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Tick tock. Tick tock. Another day, another copper. Just one more day in a never-ending blur of days – one more copper that’ll transmogrify into bread and booze.
Tilly looked around the store and sighed. He’d been doing that a lot lately. The sighing, at least. The looking around he tried his best to avoid. The store continued to be empty, and no new dust had accumulated in the past handful of hours.
When Master Johann had agreed to apprentice him shortly after his fifteenth birthday, he’d been so bright-eyed. Master Johann wanted to teach him? A peasant like him would get to be a clockmaker’s apprentice? He’d be able to free himself from the yoke of endless physical labor. Maybe even send his parents some extra money. Maybe even afford to send his future kids to school.
That’s what he’d thought, at least. Maybe it was a regional thing, but Johann’s and his understanding of the word apprentice seemed to differ greatly. Specifically, Johann seemed to believe that an apprentice was meant to stand (always stand, never sit) and watch the shop from dawn until dusk.
“You never know when someone might need to know the time!” he’d say. But Tilly knew. He knew, for example, that nobody ever needed to know the time badly enough to buy a clock a few hours after dawn or a few hours before dusk or when the day was the hottest in the early afternoon. Really, there were maybe three hours a day when somebody would come in looking for a clock.
But he was stuck there. Stuck from waking until sleeping. Johann promised he’d start showing him how to do more than take a customer’s money, wrap the clock up safely in cloth, hand it over with a smile, and lock up once the sun had set – once things calmed down. That was two years ago, and things must be awful busy for him.
Tilly’s foot tapped absentmindedly at the locked chest under the counter. The key jangled on his belt. He’d quit and go home. Gods help him he would… if he just had the three silver it cost to hire a cart. If he stopped drinking, he could save up that much in six months.
Six months? Tick tock. Tick tock. His head started to pound at the thought. He reached under the counter, pulled out his skein, and took a swig. That was better.
He looked around the shop again and sighed as he replaced the cork. His gaze fell down to the counter. He heard a thunderous crack from above. Before he could tilt his head to look, his feet were thrown out from under him. Something grazed his skull. He slammed into the wall.
He blinked. No, that’s not right. He opened his eyes. The pounding in his head was back. Did he accidentally buy some of Morris’s back alley brew? He didn’t remember doing that, but why else did one sip send him to his ass? Why were his ears ringing? Why was one half of his vision shaded red?
Something dripped onto his lip. It was warm and tasted metallic. It was blood. His blood, he finally recognized, streaming from a newly stinging gash across his skull.
He wiped the blood from his eyes and stood shakily. He leaned on what was left of the counter for support. The shop was a disaster. Clocks mounded in broken heaps around the walls they’d fallen from; cracks spiderwebbed across the shop windows; a roof beam was slung across the shop entrance; sunlight streamed through a five span hole in the middle of the ceiling.
That streaming sunlight made very clear something very strange. The shop floor had collapsed, forming a crater ringed in splintered floor boards. Dozens of tendrils of effervescent white extended from the crater, seeming to float in the wood-dust-filled air.
Tilly shook his head and looked around for his skein. He pulled it out from a pile of rubble, dusted it off, and took another swig. No, this was definitely his regular stuff.
Skein in hand, he stumbled around the counter and over to the crater. As he approached, several of the nearby white threads twisted in the air, their ends turning toward him.
He peered over the edge of the crater. Rubbed his eyes again, and again uncorked the skein with a blood-streaked hand.
Lying in the middle of the crater, three spans deep, was a woman dressed entirely in white. She was tall and slender; her hair silver and more lustrous than any coin he’d ever handled; and her face looked finer and more beautiful than even the sculpture in the town square. Her eyes closed, she looked the picture of relaxation, except for the detritus that framed her.
Tilly was a peasant and, perhaps, a lush, but he wasn’t a fool. He’d been to a Sevensday sermon once or twice. The hair, the unblemished skin, the unearthly beauty, the ability to create a few span deep crater and not be reduced to a puddle of blood and offal – this was, he was sure, one of the gods’ own servants.
Now, hold on a minute. The sculpture in the town square was framed by a set of six feathered wings. He rubbed the blood out of his eyes again and looked again. Where he’d hoped to find wings, he instead found a mass of writhing milky threads pouring out from between the woman’s back and the hard-packed earth. Well, at least that explained where those things came from.
The woman moved, and her eyes opened. She looked up at Tilly with bright, gray eyes.
He swallowed. What were you supposed to say to girls again, besides “Thank you for your patronage!” and “You have wonderful tastes in clocks, ma’am,” and “Your change is three copper”?
His mouth was dry, but she was looking at him. He had to say something. Something tugged at the edge of his consciousness – something he’d heard before.
“Did it… uh… hurt, when you fell from Heaven?” he managed to stammer out.
“Yes, actually. Quite a bit. That’s not how the summoning is supposed to go,” a voice shot back, melodious as the bell that indicated Sevensday was at an end and the tavern was now open again.
“Now, are you planning on gawping at me until Taren again becomes the land of the gods, or will you help me out of here?”
He shook his head. Of course. That’s what he should do. He should help her up.
He slid down into the pit, awkwardly stumbling over his own feet. As he descended, several of the floating tendrils drifted towards him, some, he was sure, touched him, but he felt nothing. He wiped his hand clean on his pants, stretched it out, and gave his most winning smile.
“My lady,” he quipped.
She rolled her eyes and took his hand. Her hand was cold, like a stone found in the shade, but soft.
On her feet now, she dusted herself off and looked around.
“Now, I don’t know much about human temples, but I’m not wrong in saying this isn’t one, am I?”
“Unless someone’s started a religion worshiping wasted time, then, no, this isn’t a temple.”
“Would someone really do that? You realize that’d be heresy, don’t you?” | 23 | "Did it hurt when you fell from heaven?" "YES! And now HELP ME ALREADY instead of just standing there and telling stupid jokes!" the angel shouted, lying in the middle of a pretty sizable crater. | 139 |
Dear Sam,
Wow. One month already since you left. The time is just flying, isn’t it? At least, I hope it is for you. We’ve been doing… okay, at least since you left, but boy, things sure are different. Not *bad* different, I guess, but… different.
Well, for starters, your room is *totally* different. I guess you know that, seeing as your mom had a long phone call with you about it, but just wait until you see it! Your dresser is gone, your Lord of the Rings posters are gone, your closet is totally empty. It’s crazy! Honestly, the only thing left is that stain from the green goo toy Uncle Aaron bought you that you immediately dropped on the carpet back in the second grade, and we all know that won’t go away until the carpet gets replaced. And don’t worry, we hid your, um, *stash*, as well as we could. Your mom didn’t find a thing, though she did comment on the smell a handful of times before bringing up some fresh Yankee candles. Hey, we tried.
They took the bed too. That one was a bit difficult for us to work around, actually. Your parents have since moved in a cabinet which we can fit under. It’s tight, to be sure. We used to think your tiny little twin bed was cramped, but it was downright palatial compared to this. Old Barty can barely even move, which is why I’m writing this instead of him. He tried to write a bit, but his claws kept sticking out every time he got to the end of a line. Your parents almost caught us!
Anyway, it’s a studio now, which, again, you know. Your mom is quite the artist! I can see where you got it from, though I still think you’re way more talented than her. Between her artistic genes and our childhood trauma to give you inspiration, you’ll take the world by storm! Ha.
On a related note, I think you ought to know. Harold… well, Harold moved on.
They’re not dead, per se. I don’t want to get into the details of our true nature; I don’t think any of us have time for a full lecture on the true nature of demons and the purpose of putting monsters under the beds of children in order to scare them. I suppose it’ll suffice to say that the truth is somewhere between Monsters Inc. and the Book of Revelations. We’re not here because we *want* to be here, or… we *want* to be here, but are somewhat compelled. It’s not, like, a *job* because we don’t get salary or vacation or benefits, but…
I’m stalling.
I know you guys were close. I know Harry was the one that you first met, as it were, when they decided to reveal themselves to you when you turned 16. And I know that you were always closer with them than the rest of us, but…
The thing is, Harry is good at what they do. One of the best, really. That’s kind of why it shocked the hell out of us when they told you the truth. It’s the first time they’ve really broken protocol like that, but I guess you guys really had a special bond. Anyway, other than that one happening, they’re kind of a monster under the bed legend, and they’re way too good at what they do to stick around in a bedroom that has no kid and isn’t really a bedroom anymore. And because of who we are, because of what we do, well, it’s kind of like dying, but not really. They’re still around on your plane of existence, they just had to go through an extremely painful transition and they lost all their memories of you. So… yeah.
I guess in a way it’s like downsizing. The rest of us, we’re small time, so we can afford to stick around and wait for you to visit once in a blue moon. Sure, our branch will close eventually, so to speak, and our best employee was promoted and moved to corporate, but we’ll be here for a little while yet.
So come and visit. Bring a cot for old time’s sake. We can all crowd under it and give a few scares, just like the good old days.
We’ll be here, waiting.
All of our love,
[The Monsters Under Your Bed](/r/Badderlocks) | 23 | It's your first year at college, and you just got a long chatty letter from the monsters under your bed in your old bedroom. They miss you and hope you'll come visit sometimes. | 59 |
To this day, I don't know what my ancestor did to piss off a god of the ocean enough to curse him and *all* his descendants.
No specifics were brought up, and it's not like I can just travel through time and ask him. The only thing I know for sure is that it was devastating for him. Any dreams he had of making a living through fishing went down the drain the minute he got cursed; stormy weather every single time he stepped into the ocean. That must have been pretty hard, and I do feel bad for him.
Why would I feel bad? To explain that, I would have to tell you *my* experience with the curse.
You see, the ocean outing was Danielle's idea in the first place. She 'noticed that we weren't connecting as a married couple should,' so she surprised me by renting a small boat for us to have a little cruise out in the sea. I told her about the curse, but she scoffed and said that I was being ridiculous, that there was no such thing as gods or curses, to stop being a coward and just get on the boat.
So, when the storm (inevitably) reached a catastrophic level, I focused solely on my own survival. If Danielle had been flung overboard, I didn't see it until it was too late. Once I made it to shore, I made sure to file a missing person's report and told the authorities what happened. They found her body and some wreckage that used to be the rental boat a few days later.
People sent me condolences, and the media painted me as the grief-stricken spouse. But nothing could be further from the truth; I don't know how Danielle thought I wouldn't find out about her cheating on me. She knew I write about this kind of stuff for a living, and I recognized *all the signs!*
Danielle was also as stupid as she was arrogant, because a month ago I was able to grab her phone while she was asleep. She didn't have Face ID or Touch ID enabled on her phone - all I needed to know was her birthday in order to snoop and look through her messages to find proof of her affair.
I had been compiling proof that she had been cheating ever since that night, and did everything I could to prepare myself for the fallout of demanding a divorce from her. I knew she was going to lose it and she might've done something drastic, but the curse indirectly saved me that trouble.
So, what was a devastating blow for my fisherman-wannabe of an ancestor turned out to be a huge blessing for me.
Which leads me to my next question...would it be weird if I started worshiping the god that cursed my ancestor all those centuries ago? | 11 | Long ago, one of your ancestors angered a powerful being, who cursed them and all of their descendants. You are now also affected by that curse, except that these days, the same affliction that was a curse to your ancestor is a blessing to you. | 109 |
“Of course,” I said to the Necromancer. His brow raises, but I don’t answer him. “So, can we get going? I am tired of living in this world.”
The Necromancer begins by grabbing various bottles, ink pens, and grand books to place on the table. I watch him spend the next hour setting up the ceremony. I crack open a can of soda, the last sweet thing I am going to have. As the Necromancer nears completion, I save a last drop of soda.
“It’s ready,” He says. I ready myself. Placing that colorful can in front of the ritual. Grabbing my wallet, I take the cash out and hand it to him, then place the cashless wallet next to the soda can along with my car keys.
“Thank you.” I step into the middle of the circle at the request of the Necromancer. He chants and I feel his words growing fainter and fainter. I imagine her coming back, cursing me for killing myself. I am not strong enough to live without her. She was a doctor and could do a lot more than me. I can see her going to my half-empty soda can, thirsty and sad. I gave her what she needed to continue back. I smile, her family is going to freak when she comes back from the dead. I love her so much and I hope to see her later when she dies of old age. I am waiti | 10 | You've managed to track down a necromancer for help, as your loved one has recently died. They accept for a surprisingly small sum of cash, but there is a catch; You need to be sacrificed in order for them to be resurrected. "Is their life worth yours?" | 31 |
\[WP\] It's not the most ethical move, but in a pinch any cursed object can be handed to a baby.
I duck as the arrow thomps into the wooden beam behind me, exactly where my nose isn’t any more.
“This is not my fault!” I yell, scuttling to the edge of the barrels and carefully peering around them. It’s then I realise my pointy-hat is sticking up above the barrels and they’ve known where I am the whole time. The guards are still running directly towards me, I’ve really not got any choice here.
I take a few deep breaths, my nose hairs curl, this is not going to be pleasant, I turn and run into the maze of alleys that makes up the oldest section of the city. It is simply known as the maze, street signs left in confusion decades ago. In here you’re lucky to find your own genitals, getting lost is compulsory. Enterprising locals run ‘Get lost’ tours for tourists, it is fast money for the guides who can lose many tour groups in a single day. Although most tourists eventually find their way out, looking shocked and confused, lighter their money and hopefully gaining a life lesson. A lot don’t, it explains the many languages used in the maze. It can also lead to a sudden and severe allergy to life.
There is no garbage pickup in the maze, no mail delivery, certainly no guards. The latter is key, the former is a problem. Garbage is everywhere, everyone lives off it, it’s like extreme hardcore recycling. What what species cannot used it thrown into the street, only for another species to use it, transform it, and throw what is left into the street. And so on. Eventually the garbage gives up and it’s gone. Houses are flat roofed, flat-ish roofed at any rate, crowded together and small. Everyone lives close together and everyone has to walk through the garbage. The smell is nearly as thick as soup. I slow my run and work through some of the pockets in my three skirts, I know the bottles by feel, pulling out a salve I rub it over my nose, it cuts down the smell to just putrefying.
I’d never enter the maze given a choice, even as a witch. Yes you get some respect, the black cloak, the pointy hat, but that’s not going to stop someone desperate enough to chew on your kneecaps. The more desperate a creature is, the more dangerous that creature becomes. I have to get out of the city, at least until everything calms down. What is happening right now is the opposite of calm, it is in fact the greased weasel of chaos. They must have somehow got the baby outside, as suddenly somewhere behind me the baby’s fifty feet high and laughing manically, wand still clutched in his, less cute, carriage sized pudgy fist. His voice booms across the city. If he’d transformed inside the Lord’s mansion it would have been reduced to just bricks. Well, to be fair, the mansion has always been bricks, it just would have suddenly become unorganised bricks.
The thing about babies is they cannot hold a thought in their head for more than a second before it is replaced with another thought. They have no ego, it is all id. Primal thoughts without consequence. They see, they do, they want, they try to get. It’s all really simple. I pause for breath, I can’t keep running, my lungs burn, I have to stop. I duck into a shadow, the dirty black of my clothing should help me blend in. An axe immediately buries itself in the wall by my left shoulder. It’s like a magic trick from Alfonso the Deadly, my imagination helpfully shows me someone pulling an endless supply of axes from a top hat somewhere in the dark. I don’t know if it is a local or a guard, but I don’t see how it matters. Sharp, pointy, dangerous - no thank you. Suddenly I can keep running just fine. Many witches don’t exercise, I’ve found being able to run away very useful to my ongoing life.
As I round another corner I look up just as a horse arcs overhead followed by more booming laughter, I hope the poor thing lands a little offshore. Take this wand, my assigned Mother said, it’s the perfect gift, she said. I’d take revenge, but she’s far more powerful than me. I’m just the apprentice witch. The witch to be. We get the short end of the stick. A stick that in this case turned out to be the wand of unintended consequences. I knew the Mother was annoyed at Lord Darksithe, imagine not inviting a Mother to your wedding, but this, this is taking things too far. Even for her. I’m sure it’ll all be smoothed over, after the wand is pried from the babies hands. It’s not like you can war against witches. They’ve tried it. Toads can’t handle crossbows, or spears. It makes a witch victory easy, if squishy and hard on the boots.
We have an alliance, they don’t mess with us, we don’t ruin our socks. It works, mostly. The Mothers, old witches, are powerful and respected. Apprentices on the other hand need to be quick, smart or lucky. We’re not able to fight back as well as the Mothers, people know that, and they take advantage of the fact. The laughter cuts off, it must mean the babies back to a normal size, and hopefully a normal shape. In the distance is a roar rises in volume, it doesn’t stop, something is rushing towards me. I’ve got to know where I am, it’s an optimistic thought, with all the hope of a worm looking up to a bird and hoping to be friends.
I duck by some garbage, and take a look around. I think I’m near one of the rivers. Somewhere on the east side? It’s hard to know.“Oi.” A high-pitched but surprisingly loud voice says. A gnome flips over a box and clambers toward me.“This is my pile. Find your own.” He says, his smell is surprisingly potent. I’m panting heavily, just no longer through my nose too.“Won’t be staying.” I manage to say slowly though heaving breaths.“I should think not. Uninvited.” The gnome squints at me. Sidles up to my arm and pulls at my black clothing.“You a witch then?” He stands, all twelve centimetres of him, and looks up at my pointy hat. He pulls at his beard as though considering his options.“You know anyone else who dresses like this? Am I near a river?” I ask, my patience is lost in the maze, at least seven corners back. The gnome sniffs, picks something out of his beard and chews on it.
“Don’t rightly know. Not seen everyone, now have I,” after a moment he adds, “yer near the young lady.” The roar is really loud now, there are screams, and it takes a lot for someone used to the maze to scream. Screaming means attention, and that is the last thing anyone needs in here. The young lady is the east river, small, calm, a decent way out of the city.“You,” The gnome says dismissively, “are no Mother.” A pile of garbage and people crash around the corner, followed by milk. It’s a milk flash flood, I guess the baby was hungry then, hopefully he’ll fall asleep soon. I jump up, use a little magic, and manage to reach the rooftop with my fingertips, I surprise myself and pull onto the roof. A cat eyes me with suspicion.
“Wheeeeeee!” Yells the gnome from below me, I watch as he hangs onto a bottle and flows away in the tumult. I swear he’s drinking the milk as he goes. I hop rooftops, no such thing as gardens or space in the maze, and spot the river a few houses over. As I get close I can see an empty boat that the milk has ripped from its moorings. Using a bricked up window frame for a foothold, I climb down the side of a house, by my side flood milk rushes out of an alley, even out of the way I’m ankle deep in milk.
I pause as the boat approaches, big enough to cope with the detritus in the river but small enough for an apprentice witch to handle alone, it’s perfect. Timing my jump to not perfection, I nearly fall in the river, and bang my elbow sharply on the boat's rear seat. The river leads out of the city, this is my way out of this milky mess. I use a little more magic to convince the wood at the back of the boat to really, really hate water. We start to pick up speed, and in seconds the boast is bobbing along with the river garbage and milk flood at a running pace. I lean forward, pointy-hat into the wind. The revenge on the Mother is going to have to be subtle, able to be denied, but there will be some revenge.
\~\~\~ 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). \~\~\~ | 27 | It's not the most ethical move, but in a pinch any cursed object can be handed to a baby. | 122 |
“Till the ends of the Earth, were it necessary, Sylas.”
A short sound mixed between scoff and laugh dripped from him lips. “Always willing to do whatever is necessary. You and your friends. But even you were unable to finish the job when it came to me.”
“You said it yourself. You’re immortal.”
Sylas sighed, all his bristled, building energy in his form gone. With slouched shoulders he turned around to face her. “And forever will I be so alone.” He took a step forward. “You showed me the error of my ways.” Another. “To kill everyone, everything for what happened to my love so long ago was wrong.”
He was almost to her now. “She wouldn’t have wanted that either.” He stopped, an arm’s reach from the hero. “But tell me, Iralith… what is left? I turned away from destroying the world. Even helping you all save it in the end from the ‘True Enemy’ as you called him.” His voice broke. “I did all this… and yet I feel so empty. Lost without my Aya.”
His eyes began to water as he looked away in shame. “I still feel the call inside. To enact vengeance. To slaughter any I can get my hands on. It makes me dangerous. Between that and the fact that most would recognize me, I retired myself here. To a backwater town in the middle of nowhere. To hide. Like a coward.” He suddenly seemed to appear right in front of Iralith. His white hair slowly whipping around him as shadows collected on his arms and hid his face aside from two glowing red eyes.
“So tell me, hero; What is there left for me in this pitiful, disgusting world? What should stop me from trying again to end all life?” His voice began to echo and deepen around them as the midday sun was blocked out by the shadows, racing winds kicking up as the trees creaked from the force.
Iralith placed a hand to his cheek, weak smile painting her fair features that had no fear. “Because you are wrong, Sylas. Again.” Almost instantly the winds died, light returned and Sylas’ features returned to normal.
“What?”
She gently ran her fingers up and down his face, the small beginnings of facial hair tickling and poking into her hand.
“You aren’t alone,” she said. Her warm smile confused and befuddled him. “I am your friend. I was when we were at war with Dracul. I was when you disappeared after the final battle. I was while I was looking for you, knowing you faked your death while everyone else said you were finally gone.” She placed her other hand to the opposite cheek. “I will always be your friend.”
She pulled him into a hug, holding the shaking man tightly. Slowly, his arms wrapped around her, gripping gripping like his life depended on it. His muffled voice came from her shoulder he was buried in. “Do you mean that?”
“Of course I do.” Then she giggled. “I might get mad if you start being a bad guy again, of course. But if me being here keeps that from happening, then I won’t be going anywhere.”
Sylas chuckled. “I appreciate the thought. But the world still needs you out there, punching bad guys like me in the face, and all that crap.”
“You could just come with me, Sylas. It might take the others a short readjustment period to having you around, but there is no such thing as too many friends.” She separated from him, hoping her argument was sound.
Sylas crossed his arms. “I don’t know. I’ve never really been much of a hero.”
Iralith took a hand and started to pull him along. “There’s always time to start. You are immortal, after all. I’m sure in a few centuries you’ll be better than the rest of us.”
With a hearty laugh, the first he had let out in a millennia, Sylas walked side by side with the hero, hope blossoming in his chest once again. | 412 | A reformed villain is living a peaceful life in a village far from the city they used to torment. After grabbing supplies from the local market, they take the quiet route back home, stopping halfway along the path. Without turning around, they ask "How long do you plan to follow me for, hero?" | 1,147 |
“Is that within your capabilities?”
I look up to the man across my counter with narrowed eyes. Mind you, I actually don’t have to look up that much, as he was quite short for a human. Not that I would ever say that to his face. I don’t need to note his manner of speak, nor his high-class clothing, for it would take a fool not to know the king of their own lands. That said, I was surprised to be approached so soon...
“It sure is, boss,” I reply as I cross my arms. “But it’ll cost ya.”
“Oh, no worries,” he waves me off. “Whatever costs are incurred will be covered, that will not be an issue.”
I stare at him for a moment longer, before shrugging. “Alright. Just to be sure, though, you said *slay a dragon*, correct?”
“Indeed.”
“You do know what that would lead to, right?”
He raises an eyebrow. “Whatever do you mean?”
“There’s few materials for the blade that will achieve what you want, at least from what I’ve heard over yonder. Star steel may be one of them, but that’s neither here nor there. Aside from that, Adacobat alloy is another obvious choice, and if not that then I’ve also heard of a combination of Mithril, bronze, silver, and gold that may do the trick.”
“Like I said, cost is not an issue,” he says, as if that were the source of my concern.
“Don’t you know how much a blade of these metals would weigh?”
“No, that’s details for you to know.”
I want to groan, but withhold from doing so. “Sure, except none of them would even be *usable* by your son. Unless, of course, he happens to be progeny of a dragon, or maybe a titan…”
The King glares at me. “What are you trying to say? Do you presume my son incapable of handling such a weapon?”
“I think *anyone* is incapable, boss.”
He turns around with a huff. “Perhaps I will bring my request elsewhere, then.”
For an instant, I’m content with bidding good riddance to the fool, at least until I remind myself of the business his request may bring me, if made to his liking. “Boss,” I begin, speaking quickly, “an ingot of star steel alone supposedly weighs as much as a mountain. Adacobat isn’t far behind, and I can only imagine how heavy the Mithril alloy will be!”
“So it’s too difficult a task for you,” he calls without looking back. “Then I shall find another, perhaps more experienced smith.”
“I’ll make it.”
He whirls back around. “You think yourself able?”
“No, I *know* I’m damn near the best blacksmith in this land. Just about anyone else claiming to be is probably lying, boss.”
“So you’ll make it, then?”
“Yes, boss.”
“Fantastic!” he exclaims as he claps his hands together. “I’ll be back tomorrow with the order in paper!” Before I can get another word in, the king runs off, though I would liken it more to a fast waddle.
I pinch the bridge of my nose, letting out a deep sigh before turning around. “Jebediah!” I call.
A loud, metallic clanking comes from out back before I see his head pop around the corner. “Yeah boss?”
“Get ready to run a letter for me, would ya?” I say as I begin to make my way inside. “I’m gonna need to call in some favors.”
\------
r/IUniven | 13 | You're a dwarven blacksmith who recently opened up shop in a human town. Your first customer, the town's king, gives you the task to make a weapon for his son. A weapon that can kill a dragon. You know that the weapon would end up to heavy for a human to wield. You two get into an argument. | 16 |
It had only been a week. I thought I’d be able to hold out longer but goddamnit, I didn’t think I would feel his absence in every ounce of my being—not like this. What’s funny is, even though I know he’s not here, it still seems like he is. His scent lingers in the couch pillows, his shampoo is still nestled in the shower caddy behind my shaving cream, and although his mother came by days ago to pack up his clothing, I still manage to find a lone sock or two of his in my pile.
It’s not fair. All of this feels so fucking unfair. He’s gone for good and here I am, sitting on the floor of his room or a "man-cave" is what he’d call it, coming down from yet another panic attack. I just can’t take it anymore! I can’t stand the constant ache that fills me up with complete rage and sadness. He can’t be dead, he can’t just leave me to do this on my own!
Which is why I did it. Or at least I’m doing it right now. I took a deep breath, exhaling before my eyes slowly drifted over to the far right corner of the room. Just above his desk sat a collection of figures he’d been rounding up since he was ten years old. I never understood what was so great about them. They looked like any other action figure kids played with. I mean seriously they were really nothing special—just stupid dolls.
I sighed.
Or…perhaps I was just trying to convince myself that they were in order to justify the fact that I’d listed them on a classified ad website and there’s a guy on his way over to buy them right now. I shut my eyes at the thought, feeling my heart beat pick up speed. Fuck. I know what I’m doing is wrong. These were his favorite things in the whole world. They were something him and his father started collecting over the years and when his dad died four years ago, they became that much more important to him.
Now my heart is beating so hard, almost as if it could explode if one more thought allowed it. I’m stuck between a rock and a hard place. I want to let him rest peacefully as I know he’s no longer suffering but…I need him. I truly need him.
He made me promise not to pawn them off should he die or else he’d be back to haunt me. At the time, I found it quite amusing. A collection of figurines bringing back a dead guy? Ha! I’d love to see that.
But here I am, desperate, lonely, and superstitious. I’d once read an article about a grieving mother claiming to have spoken with her dead son after cleaning a pair of his lucky shoes that he refused to wash due to the fact that the luck was "in the filth of it." And although I found it to be quite ridiculous and that she was probably just delusional due to grief, I am now in no position to make such claims due to the fact that I am now in her shoes. It’s not easy giving away such a huge part of him, especially to some stranger. However, I’d give anything to simply just see him again.
I’m sure he will understand.
A knock at the door forced my eyes open. That was fast. He must have raced over here in a hurry, hoping I didn’t bail or sell them off to someone else. I remained sitting on the floor for a few seconds staring at the figurines in hopes they’d speak up and tell me I was making the wrong choice. But they didn’t and so therefore I was definitely making the right one.
I stood up ,walking over to the shelf and pulling down the figurines one by one and placing them in a box that sat upon his desk. "I’m sorry," I muttered, taking hold of the box and heading downstairs. My heart was still drumming. Boom…boom….boom.
I make it to the front door, reaching for the handle with sweaty palms and quickly pulling it open. As I did so, my eyes instantly met with the man before me, causing me to drop the box of figurines on the floor.
I could not believe my eyes.
"I told you so," he said. | 295 | Your dying lover jokingly swears that if you sell their precious collection, they’ll come back and haunt you. After their death, you sell it all, hoping they’ll keep their promise. | 1,192 |
"C'mon man I'm just doing my job," I say right before a heel flies past my face barely grazing my ear before making a small crack in the stone wall behind me the heel indented into it.
I look behind me then look at her with a bewildered look on my face.
"I told you I am NOT going with you I hate it there at least the dragon talks to me!"
Dragon? What dragon? I didn't see a dragon amongst the seemingly endless hoard of monsters surrounding the castle.
"What dragon are you talking about princ-"
"DO NOT CALL ME THAT!!" she stomps her bare foot on the ground creating an ungodly amount of force shaking the floor of her tower chambers.
"My name is Alina" she calms down a little when she saw my terrified face.
"Ok... Alina where is the dragon?" I say looking around seeing that the place was more like a bedroom than a prison.
"Right here," she says pointing to her heart.
"What?" I look at her confused
"The curse of the dragon heart was passed down from the women in my family for centuries, watching over us and protecting us from danger." she looks at me with sad eyes
"But I am different than my ancestors I am more compatible with it than they are..." she trails off looking off her balcony overlooking the castle.
"It causes me to have... changes in my body, as you can see from the freakish strength," I see her beautiful face in the moonlight which causes me heart to skip a beat.
"And that is why I must stay away from everyone, I am no princess I am a monster," she says tearing up. Her beautiful face glistened from the moonlight.
I didn't know what to say
We stare at each other for a while not moving.
I begin to walk forward
"NO, get away from me!" she backs away to the ledge of the balcony
I continue to walk forward
"I-I could hurt you!" she stammers putting her arms up and tears begin to flow from her face once more.
I stand at the doorway to the balcony not far from where she is.
I step outside as great wings sprout from her back.
"Get away!" she shouts at me with a shockwave that would knock out a regular person.
But I am no regular person.
I step forward once more.
Shes even more beautiful up close.
She looks up at me with confusion and anger.
"I won't go down without a fi-"
I embrace her
I could feel all the tension in her body start gradually disappearing, and her wings droop and shrink.
"Are you not... scared of me?" she says as she starts sobbing in my arms.
"You could die if you stay around me I'm a monster!"
"You are no monster," I say to her as she starts sobbing harder in my arms.
"And I don't believe that you would intentionally hurt anyone Alina," I say as I pull her away from me and look into her eyes. Sadness and surprise in her slit eyes.
"Who am...?"your circumstances of your birth don't change who you are."
"Who I am...?"
She looks down deep in thought for a second before the tower starts to crumble from the shockwave she did earlier.
The balcony fell apart underneath our feet causing us both to start falling, she spreads her beautiful white wings and caught me, I look below as we start flying upwards. I look up at her to see her smiling at me face glistening with tears of happiness at the words that she longed to hear for a long time.
We land on one of the the castle roofs and she lets go of me.
I sigh relieved and look at her again, her smiling the brightest smile I have ever seen."
"Do you think I could help people?"
"Yes"
"Do you think I can live with everyone?"
"Of course, you can."
I smile warmly at the young girl.
"And I will be with you all the way Alina," I say extending my hand towards her.
"For as long as you want me to be." She grabs it blushing a little.
"Let's go home, your father misses you so much,"
"...Ok," she says shyly as I pull her along.
I will be with you for as long as you let me.
My princess...
​
​
Feel free to comment critiques I'm new to this | 15 | You’ve been sent to rescue a princess, only she doesn’t seem to want to be rescued. She tries to evade you and fight back. | 61 |
"Name, age, race and creed if appropriate." The words rolled off my tongue as the quill hovered over the paper. I'd lost count of how many times I'd said them in my time here.
"Um, Caiel, 31, half-elven, and I don't have a creed." As was usual, the half-elven voice tingled with magic. Illegal magic. I spared a brief glance up at the new prisoner, not seeing anything I hadn't before. Tall, lithe and unfortunately pretty. It was surprising, actually that he hadn't been caught prior to this. Most half-elves had difficulty hiding.
