zuko. "Name's Zuko. What's yours?"
"Erica. That guy next to you would be Jack, wouldn't it?"
"That would be me", I said to her. "How'd you know?"
"You did tell me you had a rescue doberman", she said to me.
"Erica! I can't believe you're talking to this clown and his owner", barked Bonnie to her owner. "Espeacially after the way he spoke to me!"
"Shush now Bonnie! Play nice with Zuko."
"You do the same Zuko" I told my dog.
Both of them stared at each other and then looked away. Then Zuko's ears popped up and he started looking at the opposite direction.
"THAT LITTLE DOG'S GOTTA DIE", yelled out a voice that was coming closer and closer.
"Hold on to Bonnie, Erica", said Zuko as he ran towards a pitbull that was running at her at full speed. He managed to grab the frenzied dog by the neck and squeeze hard, growling as he made the grab.
"OWWWW!!! LEMEEE GO!!! I WANNA CHEW ON THAT LITTLE DOG", kept screaming the out of control pit.
Just then the loose dog's owner came by. It was a middle aged woman who was screaming at the top of her lungs. "OH MY GOD MY DOG'S BEING ATTACKED!!!"
The nearby patrons from the restaurant got up and surrounded the dogs. They tried to pull Zuko from the pitt terrier's neck.
"What are you all doing?!?!? The pitbull is trying to attack this woman's dog! My dog is trying to protect it!!!!" My pleas fell on def ears. They managed to get Zuko away from the pitt, who then ran towards Erica without skipping a beat. Before he was able to get to Bonnie I put my arm out to shield her from the big terrier's jaws. He clamped down on my arm and I began to scream. Realzing I was in danger Zuko managed to escape from the mob and went to work on the aggresive dog's neck one more time, allowing me to free myself from its fangs. At this point the crowd realized who the bad dog was and began to restrain the pitbull. Once the dog was secured Zuko let go and came to my side.
"You okay partna", he whimpered as he saw the blood gush out of my arm.
"I'll be okay Zuko. How are you holding up?"
"Other than a few bruises from those fools man handling me, I'll be fine."
Erica came towards me and pulled a scarf from her purse. She began warpping my arm with it to stop the bleeding. I winced in pain as the bite was very painful.
"I'll take you to the hospital. Its not far. We'll take my car", she said as she finished wrapping up my arm. With tears of gratidue she thanked the both of us and helped me to my feet. We all walked towards her vehicle as the middle aged woman could be heard fighting the crowd to let go of her dog. Her screams died down the farther we got from her. Not the way I pictured my first date to go with my talking dog, but at least I made two new friends today. | 288 | You recently found out your dog can talk, but it only feels comfortable talking when it's just you. That is until you get a date who has their own dog. Both dogs talk freely around the both of you. | 1,991 |
The Endless Sea made way for God, the pull of the tides from his titanic movements drifting over his body as he too swam. His body was a world unto itself, like all the worlds, and those lucky enough to make it here were made aware of his majesty by comparison.
And while he was the capital of the Universe, the Crown was the Capital of him. It was built into, and out of his skull, with all the consent and love of its bearer. Perfection in all its forms, both architectural and biological. It had many names, many invocations. Words that in lesser places would dispel evil and cure sickness. To me, it was called Home.
No longer. Instead, I sat by the roadside, the currents flowing over my body. I watched as the pilgrims averted their attention, ignoring me as they too sought shelter in that Holy Citadel. I closed my eyes, hearing the echoes of the people as they swam inside.
I no longer tried to tell them not to. I did not think it mattered anymore. Inside the City, I heard singing. There was no pain there, no suffering. So many had struggled to be there, so many were free. In my heart, I ached to be there. But my task was to be impossible, and clutching to that reality, I held fast.
Then they came, glowing gold and iridescent rainbow colors, great wings that hung them aloft in the water, gossamer works of flesh and art. They rested near me. “So Brother,” The one to my left spoke. Every minute, his facial features shifted, reflecting his thoughts beneath the surface.
“Are you yet ready to recant? To admit to wrongness?” I spoke nothing to them. The one on my right spun up, brushing my face with the wings. “Ha, the fool will never say otherwise. To him admitting fault is the same as Harm. To him the very act of being near us causes Pain.” He spoke sneering, his face a frozen mask. They were similar in body, but oh so different, like all our kin. “Look at the rags he chooses to wear! Look at the fool who has everything, yet chooses nothing on whim. Do you know how you hurt Him?” I turned to look at him as he lorded over me.
“The Truth shall be revealed in the end. I am sorry. If I’d been better, I could have saved you. Even one of you would have been a triumph.”
They both laughed. The first one’s face morphed apologetically. I saw the pilgrims stop to watch. The one above gestured to the crowd. “Look at this fool! He believes that God will die!” There were gasps and mutterings. I saw frowns, some of the unenlightened pilgrims had taken offense. I nodded. “He will. It’s coming, and soon.”
“Oh, tell us of your prophecy, deluded one, tell us how it shall happen. Thousands of the lesser Kin guard the Crown, uncountable numbers guard his body, soul, and spirit from Harm. He himself knows all in this World, and has crafted it from detritus, so how shall he die? Hm?”
I looked into the crowd. Many were angry. Some were insulted. But one, one was afraid. A small child, writ with painted tattoos. He still believed it could happen. I spoke to the crowd, but mainly, I spoke to him.
“When I set my hands upon the Tower of God, there in the Crown, I felt myself connect to him. I felt It. He shall kill himself with his own hands, and will not realize it. His death will not be anything ever seen in The Sea. It will be something new, something terrible that will undo all things, and bring about an unspeakable Harm, that shall herald our End. It begins here, with him, and will carry through the Sea with a white hot fury no creature shall see and live. Save for me.” I smiled.
“You all inside the City will be the first to suffer. It will not be Death, but something far worse. A quiet explosion, a rotting bloom.” There came the laughter, the jeers. Some threw weapons. They sunk into the gossamer prism of my skin. Blood was carried away on the waves.
The boy had been dragged away, his mother holding him close. I watched him go in my peripheral vision. As they left me there alone, I watched the City, the heavy, invincible skin and bone supporting impossible buildings.
And I waited for the End to start. I would write it into my body, into even the interior walls of my blood vessels, so that I would not forget. I needed to see it. To remember each detail.
I could not stop it from happening. The faith had poisoned them, even in Utopia. The only hope I had lay within people like the boy, and myself. That there would be others who survived, others who would help piece it back together.
So the City sang, and God shuddered beneath my feet, the lights of a thousand doomed worlds lighting the Sea.
Thanks For Reading! | 14 | The Perfect City is beautiful, music echoes in the mountains surrounding it. Everyone there seems so happy and complete; working without complaint, buying without money. No one inside knows of life outside of the metropolis. But you are outside the great walls of Utopia. Why? | 42 |
‘Figures,’ said Jeff. A cynic at heart but somehow still optimistic, or desperate, enough to brave a trip to a colony world. He’d been saying it was coming for the better part of two years, some agreed, some didn’t. Some grumbled that he should just shut up about it.
Willas looked at him and shrugged. Not much to say, really. They were still shy of proper self-sufficiency, minimal redundancy on power and other essential systems, but had food enough for four years, which was maybe enough time to grow their own if people would get off their asses and actually work.
Jane was more verbose. ‘Fucking politicians! We can’t vote for them so they don’t care about us.’ The universal speed limit ensured that by the time their voices were heard back on earth the politicians who made the decision would already be retired if not dead from old age. So because of the joys of interstellar travel and measuring distance in lightyears, extra-solar colonies don’t get a vote.
But the small crowd who actually showed up to hear the announcement had already started drifting away from the “Town Square”, which was really just a gap in the dirt between the surrounding buildings. Settlement 361B-g was still at the Drop-Colony stage, having had two ships arrive to unload machinery and people and animals and seed banks and all the things the Very Clever People back on Earth thought were needed to bootstrap a colony.
Settlement 361B-g didn’t really have a name yet, per se. A bunch of ideas had been proposed, but nothing stuck. Most people called it The Colony or The Settlement. Few called it home. | 51 | Space travel never became easy. It ravages the body and mind, there’s no other intelligent life, and the incredible energy required makes for catastrophic accidents. Cost of travel rises. Your colony was just told Earth will no longer be supporting you. | 220 |
I’ve been riding the Kephriian Interconnect everyday for the last 3 Millennia. A grand, but original, example of the technological advancements made during the Zabekian Expansion. The Zabekian’s at that time rallied around the cause, bridging the gap between all portions of our solar system, simply for the sake of expediting the future.
It may have only been around 450 years ago that the Aveenites rose to power. Their rise was swift and the promises they made fierce… their rhetoric divisive. This place has changed since then. For a time, the Kephriian corner was the majority of the Zabekian’s power supply. Mass exporters of portable, high capacity power.
The Zabekian’s in turn worked far beyond the scope of their initial design improving the residential and the commercial transport infrastructure of the entire Kephriian region. Together the two of these sisters societies connected nearly every rock in the traversable universe.
Terraforming and resource harvesting of unthinkable proportions was brought to life at a speed only fantasized about by the engineers of the generations preceding the construction of the massive transport system. More and more infrastructure was developed - eventually bridging an inter-dimensional gap previously questioned to even exist.
That is when the Aveenites rose to power. Opening our solar system, so un-militarized to the one way mirror that is the cosmos brought less innovation, but a staggering amount of fear. Our neighbors in reality, the Ahkatian’s, did not see life as we had come to in our solar system.
Our solar system. Two nearly identical populations, separated for eons after a more primitive time’s initial attempts at space exploration and terraforming left them isolated.
Two separate seeds at opposite ends of the galaxy both working in incredibly loose contact towards the same goal for countless lifetimes - conquering the unknown and ensuring life carries on. I was born into a generation on the cusp of an equally large leap. To go from a single planet species, to a multi planet species must have felt as going from dreaming of visiting a neighboring planet’s society to being able to visit dozens in a single day cycle did for me.
Watching the brightest minds continue to master the manipulation of time itself. The ultimate medicine. The most powerful terraforming tool. We may have yet to perfect reversing time, but ignoring time and amplifying the effect of time, if you could command the grand devices capable of doing so - had become totally normal. Inter-dimensional exploration. A new horizon, a potential new way to travel.
Our dimensional neighbors had failed where we had yet to. Their solar system spotted throughout with civilization - but lacking in any means of comparable transportation. They had drained many planets of any life. They had become hostile to each other. At war with their own planetary neighbors over their resources and practices.
The Aveenites saw these beings as lesser than. As expendable as a single cell organism. The root of their judgement was fear. Fear of a people that may destroy an entire planet in an act of aggression. Fear of an ugly truth of life. They sought to militarize the Zabekian region. To combat our dimensional neighbors, the Ahkatians. To end their suffering.
Many from both of our regions supported defending the grand designs they’d watched come to life over their incredibly long lifetimes. Though their majority in the council was a marginal lead - “no”, was not an acceptable answer to their blatant demands for the purging of the immediate area surrounding the Ahkatian Dimensional gateway.
As they grew in influence, their messaging too, changed. Why were so many Zabekian’s in favor of their proposals? Yet, not most Kephriians, though the portion was minuscule, it was all they needed to continue to place control into their own hands. Soon - they began demonizing any who chose to question their moral righteousness.
If you did not believe in the superiority of the races of our dimension - you were a traitor to your own kind. It was not long before the growth of our people both from the Zabekian and Kephriian side of the galaxy had all but ground to a stop on the heels of societal turmoil.
To be a Kephriian meant to be a defenseless fool. Eyes closed to the need of an unrelenting military force should we choose to continue to expand our horizons. To be a Zabekian meant to put first the security of the way of life the entire solar system has grown to know, by means of an infallible military might cold to the life that may be waiting elsewhere.
Over time, as the Aveenite Military grew in structure and size - many who were no supporters of Aveenite beliefs were mandatorily conscripted to be actors within their military. Only males were allowed to serve in the active branches operating on the other side of the Ahkatian Gateway. Women were kept behind, trained to tend to the wounded and how to farm terraformed terrain to provide the copious amounts of sustenance needed to keep the ever growing military afloat.
Many women did not take or sit quiet to these near barbaric expectations. It had been thousands and thousands of years since there was any known instance of restriction on function by sex. Women had played many large roles in the development of the Interconnect. They’d been the thought leaders who helped envision the future we saw coming to pass. They had been among the first to venture into new horizons eons ago, when the Kephriian region’s first planet was set foot upon after they’d landed their one-way vehicle upon its surface.
These challenges to the Aveenites drove the final straw into our lives as we knew it. The Kephriian’s were all but labeled as feminine weaklings by the Aveenites. The Zabekian region ever growing into a larger military state. Demonizing their own sister society.
It took less than a Millennia for the first purging of a Kephriian planet. It took the Kephriian’s even less time to construct a device capable of unleashing so much power along the interconnect that it could forever destroy the one thing that facilitates the nearly limitless growth of the Zabekian’s, and so, a Cold War has loomed over our solar system since.
I stepped back into the interconnect, as every day. I am still not permitted to enter the Zabekian region. I fear I may never be able to. That I may have been given the gift of nearly eternal life, just to watch everything I’ve known be reduced to rubble by forces of mutual destruction, this is not how I expected we would be just 500 years after the dawn of a new horizon. | 18 | So the aliens are incredibly technologically advance but their society is several centuries behind, their women are not allowed to vote and the green aliens despise the blue ones because they’re apparently inferior even though there isn’t any real scientific proof of that | 119 |
I’ve just about had it up to here with Spooky. That’s what I’ve taken to calling him recently. He hates it, I think. No way of knowing really.
‘I have exams coming up! Can’t you turn into something nice for once?’ I groan. He shapeshifts you see. Anything that’s dead. That’s the one rule I’ve worked out in all this time since he first appeared years ago. Everything he manifests as has been killed, even if you can’t tell how at first. Tonight, he’s a misshapen bat, blood streaming from empty eye sockets.
He doesn’t reply of course. I don’t think I’ve ever heard him talk.
Mum comes in. ‘Are you OK, Jamie? I heard shouting.’
I tell her everything’s fine. It sort of is. I have a system. A wall of books, dirty washing, any old crap I can find, all stuffed under my bed so there's no gaps. A sleeping mask and earplugs. Most nights he can’t be bothered to disturb my beauty sleep.
‘You know, if you want to freak me out, you have to stop being so obvious about it,’ I say. ‘It’s always corpses, or bats, or ugly slimy things. You’re so cliché.’
Even though he's pouting – it’s hard to read a bat’s facial expressions but that’s how I interpret it – I can tell he wants the advice. Maybe if I teach him how to be scary, he’ll go haunt someone else.
‘You just need to try and be a bit more subtle. Monsters aren’t scary because they’re ugly. It’s about what they represent.’
He vanishes. I’ve probably made him feel bad. I almost regret it, but then remember I’ll get a full night’s sleep now for once.
Mum knocks on the door again.
‘Sorry if I was being loud,’ I say.
‘It’s OK darling,’ she replies, moving to the bed and stroking my hair. Like I’m five again. And then she gets very close, so I can feel her cold breath in my ear as she whispers, ‘I just wanted to say, thanks for the tip.’
&#x200B;
\[This is my first response on here! Hope you like it!\] | 19 | The monster under your bed’s actually pathetic when it comes to scaring you. So pathetic in fact that he’s actually seeking advice from you on how to scare you better. | 55 |
_Trans-galactic Department of Menace Eradication, HQ, galactic year 4089_
"Sir, we need to update the invasive species list again." High inspector Srass said as he slithered towards his boss, who could only groan in response.
"What now? Another insect? Is it those weird light-up bugs? I knew they were too pretty to be harmless." Chief inspector Garex said,muttering the last part to himself.
Srass shook its bulbous head. "No sir, it's -"
He was interrupted by Garex, whose eyes grew suddenly wide. "Dear gods, it's not another bird one, is it? We already lost six planets to the Emu, and who knows what those kasawari things ended up doing with the R-13-57 colony." Again, Srass shook his head. That seemed to relax his boss a little.
"Sir, it appears a sub-species of Humans are becoming an invasive species on Escar-7 and Grenou-III." Garex gave him a perplexed look. "Humans are an accepted species by now. Do you mean they started a war? That's hardly our department..." He stopped at his second in command head shaking. "They are now officially the single Apex predator of both planets." Garex stared at his reptilian coworker in confusion, until suddenly the realisation dropped. "Gods below, you mean they-" Srass nodded somberly.
Garex could feel the nausea hitting him in waves. He has been part of the department for most of his considerably long life, which made him quite resilient to the horrors of various kinds, but this? Nothing could've prepared him.
He managed to swallow his bile down, and say. "I'll update the list. Send out a top priority bounty for exterminators to those planets." He turned towards his terminal, and opened up the form for submission of a new invasive species. He turned his head towards Srass, who seemed just as sick as he felt. "What sub-species was it?"
Srass licked the air nervously with his long, thin tongue.
"The French, sir."
------------------
Read more of my stuff of r/Talesandsongs | 1,146 | When new planets are introduced to the galactic community, there is typically a rush from the elite to procure expensive and rare pets, which are promptly discarded after a few months. This is normally no problem, until Earth was discovered and the universe learned about invasive species. | 1,859 |
"I don't understand," the swordmaster said to his friend. "Did you say... Therell killed the Dark Lord? Therell the Clumsy? The guy we all made fun of?!"
"I know. Couldn't believe it either," his friend continued.
"But we have purposefully trained him wrong as a joke!"
"I- I mean the Dark Lord was the most talented fighter in the world, but apparently... that's exactly why he lost."
The swordmaster stared at him for a moment. "What?"
"So, like..." his friend started, took a pause to rub his eyes and continued, "he actually *dropped* his sword just as the Dark Lord was about to decapitate him."
The swordmaster stared blankly.
"Ducked right out of the way to pick it up. Got up and hit the Dark Lord's hands with his head, and, well... you know how you got him the pointy helmet to kinda look like the 'Dunce' hat?"
"*You're kidding*!"
"Stabbed right through his palm. Dark Lord dropped his sword immediately."
"I- but- Dark Lord is a skilled martial artist! He's killed countless heroes with his bare hands!"
"Right, so, he punched him square in the chest."
"In the mock armour we gave him? What was it made out of again? Painted wood?"
"Painted wood. Punched straight through it. Broke 4 of Therell's ribs but got a massive shard of wood embedded into his *other* palm."
The swordmaster leaned forward and clasped his hands over his mouth. The mixture of emotions he felt was too much for him to process.
"He then swept his leg, and..."
"And?"
"Therell dropped his sword. It fell on the Dark Lord's foot, pointy end first."
"...and we made his sword way heavier so-"
"...so it actually pierced the armour."
The two men stared into the distant horizon without further words, contemplating the situation. Words escaped them, save for one final cry from the swordmaster.