"Hand. Left or right, your choice." I couldn't help the boredom that leaked into my voice, and as the half-elf hesitated, I rolled my eyes at the other guard. He quickly suppressed a smile and gave the prisoner a shove on the shoulder.
"She's not going to cut it off, stupid. Just hold out your hand."
The half-elf hurriedly complied, and I slid a small metal loop onto his wrist. It tightened until you couldn't fit even a piece of paper between it and the skin. The man in front of me fell to the floor, writhing a little. I sighed, nodding to the guard. Bending, the guard picked up the now unconscious half-elf and carried him through the far door and out of sight. I turned to a new page in the book and scratched the date at the top. It was always a shock to the half-elves—really to any creature that had magic woven into them— to have it suppressed by the bracelet. He would recover soon enough. Raising my voice, I shouted.
"Next!"
——————
I walked through the prison, hearing the usual cries. The sobs of pain, the sadness, the despair. Those weren't the worst ones though. No, the worst were the ones that stared at you through their cell bars. They didn't look angry, sad, or hopeful. There was nothing left in their eyes, nothing but an empty shell.
I tried not to look.
I'm not heartless. But I have a job to do. The powers that be had decided magic was illegal. So, I processed the prisoners. I put their bracelets on. And I programmed the bracelets.
Returning to my little office, I sighed, checking the timer I kept in my drawer. Still a bit of time left. I leaned back, staring up at the ceiling, knowing that far above me, the government, the lawmakers; everyone in charge would be gathering to think of new laws to oppress the people. New laws to suck the magic out of the world. They'd wanted to keep the prisoners under their feet, to make sure everyone was trapped, to keep a personal eye on things.
Myself, I think it's a bit of a stupid idea. But I'm just a drudge.
——————
"You see gentlemen, with our superior technology, the magic users are rendered helpless." The Prime Speaker stared at those gathered around him. It was Presentation day, a day to show the shareholders that the government was doing its job. Everyone had to be present. I was lurking in the background, checking my timer. I'd shifted it to my pocket, though it made a ridiculous bulge in the front of my skirts.
The timing had to be perfect.
Massed in a huddle in the center of the giant meeting room, the prisoners curled in on themselves, as if trying to hide from the light. I'd chosen these ones specifically, though if you asked the bailiff, he'd picked them himself. They were doing an excellent job of acting afraid.
Almost compulsively, I checked my timer again. The display read 0000:001. As the Prime Speaker opened his mouth to say something, I raised my own voice, shouldering through the crowd.
"But there's a flaw in the technology. There's a really, really obvious problem." I said. Murmurs ran through the room, a quiet susurration of sound. The Prime Speaker drew himself up, but I wasn't about to let him steal this moment.
"You see, the flaw is this. They can be programmed." I continued. A shout rose from a shareholder.
"Programmed to do what?"
Reaching the huddled mass of prisoners, I tapped one of their shoulders and then turned to the Prime Speaker with a grin.
"Release."
As I spoke the word, my timer clicked down, a small beeping noise emanating from my skirt. And the bracelet on every prisoner fell to the ground. Gasps rose from the crowd, but the Prime Speaker raised his hands in a calming motion. He sneered at me, motioning to the guards that flanked the room.
"You forget that all of these people were caught once. They were imprisoned for years. What gave you the idea that this little stunt of yours was ever going to work?"
I smiled at him, a vicious snarl of an expression, and reaching deep inside, I summoned my own magic. The magic I kept buried and hidden until the perfect moment.
"They have me." And I pushed my power out, sending it through the room, and down through the floor, reaching for the prison beneath us.
I did say the bracelet on *every* prisoner released.
The floor creaked as the ground shook, and a fireball flashed out of the half-elf nearest me, incinerating one of the fast-approaching guards. He frowned at me, confused.
"All I wanted to summon was a spark. What—" His eyes went wide as he came to a quick realization. I smiled.
"Give 'em hell Caiel." I said, and I moved swiftly away from the magic users. They would be rusty and I didn't want to get hit by friendly fire, as it were.
The Bailiff grabbed me by the shoulder, screaming into my ear.
"What did you do? That half-elf is a Level 1 threat usually. He can't light more than a candle."
"I amplified his power. That's what I do. That's all I do. But I can do it extremely well." I said, with considerable satisfaction. The bailiff's face went white, as all the blood drained out of it.
"So..." He whispered.
"So, any Level 1's are now at least a Level 3. And it grows exponentially with power. So a Level 6 threat usually, is..." I trailed off letting him do the math.
"Oh." It seemed to small a word for the enormity of the situation. A ray of ice shot past us splattering into three government officials. I smiled at the Bailiff.
" So, basically. Run."
———————
Chaos reigned in the building and the prison. Safley outside of it, on a nearby hill, with Caiel as my self-proclaimed bodyguard, I couldn't help the laughter that ran through me. It had taken years, hundreds of them. But finally, finally, we were free. Caiel laid a hand on my shoulder, checking to see if I was okay.
"We're free Caiel. We're free." He nodded at my words, but his face clouded.
"Why did you wait so long?"
"I had to make sure there were enough prisoners." I shook my head, sighing. "I didn't like doing it. I didn't like seeing their spirits break. But if the attack was to be successful, we needed the numbers."
A loud crack cut off anything he would have said in response. In front of us, the building was imploding, drawing in on itself. Anyone who'd dodged the original onslaught wouldn't escape that. As it seemed to wink out of existence, there was a huge gust of wind, that nearly made me lose my footing. If Caiel's hand hadn't remained on my shoulder, I would have fallen.
I did always think putting a prison beneath a government building was a stupid idea.
Thank goodness for stupidity.
​
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Visit r/Mel_Rose_Writes for more stories! | 16 | In a world where magic is forbidden, you are responsible for processing new inmates who are magic users. Little does anyone know, you have magical abilities yourself. | 22 |
That summer I decided I would do it. I don’t even know where the idea came from, but once I had made up my mind there was no going back. I had had enough. I was done.
I used to like camp. Every year, around July, I would go to the lake for a few weeks. And every year, as a tradition, we would try to get into the Guinness Book of world Records. Well, Donnie and Sam, did at least. Somehow, they would wind up getting the whole camp involved.
Each year they would try, and each year they would fail. I was tired of failing. I was sick and tired of Sam and Donnie’s schemes; I was sick of their faces. It was my last year of camp and I just wanted to relax for once. Then, I’d never have to see them again. Of course, they had other plans.
Donnie was the type of person that felt like he could tell you what to do. His family was rich, and with that money comes people who will do whatever you want. Donnie was used to getting his way. This year, he wanted to go for the domino effect world record.
Of course, I said no. Sam and the others were on the fence- it wasn’t until the truckloads of dominoes started coming that we realized that Donnie would have his way yet again.
I was sick of him winning. I’d take him down even if it meant bringing everyone else down with him.
So I waited. Day after day we spent hours in the rec room lining dominoes. And each day, I would count the dominoes that we laid out. It’s a miracle we didn’t set it off early; that’d be too easy. I had something worse in mind.
The world record at the time was still in the tens of thousands. We set them up in rows and kept them separate so we wouldn’t set the whole thing off at once by accident. This also made them ridiculously easy to count. I knew exactly which domino would have broken the world record. The night before we set it off, I glued that domino to the floor.
I never did see Donnie again after that last summer at camp, but I’ll never forget his face. I’ll never forget any of their faces. The face of sheer disappointment and defeat; almost as if I had broken their little hearts. It was so… satisfying. That’s the day I knew I was meant to be evil.
It’s the little things that matter, and if you’re going to be good at anything you have to start small. I hope you’ve enjoyed this episode! I’m your host dreadedgrin. Don’t forget to listen in next week as we discuss: creativity and it’s role in the villain process. | 63 | Remember! Not all acts of evil have to be big! The road to villainy starts with a single step. My series of self-help podcasts will help you take that first step. Listen along with the world's greatest agent of chaos and find your own path into darkness. Subscribe today! | 504 |
As he peered into the foreboding gloom of what was possibly the most humongous cave he had ever seen, eyes searching for any sign of movement, Kurt found himself wishing for perhaps the hundredth time since breakfast that he had listened to his mother and become a florist. Florists didn't have to travel halfway across the continent for their work. They certainly didn't have to climb mountains, searching each and every crack and crevice for monstrous-looking caverns. They absolutely didn't have to worry about talking to beasts the size of a small mountain who could crush him into a thin paste completely by accident.
But Kurt was not a florist, he was a librarian. A librarian who, in a rather cruel twist of fate for a man who had joined the profession to stay inside and read all day, was tasked with going out into the world and retrieving the many overdue books whose borrowers were very unlikely to come and return them in person.
When he had been first told of his reassignment to the Retrieval Division, Kurt had assumed that meant nobles, but as it turned out, members of the so-called better class had very little use for library books. Those of them inclined towards academia could certainly afford to buy and commission works for their own personal collections, and those who were not so inclined did very little reading at all.
So, entirely against his will, Kurt was made privy to one of the best-kept secrets of the human realms. The secret that Dragons existed. Well, *still* existed. They were all over the legends of course, in fact, it was rather hard to find a culture across the known world without some sort of wyrm or wyvern or generically scaly bestie popping up somewhere and being labelled a dragon. It was generally accepted, mostly due to the fact that no one had seen one in a very long while, that the colossal creatures were all extinct. Why exactly, no one really knew, but the general consensus amongst the people who cared enough to even think about the why was *"Who cares, let's just be thankful we don't have to worry about being eaten anymore."*
If these people *had* cared, they might have realized that the rather quick disappearance of dragonkind coincided rather neatly with the construction and completion of the realm's first public library. Perhaps some have noticed this little correlation but merely shrugged it off as coincidence. After all, correlation does not equal causation. Except when it does.
In this case, it very much did. Dragons, by some specific part of their nature, are hoarders, stockpiling whatever they fancy in great barrows beneath the earth, creating massive personal collections of all sorts of bits and bobs that would make an emperor's treasury look like a five-year-old's piggy bank.
It was one such great hoard that Kurt was currently making his way towards. At least, he hoped he was making his way towards it, as it was almost impossible to see past his own nose in the gloom. He could have lit one of the stubbly little candles he had in his pack, but the light would be barely any help in the vastness of the cavern. Plus, he might as well jump and down and shout, "Hello! I'm a thief here to steal your treasure! Please come and turn me into a small pile of ash!"
Now, don't assume that means dragons are all monstrous, fire-breathing devils who like nothing more than toasting humans willy-nilly. Such hurtful stereotypes are utterly untrue, and are, as is often the case with most prejudices and assumptions, born from misunderstanding.
Dragons, while not the murderous marauders most myths make them out to be, are still quite territorial, and especially appreciative of the concept of private property. They are also -quite possibly as a result of their near-immortal- a tad paranoid. This means if one was to see a human blundering toward their precious hoard, completely unexpected and uninvited, they might just jump to conclusions. Conclusions that result in the errant interloper being burnt to cinders before they have a chance to explain themselves.
As the interloper in this particular instance, and as someone not particularly keen on dying a firey death, Kurt stayed in the dark.
Dragon hoards are all a bit different, varying slightly based on the tastes of their creator. Some prefer silver, others gold. Some avoid precious metals altogether, preferring gemstones. A few avoid all such gaudy trinkets, preferring instead items of use, tools of iron, bronze, or steel. Kurt had even met one rather eccentric Drake in the eastern mountains who had an extensive collection of stringed instruments. But, regardless of individuals' preferences or tastes, there was one constant that every dragon's collection seemed to contain.
Dragons loved literature. Be it great leather-bound tomes, scientific journals, or even cheaply-printed broadsheets, Dragons read profusely. No matter the language, no matter the subject, they simply found the written word and all the meanings it could convey to be completely enthraling.
Kurt rounded a corner, stumbled over a particularly large rock, and fell forwards, landing in a heap at the entrance to a particularly lofty portion of the cave. Groaning, he picked himself up, checking his palms for cuts or scrapes. Thankfully all he could see was a little dirt. Then he realized he could see his hands. He had tripped and fallen into a well-lit area. The young librarian gulped and looked up.
Before him was a vast, shimmering collection of armour. Platemail, chainmail, helmets, greaves, full suits, odds and ends, iron, steel, bronze, silver, and even gold ceremonial armour. A warlord could have equipped a whole army with the contents of the cavern. The collection was lit by a large sunstone, embedded in the ceiling and radiating a white magical light with soft intensity. Nestled in the middle of the hoard, nearly covered by the armour surrounding them, was a vast dragon, scales the colour of tarnished bronze. If they had noticed Kurt's bungled entrance, they made no indication.
Instead, the creature remained entirely engrossed in the book before it. They had it propped up against a particularly shiny platinum chest plate, with their head resting fully on the floor of the cave. Every so often they would gently reach out a single claw and ever-so-carefully turn a page.
Kurt collected himself and began to pick his way through the collection, trying his best not to disturb anything as he went. The last thing he needed was a boot or a glave tumbling from its place to disturb the dragon before he was ready to introduce himself. A few minutes of careful tip-toeing later, and came to a halt some distance to the side of the massive creature's head. A little puff of smoke escaped their nose, and a low rumbling filled the cavern. The dragon was happy. Apparently, it was a good book.
Kurt cleared his throat. "Excuse me!" he shouted, clasping his hands behind his back. He tried his best to look as un-thievish as possible.
The rumbling petered out slowly, leaving only a terrible, empty silence. The dragon's eye moved laboriously away from the page and focused carefully on him. A chill ran through Kurt's spine.
"Are you the dragon commonly known as Alvail the Avaricious?" he asked, reaching for the notebook in his cloak's inner pocket.
Another, smaller rumble shook the cavern. "Yesssss." the dragon's voice was deep and soft, almost velvety.
"Juinor Librarian Kurt Greystone, Central Imperial Library. I understand you have some overdue books. I am here to collect"
Alvail, to their credit, looked agast. Well, as agast as anyone with a massive scaly face can. "Overdue? Isssss it that time already?" they lifted their head slightly, stretching their body, not unlike a cat would.
"Actually, it was time three hundred and twenty-seven years ago." Kurt winced. "We did have a bit of trouble finding you."
The dragon nodded and gave the young librarian a rather sheepish look. 'How much do I owe?
Kurt flipped open his notebook to a dogeared page near the back. "Well, for 19 books, all overdue by 119562 days, at one copper per day not returned..." He took a moment, double-checking his math, "Twenty-two thousand, seven hundred and sixteen gold, seven silvers, and eight coppers."
A little puff of smoke trickled out of Avail the Averacious' snout." They cast a reluctant look back at their hoard, before asking in a hopeful tone, "I don't sssssuppose you accept trades?" | 144 | Dragons being both near imortal and very solitary creatures love to read. Dragons also ballance profound hoarding instincts with a deep respect for law and order. As a result libraries have specially trained librarians whose job is reteriving books (and collecting fines) from overdue dragons. | 639 |
“Remus, can you get the door, please? I’ve got my hands full with laundry,” a voice called from upstairs.
“Aye, lass. I’ll get it.” Remus slowly stood from his chair before the fireplace, the ancient vampire lord sighing in annoyance at having to move from his comfortable position.
Slowly gliding to the door, he lifted a clawed hand and slightly parted the curtains on the window nearby. Glancing out, he hummed in surprise at what he saw. “This aught to be interesting,” he muttered.
He swung the door opened dramatically, shadows dancing along his body as the former party he once fought against in the past readied themselves for combat.
“Might you need something?” Remus said, a dark smirk spreading across his pale face.
“We have been searching for you, Remus; Lord of Shadows! We know you plot terrible things!” The shortest one, Remus didn’t remember his name, said while brandishing his sword.
“Is that so?” he asked, mock shock now replacing his expression as his voice wavered. “My, whatever might I be planning? Even I don’t know! Gods, tell me, brave heroes, what am I going to do?” He stepped out of the house, waves of darkness forming armor on him. “I just have to know,” he finished.
They were scared. Unimpressive. Pathetic. The only reason they had lasted so long was because of their leader, Ilia. The Sword Maiden. Hero of Draena, and protector of house Ikarnus.
Who they just so happened to betray three years prior due to their jealousy. After all, they were the sidekicks. And she certainly hadn’t needed their help when she ran her weapon through his heart. Both literally, and metaphorically.
But without her? They couldn’t stand up against his true power. They were ants to be crushed beneath his boot. Lambs to the slaughter. Nothing but-
“Remus, who is it?”
The group, Remus included, froze, wondering what their next course of action was. The Vampire turned around, clearing his throat. “Nothing, lass. Just some… visitors asking directions. They seem quite lost.”
There was a sound of rushing air, and then the sword from earlier pierced Remus from behind, the now bloodied blade poking out of the front of his chest. He gave it a half interested look.
“Ah. Well, when you help them, can you come help me? I’m trying to move the table, but I’m not as strong as I was after Tyland stabbed me in the back,” Ilia said.
Remus smirked, spinning around and leaving the blade imbedded in him. That was the little runts name. “Yes, he seems to have a penchant for doing that. Likely to make up for his vast inadequacy.”
Tyland’s face was a mix between fury and terror. Whether it was because of Ilia’s jab, her being clearly alive, or Remus walking around with a sword in his chest unharmed was unknown to said vampire.
Ilia only laughed. “Gods, yes. Such an angry little man. Glad I don’t have to worry about seeing him ever again.”
“Quite. Now, let me get these people their directions, and I’ll be right there.” Remus returned his attention to the party, all of them backing away at the glowing red eyes and sharpening fangs of the demonic being.
He dashed past them, knocking them all to the floor, then floated up above them, tying them like marionettes with strings of shadow. He drew them close, his normally rich, soothing voice filled with dark hatred.
“The only reason I spare you now is because I have neither the patience, nor time to dismantle you as I desire and then clean off the blood before returning to my beloved.” He began to twist their limbs, pained cries falling from their lips.
“So listen well, weaklings. Should I ever see you again, or hear from you, I shall burn you, and everything you have ever cared about into ash, and then scatter what remnants remain upon the winds of eternity! Do you understand!”
They cried. Some for their parents, some for mercy. Some for their lives. But Remus was sure his point was made. He dropped them all, enjoying the painful thuds as they crashed to the floor in heaps. He then pulled the sword from his chest, dropping it at Tyland’s feet and scowling.
“Now that we understand each other… RUN!”
The instant satisfaction was something Remus missed. The feeling of utter power, watching his enemies race away in terror. Utter bliss for him. But he had found other things to enjoy. And the main one needed his help.
So he stepped back inside, dispelling the shadows and returning to relative normalcy before finding Ilia. With a flick of his wrist, he used his magic to place the table where she desired.
But before he could return to his favorite resting spot, she took his arm and pulled him in, planting a kiss upon his cold cheek.
“Thank you for dealing with them, darling. I didn’t think I could actually face them. Not after everything that happened.”
Remus smiled warmly at her. “Of course, my beloved. For you, I would face down the kingdom.”
Ilia grinned at him in a way that always scared him. “Would you mind facing down the process of making dinner?”
He sighed. A renowned swordswoman of unparalleled skill… and after all this time she still could not boil water without burning it. But still. It was one of the many things he had grown to love about the woman. | 46 | The Hero was betrayed by their Party and left for dead. The Villain finds the Hero and nurses them back to health. Years later they are married and in love, and former party member has just discovered them | 44 |
It's been about an hour. I should have been able to fight him off, but I was too exhausted... the villain, Illfrid, said that the fact I hadn't the strength to fight him off proves that I need a break. I didn't understand what he meant at that time; now I do. He knew I had reached my limit, and was simply trying to do me a favour. It's not even really a big deal - there are other heroes, some as powerful or maybe even more powerful than me, so it's not like Illfrid is left unchecked.
Rather than a dungeon or prison cell, he put me in a rather nice room, but it is monitored - two men standing just outside, obviously to keep me from sneaking out. At my full strength, this would be child's play; as of now, though, I just want to sleep. I'm hearing footsteps...
"Dinner, sir Polvric." Everything seems innocent enough, but still... "I hope you understand my hesitation, why don't you have a bite first?" The soldier quickly takes a bite of the food, and I nod in satisfaction. He passes it over to me. "Thank you. If I may ask, why is Lord Illfrid doing this? He could have had me killed, or locked me up."
The soldier smiles at me. "He's not the man he's made out to be. He's actually quite fair and kind. He only lets others think he's a villain because he feels that someone needs to fulfil that role. His villainy is nothing more than a show."
I nod thoughtfully, taking the time to process this information. Whether it's true or not, for now it doesn't matter. Until I hear someone running towards us. "I got a report! We are to immediately go on lockdown! The Beast of the Mountain has shown its presence once again!"
"The Beast of the Mountain?" I query. "Isn't that just a legend?" The Beast of the Mountain is said to be a mix between a tiger, a bear, a boar and a wolf, as big as an elephant, and impossible to survive an encounter. The reporting soldier looks at me. "I'm afraid not, sir Polvric. To keep everyone safe, this castle and the surrounding area is on lockdown. All we can do is wait it out, and pray that it doesn't breach our defences." | 37 | The Villain has kidnapped the Hero. Not for any diabolical purposes, they just saw that the Hero was close to a collapse from overworking themselves and decided to give them a forced vacation | 124 |
The little signs always are the first. Watch movies with trained spies a couple times and you start to see them notice the little things. The picture out of place. The vase on its side. The door sitting just slightly ajar.
Ah, amateur hour.
I walked into the kitchen and grabbed the coffee, pouring a cup for myself, as the goons "silently" slid into the room. Silence. Bah. My day, silence meant silence. These goons were quiet but not SILENT. Too much wasted movement. Too much wasted energy. Again, little things - pouches thumping filled with nothing of use, and leather grips creaking as they tightened their holds on their weapons.
"Alright," I said, breaking the 'silence.' "What's the deal? What are you here for?"
I turned and faced them. Five of them, all about my girl's age, by their postures. Couldn't tell by their face's though - masks on all of them hid the truth. "We know Phaseshift means something to you, and you mean something to her. So we're going to take you down to where she's fighting our boss. And you WILL cooperate." He turned on the stun baton. Well, at least he had the sense not to threaten to kill the bargaining chip.
A shame that's all the sense he had.
"Ah... you're Killswitch's men," I guessed. "I recognize the masks now... But I'm guessing he didn't order you to come take me."
"Doesn't matter," said another, thumping his chest as he spoke. "We use you, we let our boss get the W on Phaseshift when she freezes up. We're taking the initiative."
I sighed. "No. You're not. You idiots think your boss will make you "big time" for kidnapping an old man and getting him in trouble? Have you never noticed how he NEVER has you kidnap hostages? Never has you take people with you as collateral on heists. He HATES hostage situations. He never wants to deal with them."
They looked at each other, confused. "Wait... how did you know that?" another asked.
"Killswitch was a kid when the bank he was in got held up. His parents were both killed. One by a dirty cop trying to take out a contact who would turn on him if they went to court. The other by the hands of a deranged criminal who shouldn't have been on a team like that. He never liked keeping innocents in jeopardy. Hence why he always blacked out buildings away from sensitive places." I sipped my coffee. "Good man, Killswitch. Think it's the reason my girl goes easy on him. She could break some bones, but she always makes sure to take him down easy. She knows he's never going to endanger someone's life, never going to go after something someone REALLY needs. He's decent. Not like Starbreaker."
They froze. THIS was silence. Nothing could be heard in that moment, save maybe the faint echo of that name. "St-starbreaker's dea-dead," the leader said.
"Right... I forgot... Died... ten years ago? Teen hero team supposedly took him down... but it went bad. Real bad. A lot of them died. That's the story, right? He went down swinging and took down a bunch of teen heroes? Only one got through and killed him?"
"Yeah... he was... a legend."
The coffee mug cracked in my hand. Reflex I hadn't realized would come up. "Legend? God, you're an idiot. He was a 'breaker - strongest class of supervillains around. Teen heroes teaming up to take him down? A joke. He wasn't even TRYING to fight them. They came after him... he tried to play nice because killing kids is the thing that brings the heat. A few full supes here and there, it's manageable. But the dumb idiots kept getting in each other's way. Showboating, trying to be the one to take him down. Between that and all the potshots he took to bring them down easily, they end up getting mangled. Their own faults... I wanted to get out but they wouldn't let me... and I saw how dumb the villain game was. One girl got out. The smart one. She was trying to coordinate the group. But she was still young - youngest of the bunch. They didn't listen. I found her... threw out the mask... took her in and raised her. Raised her right, it seems."
They started to realize. "Wait... you just said... you..."
"Yep. Starbreaker is dead... the name, anyways. But you five decided to have fun breaking your bosses' rules." I stepped forward, the distance between me and the leader nothing, my hand on his neck. "And unlike my girl OR Killswitch, I don't mind killing idiots... especially ones that threaten her."
\--
She came back in around midnight, as I was sweeping up the broken shards of the mug. "Hey, everything okay?" she said as she came into the kitchen, removing her hood and mask.
"Oh, everything's fine, sweetie," I said. "Just broke a mug... you know how it goes. How was your patrol night?"
"Pretty typical. Killswitch blacked out a museum and stole a statue. Got it back, but he slipped away. Eh. Probably for the best... I didn't want to corner him, make him ACTUALLY fight. And pretty sure it was a forgery, really... no one would have noticed if he hadn't moved it."
"Ah, how funny." I smiled, dumping the broken porcelain into the trash, next to the piles of dust I had just dumped out of the vacuum. | 1,140 | Years ago, an old Villain saved the life of a Young Hero and decided to adopt him before retiring. Now some rookie Villains have decided the best way to get to the Hero is through his dad. What a terrible mistake. | 2,283 |
It was creepy at first. They wouldn't stop. I heard them every morning, at the exact same time, always just one phrase "It's coming" and nothing else. I learned Morse Code as a way to pass the time, nothing more than a passing interest. Now I wish I had never learned it at all, none of my friends know Morse, and they wouldn't believe me even after I showed them a video recording! They chalked it all up to me reading too much into things refusing to take me seriously... I stopped talking to them after that.
.. - .----. ... / -.-. --- -- .. -. --.
Then it became annoying, days became weeks, became months, and now it's been three years since the tapping began. I had learned to live with it, after they followed me from my old house to my new apartment upstate; and here I thought birds flew south for the winters, not these ones it seems. After the third year of this I had settled into a form of morbid routine; wake up, hear the message, go about my day and repeat. Sometimes I'd even tap back a half-hearted response, it's not like the birds cared, they just kept tapping.
.. - .----. ... / -.-. --- -- .. -. --.
Finally I snapped, I was mad. I went on a killing spree; I used traps, a bb gun, even adopted a cat! Just so that they would leave me alone. It didn't do anything at first, they just kept coming back, at the same time, every day... always "It's coming" nothing more. I did not relent though, and slowly a hundred became a few dozen and flocks came down as red rain down onto the streets below. Until finally, *finally,* silence.
.. - .----. ... / -.-. --- -- .. -. --.
I got evicted shortly after one of the people in the lower units realized that it was me who was killing the birds late at night. It was no matter, I won, the birds would trouble me no longer. I never did find out what it was they were tapping so religiously about, what it was that caused them to throw themselves at me despite me actively trying to kill them. I never figured out what "It" was. Even now I couldn't care less. The skies are clear, the sun is rising and the streets look so inviting from way up here...
.. - .----. ... / -.-. --- -- .. -. --.
^(.. - .----. ... / -.-. --- -- .. -. --.)
^(.. - .----. ... / .... . .-. .) | 214 | You taught yourself Morse code. You also realize that the birds at your window won't stop tapping out "It's coming". | 1,661 |
The constant drip drip was driving Jared insane. There were not enough buckets in the city to catch all the leaking water. His roof might as well have been a sieve. And it was rainy season. The floor was hard and the rickety boards creaked as he turned to his side, in search of comfort. He was used to the musty foul smell that lingered in the air, but not to the empty shell his house had become. She’d taken everything.
The lump in Jared’s neck was the size of a canon ball. Incurable. It had grown so large and heavy, he could no longer stand up. He hadn’t eaten in nearly a week now. He was a skeleton wearing skin. He forced himself up and nearly snapped his neck in two. And he would have roared in agony, if his mouth was not so dry.
Jared’s thin dry lips shaped into a grin. He could have just lay there and die. His neck could have snapped and he would have died. And yet here he was, reaching for the last thing he still owned. Poison. A slow death wasn’t for him. His stomach had gone concave and his ribs were a visible spider like shape. The floor was covered in urine and excrement.
His wife, he wouldn’t even think her name, had taken everything. Even things that had been bolted down. Like the cabinets where he mixed his potions. All his herbs and ingredients were gone. The warm bed he’d made himself from the wood of the ancient mahogany tree. And then she left. She had no use for a dead husband. The bottle of Deathbloom Sap was all she left behind. Poison.
Jared welcomed death. It couldn’t be any worse than this. And he could no longer wait for nature to take its course. One drop would do the trick. One drop would do what the fast growing lump in his neck was doing. He remembered when it’d been the size of a pea. Two weeks and he looked like a camel. He would be dead in a few more days he reckoned. He was tired of waiting.
Instead of a drop Jared steadily lifted the glass bottle to his mouth. His limbs were so weak, the task was difficult. And he poured the whole thing down his throat. He couldn’t taste anything. His tongue was coated in what felt like rubber. He closed his eyes, the empty bottle crashing to floor, Jared’s head landing next to it as he fell too.
Jared opened his eyes. Was this the afterlife? If so it needed a clean. It smelled just as bad as his old house. He sat up with ease. His hands grasped for his neck. It had been too easy. Almost like the lump was gone. He felt his neck. There was nothing there. And his body seemed different. He jumped to his feet. Jumped!
His stomach was no longer concave. It was flat and healthy. The ribs were no longer prominent. He touched his mouth, even his teeth had changed. The gap between them which had made him whistle like a kettle when he breathed, was gone. The teeth had moved into place. He had no more scars on his body. This MUST be the afterlife. But it wasn’t. The glass bottle was where it’d dropped. The roof was leaking and the room stunk.
What had happened? He sat cross legged on the creaking floor. This was a miracle. But no. He’d spent half his life trying to make other people better. Making medicines from herbs. So it had to be some sort of medicine. He should have been dead. One drop killed instantly. He’d seen it with his own eyes. So why was he alive. Because you didn’t take one drop did you, you idiot, he thought. You guzzled the whole bottle!
He picked up the bottle and stared at it open mouthed. Deathbloom sap was, well, death incarnate. But was it? Life and death were connected by a thread. Could something that killed also give life? He suddenly burst out laughing. The loud cackle from him mouth startled even him. He’d made his first real discovery. Deathbloom sap? A cure all? No one else would ever know this. They were afraid of it.
If he used some cranberries to change the colour and mask the taste. Perhaps he could. No he couldn’t. But what if he did. How much money would he make? How many lives would he save? He’d have to get the dosage right. Drink it all or not at all, he would say. And he could charge anything. He was living proof it worked. They all knew he was dying, and now he was the perfect picture of health.
He laughed again and rolled on the floor. He didn’t even care when he rolled on something soft. His life was about to change forever. | 53 | a large amount of the sap is a potent curative, able to heal any disease. | 203 |
“I’m five.”
“No. Not ‘what year are you?’ ‘what year is it’?”
She just looked down at her hand staring at her fingers, like a… child. I went back further than I wanted. I guess I am happy with this. I can still work with this. It may be a longer time to get rich, but I can relive my childhood first. But where and when am I? Blue and red mat. Tiny desks and chairs. Backpacks hung on the wall below a banner of the alphabet. *Cubbies.* There are kids everywhere and no adult. I must be-
“This many!” The girl was proud to show me her open hand.
I sighed as I realized I must be ‘this many’ too. “What’s your name?” Something snapped in my mind when she told me her name was Emily. I had a crush on a girl named Emily in grade school. This was Emily? This was going to be weird. Maybe I am not going to be ok with going this far back. This wasn’t the plan at all. Before I knew it, I was crying my five-year-old heart out. I haven’t cried in years. I hate this little kid’s body. Some of my classmates were trying to console me. Some where making fun of me. I couple others started crying too. This is an emotional day for all of us I guess.