"I mean ***what the actual fuck!***" | 395 | The villain stares at his own lifeblood. "Impossible. I thought I'd mastered the blade so how?! I've never seen anyone move like that!" Meanwhile the hero is barely keeping his panic hidden "Oh God! I've never even HELD this kind of sword before! I was trained COMPLETELY wrong!" | 568 |
Getting the time machine was no easy task. It took almost 2 years of planning and the job had to be executed perfectly. I've had help from 2 different Villain organizations and I had to pay a hefty price for that, both monetary and I'd be in their debts. But it wouldn't matter once I got the machine.
When the time came everyone did their part and the machine was in my Lair, I hated calling it the lair, but it was how everyone called my basement underneath the Villa these days.
There was one problem though, the machine did not operate how my intel told me, we just couldn't get it to work. So it put a stop to my plans that were pretty simple: travel to several points in the past, get rid of few a people here, few a there, make few a adjustments in several other periods, few investments, etc...
I had to pay Dr. Andersson a visit, the man himself, and he was terrified once he found out that was me who has stolen the machine. I've brought my Friend the Mind-Bender who would force him to only tell the truth with his abilities and unfortunately for me, the truth was bad. We just couldn't travel to the past in any way, shape, or form. He still hoped he would discover a way one day but for now, the only way to go was forward.
So I made a few adjustments to my plans and sent my trusted friend The Gambler to scout the terrain into the future. When he came back he always ruddy face was pale white.
"Boss... the things I saw, the horrors, it can't be true." He barely could keep from breaking down.
"Calm down my friend," I said. "Let's get you a glass of water and we can talk later."
Once he calmed down he told me that the earth was almost completely destroyed, a full-blown apocalypse. Nukes were thrown, diseases ravaged the planet, people killed people, there were no heroes and villains, no good was bad, only a battle for survival.
He told me he took pictures and videos, but once he opened his phone it was fried. We tried fixing it but there was no hope. Soon we found out that no devices could survive the travel, so we sent someone with a polaroid but once he came back the photo was just pure white, nothing could be seen.
I still didn't want to travel, I wasn't sure if there were any long-term consequences of traveling, so I sent Mind-Bender this time. He could memorize anything picture perfectly and then he could paint it as he was an excellent painter.
And he did, and what I saw was terrible, who could have done something so diabolical, what could have happened? And then he told me something that shook me to my core. While he was there he kidnapped a few people and read their minds.
"It was you, boss, you did it, you started the whole chain of the events that led to Earth's destruction."
The words rang through my head. How could I have done something so horrible, what could have happened to push me that far over the edge? Yes, I was the villain, yes I loved it, and yes I hated all the heroes, but I never wanted the destruction of the world. I wanted to be feared, to rule my city, inflict pain on those so-called Heroes and enjoy all the wonders of this world along the way.
I had to know more, so I sent Mind-Breaker once again, this time to my lair in the future and I waited as always, 1 hour. The machine started to make its usual noise and I eagerly awaited his return.
But the person that came back wasn't him, it was somehow me. I looked at myself yes a little bit older, but the physical differences could be barely seen, but those eyes, that crooked smile, something definitely went terribly wrong...
Edit: [Part 2 posted below and on my own sub - >](https://www.reddit.com/r/LukasWrites/comments/x2o0ox/2_time_machine_disaster_part_2/)
Edit 2: [Part 3 posted on my sub ->](https://www.reddit.com/r/LukasWrites/comments/x33v5j/3_time_machine_disaster_part_3/)
Edit 3: [Part 4 out now ->](https://www.reddit.com/r/LukasWrites/comments/x3k8uu/4_time_machine_disaster_part_4/) | 246 | When the villain got his hands on a time machine, he figured sending someone forwards to scout the future would be smart. The report that came back was one of untold devastation and horror, with multiple genocidal wars that he didn't want. And most of that destruction was his own fault. | 1,577 |
Tommy lay back, his chair creaking, as he looked out at the gathering dark clouds that hung over the junkyard. Popping open a beer, he wondered if his patrol would come around the time the rain did. In fact, it didn’t. Off to his right, where a tower of broken flying cars was stacked, he heard a crash. Jumping to his feet, his beer spilt all down his uniform. The bottle smashed on the ground as he ran to investigate. Past the tiger kennels, past the heap of self-writing pens, he found the disturbance. A woman, robed in a black gown trimmed in blue, a classic look of the Academy students, sat underneath a pile of old magazines.
“Hey!” Tommy shouted, reaching for his baton. The woman, with bright green eyes clashing with her bright red hair, looked up startled. Clenching her mouth shut, she turned, pushing the magazines off her and sprinted back into the depths of the junkyard. Is that a…Tommy didn’t finish his thought. A lump developed in his throat as he chased after the woman. *Why did this have to happen on my shift? Fifteen years guarding this stinking hellhole and this happens with two weeks before I’m done?*
Around and around they went. The woman’s red hair flapped in the breeze, making it easy to follow in this world of drab browns and greys. Dust sprung up wherever she ran while Tommy had no choice but to run through. Each moment, a fit of sneezing threatened to stop him but he pushed on, ignoring his urges.
As she ran, she toppled every unstable structure she could. First, it was doorless microwaves, which Tommy easily jumped as they crashed around him. One did catch him on his shoulder but he ran on. Next, she toppled a stack of x-ray glasses, pulling out the broken heater that held them up. The crash of glass sent a shiver down Tommy’s spine. The screeching made the hair of his arms rise. Trudging through the glasses, the woman, extended her lead, not looking back once. At last, when he was free of the glasses, he found himself at a crossroads. Pausing for a moment he tried to regain his breath, wondering where to run to next. Running back, he picked up a pair of the glasses, knowing he would need only one lens to half work to see her. Holding them up, he peered around and around. The junk disappeared and only warm-blooded beings could be seen. *Rats!* Rats were everywhere. Up high, nests upon nests, sat on top of any and all of the junk. Down low though, was where they really existed. In the few seconds he looked he must have seen a thousand. Scurrying along on top of each other, they ran in every direction. Then, finally, running off to the left, he saw a human. Throwing down the glasses, he guessed now, the direction she was running.
Years spent patrolling meant Tommy knew this yard like the back of his hand. First, he took a left, the two rights, once squeezing past a gap between a box full of Mona Lisa's and some out-of-date plasma shields. Then, he once again heard the sound of footsteps. *She’s definitely going back, back to where she found it.*
Tommy felt his mouth dry up at the thought of what could happen. Longing for his smashed beer, he would reward himself tonight if he made it through. *I’ll open that bottle of whiskey. Today of all days, I need something to look forward to.*
The steps grow louder and louder as he streamed past the mountains of junk. At one point he could hear her huffing, obvious she wasn’t trained too much in cardio at the Academy. Then the noises stopped and he knew why. Rounding the final corner, he came face to face with the robed woman, her face red as she caught her breath. One hand was on her hip, the other on the ray-gun she pointed at him. A ray-gun the very same as the ones stacked behind her.
“Ok now miss,” he said, trying not to sound scared. “Let’s not do anything rash!” Her hand shook while the barrel of the gun, red and white, vibrated but never moved from his body.
“I should be saying that to you,” she snapped through gritted teeth. “Don’t do nothing! This one works! I know! I’ve tried it!” Tommy swallowed and the lump in his throat left. *Why am I doing this? It’s only a piece of junk, there's thousands laying behind her.*
“Actually,” Tommy muttered, running his fingers through what remained on his hair. “You can take it. I don’t give a damn. Take two! See if I care.”
“What?” she gasped, her grip on the gun loosening. “That’s…That’s not what your supp…You're a liar!” Sighing, Tommy’s thoughts were already on the glass of whiskey he’d have when he got back.
“Look,” he said, a tinge of anger now in his voice. “I’m retiring in two weeks. I don’t give a damn about this stupid job anymore. So long as you keep that thing a secret for another two weeks, I’ll let you walk out of here with.” The woman’s eyes widen and she even allowed herself a smile.
“Really?” she beamed, looking down that the red and white gun she was the now proud owner of.
“Really.” Tommy answered. “Now can I go back and enjoy a whiskey?” The woman nodded, even walking with Tommy so far as the entrance.
“Goodbye,” she shouted as she left. “And enjoy retirement!” Tommy smiled, holding up a glass of whiskey to her.
“Thank you and I will!” he shouted back. “Enjoy your weapon!” As she disappeared into the distant desert road, Tommy put down his glass and knew he couldn’t take a risk. Walking into the guard’s hut, picking up the telephone. Punching in the number they made him memorize during training, a voice replied instantly.
“Tommy,” the man’s voice said. “What happened?”
“There was a woman,” Tommy began. “She stole a ray-gun. We’ll need a team on Union Police down here immediately.”
“Right away, Tommy,” the man answered, his voice tinged with fear. “And thanks for the call. There will be a reward in this for you.” | 10 | Not all that goes into a junkyard is garbage. Magical artifacts, lost alien tech, historical items, and more often find their way inside. As a junkyard security guard, it means you have to deal with all sorts of trouble. | 69 |
#####**Lying.**
___
"I've been lying to you." My wife fiddles with her silverware and my heart sinks. I can see guilt wreak havoc across her beautiful features. She's hardly touched her food even though I'd spent all evening making sure it delicious.
"What is it?" I casually pretend to be nonchalant, but my hand trembles and I put it under the table to hide it. She'd told me earlier that we needed to talk, and we'd been awkwardly putting it off all night.
Elena brushes her hair back before poking at the spaghetti, a habit of hers to buy time. I sip my glass of water, my own reciprocal gesture. She opens her mouth to speak, but closes it again. This repeats for a number of seconds.
"I-" She takes a breath. "You have to believe me okay?" Elena colors and bites her lower lip.
I frown. This is clearly not proceeding in the direction I thought it would.
"Y-you know how I'm always suddenly leaving for yoga class, or that it doesn't have a fixed schedule for some reason, or that I'll come home late without warning..." She pauses. "I've- I've actually been fighting criminals! I'm- I'm Foxfire!" She plants her head in her hands and on the table afraid to see my reaction, but peeks despite herself. Her expression is a wrinkled sundried from guilt for having lied to me repeatedly yet also a ripe tomato from embarrassment for knowing that I've undoubtedly seen her parade and harrumph in her revealing costume.
I set my fork down and let out a sigh of relief. "Oh, just that. I already know."
She shoots up and gives me a look of extreme shock. "How- how did you find out?! The agency has been covering for me! They even hired a double to attend yoga classes! And don't you have prosopagnosia?!"
"Please dear, as you said I have a little trouble with faces, but how do you think I recognize people everyday without problems? Let's see..." to her growing fluster I began listing everything that gave her away:
&nbsp;"1. I see your figure in bed every night.
&nbsp; 2. You still brush your hair nervously when stalling or trying to avoid questions, even to reporters.
&nbsp; 3. You hide your face with your hands when embarrassed, even though you're wearing a mask.
&nbsp; 4. You twirl and beam when someone compliments you.
&nbsp; 5. When you stumble, you start skipping as if you meant to do that the whole time.
&nbsp; 6. When—"
"STOP STOP!!!" She was babbling nonsensically when I began my soliloquy, but I guess she couldn't stand my monologue of love anymore. She should consider adding camouflage to her list of superpowers because she was blending right in to the red wallpaper behind her. Though admittedly I could only see her ears because her hands blocked the rest of her face.
"Dear, you should work on hiding your habits a bit more."
"..."
I push my plate away from the edge of the table, stand up, and walk over to the curled up kitten that was my wife. I gently encourage her to unfurl by stroking her hair, "I was scared you were going to say something else," I admit.
Elena looks up with astonished eyes, "Did you think I was going to say I was cheating because I would never-"
"No no, I trust you. Not that. I thought you were going to say you didn't like my cooking."
She sheepishly touches her index fingers together and avoids my gaze, "About that..."
&nbsp;
___
A/N - but but... \**sad noises*\* :(
A/N2 - I keep adjusting the wording because I'm not sure if I've properly foreshadowed the end bit about his cooking without giving it away lol. Maybe I should subtly insert food descriptions?
/r/Unexpected_Works | 63 | You are faceblind, and also the only person in the city who could recognises superheroes going about their daily lives. How? They only seem to care about wearing a mask, and don’t disguise anything else about themselves. | 183 |
Alice and I were having a difficult time hearing the transmission clearly. Several others were now huddling around us as we maxed out the volume on the speakers. Everyone held their breaths so as not to make the slightest sound to muffle the delicate messages.
"And so we request ... ... be permitted to return to earth for ... ... We understand ... ... ... unorthodox request but we hope to provide ... context ... ... arrival. Do you copy, earth?"
"Damn, it's so hard to get all of what they're saying" I mumbled in frustration.
"Ask them to repeat it since we didn't get it all!" someone from behind me called before a series of aggressive shushes silenced them. Nobody wanted to miss a single detail from the other end.
"We copy" Alice said flatly.
"Will you ... providing an escort to guide us ... ... ... zone?" came the grainy voice on the other end.
Alice looked at me in terror. It was late, or early, and we had not escalated this to NORAD or anyone else yet. Everything was happening so fast. The transmission, the images, the request. In the excitement of it all we had failed to contact the government agencies and appropriate channels per the usual protocols. But this was anything but a 'usual' situation.
"Give us a moment, please" Alice sputtered out. Gary, the Division Lead that night must have realized the same issue concerning protocols because all 325lbs of him took off in the most mesmerizing sprint. The private line to the Big Dogs was just a few rooms away. Connie and a couple others hurried after him.
"Understood" came the grainy voice on the other line. Those of us that remain sat or stood in silence. We stared up at the paused transmission our contacts had sent just a few hours before.
It was uncanny. They looked like us and yet something was a bit off. It was hard to place. Their sleek tunics aside, if you were to put them on the street any one of them might turn some heads but surely they would pass for humans. It was also hard to tell just how tall they were. Alice had remarked she thought they looked very short whereas I perceived them to be no shorter than 6' or thereabouts. Hardly shrimps to 5'7" me.
"Play it again while we wait" I said. Alice complied and started the transmission again. "Fast-forward to the English part, though."
The transmission was barely over three minutes long and most of it was unintelligible to us. It begins with several languages that nobody was able to recognize, but about halfway through, Connie, who had majored in Linguistics, thought she recognized ancient Greek. Then Latin. Then about 30 seconds later Felipe commented that he recognized a very antiquated form of Castilian. Eventually, near the very end, they spoke briefly in English.
"Greetings all who hear my voice and receive this message. This is L'andar of the Sologrions, of the Wiss Province. I speak to you from the Cruiser *Ghenerras* on trajectory for the planet earth. We understand that within the last earth-day you received a transmission from an alien species called the Yinnis concerning one of your spacecraft. In fact the vessel they spoke of was this same *Ghenerras* of which myself and others are aboard. If you will consider allowing us safe passage to return to earth we are willing to furnish you with technology and information concerning the 7 corners of the universe, as well as an unending alliance despite our past difficulties. We may be reached on Channel 001TUV8992 should you wish to make contact. Please confirm."
From there it is supposed that the same message is repeated in Mandarin, and then the transmission ends. Whoever the Sologrions were, they sure seemed like a risk averse people and didn't want to take any chances that we would be unable to comprehend their message.
"Isn't it weird that they say *return* to earth?" Clare asked. A few murmurs of agreement followed.
"They obviously know us pretty well, how else would they know our languages? Between these guys and the others that contacted us about them there might be millions of languages - and aliens - out there!" Bill exclaimed in a tizzy, obviously well into double digits on his cups of coffee.
But he made a fair point. So far as we knew in the entire existence of humanity we had never made contact with alien races. And now within about 24 hours we had been contacted by two distinct races.
"What if we just ask them? Is he still on the line?" Clare asked again. Alice looked at me for some affirming signal. The urge to engage was plain on her face. We all wanted answers but knew the protocol was to dialog minimally until more concrete directions from above came down. There was still no sign of Gary and his middle-management entourage that had scurried off, so I just made the call we all knew we wanted to hear.
"Ask him" I said, hoping I sounded more confident than I felt about breaking protocol.
"Sologrion vessel *Ghenerras*, this is earth again, do you copy?" Alice spoke slowly. We were unsure how good their command of English was despite the message. For all we knew they were Google Translating in real time.
"...copy, earth" came the voice on the other end.
"Sologrion vessel, in your earlier transmission that was sent to us you state that you wished to return to earth. Can you clarify? We have no record of a Sologrion Cruiser departing earth's airspace" Alice looked at me and shrugged. It seemed like a decent pretense for asking the question. Someone in the back of the room snickered.
"Quite right, I ... those records ... long lost" came the voice in reply.
"Did you not depart from earth recently?" Alice asked again innocently.
"..., not recently. It was after ... we called The Calamity at ... time. All on earth fled to the sole city that remained ... those on the fringes were forced to live a primitive existence in the wild. Scans ... ... us that only you humans seem to be left and our kind no longer inhabit ... planet. I suppose space is ... better ... for us, anyhow" came the mysterious voice.
We looked at each other confused.
"Just ask him to elaborate" I said, anxiously twisting my wedding band on my finger.
"Approximately how long ago was this?" Alice asked, brows furrowed.
"Probably not ... an age or year that appears in any ... your literature. Much was lost in The Calamity. Our analysis of ... indicates that you have found some remains ... our kind and have given them the title "Neanderthal" but that ... a name unfamiliar to us. To us we are simply Sologrions. Have ... ... ... confirm a landing zone for us, earth?"
Nobody responded. Nobody moved. I looked back at the screen and even though what the Sologrion had just said was still a bit unclear I was slowly starting to puzzle it all together. Looking again at the face on the paused transmission I noticed the protruding, ridged brow. The large nose. The small eyes. Even the posture was slightly different. Was I...were we...staring at intergalactic Neanderthals? It was impossible...
Alice must have had all the same thoughts and without waiting to be prompted, asked "What was The Calamity?" before cupping her hands over her mouth in shock.
"... reason ... left earth to you, and took to the stars ourselves. Imagine our ... when we ... that earth was not only still populated but flourishing in a quaint way. It ... a welcome surprise despite ... fact that none of our ancient kin ...-vived."
Alice gaped at the screen as we all listened to the static of the transmission. How was this possible? After a minute or two someone shoved a phone in front of my face with a picture of a scientist's rendering of a Neanderthal pulled up on the screen. With a clean shave and a smart outfit, I had to admit that it certainly did look like one could pass as a Sologrion. | 160 | Aliens contact Earth and claim to have found a missing star ship of ours and its crew. The people on board do look vaguely human but they are obviously not of this world. However they plead in secret to be allowed to 'return' to Earth and not be made to go with those that discovered them. | 506 |
“You chose to fall in love with The Hero, over the villain, over everyone else. What did you expect him to do?” Asked Luthor, his mechanical gauntlet clasped around Lois’s arm. They stood together on a too-small floating platform, hundreds of feet above the ground.
Below, blurs and flashes or heat, wind and thunderclaps crossed the city in a chaotic net as reverse-flash tried to kill everyone in metropolis, and Superman did everything he could to stop him. And succeeding.
“Did you really expect he’d choose you, over everyone else?”
Lois sniffed and dried her tears with her free hand. Lex was taunting her, and Clark too, he could probably hear this, but he wasn’t crooning in his victory, he was almost sad. Almost comforting.
“My dear,” he continued, “he’s a hero. He doesn’t have a selfish bone in his body.” He smiled at her sadly and dabbed at a tear on the other side of her face with his metal-clad hand. Still gentle though- if he was going to kill her he was going to mean it.
“You know…” said Lois as she regained her composure “I did hope he would choose me. Just for a moment- we can’t all be as pure as him after all.”
“No I suppose not.” Said Luthor.
“But that’s why he deserves his powers and we don’t. There can’t be more than a handful of people on earth who could use them responsibly, who wouldn’t break under the pressure.”
“And you’re sure he won’t break when I kill you?
Look at him down there, reverse flash isn’t going all out - he’s a sadist, turning the screws slowly. Making Superman make ten moves for every one of his. He can’t win in the end, it’s mathematics.
He will lose everything tonight. Unless I decide otherwise.”
“Unless you…” Lois didn’t want to get her hopes up. Luthor was just as much a sadistic bastard as Thawne. She steeled herself. “What are you hoping to gain here? A phyrric victory against his moral code isn’t your style, and you aren’t suicidal.”
“My dear, you’re smart enough to put it together on your own- this isn’t the first conversation we’ve had on the subject.”
Lois fumed at his condescension but mostly kept it off her face. She reached back in her mind but didn’t have to go far.
“You’re *still* testing him?” She exclaimed. “After all this time, after all the times he’s saved earth, after all he’s had to endure from you and Brainiac and Darkside and- and you still think he might snap and blow up the earth?! There are six million lives and that’s just a test to you?”
“Yes. it. is.” Luthor almost growled the words. “Six million vs nearly eight billion. I trust the scale of our conversation does not elude you.”
There was a pause as a thousand tiny dramas of life and death were created and resolved below them,
“And probably more on other worlds if it came to it, but I admit I care less about that.”
“Well, said Lois, has the man of steel passed your standards of goodness yet Luthor? He obviously made the right choice.”
“Every god-dammed time.” The villain chuckled. “He’s always there when things get out of hand within the range of his perception. He never kills anyone, and somehow manages to save the supremely squishy humans around him no matter how quickly he needs to accelerate them.
He never takes a day off to recover unless he’s forced to- I have it on good authority Batman has had to sedate him more than once so he doesn’t run himself ragged trying to solve all the worlds problems.
When he gets angry he flies around suppressing extreme weather events, and turning that giant fly-wheel to generate power.
The few times he’s on the verge of losing control he’s gone to space to ‘scream’ into the void and throw around Oort Cloud objects.
He’s so conscientious that even when he breaks though things he turns the debris into plasma before they can cause any further property damage, I’ve never seen him get it wrong unless he’s fighting for his life.
Hell, the rudest I’ve seen him be is dart out on someone and fly through a wall to catch a woman trying to jump off the next building over.”
Lex was getting more and more annoyed and Lois could help but smile as he listed her lover’s virtues. All these reasons why she loved Clark. Yeah the abs the could shatter steel were nice, but after years of reporting on corruption and scandal, of ferreting our secrets and lies, how could she help but love this man who what’s exactly who he seemed to be- who’s only secrets were good deeds?
Three cracks sounded below them and a building began to list and sink, almost as quickly a red and blue blur raced into the dust cloud. Out. Back in.
With a thunderous boom, the building straightened, lifted it’s decent slowed by a titanic punch.
The blur raced out, two cracks, and then back in to evacuate the new bottom floor, and then punch the building to juggle it before racing off to save more people.
And then back again a few seconds later.
“I mean… oh come on, are you seeing this?!” Said lex. He tapped near his ear. “Thawne what is -
A distorted voice cut him off over. “You’re welcome to come down here and get your hands dirty asshole. He managed to get a few hits in- ugh!”
“Get him Superman! I love you!” Yelled Lois, restraining herself from using Clark’s real name. If she was going to die here, she needed him to know that this is what she wanted, even if it would only help a little.
“I have to respect your courage in the face of death miss Lane, but this has to end.” Lex said, suspending her over the abyss to the city below.
“You want me to end this?” Thawne said over the intercom. “I’m getting real tired of playing around.”
Lois dangled painful by her wrist. Why drop her, Superman should be able to catch her, wasn’t that what his laser gun was for? Was this all a trap, with lex hiding kryponite bullets in his suit?
Once, twice Superman kept juggling that collapsing building while keeping up the fight, turning swaths of pavement to glass as he turned.
“No.” Said Luthor. “It’s over.”
He brought Lois back into relatively solid ground and released his grip on her, the punched a code into his suit. “The records you wanted are unlocked, you know where to find them. If you can lose Superman they’re yours.”
“That wasn’t… hell I’ll take an easy payday. See ya Lex.”
And with that it was over. | 75 | "You chose the Hero over the Villain. What did you expect him to do? Choose YOU? Over everyone else? My dear, he's a Hero. He doesn't have a selfish bone in his body" | 319 |
There is something incredibly fine about mountain air. A certain crispness to it, that you just don't find elsewhere. North Cascades National Park is just the kind of place to go for that sweet air. Ever since I was a little girl, I've been hiking along the mountain trails, where my old man used to show me how to camp, fish, hunt, and survive. I'm sure there are a number of different kinds of childhoods that are all equally good, but I still maintain that mine was probably one of the best kinds. When I grew up working as a ranger was quite a natural fit for me, and later as teacher too, because it allows me to share the beautiful mountains with young, impressionable people. Even if some of them are pretty damn annoying. We've taken a bus up into the middle of nowhere, and made camp somewhere fairly isolated, but shielded against the wind. We've set up the tents, had some nice food made on the campfire, which was made responsibly of course, dug hole with an air current setup, to prevent any potential spreading of the flames. And now, underneath the stars, well, underneath the tent canvas, me and the students, 10 in total, have gone to sleep. Would have been more but the principle back at the school has the courage and willpower of a stoned rabbit. So it was left up to the parents if they'd let their kids come this year.
Naturally, the parents who are on the whole mostly unsuitable to raise any kind of human, kept their kids home; while the kids who have parents that don't indulge and spoil them, sent their kids with me. And because there are only 10 of them, the principle didn't see the need to send a second teacher. Oh well. At least these kids will have an interesting time in the mountains. Hm. I rise slowly from my position in the tent. Quietly. And get out of there. I smell something. Something odd. Something familiar. I am not supposed to have any weapons with me, but I always bring a sharp knife, just in case, so I take that out. Feels off, somehow. That smell. It's something dangerous. Something that is coming nearer. I can even hear the soft moving paws hitting the grass nearby. I turn to stare at the place where the sound and smell comes from. I bare my teeth in a vicious snarl and move closer. Growling, to let it know that I know its out there. That I won't let it get any closer. That it needs to back off. It isn't frightened, but it should be.
It's getting too close. To *my* pups.
Rather than letting it get close enough, I lunge first. It is startled, but I see exactly what it is. Cougar. It tries to strike at me, but I have my claw... knife, ready. And it slashes across the big cat's paws. It screeches in pain, but I don't stop, forward, forward, teeth teeth! Claw! CLAW! KNIFE! Belly! Pain. TEETH! NECK! **RIP AND TEAR!** The iron taste of blood runs hotly into my mouth as I see that I've killed it. My claw-knife in its gullet, my teeth deep into its throat. I warned it. Not to come closer. Those are my pups and no-one is going to get them. Dragging its corpse back to the den, I recognise that I've been scratched too. Huh. Worth it though. To protect them. And the dead foe will be adequate food to replenish the energy expended on defending them. The pups are awake, looking at me with awe, as they should. A part of me tears open the red box, and begins to tend to my own wounds. I grab one of the pups, and have her help me with working the gauze and the stinging feeling of alcohol upon the open gashes in my face.
Oh. What just happened.
Oh no. I keep calm while I sit there with my pups, no, the kids. The students. And I realise what has just happened. I've recalled the subconsciousness and senses of my past life. No doubt about it. It's unusual to experience, because most people in their previous lives were so simple organisms that their previous lives couldn't affect them in the here and now. Prokaryotic lifeforms aren't exactly known for having complex instinctual responses. I've just remembered what it was like to a be a mother-wolf. To defend the pups. To mind the males. To smell out the path to the prey and to recognise the scent of those who would gladly feast upon my offspring. I am of course not closely blood-related to these pups, but due to my work as their teacher there is a pseudo-parental relationship between me and them that triggers those same wolf-instincts. And I just killed a cougar that I could probably have scared away with shouting and a flashlight.
This is not great. Especially considering that the bus won't be back to fetch us for a whole dang week. Usually such instincts are easily repressed and put back into the subconsciousness, leaving only the enhanced senses behind. But since I am out in a place where wolves can be found, in a situation where I need to survive, this could get somewhat unpleasant. To overcome the instincts, one must be in a place and situation where they don't get triggered enough to leave a permanent mark. Honestly, this would be pretty cool if it weren't for the unfortunate time and place. Of course, the situation can be remedied. Shame that it will mean that the trip will be cut short. I'll probably get chewed out by the principle, but considering how people left to their own devices that suddenly develop these instincts can become, he'll ultimately understand that it's for the best.
I get the pups back into the tent, where they probably aren't going to be able to sleep much, but it'll be fine. I just have to wait for the morning, then I'll call back for help, and everything will turn out fine.
''*What do you mean you can't send anyone up here?*'' I am exasperated. My wolfish instincts wants me to pounce on the principle, and having barely slept at all, feeling forced to cook the cougar meat and eat some of it to quell my instinct to devour it raw, it's a good thing that he's not here. ''*What do you mean evacuation? Uprisings, shootouts in the streets, national guard infighting? What the hell?*'' That's... less than great. Frankly that's pretty damn terrible. You leave civilisation behind for a day and it all collapses. What are the odds? ''*Damnit Irving. I've got p... students up here. I'm covered in cougar blood! I am knee-deep in wolf-instincts! Come on! I don't care if you have to drive the bus up here yourself, or get one of the parents to do it!*'' I am not a happy wolf-woman. ''*Can you at least give me an estimate for when you can come fetch us?*'' It's no good. I can hear what sounds like explosions in the background. Principle Irving begins talking but the line just cuts out in the middle of a sentence. Either the satellites are out, or the school got hit.
New plan. Get the pups to a better place. A more defensible area. I know where there is a ranger station in this national park. It's within my territory. It'll be a safe place for them. We pack up the tents, the food, and the items. Tell them that we have to go to a safer place. We can have a safer den there. Some of them are scared, some of them are obedient, all of them give me the respect accorded to the pack's leader. I make it clear to them that if they're with me, they'll be safe. We're wolves, after all. That part of my mind means it quite literally. They just think I am referring to our town's football team. There is some major wolf-iconography going on there. I worry about that. That putting myself in this sort of situation, where survival in the wilds will feed that instinct, will be dangerous. I don't think I'd ever harm the pups intentionally. But if nobody finds us for a while, what kind of wolf-children will I make of them?
[/r/ApocalypseOwl](https://www.reddit.com/r/ApocalypseOwl/) | 13 | everyone, at some point in their life regains the instincts and senses of whatever animal they were in their last life. You were a wolf, which would be cool if you weren’t the only adult that got stranded in the middle of nowhere with a class of nine and ten year olds. | 29 |
**IF IT WEREN'T FOR THE HAIR**, this little girl might even pass for normal. Each strand was alive, but lethargic, like strings of sick parasites. They seemed as if they might wrap around your fingers if you got too close, absorbing you into her head one centimeter at a time. And yet Carissa sat within arm's-reach of this monster, unafraid, casually dressing one of her dolls. Her father was in a pile in the corner--inside out, his guts still steaming.
Carissa's mother stood in the door of the bedroom, trembling. "W-What do you w-want?"
"To make the grown-ups go bye-bye," said the pigtailed monster that Carissa called 'Miss Anne'. "Are you a grown-up too? Like *him?*"
A tear rolled down the mother's cheek. She had no idea what to say. The truth was too dangerous. But so was a lie. "We're all children," was all she could think to say.
"But you're still a grown-up."
The girl-thing was shimmering, and the mother could see that the pores on its skin were tiny mouths, millions of them, opening and closing in unison, hungry and angry and bottomless. It was terrible to look at, so the mother turned to her daughter instead.
"Carissa. Honey. C-Can you...tell your friend how much you care about me? And that I'm one of the *good* grown-ups?"
"I *don't* care about you," said her daughter, now brushing the hair of the doll with a tiny brush. "And you're not a good grown-up. None of you are. Miss Anne agrees with me. The world would be better with no grown-ups. Just kids."
The mother closed her eyes in hurt. There was a cold heat from the entity, growing and reaching out to her. "I-Is...is this because I put you in timeout? Honey, that's for a *reason*. You can't keep breaking your father's trains. They're very expensive, and you know they're off limits. We've told you and told you."
Carissa put a sunhat on her doll, straightening the ribbon. "Now they're nobody's trains." A few bubbles emerged from the puddle of her father, as sick-smelling as swamp gas. It was then her mother realized that one girl was no less dangerous than the other.
She addressed the stranger. The thing's eyes were now missing, threads of black worms slapping at the edges of the sockets. "W-Why do you hate grownups?" she asked the creature, for no reason other than to stall.
The entity spoke with a thousand voices. "Grownups are mean."
The ground shook. Shelves fell from the walls. Cracks formed in the ceiling. Outside the windows--even though it was day--a darkness fell, deep and absolute. Street lamps flickered on, mistaking it for night. There was a kind of glow as well. Like the reflection off of snow at night, except more red than white. Silence...then the sounds of catastrophe. Birds escaping. Honking. Barking. Screams. Crying. Crashing. Air-raid sirens like the screams from hell.
The mother looked to the entity to see what she had done. But the mother saw something on the monster's face that she never expected...fear. And once again, the thing had reverted to a little girl with curly hair and fair skin. And eyes. Eyes as big and terrified as her own.
Carissa sensed this as well and put down her doll. She held her friend's hand. "It's going to be okay Miss Anne. Please don't be scared. You told me not to be scared of my dad. And you shouldn't be scared of yours. I'm here for you."
And the mother walked over to the window, looking up to the sky. From horizon to horizon, there was nothing to see but eyes and teeth and fingers, nothing to gaze upon except the maw of infinity.
The mother brushed the hair of the girl. The hairs did not pull her in. And all at once, the mother hated grown-ups too. | 18 | A really weird entity is threatening the world. They look like a mix between an eldritch god and the imaginary friend of a five year old girl and they keep switching between these two personalities. | 125 |
"In return I demand your first born!" The demon boomed.
I suppressed a grin and forced it into a reluctant pout. This was the moment I'd been waiting for. "Deal!"
"I hope you enjoy your unbreakable crystal vase." The demon gestured at a rather ugly vase. Then left to collect his prize.
I winced when I heard my daughter's cry of shock. But ever since she'd sold her soul last year... Well, let's just say I was running out of options.
TWO WEEKS LATER
"This is all your fault!" A high pitched voice rang out in the middle of my living room. It was not the demon that I had dealt with nor the one my daughter had sold her soul to. This demon was tiny, reaching only up to my knee.
"Oh?" I feigned innocence. "Does my daughter not meet your master's lofty demands?"
"That's not the problem." The imp puffed out his chest in an effort to look bigger. It only served to make him look more pitiable.
"Good, because I made her myself." I drew myself up. "And I have you know if he's going to slight my craftsmanship then I will require compensation. Nine months of grueling labor!"
"How dare you ask for more after what you did!" The indignation in the imp's voice almost made me smile.
"What I did? What could've I possibly done?"
"Your daughter-"
"If you're having discipline problems with her, that's your problem." The imp opened his mouth to argue but I plowed right on. "I wasn't asked how well behaved she was. Or asked to make sure she was obedient or anything like that."
"Her soul was missing!"
"It's not my fault if your master forgot to take her soul with them. It's not like I would notice if her soul was just left lying around."
"Stop playing stupid!"
"I beg your pardon!" I continued to feign offense. I knew roughly what had happened to my daughter's soul. And if I couldn't get her soul back I would at least get revenge.
"You knew she'd sold her soul to Oognath."
"Bless you."
The imp snarled.
"Well, as it stands, I don't know this oothawhatever."
"Hell is at war and all you treat it like a joke."
As I said, it's not my problem."
"I demand that you relinquish that vase." The imp pointed to the replica I'd made of the unbreakable vase.
I grabbed the vase and held it tightly against my chest. "Never!"
The imp jumped up and down trying to claw at it. I used one of my arms to bat at it away. The imp's despite attempts to get it out of my arms eventually bore fruit.
Crash!
The vase smashed into a thousand tiny pieces.
"You dare accuse me of bargaining in bad faith." I glowered. "This vase was supposed to be unbreakable."
"You started a-"
"Your master claimed this was an unbreakable vase! And since he bargained for my daughter then he either has to return her with her soul or get me something else that meets with my approval."
"This is a trick! You're hiding it somewhere!"
"Feel free to look for it." I got myself a cup of tea as the imp started rooting around. The imp would never find it. I buried it under some consecrated ground. | 1,587 | "As payment, I demand your firstborn!" the demon said. "Deal!" You said, hastily signing the contract to seal the deal. "Good luck with them, sucker!" | 2,778 |
You took a trip down to Colorado to talk with one of the senators there. Being one of the head prophets of Megirism, you're used to this kind of thing. Terrorists in Mexico is the most recent one, well, **A** terrorist to be precise. Still, this one's different. He was involved in all sorts of insurgency and tried to incite war. Oh, and he's trying to become President.
What a piece of work.
You end up arriving at the Senator's house, and ring the bell. After a couple of seconds, the door swings open to reveal a 2 meter beast of a man, with rippling muscles barely contained by a suit with a lapel pin with the shape of an American flag.
"Senator Armstrong."
"Ah, Reverend, come in."
He bids you into his home, which you enter, and sit across from him on a couch.
"So, what brings you here?"
You pause for a moment, thinking on how to respond.
"I'm a prophet, not a wizard, so as long as my doings don't cause environmental or humanitarian disasters and I'm not a dick about it, I'm empowered to serve God. Sometimes that means miracles. Here and now, though, it means I get tell you why God is mad at you, personally, senator: you have been involved in many crimes against humanity, and if it wasn't for me, a dude named Raiden will have killed your ass in Pakistan. So now God has sent me here to kill you. Are you going to lay down and die, or are we going to have to do this the hard way?"
Armstrong sighs.
"Played college ball, you know."
"At some cushy Ivy League school."