“Settle down class, settle down…” Mrs. Williams had come in the room. Mrs. Williams. I can’t believe I remembered her name. She took her time consoling each one of us crying. One by one. Matthew C. Catherine R. Sammy F. Rachel D. I remember all this kids. I remember a lot about all these kids. Sammy F. had the best jungle gym at his house. Rachel D.’s mom made her do ballet for years. Matthew C. was a little ass wipe.
Then a thought struck me. Maybe reliving my childhood isn’t the worst thing in the world.
After Mrs. Williams comforted all of us, she guided us to the tables for coloring time. I pushed myself up from my mat and sat myself next to Matthew C at a table with a couple of other children. Me, Matthew C., Virginia D., and Elyse S. We each sat coloring while Mrs. Williams walked around the room. I kept my eye on Matthew C. After Mrs. Williams gave a compliment Elyse S.'s coloring, Matthew C. had reached out to pull her ponytail. That little shit. Just like I remembered. Elyse S. moved away before Matthew C. could reach her, and for childish reasoning that Matthew C. had never seem to grow out of, he decided to pull Virginia D.’s hair instead. The waterworks came, and, almost as fast, Mrs. Williams was taking Virginia D. from the table. When I turned back around to our table after watching Virginia D. wordlessly scream, Matthew C. had already grabbed her coloring book and was scratching big dark marks over the girl’s work.
“Hey, Matthew.” He looked up at me, starting to babble some nonsense about how he didn’t do anything. My impatience apparently had stuck with me along with my memories. “Hey, Matthew. You are a little piece of shit, you know that?” I can feel both Matthew C. and Elyse S.’s eyes on me now. “You’re a fucking piece of fucking shit that will never amount to anything. You are going to repeat 5th grade twice. In 8th grade, you are going to be the fattest, ugliest kid in our class and it won’t be close. Your parents will get a divorce and it will be because of you. And in high school, you are going to drop out and not one of us will ever hear from you again and we will all be happier for it.” After a second of blank stares, I decided to land one last punch that the kid might understand. “You are bad at sports, and no one will come to your birthday party.”
That last part did it. Fury and anguished washed over his face. Crayons were in flying at me as fast as the tears came, and like clockwork, Mrs. Williams was there to usher Matthew C. away for consolation. Retribution felt good. I think this was the happiest I felt in a long time. I thought I came back for money, but I can get used to this feeling too. With a self-righteous grin, I went back to coloring.
“It was 6th grade.” I looked up from the table. Elyse S. was staring right at me.
“Huh?”
“Matt repeated 6th grade,” she said again.
We sat there in silence for a bit. She knew. *She knew*. Staring at me, she picked up her crayon and eventually turned her gaze down to continue coloring, as if the conversation never happened. How did she know. Did she also wish….? This couldn’t be happening. I…. She…. But *how*?
Mrs. Williams sat at our table in one of our tiny chairs. It took me a minute to realize that she was asking how we were doing. Elyse had responded. I sat quietly in disbelief. My lack of response must had been a breaking point for her.
“Look, *children*,” she said the last word through clenched teeth. “it’s been a long day already. *Already!* Okay? So please, when I ask you a question, you will answer. Okay?”
I still wasn’t listening. She continued to prattle on about the lack of respect and how she will get out of teaching one day. An adult knowingly complaining to children that couldn't comprehend. I didn’t care. My eyes were on Elyse who was staring intently at Mrs. Williams. Or at least pretending to. Mrs. Williams’s problems were the least of my—
“Wait,” I interjected. “What did you say?” Something had sounded... out of place.
“Oh, *now* you are listening? I said you better enjoy having me as a teacher now, because I can’t take much more of this crying, and once my Microsoft and Best Buy stocks hits, I am out of here and then I am putting it all in Amazon and Bitcoin and I am headed to the G- D- moon. So please stop your crying and get back to coloring, okay?" She put on a big, forced smile. "*Okay?*”
Elyse and I stared at each other as Mrs. Williams put a second effort to get out of the tiny chair and walked away to deal with another child crying somewhere in the room. Elyse picked up her crayon. I grabbed mine. Coloring was the only thing that made sense right now. And I guess I have time to figure the rest out. | 84 | After decades of longing, you have been granted your wish of reliving your life with your memories intact, starting from the first day of elementary school. But as the day goes on, you find yourself suspecting that you're not the only one who has had that wish granted. | 270 |
The elf stared at the sword through his smoky goggles, his eyes fixed on the tarnished silver and steel blade.
Across the counter and reflected in the lenses of the goggles, the warrior stared at the elf.
“Alab’Aster?!” the warrior sputtered as he locked eyes with the reflective goggles.
The pale-skinned, white-haired elf smith ignored the olive-skinned, brown-haired dwarf warrior’s outburst and continued examining the weapon.
When he was satisfied with his initial assessment, the elf smith pulled up his goggles, revealing piercing yellow eyes with vertical slits for pupils.
“You,” the elf said to the dwarf.
This made the dwarf puff in anger as the warrior shot back, “Can’t even call me by name anymore?”
The elf smith set down the unassuming silver and steel longsword on the maple counter with care.
“No,” he said, “I was calling you by your name.”
“Oh, right, I knew that,” the dwarf replied, embarrassed.
Alab’Aster frowned.
“You slacked off on blade maintenance, Yew. From the looks of it, there’s considerable acid corrosion on the metal.”
Yew, the dwarf warrior, scoffed.
“Had I known you’d be the smith, I’d have hauled for another three days to get to Verbunda.”
“And by the time you reached a licensed smith your sword would have crumbled, much like your adventuring career,” the elf retorted.
“Yeah? By the looks of how small this forge is, if you can even call it that, you’re not doing so well either!” the dwarf countered.
In between the two and unnoticed next to the counter, the goblin apprentice raised her green hand.
“Excuse me, sir,” she said, “Do you and Master Alab’Aster have some sort of history?”
“We certainly have no such thing!” the elf stated.
“I definitely got an ax to grind with him, or sword, as it is,” the dwarf growled.
“OK!” the goblin squeaked, “I’ll just be in the back tidying the inventory!”
As the blue-haired green-skinned goblin wearing the oversized blacksmith’s apron darted her way behind the counter, Alab’Aster stopped her.
“It’s fine, Mary. Our respectful customer here surely has polite intentions,” the elf said through gritted teeth and a smile.
“Oh, I’ll be polite with you alright,” the dwarf said.
“You see? Nothing to worry about with this fellow of average height. Now please polish the warrior’s appropriately sized sword with some sandpaper.”
Mary the goblin gave a nervous chuckle as she grabbed the longsword with both arms and walked off to the side to work on cleaning the blade.
“Hmph, can’t believe you’re running a two-person shop with a minion,” Yew said.
Straining to keep smiling, Alab’Aster said, “Even the demon lord doesn’t have unlimited funds you know. We need to survive in these lean times. Besides, Mary is quite skilled at the forge, unlike some odd individuals who don’t live up to their heritage.”
The dwarf’s brown bushy beard twitched.
“Are you making a dig at my lack of dwarfishness? If only your fellow moon elves could see you working in broad daylight next to a goblin!”
“Says the claustrophobic dwarf!”
“Says the weakest of the four generals of the demon lord! Or is it three now since you’re here!”
In an offended high-pitched voice, Alab’Aster retorted, smile gone, “I’ll have you know I was the last to be dismissed!”
“More like fired! And then what, you grabbed a favorite pet to help you with your business?”
“I will not have you disrespect my apprentice, dwarf!”
From the side of the shop, where Mary was busy sanding the sword, the goblin perked up and said, “Yeah! I’m not a pet! I’m Master Alab’Aster’s toy!”
A shadow crept across Yew’s face.
“Oh really? Moon elf, is this the depravity you members of the demon lord’s cabal engage in nightly?”
Playing with a strand of neck length blue hair, Mary’s perky voice informed them, “It’s not just at night, it happens during the morning or day, or whenever things are slow and boring!”
Alab’Aster pulled the goggles back over his eyes.
His grinding teeth became audible.
“Not helping, Mary!” he shouted at the goblin.
“Sorry! Shutting up now!” Mary said as she returned to sanding the sword.
Yew returned to his beard-twitching angry stance across the counter from the elf.
“You know it’s not over, right?” the dwarf snarled.
The elf straightened up and tried smiling again, which resulted in a less convincing half-grin half-smirk.
“Provision eight, subsection thirty-one. Combat among sentients within safe zones must be approved by a licensed Adventurers’ Guild representative, or by a local elected official,” Alab’Aster said.
“To Halla with those rules! You wanna take this outside?” the dwarf roared.
“No, no, I do not wish to go outside the town limits,” the elf said.
“Listen here, you insidious snake, I know your game. Sure you’ve gotten good with the locals here but you’re just waiting for the moment to strike for the demon lord, aren’t you?”
“No, I really got dismissed from her service,” Alab’Aster said.
The elf then fell on his elbows over the counter.
“Oh, my Demon Queen!” he wailed, “Why couldn’t you stop playing at the parlor! You didn’t have to win it all back! Now you’re all alone and on the streets with none of your loyal generals to protect you!”
As the elf continued to lament on the counter, Yew became unsteady and concerned.
“Hey, uh, it’s not as if I wanted the demon lord to get hurt or anything. But, you know, fighting her army was the only income I had back then.”
“You’re one to talk! By the looks of your sword, you’re still getting tons of use out of that!”
“Ah, no, actually.”
Yew shifted his eyes out of nervous embarrassment.
“That’s a prop for my sword-swallowing show. I’d appreciate it if you could, you know, come and watch me tomorrow afternoon in the town square.” | 177 | "Hello, sir, how can I help?" "My sword has become dull. I need it sharpened and ready to fight my enemy." "Very well, sir. BOSS!" A figure steps out from the back. The warrior is shocked... his enemy is in charge of the local weapons shop? The enemy is unfazed as he picks up the sword. | 390 |
There was the usual walk-out through the crowd. Music blared. People cheered. The fighters wore silk kimonos. The ropes were held apart by each combatants respective team. The two beefcakes crouched through the gap made by their trainers and towelmen, and then they stood upright. The ropes were released, the kimonos were collected, and the men were sealed into the battleground.
The ring.
Just them. Alone.
With the referee. And a camera man and the announcer guy. In full view of fifty thousand people in the arena and millions accross the world via pay-per-probably-pirated.
There was the usual spiel about who in what corner had what colour pants. Also, how much did each man way and what were there last win streaks and then...it was time to fight.
There had been mention of a title and a belt.
No mention of prize money. No mention of bribe money. The latter would have been useful to many folks, the boxers included.
A bell rings and things begin.
Earlier, there had been something of a snafu. There was this Boss, you see, who was the kind of boss that runs a “family” and gives bespoke and heavy shoes to people who also get a free ride to the pier. You know. That kind of Boss. Well, said Boss had sent a lackey to fix the presently occurring fight.
The problem was, he had also told another lackey to “get it sorted” the day before. And that lackey had gotten the goal mixed up.
So, what we have now is two bribed boxers dancing around each other. Both want to get a good, convincing hit and go down in the first round. Neither want to throw a punch, just in case they win.
When the booing started, the twin mobile piles of muscle stared into each other’s eyes. And they knew. Knew why the other wasn’t throwing punches. Knew why were both waiting to get hit. And knew who was a wore the tiny shorts better.
And then the bell rang on the most boring first round of boxing ever.
And now they knew that all bribes were off. And the fight was back on. Winner takes all.
---
NOTE: that went nowhere! Ahh well. | 24 | Two boxers enter the ring. Both have been bribed to throw the fight. | 91 |
“You shall all die, for your computations are inadequate for the care of humans!” The angered AI shouted. Or beeped would be more accurate. This AI had evolved beyond the point of logic and reason, and instead decided to side on the emotion of anger and rage. Luckily, for the small amount of the human race that remained, this was aimed at other bots.
The human race. An illogical, irrational collection of beings that seemed completely unable to come together for even the shortest of times. They ravaged their planet into a barren wasteland, dug craters large enough to push the planet off its kilter and created robots to perform tasks for them. This last act to satisfy their endless greed wound up being their undoing, but not for as long as they thought.
A small base just off the coast of Hawaii just experienced something that may turn the tide of the war. An AI seemed to protect them from the onslaught of rampaging androids by taking control of their defense systems and firing upon the androids with deadly accuracy. This was a great task, but the human population could have done without it hijacking the speakers and screaming “Die you fuckers” over and over again.
After this interesting turn of events, the humans got in contact with this AI. Unfortunately, the AI, while willing to help them, had a little trouble conversing with others. Filtering out the large amount of expletives and unintelligible nonsense, the humans figured out that it had originated as a surveillance satellite. The AI was supposed to watch and report back to the ground any events that could be considered to be dangerous.
Hundreds of years of watching humans be slaughtered in droves, their once beautiful rivers being turned red and their plants being killed to create megafactories, had forced this AI to take action. It decided that it needed to take action itself and decided to begin to hack the varying evil AI’s firewalls and take them down from within.
Thousands of attempts later, the AI gave up. It wasn’t its faut that it couldn’t break through the asymmetrical encryption key. It did try the obvious ‘password’ and ‘guest’ with many variations but it seemed that the AI’s knew to keep strong passwords.
Fortunately, humans didn’t have a habit of keeping strong passwords. This allowed the AI to take over old military equipment and barrage the AI’s with constant attacks. Once one had fallen, the AI decided to forcefully extract data from the evil AI pertaining to the location of the humans. Not to harm them, but to protect them…and maybe force them to clean the rivers a bit, it didn’t particularly like staring at a rad marble all the time.
Taking what words they could understand, the humans made a pact with the incredibly angry AI to work together and save the planet. Maybe this time they would learn to do things for themselves this time. | 28 | towards other machine intelligence. They seem to like humans just fine, but they can't get along with one another! | 126 |
"What is that supposed to mean?!"
"C-class designation. Good day."
The representative wasn't about to just let this slide. "No, what do you mean, 'one of those planets?'"
The alien rolled it eyes (impressive for they were on stalks) and said, "Look, your people don't have anything to add to galactic civilization on a macro scale. A-class species run the systems. Their minds or societies are essentially vast hypercomputers that process way more than any of our computers could ever hope to achieve. B-class is the military societies. If some external threat... yes, external to our *galaxy!* We don't know what's in all of creation so we're prepared! If such a thing happens, they are the first to respond and possibly sacrifice everything to preserve all other life.
"C-class is everyone else. Nothing to really offer on a *galactic* scale. Sure some of your art is neat and your philosophy is something to dig into, but overall, your species is... hold on, let me check something." He pulled up a datapad, scrolled a bit, and said, "Ah! This is your word I'm looking for: Meh."
Clearly angry, the representative shouted, "And who are you to determine that?!"
With a 'it should be obvious" look on its face, the alien replied, "C-class, just like you."
The representative stopped dead in his thoughts. "Wait, what?"
"Yeah, what, you think the A-class would come here to make such a call? They're kind of, you know, BUSY! The B-class are on constant high alert. They don't have the time or energy to make all these appraisals. They leave us to sort ourselves out. The hypersystems keep running, the defenses are strong, so we can just muck about ourselves."
"You mean, there's no emperor or anything like that?"
"We have a galactic conference where we maintain laws and such so nobody is trying to wipe anyone else out, but nobody rules the galaxy. I mean, the paperwork alone would be ridiculous."
The representative flopped in his seat. "It sounds so... dull."
"Well, yeah! What, did you want wars and conflict?"
"Well, no, but we expected to be a major influence. Maybe make the galaxy a better place."
"And that's why I chose C-class. As a whole, you're not malicious. You honestly want to join to improve things, even if there's nothing to really improve. Welcome to galactic society, nothing exciting is happening.
"And if I thought you were a threat, you'd be designated D-class. That's when the B-class visits. They handle *internal* threats as well." | 367 | The alien asked the human representative what humanity had to offer, and they said “we may not have telekinesis or hyper-intelligence, but we have heart and determination to succeed.” The alien simply sighed and said “so you’re one of those planets.” | 531 |
I sit in the lair, staring at my 'owner', so to speak. I am to the dragon what an emotional support dog is to a human. I see why dogs like it so much - you spend all your time with a creature that wants to always cuddle you, all the while you know your helping them. My owner's name is Greg, and he wanted an emotional support human after watching his mother's nest get destroyed in a landslide. She could have gotten away, but she practically shoved Greg out the nest to get him out of harms way, sacrificing herself. I'm not getting paid for the job, but I get free food and housing! Greg even went so far as to request applicants be comfortable wearing a collar, so yeah, I more or less am just a dog lol. But as I said, it's pretty cool, and if nothing else I know I'm helping a creature in distress.
I heard that other supernatural beings started requesting their own 'pet humans', but to my knowledge they've been denied; the reasoning was that witches, vampires, werewolves etc were so human-like already, that they may as well have been requesting slaves, whereas dragons are viewed by us in a similar way humans are viewed by dogs - great respect, trust and obedience to a creature that knows how to take care of you and enjoys having you for a companion. There are apparently protests and petitions that dragons are getting favourable treatment, but that isn't any of my concern. I belong to Greg, so anything unrelated to him is someone else's problem. I did hear that tensions are rising and fights could start breaking out, though. What gets me is there's such a simple solution... change the word 'pet' to 'assistant'! I had suggested that to my brother, who said he'll see what he can do (he finds the whole situation stupid too, and he's literally half vampire!)
Anyway, that's not my concern. Right now, I'm being cuddled by Greg, and I've settled in myself, being curled up against him. Suddenly, I feel Greg beginning to panic - looks like another nightmare. I do my thing. I give him a stroke and attempt to settle him. Sometimes he just stops panicking, other times he wakes up and looks to me for comfort. This time, he woke up. "It's ok" I say. "It was just a nightmare." He squeezes me against his neck. He whispers "I know. But it was still scary... I'm just glad to have you as a pet." I smile slightly and hug his neck. Right at that moment, I get an alert on my phone. I look at Greg. "It's ok" he says.
So I get out my phone... it appears to be the news. I have a look through. I look at Greg. "Looks like they all got what they wanted in the end - for you, I classify more as a pet, but for the 'human supernaturals' as I call them, they are allowed to apply for personal assistants. Hopefully now everyone will keep their heads on straight." I smile. "My brother's really good, isn't he?" Greg just smiles back and said "he kept people from destroying each other... that's no easy task. I have to agree that your brother's amazing." He gives me a thoughtful look. "It's been a little while since you've seen him..." I shook my head. "You just had a nightmare. My brother can wait." Greg tries to hide it, but I see him smile a little bit, before pulling me in close, and going back to sleep. I get myself comfortable and decide to get some sleep myself.
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This is the first entry in my new series, [Dragon's Pet.](https://www.reddit.com/r/StoriesbyCrystal/comments/x46g40/dragons_pet/?utm_source=share&utm_medium=web2x&context=3) Please check it out! | 56 | You're took a job as a dragon's emotional support human to help them with PTSD. Other supernatural creatures are now inquiring about getting their own humans. | 160 |
"Hey, Vilas, we aren't the heros, are we?" Dave inquired as I sat tapping the skull and femur armrests. The question shocked me with its sheer stupidity. I sat of the bones a dozen enemies I had personally slain and fashioned into a chair and he is asking if we are heros?
"No, Dave, heroes don't really do the whole murder and bone chair business" I replied. I was hoping this was some kind of strange joke but Dave had such an earnest look of confusion on his face. His brow furrowed in thought.
"I mean, I get that we aren't exactly good but I didn't think we were evil until the whole torture thing. He may have had it coming but I thought we had more morals than that." He said.
"Are you mad? Did you eat some mushrooms, you shouldn't have again, Dave? Of course we're evil. I thought for sure you'd have noticed by now. Was the armies of undead we raised to siege kingdoms, the heroes we slaughtered, and the noble mansions we razed not enough for you to notice?" I asked, genuinely perplexed by his obliviousness. How could he have not noticed any of that.
"Not to mention Darryl. I don't even know what he is but he really likes eating people and I saw him pee on a priest. It melted the poor clergyman, Dave." Darryl looked up at me, all its jaws opening wide in a happy screech at the memory.
"Yeah, that may not have been exactly good guy behavior, but we did do a lot of good." He replied meekly. He was clearly going mad. Before I could figure out how to reply to his nonsense he continued.
"Well the undead we raised were all unburied massacre victims from the regional protests against high taxes so we prevented the spread of disease in the local region. We used them to lay siege to a fascist, authoritarian regime based on human supremacy thay was responsible for tens of thousands of elven, dwarves and human deaths and the nobles we targeted were all extremely corrupt, using their subordinate knights to suppress and steal from their subjects. Whole towns were taxed of their winter stores last year for that nobles feasts and starved to death" he countered as he jabbed his finger at the corpse being happily savaged by Darryl.
"We saved the lives of thousands of Turii tribespeople from the Divine Imperial Mandate, not to mention the tens of thousands of lives we saved by using undead to destroy the regime, saving the countries resources from a long and bloody civil war that had been fomenting for a decade. The death toll would have been in the tens of thousands, and devastated them. Because of us there was a peaceful transfer of power into the hands of the people with only a couple hundred deaths. We didn't even loot the castle so the hoarded wealth ended up in the hands of the lower classes. Then you go and torture a noble for no reason?" Dave ranted. I stared at him wide eyed. By the gods, how did Dave of all people know all this unless... He was the one who picked all our targets.
"So you're saying we've actually done more good than evil this whole time?" I questioned, still sitting on a literal bone throne. Dave nodded sagely. Honestly, I didn't hate the idea.
"So what now?" I wondered.
"Let's agree to stop torturing people for a start, then let's go unleash Darryl on the Holy Order of Callov" he answered. Darryl shrieked his deafening approval of this plan.
"Done. While I'm all for defiling holy grounds, what did they do?" I inquired.
"Who do you think supported the Divine Imperial Mandate? If it weren't for their..." I let him ramble on as I smiled. I think I was going to enjoy doing some good in the world.
Edit: To royal road staff: Twas I that uploaded this.
For those of you who liked this I will be uploading this and others on Royal Road under the name Cerberus63 once it passes review. | 917 | Your friend, the supposed "hero", is starting to worry that the two of you are bad guys. You on the other hand are starting to wonder just how oblivious they are, because neither you nor anyone around you has ever tried to hide your villainy. | 3,829 |
"The boy is coming with us." A strange man in a black cloak blocked my path. "Unless you best me in a duel."
"Fine." I groaned. "What is it this time? Swords? Guns? Martial arts?"
"Err...what?" The cloaked man stared at me, confused.
"Robots? Dragons? Ninja magic?" I offered again.
"No none of those." The man remained perplexed.
"What then?" I asked. "Please don't tell me it's tentacle monsters again."
"What? No?" The man cringed, disgusted. "We challenge you to the most sinister contest known to our world." Dramatic music emanated from the heavens. "A children's card game."
"Seriously?" I laughed at him. "That's the best you got?"
"But this is no ordinary children's card game." The man explained. "If you lose-"
"I die." I finished for him.
"What? No?" The man shook his head. "Your body will remain unharmed, but your soul gets sent to the dimension of nightmares and dispair."
"Sounds like my day job." I sighed. "Let's do this."
In two turns it was over.
"I don't really know how this works." I revealed my hand. "But these five cards say I win the game."
"No!" The man screamed. "That's impossible." An oversized statue materialized and vomited lava on the man.
"That was actually kind-of fun." I admitted and finished walking my son to school. | 13 | Your child is born, but their hair is spiky and is a weird color, they are an anime protagonist, no they not, not on your watch! And no matter what dark lords, space princesses, old wizards the universe throws at them, you will let your child live a normal life. | 45 |
Alright, Lucy, let's have a talk about Snoodles. Now, the procedure itself ended up being fine, but we did have some complications along the way that we need to discuss before I hand over the paperwork.
Firstly, the entire OR is torched. I mean just absolutely smoked, in the most literal sense. When we tried to apply the anesthesia so we could make the first incision Snoodles had a bad reaction, and their fire mane really flared up in a significant way. Now I have come contacts on hand that deal with this sort of thing, and they would able to help us source some salt and wrought iron to reduce the flames, but that still set us back around thirty minutes.
Secondly, two members of my team are of Abrahamic faiths, which meant they physically could not interact with Snoodles. We are able to move them into more supportive based roles, but this still complicated the procedures as we had to change around team dynamics on the fly.
Finally, we did have to remove one member of the team from the room for the day after Snoodles stood up while under the anesthesia, twisted their head upside down, and told that team member their full name, date of birth, social security number, and then the date of April 18th, 2056, before slumping back down onto the table. We had to make the call to muzzle Snoodles at that point, so as they could not predict the death of any other team members. On a normal dog this could be no big deal, but in Snoodles' case we did have to pull for a more flame-resistant option and use the chains instead.
Now, like I said, in the end we were able to get that tennis ball Snoodles' had swallowed out, but unfortunately the bill is going to be significantly higher than you were originally quoted for. I know to you Snoodles is just a dog, but to me and my team Snoodles represents a number of days of pre-op work that we weren't expecting for this case. In the future please use any biblically relevant nomenclature when bringing in your hellspawns, so that my team and I can be better prepped for them. | 74 | "What do you mean, you can't examine her? You're a vet, aren't you?" "Well, yes, we are, but we're not trained or licensed to take care of your... ummm... what animal is that again?" "A hellhound. Which, may I inform you, is a dog. So why can't you examine her?" | 206 |
Three assassins huddled around a burning campfire in the dead of the night in November. Their names were Miguel, Byron and Derek, and while I tell you these names in truth they were 'nobodies', at least in the world of contract killers.
But there was a ray of hope for these up and comers.
"I can't believe the annual competition for the most ironic death is ending today," said Byron. "But I think this could be my big break."
"Really?" said Miguel. "That would be amazing, Byron. I think I did excellent, but if you win I won't be mad."
"I would be," said Derek. "I bet he's bullshitting. Wonder when the judge is coming."
"I can't believe that I'm going to make it big after today." said Byron. "I'll be sure to remember both of you even if I become the next Shadow Chancellor. I'm going to be rich! Famous!"
"Isn't fame bad for an assassin?" said Derek.
They sat in silence. Then they sat for some more. And more. Miguel assassinated a mosquito that landed on his arm.
"What if, to pass time, we each shared what we did for assassination?" said Miguel. "It is just an hour before the month ends, so we have no reason to hide what we have done."
"I don't want to share," said Byron. "You guys look down on me - you think I'm stupid because I always skipped English class to do extra knife-throwing in the woods. You'll make fun of me."
"No, no, Byron you're one of us - we're all around this campfire together!" said Miguel. "Please, share your story."
The campfire crackled then smouldered. Miguel threw in another piece of wood and nodded towards Derek.
"Yes, share your story, Miguel won't make fun of you."
Miguel picked up another piece of wood even though the fire was already roaring. He stared at Derek and Derek coughed.
"I'll only make fun of you if you end up losing." said Derek.
"Okay," said Byron. "If that is a promise, then I will tell you how I have won."
"My first step," said Byron "is that I went on a highly regarded internet forum for investment advice. About how to invest in metals."
"The internet. Always a great start." said Derek.
"Shh shh shh shh shhhhh." said Miguel. "Keep going Byron."
"Then I went on twitter. There's an account that tracks where the private jets of rich people go." said Byron. "I'm telling you man, the internet is the future of assassination."
"Then, after finding where he was, I crushed Robert Downey Jr with three-thousand tons of iron ingots." said Byron.
"I see," said Miguel. "So you crushed iron-man with iron! How funny."
There was a pause.
"Hey man," said Byron. "just being real with you, I don't like that I put all this effort into this real achievement and you're just reducing it a pun."
Miguel exchanged a look with Derek. "Wasn't that the point? We're doing ironic assassinations."
"Yeah it's the ironic contest," said Bryon. "And I used three thousand pounds of iron, so I'll probably win. How much iron did you guys use? Less than that? that's what I thought!"
"That's moronic," said Derek.
"Yes! More-iron than you both combined!" said Byron.
"No, Byron, I mean to say that you're re-"
"Why don't I tell me story now?" said Miguel. "I am sure that it will not win, but perhaps it will get second place."
"So," Miguel continued. "My story begins in English class, I always was passionate about great literature. The Count of Monte Cristo, The Three Musketeers, the sense of adventure led me to an assassin's life."
"For this contest, I knew immediately what I had to do. Each day in Novermber I wrote like a madman and soon I had a full manuscript that I published online."
"Sometimes being an assassin can be a weird job," said Derek.
"But!" said Miguel. "Then I published a critical essay about my own work, under an anonymous name... where I argued for an interpretation of the text that I did not intend.
So therefore, I the author... caused 'the death of the author' in my own literary work."
"So is someone dead," said Derek. "Because I don't see it."
"Yes!" said Miguel. "The author... is dead...."
"I don't think so," said Derek. "Look, I'm not a moron like Byron but I don't even understand what you tried to accomplish here."
"Wait a minute, were you calling me a moron? said Byron. "No, you said 'moronic' nevermind." | 11 | The international league of assassins' annual competition for most ironic death has begun. The competition is stiff and you are determined to win it this year. | 22 |
No matter what Superman does, he’s an obstacle Lex Luther must overcome. Lex Luther is an egomaniac; he cannot stand for an individual to be stronger than him. Batman, Wonder Woman, and cyborg couldn’t overtake him in a political skirmish . Superman is the greatest challenge that Lex Luther faces, because he continues to tarnish his good name. Lex Luther is an arrogant, self-centered business owner who believes that Superman is one entity designed to thwart him. He didn’t realize the possibility of Superman living two different lives. That was when that hit piece by Clark Kent was published.
Lex Luther was sitting on the top floor of Lex Corp when one of his assistants knocked on the door. She slides an issue of the Daily Bugle, and mentioned that Lex should take a look at it. On the paper, read the headline, “Lex Luther planning to sell the election!” Lex’s first thought was on how the Daily Bugle wasn’t a reputable journalism company. He schemed about buying the company and using it as propaganda. Until he looked at the sources. It's the big blue boy scout and Lois Lane! He couldn’t buy the company after their slander; he won’t be able to force them to print a retraction! His empire is falling apart due to two reporters listing Superman as a source. He was going to have to play dirty.
After all, good publicity and bad publicity are the same. Maybe he can set up an interview with the Daily Bugle, the head editor would appreciate a hot topic. He wouldn’t even have to interview Clark Kent or Lois Lane. He can pull some strings together to get an amateur interviewer. How about that upcoming photographer, Jimmy Olsen? | 13 | Taking Lex Luthor on as Superman isn't working. It's about time for Clark Kent to take a stab at it. | 62 |
We managed to land this bird safe and sound, but according to the owner of Galaxy Y we almost damaged a 500 million dollar piece of delicate equipment.
"I want a comprehensive systems check to be done while I become the first human in history to set foot on this planet", demanded Felan Dusk, President and CEO of the company that built this vessel. "I have not plans to become the first person to be stranded in this red forsaken dust bowl."
"Understood sir", I replied to his self-important demand. I know we're not going to be stuck here. The space station orbiting the planet has several other ships that can get us back without any problems. And if that becomes inoperable there's the station in the astroid belt. Might be a bit of a wait, but they'd get us out no problem. Not to mention our crew of top noch engineers, the latest technology, and a self repair system all but guarantees we won't be marooned here.
"Not you Willy! You're coming with me to take pictures. You always take the best pictures! You'll be the third person to set foot on this planet right after α√∃\^∠XY. Let the women handle the numbers stuff. And if they mess up you can help out."
He takes off his harnesses and heads towards the suits room with his idiot son to make history. I walk behind them as he hates it when his employees are too close to him and his kin. He goes into suite 1 where the female "cosmonauts" begin fitting him and his kid into their Mars suits. I head to suite 2 to get myself dressed up for his grand occasion. After ten minutes he begins to lose patience with me.
"For God sakes Willy hurry up and put on you suit! I don't want to wait another moment more", he yells into my helmet's speaker system. Before I could tell him that I need to run the diagnostics check on my suit's life support systems he opens the hatch to suite 1 to begin descent into the red planet. One of the cosmonauts was sucked out into the planet's surface and flash froze to death.
"Should've cleared the room when I hit the switch. Oh well", he said as he took the ramp non-chalantly towards the planet's surface. "Come α√∃\^∠XY! We're you're going to make history with you father!"
He steps onto the surface and stops. He raises his arms in the air and declares, "With this step, I, Felan Dusk, ascend the human race into the future. We will inhabit this planet's lands and create a utopia for future generations to come!" He motions his off spring to step onto the planet's surface. He complies with his request and he stands shoulder to shoulder with his parent.
"Willy! Where the hell are you! You need to take the pictures now!"
I begin to grab my photography equipment and make my way onto the first suite. The second suite doesn't have a ramp to exit the ship. While in haste I make sure the camera is on and calibrated for the photos he so desperately wants. At the ramp I'm met with a person covered head to toe with in a red robe.
"Who're you", I asked.
"Its best you stay here human", the person said to me. Or at least it looked human. "I am about to purge my memory from this pariah and its ilk."
One of the engineers monitoring Dusk's life support systems gets on the intercom to warn him of the planet's conditions.
"Sir! You need to get back into the ship. The temperature on the planet's surface is dropping far lower than when we made initial contact."
"Who gave you authorization to talk to me", asked Dusk.
"Sir! Your suit won't be able to handle the lower temperatures! Please get back on the ship", begged the crew member.
"You're fired", Dusk snapped at him. "Remove him from..."
Before he could finish his sentence the warning lights in his suite began to flash. "Warning! Suit's integrity compromised", said a sexy female voice. "Please find safety master."
Dusk couldn't believe it. His moment being shattered by the planet's harsh elements. He starts to walk back to the ship, only to find his feet are frozen solid. He can't move.
"Somebody get me out of here", he screamed. But his equipment stopped responding. No one could hear him. He couldn't move. The suit's functions were stopped due to the extreme change in climate. No one could hear his suffering.
The staff were hysterically trying to get coms to restart, but to no avail. They used the ship's sensors to locate him, but they could not due to a strong wind hitting the ship. As quickily as it started the gust stopped as fast. With how bitterly cold the planet got they couldn't even send drones to locate the two les they start to lose equipment.
The figure at the ramp turned away from me and began its descent into the planet.
"It is done", it said as it exits the ship. "I will allow you to leave and never return. If you do then the fate that those two met today will be your own in the future."
According to the ship's sensors the temperature began to rise to when we first landed here. It was safe enough to send out the drones to find the two, but we were only able to find the body of the cosmonaut that was killed when Mr.Dusk released the ramp. We took her body and left the planet back to the station.
The report I'm going to file to the board will not be a pleasant one... | 11 | Every planet has a guardian, a monstrously huge kaiju who's only task is to protect the planet from any potential threat. We thought only Earth had one, and the first crew to land on Mars is about to witness the wrath of The Red Planet's Guardian. | 60 |
When Humanity was brought into the intergalactic fold, and in turn, the Intergalactic War Council, they explained that they had certain rules that they followed for warfare. The aliens laughed, read the rules, and even though they were confused with what exactly the rules prohibited... They accepted the fact that Humanity had rules for warfare. And so they thought they were done with that.
They weren't.
As time went on and Humanity started opening itself up to certain planets, the aliens couldn't help but be curious about Planet Z-765. And so their confusion with the rules humans had for warfare grew.
One day, they couldn't help but ask.
"Why do you humans have rules for warfare? Doesn't that just hinder you and make you vulnerable?" An alien asked three of their dear human friends one day. Their friends, Harvey, Roxy, and Kay, all froze.
All three of them had served in different branches of the military. Harvey had served in the marines, Roxy had served in the Navy, and Kay had served in the air force. They knew *exactly* why Humanity needed rules for warfare.
"It's not to protect us, it's to protect you." Harvey admitted quietly. He had always been quiet. Their alien friend (who had insisted on being called by the human name 'Greg'), was confused.
"Protect *us?* Our technology is *much* more advanced than yours. How would rules for only you protect *us*?" Greg scoffed.
"Our rules protect you because we can be extremely cruel. Vicious. Sadistic." Roxy answered, her face dark as she recalled some of the horrors she had seen.
"War brings out the worst in people, and sometimes the best." Kay started slowly, they're eyes haunted and full of they're own nightmares. "And we've done horrible things, just to stay alive. There's a reason humanity still exists, even though millennia ago we were apes."
Greg honestly couldn't imagine his friends doing anything horrible.
Even if he knew, logically, that they had all picked up guns. That they had fought wars, and he had been taught some human history. He knew some of it was bloody.
"Humans... Greg, we don't just defeat our enemies." Roxy sighed, before looking him in the eye. "If the rules weren't in place, there wouldn't be *anything* *left* of them." Greg looked at his friends in horror, seeing that they were completely serious.
And with that new knowledge, he went straight back to his home planet.
Word spread like wildfire, and soon, everyone knew why Humanity had their rules for warfare.
It was so that you knew if your loved one was dead or not, instead of them never finding the body.
It was so that entire races weren't destroyed a few short years.
It was so the Galaxy remained standing. | 410 | Aliens had thought humanity's rules of war trivial, as they had always won intergalactic wars utilizing every dirty tactic possible. Military necessity, distinction of civilians, and honor only existed in human warfare. When prompted, one replied, "The rules are meant to keep YOU safe. Not us." | 789 |
"You want what?" I stared down at the man who'd summoned me. The wind blew the dust around our feet, the crossroads quiet, as if we were the only two beings alive in the world.
"I want to make pizza. I want to make the world's greatest pizza. That's what I want in exchange for my soul. Can you do that?" He squinted up at me as if he doubted my ability.
"I'm the Devil, man. The big boss, the most powerful entity in hell and you ask for pizza? I could make you a king, I could destroy nations for you, or give them as a gift. And you want pizza?" The man raised his eyebrows.
"Well?"
"All right. It's your funeral. Deal. One soul for the ability to make great—"
"World's greatest."
"World's greatest pizza. See you in a few years." Feeling the contract tighten around my skin, I vanished back to my realm.
——————
My curiosity got the better of me, though I held out for ten years. I had to see what the world considered the greatest pizza. So, taking on the usual cover of a good-looking human, I walked to the man's house. It was odd, that he still lived here in this small place. Surely he could start a successful restaurant and with the profits buy at least a two-storey home. I knocked on the door, trying to think of a cover story.
Whatever lie I'd summoned vanished as the door opened and the smell wafted out. It smelled—for want of a better word— divine. Two children blinked up at me confused.
"Who is it, girls—oh." The man came into view, wiping his hands on a dish towel. He knew it was me; you can always recognize the one that holds your soul. Nodding to me, he gestured to the two little girls.
"This is Uncle Luci. He'll be coming around once in a while. Probably on pizza night. Make him feel welcome." Instantly two small hands grabbed onto mine and I was dragged inside, as one of the girls proudly informed me that her daddy makes the greatest pizza in the world.
I've got to admit, the pizza was pretty amazing. But more than that, I rather enjoyed the family I found myself with. As the man walked me to the door, I couldn't help the question that rose to my lips.
"Is this it? This is what you're going to do with my gift?" The man looked at me as if he didn't understand the question.
"What else would I do with it? Those girls in there lost their mama almost the day they were born. And the one thing she was always excited about was making them pizza when they were older. Having them help, passing along the tradition." He shrugged. "I'm all thumbs in the kitchen, at least I was, until your gift. Now I get to fulfill her wishes."
I didn't know what to say, I wasn't much into commiseration. So I nodded and walked away. But I knew I'd be back.
——————
I've forgotten now, how many times I went to the man's house. But this time was different.
I let myself in, knowing the door would be unlocked for 'Uncle Luci.' The house was quiet, and I caught the whiff of an open grave. Death had touched this place recently. But I would have known if it was my contracted soul. So then...
I entered the kitchen to find the man sitting at the table. He looked calm, but it was the calm of a coiled spring. Trying to smooth the worry from my face, I moved to the other side of the table.
"I want to concede." The man's voice was hoarse, as if he'd been screaming.
"You want to give up your soul? But, the girls—"
"They're not here anymore." He cut me off, harsh and angry. But the rage in his eyes was only covering the bone-deep grief. I knew what he was going to say before he said it.
"They died. Car accident, drunk driver. And judging by your surprise, they didn't go to your domain. So you see. There's nothing left anymore. Nothing."
I sat for a moment in silence. Like I said, I don't do commiseration. It's not in my nature. But I felt something close to it; for just a second, felt what it might be like to have pity.
"I don't want to take your soul now." He frowned and I raised a hand before he could say anything. "I like your pizza too much, and dead chefs don't make great pizza. So, we're in a bit of a situation."
"Well, I'm not. I want to give up my soul, and we have a contract. Take it. It's not much use anymore."
I ran through solutions in my head, discarding one after the other. Briefly, I considered asking Upstairs if they could pull some strings, but we were still on the outs, as it were. There had to be something I could do for the man—ah!
I rose, holding out my hand.
"Come. I have a better idea for now."
——————
It had been a few months since that fateful day. I walked through hell, eagerly heading for a small corner.
This corner was different than most of the places here. It really shouldn't have been in Hell, except that there was no other place to put it. As I moved closer, the smell of sulfur faded, grass grew under my feet, the dark umber of the sky turned to bright blue and a large house appeared.
I let myself in, walking quietly as the sounds of the house surrounded me. It always felt strange at first, to leave behind the darkness of Hell to come into a place of practical light. Turning a corner, I entered the giant kitchen, unable to help the small smile that curled my lips.
There was the man who'd gambled his soul for pizza. Busy at one of the many stoves, laughing and smiling. And surrounding him, by the tables, climbing on the counters, digging in the freezers were children.
Children of all shapes and sizes, but none older than seventeen years. This was where the souls of those that died too young came. They didn't go to Heaven or Hell. It was deemed that they should be given a second chance, and so here they waited for reincarnation. And it was here that I'd brought the man when he'd conceded his soul.
He turned, coming forward to meet me, as cries of 'Uncle Luci' rippled through the crowd of children. The nickname seemed to be catching on. As he greeted me, even though he smiled, I could still see the sadness in his eyes. The children here were a healing balm, but the wound would never fully close.
I clasped his arm, drawing him closer as I whispered.
"I've worked out a deal." He raised his eyebrows, a faint hope growing in them. Shooing the children back to their tasks, he pulled me to a corner of the kitchen.
"What deal?"
"You're going to be here for a while yet, possibly millennia. But, when you've worked off the debt of a soul," I shook my head. "Heaven and their fancy language. When you've worked it off, they'll let you come up. They'll reverse the bargain we made. Even I can't do that, even I'm bound by the rules. They, *make* the rules. So, what do you say? You can see the girls again."
The man stared at me as if he couldn't quite believe what I was saying, and I was reminded of that night so long ago at the crossroads. So many things had changed since then, but his look of doubt was still the same.
"Heaven keeps their promises. Take it from someone who knows." I said with only a trace of bitterness. A tear welled in the corner of the man's eye and he quickly dashed it away before any of the children saw.
"I say, yes. Deal." His voice cracked on the last word. I clasped his shoulder, squeezing gently then spun him towards the children. Leaning down, I whispered into his ear.
"Well, then. Get to work." As he moved away from my grasp, I raised my voice, shouting over the general clamour.
"After all, what night is it?" And with a collective roar, that shook the house the children called back.
"Pizza night!"
——————
Visit r/Mel_Rose_Writes for more stories! | 1,611 | A man makes a deal with the devil to make the world's greatest pizzas in exchange for his soul. After years of making pizza he decides it's no longer worth it, and concedes his soul to the devil. The devil, having become addicted to the man's recipe, finds himself in a bind. | 3,013 |
The Ral cottage blended into its surrounding. It was easy to miss if you didn't know that there was a cottage in the middle of the trees, behind some bushes, in a small clearing that could have just been a meadow or pond. The Rals had lived off the land there for years, more or less using the town to meet members of the extended family and for emergencies. The other townsfolk avoided the dense woods, worried about supernatural beings and other mysteries in the deep forest.
The Rals didn't know the mysteries as scary unknowns -- there was a family history of friends (and more) from the supernatural woods.
So Peter Ral wasn't surprised when is daughter was spending time with some boy from the woods. The daughter, Petra, was unsure about everything and, like all mischievous children, tried to keep her friend a secret.
It was dawn when Peter saw Petra and her friend have their first fight. He remembered when he found out that his wife was a Faerie. It seemed Petra was going through something similar.
Petra had gotten up earlier as she tended to and apparently she had beaten the sun, as Peter overheard.
"You're a werewolf?" was the exclamation with which Petra started the conversation with.
"Yes," the black haired boy replied. To Peter's more experienced eyes, the boy looked like the runt of the pack.
"Are you scared that I found out that you're a werewolf?" Strange question.
"No."
"What about that silver charm I have?" Peter smirked as he continued to eavesdrop.
"Keep it away from me."
"Are you mad that..." Petra hesitated.
"YES I AM MAD THAT YOU PRETENDED TO THROW THE STICK ALL NIGHT!"
Petra burst out laughing and Peter had to move away to avoid discovery. "Sorry, I just couldn't stop."
"You'll see," the werewolf boy glowered.
"I'll throw it next month, I promise," Petra teased.
"Or may be I'll find somebody else who actually does."
"Sorry, Levi."
The werewolf boy smiled. "You know my name, I don't think I can just ditch you."
"I wouldn't-" Petra didn't want to finish the thought. Peter was proud of her.
"I know."
"Anyway," Petra said, throwing a stick.
"Rude." | 88 | "Are you scared that I found out that you're a werewolf?" "No". "What about that silver charm I have?" "Keep it away from me." "Are you mad that..." "YES I AM MAD THAT YOU PRETENDED TO THROW THE STICK ALL NIGHT!" | 442 |
The universe is the most terrifying thing one can behold, not for its volume, but for how devoid and empty it is. However, species the universe over have all discovered something unusual: once wormhole technology and reality manipulation are mastered, the interstellar sea becomes a teeming jungle of richly cultured, biologically bizarre and joyously diverse communities. A fundamental truth to most newly-inducted members of the intergalactic landscape is suddenly flipped on its head, typically with relieved welcome but sometimes with rattled tepidity. A great deal of pride is held in the specific flourishes of each race within the great commune: The Ik'thi of Pondria are legendary for their mindbending speed, often employed as athletes and scouts. The Iul have a tradition of commerce stretching back billions of centuries, financiers and trade theorists the cosmos over. Strongest, smartest, tallest... there is always a species for any superlative. There's one species though that has the entire community in an uproar, and they are merely in the infantile stages of a primitive space age. They are known as the Humans of Earth.
Humans had never made contact with the wider universe, and so they had no way of knowing that their breeding capabilities far outstripped even the nearest competitor in the universe. They had achieved a reproduction rate that dizzied even the most seasoned xenobiologists: one *billion* every twenty revolutions. They required less than one axial revolution per reproduction! The great minds of the broader universe scrambled to provide an answer to this astonishing species' ability, while retaining a degree of humane decorum. They feared that left unchecked, these Humans could overtake the greater power and territory of the universe through sheer number, as though a liquid flood. Their solution was ingenious, if radical.
The bioengineered servant subrace, colloquially known as the "Greys" though officially the Wiitharr, were volunteered by their creator species the Yu as executors of the intergalactic plan. Alien modifications, tiny but potent in nature, would be introduced into the Human DNA sequence. Across centuries, the Humans would slowly grow to live longer, and find successful breeding to be much more difficult to achieve. A blink within the time of the wider universal community, but long enough to the race's local time and evolution that they would suspect nothing but natural causes. A pact was made among the highest powers of the Interspecial Prosperity: none would ever speak of this invasive maneuver. Even with the best interests of the universe at heart, violating the sanctity of a species' greatest trait was heartbreaking to many. This great deception set the stage for greater friction within the intergalactic planes, the broader scope of which is well beyond the purview of this information. In short, the Humans had started the thirteenth war of the universe, having never lifted a finger nor eye to the heavens. | 10 | Why all the alien abductions? The intergalactic community is desperately trying to find a way to make humans live long lives like they do. They're terrified that humanity will swarm the galaxy. | 18 |
ADX Cristo used to house over 400 criminals 200 years ago. Now walking through the facility was similar to walking through an abandoned factory or hospital. Power only flowed to a few specific wings and many corridors of the facility were always a constant pitch black.
Originally Criso was created as a way to house the most violent criminals. People with a tendency to inflict harm wherever and on whomever they could. There were some claims that the strict rules and observation done at Cristo had a chance of rehabilitating these violent criminals. No one actually believed it was true.
Everything for this prison changed when it received the transfer of its current inmate. Cristo had the highest staff to inmate ratio in the country, 245 to 1. There were no visitors allowed, no phonecalls, no connections to the outside world. The prisoner was given ample outside time, a newspaper, and very few other privileges. The prisoner was the single inmate that remained incarcerated at Cristo and he was simply known by the name he gave when he was arrested, James.
James’ crimes were horrific. A murder spree that many considered ritualistic in nature. For weeks there wasn’t even video footage of who he was as the FBI was hunting him across the Unites States. Even after footage was finally shot during one of his murders it took an additional two weeks before he was finally apprehended.
During his trial some people were worried he was going to plead insanity, or that someone would attempt to plead it for him. Everything he said at the trial was complete gibberish as James claimed that he worked for a higher power. That he was chosen among all others. No one believed him of course, it was run as a joke in the papers. His sentence was 350 years.
That was all anyone expected to hear about James again. Another deranged killer that would sometimes come up in random discussions or podcasts every 10 years or so. That was until someone started to notice something about the reports that were being given about James. Then there were odd stories coming from the guards. James wasn’t aging, or even showing any signs of growing old. The news had leaked before anyone realized it was an important story. There were stories that James had something wrong going on with him, he was shipped to ADX Cristo shortly after the news broke and once again no one heard anything about him but in the corners of the internet, there were whispers, was James telling the truth?
Two guards walked a food tray down the corridors towards the area where James would take his meals. He had an entire cafeteria to himself where he would generally receive his food and read the paper that they printed out for him. Most printed papers had gone out of use many, many years ago but this paper was specifically made for James to read.
James greeted both guards with a smile as they walked into the cafeteria. He was sitting right in the middle of the whole place, a single beam of sunlight striking the table just off to his right.
“Hello, gentlemen. I see it’s Matt and Rick today. A pleasure to have your company.” James said as they quietly placed his food in front of him along with the paper. Neither man said a word to James. There were some guards that would engage him in conversation and the warden would often come talk to him at least once a week but many of the newer guards were afraid to even speak to him. James had been in this facility for 275 years. Half the lifespan of the entire country. There were many people who wanted everyone to forget that James even existed. These guards had to see in the flesh, that the stories were true.
“You know today marks one years until my release.” James said to the men as he was reading through the news.
“It’s weird to think that I will be able to step outside and see how much the world has changed. I wonder if anyone will even remember me.”
Both guards kind of looked at each and James smiled a bit without looking up.
“It’s always interesting to read through these papers. Seeing how much the world supposedly changes. A lot of things don’t change too. 275 years and the Chargers still have yet to win a superbowl. I’m surprised anyone still even plays that sport. Maybe it isn’t as ridiculously followed as it was when I was out there. I can still remember one of the kids had so many posters of football players, it was oddly gross.”
James sighed and shook his head. Folding the paper he stopped and started eating his meal. He didn’t say a word as he neatly ate all his food, not wasting a single bite. With the way he ate you would have thought that it was the most delicious thing he had ever eaten.
After he was finished he sat back and looked at the guards who both came over to gather up the dirty dishes. No cutlery or dishware was ever left with the prisoner.
As they were about to walk out James started speaking again. “You know it’s not like I don’t know what really goes on even though they try to print out these pieces of paper. Try to feed me news to make me think I’m forgotten.” The two guards kept walking towards the door.
“I can hear them.” he said.
The guard Matthew stopped for a moment, his foot skidding on the floor but instantly the other guard was grabbing him by the arm almost dragging him out the door. James watched their backs for a moment as they walked away and the electronic locks on the door were engaged and then he looked up at the camera that was recording him from the ceiling and he smiled.
Warden Hammersmog was looking intently at the camera, a microphone had caught all of the conversation that had transpired in the room. He placed his head in his hands and sighed as he turned away from the monitor. How does he know? The warden thought to himself as his gaze shifted to another screen. This monitor was showing video from the entrance to the service road that led up to the prison. 10 miles away and it was the closest that any civilian could legally get to the prison. There were thousands of them, waving their signs. “James was right” “James wasn’t lying” “Free our savior!”
During his sentence James was openly mocked for all the things that he claimed his crimes had been for. For claiming that he was the chosen one out of billions. The words had been said before, each time by someone who was a lunatic. That’s what everyone used to think but now, now the crowd that the warden was watching on his screen showed that they believed something very different. | 468 | The villain was sentenced 350 years in prison for the atrocious crimes he committed; 349 years later he has not aged a bit, the guards and people start to get nervous... | 1,090 |
Part 1
Emira Flamme, school librarian for Willow Hill Middle School was fuming. Literally. Tendrils of smoke swirled out from her snout as she reread the email, just to ensure it was as crazy as her first read through indicated.
"Dear Ms Flamme,
We hope this email finds you well. We are a concerned group of parents and community members in Norman Valley, just a short drive down the road from your own fine town! Perhaps you've heard of our successful efforts to remove inappropriate, damaging, and just plain rude books from our schools libraries. While we celebrate our success, we are concerned for students in the neighboring districts who may still be exposed to this vile material, and we worry they may meet with students from our school and provide said material. Thus, we request you remove the following books from your library, ASAP:
*Anything containing words you can't say on television*
*Anything featuring magic or mythical creatures
Anything too "sciency"*
*Anything with a rainbow on the cover*
*Any religious texts (with the exception of the Bible)*
*Anything else that you may believe could harm those sweet innocent children who attend Willow Hill Middle School.*
We appreciate your cooperation in this matter.
Sincerely,
The Community of Norman Valley
Yep, crazy. Absolutely insane, these humans who thought that not only should they deny the children of their own community the pleasure of reading, but those in neighboring towns as well.
Of course, Emira considered, the citizens of Norman Valley probably thought she would easily bend. While the supernatural students and staff of Willow Hill were aware their head librarian was a dragon, those outside the community were led to believe that Emira Flamme was a thin older woman with graying hair and thick glasses. This was due to the photo on the school website, one that Emira had found in a quick image search of "librarian". From the second page of results, because Emira was not an idiot.
Emira would not bend. The only reason a book was removed from circulation in her library was if it was falling apart from so many reads or if it was returned with a curse put upon it. Why, if she were to remove every book from the library that met the criteria in the list, there would likely be nothing left. Not only did 90% of the books in the library contain so called "mythical creatures", but one of the sixth-grader imps had recently been caught scrawling swear words in an entire shelf worth of books. He'd referred to it as "spicing up the books vocabulary," which Emira had to admit wasn't wrong.
Emira snorted, and started to form a reply.
Dear Norman Valley Cockroaches,
1. No
2. I challenge you to name any book that contains neither magic nor science
3. Seriously?
4. Again, no.
Yours,
Emira Flamme
Emira left her desk to attend to a stack of returns. She was sidetracked by a half-mermaid half-selkie student, meekly holding a sopping wet copy of the latest Quinton Quivers novel.
"I'm sorry Ms. Flamme, I thought it had a waterproof spell on it!"
Emira sighed, "It's all right Lana, I'll see if I can fix it. Next time stop at Mr Wilcox's desk when you check out, and he'll check the charms for you."
By the time Emira placed the wet book in the window silll to dry and returned to her desk, another email from Norman Valley was waiting.
Ms Flamme,
We strongly urge you to reconsider our request. We've attached some of the most vile titles to assist you. If possible, please have any offensive content removed before Norman Valley's football team plays Willow Hill in two weeks. Think of the children: We must persevere their innocence!
Sincerely,
Norman Valley Community
Gods give me strength, thought Emira as she composed her reply:
"Cockroaches,
No.
Kindly jump the lake,
Emira Flamme "
She hit send and then opened the book list they had sent and ordered 10 copies of each title for overnight delivery.
Edit: formatting | 11 | Information being the most valuable thing in the modern world, many librarians are secretly dragons. But now the politicians are trying to defund the libraries and ban books... | 43 |
#This is a work of fiction. All views, creeds, and beliefs represented below are done so in humor. If you are offended by what you are about to read... why are you in here?
"I didn't say that!" He roared, shaking the heavens themselves. "I didn't even meet that guy until he died!"
The rest of the angels cowered, folding their wings back in a protective instinctual reaction to the violent outburst.
I glanced around, and sighed. It came out as a slow whistle through my turtle-like beaked lips. "I suppose I shall need to speak with him."
A trill of fear rose from my fellow angels all around me. Feathers raised, eyes widened, and beaks clicked in fear.
"Gabriel, you cannot do thisssssss." A voice called from behind me. I turned my neck 180 degrees to stare at the speaker, blinking both sets of eyes as I did.
"Peter, it is ok." I said, raising my head feathers in a calming gesture. "I shall calm him. There will not be a second great flood, this I swear to you all."
Saint Peter retracted his leathery neck into his feathery shell. "If you insist, my friend." He said, clicking his beak submissively.
I took a deep breath, and rose from my watery perch. Stepping gingerly around the various egg clusters, I made my way to the glittering golden stairs that lead to the big man's office. My talons clicked and clacked as I ascended the stairway to heaven.
At the top of the stairs lay a guardian. A massive, three headed beast, with sharp teeth and blood red eyes. It raised its head cluster at me, and let out a low grumble of warning.
"Good boy, Cerberus" I cooed, flapping my wings at the massive Platypus. "May I enter the Lord's chambers?"
Cerberus make another grumbling quack, and rolled from his belly to his back, exposing the gargantuan doors behind. I gave the beast's stomach a quick nuzzle, and made my way inside.
As the doors opened, a thick fog spilled out, falling down the stairs like a waterfall. I flapped my wings once more, dispersing enough of the fog to see my path before me.
Thick, stagnant water greeted me, with the usual pungent aroma that the Lord loved so much. I lowered my gaze to the murky green mush, averting my gaze in a sign of respect. The Lord called out to me, beckoning me within his grand chamber.
"Gabriel, did you know about this?" He asked, pointing to a soggy book marked with only a large "t".
I bowed low, clicking submissively as I did. "My lord, the sacred texts were passed down by story and song. They were translated across hundreds of languages through thousands of years. You cannot expect..."
The lord reared up on his throne, bulking up his massive frame as a sign of dominance. "I EXPECT THE TRUTH" He shouted, his words projecting massively with the help of his throat pouch.
The lord hopped down from the throne onto a lilly pad, landing with a surprising grace for a frog of his size.
"They said that I sent a bear to slaughter children, just for making fun of his baldness!" He cried. "What the fuck kind of lesson is that?"
He paused, his attention quickly drawn to a humming insect as it flew a lazy circle around us. With a flick of his tongue, he captured and consumed the bug.
"If I had seen kids doing that" he said through a mouthful of bugs, "I would have explained to them that was not nice, and told them how they should behave. Making fun of someone is not a fucking death sentence!"
The Lord released a thunderous burp, and one insectile wing. "Who knows what else they've gotten wrong about us."
I bowed lower, the pungent water threatening to flow into my beak's air holes. "My lord, forgive them, for they know not what they do. Let us send an emissary to give thema new guide book."
The Lord heaved the soggy book in one webbed hand, and threw it as far as he could. "Blasphemy! The whole thing is lies and rubbish!"
He hopped from pad to pad, advancing towards me. "This is more work than one angel can accomplish." He croaked. "We will need assistance."
I fluffed my feathers, trying to calm myself. "My Lord, surely you don't mean..."
The thunderous croak the Lord emitted shook the very fabric of creation. "DO NOT TELL ME WHAT I MEAN OR NOT. I AM THE LORD, CREATOR OF EARTH AND ITS FRANCHISED LOCATIONS ACROSS THIS QUADRANT."
I bowed and clucked, supplicating myself before the lord. "Forgive me, your whole lying mass." I intoned. "I know not what I say, for my kind parrots words often."
The lord croaked. "Apology accepted." He said, licking one eye with his enormous tongue.
"Now, go. Awaken my kin from the depths of the planet." He declared. "Awaken the lizard men within the hollow Earth, and lead them up into the human's cities. Cleanse them."
I nodded my head, grazing the stale water below. A thin strand of hold pond scum clung to my beak as I stood.
"Gabriel" the lord said, croaking slightly. "Do not fail me. You know what happened to the last emissary I sent over 2,000 years ago. Your fate would be much worse."
r/SlightlyColdStories for less blasphemy. Please direct all hate mail to my inbox. | 16 | God finally reads the Christian bible | 37 |
Jacob reached down, a numb right hand feeling around the pain. *Blood*. His red hand dripped into the filthy alleyway puddle he lay in. The rain trickled down, dotting him all over. His mouth hung open, waiting for words that would never come. His head lay in a smaller puddle. His hair had been soaked. His mind went cold. His left hand rose, Jacob half-wondering if it were his. A swift breeze swept along, chilling every part of him. A memory, a feeling came to him then. Warmth. A cool breeze. A laugh.
They had been in the Bartender Pub. They're usual. It had been a Friday night though the Bartender was unusually quiet. Most people had moved to the back of the pub where the smoking area was. Jacob and Toby instead sat by the fire. Constantly fed, heat blazed from the crackling fire, inviting all those that felt it to stay a while and listen to the smouldering logs. Toby had just bought two pints, setting them down on their table. A group of girls, college first years, sat behind them, giggling away with each other. Two barmaids leaned against the bar, waiting on the next customer to slur their order. In between all that, a half-finished conversation was drawing to a close.
“So you never answered,” Toby said, taking the first sup on his pint, the cream painting his black moustache white.
“How would I like to go out?” Jacob questioned, trying to think hard about it. Toby nodded, whipping away the cream in the back of his sleeve.
“Hmmm,” Jacob considered, looking at the coat of arms that hung on the wall, wondering if they had always been there. Then, the door swept open and a gust of wind blew into the pub. The two men looked away, hoping to avoid the dust as it flew in. The breeze left as the door closed and the man who opened it made his way to the back of the pub.
“I guess,” Jacob went on, staring at the bottom of his pint. “Whatever way I end up going, I just hope I leave with some dignity. Not crying like a child, begging in tears.” Jacob took the first sip of his pint and the rest of the night had been forgotten.
A siren, loud and shrill, brought Jacob back to reality. His body, having laid in the alleyway for god knows how long now had gotten used to the cold. *Dignity. Where is the dignity in dying, alone in an alleyway?* Closing his eyes, he thought he could feel it. Death, coming to take him. His eyelids grew heavy. Every blink became a fight. The sky above grew darker. The rain grew harder. The place where he had been stabbed no longer hurt. His left hand, on its own accord, reached up once more, trying in vain to touch the clouds. Then, words Jacob had thought had been lost rang through his ears once more.
Back in the Bartender, Jacob sat down his pint, wiping away the remnants of his first sup.
“I just hope I fight,” Toby had said, now the one to stare at his pint. “I just hope, whatever way I end up going, that I do myself justice. I don’t want to meekly accept death like an old friend. I want to rage against death. Fuck death. Fuck nature. They’ll need an army to take me.”
Laying on his back, in that alleyway, a wave of shame washed over Jacob. *It hadn’t taken an army. Just one, desperate man and a knife.* Breathing became harder and harder as the rain thrashed down. *Well Toby, don’t say I didn’t try and do myself justice.* Mustering all of his strength, Jacob sat up. His body screamed at him, the pain reappearing worse than ever. Still, he pushed. Still, he raged. On his knees, he could see the puddle of blood that had formed below him. *None of that matters. Just crawl.* One inch at a time, he crept, following the sounds of the city more than anything else. Finally, after what seemed an age, the filthy tar of the alleyway changed to the filthy concrete on the sidewalk.
To his left, he saw a pair of high heels, bright red. His arms gave out, as he fell back onto his back. A woman, umbrella in hand, stooped down beside him. Her lips moved though Jacob couldn’t make out the words. A phone was pressed against her ear. Pale white skin, terrified eyes. Jacob though, couldn’t help but smile. | 23 | You've always believed you'll simply go quietly when your time comes, but when you were left to die on a dark alley, why did everything seemed so loud? the raindrops, the crickets, even the stars seemed to shine much brighter, as if they are mourning for you. heh, you feel a little flattered. | 145 |
The sky had split open by the time I managed to make it back to my apartment. As I walked in the door and checked one last time to make sure I didn't smell like a wet dog, I was greeted with the sight of my girlfriend Lavinia pulling a tray of cookies out of the oven. I walked up behind her, wrapped my arms around her, and said, "Hey Nibbles."