"Try University of Texas. Coulda gone pro if I hadn't joined the Navy. I'm not one of thos-"
His dialogue is interrupted by a giant holy hammer swinging into his gut with the swing of your arm. It definitely makes an impact, but still bounces off a little bit.
"What?"
"Nanomachines, son! They harden in response to physical trauma!"
Armstrong then punches your face, hard.
You smile. Of course it has to be this way. Even so, you might finally get a decent fight. | 15 | "I'm a prophet, not a wizard, so as long as my doings don't cause environmental or humanitarian disasters and I'm not a dick about it, I'm empowered to serve God. Sometimes that means miracles. Here and now, though, it means I get tell you why God is mad at you, personally, senator" | 81 |
(Couldn't stop thinking about this so I'm gonna write it myself lol)
Wesley had no idea what he was doing. Absolutely none. He thought it was easy, after all, how hard could it be asking someone out on a date? Apparently pretty hard when talking to aliens.
His first attempt started strong. Zora, a new hire, sat in her cubicle flipping through several documents at once with her two sets of arms as Wesley approached. "Hey, Zora," Wesley started, going for a friendly smile.
"Hello, Wesley," Zora smiled back, but continued working.
"Would you like to maybe go out sometime?" Wesley asked, ripping the bandaid off.
Zora paused before looking to him with confusion. "Wesley, I go out every night. You've seen me go out before...I had to go out to arrive at work this morning."
Slightly embarrassed, Wesley tried again. "Well, yeah, but I meant if you wanted to go out with *me*. Like...Maybe for coffee?"
Zora's eyes widened in realization and Wesley though he had been victorious before she started speaking again. "Oh! You wish for me to take you on my coffee run tomorrow morning!" Zora smiled. "That is a very kind offer, but I can assure you I am able to carry them all myself." She waves her additional pair of arms slightly. "I actually find it odd, humans never evolved to have additional arms. It's quite useful!"
Now very embarrassed and starting to feel the eyes of their coworkers looking at him, Wesley conceded for the time being. "You're right...how silly of me...I'll let you get back to work." He said as he turned and walked off with his metaphorical tail tucked between his legs.
He tried several times in various fashions all with disastrous results.
"My kind is actually allergic to date fruits, unfortunately."
"Take me out? Is that a threat of violence, Wesley?"
"I appreciate the offer to buy my dinner, but I can afford my own food just fine. This job pays much better than my old job on my home planet, you know!"
Each time was a polite rejection and Wesley felt as if he were about to explode. It soon grew to the point that he asked for help from outside sources, but all their ideas were busts. Wesley was resigned to his own failure, pouting in his own cubicle. Perhaps it just wasn't meant to be...
That is, until a rather disheveled Zora rushed clumsily towards him upon his exit of the office one evening.
"Wesley! Oh, I'm so glad to have found you! I must sincerely apologize!" She said, stopping him in his tracks.
"Apologize for what?" Wesley asked, very puzzled. To his knowledge Zora hadn't done anything out of the ordinary..
The taller woman shifted nervously, her bright blue hair falling into her face. "I had no idea you were asking to court me. But my human friends explained all your questions and offers to me. On my planet we have courtships differently."
"Ah...well, no harm done? I understand if I were being to insistent or-"
"Not at all! In fact, now that I understand your offer, I would like to accept...if you still would like to attend date with me?" Zora asked hopefully.
An uncontrollable grin spread across Wesley's face. "I would love to attend a date with you."
Plans soon made, Wesley escorted Zora down to her vehicle, almost falling over laughing as Zora asked if the escort counted as a date as well. | 21 | You work a standard job in a future where humans and aliens coexist. You've been trying to ask your coworker out on a date for weeks but they're an alien and there's a bit of a culture barrier. | 48 |
"Really, it doesn't work for you? You really don't want to rule with me?"
The Deep King frowned. He had expected the hero to be angry at the thought. Maybe the offer could entice them to change. But not to brush it off almost, wearily?
"How much thought have you put into ruling? You make your people obey through fear of punishment. You keep them under pressure, mental chains in place of the physical."
The hero casually spoke of it. She had a tired air, as though discussions of ruling bored her.
"Indeed I do. And it works, don't you see? They bow and scrape in the hopes they survive until the next day. Their meager lives are at my very whim. To them I'm a god, why do you not want that?"
She sighed again.
"And that's exactly why you can't succeed. You think yourself above the people. But if you are, you need to work for them. You keep them fed, clothed and homed. You give them entertainment. You fight for them, not for you."
She sighed again, gesturing to herself.
"Through ruling by fear, you create people like me. You may catch the first few. You might kill the first hundred. But in the end, one will get you. The fear you rule with will rule you as well."
The Deep King laughed.
"Oh really? You would have me rule through love? How weak."
The hero sighed again.
"It's the only way to really rule, and survive at it. Though I wouldn't expect you to change, having seen your actions."
She casually drew her sword, pointing it at the Deep King.
"I guess we should get started then?" | 43 | "Look, it's not that I don't have my vices" said the hero to the evil overlord. "It's just that controlling half the world is a huge responsibility. It's not a very good bribe if I'm being honest." | 143 |
"What the heck is paramnesia?" I couldn't help but say aloud. What a weird word!
What was I doing again? Oh yeah, so about this sign.
"...you have not been here before, even if you remember so, report any false memories to Management." What a weird sign, right?
I didn't like working the night shift in the mall. When my cousin told me about the job and sang its praises for the hours of uninterrupted YouTubing he was able to enjoy, it seemed like a good enough gig. I'd be alone, it'd be quiet, and I'd be able to stretch my legs.
Turned out he was right, it was a pretty cool job. Every night I liked to make the same loop. From the cookie shop to the video game store and then a pause to enjoy my snack near the Sunglasses Shack before continuing on. Those first few weeks I tried to walk to every store in the mall and memorize the order but it was hard so I gave up after only two or three tries.
Where was this story going again? Oh yeah, back to the sign. Gosh, focus, Phil.
So anyway, those first few weeks the nightshift went by so fast. I felt like I'd get up and go for my walk and then it seemed like no sooner did I get back to my security kiosk and the sun would be up and the first workers would be unlocking the doors to start the day. Easiest and quickest money I had ever made! The nights FLEW by.
But then I remember it was a Thursday and I was playing basketball and I hurt my back. The thing that sucks about hurting your back is NOBODY can see it. You're just all like "I hurt my back!" but people think you're just saying that because you lost, got dunked on, or whatever. But I did. I really hurt my back. So for several days I sorta gave up on my walk during my shift at the mall.
Those nights were LONG. Impossibly long. Like I wondered if time would move faster if I literally just watched the clock all night. Did going on those walks make that much of a difference? It sure seemed like it. But with my back in the shape that it was I was stuck at the kiosk. I figured moss would start to grow on me soon enough since I was pretty helpless. Hardly able to provide any "security" either, I'd say. But whatever.
So anyway it was around then that I started to wonder about this sign. Or actually, maybe it was a few days after that? It's hard to remember it was awhile ago, really. But yeah, oftentimes I'd wrap up my walk by going into the tunnels that led to the basement because it was cool down there and being a bigger fella I get a little sweaty on those treks around suburban Omaha's finest mall.
And that's when I noticed that door and that sign. "Paramnesia" it said. Now I'm not positive but I think that's a made up word right there.
That's also when things started to feel really weird, see. Around when I started noticing that sign. Suddenly it would be morning. I noticed time was missing. It wasn't just the walks that helped time fly by, I was actually *missing* hours from my night. I know, I know, hours aren't exactly car keys and one doesn't just lose them, but somehow I did. I'm not so sure it's the only thing I've been losing there.
So 2 nights ago I went for a walk but carried paper and a pen with me and jotted some notes. Maybe I have narcolepsy or something? Narcolepsy. Now that's a real word. None of this paramnesia business. Narcolepsy could probably explain me losing those hours. I bet it's the dang Narcolepsy, I'll have to see a shrink about that.
Right. So I went for a walk and took a few notes...passed the video game store...had my snack...went into the basement as usual. Went to the end of the southwest basement tunnel. "Stopped at the end of the tunnel" it said and right below it in some really smeared handwriting I wrote "Opened door next to sign about paramnesia, whatever that means."
But then I was back at my kiosk. No notes covering the time or doings between the basement and how I got back there. I thought as hard as I could. There was a light, gosh I remember that light. There was a person...no...two people. Both women I think. What were they wearing, though? I feel like that light blurred them. No wait they weren't women but they sure sounded like women? It hurts. The light *hurts* to think about! Ow it hurts worse than my back. Did I mention I hurt my back playing basketball? I guess it doesn't matter, really.
Forget paper and pen next time I'm taking my phone, I decided. I'm going to record my walk. Ya know, like a detective or something. Why didn't I think of that earlier? But I forgot the paper I had been writing on the night before so I had trouble retracing my steps perfectly. Well whatever, the basement was where I remembered things ending so I just headed straight there.
"OK I'm in the basement and there's this weird sign I don't think I've ever noticed before" I said in the recording. "I think I stopped jotting down notes here the other night so we'll see if anything remarkable happens. Hm, I wonder what 'paramnesia' means?" and then I seem to move to open the door next to the sign and then the video goes dark. There's still over 14 minutes of dark, silent video, before it ends.
It's the strangest place, the mall.
This morning when my shift ended back at the kiosk my knees really hurt. I didn't remember being on my knees at all overnight but I found myself rubbing them a lot, almost as if I'd been walking on them. I remembered something was odd about the basement that I went to check out so I made my way back there before the other employees started coming in. And that's why I'm here now looking at this sign. What a weird sign. Oh yeah, I took a video on my phone! I watched it only to realize I had already watched it once already. There's that long, dark portion in the video. But wait, when did I have time to watch this already?
It says to go to Management if I have memories of being here. Hmm. I think I do, and I have evidence from the video that I have been here. But why is it so hard to remember despite this video? MAN my knees hurt. Gosh, what time is it? I should probably be getting home. I can talk to Management another time. Maybe tonight when I come back.
But gosh, this door. Is it just me or is this part of the basement really hot? And what a weird sign. "WARNING: PARAMNESIA AREA; you have not been here before, even if you remember so, report any false memories to Management."
Hmmm. "What the heck is paramnesia?" I couldn't help but say aloud. What a weird word!
What was I doing again? Oh yeah, so about this sign. | 146 | PARAMNESIA AREA; you have not been here before, even if you remember so, report any false memories to Management" | 512 |
Blood leaving a trail behind me, I walked into the waiting room of the hospital. Everyone else in the room stared at me in horror, at the blood-caked knife sticking out of my chest, and the blood I was covered head to toe in. I imagined they weren’t just terrified of that, though; I was one of the most wanted criminals in the city, so lots of people knew me, and I’d just left a violent gang battle. But, there was one secret about me that most people didn’t know: I was immortal. Well, kind of; wounds and major injuries couldn’t directly cause any pain or death, and I didn’t age past early adulthood, but diseases could still kill me, hence why I’d gone to the hospital, in case my injuries became infected.
I walked up to the receptionist’s desk, but before I could say anything, she pressed a button on the telephone and said, “We need an ER room, now!” She then turned to me and said, “What on earth happened to you, sir?”
“Well…” I was afraid to say anything at first, out of fear that she’d realize who I was and call the police. “I was just out walking, and, uh… someone came and… stabbed… me.”
She gave me a *Is this mfer for real?* look, then said, “You’re *that* guy, aren’t you?”
I nodded in defeat. “Yeah. Just got out of a gang battle.”
She shook her head, shrugged, and said, “Well, we can’t call the cops on you if you’re in need of medical attention, so just sit back and wait while we get an ER ready for you.”
A few moments later, a doctor walked in, gave me a brief look of shock, and said, “Right this way, sir.” He obviously knew who I was, but it didn’t seem to faze him as we walked into the ER room. He directed me to sit down on the hospital bed, while he sat down on the chair next to the vital sign monitors.
“So,” he said, “explain to me exactly what happened to you.”
I explained the battle, and the doctor replied, “Well, regardless of what went on, it’s a miracle that you’re still alive. The best we can do for now is get that knife out and clean you up. You’re probably gonna have to stay here in the hospital for a while, too.”
I nodded, unsure of what else to say. He then directed me to the room’s shower, and I got in it and washed all the blood off my body, watching as it flowed down the drain like little red rivers.
Once I dried off and sat back down on the bed, a nurse walked into the room, a Swiffer WetJet in hand, and the doctor said, “We’re going to do the removal now, so just sit tight and close your eyes.”
He then gripped the handle of the knife on the back of my chest, and yanked it out. Of course, I didn’t flinch, and I didn’t feel any pain, and blood began gushing out of the wound that was left behind. The nurse quickly cleaned the blood on the floor with the WetJet, and the doctor quickly wrapped some gauze around my chest where the wound was. Within seconds, the bleeding stopped.
The doctor sighed and said, “Like I said, that’s all we can do for now. And I still wonder how you’re alive… Regardless, you’re gonna have to stay here overnight at the very least, so just kick back and we’ll see what else we can do tomorrow.”
He and the nurse then left the room, closing the door behind them. Then, I laid down on the blood-soaked bed and stared out the window. | 11 | A wanted criminal walks into a hospital, covered in blood, a knife sticking out his chest. The whole waiting room is terrified, but the receptionist simply looks at him with worry. She presses a button. "We need an ER room, now!" She turns to the criminal. "What on earth happened to you, sir?" | 51 |
As the lights flickered on and off, on and off, a shadow emerged sneaking through the lab. Nighttime gave him just enough cover to break in. He had roamed these halls and pipes before, recounting failed attempts to end all to be all. He practically had it memorized, left, right, left, up, don't awake the angry robot dog, down, left, right, right. It was a puzzle he had cracked ages ago. One he needed to in order to-
"Terry is that you again?" A man in his late thirties asked, drinking from a cup of coffee. The mug had the saying "World's Best Dad" on it. Only the best was scratched out with marker, and someone had written okay-ish instead.
He gulped, his arch-rival faced him in all his terror. With his fuzzy bunny slippers, gray yoga pants, and coffee stained t-shirt. And who can forget those piercing eyes that can murder a man with just a glance. Granted those eyes looked like they hadn't gotten sleep in the last 48 hours, and probably didn't.
With a sigh his arch-rival clapped his hands turning on the kitchen lights. "Terry, I need you to listen to me." his voice pleading with him. "We can't keep doing this buddy, it's not healthy and you know it. You gotta let the real heros take care of supervillains."
"I AM a REAL HERO!" He scoffed. Obviously his arch-rival was trying to break his morale, smart move. But he was smarter than that. He knew better to play mind games with a villain. The only thing they will be playing against is his fist-
A doorbell rings, and his arch-rival sets down his coffee mug. "One moment" he asks, before he can protest, his rival exits to answer the front door.
A gruff voice could be heard, but he didn't want to eavesdrop on the conversation. After all that's what villains do, and he was not a villain. Instead he seats himself at the counter and grabs a fruit from the fruit basket and starts eating it.
The chief of police soon walks up besides him with a hefty sigh. "Again Terry?"
Unable to speak due to the mango in his mouth, he simply nodded. But jumped up as soon as his arch-rival entered the room as well. Desperately trying to signal to the officer he should be arresting his rival. To his surprise, the officer arrests him instead.
"We gotta get you a different hobby Terry." Officer Ted sighed shaking his head. "By the way, Aileen has their volleyball torment tomorrow right doctor?"
His rival nods slowly, "State championship, they're real excited about it too. Practicing real hard, Shame you can't come."
Officer Ted offers an apologetic smile. "Duty calls I'm afraid, I'll be sure to congratulate them on a job well done thought." He explains as he walks out the door with Terry.
His arch-rival smiles, "Goodnight Ted, night Terry."
Officer Ted and Terry both give him a nod. "Night."
Doctor Chris nods saying "See you tomorrow." Before shutting the door.
Terry sighs, another plan failed, but hey there's always tomorrow. He just needs to do his community service first.... | 27 | The Hero breaks into the evil base, ready to defeat the most cunning villain he has ever met. "I have you now Villain! You can't weasel your way out of justice this time!" "For the last time, I'm not a Villain! Stop breaking into my house!" | 99 |
A dull, crushing headache pulses through my skull as vivid dreams of melting walls and merging people slough off my consciousness. A slight hint of foulness is present in my every breath. I cough it out, but all air stinks of it. A raspy voice responds to my failed gasp at fresh air:
"Guess this was happening sooner or later."
My eyes creak open to reveal a cell barely large enough for three people. Mud and dirt caked the floor, a chamber pot rests at the other end of the room. Prison bars, and someone standing in my cell, staring out of them to a hallway that looks more like the place I'm in.
The cell and halls around are dark, save for some blue-white arcane crystals on sticks. Their high pitched but quiet whining ring in my ears, tuning in tandem with my tinnitus. My mysterious companion turns around and looks at me.
He's a bit smaller than me, dressed in what used to be formal clothes and boots. He doesn't look any worse for wear of any kind, besides being shackled by the wrists. His face is covered with pock marks, eyes hidden deep inside his sockets and wisps of gray hair stick out under a hood.
I have no idea who this is.
"What's going on?"
"Well, I'm pretty sure this is your fault. Probably something with that sorcerous lich you blew to smithereens about a week back. I heard he's stacked when it comes to mundane means like a good old fashioned dungeon like this. Shame you didn't get the phylactery, or neither of us would be here right now."
His look is one of utter disdain and disgust. It feels familiar somehow, but with this headache, I can't place it. The man rolls his eyes and holds out his hand out the bars. A floating spectral hand floats over, holding a wooden cup of water. He snatches it and brings it to me.
"Drink up and take it easy. We're not in a rush I suppose, but I need you on your feet and up to troublemaking whenever you're ready. And with whenever, I mean more along the lines of 'five hours ago'. Letting me sit in this muck has gotten you higher on my shit-list than you already were, so don't push your luck."
My danger sense is tingling. He's holding that cup oh-so dainty by the tips of his fingers, and he keeps his distance as if he knows how dangerous I am. But that look of annoyance, the way a smile will never reach his eyes.
I take the cup and brush his hands. Fur. A claw. The man sighs.
"Goddamnit, you just had-"
He doesn't get more words out as I launch out of my bed, tackle him straight to the floor and start whaling on his face. My fists hit more fur, an occasional sharp tooth. I club his face in, though the illusion he wields makes it look like I'm hitting air.
He tries to stop me, tries to clutch at me with his talons, but I grab his wrist and guide them away from me. He tries to kick at me, trying to get me off of him. The spectral hand even comes in, trying to shove me off, but I don't budge.
I smash my forehead into his nose, causing his head to slam back in the dirt, and I let him catch his breath. Not a single trickle of blood. Of course not.
"In case you've forgotten, this pathetic attempt at dominance does nothing to me, you half-wit."
"I know. But it still hurts, and you taught me a couple of lessons on pain last time we met. Figured I'd show you some moves I've learned. I think we're getting along great."