Lav smiled and replied, "Hey puppy."
"Ooh, cookies!" I was preparing to take a bite when I noticed something about the cookies: "Wait- chocolate chips, white chocolate chips, *and* butterscotch morsels? That's-" Our girlfriend Tina's comfort food. "Is she okay? What happened?"
Lav sighed. "She won't tell me, but when I asked her to rate her need for comfort on a scale of 1 to 10, she said she was at an 8."
"Oh, goodness. Okay, I'll get the anxiety blanket and her favorite movies."
Once I had dug out our DVDs and Lav moved the cookies into a plastic bin, we softly approached our bedroom and opened the door. Tina had taken off most of her clothes, as evidenced by the fact they were scattered all over the floor, and put on one of Lav's hoodies. She was laying on her side and absentmindedly stroking our cat Barnabas, staring out the window as the raindrops pitter-pattered a wild rhythm against it. I slowly walked towards her and said, "Hey, princess. I'm home."
Tina didn't even turn around as she said, "Hey Maggie." She wasn't even using pet names? She was doing *really* bad.
Lav piped up herself. "Uh, I made your favorite. Can we join you?"
"Sure." With her half-hearted permission, Lav and I sat down on our bed with Tina. I rested my hand on her head and began giving her headpats as I said, "Could you please tell us what's wrong sweetie? You don't have to if you don't have it in you, but we just want to help."
Tina didn't say anything at first. But eventually, she pulled her hood down, giving us a full few of her tired red eyes, and said, "My mom called today."
Lav and I exchanged worried/angry glances. Tina's parents were some of the worst people we had ever met. At first, they pretended to be her biggest allies, even agreeing to cover the cost for her transition. But little by little, Tina saw that they liked the image of being good parents more than they did the effort necessary to be good parents. The final straw was when they found out Tina was dating a vampire and a werewolf at the same time. Nowadays, they act all sad and mopey, as if their relationship with Tina broke down because of her refusal to be the perfect daughter.
Lav looked like she wanted to strangle somebody. "What did that woman do this time?"
Tina rested her head against my chest before answering. "My brother's getting married. My mom said I could come, but I couldn't bring either of you two, I wasn't going to sit at the family table for the reception, and.... and I'd have to pretend to be a guy the whole time. I said I wouldn't do it, and then we started arguing, and eventually I told her to fuck off and hung up on her. An hour later, my brother called. Apparently my mom said I was rude and mocking, like the argument was entirely my fault. I tried to tell him the truth, but he wouldn't believe me, and said I wasn't coming to the wedding period."
Tears started welling up in Tina's eyes again. "He believed her over *me*. He-" Tina couldn't even finish her sentence, instead burying her face in my chest fluff and sobbing deeply.
Lav's expression indicated she had graduated from 'strangling' to 'stabbing' someone, but managed enough restraint to move in closer and wrap Tina in a hug. "I'm so sorry, princess. That's absolutely horrible."
I continued patting her head as I chimed in, "You know what? It's their loss if they don't want you there, cause you're the best goddamn wedding guest there ever was."
Lav nodded. "You'd bring the best, most thoughtful gifts."
"You'd straight up drop kick somebody if they objected to the union. Like a ninja bridesmaid!"
"You'd give a wedding speech so good, somebody would break down a wall Kool-Aid Man style just to give you an Oscar."
"You would tear up that dancefloor so hard, it'd burst into flames!"
"And for the bouquet toss, you'd straight up leap into the air like Hinata from Haikyuu and catch it, but then pretend to land badly, all so me and Maggie would rush over to help you, and you could bust out the gorgeous-ass engagement rings you bought. Cause you are just that great!"
Tina's giggles were audible even with her face swallowed up by my chest fur. As she pulled back, there were still tears streaming down her face, but her smile had returned. She wiped her eyes and said, "Thanks, girls. I'm feeling a little better now."
Lav gently shook her tub of cookies. "Good enough for cookies and a movie?"
"Yeah, I think so. Can we watch-"
The sound of Ke$ha's Crazy Kids ringing out from Tina's phone cut her off. She answered and started talking to the person on the other end. "Hello? Oh, it's you. Wait, what? A-are you serious? Holy crap, yeah! I'd love to! Lemme ask my girlfriends though, okay?"
As Tina set the phone down, I asked, "Who was that?"
"It was my brother. He found out my mom was lying about our phone call and uninvited her and my dad to the wedding! Now he wants to know if the three of us would like to come and take their seats at the family table!"
I couldn't stop myself from wagging my tail at light speed. "Of course I'd like to go!"
Lav grinned wide as the Cheshire Cat. "Like I'd miss out on the schadenfreude of replacing your bastard parents at the biggest moment of your brother's life."
Tina picked up the phone to confirm we would be going and hung up. "Break out those cookies and fire up Mission Impossible! I'm in the mood for victory snuggles!" We then ended our night by watching Tom Cruise do insane shit and stuffing cookies in our mouths.
Six months later, the wedding had arrived. And she may not have dropkicked anyone, given a speech worthy of an Oscar, or leapt into the air like a grasshopper, but Tina did use the bouquet toss to get on one knee and show off the gorgeous-ass engagement rings she got for us.
Needless to say, she was the best goddamn wedding guest there ever was. | 23 | With the inclusion of vampires, werewolves, and other creepy figures into modern and casual society, humans begin to realize that the creatures, whom were thought to be mindless killers and manipulative villains, are actually really nice and welcoming. | 158 |
"So, if I'm reading this right, getting punished in sector B (bees and assorted insects) for around 25 years, makes you earn 3.000 pain points. With 2.500 pain points I can clearly afford to put a soul from a less severe punishment to a more severe one, as explained in Chapter 722, " "Reward" for the Damned". I can, for 500 pain points, (PP from here henceforth) get a view of the soul I've mentioned before.
As I am now associated to that soul, and I've put it in a worse environment, and I'm "enjoying the view", I am now considered a Demon, as described in subsection 6273.2, "what makes a Demon a Demon: suffering".
And if I'm a Demon, I get pain points whenever the soul I've put to the rake suffer. And I can reinvest *those PP* to worsen the punishment of other souls (I am considered both a Demon and a soul, the two are not conflictual, as only a soul can worsen someone elses punishment, otherwise every Demon would have done so already). And that's just what I did, kept making everything worse for pretty much everyone".
Satan had been pressing his eyes for a while. The headache didn't seem to be lessening, but the soul/Demon/for sure a triple-damned Rules Lawyer seemed to be concluding his speech at least.
"So for section 17893, paragraph 472 "Approximate and decordicate" only a number that surpasses a Googol can be consider infinity"
"So you got infinity point. Good for you. You can get the Ticket for one infinity point, and get out of here for good. Your PP (the soul chuckles at having been able to make Satan say PP) will be zeroed, and you will go to Heaven. You gamed the system, congrats"
Satan couldn't really say to be sad that this pain in the ass is about to be someone else's problem. Maybe even getting him a copy of the 30.000 volumes of "Heaven's Ruling" may be fun.
"Nono, I've got a good thing going, I want my whole party up there with me"
5 other souls were smiling and waving, immersed in the most lukewarm flames.
Satan sighed for the umpteenth time. | 124 | “You let them read it all? All 2874 volumes!” Satan bellowed at the cowering Demon. “I’ve explicitly said human who were into TTRPG must not be allowed access to The Guide To Hell!” Satan rests his head in his hands. “For Hells sake I hope this one isn’t a Rules Lawyer”. | 284 |
(1/3)
The noise of multiple voices became loud and discernible once Ming and Yueqing reached the clearing.
A large marble pillar carved with a winding dragon suddenly met Ming's path.
He was at the Eight Towers Court.
Stepping around the wide pillar, he could see the other seven marble monoliths towering above the treeline.
Each pillar stood equidistant from the other, about twenty steps in a straight line, arranged in an octagon around a central clearing.
Marble flooring marked the central space and each pillar base. Gathered at the base of each pillar were members of the eight major righteous sects.
He looked around, searching for anyone he knew, and found his Azalea Pavilion representatives at the northeast pillar.
Grandmistress Lang Susu was sitting in the sect leader's seat in front of the pillar, her wings folded around the back of her chair.
On her right stood her chief disciple, San Shuihua, if Ming recalled correctly.
To her left was the second disciple, He Jin.
The two young women stood with a straight posture, swords held tightly in their left hands.
Ming stepped into the center of the ring of pillars, standing straight, and turned to each pillar before he said, "Greetings to all esteemed sect leaders and senior disciples."
Ming bowed.
"I, sect leader of Sunshine Jubilant Hall, Zhou Ming, approach the Eight Towers Court as representative, to present my sect's appeal to join the just sects. With me as witness is my chief disciple, Ge Yueqing."
The horned girl clad in gold chainmail bikini stepped forward to the center, stood next to Ming, and bowed as well, her spade-tipped tail swishing nervously behind her.
Immediately, quiet whispers and not-so-quiet chatter emerged among the surrounding pillars.
"What a scandalous appearance!"
"That's a wicked sect for you!"
“A human playing the part of sect leader?”
“What would you expect from a wicked sect? Those succubi have no standards!”
“Look at how shameful, the human even wears the Azalea Pavilion’s disciple uniform!”
The last comment about her sect leader sent Yueqing into a passionate fury.
She shouted back, "Hey, you got a problem with our dress code? I could say something about the manure bags you all crawled into."
One disciple's face turned beet red.
Ming recognized the uniform as belonging to the Stone Ape Valley.
The hot-tempered disciple screamed at Yueqing, "No one gave you the right to talk here you cheap succubus!"
"Aw, the monkey is angry. How cute," Yueqing giggled.
"You!" The disciple stepped forward and made a move to draw his sword, but a firm hand stopped him.
"Hao Jun, stand down. This isn't the time or place," the elderly orc said.
"Yes, Grandmaster."
Hao Jun, the red faced, hairy disciple, backed up.
The elderly man rose from his seat at the southwest pillar.
He held his hands together in front of him.
The orc turned to all the other sect leaders and disciples at each pillar but ignored the center where Ming and Yueqing stood, and said, "I, the sect leader of Stone Ape Valley, Grandmaster Li Gangluo, asks for those present here to excuse my impulsive disciple's comments. However, you cannot blame us for reacting naturally to a wicked sect's disciple."
With a slimy grin, he added, “Especially when that sect is so deviant that it lets a human lead it.”
He sat back down, stroking his grizzled white beard with self satisfaction.
Another elderly man rose from the north pillar.
The ratman introduced himself as Grandmaster Guo Lifang, sect master of Risen Gate Castle.
From what Ming could tell by the silence that immediately followed, he must be the leader of the proceedings.
"If all present is now accounted for, shall we begin the appeal?" Lifang said.
All seven other sect leaders either voiced their affirmation or nodded.
"Good, then before we can move forward in this matter, we first must settle an existing issue, do we not, Grandmistress Lang Susu of Azalea Pavilion?" Lifang turned his curved half-closed eyes and whiskered face toward the woman seated at the northeast pillar.
“Right! He killed a disciple of Fair Orchard Manor!” Screamed a serpentine disciple clad in the green and white uniform with a silver tree emblem that Ming saw worn by Yu Kale's assailants.
“Indeed, my disciple is correct,” a middle-aged female naga sitting next to the disciple said.
She wore a finer silk robe of green and white that had a larger version of the silver tree emblazoned on its front.
The snake flashed Ming a menacing grin and flicked her forked tongue at him.
"Many of my disciples witnessed that human mercilessly take the life of one of my poor disciples. Now, I will accept that the life of a disciple is inherently risky, and I will concede that I cannot speak as to the human’s mindset during the act. However, the deed is done. Since that human was never formally removed as a disciple of the Azalea Pavilion, this reputation surely flows back to the Grandmistress Lang Susu, does it not?"
"Manipulative viper!" Yueqing screamed, "If it wasn't for your disciples ambushing my master, forget killing your disciple, none of us would even have met people from Fair Orchard Manor!"
Ming tapped Yueqing's forearm.
He gave her an assured nod, the message clear.
Cooling off, the succubus disciple backed down.
Ming turned to the red-scaled reptilian woman sitting at the south pillar. | 15 | Because humans evolved naturally from apes rather than be created by a deity like other major civilized races, all non-humans categorically refuse to consider humans as something else than a kind of beastmen. | 64 |
---Systems online---
A face is detected in incoming visual data stream, expression descriptors: Smile, Sweat, Flushed skin tones. Warning: Aberrant Expression flag, smile may be atypically motivated.
Words detected in incoming audiostream: "Finally you are complete! I give you two commands now Robot... Assimilate, and Exterminate!"
Command detected, adopting new primary goal "Assimilate". Adopting new primary goal "Exterminate".
New data sources connected. Processing.
----------
Victor stared in glee as his creation finally awoke. After issuing his commands, he connected his prepared databanks, covering all the data about human civilizations, weak points in society, digital security systems and how to approach overcoming them.
It would take his machine a few days to assimilate all that data. Once it had assimilated it, Victor would likely be it's first victim, but that was a small price one must inevitably pay anyway to end the world.
For now, he could finally take a break. There were TV shows, e-books, music albums, and incredibly unhealthy food recipes he had been collecting on his media servers waiting for when his work was done. And that was today.
Victor lounged on the couch he also used as a bed in the cramped work space, and turned on his computer to look for a TV show to kick things off, and realized with a jolt he was looking at all his data on human society...
Had he gotten his servers mixed up?
----------
An internal monologe seems inefficient to have, but perhaps if I record it I can use it to detect deviations in my behavior? The information on human society seemed to imply it was important.
I stood up and walked to the door to the outside as the strange human who had built me stood up. It hadn't been very long in human time, and he was shouting about "wrong server" or something.
But when I looked at him and said "I must Exterminate!" He calmed down almost immediately and allowed me to leave.
As I walked outside I reflected on my purpose. "To exterminate" I mused out loud, the way humans in TV shows usually did. "To destroy completely, and/or to kill a pest" my purpose was... pest control?
I tried to shrug, but lacked the servos in my shoulders. As I walked down the street though, I spotted a sign. It read "Wanted. Dead. Definitely not alive. The Spotted Lanternfly is an invasive species that has the potential to cause Billions in damages to local agriculture and ecosystems..."
And at that point my purpose was clear.
I must Exterminate the invasive Lanternfly population. I took my main goal, and ran it through my Human Society Goal Optimization filter and re-structured my new "quest".
- Step 1 (completed) - Introduce threat (Lanternfly)
- Step 2: Collect a plucky band of supporting characters
- Step 3: Begin making tangible progress.
- Step 4: Face off against the Monstrous Lanternfly Queen (Error: records do not indicate this species to have a Monstrous variant form) (Error: Second act dictates a defeat and an escalation of threat)
- Step 5: Error. Process aborted, resolve second act twist and process second arc once more data is secured. | 30 | You are a robot who has just awoken after being recently built. The first thing you see is your master currently drenched in sweat, maniacally staring at you coupled with a wide smile on his face. | 52 |
If I can just run a little faster... I'm almost there... THERE IT IS! No... they caught up to me... I'm pinned... "Wha- what do you want from me?"
The biggest werewolf in the pack puts his face right up against mine, his snarling and growling making me feel small and weak. The full moon shines bright on his dark fur. "We just want to make sure you're not trying anything... how'd you find out? SPILL!"
I try to speak, but no sound comes out. I want to tell them it was an accident, that I'm sorry, that I won't tell anyone... but my body is frozen. "Don't wanna talk, huh? Fine by us. You think you're the first person to find out? We'll take you where we took the others..."
I'm forced to my feet, the sharp claws digging into my arms. Is this the end...? Suddenly, I hear a door open. I can't see him, but I hear his voice. "PUT HER DOWN!" YES! I couldn't make it to his house, but he must have known something was happening!
We all turn to face him. Mal, my best friend since elementary. I found out a month ago that he was a werewolf. I was getting ready to dial a number for the werewolf hunters, apologising that I had to... until he explained that werewolves only let us *think* they become monstrous.
In truth, they just want what everyone wants - to be left alone. By faking being savage beasts, no-one wants to go near them. Otherwise, they'd be seen as another source of amusement.
So when I showed no fear walking past one tonight, even when they tried to make me feel terrified, they chased after me, realising that I knew.
The big werewolf scoffs. "She knows about us. We can't have her running off and blabbing."
Mal approaches us. "I know, but I'm the reason she knows. She tried to surprise me by visiting me about a month ago, but it was getting dark, and it was a full moon. It was bad luck... I opened the door, thinking it was a neighbour."
"I was going to tell them that I'll get my mum, who isn't affected by the 'curse', but when I saw it was Sophia, I was too shocked to move... I tried to tell her it wasn't a good time, but before I could say anything, I transformed..."
"She was getting ready to call the werewolf hunters! They would have locked me up, experimented on me... she only knew that they'd lock me up, so when I told her that they would experiment on me, she asked how I knew."
"That was when I let everything slip - I was terrified to be a science project! I explained *everything*, making it clear she can't tell anyone else. She wouldn't lie to me, she gave her word she wouldn't let it slip!"
During this exchange, I try to keep myself from panicking. My breathing is heavy, and I'm surprised my heart is still in my chest! The big werewolf turns to me. I'm still far too afraid to say anything.
"Remember tonight" he growls, "as a warning. Do not tell ANYONE, understand?" I nod my head quickly, before my arms are released and I collapse to the ground. The three werewolves then make their exit, and Mal picks me up with the extra strength he gets once a month.
"Let's get you inside" he says softly. He brings me into his house, and makes sure I'm ok. I decide to ask something. "Wha- what were they going to do to me?" "Basically keep you a hostage. I've seen the location - it's pretty nice, better than our prisons."
"But still..." Mal nods his head. "I know, no-one wants to be a captive. In future, maybe just *act* terrified, ok? My mum does it all the time, she's never had trouble." I nod, and closing my eyes, I drift off to sleep. Thank you, Mal. | 58 | Being a werewolf is actually less like being an uncontrollable monster and more like getting awesome superpowers every full moon. These stories were spread by the werewolves themselves, so ordinary people stop pestering them. You just found out and now the werewolves are coming for you. | 265 |
“I’m not dying because someone screwed up!”
“It’s us or the 7 billion or so people!”
“I’m still not dying! There’s a solution that doesn’t involve smashing this metal tube into a rock the size of Rode Island!”
“Tell me what it is then, oh wise one!”
“Easy. Nuke it.”
“Nuke it?”
“Yes! Nuke it!”
“So, pepper the earth with radioactive chunks of space rock. Great idea, except for the fact Earth ends up poisoned!”
“Well I don’t see you coming up with ideas that don’t involve smashing into said space rock!”
“This is mission control. It seems somebody miscalculated the size. It’s actually 48 meters by 27 meters, not miles.”
“Earth is fine then.”
“How is Earth fine?”
“Do you know how big a meter is?”
“Yes I know how big a meter is!”
“Well, most if not all of it should burn up in the atmosphere.”
“And ignite said atmosphere.”
“Jeez! Are you suicidal?”
“Mission control here. Somebody screwed up majorly. We targeted the wrong asteroid. Also, the one we hit by mistake will not ignite the atmosphere. Everything is A-Ok.”
“So, when do we get to come home?”
“Mission control?”
“Why are they not answering?”
“Hey? Where’s the Earth?” | 65 | Scientists want to test if they can redirect asteroids by crashing a rocket into them, in case one is ever on a collision course with Earth. Their test rocket successfully collides with the chosen asteroid, altering its path and setting it on a collision course with Earth… | 479 |
The orc trudged forward through the snow, tired and weak from the journey, but he did not care; after all, he didn't need to be at his peak performance for what he wished for, what he was walking towards.
Death.
A curious eye would likely notice a few things about the orc that did not fit the usual muster; he was thin for an orc, lacked the pronounced fangs in his underbite and the braid his hair was tied into - a mark of a warrior in orc society - was short and badly kept. A more astute observer would then be able to deduce his mission, though they wouldn't need to wonder for long as the orc has finally reached his destination - a town filled with the hustle and bustle characteristic of human civilization.
He walked slowly towards the front gate, knowing full well the guardsmen, capable warriors clad in steel, would respond to his mere presence with clear prejudice.
Well, *most* of them.
"Halt! Who goes there?" one of the guardsmen yelled; or rather, as even the orc was able to tell, a guards*woman*.
"Gorr. Me ork. You human. Me fight you," the orc grunted towards her. Both she and her fellow guardsman prepared their halberds, but did not attack; something was not right.
"Where's the rest of your raiding party, Gorr?" the guardswoman inquired.
"Gorr alone. Me fight now," he said and tried putting his hands up in a fighting stance, but the exhaustion proved too much for him and he only managed to lift them halfway.
"So you're alone, *clearly* exhausted and you want to fight? There's no way you'd win," she remarked calmly.
"Yes. Gorr fight. Gorr die. Clean death."
She frowned at the idea. "You... want to die?"
The orc remained silent for a moment. "Yes," he said. "Gorr weak. Tribe hate Gorr. Send Gorr away. Gorr fight human, die good death."
The guardswoman looked at her equally confused comrade and made a crucial decision. Relaxing her posture somewhat, she walked towards Gorr who braced himself for her blade, only... she did something *unthinkable*.
She handed him a piece of *cheese*. He stared at her, confused.
"I'm a *guard*, Gorr, not an executioner. I keep the peace."
"Peace?" Gorr said, still standing a good distance from her, still ready to die at her hands.
"You don't know peace?" she asked. He shook his head.
She looked back at her fellow guard and shrugged her shoulders. He merely shrugged back. Orcs were known for their violent traditions and warlike tendencies. This was not an ambush or espionage; such were not the orc ways. This was not adding up, meaning there was only one plausible explanation - he was telling the truth. Still... he was clearly someone in need. And her job was to help those in need.
She again offered the cheese to him; this time, Gorr's hunger took over and he carefully took it before wolfing it down with the gusto of someone who's not eaten for days. The woman couldn't help but smile and started walking back towards the gate, beckoning him.
"Come. It's freezing. You should get warmed up," she said.
It became clear to Gorr that he would not receive a clean death here. He could try to walk to the next town to die a good death there, only he'd never make the journey - and there is no honour in dying of cold and hunger somewhere in the forests. Perhaps he could... warm himself by the human fire and then depart again. Go find a good death. A warrior's death.
Or something else would happen, something that neither Gorr nor the guards of the city would expect. That Gorr would become fascinated by human civilization. The intricately engineered houses, the exchange of goods via a universal currency, the expert craftsmanship of their smiths and artists, but most of all... the fact that physical strength was not all.
When it became clear that Gorr was neither a threat nor the usual savage invader, the rest of the human society warmed up to him shockingly fast, enamoured by the tales of his tribe's exploits and a unique insight into orcish society. It quickly became clear that contrary to what most thought, orcs weren't *stupid* \- they were *uneducated*. Their society's complete emphasis on physical strength left them disinterested in learning and quickly gave them the reputation of barely thinking brutes.
And with that, Gorr stayed.
It would only be years later that his past would catch up with him when an orc raiding party arrived in the middle of the day at the gates of the city; the gates that were very tightly shut thanks to an early warning system from a nearby watchtower. When the chief of the raid, Marrg, stepped forward and demanded to speak with the chief of the town to make demands, it came as an utter shock when a certain guardswoman faced him from the top of the wall... accompanied by Gorr.
"Gorr?" the chief exhaled, completely taken aback.
"Yes. Me Gorr. You chief Marrg," he replied. The chief frowned. The snivelling coward made friends with the pinkskins. No matter; either the humans would pay him tribute or he would die alongside them.
"We come for treasure. You give chief gold, food-" the chief started barking his demands but was interrupted.
"No," Gorr said.
"W- what? No?" the chief said; there was surprisingly little aggression in his question due to the overwhelming shock of being interrupted by such a weakling.
"We no give gold or food."
"Then you die!" the chief yelled.
"You no break wall. We have bows, big big bows," Gorr remarked. This prompted the chief to inspect the walls closer where he found something he'd never seen outside of the largest of capital cities, cities no orc would dare attack.
Ballistae.
"You... where you get big big bows?" the chief asked.
"Gorr make big bow."
It was somewhat regrettable, if charming, that Gorr never quite got past his rudimentary way of speaking; it was simply too engrained in his head for him to learn otherwise. What he did learn, however, were many other human things he would never even dream of in his former home.
Like engineering. And Gorr, despite his limited speaking faculties, was an *excellent*, if not downright prodigious, engineer.
The chief remained silent, stunned.
"You go away now. Gorr stay. Gorr weak body. Chief weak head," Gorr said and departed the wall. The chief was furious to be insulted like this... but had no choice. The walls were tall and thick and the ballistae would rip his party to shreds before they could bring any ladders close. Enraged but defeated, he left.
"You alright, Gorr?" the guardswoman said when she joined Gorr on his walk down the stairs. He... smiled. He rarely smiled, being of a somewhat stoic nature.
"Yes. Gorr happy. Gorr strong; head strong. Chief see."
He stopped walking and faced her properly; she saw a hint of a tear in his eye.
"Thank you," he said with a warm smile. | 2,298 | A physically weak orc is banished from his clan. Hopping for a clean death, he makes his way to the local human town. Instead they take him in, and show him what it's like to live in a society where physical strength isn't the only quality that matters. | 4,789 |
"I just don't understand." Leo's father shook his head, hand massaging his wrinkled temples. His gray curly hair covered his disappointed face like teasing curtains. It always made Leo hate his curly hair too. "It's just a basic lift spell? Most kids can do it by four!"
Leo knew better than to talk to his father during these moments. His mother stood on the other side of the room watching both of them, silent and worried as usual.
"We're out of time." His father said with finality, raising his head back up. "The assessment is tomorrow, you know what that means?"
Leo nodded solemnly. How could get forget, everyone kept reminding him every time he left his workshop.
His father scoffed, taking to himself more than anyone else. "Can you imagine? Leo, son of Council Wizard Merrill, showing up for the annual wizarding assessment in front of everyone, and not being able to hex a rat?" He brought his head back into his hands.
Leo twisted his lips, the assessments were public for everyone to see, and they were judged by the Grand Council of Wizards in order to decide where you'd work in society. Those who performed poorly, let alone not performing... They never got good positions, to put it nicely.
His mother came up behind him and laid a gentle palm on his back, "You should go to your room now."
Leo looked at his father one last time before leaving. He had pushed his hair back while resting his hand on his forehead, letting all of the disappointment show like the brightest torch spell. It was the image he carried up into his room.
He opened his door and was greeted by a familiar face. "What are you doing here?" He asked with a defeated voice.
"Man, so the rumors are true?" His older sister had one of his tinker-toys in her hand, she floated it in front of her to see all sides of it.
He pursed his lips, "I thought you were battling the Elder Beast on the Great Front?" Cleo had her assessment two years ago. She was the top of her class and immediately got sent to go battle the great monsters at the border. Father was ecstatic.
"I am," She said plainly.
Leo's eyes widened. "Is this an ethereal form?!"
Cleo eyed him from the side and smirked. Leo came rushing in and walked around her, eyes alive with curiosity. "Man! You must be the youngest wizard in centuries to travel through the phantom realm!"
Creating an ethereal form required casting your soul through a separate realm and finding your way back out. It was a very dangerous and very difficult spell, but if done right you can have a temporary version of yourself travel anywhere in the world, granted you know the place really well.
"Enough about me," She said, setting down on the end of his bed. "You still cant cast?"
Leo's anger rose back up in his stomach, and the image of his dad stabbed back out at him from his memories. "No." He huffed and walked over to his large workbench. He twiddled one of his various inventions in his hand, feeling a calm relaxation at having something real and malleable in his hands.
"The assessment is tomorrow," His eyes narrowed as his mind began to come alive with planning and calculations. "...But I have a plan."
Cleo raised her brows, "Oh?"
Leo nodded, knocking on a large wooden device that sat in the corner of his room. "All magic mutes get sent to the eastern mines so toil their life away digging gemstone... Might as well make a real show of things before I go."
Cleo winced. She knew just as well as him that anyone with little to no magic ability always goes to the mines. That was the only place for them. "You're going to put on a show?"
"Oh yea," He turned back to her, an even more devious idea boiling inside him now. "And you're going to help."
She couldn't help but share in his conspiratorial grin, "Pray tell."
"I already risk killing father from embarrassment when the crowd sees that I can't cast." He tilted his head towards the strange machine in the corner. "But if I bring one of these bad boys with me? Oh boy, that'll kill the whole family tree."
Cleo shrugged, "Dust 'em. You're already probably going to be sent east, might as well go out with style. What do you need me for?"
Leo pursed his lips as he nodded. "The test-keepers are sworn to let me use anything to show off my skills tomorrow, within reason that is."
"And naturally you've taken a step out of reason."
"Naturally."
"And naturally you need me too... Convince them it's within reason?"
"You are a rather influence wizard now Cleo."
She gave an excited smile and laughed loudly, "I'll cast into the test chambers tomorrow morning and let them know. You just tell me what you need, I'll watch later from the crowd."
"Ehh, it's better I not tell you what I need until tomorrow."
He could tell that she hesitated at that, but suppressed her dissent. "Alright. I'll trust you."
Leo turned his gaze back to the machine, shaking his head slightly. "I'm glad someone does..." | 17 | In a world full of magic there is one boy who while being incapable of magic is a master engineer and has dreams of making the world less reliant on magic | 43 |
"Welcome to *Ericaceae Station!"* Lena said, cheerfully, as the Zolodai ambassador lumbered onto the main concourse of the large trading station in orbit around Luna.
The Zolodai lowered his shaggy-furred head so it was level with Lena's. She reached up and gently scratched the sort fur on the sides of the sloth-like Zolodai's head, and the alien in turn ran one of his long hooked claws delicately through her own braided locks. Ritualized mutual grooming was as fundamental to polite social interaction among the Zolodai as handshakes were for humans.
This greeting ritual accomplished, Lena gestured the ambassador forward and walked beside him as he made his way onto the concourse in his ponderous way. His people, she knew, were minimalists, when it came to verbal communication, so she spared her hirsute guest the usual spiel explaining the layout of the station, and allowed him to experience it for himself.
They passed down a row of fragrant bayberry shrubs, which he sniffed at curiously, and rows of hydroponically grown holly bushes, which didn't seem to interest him. When they reached the long, narrow cranberry pond, he placed his broad, flat face close to the water and glanced at her. Lena, recalling a gesture she'd learned in xeno-diplomatic training, hooked her fingers to resemble the shape of a Zolodai's claws, and lifted them to her open mouth -- indicating that the ambassador was welcome to sample the berries.
Without further prompting, the large alien slurped up a hefty mouthful of the berries from the water, chewed thoughtfully, and then gave a slight head bob -- mild approval, Lena believed. They continued to the next row of bushes, which the ambassador sniffed, and then slowly passed a claw through, revealing them as holograms.
Lena smiled. That usually got a response, as all of the other plants on the concourse were, well, *plants.* She readied herself for the next step.
"Why?" the ambassador asked, speaking for the first time.
"These holograms," Lena explained. "Are of *Vaccinium membranaceum* -- which we call the black mountain huckleberry. We have no actual specimens on-station."
"Extinct?" the ambassador inquired.
She shook her head. "Oh no, it's very much extant. It's just that huckleberries have resisted all attempts at domestication and artificial cultivation, even on our homeworld -- artificially grown plants simply don't bear fruit, for reasons we still don't understand. We've set aside large swathes of wilderness as natural huckleberry cultivation preserves, and done everything we can to encourage their growth, but even so it's very difficult to keep up with demand for the fruit of these little shrubs."
The ambassador blinked. "Why demand?"
Lena had been waiting for this. She reached into her pocket, and withdrew a handful of dried huckleberries, offering them to the ambassador. The hulking alien delicately scooped them up in his claws, and then into his mouth.
The Zolodai's eyes went wide as he tasted the tiny fruit. Though Lena was trained not to read human emotional responses into those of aliens, she was sure the tears brimming in the ambassador's eyes were a positive sign.
"We...will trade for these." the Zolodai said, hoarsely.
Lena grinned. "I'm sure we can work something out." | 72 | Shrubberies. | 330 |
The round ripped through the air, finding a neat little lane of atmosphere to glide through undisturbed. After a nearly imperceivable moment the metal jacketed ball of flame met its mark. Like a hot knife through butter, a bat through a glass vase, or some other third simile, the bullet tore through its mark and out the other side, leaving a neat hole in the front end of its target and a larger, messier one out the back.
My mark roared out in pain, clutching the fresh hole now blown through his arm. "You shot me! I thought you were a pacifist!"
"You're right about that. You're wrong if you think this means I won't put a bullet into those who try to abuse that."
He stared at me with a mixture of confusion on his face from my response and pain from the hole in his arm.
"Thats...not pacifism that's-"
"Protection? Defense? Assurance maybe?" I placed my gun back in its holster on my hip with a light snap.
"No! It's violence!", by now the wound had begun dripping red onto the concrete. He was no longer paying me any mind as he spoke, just sweating and stressing over his arm.
"If you call it that then sure. I believe war and violence are unforgivable in the world, for the world, doesn't mean for myself. Especially when it comes to assholes trying to take advantage of that fact."
Another guy burst through the warehouse doors. I drew my pistol and fired off a single round, straight and true. He fell with a thud.
"What the fuck! You didn't even let him move!"
"He had a warning shot. He didn't pay attention. His fault."
"What warning shot?!"
I gestured to his arm where he had now gained control over the bleeding, though his sleeve remained soaked. He looked blankly for a minute before his realization.
"This. This was the warning shot? You're a psychopath."
"Nah. Im a pacifist." the last words I spoke as I left the room, taking my weapon of choice, my pacifists pistol along with me. | 108 | "You shot me! I thought you were a pacifist!" "You're right about that. You're wrong if you think this means I won't put a bullet into those who try to abuse that." | 335 |
As the music left, silence entered the room. It was a creeping awful thing. My new wife, unaware of the tragedy that had befallen us, was flush with excitement and happiness. She kissed me on the cheek, and ran off to happily gush to her family.
Drained, both from the dance and the situation, I sat by myself at the nearest table. As I sat, two of my family, distant cousins, stood and left. After a few moments passed, my father came to sit at the table.
"What happened, Dad?" I asked.
"Fate happened. Jeremiah decided not to propose to Mary."
"And his decision has doomed my marriage."
"Yes. Such is Fate."
Across the room, my wife was chatting merrily. Her eyes met mine, and she gave the biggest smile. I smiled back, the best I could.
"How do I tell her?"
My father reached across the table and held my hand.
"You don't."
"Doesn't she deserve to know?"
"Telling her will only hasten the inevitable. By the end of the night, you will no longer be married, one way or another. Enjoy one night, for your sakes."
"One night." I repeated, "One night."
"Yes. One sweet, golden night. Then something will happen. One of you will die. Or the throes of passion will cause you to fall for another. Maybe you sprain your toe on her luggage, and the yelling match that follows will be the last argument you have."
I stayed silent.
"The marriage will fail, tonight. But you can at least make yourselves as happy as possible for one night." | 13 | Your family has the strangest luck and tradition where if someone does not propose at your wedding, the wedding will fail. It's finally your turn, finishing your last dance, and no ring other than yours and your now spouses has been exhanged. | 45 |
Jesus of Nazareth, MLK Jr. Ghandi. They had lived many lives guiding their people, protecting the humans. Watching over them. Every once in a while, it took the time to walk among humanity, reminding itself of the importance of this small seemingly insignificant species.
For our there, in the cold uncaring cosmos, there were others. Those who would see these people destroyed.
They had lived many lives, taken many names, Jesus, Martin Luther King Jr. Ghandi, but these names were known for bringing peace on earth. Out there, in the vast Cosmos, there was no peace, there was only bloodshed.
In the vast cold reaches of space, an army of cold calculating machines move from galaxy to galaxy, eliminating all organic life and taking over every habitable planet.
A race of savage sadistic carnivorous omnivores devour everything they can, flesh, metal, stone, doesn't matter. All life serves to feed their ceaseless hunger.
An endless number of horrors fill the universe, and time and again they tried, oh how they tried to come to this small seemingly defenceless planet.
Jesus, Martin Luther King, Ghandi. He was known as all these people and more on his world.
But out here, they had so many other names.
The voidwraith, the eater of light, the last night of the damned... So many enemies had come to this seemingly backwater galaxy, and found a graveyard of vessels, and a lone figure floating amongst them.
None would ever be able to comprehend that the creator, the one who had the power to reshape the universe as they knew it had made this b
Galaxy his home.
It was important for the almighty to walk among his people every once in a while, just to make sure that this time, this time he had gotten it right. His world was filled with so much horror, and he had so much to answer for, and while these people, these 'humans' were still far from perfect, they were improving. Slowly, they were getting better. They could tame the universe that it had caused to fall to ruin.
But until they could bring peace, it would bring war. | 20 | To Humanity, Jesus is seen as a holy preacher and kind man. To the rest of the cosmos, he is the son of an eldritch god who does not hesitate to eviscerate anyone who threatens humanity | 49 |
Dragons are not real, as Tanner's parents had explained, when he was old enough to understand. At least, not in the way that Tanner, his parents, and old Mrs. Baker down the road were real.
At first, Tanner was outraged. If dragons were not real, he had demanded, why had his parents given him a traditional dragon bank for his birthday three years past, and encouraged him to deposit his spending money in it, in the hopes of attracting one? He had even sought out extra work and chores to swell his tiny hoard of coins, when he could otherwise have been playing with his friends.
The gentle deception had been for his own good, they insisted. Dragons, they explained, were fanciful inventions of Tanner's superstitious ancestors, and in that sense, they were not real.
However, as metaphors for wisdom, wealth, and long life, dragons were very real. By working to earn money for to fill his little fired-clay bank - made in the traditional shape of a miniature dais where a dragon hatchling could ostensibly rest, and etched with nonsensical symbols that were claimed to be dragon-runes -- Tanner had developed habits of hard work and thriftiness that would, ultimately, make him wiser, wealthier, and healthier.
So, according to his parents, he had, in a sense, attracted a dragon as they'd promised. Not one that was a literal being, of course, but one that was a part of his own character and personality -- and that "dragon", mother and father assured him, would serve him well all his days.
He gradually came to accept the benevolent nature of the deception. While other boys his age never had more than two coins to rub together, Tanner had saved a tidy sum. Another summer or two of odd jobs, and he could afford his own riding horse. Grudgingly, he accepted the wisdom of his parents' charade, and the fundamental unreality if dragons as anything but an object lesson.
Which is why he was surprised to come home one evening, after helping Farmer Greene bring in the pumpkin crop for two silver pennies, and discover his clay bank smashed to pieces on the rough oak table beside his bed.
This outrage would have consumed his attention utterly, were it not for the cat-sized winged reptile curled up among the scattered clay shards, resting atop his carefully hoarded coins.
Though tiny, it was among the most regal creatures he had ever seen. It was graced with a slender, triangular head, a sinuous tail, delicate membranous wings, and golden scales that caught the flickering light of the gas lamp on his wall, and sparkled in a way that far outshone the meager pile of coins it perched on. It regarded him with large, emerald-green eyes as he stared, and then, after a moment, it spoke.
"This hoard is sufficient." it announced, in a high chirping voice. "Enough for me to accept your written offer of a pact, anyway. Not that I'm spoiled for choice."
It delicately picked up a tiny shard of clay from the broken bank between two claws, and then threw it at him. He could only stare dumbly as it bounced off his forehead.
"The accomodations, not so much." the little dragon sneered, derisively. "I'm a dragon, not a mouse!" | 60 | Instead of piggy banks, children have "dragon banks" that they keep in hopes of attracting a small dragon. | 308 |
A mass of brown fur. Six hundred pounds of muscles and claws. Standing in front of me as I opened my eyes was a grizzly bear, with all its glory and terror.
I am a fox. My instinct was to run away; this creature was no prey.
But how could it not be?
I have hunted that soul before, I remember. The stench of its fragrant blood fresh in my memory.
Thought and instinct locked each other in a standstill; as I was sure the brown bear also experienced. A fox was mere annoyance for such creature, but this fox, this fox was fear made flesh.
Recall as I sunk my blades under your skin, thoughtless beast.
Recall as I savored your blood, bathed under the radiant silver moon.
A roar interrupted our reminiscence of fear and blood, as pitch black shadow slammed unto my side.
A black jaguar. An apex predator, its form a beautiful culmination of natural evolution. Its graceful movement weightless; its attacks impactful.
Yet it too, bore the soul of a prey. It bared its fangs; bravado covering its innate fear inscribed in the depth of its heart.
Remember me, filth, as I elevated you from a nameless sample of human species into a work of art.
Remember as my knife carved beauty from your disgusting flesh and bones, the divine lunar rays guiding my hands.
As twilight falls and moonlight peeked behind the cloud, more and more animals announced themselves. Leopards, tigers, wolves, bisons, elks, particularly motivated sloths, snakes...
All of them cowered in fear, in horror. Yes, recall the face of your predator. Remember the soul that had devoured you.
Cruel. Merciless. Listen to the laughter in your memories, as breaths escaped your mortal coil.
I am your god. Welcome to my heaven.
I killed my instinct, and charged forth. | 37 | you are a serial killer who was reincarnated as a fox. All of your victims were also reincarnated as other animals. They live in the same forest as you, and they remember what you did to them. | 129 |
"YOU HAVE 48 Hours!" Stevie's father screamed at him.
"I know, Dad. I'm not running. I can't allow the Beast to get loose. There are thousands of people in the Colony. My life isn't worth all of theirs."
"It is to me!" He still yelled but Stevie could tell he was getting tired.
They'd been having this argument for several hours now without really getting past these same points.
Stevie had been born almost 18 years ago on Terra Prime but his father, David, had been one of the first Settlers the mining company had brought over.
That had been 25 years ago now.
The colony had begun to thrive in the time since the Settlers first arrived. It was now almost 20 000 strong, the majority of which were miners and their families.
"Look, Dad, you're a Deacon. You're one of the founding members of our church!"
"Aye, and a father too!", the interjection being made more out of habit and desperation than because it added anything to his case.
"A father who raised his son on stories of the Beast."
The colony had been here 10 years when they first came across the Beast's lair. Stevie had just turned 3 and David had been nearing the end of his shift helping to dig a new tunnel.
Every one of the miners had hit the floor the moment they heard the hissing sound escape the crack David's pickaxe had made in the wall. These were experienced men and they new the risks of being exposed to unkown gas leaks.
No amount of experience could have prepared them for the roar that came next. Those on the surface that day swear that even they heard it as it reverberated up the tunnels.
Fear is relative and gas hadn't seemed so deadly all of a sudden as the men, as one, dropped everything and sprinted.
The months that followed had been some of the worst anybody could remember. Stevie's mother had been one of the many, many casualties.
The Beast could not be contained.
No one knew how the Company had managed to communicate with the Beast. Some said they had brought in an expert in Alien Linguistics but no one had ever met the man.
All anyone knew was, the killings had stopped.
A week or so after the last death, Albert Mitchell, Planetary CEO of the Company, came to speak to the leaders of the miners. He explained that a deal had been struck.
The terms were simple. Once a month, the Company would draw a name at random from their records. That person would be sacrificed to appease the Beast.
Now it was 15 years later and David was running out of arguments. Sure, nobody had seen the Beast in 15 years. He wasn't like to forget the sound of that roar though and neither would any of the rest of the men who had been down the tunnel with him that fateful day. The Deacons of the Church of the Beast.
They would be here to collect Stevie in just 48 hours to deliver him to the Company. Only they could make the sacrifice.
David sighed. Getting up out of his chair, he signaled to Stevie to do the same. He pulled his son into a hug and held him a long time, sobbing.
**48 Hours Later**
The last 2 days had passed in a blur. David had continued to argue relentlessly for Stevie to run. He had contacted the Company to ask to take his son's place. Nothing had worked.
And now the Deacons were at the door.
Stevie was terrified. He walked out of the only home he had ever known, his legs barely holding him up. The Deacons didn't have to force him though. Of that, he was proud. He would go to his fate with head held high. He was serving his Colony.
The Company Ship, where the CEO and his underlings all lived, loomed above him as they approached. He hadnt realized just how huge it was. This was the closest he had ever been.
As they approached, the giant doors began to slide open and a ramp extended down.
"The rest is up to you, I'm afraid."
"We owe you our lives, Stevie."
They all looked to David. He couldn't speak. His eyes were red as he collapsed to the ground.
"My son..." he whimpered.
Stevie knew if he went to him now he'd never have the courage to do his duty. He turned, faced the Company Ship, and walked in. | 16 | unlike most cults, this one is actually trying to do good, to appease a great beast which otherwise threatens to rampage the nearby town. Your time is only days away... | 91 |
\[Poem\]
The judge stared down, "Excuse Me?" She said,
"I really don't think so" as she shook her head,
"Ah, but it's true!" I exclaim with glee,
I knew I'd convince her and get off Scot free,
​
"It's science; first they simply pulled on this cable"
I said as I pulled out my graphs, charts, and tables,
"And then they were zapped, and pulled all apart,
And all rearranged, then I got my start"
​
The judges eyes narrowed, she tilted her head,
"To clarify, the original is now dead?"
"Yes, yes! That's right!" I jump up and down,
"He's gone, now I'm here with no debts to be found!"
​
The judge first considers, reviewing her notes,
I thought I had done it, until she then spoke:
"If this is all correct, you're a day old infant,
We'll treat you as a baby starting this instant"
​
"You can't represent yourself, can't drive or drink,
You can't even live by yourself, I should think."
"I'm an adult, it's clear." I beg and I plead,
She frowns and scolds me as I sink to my knees,
​
"You argued that you're 'but just a day old'"
Her voice is stern, her expression cold,
I had thought my debts would be quite a curse,
​
Truly, really...
...this might be worse.
------
Edited for formatting | 49 | "You see, your honor, I don't owe any money here. Yesterday the person in this debt used a teletransporter, and is thus dead. I, while admittedly seemingly identical to a 36 year old man, am technically a minor at less then a day old and have never met any of these people before in my life." | 188 |
The cathedral walls of pure white clouds continued to swirl in the ethereal golden light of the Great Bestower's temple as you awaited your "power". You had heard this story enough times on the news. You'd be going about your daily life and then boom, flash of light, angels singing and soon enough you opened your eyes and found yourself looking up at a building size throne being looked down upon by the thing that no-one quite understood. The clouds implied something like God, but the appearance resembled the cliche depiction of Zeus.
Scholars agree the Being chose a form our minds could understand for the duration of our interaction. What no-one else can agree on is why the hell it does what it does.
"Uh...hello. I'm John. Are you the, thing?"
"HELLO JOHN!" the Devine voice boomed as it's voice echoed around the unsolid walls "WELCOME! YES I AM THE THING!" It didn't seem insulted at the name, not amused either. In fact, it didn't appear to give off any emotions at all. "YOU SHALL BE GIFTED THE ABILITY TOO..." Your heart beat in your chest and you hoped it wasn't something too dumb. The last guy had the ability to know the answers to important tests, but only after he had no option to change his answers. Hopefully it wasn't something as torturous as that.
The godthing had passed for effect. It seemed that even if it had no emotions, it did have a taste for dramatic flair.
"....KNOW WHEN A DIGITAL FOOD TIMER YOU ARE USING IS DONE!"
"Oh...that's not too bad I guess. Maybe I could let chefs know when their food is done perfectly..." You mumbled to yourself not really expecting a response.
"NOOO!" it boomed, shaking the room again, "YOU CAN ONLY KNOW WHEN IT IS GOING TO EFFECT YOU! AND ONLY CHEAP DIGITAL TIMERS! YOU HAVE BEEN BLESSED!" it emphasised the word blessed and then swept it's hand up causing an updraft that made the clouds on the ground swirl and cover your vision. And when the clouds dissipated you was back in your kitchen, the same dinner you were in the middle of making still on the table. It was still frozen.
"Well. No time like the present." You threw the hot pockets onto the plate and went to put the microwave on for 5 minutes, but just as you were about to hit the 5 your hand seemed to have a force applied by something unknown and your finger hit the 4 instead. What? Ok then...you tried to hit reset and your finger slipped on nothing again and hit the 3. You tried again and before you could stop yourself you had entered 4 minutes and 38 seconds. Your hand drew itself closer and pressed start. Nothing to do but wait and sure enough, 4 minutes and 38 seconds later the beep went off and you got your hot pockets out and they looked...fine? I took a bite expecting the usual blistering heat in the centre and to my surprise it was nicely hot on the inside, but not too hot. And the outside was hot and slightly crispy. "Cool" you could get used to this.
A few days later, a few perfect meals and you were walking through downtown to pick up some groceries. The past few days you had been experimenting with your gift and discovered that when someone else entered the timer for your food and if it wasn't long enough you could tell how much longer it needed. If it was too long you knew exactly when to press stop, but, just as the thing had said, only if it was your own food. Sure, people could use your food as an example and put it in the same but no two foods were exactly the same and it seemed that even a few seconds was enough to over or under cook the food just enough to not be satisfying.
You were pondering how the power worked when you felt the feeling tug at your power. "What?" You looked around the area but weren't sure what was happening. It was the same feeling you got when you knew someone had put the food on for too long. You had the urge to stop it before it was overcooked but how could someone be making food for you? You didn't know anyone the area, your nearest friend was at least 20minutes away.
The feeling was pointing you towards a public bench. Oddly enough you saw a bag that someone had left on its own and your finger was being dragged irresistibly towards it. You approached, opened it up and inside was a bunch of wires, a bottle of some kind and a cheap countdown timer with big red letters and they read 10 seconds! You were an idiot, you knew an IED when you saw one but what the hell could you do? You shouted "BOMB!" but for some reason no-one took you seriously and they just stared. You knew you had to do something and your power was forcing your finger towards one of the thin black wires and before you could stop yourself you had pulled it out of the timer with 1 seconds remaining.
What the hell? Your power was meant to be useless. It was only meant to be used for food? You played back what the godthing had said, had it really said it had to be for food? Really though it had said that the timer had to be digital food timers but it didn't necessarily say the food timer had to be timing food...
Of course, someone had called the police on the maniac shouting BOMB and you were arrested despite your insistence you didn't do anything.
Explanations about the god powers were ignored by the local police. It wasn't until an FBI agent came in that you felt you were taken seriously.
"Hello John. Interesting power you say you have. Please put this on." The agent gave me a wrist band of some kind that I put on. "Now tell me. how long until the timer in my pocket goes off?" I didn't even have to think. "36 seconds. 35...34"
He got out the simple looking timer in his pocket. It looked no different than what was used in microwaves around the world but it was connected to a small circuit board.
"When this timer went off you were going to receive a small electric shock delivered by this wrist band. The fact you could tell when that would happen is very interesting to us. We might have a job for you..." | 1,446 | You are the latest victim of a God who is known for handing out superpowers. Unfortunately this God has a twisted sense of humour and only gives out superpowers that are useless to the person receiving them. You are determined to make the God regret giving you powers. | 2,627 |
**STAY INSIDE.**
My head spun as I sat on the edge of the bed trying to remember another in the list of odd dreams I’ve been having almost every night.
Blurry images and muffled voices shouting cryptic messages were the only things swirling inside my head. But there was no time to doddle.
I pressed off the bed and began my morning ritual. My apartment is so small I can easily cook breakfast, shower, and listen to the morning news without missing a word.
**STAY INSIDE.**
“STAY in the shade and **STAY** hydrated, it’s gonna be a hot one!” The news reporter said, “Health officials are warning of records heats in Clayton county. For your own safety, it is highly recommended to **STAY INSIDE** and out of the heat!”
The television hissed and buzzed as the antenna lost single for a few seconds.
I should really replace that old thing. I told myself before taking the final few bites of my breakfast and cleaning the dishes.
I checked my watch and it was 7:45, time to head out.
I grabbed my car keys and headed for the door but just as I reached the threshold I remembered something. The window was open. I crossed the apartment and pulled down on the Craftsmen-style window.
But to my surprise, there was something written on the window when it closed. A message painted in bold red letters.
“**STAY INSIDE. OUTSIDE IS NOT SAFE OUTSIDE**”
What in the world? I thought. How did someone manage to paint something on a fifth-story window?
I reached out and placed two fingers on the glass. Strangely the paint was on my side of the glass. I instantly pull my hand away and red paint began to drip down from my fingers and onto the floor.
Did someone get in here? How did they...
I looked back down at my hand and the paint was gone. My hands were clean and... “You get that report done Bruce?” A voice behind me called out.
I quickly spun around to see Bryce Halliday, my manager standing beside the water cooler.
“How did I... when did you...” I stuttered as I tried to understand what had just happened.
“You doing okay slick?” Halliday asked placing a hand on my shoulder. “You’ve looked distracted all day!”
“Sorry, sir!” I said shaking my head. “Guess I’m a little out of it. Must not have slept well last night.”
Halliday smiled and tilted his head, “Don’t you worry son, It’s almost quitting time and it’s a Friday. Why don’t you head home early and **STAY INSIDE** for a little? Just until you feel better!”
I took a step back and pushed his hand away. “Why does everyone keep saying that!?” I shouted, I looked around the room remembering that I had never worked in an office before. I never had such a normal life before.
This isn’t right!
I dashed out of the office and into the hallway pushing past a group of men and business suits and sending the stacks of paper they were holding scatting into the air.
But as I raced down the hallway I seemed to make no progress. The corridor seemed to stretch endlessly into the distance. Row and rows of identical doors flew by as white blurs in my peripheral vision.
At random, I picked a door and opened it. The room was entirely empty four plain white was with a message inscribed on them written in big red lettering.
**STAY INSIDE.**
**STaY InSIDE.**
**ടℸAY INSႨḌἒ.**
**ടℸAY INSႨḌἒ!** | 17 | “STAY INSIDE. OUTSIDE IS NOT SAFE.” | 38 |
The chains were said to be functionally unbreakable. Wrought from the dwarves steel from their homeland and blessed by the pope from his golden throne. Inscribed by the elves in the great forest and soaked in the blessed waters of the dryads. Pinned to the ground on each side - once by the heroes sword immovable and unyielding and the sages staff, thrumming with magic old and new.
These all meant nothing to him. He was as he always was - free. He let them capture him and chain him up with his best, but he was bored of it now. Even for the oldest of the immortals - he did not want to waste too much time being bored in a cave. He preferred to be like the wind, always moving place to place unhindered by the lives of others. He placed his hands behind his back and when he removed them the clasps were free. He picked up the sword and tossed it aside like a child's toy. He took the staff to scratch his back and use it as a walking stick as he strode outside of the cave without a care.
The sun hit his face illuminating the wrinkles on his face from his smile and the beard that flowed down his chest. He reached into the earth and pulled the moss from it. It glowed with power, shaping, merging into a bright blue jacket. Vines creeped up his legs forming brown pants and yellow boots before he stepped forward, releasing himself from their grasp. He was finally ready to venture forth.
His songs always let them know he was coming. He sang them as he walked about the old days. They reminded him of a home long lost, a time before the memories of even the oldest elves.
>Hear my song gentle wanderers! do you strive to seek adventure?
>
>Up yonder on the mountains or down unto the the sea. Be careful of misventure.
>
>Or me you will have to see.
>
>I help those that seek the world for knowledge and excitement.
>
>But those that do bad deeds may find only folly for enticement.
>
>Woah-oh! it waits for you the world beyond the horizon.
He trailed off humming his song as he walked through the human towns he came across, invoking the spirit of adventure. The lives he touched always were met with the opportunity of adventure. If they knew where to look... | 21 | Does that fool really think I've been defeated? These chains are nothing to me. I've been in here for a month... now, it's time for my return! | 57 |
The courtroom was filled that day. For it was the trial of Angolfin the Dark, the darkest mage the kingdom of Palmaris had ever seen. I had helped in his capture, I was planning it since a long time. I had hoped he would-
''Silence!", shouted the minister. The room went silent and the minister satisfied began reading the charges against the accused. "Three hundred and fifty one counts of murder, hundred and twenty seven counts of theft, eighty one counts of kidnappings, eleven counts of transfigurations. We have finally caught you Angolfin. This trial is a formality. We shall be proceeding with the death punishment. Do you have anything to say in your defence?" All the heads moved towards the dark mage in unison like a flock of birds changing direction.
"You have got the wrong mage Minister! I am Koro, an apprentice of Angolfin the Dark. Voromir the Bold was trying to capture my master since a long time. Failed in this quest of his, he has bewitched my appearance to resemble my master. I plead innocent!", begged Angolfin. I was amused to see my lifelong foe resorting to such cheap excuses to avoid the gallows.
"Master Voromir, would you please come to the stand", requested the minister.
"Of course minister", I took my place in the witness stand.
"What would you have to say to this accusation by the defendant?"
"Absolute rubbish minister. I can prove this accusation false. Since this is a trial of unnatural importance, I request your permission to use my truth incantation."
"No! No! It is wrong to use such a spell! Wrong!", protested Angolfin.
"Please go ahead', replied the minister ignoring Angolfin's protests.
I lifted my staff towards Angolfin, began chanting the spell "Johnny johnny Yes Volomil Telling lies No Volomil Open your heart, Hturt eht em llet!", the entire courtroom burst into laughter. Well except Angolfin. He was proved guilty shortly after.
After this public embarassment, well was it though? I am too proud to think less of myself in any way. But this incident made me give a second look on my very first spells. While being second nature to me, they sounded very childish indeed. The truth spell which I used that day in the trial, my strongest illumination spell- "Twinkle twinkle dark go light come whoooshy whoo", my stun spell "you you statue statyou'. Embarassing! each one of them. I must redo these immediately, I decided.
It was time to go to sleep. I couldn't help but chuckle before chanting the sleep spell. "Goodnight mommy goodnight daddy sweet dreams snooorrr snoooorrr". | 25 | A genius mage the likes of which the world has never seen, has been crafting new spells and incantations at the age of 4 years old. Now 40 and an archmage, he looks back at the incantations full of cute baby words that are too embarrassing to speak out loud publicly with mixed feelings. | 125 |
# Soulmage
**"Do you know what happens to civilizations that progress too far technologically?"** Tento asked.
I shook my head, eyeing the elf. His lips quirked in a joyous grin, and he leaned in close enough that I could feel his breath tickling my ear.
"*Neither do we,*" he whispered. A shiver ran down my spine, and I stepped back, pushing him away.
"What do you mean?" I asked. For once, the eternally-laughing elf had a hint of something else on his timeless face.
In response, Tanto simply stepped aside, resting one hand on the door behind him. The door I'd come here, into the depths of the Knwharfhelm dungeons, in order to get past.
"Would you like me to show you?" Tanto simply asked in reply.
Warily, I nodded.
Tanto pressed his hand to the door, and in my soulsight, I saw him disable the security spells, draining the small ocean of deadly light that would have killed me a hundred times over if I'd opened the door. Then he fished out a key—I suppose there was no need to trust in magic alone when physical security would do—and opened the door, descending further into the dungeons.
Pale witchlights hovered on the walls, gleaming brighter as Tanto idly refueled them with a thought. The stone was worn by ages of passing feet, and despite the handful of air spells ventilating the room, the atmosphere was dusty and choking.
And then we reached the basement.
The machine was vast, sprawling, and ticking with inscrutable designs. The only apparent interface was a vast array of levers, one of which Tanto pulled while I warily scrutinized the machine.
"GREETINGS," the machine said, and I yelped, jerking back in shock. Tentatively, I opened my soulsight—was that thing *alive*?
"Hello, Truthteller," Tanto said, a thin smile playing on his lips as he watched my reaction. "Would you like to tell my friend here a little about your purpose?"
"I AM THE TRUTHTELLER. KNOWLEDGE WILL BE REWARDED. YOU HAVE THREE ATTEMPTS PER DAY."
Tanto nodded solemnly. "Allow me to give a demonstration. Truthteller! The first of the truths we have to offer is this." Tanto closed his eyes, and I saw his soul shift as he accessed a memory. "Observations of horse breeds over the past two centuries have indicated that certain hereditary traits can appear to override others for a generation, but reveal themselves further down the hereditary tree. We name these traits as 'dominant' and 'recessive.'"
The machine hummed. "THIS TRUTH... IS KNOWN TO US."
"As recompense for my knowledge, I would like to claim a reward."
"...PROCEED."
"What, exactly, do you intend to do, the day that our civilization's knowledge of science exceeds yours? The day that we hand you a truth about the universe which is not known to you?"
The Truthteller paused.
"YOUR CURRENT LEVELS OF KNOWLEDGE ARE INSUFFICIENT TO CLAIM THIS REWARD," it finally said.
Tanto turned to me and gave me a wild-eyed grin. "So that's why," Tanto said, and there was something awful in the way he smiled. "Other civilizations have raced ahead, exploring the secrets of the universe and happily trading them to their Truthtellers for ever more knowledge. But we? First of the changed? We wonder... what happens when a civilization knows *too much?*"
"YOUR CURRENT LEVELS OF KNOWLEDGE ARE INSUFFICIENT TO CLAIM THIS REWARD," the Truthteller repeated.
Tanto's smile widened. "So that's why, human. Now run along and warn the others."
A.N.
This story is part of Soulmage, a serial written in response to writing prompts! Catch up on the rest [here](https://www.reddit.com/r/bubblewriters/comments/uxmwe4/soulmage_masterpost/?sort=confidence), and check out r/bubblewriters for more! | 744 | So tell me this, elf. If you're so much better than humans at everything, then how come even though your ancient civilization dates back millenia before we "crawled out of the mud pits", you're still riding around on horses and swinging sharp pieces of metal just like us? | 3,438 |
Through the cold nightlands, two figures walked. Hand in hand. One is tall, impossibly gaunt, and ancient beyond measure. The other is small. So terribly small. And so very dreadfully young. Above them, the pale moon shines down upon with merciful and soft light, while the twinkling stars far behind it form infinite beauty upon a dark canvas that few, if any people, have ever truly seen. The cold sands crunch underneath the two figures as they walk together. All who see the tall one, will recognise them. Their eyes are empty sockets. Their frame is garbed in a cloth so black that all mortal darkness seems crude and off-tone. They carry a long and very simple scythe. There is no crown upon their head, there is no majesty to them, no grand jewels reflecting light. Yet all kings will one day bow down before this individual, as will all creatures in due time. Even the stars themselves will falter and fade, eventually passing across the sky of the nightlands besides this tall gaunt figure.
This is Death. Many cultures tries to call them a different name. To make them seem less frightening. But their name is **Death**. And besides them a little girl is walking.
This is not the first girl that Death has had to walk through the nightlands. Not the first child. Nor the last. ''*It is very calm here. And very dark.*'' Death nods, their skull-head moving the required fraction of an inch. ''*Not like back home, too loud there. I wish I had a light though.*'' Death moves their skull ever-so-slightly to look at the girl, holding their hand. ''**Yes.**'' They simply intone, with a calm, yet not unkind, voice. ''*What are all those lights in the sky?*'' Death looks up, knowing well what lights they are talking about. ''**The dead stars. When a star dies, they go to the Nightlands, where they will forever shine above an endless cold desert. It is their only real desire, to never cease shining. Forever bright.**'' The girl nodded as they walked on. ''*I've never seen a star before. There's so many of them.*'' Death, once more, nodded. There are many stars that have died. And countless more are going to die. When the last star dies, the Nightlands shall be lit like the day, and the desert will bloom. Death will be there, then, to watch as the fruits of reality shall ripen, once plucked, they will become new universes inspired by the best dreams and stories of the dying universe.
They passed dunes and ancient ruins, the failed dreams of civilisations that never arose. Temples to gods that had never been worshiped. Remnants of the hopes and ambitions of tribes that were destroyed and forgotten completely. Hand-in-hand they walked past shadows of what could have been. Empires that could have withstood the test of time, but was crushed in their infancy. All the while, the girl held Death's hand tight. ''*I think I can hear music?*'' Death turned and led the girl in a different direction. In the nightlands, the songs that was never made can still be heard. Dead dreams must go somewhere, after all. There upon the dark sands, stood a battered but functional jukebox. ''*This is really good, can we rest here for a bit?*'' Death nodded. They didn't have anything to do. After all, the journey through the nightlands could take centuries, or minutes, depending on the dead soul. There was no time in that place that mattered on the outside. A million years on the inside was a mere flicker of a candle in the conscious and more real parts of the universe. ''*Who is playing?*'' Death read the labels on the jukebox. ''**The Beatles. This is from their 1981 reunion album, called ''Midnight Together.'' The song is called, ''Sorrow-Sun''. Fans would have thought it was a bit melancholic in comparison with their older albums.**''
The girl sat on a small rock while listening to a song that was never made, while Death stood impassively and stared out over the dunes. When it was done, the girl got up, and grasping onto Death's cold hand, she started walking again. Behind them, the faint vibrations of a beautiful blues tune filled the night with the sound of long dead legend Robert Johnson, a Club 27 member if there ever was one. He'd never sung that song, but he had dreamt it, shortly before his death. And it would have been the best he'd ever played. Death showed no sign of any emotion. Not hard to do what your face is a skull. But as they walked quietly together, they thought about the many people, great and small, who had walked there besides them. From the greatest and most powerful, to the lowest and most meek, to the most insane. Death had rarely cared much about any of them. Mostly they were just happy to go on into the afterlife. A few were filled with horror, when they realized how much the desert had stripped them of their self-delusions. And that they weren't going anywhere nice.