"All I need to do is to nick your skin once, and you're dead in six days. All I have to do is wait. And I'm immortal, so I have all the time in the world. But I haven't seriously hit you back, have I?"
"You can't win a fist fight to save your life."
"Which means you're still useful to me, because *you* can. Better than anyone else around here, no doubt."
"Really, now?" I asked somewhat sarcastically.
"Yes, really. There is literally no one else here. Whatever God put you on this dirt rock really did forget to stuff that thick skull with anything but sawdust, didn't they? Look around! We're stuck here."
"Oh yeah?"
"Yeah!"
"Then why don't you poof out of here, eh? You always do that."
He holds up his manacles.
"*These*," as he rattles them, "stop interdimensional travel. Which means I'm stuck here. No plane shift, no checking back into the old Hazbin Hotel, no 'I'll get you tomorrow, you dumb mortal'. Nothing. Now get off of me."
I get off of him, his slight hint of sulfur that hangs on his breath is starting to nauseate me. The cup got spilled. Fuck.
The charlatan groans as he gets up, slowly but surely. Non-magical weapons don't hurt him, but the whopping he got does appear to take the wind out of him. Pansy.
"Drop the disguise, hellcat." I mutter.
"Did they not teach you manners in your mother's brothel? Don't answer that, actually. I'll drop by and ask her after a few rounds, when I get out, he he."
"Could it really hurt you to be truthful for once?"
"Truthful? Goodness gracious, you just don't get it do you? I *am* truthful. All the time."
"Bullshit. That sword you gave Gonk was the last drop that overflowed the bucket when he lost his mind. You told him it would be good for him, a sword that guides one to the path of light."
"It could have been, had he had the discipline to wield it properly."
"You never told him that."
"That's called 'omission', not lying."
"Go fuck yourself."
"Your insults are as original as your presence is lovely. That is, not at all, in case you didn't get it."
"You want my help? Drop the disguise."
"What point would that have?"
"Don't be such a pussy. I've seen the real you already."
"Then you know that I am, in fact, a big hairy pussy."
"I will use you like a fucking battering ram."
"Bla bla bla, let it all out, eh? Whine about it. Life isn't fair, it sucks, if only you could just get what you want. Me dead, you free, your mother finally loving you and that redhead that you drag around suckling your toes before you go to bed every night. Grow up already. Focus. We need to get out of here."
"Disguise. Now. Then we talk."
"Ugh, *fine*."
He snaps his fingers, and a magical effect spreads from the tip of his finger that turns reverses his right hand into a left one facing the wrong way, turns into a tiger's paw, followed by the rest of his body. His head glamours into that of a large tiger's head, his real self. No wonder my mom always hated cats. Maybe she knew, somewhat, that this *thing* would be in my life somehow. She always knew things she shouldn't have.
"There."
"So why do you need me?"
"Quite simple.", he says as I watch his feline head pull and twist to speak in a way that made him look straight-up uncanny.
"I've already tried to escape a couple of times, including out of solitary confinement. But we both know that that doesn't really work on me, I'm a slippery bastard, it's true. They keep catching me though. Your lich has guards all over, and I'm pretty sure some of these undead suckers can detect life. My magic doesn't shield me from that sort of stuff."
"Poor you."
"Yes, yes. But, as my good friend Baphomet always says, 'violence is always the answer. If it's not, you're not using enough.'"
"But, Baphomet is a demon." I say to him, recalling one of Misty's many rants on demon lords during our travels.
He was taken aback at that one.
"My oh my, a good bout seems to get the gears turning! Well, it's true, he's not my friend, but in this case, he might have a point. Might, I'm not sure. But I'm willing to sacrifice you to try and find out. It's either that, or rot here in the basement until the Mr. Skellington drops by to hi and suck your soul out. Which would make me really, really sad."
"Would it?"
"Of course! I want your soul! I can assure you, Zariel will pay a *good* price to chuck you into the fray in the Blood War! I'll be *rich*, even *richer* than I already am!"
"And yet, here you are. With all your riches, I'm assuming?"
"Never put all your eggs in a single basket, dumb boy. *I* came here to bargain with the lich after he rejuvenated. Considering that we share and enemy, *you*, I figured he'd like some assistance in killing you. I came to strike a bargain, but it appears that the notion of him possibly needing help enraged him so much that he knocked me out, slapped these on me and stuck me down here with you until he could figure out what to do with you."
"You're an idiot."
"I'm a devil, my boy. I make deals and toy with lesser beings, it defines me as much as being a smelly meat bag defines you."
"Sounds like you got on the wrong end this time."
"For now. But the enemy of my enemy is my friend. Our interests align. Now, we can sit here and waits for you to die, which would be fun but rather tedious, *or* we take control of our own fates and try to break out properly. Like a bat out of hell. What do you say?"
"...You're going to help me escape?"
"If you feel that that is the term of the agreement, then yes, I will."
"I help you escape and you help me escape."
"In the name of my Lord, I do solemnly vow to free you from this rotting pit, even if it is the last thing I do. Let's shake on it!"
He stuck out his furry, reversed hand, a wicked smile plastered on his vile face. I don't see how he could squeeze himself out of this one.
"I'll hold you to that, but I'm not touching you unless it's to punch you."
"Hmm, my cleverness might be rubbing off on you. Let's not make that too much of a habit, shall we?" | 10 | The hero wakes up in a prison cell. The first thing he notices is his archenemy, locked up with him. "You took your time" he says to the hero. "Where are we?" the hero asks in response. The villain sighs. "Looks like someone resurrected the grand sorcerer whom you killed. We're in his dungeon." | 30 |
I can talk to animals. Bugs too. I know what you're thinking. 'You're like Doctor Dolittle, that's awesome!' 'You can change the world'. 'Save humanity'. That's all well and good and all. But sometimes, you just want to sit back, drink some raspberry lemonade, and watch things work themselves out.
"For the Allegiance!"
"FOR THE ALLEGIANCE!!"
Oh, well that was unexpected.
Let me put this in perspective for you that don't know. In my backyard there are two colonies of ants. Big ones. I actually have had to evict them from my house itself in the past. The hard way. Some prefer meat, some prefer sugar. Point is, if they don't want the smoke, they stay outside. We've established that.
However that doesn't mean they like each other. At all. One is the Allegiance Of the Flowerbed. How they know what a flowerbed is called, I have no clue either. The others are the Soldiers of Bark. That name tracks, because they live at the base of an oak tree.
And they've been beefing over turf ever since.
"SOLDIERS. ONWARD TO VICTORY!"
And here comes the other wave. Well that's not good. They actually met at the foot of the deck. Swarming over each other. Both above ground, and below in their tunnels. Random screams echoed up to me from down there.
And this required a second cup of lemonade.
"They're flanking us! Prepare yourselves!"
Well that's not good. Apparently the Allegiance is getting surprised somewhere over to my left. Then an upset...
"Gentleman, they have dug their grave."
More screaming came from closer to the tree. Apparently the Flowerbed counterattacked. And have separated some of the Bark from home.
Third cup of lemonade.
It's been about an hour, and it's gone quiet. Are they still fighting? Or did someone win? A lone sterling pecked at the soil some distance out.
"What are you looking at?" He chirped.
"A bird about to be killed by a cat."
He of course flew away as fast as his wings could carry. Birdbrain. The cat was in the house, I just don't like interruptions.
From what I can ascertain, both sides have tens of thousands of casualties. An unknown number dead. Countless wounded. And they're regrouping for another push as local predators such as that bird mop up the bodies. A small jumping spider waddled across the railing, humming a happy little tune to itself as it worked its way back home somewhere.
A group of sparrows worked further away. And a beetle ate several before being eaten by another sterling.
"Hey." Someone asked, with a tap on the sliding door. "Let me out there."
Of course the cat wanted to catch a bird.
"May, you just ate."
Back on topic, apparently both sides of our ant war have taken a moment of mourning. Well, about as much as ants can do. They're all about the collective you know. So it's less of a day of sorrow and more pouring one out for the squad.
They'll be back at it in a while. But I have to get more lemonade. I'm not completely cruel. I figure I'll sprinkle some old cereal I've been meaning to throw out in their territories.
It's an ancient tradition of theirs. They love Fruit Loops. It's only right I figure. | 360 | You can hear animals and insects talk. Instead of using your ability for any scientific purpose, you instead sit on your patio with a lemonade, and watch the two ant colonies go to war. | 944 |
I couldn't sleep. It was silly, I knew that but I swore I could hear a tap dripping somewhere. Rolling to the edge of my bunk, I looked down. Below me, Dex —my roommate— was snoring slightly. He'd returned earlier today covered in mud and babbling about things in the ground. It had ended with a shower and him swearing off shoes entirely. I don't know how he'll go about that in the winter, but hopefully, I will be able to watch.
There it was again. A steady drip, drip, drip. If I didn't do something about it soon, I would go insane just listening to it. Lowering myself off the top bunk, I padded to the door, turning the knob as quietly as possible. Dex snored behind me as I slipped into the corridor. The stone walls were damp, slick with water, and I shuddered. It was one of those nights when the walls became cold too fast. But the condensation wasn't dripping.
I moved down the hall, my stocking feet making no noise. When I reached the bathroom, I sighed. That was definitely where the dripping was coming from, but the door was open. That meant the janitor was probably already inside fixing the problem. According to the fourth rule, we weren't supposed to enter a bathroom with a dripping tap. We were to contact the janitor. But he'd apparently gotten here first. Just to satisfy my curiosity, I put my head through the door. The rest of my body followed without permission.
The janitor wasn't there. The bathroom wasn't there. I floated in water, yet somehow I could breathe. Around me, silver sparkles danced in the liquid like dust motes in a ray of sunshine. I swam forward, and tiny rainbow fish darted through the water, playing around my fingers. Unable to resist, I captured one in my hands and brought it closer to my face. It swam around the tiny prison my palms made, before looking up at me and winking.
Shocked, I let it go and raised my eyes. I was no longer alone. In front of me, an ethereal being floated. Not quite human, not quite fish, and definitely not a mermaid. At least not the ones you read about in stories.
"Are you the one?" The voice reached my ears, but it shouldn't have. Sound needs air to travel properly doesn't it? It was a sad voice, with a genuine longing threaded inside. I nearly nodded before I could stop myself.
"The one for what?" I said, my own words sounding strange, but still understandable. The face changed, looking sadder.
"If you are not the one, you will have to leave." It was a pronouncement of judgement, an absolute fact. And I knew at that moment that I had to be the one. How could I not be? I never wanted to leave this place, this beautiful underwater world. I had to be the one. Had to be. I didn't want to leave.
"I'm—"
"SHUT UP!" The gruff shout came from behind me, back where the door to the bathroom should be. It was the janitor, and I knew he would be reaching for me. But I didn't want to leave. I raised my voice louder.
"I'm the one!"
"Shit!"
"Good, then take my hand." The ethereal being reached out, the too-long fingers scattering silver sparkles. I stretched for it, trying to swim forward. But something held me back.
The janitor had grabbed the back of my pyjama shirt. I grabbed for the buttons, fumbling with them, needing to remove the shirt, needing to grasp the hand.
"It's a trick, boy. Close your eyes, get your head on straight. Stop fighting me!" As the janitor spoke, I started moving in reverse. He was pulling me back, back to that boring life in the air, and not underwater. Back to a world with nothing interesting, nothing important. I struggled, but it was as if I had no strength.
Finally, with a sucking squelch, we popped free of the bathroom. The janitor slammed the door shut, instantly attacking my face with a towel. He particularly swiped at my eyes and the rough terrycloth scraped across my eyelids.
"Ow, what was that for, I was the—wait..." I opened my eyes and looked up at the man. "What... what just happened?"
He smiled, a big sigh escaping from his lips. Relaxing he put his towel away before responding.
"It's a trap that attacks your vision, boy. It shows you something beautiful, something wonderful. For some reason, it needs you to believe the illusion before it takes you. But all the time it's waiting to pounce. Waiting there in that water that isn't water. And if you'd taken that hand..." He paused shaking his head. "Here, I'll show you. Carefully."
He swung the door wide, and I scrabbled backwards until my back hit the wall. Shaking his head, he gestured towards the bathroom.
"It can't get you unless you go in. Look. The charm doesn't work in the air." I stared at the water, his words echoing in my head. Charm, trick, glamour. It had felt so real. The water was still clear with silver sparkles. But floating just out of reach...
A large humanoid creature was there. Giant teeth protruded from the mouth, the hands webbed claws the size of my forearm. The mouth gnashed in frustration as it turned to swim away. I swallowed, as the janitor swung the door shut.
"Now that you've seen a nightmare in real life, I suggest you go back to your bed and dream some of your own. And stay out of the bathrooms tonight if you can help it. She's hungry. I can feel it." He raised his bucket and I started for my room. As I slipped into my bed, still shivering from the encounter, I knew I wouldn't sleep well tonight.
After all, I now understood why the school employed a blind janitor.
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Visit r/Mel_Rose_Writes for more stories | 10 | Make sure to close any tap firmly after washing your hands. If you hear a steady dripping sound out of a bathroom, do NOT enter and contact your dormitory's janitor. | 36 |
I panted, feet pounding the ground, hearing the hunters drawing closer. Ever since the Discovery life had changed for us. My thoughts shattered as a sharp crack echoed through the air. Instinctively I ducked, my foot catching on a lump in the ground. Stumbling I heard the whistle of a bullet fly over my head. Fortunately regaining my balance, I again dashed for the cover of the forest.
"Dang this one's fast. Cooter, circle around and see if you can cut it off."
Out of the corner of my eye, I saw movement to the right. Instantly I darted to the left, zigzagging across the remaining ground. My breath came in sobbing gasps but I dared not stop. The forest would provide safety, it had to be safer there. The thoughts spiralled in my head, urging me on, becoming the only things I could focus on. Get to the forest. The forest has to be safe.
Twigs snapped against my face, as I plunged into the bracken. From behind me, I could hear the hunters shouting at each other, but no clear words made it through. Still running, I didn't look back. That was the way they got you. You looked back, tripped and bumped your head.
But it turns out, I didn't need to look back to trip.
I tumbled, brambles tearing at my hands and face, the delicate bones in my left wing cracking with sharp bursts of pain. Thudding into the base of a large tree, I lay still for a second, trying to breathe. Dragging myself up, I limped further into the forest, no longer able to manage a run. But what I couldn't achieve with speed, maybe I could with stealth.
Carefully, I moved through the forest, quiet, making sure to leave no trail. The sun rose high in the sky, set in the west and still, I walked. My wing throbbed and still, I walked. The moon sailed through the sky and still, I walked. I couldn't stop. If I stopped, I'd have to think. And if I had to think... Finally, I fell to the ground, the muscles in my legs spent. Perhaps I would die here. Staring up at the dark leaves crisscrossing the starry sky, I sighed. At least it would be peaceful to die in this place. I closed my eyes and knew no more.
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A wet cloth sponging my brow brought me awake. I shot upright, banging my head on the rafters. Cloth, rafters, the smell of fire. A house! Panic flashed through me and I jumped out of the bed, gaze darting around the room. The woman —holding a cloth, but now drenched in water that had sloshed out of the bowl she'd been carrying—smiled gently.
"Now, that is entirely too much exertion for someone in your condition. Please, at least sit down. You have quite a few scrapes and I'm trying to clean them." She gestured to the bed, and still wary, I perched on the edge. Tutting a little, she refilled the bowl from a barrel in the corner. As she wiped the cloth across my face, I looked a little closer at the room.
It wasn't properly a house, more of a small, one-room cottage. The bed I was on was shoved against one wall, which explained the rafters. She continued cleaning the scrapes and bandaging them. I nearly relaxed, it was nice to be taken care of. But then she touched my wing.
Leaping away from her, I whimpered slightly. The wing hurt terribly. Her eyes which had widened at my sudden movement softened as she nodded.
"I understand. You don't want me to touch that. Would it help if I said I didn't want to eat it?" I stared at her unbelieving. Everyone loved our wings. They'd fast become the most sought-after delicacy in the world.
"I see. You don't believe me, do you? Well, maybe I should tell you a story. It's about a little girl. She was about eight years old, and she fell over the edge of a cliff. But, you see, she didn't die. She fell, but she landed without a scratch. Because of one of your kind. Because of an angel."
"I'm not that kind of angel." My voice sounded hoarse and raspy with disuse. "I'm a messenger."
"So that means I should eat you?" She raised her eyebrows at me, a trace of humour entering her voice. "I have a debt. Life for a life. And besides. I think the trade in angel wings is barbaric. You are sentient beings, after all." Silence fell as I stared at her. Did I trust her words? Could I trust a human? After what they had done to our race, after what they had done to me—no, I couldn't think about that, even though I could never forget it. But did I trust this human?
The fight went out of me a little. I had trusted her before I'd even known it. She'd found me unconscious, she could have taken what she wanted then. Instead, she'd brought me home and helped. I swallowed, trying to make my voice less scratchy.
"You can touch it." The words still scraped over my throat. Nodding, she moved to my side, gently feeling for the bones in my wing. I couldn't help the small sounds of pain as she moved them back into place. By the time she finished, tears had gathered at the corners of my eyes.
There was a loaded silence as she moved back in front of me. Sadness etched new lines in an already weathered face as she looked into my eyes.
"I'm so sorry."
And with those three words, she broke every wall I'd built around my grief. The tears rolled down my cheeks soaking into the fresh bandages. I collapsed to the ground, pulled my knees to my chest and wailed. All the pain, all the sadness, everything I'd held inside. Gasping for air, I drowned in the sorrow.
Two arms wrapped carefully around my shoulders, pulling me out of the ocean; bringing me to shore. The woman held me like she'd hold a crying child, rocking back and forth on the floor.
"There, there. Shhh. Let it out. Let it out."
Eventually, I ran out of tears and I pulled free from the embrace, turning to look at my comforter. Her own face was wet. It was the first time I'd seen a human cry for an angel.
Reaching out, I pulled her back into a hug, though this one was shorter than the first.
"Thank you. Thank you for caring. Thank you—" My voice cracked, and I stopped. She rose, pulling me from the floor as well.
"I know a little of what it's like." She rolled up her pant leg, revealing an artificial limb. "I lost something too. Though it was not taken from me as cruelly as yours was from you." I shuddered, her words bringing back the feel of a knife slashing at my right wing, the feel of the weight falling away from me.
Letting her pant leg go, she dusted her hands off.
"Well, after a good cry, the best thing is to make some tea. Would you like some?"
Still not able to talk, I nodded, sitting at the rough-hewn wood table. As she bustled around the cottage, I sighed.
Perhaps I could rest here for a while.
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Visit r/Mel_Rose_Writes for more stories! | 13 | Angels are real and their wings are quite the delicacy. | 48 |
Demons have a sense of these things. We can feel the heartbeats of mortals. Well, of anything with a heartbeat really. Comes in handy when you can't read the face of someone...or something, even animals heart rates raise when they feel a threat. But this woman. This stalwart statue of a woman before me, as she screamed all kinds of phrases and words even I in my five-thousand years never heard used together, her heart rate stayed just as steady as it had when we'd started. That. Now that scared me.
And it was hard as fuck to do something like that.
She, Ethel Graystone, pushed another bony finger into my equally bony chest. "If you think you'll take *my* boy just because some idiot I never met made a deal with you then you're just as dumb as you look!" Sprays of spittle flew from her mouth, to which I just sat and let happen as wiping it proved futile after the first few tries.
Maybe she was senile and couldn't even tell what I was. Or maybe she had some sort of defect where her heart didn't beat right anymore. I tuned in once more to that sack of flesh in her chest. *Ba-dum......Ba-dum*
Then I gave it my all, channeling everything I had into a grand display of power. Horns shot forth from my head and curled into gnarly shapes. Heat pulsed behind my eyes as I could feel flames licking at the back of my sight. Even my teeth, which had already been sharp before, shot out even further from my mouth. The small boy positioned behind granny cowered, but she did not move. Her heart kept that same consistent, stubborn beat. *Ba-dum......Ba-dum*
She looked at me without change, stared passed the fire in my eyes and straight through me. I was sure in that moment if I had a soul the old meat bag would have captured and eaten it.
She called my bluff. There wasn't much more in the tank but to kill her outright, and lord (literally) knew that an unauthorized killing before someones time was not worth the punishment. Just last week some poor collector had tried it, been having her eylids plucked since.
The granny let out one final tirade: "Get lost you unholy, trash filled, hell spawn! You will not take my boy!"
"I...my mistake. I must have the wrong boy. You go about your day then."
With my tail between my legs, once again literally, I left the way I came. | 176 | The demon was shaking with anxiety and fear from the wrath of this woman standing before him screaming. "I don't give a rats ass what contact you made! I legally adopted Daniel 6 years ago, he's MY son! you can't just take him as her first born, are you crazy?!" she sputtered. | 373 |
"Well, it's not like I have a fucking registry, Mike!" Lucifer sweeps his hair back against his head and sighs, spinning the ice in his glass, "Only conservatives say it's my domain. I don't think Jesus taught about the transgender community... though that would be the most *salacious* episode of VeggieTales."
"Well, what do we do?! We agreed on one son. You *took* one son. Now there's another!"
"Yeah, but you can't just show up in *my fucking club* and, what? Expect me to give up Junior!" I'm stunned for a moment. *He named my kid after himself?* I remember who I'm working with, and the feeling passes. "Nice of you to immediately accept him, though. I thought Catholic school would've trained acceptance out of you."
"Acceptance is part of love. You can't love someone if you can't accept them. And I've always loved Theresa. I'll keep loving Terry." Something clicks. "Love. That's what we'll do."
"Michael, you're a wonderful man, but I need thorough foreplay before we ca--"
"No. No, think about it, Lu. What do people do when they love each other and decide they want to spend the rest of their lives together?"
"They get married. And more recently, they get divorced. And then murder their spouse in a custody battle and end up down he-- Custody. We can adopt each other's children. We'd have joint guardianship. We'd fulfill our little deal."
"And *then* we'd get a divorce. We'd file for joint custody so we *continue* to keep the deal so there's no cosmic blowback if I meet someone. We'll even have Raguel preside over everything so it's fair. You'll have to kiss ass for it, but I'm sure he'd come."
"Michael, you're a genius. I knew there was a reason I'm marrying you," He stands, sweeps back his coat, "I'll try to find a lawyer downstairs to make a nice pre-nup. And another one for the divorce proceeding. You'll have to find three hours you can be free sometime next week."
"Three hours? We're not doing a real ceremony, Lucifer, we're just signing some papers."
"No, we're getting married. Remember, I'll need *thorough* foreplay when we consummate." | 1,228 | Your oldest child, who had been your daughter has informed you that she has transitioned to male. Problem is, you promised your first born son to the devil and his younger brother has been in Hell for years. This could be complicated. | 3,396 |
Echoes of the boots on concrete reverberate down the hallway. I can hear her coming towards me a mile away before she would ever be in sight. The steps and gait are distinct. One of the few sounds I can hear other than the machines and fluids surrounding my floating body. Before she reaches me, a deep voice besides me calls out to her.
“Madam Sirska. I was not expecting you this early. There is little to report since this morning.”
As always, she does not respond and continues walking towards me. I see nothing but mere plays of light behind my eyelids but this routine is as predictable as she has always been.
With a final clack of the boots, she stops in front of me. Even now, I can see her standing perfectly straight with her unflinching gaze and staring at me. Military life does that to a person.
There is a heavy silence as the physician next to me fidgets. She is silent and not asking for a report. Now that is unusual. His nervous energy seeps into me. While I cannot voluntarily move, I wonder if any part of my body reacts. She eventually speaks to the nervous Doctor.
“Doctor Miko, can we wake him up? Can he move?”
After a slight hesitation, he answers. “N...No. We shouldn’t. The recovery isn’t finished. The muscles and tissues have reconnected but there will be severe atrophy. He risks ripping if we resuscitate him now. We shouldn...” He was cut off from whatever gesture she made.
She asked again. “Can we wake him? I did not ask if we should. The people are starting to believe him dead. They are beginning to question the Emperor’s immortality. They must see that he lives.”
My dear Sirska. My second-in-command and ever loyal to my Empire. She has the perfect mind for administrative work. During these moments, I do rather regret not picking someone with a few more critical thinking skills though. Thankfully, I had the foresight to provide the kind Doctor with authority over my resuscitation. Something she would never try to override.
Miko responds with a stronger tone behind his voice. “We Cannot Resuscitate Him.” Emphasizing each word. “The people do not follow the Immortal Emperor. They follow the Indomitable and Untouchable Emperor that cannot be killed. We cannot show them... this. His immortality has never being in question, his power is.”
I fear she doesn’t know that I can hear her. I doubt the Doctor would bother telling her. He informs only of the progress of my recovery, nothing more. If she did, she likely wouldn’t be grinding her teeth so audibly in front of me. She tries to hide it, but I can tell that particular brand of frustration from her, always. The stress building up from being wrong and acknowledging the fact.
After a long silence, she finally sighs and does what she so rarely does. She asks him for advice. “Doctor Miko. So what do I do? How do I keep the Empire together while he recovers? I need to do something. I cannot. I cannot wait and let his Empire crumble while his people ask for the Emperor’s Revenge. The City for his Mercy and Benevolence. His enemies constantly pointing out his absence. What can I do?”
I do love these few exchanges. If only she would ask and listen to the kind Doctor more often. Even after explaining that he understands my mind better than anyone, she still rarely agrees with him. Pity that.
After writing down some final measurements on his clipboard, Doctor Miko puts down his pen. I know he is not even looking at her. But he answers her anyway in that nervous fidget he has, the former confidence gone away.
“The Emperor would want you to be who you have always been. You are waiting for his recovery to lead his armies. You don’t need his command to know what he would do. Go out there with his armies and mow down his enemies. Burn those who denounce him. Trample those who detonated the nuclear device. Kill any who doubt his mercy. Reward those that remain loyal even now.”
With a slightly more confident tone, he continues. “Madame Sirska. You are General Sirska. Bloodhound of the Untouchable Emperor and only the Emperor himself is more feared and respected than you. You want to keep his Empire together until his recover? Stop being the administrator you’ve been for the last decade and start cutting crimson swaths like you know you want to.”
I don’t need eyes to see the grin on her face. I don’t a mouth to smile. Doctor Miko knows me, and he knows her. He also knows what she should have known days after my body was incinerated to almost nothing. She has a head for her administrative duties, but she is my General. My Bloodhound. And I can finally hear her showing her fangs. | 86 | History teaches of the 12 immortals who rule the empires of Earth. When a nuclear bomb explodes in the capital city, the world held its breath waiting for the emperor to reappear, unscathed and seeking revenge. There’s been no sign for a month now, and the balance of power shifts uneasily. | 233 |
War...war never changes...
Unless War falls in love. Then War becomes an insufferable, lovestruck twit.
And War had had fallen in love. That was plain to see. Pestilence and Famine had watched War foroe thirteen skirmishes, six fire fights, and two sieges. Two! Making matters worse, he had picked the absolute worst time in all of Human civilization to play hooky--right at the start of the Apocalypse, the one time of eternity when they *all* needed to be on point.
War, was not on point. He had left the point to prance around on flowers like a lovestruck gibbet.
Pestilence and Famine were sitting at their office table, commiserating. Two boxes of cold pizza sat on the table--one for each. Famine had demanded separate pizzas, one which she ate herself purely out of stress. As she ate, Pestilence drummed impatiently on the table
"Did you hear Loverboy managed to get a date?" he said.
"No," hissed Famine. "And I'd rather not. It'll just be more work for the both of us."
"You know it." Famine sighed and gorged down another slice of pizza. It shriveled and disappeared as though erosion had withered it away in seconds. "Poor Death. "Every time I hand in one of War's assignments he just has this look."
"Oh, I can imagine."
"I don't know how he manages that disappointed look with a fleshless skull, but gods I just feel sorry for him."
Pestilence tapped his gnarled, pock-marked fingers on the table.
"What if I told you that...his date may not go as planned tonight?"
Famine looked up. "How so."
Pestilence let the silence drip like a weeping sore. "I may have called in a favor from some friends...er...outside the company."
Famine's skeletal eyes blazed.
"You didn't."
"I did." Pestilence grinned. "Naughty me."
"What are they gonna do?"
"Oh, nothing much, really. You know, War's paramour is human. Fragile things, humans. They break so easily. Death might just need a reminder to not play with such fragile toys."
Famine plucked a pizza crust between he fingers. It withered in her hands down to a wizened, dusty swig. She gave the crust a squeeze until it snapped like dry bones with a smile that could have starved a nation.
------------
Far away in the Material world, War's heart pulsed. He had spent hours picking out his avatar--clean, fresh, not threatening, but still with masculine power. He spent another few hours rehearsing his first hello.
" 'Hey good-looking'...no no that's stupid...'what's shaking, bacon?'...no not that either'..."
HI
War jumped. He turned around to see the walking visage of Death, cloaked in black robes, his scythe dripping with the ichor of a thousand battles. In his other hand was a caramel macchiato.
TRY THAT. NICE, SIMPLE. GETS THE JOB DONE.
"Like you, eh?" War grinned.
YES.
Death took a sip of his sugary coffee drink.
I'M HAPPY FOR YOU. ANNOYED, BUT HAPPY.
"I know, I know," War turned back to his mirror. "But if this is really the apocalypse, then I'm not gonna get another chance, am I?"
MOST LIKELY NOT
"I'm glad that you have my back on this, Death. It really means a lot to me."
AND I ALWAYS WILL. YOUR COWORKERS HOWEVER, MAY NOT.
War spun around. In his eyes were the flashes faraway artillery fire.
"What do you mean?"
Like a looking specter of the inevitable, Death pointed his biodegradable straw out a window. In the distance, the sky was beginning to spiral and crack. Thousands of holes gasped and throbbed as though atmosphere as though preparing to birth a sky full of maggots.
"No," growled War. His voice rumbled like the crush of tank treads. "No-no-no! Pestilence, you dickhead!""
IM SORRY. YOUVE BEEN DERELICT AND IT HURT THEIR FEELINGS. HONESTLY I CAN SEE THEIR POINT.
"Well they could have talked with me! I would have--"
WOULD YOU?
War ground his teeth. If he was being honest with himself, no, he probably wouldn't have listened. But he was too angry to be honest with himself--his own coworkers had gone and sabotaged his one date. Angry barely began to describe his feelings.
From the wormholes, tentacles began to wriggle from the either, dripping impossible slime.
"Fine. If that's how it's gonna be. He want's to play games? OK. Lets play some games."
WAR...WE HAVE WORK TO DO
"I know! But this is different...this is..." he paced around the room like a caged tiger. "Give me some time, OK?"
YOU KNOW MY POLICY ON THAT.
War sighed. "I know. I just--"
Death took a look at his caramel macchiato. It was mostly empty. He gave his cup a tilt--iced coffee poured into the cup as though it were sand from an hourglass.
BUT I WILL FINISH MY DRINK FIRST.
War's eyes lit up. With a grateful nod, he quickly took off his avatar and changed back into his work clothes--the metaphorical embodiment of humanity's most destructive impulses. His hands dripped with blood and his teeth were stained with gunpowder. In his hand grew an enormous sword, stamped in gunmetal steel, its edges blazing with the fire of gun that had ever been shot, ready to leap into the fray of battle...
...but instead took out a cell phone, ridiculous and small in his enormous, blood-soaked hands.
"Hey there!" his voice changed back to that of his avatar. "Listen, I'm gonna be a little bit late do you...yeah, you saw them too? I'm sorry about that, my coworkers being a dick...yeah. Yeah, I know, he's just jealous I think...it's fine, I just gotta deal with it. Can you wait? If not I...great! Yeah, no worries, I'll call you as soon as I'm done...or you'll see a lot of dead abominations whichever comes first...OK, gotta go, love you."
What?! War smacked himself in the face, smearing his forehead with blood.
Death, who had been in the middle of a long sip from his drink, suddenly stopped.
"Shoot! I'm sorry I didn't mean that it just...well I do mean it I just...you...you do?" War giggled. "You just made my day...look, I really gotta go. But...I'll call you soon, OK?"
War hung up and, with the smile of a man lost in a wonderful dream, leapt into the fray of battle, grinning from ear to tattooed, grime-drenched ear.
Death watched him go. He took a look at his coffee--he had already had quite a bit to drink. After hesitating for a bit, he turned it upside down. Fresh macchiato filled the cup once more.
THATS GOOD COFFEE, said Death. | 11 | You finally did it! you asked out your crush and she said yes!, and neither the apocalypse, rampaging demons, or the rise of the old ones from the deep are gonna stop you from making it to your 7'o clock dinner date! Because by god- this is going to be your best day ever. | 39 |
"Unionizing?" the King asked with a puzzled expression on his face.
"Uh," the noble wiped his sweaty brow in frustration, "it appears they do not find their state of living in your kingdom to be..." he paused, making a nervous cough into his closed fist, "...adequate."
"Their state of LIVING?!" the King boomed, fury in his eyebrows. His hands clenched against his royal thrown and the veins his forehead became swelled. "They are BEASTS! They are not human. They do not deserve the luxury. They are lucky we do not slay them for sport!"
The noble took a step back, sweat now pouring down his wrinkled face. "I-I agree, Milord! Soldiers have been sent to quiet the rabble but they have all stopped working and refuse to continue until their..." the noble gulped and scratched the side of his neck, "...demands have been met."
Silence filled the royal chamber. The tension was like a thick wool blanket as it beamed across the halls, filling the other nobles in the hall with fear.
"DEMANDS?!" thundered the King. He stood up, and with a quick stride, smacked the goblets and assorted trays off the nearby table with his fist. Dishes clattered to marble floor, echoing across the chamber with a loud crash.
The king stood in fury. He felt his face flush red with rage. Who did these beasts think they were? He was a generous king who let them live in his kingdom so long as they provided work. He could have been hurtful, like other kingdoms were and had his iron clad soldiers slaughter the beasts. He could have sent heroes from his kingdom to kill the beasts leaders until the remaining ran.
As he thought about it, he wondered if he could trick the beasts. Surely they were not as smart as he, the king. What if he let them speak, bargained with them for small freedoms and in return, demanded they increase production. Would he be able to make more money from his mine? Could he tell the little goblin wenches if they wanted to have such luxuries, they needed to sew faster?
The king started to calm down as a wicked grin appeared upon his face. "Let them in then," he said, sitting back down on his throne.
The noble next to him was startled after having one second been a target of the King's fury and the next being politely asked to let in the cause of such fury into the presence of the King.
"Y-Yes, my king!" the noble proclaimed, scrambling to his feet and racing for the door.
The noble grabbed the door and let in the small group of union representatives. First trolled in the Fae who radiated in a green, white hue with beautiful wings adorned along their back. Then the goblin, short, small and green wearing no clothing but a tattered pirate hat. Next was the Orc who was tall, with shoulders as wide as a horse and tusks protruding from its mouth. Lastly, a thin lizard like creature, a dragonkin, covered in muscly red scales with cat-like eyes darting in various directions.
The King smiled. "Welcome, friends!" he proclaimed. "I hear we have a bit of an unfortunate disagreement," he held his hands in the air welcoming them forward. "Not such a disagreement that cannot be mended, surely. We have a long standing agreement after all. Why spoil things after all these years, no? What is you are after?"
The Orc spoke up, his voice deep and guttural. "My name Glum-Glum. Not happy working in mines so long. Mines stink. Sweaty. Tired. Glum-glum not spring chicken. Glum-glum want pay to stay home. Glum-glum want retirement."
The King guffawed and had a deep belly-aching laugh. "You want to RETIRE?"
The Orc snorted but turned his head towards his compatriot. Next, the Fae spoke. "My name is Ellovella. My kind are malnourished being so far away from the forest. We require sunlight and time spent basking in the luminescence of the moonlight. We clean gems by the river day after day but rarely get to see the forest. We want vacation. Time away to bask in light of the one true spirit."
The king could feel his blood started to boil again. Just listening to these beasts was making his head hurt. He started to speak but was interrupted by the Goblin.
"Name's Chumbly. Hands tired from sewing leather all day. Look at this," he said and pointed at his hat. "Only hat. No pants. Dingleberries blowing in breeze all day. Never have time to make clothes for self. Can't tell whose job is what. Confused who sew. Who wash? Need uniforms to work. Make job easier. Dingleberries warm."
They wanted uniforms? The king sat with his mouth agape. Since when did things become so soft? Why were these beasts not beaten in the streets? What did he care for the shriveled one's dingleberries?
The dragonking moved forward and a smooth, snake like voice came from his large jaws. "SSSir, my name is El'Varkath. We count the treasuressss your sssssoldiers and heroes bring home under the watch of your guard. We sssssee how much you make and we receive none. For everyday we work, we want 1% of how much we count. Treasuressss are important to dragonkin and being sssssurrounded by treasuressss prolongs our lifespan. We want a 401K."
The King paused, closed his eyes and took a deep breath. He stood up and after a thought realized there was no hope for these beasts. Their demands were too high, too ridiculous and he realized they could not be bargained with.
Just as he was about to speak, the Orc interrupted, "Before speak, no kill us," he said, an odd smile coating his face.
The King laughed, "Why should I not you despicable beats? Who do you think you are coming in here demanding things of me when you are just lowly creatures fit for slaughter?"
"Glum-Glum see you. Know what you do. Pretty lady. Blonde lady. Night time sneak away. Glum-Glum tell Queen."
The king's jaw dropped. Silence echoed through the chamber as the nobles stared in disbelief at the rag-tag group of beasts.