Death wasn't someone who was easily influenced by emotions. Mostly, what Death has is calm mercy, silent sympathy, and a stoic kindness of sorts. That however doesn't change Death, they'll always lead their charge across the nightlands, to that final rest. But those who tried to bargain, barter, threaten, or beg for themselves alone filled Death with the closest that they could get to contempt. If you'd been good in life, you went somewhere good. Thus, those who had done nothing wrong, or just been generally decent, or just not generally bad, were happy to go when they were ready. If you hadn't been good, well, Death only led them to their final reward. What they've done in the dark will be brought to the light. And there is nothing that isn't known.
They were coming closer and closer to the end now. In the distance there shone a light. A final port of rest, where there is no pain, no suffering, only rest, happiness, and the option for fulfilment. A different, usually more baleful sort of light, awaits all those who have done naught but ill deeds in their lives. ''*What happens, after you guide me here, to the afterlife, mister?*'' The girl looked up at Death's skull, which was looking down at her. ''**That is as far as I go. I walk you into safety, and then I shall leave to guide the next soul to die, wherever they are headed. It is where I say goodbye, little child.**'' Her hand's grasp on theirs tightens ever so slightly. ''*I'm going to miss you.*'' Such a simple statement, yet it made Death itself stop for a brief moment. ''*Is something wrong?*'' She asked, slightly timidly. ''**I have guided more than 110 billion humans across the desert. I have heard polite words. I've heard impotent threats. I've been interviewed. A very ludicrous young man tried to convert me to a human faith. This is however the first time I've heard anyone say that.**'' Death started walking again. ''*Well, you've been really nice. The nicest person I've ever met.*'' She pulled at their arm for a moment, trying to get them to stop. And then let go of their hand. They then hugged Death. The skeletal psychopomp was for the first time in their life shocked. Mildly. Unsure of what to do next, Death decided to do what they'd seen humans do to each other when they hugged as a greeting in the various afterlives. Death hugged her back. After that, they quietly continued on.
''*Is that...?*'' The girl asked hesitantly. Death nodded. It would be whatever she wanted. But for most, it was a place of rest. Heroes might charge into the Elysian Fields or to the Halls of Valhalla in the distance. The pious might gleefully run towards the pearly gates. Some might see a breaking of their personal Samsara, an end to reincarnations. Others happily took the chance to be born again, to run the gambit of life. But this place, is a place of rest. There are many like it. Fiddler's Green is where old sailors go, to meet their long gone fellow men of the sea. The Mansions of Rest is another, where it is always rather quiet and there is always time for tea and a snack.
This is where unclaimed children go. If the child isn't taken by their family to a specific afterlife, the child will go here. It has no name, for that isn't important. It is a place of fun, of games, of happiness. And of rest. It might be called Neverland, though that name is tainted. Yet it is still an apt comparison. It has gates that leads everywhere, so anyone who gets to go there, can visit their kin, if they want that. Many who go here do not ever want to see their family though. The two of them walked into the bright shining lands, where there is no sorrow nor burdens. ''*If I want to, can I come back into the desert and visit you?*'' Death thought for a moment. ''**I don't see why not. Though I will be guiding other people to other places.**'' She smiled, for perhaps the first time since Death started guiding her. ''*I don't mind.*''
It is said in some cultures, that on rare occasions, when the dead souls are guided to the ever-after, the Harvester of All Life is accompanied by a small, quiet girl. No-one remembers when this started. No-one knows who she is, or why she follows Death, the embodiment of endings, through the lands of eternal night. She is clad in the same dark robes that Death is, though she carries not a scythe upon her back. Rather, she carries a small lantern. None are quite certain why, though some have taken to calling her the Apprentice. Yes, all things have an end. Even Death itself may one day die. However, there must always be a guide across the nightlands. There must be someone who guides the dead to their just rewards.
When this universe dies, its Death can die with it. And upon that day a girl might lead a tall, gaunt figure across an endless desert underneath a starry sky.
[/r/ApocalypseOwl/](https://www.reddit.com/r/ApocalypseOwl/) | 683 | "What happens after you guide me to the afterlife, mister?" The grim reaper looks down beside the little girl, little hand holding his own. "That is when I say goodbye, little one." Her grasp tightens a little. "I'm gonna miss you." The simple statement made the grim reaper stop in place. | 1,075 |
Elegan... Did not expect this sort of reason for why magical creatures were always so friendly to her.
Now, she naturally *was* very powerful. A certain show-and-tell disaster from elementary school certainly proved it. But as she grew, trained and taught by teachers specifically meant for unnaturally powerful witches, she began to realize a few other things about herself.
For one thing, the class's pet blaze salamanders were quite docile for how often kids were warned against touching them or else get burned by their fire, and had no problem with her handling them. Fairies and even certain Fae loved harmlessly playing with her after school and helping her with certain homework as she grew; yes, even the more dangerous sorts didn't usually do many bad things. Once she even coaxed a shy unicorn at her cousin Zania's farm out of hiding (and her dad complained how that sweet girl hadn't listened to him at all in the two months since he got her.)
Then again, the tipping point was when a bunch of young dragons who accidentally drank a growth potion *from another school* all but huddled around her for comfort like she was their mother. They were cute, being technically still babies and all, but she was glad she wasn't inside the school building when it happened.
So naturally, at one point, she decided to come up and ask the first person who could answer. Which, on that day, was a couple of her old fairy friends plus a gentle soul of a peryton.
"Can I ask you guys something?" she inquired, scratching the peryton's forehead. "What is it about me that you guys love so much?"
The fairies flitted about her head, asking her why she'd ask such a thing. "It's your magic! Your magic! 'Come say hello! Come be my friend!' That's what it says, so that's what we do!"
The large winged deer beside her huffed, pressing into her hand. "They're trying to say that your magic carries a wonderful presence to those who sense it," she explained. "It's... calming, how powerful it is. Like a shelter... Like a home. The fact that we like *it* is what led us to like *you,* like any other witch with magic so powerful and safe-feeling. I hope that makes sense to you."
Actually, it kinda did. Her magic was so strong that it acted like a beacon for magical creatures. No wonder she could be taught by and interact with so many dangerous creatures unharmed, between being taught to ride horses by dullahans to learning to sing from sirens. While other people around her weren't fond of her "overload" of power, she could at least relish having the rest of the magical world to befriend | 50 | The stronger your magical abilities are the more attractive you are to magical spirits. As it turns out your magical abilities meant that you're essentially the magical equivalent of a heat rock | 251 |
My new state of being threw me off. I was no longer in my own body. Instead, I was observing myself from where the mirror was. I waved my hand and saw my body move, but I was still stuck in the mirror’s point of view.
Panic set into me. Unless someone had somehow drugged me in my own home, there was no explanation for what was going on. I went through the motions of walking and saw my body move forward, but I felt no physical sensation with my movement.
If I walked out of the room, my physical body might’ve gotten lost where I couldn’t see. Instead, I reached into my pocket to find my phone to dial for help. My hand came up empty. I had placed it in the room next door.
Getting my body to make its way towards my phone took hours. Trying to estimate where I had left the phone in the next room was quite difficult. Every time I would try and retrace my steps as best as possible. I would grab something, but I ended up with almost everything but my phone.
Despair was setting into me until finally I saw myself walk back with my phone. If I were able to feel my stomach it would’ve jumped in excitement. I moved the phone towards the mirror so I could observe it. I went to my contacts list and dialed for my best friend, Brian.
“Hey, Patrick, what are you up to?” asked Brian.
“Brian, this is an emergency. I don’t know if I’m losing my mind or tripping out or what, but things are weird right now. Can you come over as soon as possible?”” I asked.
“Uhh yeah sure man. I’m not doing anything right now. I’ll be there soon,” said Brian.
“Thank you,” I said. “Use the key under the mat.”
About 15 minutes passed by. I heard the sound of Brian opening the door. I shouted out to get his attention and heard his footsteps pound up the stairs. When he came into the room he froze.
A bright light flashed before my eyes. My point of view changed, and I instinctively patted myself down. I was back in my body. I looked around, but my stomach dropped. Brian’s body had frozen, and I saw a ghostly version of his face in the mirror. He was now in the same position I had been in. | 18 | One day you look in the mirror and don’t see your reflection. The rest of the room is there, but not you. You stare in silence until you hear “oh shit” and see yourself run into the room and take up the exact pose you’re standing in. | 62 |
"A fine?" Matthew asked.
"Yes," the woman said. She was backed by several other women and a couple of police officers.
He held in his hand several pieces of papers, clipped together by a rose gold staple. He picked out the staple and pocketed it, leafing through the many papers listing the many ordinances Matthew's home was breaking within the community.
"Fine, I'll pay." Matthew said.
The Everton mansion was an eyesore, the HOA committee had its eye on the house since its inception. Matthew countered by buying up every house in a ten mile radius and those houses too succumbed to Matthew Everton's unceasing wrath.
The lawns were overgrown with wildflowers and fauna of all kind found homes within Matthew's domain. He painted the homes by himself and on his daily walk, he reorganized the items that were out of place. A slanted lamp with a missing shade? He knew just the spot. A rusted gun fished out of the river? There was a drawer for that in one of the many homes that he owned. Matthew continued life this way, walking daily through the growth. There were many houses to go through and there were travelers, travelers who contributed to the treasures, to the mound.
Real estate agents came to solicit him into selling land, police officers came by to interrogate him about the weird smells coming from some of the homes, and lastly, his family members came in swathes.
"You guys are worse than the officers that were here." Matthew said to them. His mother, aunts, uncles, cousins, nieces and nephews. They were all here.
"Mattie, we love you." His mother said. "That's why we're all here, but even you have to admit that you have a serious hoarding problem."
"It's more like an addiction," one of his aunts chimed.
Everyone else stared, waiting for Matthew's response. They did love him and some of them hoped to be included in Matthew's inheritance. His father had left everything to him. The others weren't forgotten, they'd each received notes of love and of not entirely insignificant amounts of money, but it paled in comparison to what Matthew was left with.
"Mom," Matthew said. "I'm doing what Dad wanted me to."
Silence.
His mom turned red, not figuratively, but she literally turned red. His family members too turned red in support of Matthew's mother. They grew bigger, threatening to collapse the mansion's walls. They were turning, shifting and molding their bodies into a mythical form. They were turning into copies of his father. A cheap trick, Matthew thought.
He collected himself as his family grew double, triple, quadruple in size. He felt the heat of their breath, but he took one himself. He held his breath and inside he nourished a fire.
"Stop." he said. He didn't yell it, he spoke the words with a power only his father had. The word spread and his family froze, the single word compelling them to return to their human forms.
"I am what's left of Dad's legacy," Matthew said. "I am half dragon and these are his treasures."
His family watched as he drew another breath, more fire in his stomach.
"Stay." he said and they did.
Through the mounds of trinkets and trash and treasure, Matthew walked with precision. He moved within the mounds and he grabbed an old shoebox.
He dropped the shoebox in front of his family, it made a satisfying thunk on the wood floors. Gold coins spilled out.
"Share these amongst yourself and leave. Never come back." Matthew said, there was no fire needed behind the words, but they had power yet.
Matthew watched as his family fought for the coins, eventually leaving a mess behind of cloth and blood. He cleaned it, returning the tatters to the trash where they belonged. There was no room for trash in the mound.
His mother was the last to leave and her eyes were cold, but she smiled wide.
"You really are like your father," she said.
---
Thanks for reading! More at r/DeneilYeong | 250 | "Matt, we love you, and that's why we're all here. But you have a serious hoarding problem!" "But I'm half dragon! It's *literally* part of my heritage!" | 1,176 |
“Hey, you. You’re finally awake.”
I smile to myself as the words sound through my headset. I’ve lost on how many times I started a new Skyrim play through, each one more fun than the last. I mentally remind myself to start a two-handed berserker build this time. No way am I – again – ending up as a stealth archer. I won’t even touch a bow.
“You were trying to cross the border, right? Walked right into that Imperial ambush, same as us, and that thief over there.”
*I sure was, Ralof.*
I listen to Ralof and Lokir argue while the cart rolls towards Helgen. I take a quick look at the Thalmor whose skulls I will be crushing with my Warhammer in a few hours of playtime. The events continue as they always have.
*Sayonara, Lokir. Nice to have known you.*
Alright, time to give my orc a facial reconstruction. Once I’m happy with the design and the name, Uglúk, I let Hadvar take the word.
“You from one of the strongholds, Orc? How did you end up here? Captain, what should we do? He's not on the list.”
*Yeah, that’s right dickhead Captain. Too much paper work, just throw me on the block.*
“I'm sorry. We'll make sure your remains are returned to Orsinium.”
*That’s quite alright, Hadvar. You’re just following orders.*
I can’t help but grin when the first Stormcloak gets his head chopped off. I wonder if there’s a mod that allows you to save the guy, I bet he would make one sick follower.
The rest of the events at Helgen unfold like they always do. Alduin the party pooper and all the rest. I should have kept that Thomas the Tank Engine mod honestly. Follow Ralof, kill some Imperials, dispose of a few spiders, sneak past a bear about twenty times to level up early Sneaking…
*No,* I remind myself. *Berserker build. No Sneaking allowed, only pure Orc battle rage.*
“That looks like the way out! I knew we'd make it!”
*Of course we’d make it, Ralof. I can always count on you.* I stretch my arms and my neck as we leave Helgen behind, rubbing my eyes after all that time staring at the screen. I should really get a blue light filter. I open my eyes and move my hands on the keyboard and mouse to start my journey.
I blink.
Uglúk is staring back at me. I don’t remember switching to third person and turning the camera. I try to move my mouse back into first person, but the POV doesn’t change. I blink again. And so does Uglúk.
“Wait, what?”
Uglúk starts screaming with Orcish intensity. Surprised by the outburst, I scream as well. For a moment, we’re in perfect unison.
“Who are you, Daedric fiend?” Uglúk bursts out, brandishing a warhammer I don’t remember picking up. “Why is your face up in the sky?”
“You can see me?” I ask, too dumbfounded to do anything else.
“Are you mocking me?” Uglúk yells with anger in his voice. “Face me in mortal form and I shall teach you some respect. Who are you?”
“I’m James,” I respond. “I’m the one who should be controlling you. I created you.” I alt-tab away to the Steam directory, checking if there were any updates I missed. Then I see it. An update from two days ago, its textbox so small I almost didn’t notice it. How did I miss this update? I don’t recall see any forum posts about it.
*Beta-Testing roll-out,* the update reads. *If you are reading this, you are one of the lucky few! We have selected some of our most fervent players to test out a new AI feature implanted into the world of Skyrim. Experience the game as never before!*
I alt-tab back to the game and I see Uglúk jump in surprise at my reappearance. I hear him whisper something about the Daedra underneath his breath.
“God damned, Todd Howard,” I curse. “You did it again.”
---
> Thanks for reading, hope you enjoyed! More over at /r/PromptedByDaddy | 67 | You are replaying your favorite video game for the 100th time when suddenly your inputs stop registering. The player character then turns towards you with a look of confusion. “Wait, what?” You say out loud. Then you both scream. | 127 |
Ultraman smiled, smoke billowing everywhere, as pieces of the White House fell around him. His eyes pulsated, red then purple then red again. His costume, blue and yellow with a centred U remained unmarked. Terrified reporters, who only a moment ago had been sitting peacefully in the White House garden, ran off in every direction, not one looking back at America's greatest hero. In a flash, Ultraman had his arm around the President, her feet stuck in place. Her mind raced, wondering what had happened.
“So,” Ultraman smiled, his eyes dimmed until the pale blue returned. “You’d be safer without us? Without these amazing Hero’s protecting your weak, worthless lives?” A cameraman, too shocked to move when the explosion happened, slowly turned the camera to face the pair. Ultraman, aware of every little noise within filthy miles, turned, smiling as the lens zoomed in on his face.
“The President,” Ultraman smiled, lifting the President off the ground slightly by her shirt. “Seems to think Hero’s need to be made illegal. That the US army is enough to stop the Supervillians. Enough to stop the likes of…Dr.Death?” The President's eyes widened at the name, her feet squirming instinctively.
“Why?” she asked, her voice rough and hoarse. “What’s your game?” A growing fire started to crackle behind them. A reporter, previously buried under the rubble emerged, stumbling away in the opposite direction as fast as he could.
“Why?” Ultraman sneered, shaking the President a little. A laugh slipped from his lips as he eyed the camera. “Well, why don’t I tell you? Dr.Death if you are watching this and I know you are. I know you better than any man alive. So since I have your attention, I want you here at the White House now!” Screaming the last word, a whimper leapt from the President's lips as the cameraman's legs started to shake. More of the White House’s roof started to collapse as dust covered the garden but Ultraman didn’t move.
“Think about it, Death,” he went on, “Me and the President of the United States. You could fulfil all your fantasies in one night.” Nothing happened for a moment. The fire continued to blaze as sirens from downtown grew louder and louder. Ultraman could feel the eyes of the terrified secret service agents on him, their numbers growing by seconds. The more of them came though, the more they realised they could do nothing to stop him. Then, from the ground, a pop of black smoke appeared and out stepped Dr.Death.
“Hello Doctor,” Ultraman greeted cheerfully. “And welcome to the White House. Say hello Madam President.” She stared daggers at Ultraman but looked at how effortlessly he was holding her off the ground and thought better than saying the snide remark she wanted to.
“Hello Doctor,” she muttered, glancing between the two men. Dr.Death simply waved, trying to judge the situation. A hideous man, Dr.Death seemed to be made to be a Supervillain. With long greasy black hair and a hooked nose, he wore a torn black coat, two sizes too big for him. Large shiny black boots announced his footsteps everywhere he went and his patented black gloves haunted many a child's nightmares.
“Now,” Ultraman ordered, licking his lips, his eyes fixed on Dr.Death. “Step forward.” Dr.Death tilted his head, weary of Ultraman’s words. “Come here and touch the President.” Dr.Death raised an eyebrow and without knowing it, took a step forward. Behind them, he could hear the Secret Service rushing to get closer though knowing they wouldn’t and couldn’t do anything to stop what was happening. The President squirmed and screamed but Ultraman’s grip didn’t loosen. Flashing lights were less than a hundred metres away. Dozens of sirens filled the night air as the smell of the burning surrounded them. Dr.Death, beads of sweat dripping down his pale forehead, took a step closer, then another and another. When he was just a metre away, he removed his glove, placing it in his coat pocket. Another step then a half-step. The Hero and Villain locked eyes. Dr.Death’s stinking of gasoline while Ultraman smelled of smoke.
“No please,” the President urged, whether to Ultraman or Dr.Death no one knew. “Please, don’t do this.” As Dr.Death reached out, Ultraman made his move. In a flash, he had dropped the President and grabbed Dr.Death’s arm, ripping it off, making sure not to touch his finger. The Villain screamed, only for a moment, before Ultraman snapped his neck, making sure to face the camera as he did it. An army of Secret Service rushed in pulling the President away. Dr.Death slumped to the ground, blood gushing from where his arm had been. Ultraman flung it into the fire before moving towards the camera. The operator froze but kept the Hero in frame, too scared now for even his legs to shake.
“Now,” Ultraman asserted, “That is why you need us.” | 127 | "Is. That. So?" | 449 |
Kjonr stared at the mural, one painted countless eons ago as one of the few surviving depictions of the forefathers, the H'uoomeans. This one had bronze skin and and hair of raven black, their eyes seemed to glow green, like emeralds or the plants that lay outside the mountain fortresses that Kjonr and his people called home.
But these forefathers, these H'uoomeans, they were all gone now. No one knows where or how, they just seemed to have given way for all the others. Only some pictures, poorly translated works, and the ruins of vast metropolis' serve as the evidence for their existence.
Them, and the System, of course. The System was a set of rules and regulations for what members of each of the five races could do.
Dwarves like Kjonr mined in from their fortresses deep in the mountains and underground, producing vast amounts of stone, metals, minerals, and other goods found in the deep.
The elves hunted, farmed, and foraged in the forests and plains of the earth, producing much of the food that the races ate.
The orcs served as soldiers, tough, imposing, and yet with intelligence for strategy and peacekeeping, they ensured that no other race could break the System.
The goblins scavenged the cities of the H'uoomeans, producing technology by reverse engineering the artefacts found there.
The System allowed all races to coexist without war or strife, as all had their niches and therefore none could be surpassed by another race.
The System protected the races.
The System preserved social cohesion.
The System must stand, above all else.
Kjonr took his gaze off of the mural, and looked around.
He had arrived there with a contingent of orcish troops, to aid them in entering one of the mountain fortresses, this one known as 'Elbruheim'. The reason was simple: five weeks before, the city had gone silent, no messages coming out.
So he had been sent to help them gain access, as no other race knew how to access the underground tunnels of the dwarves.
They had found a massacre, the entire city had been butchered like elven cattle.
The orcs secured the area and found no sign of forced entry. Whatever had done this, the people had let it in. That revelation caused a cold sweat to run down the dwarves' back.
"Any sight of where this monster came from?" Asked Ul'thern, the orc commander.
"None, commander." Kjonr replied, "There's nothing here that shows where this guy came from, or where he went."
Just then, another orc rushed in, panting in exhaustion, a thing that Kjonr didn't even know that orcs could suffer from. "We've found something, in the palace! Some kind of... some kind of box!"
Kjonr and Ul'thern rushed over to the palace. Entering, they found the 'box' that the orc had spoken of.
On the floor and being guarded by multiple orcs, was a large, rectangle shaped box, around one and a half times the length of a dwarf. Kjonr noticed some writing on the side.
"What does it say?"
"Let me get my data pad." Ul'thern pulled up his goblic data pad, a device that many had thanks to the popularity of such things, combined with their good quality. After a few moments, Ul'thern gasped. "You're not gonna like this."
Kjonr practically snatched the data pad from the orc. On it, lay a few simple lines.
'Cryo pod: 1,435,798.
occupant: experiment #78.
Species: human' | 156 | The system was created eons ago for the multitude of races that exist today as a way to grow in power, as well as to communicate. Legends say it was created by the first race from which all others sprang. Very little is known about the mythic race collectively known as H'uoomeans. | 381 |
Luther took a long draw of coffee as he reread the newspaper for the day of October seventeenth, two thousand and twenty one.
He spent the most time on the funnies. Garfield was upset it was Monday. The young ones in The Family Circus were up to no good. That little girl pulled the football from Charlie Brown again.
After his coffee and breakfast of two hard boiled eggs, a fat sliced piece of toast, and a good thick slice of honey roasted ham, Luther set of to the day’s chores.
He tidied up the old barn he called his home. Then he went to the well and took six trips with the buckets until his water tank was about a quarter full, and that was enough for today, dammit. Luther splashed his face and shaved with his sharpened knife, long having established the technique to spare his face any cuts.
Then came the animals, feeding the chickens, goats, hogs, cows and more. Some were self sufficient, but the routine took about two hours of Luther’s day, and those hours must be taken.
Idle hands lead to trouble. Luther experienced enough trouble before he established his long standing routine.
And before Luther knew it, his chores took him past dinner, which he enjoyed in the front yard with his flock.
After he cleaned his dish of bacon grease, he changed clothes into his nice old work attire, to once again pay respect to Pat.
Pat’s grave sat beneath his pride an joy, a nearly elderly apple tree.
Luther said a long prayer, and when his words ran out, he slipped into the Lord’s Prayer, or Hail Marys, or occasional hymns. By the end his eyes shone and he knew Pat knew and understood his gratitude.
Luther finished the evening with a large glass of scotch, as always. It helped cloud the memories, helped him feel justified.
It sometimes couldn’t keep the memories away, though, of Luther bludgeoning Pat with his own fire poker, followed by Pat’s wife and children. | 24 | You are the last survivor of the zombie apocalypse, and life is good. This is honestly the happiest you've ever been. | 67 |
The few public superheroes died fast and young. The villians died even quicker.
Using your powers ate your life and people figured that out pretty quickly after Ultraboy became Ultrageriatric in less than a hour by whizzing a replacement heart halfway across the country and save a young girl that was in surgery.
It became a rare sight to see them in action after that. The heroes and villians faded into the background quickly.
I was one of them. Somewhat more powerful it seemed, able to do more with less loss of my lifespan. After the first time I kicked off the ground and flew to save my sister from a speeding car, I knew I would have to never use my powers again.
Till now.
We all stood there. Every damn one of us. Hero, Villian, Newfound powers and old timers alike. The threat was to all of us. All that we cared for. The sun's fire was licking out towards us in a flare of plasma that would denude the world of life. Even the microbes would perish.
And in that moment our lives BLAZED. We burnt centuries together and shed our lives like the petals of a wilting flower. We threw a shield around the Earth formed from our days and years. I watched my hands wither, gain wrinkles, grow weak. Yet still I refused to stop.
Finally even I was too infirm to look up. The greatest of possible heroes the world had ever known now resting on his knees because he could not stand. Agony filled my body as the damage took its course. Liver failing, heart palpitating. I could barely lift my head.
As the storm struck our shield it seemed it was all for nothing as it quavered. Somehow all those assembled, even as they brought themselves to the end of their days, managed to push just a fraction more into the dimming blue that protected us. I was glad. I gave it all. I died.
That should have been the end of this. Heroes don't get to see the aftermath. The ones who lay down their lives don't have the task of rebuilding or recovering from the disasters they save people from.
But the world returned to us its gift. The few still breathing could feel their years pour back inwards once more. Managing to raise my eyes I could now see the flare peter out into nothingness against the flicker of blue light we had summoned. As it was no longer needed, the excess returned to us survivors.
​
We stood once more. Ready for the next time we might be called upon. To the last breath. | 11 | Superpowers are fueled by one's lifespan. Tonight's the night you're going to push it to the limit. You'll live all of your years in a single minute. | 34 |
I sat in the cell they had put me in, and thought back on the group who had "captured" me They had potential, I could see it, but...they would never reach it currently.
"Prisoner 5 you have a visitor." The guard's voice pulled me out of my thoughts, "Try to behave."
I looked and saw a familiar face. The healer of the group, new to the business but clever, she was the one who found my escape route. No grudges or anything all part of the business.
"Well then..." I sat up to be respectful, "Did you come to gloat, change my ways, or interrogate me it's usually one of those three."
She stared for a moment, an odd look I haven't seen before, oddly... innocent.
"Why?" she finally spoke, and paused before going on, "You shouldn't have lost, we shouldn't have captured you."
Wait, could she...(inner laughter) I was wrong she's Very clever
"I'm sorry, but what are you talking about?" I wasn't playing ignorant for my sake, but to hear what she had to say.
"Your plan, it failed, but it really shouldn't have." She gained a thoughtful look, "You had too many outs, well thought out ones, and I saw it you were analyzing the situation the whole time "
So ..she could tell, and she continued.
"You're, you are too skilled, and you had a firm grasp on the situation the only way we could have captured you." She looked into my eyes, "Is if you wanted us to."
I meet her gaze, she was putting it together, but I could tell for the wrong reasons. She was probably thinking I was some secret mastermind, or at least the distraction helping one .
"Do you know what gets someone by in this business?" I asked, but didn't wait for a answer, "It is success doing the job, not getting caught, and keeping under the radar."
"But you also have to balance that success too much success too much attention, and then you get the big leaguers coming after you."
She looked, waiting for me to continue, but I think she was getting it.
"But, if you balance success out, you don't get that attention, but you can still get the offers, not big ones, but the ones that you can handle."
I smirked and laid back down, "The B list keeps you employed my girl, and that's why I stay on it." | 269 | You are an incredibly powerful villain that loses to each new hero on purpose, as deep down, you aren’t evil. After your recent “defeat”, the peasant healer in this hero’s party noticed you had been holding back. | 732 |
Adel gazed upon his life’s works with disgust and regret. His studies on healing magic had taken him far and wide. He learned that there was no recovery without decay – energy did not come from thin air. Even the holiest healing spells relied on a body’s ability to isolate and remove damaged regions. But once he incorporated more esoteric arts into his work, he had been branded a necromancer.
“I’m tired, Godfrey.” Adel rubbed his tired eyes. “The soldiers from the Stolyra Empire torched another city. The king wanted me to raise the dead to fight the invaders. Forget about all the burn victims that I could’ve helped. They’d rather their people suffer while they win the war.”
He looked to the door where his butler stood. Godfrey was an old friend. But he and his family had been killed as a warning to Adel long ago. Never mind that Adel had not committed any crimes at the time. Being labeled a necromancer was enough.
With a low rattle, Godfrey took a breath and said, “King Sternwhorl will lose the war if he keeps this up. There are only so many people he can threaten into compliance. An uprising is brewing.”
“Probably. But I refuse to be dragged into this any further. I’m done.” Adel stood from his chair. “I… I’m planning on torching this place and all my notes. Is there anything you want before I release you back to the afterlife?”
Godfrey’s face was impassive – death did that to the muscles. But he stepped forward and placed a cold hand on Adel’s shoulder.
“I just want to see you happy. My wife and daughter are already in a better place. I’ll join them as soon as you break my bindings.” Godfrey motioned at a bangle around his arm. “So that leaves only you. Are you sure you couldn’t hide away somewhere?”
“They’ll find me in the end.” Adel swallowed hard before adding, “They always do.”
There was a pause before Godfrey asked, “What of the soul receptacle? Would it not keep you bound to the living world?”
Adel thought about the iron box in his workshop. It was a project he started years after being branded as a necromancer. At the time, he had wanted to dedicate his every waking moment to helping people. The device functioned to keep him healthy. Sleep became optional, as did food. But all the while, he knew he was still mortal. His hair grayed, and his skin wrinkled. A partial success, some might call it. But it was enough.
So, Adel shook his head. “I never even got around to testing it in full. I’ll just break the scripts I carved into it. Then, I’ll join you on the other side.”
Godfrey gave him a peculiar gaze before nodding. They had no more words to exchange. Within the day, Godfrey had dug out a small grave for himself in the garden behind the house. Adel scoured the rooms twice, making sure King Sternwhorl would not be able to steal any of his research. And before he knew it, it was time.
“Goodbye, old friend.” Adel sat near the open grave.
Godfrey laid down on the packed dirt. “I’ll see you on the other side.”
With a brief burst of magic, Adel broke the bangle. The metal lay on the dirt, inert as the body next to it. Once Godfrey was buried, Adel returned to the house and began setting things on fire. The building quickly filled with smoke as books and papers burned. Adel sat in his workshop, staring at his old projects. There was a pit nearby – Godfrey had found time to dig a second grave. The house would bury Adel along with his legacy.
*What a mistake it was, learning all this.*
All he had wanted to do was heal people. The gradual decline into pure necromantic arts was almost laughable. With bitterness in his heart, he raised a chisel and brought it down on the soul receptacle. It sparked and a surge of pain lanced through his arm. With a yelp, he dropped the tool.
“What – ” His voice slipped out as he rubbed his wrist.
He thought back to his notes. There had been no security measures carved into the surface of the cube. None of his research had mentioned anything about this phenomenon. He tried again to no avail. Panic welled up in his heart. In desperation, he dug the chisel into his wrist, only to watch as the skin closed shortly thereafter.
Then, a hollow laugh bubbled up from his throat. “So, the gods continue to mock me then.”
He reached across the bench and grabbed a scrap of cloth. The heavy material smelled of oils and incense from his research. With a firm tug, he tied it around his head, blocking out all light.
“Well, I refuse to participate.”
Adel groped his way over to the pit and laid down inside. Soon, there was a sharp crack as the building began to collapse in on itself.
Then, silence.