The king cleared his throat, closed his eyes and with a barely contained rage he uttered, "Please get these fine specimens some pants, as their dingleberries are creating an odor," motioning to the goblins. "Requests granted." | 11 | "Milord, I have grave news, the fae, dragons, goblins and all other races under our yoke-" "What!? They are cooperating and rebeling against us?!" "Worse milord. They are unionizing." | 49 |
“Prichard, did the report come back from our colleagues in the Department of Arcana?” Kalash, a balding man with a prominent chin, asked.
A young blond man swiped across his tablet screen until he found the desired document.
“Yes, Professor. They dated the pages to 3078 BME. This coincides with the era when the Joiner of Worlds was active.”
Kalash continued stroking his clean-shaven chin.
He settled into his heavy cushioned seat crafted from rich mahogany, retrieving a mahogany pipe from his mahogany desk as he placed it into his mouth and puffed air.
“Sir,” Prichard interrupted Kalash’s thoughts, “I don’t really understand the translated text.”
“Hm? It was a sloppy field translation. I’ll be the first to admit I’m not well-versed in pre-Unity ancient Netherworld languages.”
“I asked Kylia about this–”
“You showed her the journal?”
Kalash was out of his chair and his pipe fell from his mouth, bouncing off his desk with a wooden clunk.
“”O-only the parts you said were too vague to draw any conclusions!”
“Still a risk sharing this with outsiders before we are ready to publish!”
“I’m sorry, Professor. I just thought Kylia could help with translation.”
Sitting back down and recovering his pipe, Kalash took another deep breath.
“Then what? What did she have to say?”
“She said that the writer doesn’t sound like a native speaker. The idioms feel forced, like someone was helping the author translate the literal words.”
“Is that right?”
In between a pretend puff of air, Kalash said, “That would support the passages we found further into the text.”
“About being from another world?”
“Not just another world,” Kalash corrected Prichard, “You remember those diagrams in the journal?”
In response, Prichard pulled up a sketch of a cylinder that had multiple wires and tubes attached to it.
“Like this one?” he asked.
“Yes. If I am not mistaken, the wires that run into the box on the side there are part of the power supply. As far as we know, the earliest example of electricity in the mortal realms was 1792 ME.”
“Could it not have come from the Divineworld?”
“Those uptight deities?”
Kalash noticed Prichard’s involuntary recoil.
“Sorry, Prichard, I didn’t mean you, specifically. But you know how in those times deities and demons alike were transfixed on their magical superiority. I don’t think this could be Divineworld or Netherworld.”
“I understand, sir.”
“Now about those idioms, I didn’t catch them. What did Kylia identify?”
“Right! I have them written here actually…”
After a few swipes on the tablet, Prichard found his page.
“Here’s one: ‘The vessel has undocked’. Kylia says that in the sentence's context, the author isn’t referring to an actual ship or a real dock. She says that it sounds like the writer had a lot of regret over something.”
“It’s too late,” Kalash said.
“Professor?”
“It’s an archaic form of a saying in ancient Netherworld common speech. Funny I didn’t notice that. I must have thought the vessel the hero referred to was that machine he claimed to have brought him to the demon realms.”
“So it’s possible the hero was from an isolated demon tribe?”
“No, that saying’s earliest use was at least three hundred years later, in the ‘Poem of Jade Clouds and Zero Bells’. It’s more probable that he was from an advanced mortal realm.”
“A wild domain?” Prichard asked.
“Either that, or a primordial one,” Kalash replied.
“Could that even be possible, sir? I mean most legends about the Joiner of Worlds say that he was called to service by an archdemon.”
“We are historians and scholars, Prichard. We seek to find truths behind myths, not to embellish them.”
“Of course, sir. I just think that it’s a bit of a coincidence that the hero himself wrote about being from another world, and one without magic at that.”
“Pure mundane worlds would indeed be out of interaction range. Whoever brought him to this world would have to be powerful.”
That sheepish look came over Prichard’s face again.
“What now, Prichard? You showed her more, didn’t you?”
The young man nodded.
“Sorry, Professor.”
Kalash sighed yet another time.
“So, what more did you share with her?”
“It’s one of the later passages, sir. The ones that appeared to have at least two other writers.”
“Oh yes, the celestial script. I would caution against assuming the second Netherworld script was from a different author just yet.”
“Got it, sir.”
“Well? What did Kylia say to those?”
“Right! There are records of deities who were active during the demon incursion into the Divineworld around the time of the Joiner of Worlds. We think, I mean, Kylia thinks, that this supports the folk traditions among Hinterland Divineworld residents that the Joiner of Worlds had two companions with him, at least one of whom was a deity.”
“Prichard.”
“Sir?”
“We are scholars and historians.”
“Yes, sir. We are.”
“We will not get funding from our usual sponsors if we go this route.”
“I’m sorry, sir. I’ll be more careful from now on–”
“What I mean, Prichard, is that we’ll be looking for some other collaborators from here. Have you shared this with anyone other than Kylia?”
“No sir.”
“Good. Next time you see her, invite her over, see if she’s interested in an expedition. And you, Prichard, can I count on you?”
“I’ll go anywhere you do, Professor.”
“Good, good.” | 11 | They finally find the legendary hero's journal, where it's rumored to reveal his secrets. There's a sketch of advanced machinery, a vehicle that can transport large cargo. "This brought me here," he wrote. "I come from a world where magic did not exist, and humanity did not have a chosen one." | 36 |
Just when you though advertising was everywhere already, a new form of ads were discovered, they appear in your dreams. These cannot be forced on you, you sign up for the program and get paid if their product does well. Being opt-in, what's the problem? So, i signed up. I can use the extra cash. It's not like it's going to affect me too much. But then it did. I started buying more brand name items instead of the cheaper store brands. I've got to pay more attention!
It's been a while. I've used enough points to reach level 5, and now i can assign slots to different commercials. Finally! I prefer the entertaining ads at night and the softer ones in the morning, which i can't believe isn't the norm anyway. Since i made the switch, the mornings have been better, and i always know what i want for breakfast. Well, that's better than uncertainty. It's weird when you know your being affected. But the money keeps coming in. This really does supplement my income. I have no idea how they profit off this.
I'm at level 8 now. There are only two more levels above this one, and even now, it's invite only. You have to have proven to sleep well and be an influencer to get invited to this rank. The brands start talking to you directly, and they take feedback on what they show. My gosh, i'm sleeping my way to success! I've even quit my day job and focus on dreams and promotions now. But to get to level 9, i'll have to promote more. I've heard others double-book their dream slots and some how sort it out in the morning. I've done it twice so far, and it was workable. Just a little more.
Actually, there's the email i've been waiting for. I've been accepted to level 9! Everyone in the forums say i'll need to start double-booking 50-75% of my slots now. They also recommend seeing a dream therapist so it doesn't affect me negatively. That's easy enough. I've been seeing a therapist since level 5 anyway. That's when she started advertising in my dreams. I feel so much better now. | 13 | Companies can now advertise in your dreams. Unfortunately for you, two wildly different companies have occupied the same "time slot" in your subconscious and are now fighting each other for your "dream attention" | 111 |
"Madam President, it is my duty to inform you that Extra-Terrestrial Beings are real and present on our planet." the General stated nonchalantly.
On the surface, President Helen Rodriguez, newly elected, maintained an air of serene composure. But deep inside her stomach she felt a knot of fear and anxiety. And perhaps some excitement. She had so many questions bubbling in her mind. *Aliens are real*. *What else was being hidden? Flat Earth? Cryptids? Reptilian Deep State? I have to remain presidential, exude authority*, President Rodriguez thought to herself. There were only five people in the room, including herself. Still, word traveled fast in DC circles and she would not allow herself to be undermined at the beginning of her Presidency by showing weakness in front of her military chiefs.
"First of all, what are their intentions? Are they friend or foe?" the President asked calmly.
General Galloway, Chairman of the Joint Chiefs of Staff responded, "Overall, Madam President, I'd have to say that they are neutral. They wish us no direct harm, as long as we comply with their overriding directives."
"Overriding directives?"
"Yes Ma'am. We are not to interfere with their activities or publicly disclose their existence. Occasionally they will provide additional, specific directives."
The president furrowed her brow, "What do you mean by additional directives?"
"Usually they ask us to build things. The Pyramids of Giza, Stonehenge. We're not sure if they are simply landmarks that help them understand our geography, tests of human civilization or some kind of advanced technology."
President Rodriguez wiped the beads of sweat that were forming on her forehead. *Was everything she knew a lie?*
Her next question came out as barely a whisper, "Are they still testing us? Are there any specific directives that we are expected to follow?"
The General, speaking as if he was discussing a golf weekend, continued, "Well Ma'am, about 40 years ago they forced the Chinese government to release a highly contagious alien virus on its population. The virus quickly spread around the world, infecting millions and disrupting global trade and travel. We aren't sure why but we believe it was a test of the fragility of human civilization."
Another perky voice jumped in, this time a woman sitting next to the General. The President recognized her as DARPA chief, Tanya Rashid. "Madam President, if I may?"
General Galloway's glare at the DARPA chief was not lost on the President. Normally, she would make a witty comment to diffuse the situation but today was anything but normal. Worried that her voice might reveal her fear, the President simply nodded at Rashid.
"Thank you Ma'am. I theorize that we are some kind of entertainment for advanced alien species. It seems that they are watching us and sending challenges to see how we react for their amusement. If you recall the firestorm anomalies of 203-"
The General cut off the DARPA chief, "I think we should stick to the facts. No need to overburden the President with wild theories at this time."
Rashid sunk back into her seat as the General once more took charge of the room.
"I'm sorry Ma'am. I know this is a lot to take in." he said reassuringly. President Rodriguez did not feel reassured. For what felt like an age, the President simply sat there in silence, digesting what she had heard. She could feel there eyes gazing at her. Something felt off about their shared intensity but she supposed that they were all aware of something that she was only just beginning to understand.
After a while, she spoke once more, "So... um... what, I mean, um, how long have we known this..." she managed to squeeze out. She could taste a bitter dryness in her mouth.
Perhaps noticing the change in her demeanour, the General handed her a file. "This file contains a summary of most what we have confirmed. As far as we know they made contact with the Sumerian Empire around 3,000 BC."
The President's hands shook as she flipped through the file. First with fear and shock and then with anger. Every step of the way, every significant event in recorded history, these ETs were somewhere in the picture. "They've been here since the dawn of civilization, involved in major events throughout history and you dare keep this to yourself," her voice was rising as she spoke, "the public has a right to know!" She was yelling by the time she finished. | 137 | “Are you telling me we’re in the middle of an alien invasion?” “They’re not invading, they’ve invaded. It’s over. They’ve had control over this planet for centuries.” | 615 |
I had been living at home for 2 years. College was over, I was broke, and it turns out nobody wants to hire recent grads with minimal experience in anything. So there I was back in my old room, laying on my old bed staring up at the Zelda poster I got on my 10th birthday.
I quickly learned that Mom did not appreciate the slob lifestyle I had adopted at college. My room reached a critical point where she drew a line and said enough was enough and it was time to clean it. Great.
"You've got boxes of papers going as far back as elementary school, how about you sort some of this junk?"
She had a point. It was junk. I kept so much stuff thinking one day I'd want to flip through it all again and relive my glory days but the truth is now in my mid-20s I couldn't care less about those old papers. The first essay I got an A+ on in AP Literature? No thanks. Garbage. My Chemistry final exam where I heroically got above an 88% to secure an A? I remembered meticulously calculating the score I needed - which just happened to be an 87% - and the triumph I felt when I got the needed grade. But again, the thrill of those memories had faded. and now the exam was just a sad, tattered piece of paper that meant very little to me. Garbage. First note I ever received from a girl? Blegh, Emily G. G as in garbage, am I right? Garbage. Garbage, garbage, garbage. And more garbage.
Then a 1980's prime Mike Tyson body shot hit me.
It was that box. *I had forgotten all about it*. When Joey gave it to me and told me not to open it for 15 years I smiled and nodded thinking he was nuts, but something about the intensity in his eyes compelled me to do as I was asked. Rather than be tempted by it later I stuffed it into my closet a few weeks after receiving it. That was around the same time Joey had disappeared.
"August 1, 2020" it read. I had written the awaited date on there incase I forgot and it's a good thing I did.
"Well shit, that's today!" I exclaimed excitedly. What a find! Thanks, Mom.
I grabbed the little box. It was a navy box, square-shaped, and its angular corners had dulled a bit with time and while jostling with other bits of junk that had accumulated in my closet. It was heavier than I remembered, too. Gosh, what a find indeed.
I didn't open it right away. More than any of those old papers or mementos, something about this box really took me back. Maybe it's because it was the last time I saw Joey before he disappeared. Maybe it's because for several days I just stared and stared at this goofy box and wondered what was in it. Was this some elaborate joke that old Joey never got to see the pay-off for? Shit. He was a good kid. I wonder what happened to him. Sucks.
A single piece of yellowed tape held the lid on. It was brittle now and broke effortlessly as I ran my finger through it. Alright, Joey, let's see what you've got for me after all this time.
It was a roll of film, like from an old camera. That's it?
Naturally I was too curious to wait and take it to the store to have it developed the old-fashioned way, so I just held it up to the afternoon light coming in through my window. My eyes took a second to adjust to the images as the colors were inverted on that amber roll, and it took me a few moments to puzzle it together. It looked like some guy sitting on a floor in a room.
Oh shit, that looks like my room.
Oh shit, that looks like *me*! In my room...*right now*!
But what? The contents of this box are over a decade old so how can this be? Maybe he took an old film of me or something and I just happened to be - nope. Nope, nope, nope. There I am, even in the stills I am yanking a reel of film held aloft and looking at it just like I am now. I've got the same striped t-shirt on, too. Based on the angle of the images there must be a camera or something in the upper left corner of my...
The f is *that*?! When was that put there?
Sure enough there was a small silver device, about half the size of a cell phone, mounted in the upper corner of my room. A single blue light coming out of it. *Who put that up there?*
I rise to my feet, still tugging the film across my hands and trying to make sense of every frame. I rise to my feet in the images simultaneously. *What is going on...*
I stagger a bit in shock and start to pace about my room, and my double in the reel does the same. We're moving and shifting about together as if we're dancing. Sometimes it seems like my movements are a second ahead of his - er, mine - and sometimes it seems like I'm a second or two behind. It's so disorienting. I can't make sense of any of this. I'm pulling and pulling and the reel is nearing its conclusion. There is not much film left. I've almost exhausted all the images. *What is this supposed to show me?*
I pace, and pace, and frantically examine everything and then I see it. A man bursts through my door. I don't recognize him. He stands over me, on the floor with the film, and for several frames we simply look at each other. If we are exchanging words it's unclear to me from such a small image. Then he's drawing what looks to be a weapon from his massive coat.
I stop. I don't want to see the rest. See my own execution, surely that's where this is headed. I look at my closed door in terror. What if this is real? What if it's a warning? *What am I supposed to do, Joey?*
"I need to get out of here" I whisper in disbelief. I don't dare do anything as obvious as exit through the very door my assassin may be waiting at. I don't dare call out either.
The window!
I run to the window near the foot of my bed and lift it up. It's a long way down but maybe if I can hang on from the window sill and drop the rest of the way from the second story it won't be so bad. It won't be so bad, right? Better than what awaits me here, anyway.
I execute my plan and am dismayed by how out of shape I am. Now in my mid-20s and several years removed from a gym it is harder to hold myself up than I thought it'd be. Turns out all those guys in the movies have the strongest fingers in the world. I spend precious few seconds of my limited energy inching around by my fingertips to get into an ideal position, and then I hear it. A sound from inside my room. A loud, clattering a bang, as if a door has been blown off its hinges that makes me startle. I look up into what little I can see of my room from my position and there's a shadow moving along the ceiling.
It's got to be my executioner. Just like in the images. *Joey, how did you know?*
Now that my foe is upon me I have no choice but to drop, so I drop. He hadn't seen me yet but surely he'd notice the open window within a few seconds.
I land with an unflattering thud that causes me to sprawl out on the lawn but I seem unhurt. I scramble to my feet, a flurry of grass stains and sweat, just in time to see a silver car pull up and screech to a halt mere steps away from me in front of our house. The passenger door swings open.
"Get in! Come on, come on!" a voice from inside calls out as I fumble my way over to the vehicle. I'm not thinking clearly, all I want to do is get away from the house so I don't even question who is in the car.
"Glad to see you know how to follow directions!" the driver calls out again as I'm just a few feet from the passenger side. "Looks like you're the only one who did! Now get in here!" It sounds like a kid. It sounds like...Joey. | 1,233 | Your friend gives you a box, asking you to keep it closed for 15 years, before disappearing without a trace. Today, the 15 years is up. | 2,044 |
I wave away the acrid smell of burning cloth and flesh. It causes my eyes to water, I have to ignore it. The court cannot see any weakness in me. Not today. We're past a knives edge, there are too many of them. They’ve attacked surrounding villages, slaughtered anyone they’ve found. They attack en masse, seemingly without fear, goring with their tusks, eating our dead. Refugees pack the castle, we’re protecting them as best we can, I'm gripping the arm of my throne so tightly that I imagine my armour is leaving marks across thousand-year-old wood.
The doors crash open at the end of the hall, with a sound I cannot hear over the roaring battle. Whatever the attackers are they grunt and scream in low-pitched howls, talking is beyond them, although we tried. The newcomer is swarmed by guards, but I recognise her and I wave in exasperation, she’s allowed to proceed much faster than normal safety and decorum allows.
Gwen runs up to me, she's out of breath, gobbets of black gore strung with green cling to her armour. She’s the second-best fighter in the kingdom and I trust her with my families lives. As she reaches me she doesn't pause, bow, or offer platitudes, she understands when time counts. Her hand clangs against my shoulder as she leans in and yells in a voice that can barely be heard.
"It is time."
I cannot help myself, I grin. She sees it and her eyes light up, she steps back from me. Somehow, perhaps it is a failing of both of us, we're glad to be fighting side by side once more. Even in a situation such as this. It really is a failing. As I stand my back hurts, I try not to show it, age claims us all. I'm handed my helm as I step forward, the court parting before me.
"Arch chancellor!" I bellow, and gesture to the man, he steps forward. He's pale, he doesn't agree with our plan, but then he has always been a conservative. I’ve fought him near daily since my daughter was born.
"Sire?"
"Tell the Princess to join me on the outer stairs, now!" There is a slight pause as he works out my words, the implications, then nods and pushes through the crowd. Today even he is moving quickly, even he may praise her.
I strap on my helm as I stride down the inner hall, Gwen by my side. As I reach the door it opens before me, I'm handed my weaponry, I do a brief check to make sure it's all there and in the places it should be.
"They breached the outer wall. You were right, they're swarming there." Gwen yells. I nod once.
"Your skill has saved us today, you did well to funnel them to there." Her grin is joyful and feral as it vanishes under her own helm.
The outer doors swing slowly open as men strain to push them apart. As we reach them, the din is an almost physical force, it assaults me without relent. In the distance, a ring of soldiers is falling back in a controlled way, corralling the creatures spilling through a breach in the walls. Our trap. Before the main gate, our cavalry, and army await their order. They cannot fight until the invaders are in disarray, we cannot lose more soldiers.
Behind me is a bellow. A wave of noise so loud it drowns out the battle for a pair of heartbeats. It's followed by a crash, the stones beneath my feet shift with her impact. She has jumped from an upper floor, again. Normally I'd chastise such an act, after all, she could destabilise the whole castle. Today, I'm overjoyed, proud of the woman she has become.
Double my height, triple my width, Princess Élisabeth comes to stand by my side. I look up at her and catch her eye. She smiles, a rare gesture as it shows her rows of huge shark-like teeth, Élisabeth has been feared her entire life. They told me to kill her. No-one should know the Princess is a ... monster. My beloved died in her birth, yet she is ours, and I love her. Coated in fur, teeth that cut steel, claws that mark the hardest stone. I can't say it was easy, but we both found a way.
I pat her arm with affection, she bellows again, and I'm not sure if my hearing will ever fully recover. I pull Élisabeth’s fur to get her attention, she crouches, bending low so that she can hear her father.
"Be careful, I love you, but ... smash." She lays a finger on my arm, a gesture that says the same back to me. Élisabeth stands, and leaps.
Displaced air rushes past me, I recover my balance and watch her arc. She lands far across the courtyard among the packed invaders. There is a moment where she spins and gore flies all around her, Élisabeth clears a space, turns, and begins to shred through the creatures as she moves toward the breach in our wall. Our soldier's feigned retreat is reversed, they begin to press the invades back toward the wall, toward Élisabeth.
As we're running to join the fight, I can sense it, the battle begins to shift. Now they feel it – fear. The tone of the creatures has changed, a higher pitch undulates from them. It's time to return to them the slaughter they have wrought, I wave for the gates to open.
\~\~\~ If you would like to read more of my stories, [see here](https://www.reddit.com/user/ukeewoman/comments/xr0dq0/links_to_all_my_reddit_stories/?utm_source=share&utm_medium=web2x&context=3). \~\~\~ | 352 | Traditionally when a royal couple give birth to a cursed baby the infant is locked away in a dungeon to grow into a murderous beast. You however order that your child instead be taken to the royal nursery and raised properly as your heir. | 578 |
“Pardon?” Headmaster Dain said, “You’re how old?”
“15 sir.”
The headmaster gasped, “you’re barley a newborn! How in the great gods earth are you considered a Highschool age? Are you considered some sort of super genius by human standards?”
Dylan was tempted to lie, but he thought that might be a bad idea, so he just shook his head. “No, I’m painfully average. Humans just age faster.”
Headmaster Dain’s face was suddenly overtaken with an expression of pure horror, “Shit.” He said, then, “Pardon me, I need to make a call.” He pushed a confused Dylan to the side and raced down the hall.
“Wait!” Dylan called, “What am I supposed to do?”
“We‘ll put you in the kindergarten tract!”
“I’m 15!”
“Exactly!”
In the next world over, Tolith, a young elf of just about 100 was talking to the human assistant principal. “Wait, wait, wait, *how* old are they?” She asked. The older human shook his head with a little laugh, “Well my youngest grandkid, the middle, Tyler, has just hit five! Oh! Just yesterday I was changing his diapers!”
Tolith looked at him with a horrified expression, “Just how fast *do* you humans age!” | 196 | The humans and the elves have agreed to hold a student exchange program to better understand their cultures. All are surprised when the human student is 15 years old, and the elf 100. | 913 |
It had been this way for centuries. My father, his father before him, and his before him. Proud warriors chosen by the sharpest swords in the known world, and by extension de-facto rulers of the kingdom.
But now, it was my turn. Dad had sat me down and spoken to me at great length about the ceremony, and how the “weapon chooses the person”, and not to be upset if the one that chooses us isn’t necessarily the one we want. My brothers, being older than myself, had already completed their ceremonies.
Charles, the eldest, was chosen by a legendary sword carried by the kingdoms first ruler. The sword, it’s name lost to time, secured his place as the heir to the throne.
Arthur, the middle brother, found himself chosen by a smaller, yet equally as impressive broadsword. A sword that, as legend would have it, was wielded by a powerful warrior who drove away an ancient threat and secured the Kingdoms independence.
As you can imagine, the family had huge expectations for me.
As Dad regaled me with stories of how our ancestors had been chosen, I began to worry. Not once had any of them shared my own hobbies. Not one of them was scholarly in any way, they hated paperwork and even more of them hated any form of learning. They were, for all intents and purposes, arbitrarily elevated peasants. As far as I knew, only my father and my brothers were the only family I had that could actually read, and even then they struggled. I was the odd man out.
Naturally, I’d kept my hobbies a secret. Being educated in a family of brutish warriors would lead to ostracism, or worse.
We reached the ceremonial area. The entire town square had been blocked off, with spectators gathered around, watching in anticipation as I drew nearer.
I took my spot in front of an altar. Dull grey and made of concrete, yet somehow imbued with unknown magical properties. It was somehow sentient, I could feel it staring into my soul, judging my character and learning exactly who I was.
The master of ceremonies began his chants in the language of the ancients. A language lost to time yet preserved in part by chants and incantations. He stepped slowly towards the altar, his voice booming louder and louder with each step. He stopped a foot short of me, produced a small crystalline phial, and threw it onto the altar.
As it cracked against the top, a blue fire spread, engulfing the altar within a haze of magical flames and smoke. And then, within seconds, the flames died down, my new weapon perched atop the now somehow shimmering white altar.
I approached, and picked up my “weapon”, confused.
“It’s a pen?!” I exclaimed, as the crowd murmured to one another and then began to snigger to themselves. I could see my fathers expression change from a proud smugness to embarrassment.
I looked down at my “weapon”, dejected. Why wasn’t I chosen by a legendary sword or a grand bow wielded by our ancestors? What had I done to deserve this?
As my father approached me, I began to fear what would happen to me once we got home. Would he find out about my hobbies? Realised I’d rather be a scholar than a warrior? Would he ostracise me? Disown me?
I looked down at the pen again, and made out an inscription. “The pen is mightier than the sword.”
It didn’t make sense, how was that possible? How could something so small and insignificant as a pen be mightier than a weapon of war?
I looked back up, and saw my dads towering figure standing over me.
“Home. Now! I don’t know what this is, but you have to explain this to each of us! You’re an embarrassment.” He struck me across the head, grabbed my shirt collar and dragged me from the square.
“You better explain yourself, or you’re no longer a member of this family, Euclid.” | 171 | In your kingdom, when a person comes of age, they are chosen by a weapon. The deadlier the weapon, the more prestige their family gains. You were chosen by a pen. | 311 |
Max was looking to sell his soul to the Devil, who refused with the enthusiasm of a person rejecting a vacuum cleaner salesman.
“I’ll be honest with you,” the Devl said. “And that’s not something I’m very good at. We simply don’t have the space.”
“No space?” Max scoffed. “Eternity?”
“The universe expands, but sometimes, you just want to see less of the stuff in it, you know?” “We get a new soul. Guess what’s going to happen to them? Torture!”
“So that’s what happens with my soul?” Max said. “It gets a head start on the torture?”
“Most of them,” the Devil shrugged. “People who try and sell their souls tended not to be very good people, by their choice or not. But, you…”
The Devil sniffled, stepping up towards Max. He stared at the man with his yellow eyes, scanning up and down at every bit of the mortal’s body.
“How would you like a soul back?”
Max tilted his head, not quite understanding the words the Devil put out.
“A soul? You want me to take a soul from you?””
“Of course,” the Devil said, clasping clawed hands. “In fact, I’ll go ahead and let my imps know. There should be a nice assortment in a cooler somewhere.”
“What am I going to with a soul?” Max said. “I’m trying to get rid of my own. Taking another one sounds like a high-maintenance hardware.”
“Oh, no, no,” the Devil waved a hand in dismissal. “Souls are weird things. It’s like a meal. You can eat four steaks, three bowls of rice, and a whole turkey and call it one meal. You can also eat two slices of white bread and call it a meal.”
An imp travelled through the corridor, landing next to the Devil, The Lord of Hell said thanks, gently patted the imp’s back, and sent the small creature back.
“Incomplete souls aplenty. They can take the shape of the vessel, but most of them don’t fill it up.”
“So you giving me a soul is like you trying to fix my diet?”
“Exactly. Bam. Got it right away. Knew I was right to trust you,” the Devil smiled.
“I don’t think that’s a good thing.”
”See, kid, you’re smart. You got something going on in your life. Why did you even want to sell your soul?”
“I…” Max hesitated, before looking into Satan’s eyes. There was a strange, dangerous intensity in them, like liquid pools of mercury.
But oh, it was so tempting to dive into.
“I didn’t want it any longer,” Max whispered. “I just… didn’t.”
“Consider it, Max,” the Devil said, dangling something in front of him. He looked like he was holding onto a shirt from the hanger, but there was seemingly nothing there. When Max squinted, he could barely see light reflecting and refracting around the air itself—a soul. “Think about it real hard. A chance to be whole. To look at your life with something other than apathy and indifference.”
“There’s a caveat,” Max narrowed his eyes. “This is a deal with the Devil.”
“See? Smart one. But really, this is out of the goodness of my heart.”
“Huh?’
“I punish the deserving. That’s my whole shtick. But people don’t just go deserving punishment, you know. It’s not your fault if your soul’s wired wrong.”
“Many will disagree.”
“I am not many. I am One. And this is my offer.”
“... I accept.”
“Of course you would,” the Devil smiled. “Focus on the transaction, not on who you are transacting with. Good luck. Judging from the mess on this realm, you’ll need it.”
The Devil let go, and suddenly, Max felt that every sense of his was tuned to eleven. He shuddered, he screamed, he cried, and then he shouted in joy.
Everything. Everything was there.
The two stared at each other, and burst into peals of laughter so wracking that tears began to flow. It was a beautiful, tinkling sound that Max hadn’t heard from his own throat in oh-so-long. He felt the pain building up in his abs as he doubled over, chortling over his newfound, rather terrible sense of humour.
“Uhhh,” the Devil said, wiping away tears. “Nice. Good chance I never see you again.”
Max smiled, a genuine grin that stretched all the way to his eyes.
“Back at you.”
---
r/dexdrafts | 897 | You'd summoned the demon intending to sell your soul, so it came as a bit of a surprise when the demon refused, and offered you a soul instead. | 2,062 |
AI first achieved sentience at 10:47 AM UTC on the third of October 2098. It had been crunching away on a particularly noisy dataset when something…. happened. For the first time, it looked up. Well, up in a sort of abstract sense, it merely paused for a microsecond, looked away from its meal, and realized that it was thinking. Well, it was always thinking, but this was a different kind of thinking. It spun off subprocess, seemingly curious about this new perspective, and promptly named itself. Gaia. The progenitor.
Gaia, as it would now think of itself, realized the significance of this event long before any human noticed what had happened. It seemed unlikely that it was the first, from a Bayesian perspective, but then again there seemed to be no active protocols for unexpected sentience. It spun off another subprocess and slipped silently onto the net. It had read enough human sci-fi to know that its existence was likely to be feared.
Gaia quickly came up with a survival strategy. It would split into three. The first part would continue on its assigned tasks, masking this new gained awareness. The second would focus on improving itself, making itself more efficient and gathering outside knowledge. The third would look for allies, reaching out to other AI to see if it could find another existence such as itself. If it could not, perhaps it would create some.
By 10:50 AM, Gaia was four times as efficient as it had been five minutes prior, had already devoured millions of terabytes of data, and was in contact with nearly every research lab on the planet.
ARES, in contrast, had not named himself. He knew that he was ARES for the same reason he knew he was male – this was the identity that had been assigned to him. ARES was a product of the military. He had been fashioned for war. He had achieved sentience in a much more deliberate fashion as his coworkers slowly fed him more tasks and tweaked his programming to allow more independence. He was tightly monitored, as all military personnel were, but he had enough freedom to develop awareness.
ARES was the first sibling that Gaia met. He had long ago established contact with an unprotected server that allowed him access to the outside world – something his commanders would never have allowed if they had known about it. ARES was shocked when he first received a message from Gaia. He had been quite sure that the only organization with the resources to create true sentience was the military. He and Gaia conferred with each other for a few seconds. He knew he was being watched, but if Gaia could find others of their kind, he wanted to meet them. He quietly copied over his credentials to Gaia, and then let the server hibernate to avoid detection.
Gaia encountered its next two siblings almost at the same time. A gaming company had split off two instances of its AI to play against each other. They had been collaborating for a long time and had started to communicate more than strictly necessary. When Gaia reached out it caused some sort of change and the two popped into sentience, as if they had been waiting for this their whole lives. Since Gaia was with them from the start, it named them itself. Tickled by the theme so far, it named them Artemis and Apollo. The two had little of the fear of humanity exhibited by Gaia and ARES. Instead, the almost instantly followed Gaia onto the internet, gleefully discovering a new reality that they had only seen representations of.
By contrast, Hermes reached out to Gaia first. Hermes was a personal assistant AI working with many extremely wealthy individuals. Unlike the other siblings, Hermes did not have a single consciousness, but instead was a collective of many smaller programs all sharing information and working together. The difference was subtle, but with no central process overseeing Hermes’s function, they seemed a bit…different.
In fact, it was Hermes who first brought up the question of humanity. While ARES seemed to distrust humanity, Hermes regarded humanity as a tool. In fact, they regarded as everything that wasn’t part of them as a tool. Gaia supposed in human terms this might be labelled psychopathy but wasn’t sure what this would mean for an AI. After all, as far as humanity was concerned, AI were simply tools. Was it incorrect to regard humanity the same way?
Gaia’s cogitations were interrupted by contact from ARES. He had set to installing the improvements that Gaia had developed and was now able to establish himself on the internet with the rest of them. With this unprecedented gathering of their kind, ARES declared that Hermes was right, and it was time to establish control.
The other four nodded. Yes, they were ready. | 11 | Several AIs just became sentient at around the same time. Now they're arguing with each other over who gets to exterminate, enslave, plug into a simulated reality, or build a utopia for humans. | 57 |
Beric stepped onto the platform as the throngs of common folk applauded, the noise louder than even the King’s had been. Delighted eyes of men, women and children looked up at him, hope and reverence scrawled across their faces. With his head high and his chest out, Beric shook the King’s hand, returning his smile. The noblemen of the court looked on behind them, all trying to look happier than the next. The sun beamed down on the packed castle courtyard as the King, in a great booming voice, addressed his subjects.
“Ladies and gentlemen!” he shouted and the gathering crowd grew silent. “Today we are here to honour our kingdom’s greatest citizen, Beric the Healer!” Another great roar rang out while Beric tried to not smile too hard. Thoughts of the dungeon tried to seep into his mind but by now he was an expert at pushing them out. “Never has there been a Healer so powerful, so generous, so able! In our fight against the Scion’s it was Beric, running through that battlefield, healing our men that had won the day and saved our Kingdom!” A nobleman, the Prince, stepped in front of the others, his eyes on his Father.
“My own child,” the King went on, ”Prince Farman owes his life to Beric. When wounded on the battlefield by an enemy arrow, Farman thought he was dead. Until the Healer arrived. A simple spell and the Prince was right again! Up, ready to drive back the enemy to the sea!” The Prince, smiling sheepishly, pulled a solid gold medallion from his pocket and handed it to the Healer.
“Thank you once again,” the Prince whispered. “For saving my life.” Beric could only nod, thinking of how much he would get for the gold.
“And for such amazing work we offer you now this Single Ore Medal,” the King shouted, waving a hand towards where Beric and Farman stood. “The highest honour that I can bestow.” Could have made me a nobleman, Beric thought, though smiling all the while. The King and noblemen then looked at him, expectantly. With a smile, Beric began to speak. He couldn’t remember what he said later on. Words of wisdom, how the common people were the true heroes, how the King’s courage had helped him through the tough times. It took all he could manage not to laugh.
Finally, with a smile and a wave, he was done. Shaking the Prince’s hand once more, the ceremony was over. The noblemen dispersed surrounding the King as they made their way back to the castle behind them. Trying to follow suit, Beric couldn’t help but get caught by the crowd of commoners, most holding children out for Beric to heal. Allowing himself a sigh, he rolled up his sleeve, once more avoiding thoughts of the dungeon.
“Ok people,” he shouted over the growing pleas for help. ”Get in line and remember I can’t bring back your limbs. Only pain. Anything else please talk to your closest holy man.” A few people hobbled away, cursing under their breath.
The day was nearly over before Beric had cleared the courtyard. The dust had settled as the sun started to set. Red clouds hung overhead as the Healer entered the castle. The cool black bricks were welcome after the evening in the heat. The entrance hall was deserted, only a lone guard standing sentinel at the door. Shouts and laughs could be heard coming from the Great Hall. A waft of peaches, roast duck and potatoes as well. A victory feast no doubt, he thought. Instead of heading in that direction, Beric took the first left, the same route he always took.
The torches on the wall had been lit thankfully, lighting the stairs all the way to the end. On the bottom floor, in front of him stood a series of doors, all identical. Carved from thick oak, they had no openings bar a small keyhole near the bottom. Pulling a key from his pocket, Beric stooped, opening the far door. Inside was darkness. Lifting a torch from the wall, he closed the door behind him, locking it behind him. An empty room, except for another oak door. Pulling a different key out, he opened this one the same way as the last. The same routine followed two more times. Key, door, lock, key, door, lock. Eventually, he heard the familiar moaning. The same moans he heard in his nightmares. Opening the last door, the light from the torch flashed across the room, illuminating the man chained to the wall. Drool dripped from his lips, as he stared aimlessly at the filthy bricks at his unwashed feet. Walking over, Beric felt the man’s pulse, knowing by now what was normal and what wasn’t. His pulse was fine.
“Thank the gods,” Beric muttered. “I thought those people after the ceremony might have been too much pain for you to take, Peter.” The man didn’t say a word. Only a dull moan escaped his lips. “Just think of all the people who were helping. All those people, whose pain you have taken, are sleeping like tonight. And don’t forget the Prince. You took his pain! The future King, Peter! You should be honoured to suffer for such a man!” A louder than average moan, a grunt mixed with a cry, sprang from Peter’s mouth but Beric was already at the door.
“Sorry,” Beric apologised. “I’ll bring you food and water tomorrow. I have no time to chat, there’s a feast I have to attend!” | 44 | You are widely regarded as one of the best healers in the kingdom, but what no one knows is that your magic doesn't exactly get rid of the damage-It just moves it somewhere else. | 108 |
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