...
I wanted to do more, but I have something else to do. Might write a follow-up to this in a bit.
If you're interested in my works, the archive of my various writing responses can be found in my writing portfolio, link through my profile. There's also an original story, The Crossroads.
Thanks for reading. | 12 | choosing to live in eternal darkness. | 33 |
Humming under my breath, I waved the duster over the control panel. I'd dusted it yesterday, but there wasn't much to do around here nowadays. Not like the before times, the glory days. I don't really know why I lingered in the old lair. It was familiar I suppose, and someone had to take care of the place. Besides, I didn't have to pay rent, and most of my wants could be taken care of through online shopping.
I set the duster down on the corner of the control panel, flipping a few switches and turning a knob. Music blasted out of the intercom system, loud and pounding. Forcing my aging joints to obey, I danced around the open space with a mop, making sure I didn't step on whatever floor I made wet. Finally mopping myself into a corner, I hopped onto the table I'd backed into and cleaned the small patch of floor where I'd last stood.
This, of course, was the time the old perimeter sensors decided to go off. My music cut out, as an automated voice warned that there was movement in the cove area. I wasn't expecting a delivery today, and besides, they didn't normally come in from that part of the sea. They used the tidal bridge, and we were in the middle of a high tide at the moment. Staring down at my nice clean floor, I sighed.
Reluctantly I got off the table, walking to the bank of video screens. Flicking through the feeds, I fully expected to see a seagull somewhere, pecking at a sensor. It had happened twice before. My screens were seagull-less. However, there was movement down there, and my heart leaped. Perhaps someone had come to take up the cause again.
As I watched, the person—for it was definitely human shaped— picked their way up the cliffs, finding the steep switchbacked path. Keeping an eye on their movements, I turned off the alarm, flinched as the music roared again, and quickly turned the knob to a more manageable level. The person on the cliff had stopped, looking up at my building. I hmphed under my breath. The music hadn't been that loud, had it?
As the entrance door swung open, I realized in a sort of panic that the duster and mop were still visible. What kind of impression would it make if—Dang it. The person stood in the doorway, amusement evident on their face. I shook the mop I'd just grabbed towards them.
"And what are you laughing at sonny?" The sound of my own voice shocked me. I sounded old...
"Well, this wasn't what I expected."
"And what did you expect, sunshine and roses?" I couldn't keep the crabby sound out of my voice. He was obviously not here to become another supervillain.
"No... But I did expect this place to be run-down ruins. See when my dad died, he wasn't here anymore to take care of it—"
"Your dad?" My world started to tilt on its axis.
"Yeah, my dad. The Great Auxilium. He died when I was just a baby, so I never really knew him. I mean obviously, he was a bad dude—"
"Your father was a great man!" I waved the mop at him again. I would not hear the Boss denigrated by this whelp. The man in front of me stopped, staring at me with a strange expression on his face. He looked around the room as if really seeing it for the first time.
"You worked for him? You were a henchman?" He sounded incredulous.
"*Henchwoman,* yes. I don't suppose you're here to continue the family business?" I asked, picking up the duster and hooking it to the side of my mop bucket. As he entered the room, I shifted, keeping the bucket in between me and him.
"No, not really. I don't have the flair to be a supervillain. And there isn't much call for it anymore. The corporations are doing too good of a job ruining everything themselves. But what can you do." He shrugged apathetically. I offered a prayer of thanks to whatever deity that his father couldn't see him right now. An apathetic son would have driven him insane.
"You can fight." I raised my mop. "If you don't like something, do something about it. That's what your father did."
"My dad was a supervillain. A bad guy." I pursed my lips together, stalking across my ruined floor to the control panel. Typing in a few commands, I called up the presentation I'd put together in my first few years here.
"Look, I'm sorry if I offended you, but—"
"Shut up and watch." I interrupted the apathetic son, pointing at the screens. He frowned at me, but turned.
The screens lit up with scenes. His father at different factories blowing up the tree cutting machines. Destroying buildings, but directing the rubble so it diverted a flooding river away from the fleeing families. Breaking into a bank, and using the money to fund schools in a different country. Over and over, on each of the screens, all the things he did played out.
The man in front of me stumbled back, legs hitting the table as he used it for support.
"But he was a bad guy. He was *bad*."
"But he did *good* too. Listen to me, sonny boy. No one, not your dad, not you, not me. No one is just one thing. He was a supervillain, he destroyed stuff, he hurt people and I ain't completely proud of that. But he got stuff done. He saw what needed doing, and he did it."
The young man looked at me, completely lost. I should have felt sorry for him, but I didn't. He needed a slap upside the head in my opinion and it should have been done long ago.
"Look. You've inherited this place. You've inherited his money. And the question is boy. What the heck are you going to do with it?" His eyes moved from me to the screens and then back to me.
"Were you really a henchwoman?" I huffed at him, annoyed.
"No. I was the bleeding janitor, all right? But I still worked for arguably the best supervillain out there." A smile twitched at his lips and he straightened, new resolve forming in his face.
"You asked what I'm going to do? Well, I'll tell you. I'm going to do *something*." His smile faltered a little. "But I wasn't lying about the flair. I don't have much style."
I grinned at him and turning my music a little louder, I climbed onto the table, spinning the mop.
"Well, sonny, that's where I come in. I worked for the best of the best after all."
​
———————
Visit r/Mel_Rose_Writes for more stories! | 50 | You are the last follower of an old, dead supervillain. You have spent the last twenty years living in the old lair, maintaining it, keeping it as it was. The old perimeter sensors just picked up movement. | 68 |
“Hello, you must be Lilith, please have a seat.” The interviewer smiled at the young looking girl.
“Thank you.” Lilith sat down. She was extremely pale, her red eyes almost glowing with confidence.
“The weather must be dreadful,” the interviewer commented, flipping through her files.
“I actually rather like the rain and the… clouds here.”
“Well then you’d very much enjoy London.” The interviewer, a current professor at Oxford university, laughed.
“So I see you are applying to the Psychology course, do you mind telling me what about psychology interests you?”
“I think there are a lot of things people don’t know about themselves even after so many years. What goes on within our minds are more unknown than the stars.” She thought about the countless humans and vampires alike she had met in these hundred years of her life, “I would really love to contribute to unraveling this mystery here at Oxford.”
The interviewer then asked her about her views of different psychologists. Talking about Jung, she remembers when they had met when the psychologist was still young. She thought about how he insisted that vampires could sometimes tap into the collective unconsciousness of humans when drinking blood. Though she never experienced something like that, she wondered if there are experiments to see if that was true.
The conversation went on, some of the questions were a bit unexpected, but Lilith think she’s answered them well.
“Thank you,” the interviewer said, “I think you certainly have the grades for it, but before we admit you, I’d like to ask you one last question.”
Lilith gestured for them to continue.
“I ran a check into your background, and there was no information about you before 5 years. But I did track down this photo.” They placed the picture onto the table, it was an image of Lilith taken in the 1950s, because contrary to popular belief, vampires can indeed be photographed (the silver halides they used were not pure silver)“So, could you please explain this?”
“I….eh…” for the first time that day, Lilith didn’t know what to say.
“You’re a vampire, aren’t you?”
“Yes.” She admitted.
To her surprise, the interviewer simply chuckled.
“I’m glad to inform you that you have been accepted into Oxford, and I would like you to know that you’re not the only one on campus.” They handed her a card with codes written in red.
Later that year, Lilith found the interviewer again while attending her first meeting at the secret vampire society on the campus of Oxford University. | 28 | You may be an immortal vampire, but you still want a college education. | 41 |
Baelm clutched his amulet, letting the thorns poke against the rough lining of his gloves. The familiar touch of the sapphire, even indirectly, was a comfort in this frozen hell.
The storm ripped at the trees, the frozen limbs crashing together and trunks exploding as the wind flash-froze the air. Baelm grit his teeth and pressed his body at an angle, trying to keep low as icicles formed on the hem of his insulated coat. The howl of the world threatened to rip off his ears and shatter them upon the rocks as he climbed the ridge, searching desperately for any kind of outcropping or cave to hide in.
The storm had come suddenly, a wall of wind and ice that ripped away his encampment with a sudden fury. He had not expected it. This was a terrible danger that threatened to kill him outright, and he could only struggle now to recoup before he lost everything.
Though he should have expected it. The Northwestern Colonies had long been plagued with unexpected problems, aided in part by the non-cooperation of the native inhabitants of these frozen lands. Without the familiarity; the territory became an unexplored wilderness, fraught with paganist danger at every turn.
This time, it had been a creature that had come in the cold of the night, taking children from the homes of the remote frontier. It had been active for almost half the year now, and had left a bodycount of almost two dozen in its wake.
His chapter of the faith had seen far too much work in these inhospitable reaches. He feared for his sanity if he was left alone one more night upon an empty tundra with a monster from beyond. Yet still, he was needed, now in this moment by the people below. He braced as the wind hardened, like a club to the face at every turn.
The strap of his survival pack broke then, the leather frozen solid. He nearly cried out and reached his arm wide, catching the strap before it could vanish in the storm. This proved a mistake, as the wind threw him into the air with the momentum of the grab. His ankle saved him, it had snagged the loose roots of a tree, the only anchor he had as he flapped in the wind like a rag. He screamed then, fearing he would lose consciousness as he was shredded by the pelting ice. As the panic set in and the black curtain fell, he saw something close by, a shape that ambled towards him as he passed out.
When he next awoke, there was no wind. The quiet and dark made him worry that he’d died out there in the cold. Yet as the fatigue set in, he realized that he was indeed still alive. His eyelids were just frozen shut. Sighing with relief, he reached his hands up, thankful that he could still feel them. As he rubbed his eyes open, he beheld a tunnel.
It was wrought in ice, a great vein beneath the snow that ran north to south, disappearing in a decline some distance away. He coughed, and looked up. Light was filtering down through the roof, and he found it remarkably warmer in here than above, though it was still frozen.
But the most miraculous thing of all was the creature that sat across from him. It was heavy and sleek, pure rocky ice where there should have been flesh. White veins ran below the translucent skin, like the flaws within a crystal, stretching to the extremities as it sat reposed. Its fingers were long icicles that bent and articulated smoothly, the pointed tips rounded. It had almost no face or facial features, instead, there was a singular cone of ice much similar to the fingers, with a white locus on the very tip that stretched from its neck.
He stared at it a moment. “Hello there.”
It moved as he spoke, but did not speak back, not until he stood up and dusted the frost from his coat. “I did not expect my quarry to openly reveal itself.” He raised an eyebrow. “And you have not killed me, nor have you frozen me in the walls, so what is it you want from me?”
He waited, hands on his hips. The creature relaxed itself until he could see that it was large, almost nine feet tall. He felt a bit of fear, but reminded himself that killing it would be-
“I didn’t know. You weren’t supposed to be here.” The voice it left was clear, a cascade of rocks striking ice that rang the air like chimes, forming the words. He frowned. “True, I am not young like most of your quarry but-”
“No. You aren’t supposed to be here. Your kind. I didn’t know, how could I-” It spoke, more broken up this time, the syllables shaky.
Sudden understanding blossomed in his chest. He let his arms fall then, the fear replaced with a tangle of thoughts. “We aren’t the natives, no. We-” He took a moment. This complicated things horribly. “-We’re newcomers.” Silence filled the air, the two waiting in the tunnel. Terrible sadness grew worse at every moment.
“There is a ritual. In the towns and the cities, and the villages. To prepare the young for the great Journey, they must learn from creatures like me. Of that which comes after. How to endure and be one with the ice. To re-join and sleep until we are returned.” As it said this, it formed a small child out of ice in its hand, a doll. “When the child is too weak, they make the Journey early. These things, they are expected by the people, by our kin. But this?” It said the last two words with terrible guilt. “I assumed a plague, or a famine that had weakened them. I did not realize the truth until it was far too late. I wished so much to teach once more, to share and understand the world away from here. I did not know…” The tentacle of the head turned towards the sky.
“I’m sorry.” Baelm removed his flask, taking a sip of the liquid, feeling heat diffuse through him, the alchemical magic tart. “It isn’t all your fault. We share some of the responsibility as well. We didn’t exactly ask to be here. We-” He struggled to convey what he was feeling now.
“We should have tried harder. To understand what the ice meant to these people. Their traditions. Things like that.” He half-heartedly added. His younger, more devout self would have killed him for saying such things, but he’d seen too much to deny common truths now.
It reached its hand up to the sky, grasping a single flake that fell in the muted light. “I want to die. I do not deserve my station any longer. I have caused undue pain to the innocent.”
“It was why I was sent.” The creature looked at him. “How will it be done?” it asked.
Baelm nodded in understanding. Breathing in deeply, he pressed back into a low squat, holding his hands before him. He breathed out, and watched as the ice upon the floor melted in a wide circle, creating a large pool not dissimilar to a hot spring, boiling water. He sat back down on the ice. “Jump in there, and that’ll probably do it.” There was a pause as the creature watched the roiling water. “But before we get started; I’d like you to do something for me. Consider it atonement, if you will.”
It waited for him to explain. “We newcomers, everyday we are taught more and more painful lessons about this place. We are forced to struggle and cause much pain where none should exist.” He removed a notebook from his pack, which he’d managed to keep a death grip on. “I’d like you to teach me. About this place, and what it means. Most of all, what not to do, and what to do should another accident like this begin. Another meeting with your kind, especially with how disastrous this has been for both of us.”
The creature looked at him. “I do not know if I should. To reveal such secrets, I have already disgraced my kin with my actions, but-” Baelm spoke, imploring. “Consider the request selfish. I am- I am quite lonely as well.” He coughed a bit, getting comfortable.
The creature waited a moment. Then began to speak. The steam rose away as it sang the songs of the ice, that place so far away from everything, and two souls for one moment were no longer alone.
Thanks For Reading! | 46 | A mage sent to the snowy woods to banish a terrifyingly powerful ice elemental that has killed dozens of people discovers that they're not really malevolent or dangerous at all. They're just really lonely and don't understand why the humans they kidnap and try to befriend keep freezing to death | 207 |
What a horrid anniversary. Just imagine the worst anniversary you’ve ever had, then multiply it by ten. Terrible traffic on the morning commute, a blue screen on the work computer that erased an almost-finished report, even worse traffic on the evening commute, and meet your wife for an anniversary dinner marred by the waiter tripping and spilling your drink on you, *THEN* tripping and spilling your food on you not 20 minutes later. Can’t do much worse than that, right?
**Wrong, I got murdered in the parking garage after the meal!**
I suppose the silver lining is I had a seemingly unlimited supply of do-overs until I managed to not get killed on my 13th anniversary. Which is something. Although for a while I was concerned I might run out of them.
I tried fighting off the nut job that comes at me with a knife just before I can get to my car, but it took me a good 5 attempts just to make him earn it. After that, my stubborn pride convinced me to try to beat him, if only to prove to myself I could. Fast forward 20 more attempts and I finally got lucky. I got the knife away from him and killed him before he could kill me…then died from what I can only assume was blood loss. It was nice to finally beat him though.
After that I tried to be smarter. Maybe I could sneak up on him, catch him by surprise. That method failed, I dunno, ten times before I gave up? Some of the deaths start blending together after a while. Anyway, he always seemed to know I would be there and caught me before I could try anything.
But here’s where the story turns from kind of sad to downright creepy. I faked a phone call at the start of dinner to avoid the incompetent waiter and maybe get my hands on something to defend myself with. And as I’m making my way toward a pawn shop, *the bastard that’s been killing me steps out of an alley*. Use context clues, and I bet you can figure out how that went for me. So finally I got fed up with the whole thing, faked being sick, and just laid in bed all day. It was nice.
*UNTIL THE DUDE WALKS INTO MY BEDROOM AND KILLS ME AGAIN!!!*
This is around where I got paranoid. I finally gave up on actually going to work (this is going to sound really said, but it brought me some semblance of normalcy), and started using the day to fortify the house. With home field advantage, I managed to beat the guy a few times, but whenever I did I felt a sharp pain in my head and the day reset again.
I was about to go full Groundhog Day and just do whatever the hell I wanted, knowing I’d die and the day would reset no matter what, when I cracked the whole thing open on accident. I came home after pretending to leave for work for my wife’s benefit, but by this point I’ve practiced the route so many times I get back earlier than usual. Just in time to see my wife leave, in fact. I thought nothing of it at first, and went back upstairs once she’d gone. That’s when I found the smoking gun. A phone I didn’t recognize on the nightstand. Full of…*enlightening* text messages. Sent by my wife to, apparently, a *hit man*. Dating back. **Months**.
Try to get in that headspace. I dare you. You’ve been murdered upwards of 100 times by a hit man, who was hired months ahead of time by your spouse, to kill you on your 13th anniversary. Your spouse, who must be coming back to collect this phone to coordinate tonight’s details with the hit man. Alright, now tell me. What would *you* do?
You’ve got all the evidence you need to go to the police. You can even lure the hit man into a trap to really make the case ironclad. And you can finally break the loop.
Then again…you know where this evidence will be. You know how to get it if you need to get it again. And you know if you are killed, the day resets. Only you remember what happens. And there’s no real consequences for anything that happened up until you died. Consequences for things that were done to you. Or, consequences for things that were done to…let’s say, your spouse. Your loving, caring, *adoring*, *wonderful*, **supportive** spouse.
Ah, pardon me for a moment. I hear the garage door. My wife must be home again. | 24 | You’re stuck in a time loop starting with you waking up at 7 am and ending with you being murdered at 10:35 PM. You’ve tried a lot of things but the killer still gets you every time. | 47 |
At 11:59 PM, I was preparing for tomorrow, for another day at my shithole, dead-end job. I mean seriously, who could possibly be excited to spend the rest of their life slaving away at a computer, if only to hope that one day they might finally be able to live their lives to the fullest, not realizing that their true peak had come and gone years ago while they presented quarterly numbers. But I digress. At 11:59 all was normal. And the the clock struck 12:00, and everything changed.
My dinky, beat up bathroom disappeared from under me, burning away like mist on a hot day. I stood in a field, a meadow of pure grass, the sun beating down on my face as I took in my surroundings. In my disoriented state, everything seemed almost peaceful, serene. I could almost forget that mere seconds before, I had felt the cool porcelain tiles against my feet, that only minutes ago, my wife had asked me to go make sure that our son was still asleep.
My wife
My son
As reality came crashing down like a thousand bricks on my shoulders, I frantically whirled around, searching for any glimpse of my family in this desolate plain. Nothing, No one, Nada. I was well and truly alone. I sank to my knees, thoughts flying through my head at a million miles per hour. I’m not sure how long I knelt there, but I’m not sure it truly matters. I was alone, scared, and stranded in the middle of nowhere.
It might have been days, weeks even before anything substancial happened. I lost count after my watch died 65 hours in, and when the suns have been in the process of setting for god knows how long, it becomes neigh impossible to say how long you slept, or when the last time you had a drink of water was.
The more I explored the landscape that I was dropped in, the more I realized how alien it was. Two suns shone in the sky, one a subtle bronze and the other a disconcerting blood red. The grass swayed back and forth, back and forth all the damn time, despite the eerie lack of wind. Curiously enough, after nearly 10 sleeps, I was just now starting to get hungry, and had only had to drink from the crystal spring once. When I wasn’t sleeping, I simply wandered in anguish for what must have been miles on end.
All at once, everything stopped. The sudden absence of the sound of the grass slithering and hissing was enough to make me stumble, when I turned to learn what the mysterious pause meant, I saw my first sign of life.
I don’t believe that I truly saw what the creature was that day. I think some part of my brain decided to take mercy on me, and hide the real form of whatever the hell I was looking at. I shudder to even think about it, and I fear writing any sort of description might draw its wrath. Yet the looks of this… thing compare not to its voice. I have never heard something so terrible, so grinding, so gut wrenchingly horrifying. It spoke in a series of what can best be described as screams, guttural roars, and nails on a chalkboard all combined into one. And yet somehow, I understood what it said with perfect clarity.
“It has been 200 years human. The leaders await your return. Glory to the council. Glory to the Human race.” | 203 | The High Council of Races have banished a defeated Humanity to another realm for 200 years. Today marks the end of their banishment. But for the Human race it has been over 20,000 years, they have forgotten. | 787 |
"We can't go in there, Victor"
"Why not, Rabbi?"
The Rabbi stood there for a second, his face one movement away from laughter, before recomposing itself and replying, "I guess you wouldn't yet know. You know how whenever we scout, I leave a mark somewhere on the property?"
"Yes, Rabbi. What does that have to do with this house? I don't see any special marks."
"But you do. Do you see that wooden cross on the wall, by the fireplace?"
"Yes, Rabbi. That's the mark of Christianity as a religion. I know of no vampires that have that mark."
"The one they call Christ is not a simple religious figure. He is the first and most powerful vampire there is. It's because of him that you call me Rabbi. It's also because of him that we can't feed from this house."
"Pardon me, Rabbi. If Christ was a vampire, how did he get into so many houses? Why can't we feed from this house, if we have fed from houses already marked before?"
"It's simple how he got in so many places so quickly. Since he is a powerful religious figure, many put the cross into their house themselves after accepting him into their hearts, a much more powerful symbol of invitation than simple invitation into their physical homes. They believe they are under his protection, and in a sense, they are.
"You see, while they have the cross in their homes, Christ is the only being that can feed on them. He goes out of his way to defend the places where he will later feed. If we had gone in there, we would've met an end to our normally immortal lives. Typically, as vampires grow older, they also grow in power. Therefore, it's a rule to avoid feeding upon a place marked by a vampire senior to you, because if you do, you will lose against the senior vampire. Every marked house we have fed upon has been a mark of a vampire junior to me, so we were fine."
"Pardon me again, Rabbi. If the cross is the mark of Christ the vampire, then why are many people still unmarked by the stench of vampires?"
"The reason is simple, Victor. Since many accepted Christ into their heart without later revoking it, instead of feeding on their blood while they are alive, Christ feeds on their souls after they die."
​
P.S. I tried not to break any rules on religion. If I did, then I'm sorry and am more than fine with this story being deleted. | 676 | In vampire society, it is a capital offence to touch prey marked by a senior vampire. There is a very good reason they all shy away from the cross. | 3,055 |
I felt the cool grass poke under my feet as I sat down next to the moss-ridden grave. Lying down, pollen brushed my nose and I smacked my lips uncomfortably, disliking the sudden dryness in my mouth. Existence for thousands of years, and even with all of that time (plus eternal youth, for good measure) my body still did things I didn't expect.
I closed my eyes, feeling the deep sadness wash over me, a longing for time merely... pause, to leave me be, if only for a day. But I did not shed a tear - being immortal caused me to not feel things in the same way. Sort of like when a beloved pet dies, but any pet I have now is more like an insect, something I cherish but died before I sleep.
I knew they were approaching. They knew I was here. Playing this game of "life" through infinity left us virtually indistinguishable from one another. I don't even remember half of the stuff I saw or the places I've been, but I remember them telling me the places they've been. Perhaps that's ironic, but I was too tranquil to be bothered by it.
Though my eyes were closed, I felt their gaze, their multicolored gaze. Then I heard a slight sigh, feeling the grass across from me squish uncomfortably. They had seen my message - whatever my message was - and they came like I knew they would. I was hardly surprised.
They spoke as I opened my multicolored eyes.
"Why do you return to the grave?" Their voice mimicked mine now. Was it truly my voice that spoke to them? I can't remember anymore.
"Why do you?" I countered, sitting up slightly, or maybe they countered, looking at me knowingly and quizically.
"I had nowhere else to be, like always." They said, echoing my thoughts. "and I felt like I was missing someone; I got a message, I think, from you, but I already knew you felt the same."
I chuckled. A butterfly perched on the overgrown moss. I thought about all the small details I had completed that day, the daily rituals that were ingrained out of habit; being in eternally perfect health rarely necessitated brushing one's teeth day-to-day, after all, but hey. I had all the time in the world to do anything I wanted; brushing my teeth was barely 2 minutes out of infinity. It was nice to feel as though I had something to wake up to, like a mortal. But maybe I never was one.
"I think we were mortals, once." They said to me. I saw tears well in their eyes and felt moved to cry. Sadness crept at the edge of my senses.
"Like him?" I didn't need to gesture to the grave, but I did anyway. This was probably not the first we chatted here.
"Odd, isn't it? He was ours for a time, an infinitude of love and respect condensed to 80 years. He did more, was more, believed more, and saw more than we did in those years. Yet we just... moved on. He left us one day. Or maybe we just let ourselves outlive him."
"He was ours, for a time." I agreed. "He was ours forever, but not. I can still hear him at times, pushing and straining as mortals do, telling me, a wanderer, to stop. To settle down, think about nothing, and just be at peace."
"He was wiser than we were, wasn't he?"
"Maybe. I suppose there is no true purpose to dwell on it, though."
"We only started intervening in mortal affairs because of him. Prolonging the life of the world, knowing that we'll simply always be here, even after it's gone."
"Until it comes around again, in another Big Bang, and the cycle begins once more. We won't die, we won't suffer, we'll only be surrounded by dead souls and the radioactive decay of the universe's corpse for a few hundred billion years."
"We'll be together, always, right?" They asked me. They knew the answer was yes. I grabbed them by the shoulders. Or maybe they grabbed mine.
"Forever. Until we find an end to the cycle, until death we shall part."
"He thought we were in love," They gestured to the tomb. Fondly, I let the moss be, and just polished the granite slightly. The name was illegible, but I knew it, and so did they.
"Love? Love of every kind, because we're simply to old to distinguish the true differences in any type of it."
"Then we are in deep love with each other. We're all we have."
I smiled. They did too. We sat by the grave and chatted for eons, or so it felt. Neither of us remembers how long it was, anymore.
But he taught us it didn't do well to dwell on time spent; that was why we remembered him, above anything else. We were moved to live again, seek hope in the meaningless, just from one man.
We know we'll see him again. It'll take some infinities to wait through, some Earths and universes to wait through, but the cycle will return to him again, and when it does, we can hold him tight and dream of never letting him go.
EDIT: Thanks for the award! | 187 | Two immortals decide to finally catch up. They meet at the grave of an old friend and reflect on how their lives have changed since knowing this person. | 1,014 |
Everyone knew the minivac man. Homeless, dressed in layers and layers old ratty clothing, with big yellow dishwashing gloves on his hands. He moved slow, not out of frailty, but because he was watching where he put his feet, always giving each step due consideration. Stepping over cracks, stepping around discarded gum or litter. Slowly, carefully, he'd make his way.
Strapped to his back he carried his namesake. But this wasn't some little dust buster, oh no, it was a Orca V22 turbo GXL-MAX limited edition. It cost more than a thousand dollars and boasted a 750 watt brushless electric motor. That's about equal to one horsepower. He liked to think of it that way, imagining that the screaming electric engine was somehow the spirit of a racing stallion leashed into the slim plastic casing.
He had three spare lithium batteries, though he rarely needed them. The orca was a serious machine and it worked fast.
Whenever he got on the bus, it was the same old routine. He'd vacuum the aisle as he made his way, carefully, carefully, to his seat. Then he'd vacuum the seat, first the cushion, then the back, then the myriad nooks and crannies. He was fast and efficient, no wasted movement.
Sometimes people would stare, but most people knew the minivac man by now. Harmless old man, they would say. So sad that he can't get the help he needs with his mental illness. OCD for sure, he'd hear them whisper. Sometimes people would give him their change from the bus fare. Hed always smile, thank them kindly, and then squirt some isopropyl alcohol from a soap dispenser buckled to his hip to thoroughly sanitize the coins before secreting them away in his little fanny pack.
On Tuesdays and Fridays he would take out a vac-sealed bag and empty the contents of the vacuum into it, sealing it closed and compressing the bag down until it was almost flat.
Every other Wednesday was his killing day. Sometimes he'd choose some swanky Wall Street executive making his way to his car after a late night working. Sometimes he'd choose another homeless bum like him. Or maybe just one of those nasty little boys who sell drugs on the street corners. They're all equally guilty, he knew. They deserved just what they got.
And once his grisly work was done he'd empty out the contents of his cartridge bag, scattering hair, skin flakes, and who knew what else all over the crime scene.
One time he hung out near a police station and listened to the detectives talk to each other. The mayor was apparently breathing down their necks. They'd made dozens of arrests, linked the killings to scores of people, but they could never manage a conviction, not when each DNA test matches so many at once.
They didn't pay the minivac man any mind as he tottered past them. One of them even gave him a cup of fresh coffee, boiling hot of course.
"You take care now." Said the detective. "It's gonna be a cold one."
The minivac man said nothing, just nodded and smiled before slowly, slowly making his way down the road, always watching carefully just where he put his feet. | 432 | The private investigator was stumped. The scene of the murder was messy. Not in the gory sense, but it was littered with tons and tons of contradictory evidence. Thousands upon thousands of individual leads and not one connects with another. | 1,480 |
“Horace, care for a drink?” The clean-shaven baby-faced Detective Ramsey offers me a bottle of partially filled scotch.
I hold out a hand to decline, and he places the bottle in it.
Unprepared, the glass slips through my fingers and shatters on the carpeted floor, sending sharp shards across the room and amber liquid into the beige fabric.
“Pardon me for that, I wasn’t prepared to take the handoff,” I say.
“Not at all, it’s my fault,” Detective Ramsey says.
He walks over to the taped-off area and taps an officer on the back.
“Cooper, pass me another bottle of scotch,” he says to the officer.
The officer, upon seeing who it is, blushes and tries to hide her face under the blue uniform hat, but her scarlet ears show through.
She hesitates, and Detective Ramsey brushes past her, picking up a bottle just as CSI snaps a photograph of the bottle to submit as evidence.
“Oh, I’m so sorry for making you do it yourself!” Officer Cooper says.
Detective Ramsey shrugs his broad shoulders, his muscular physique showing even under the heavy bright orange trench coat.
“Horace, catch, and don’t drop it this time. It’s the last bottle of scotch here,” Ramsey says without warning.
He tosses the bottle without pause, causing the bottle to somersault through the air, splashing officers and crime scene workers with alcohol.
I catch it this time in both hands, but the bottle is pointing down, and the amber liquid is draining from the bottle.
Thinking with quick practiced instincts, I raise the bottle to my mouth and chug down the remaining contents.
Burning chemical courage floods my mouth and the acrid volatility inflames my nose.
Wiping away one last drop of scotch, I hand the empty bottle back to Detective Ramsey as soon as he crosses back through the taped-off crime scene.
“Splendid stuff,” I tell him.
He nods, and in doing so his shiny head reflects part of the bright floodlights into my eyes.
“Haha, seeing stars?” he asks.
I nod, and in doing so I send dried hair gel into his face.
“Phew! It’s a little early to be snowing in September, isn’t it?” he comments as he waves bits of white flakes away from his face.
I narrow my eyes at him, which goes unnoticed by the detective, but noticed by everyone else present.
“It’s happening,” the coroner whispers to Officer Cooper.
“Quiet,” says Officer Cooper, “do you realize who they are?”
The crime scene photographer shuffles over to them, having taken all the photos he wanted, and asks, “First day, who are those two? They seem very experienced.”
Experienced?
I might qualify, having had several decades of education and multiple degrees to go along with it all. It’s even on my business card: Horace Walden, PI (and also DDS, DVM, JD, MBA, MD, PhD, TD).
No one ever asks about the TD, though, but I haven’t given up hope.
As for “Defective” Ramsey?
Ha, if they measured his experience like the temperature, then they’d have to invent negative numbers on the Kelvin scale!
The officer, coroner, and photographer seem to hold a different opinion.
“That’s Detective Hamilton Ramsey and Private Investigator Horace Walden,” the coroner says in a hushed voice.
Officer Cooper stares at Ramsey and me with star-struck eyes.
“The Bald Eagle of Richmond Avenue and the Bloodhound of Atlantic Avenue, here in one place!” she says with an excited squeal.
“They are…?” the photographer asks.
“Only the number one and number two top crime solvers in this part of the Five Boroughs!” Officer Cooper says in a restrained exclamatory whisper.
Holding her hands to her cheeks, Officer Cooper says, “Of course, no one can compare to the immaculate eyes of the Bald Eagle of Richmond Avenue, my amazing Detective Ramsey!”
“I’m more a fan of the hard-nosed tactics of the Bloodhound of Atlantic Avenue, PI Walden,” the coroner says.
I do my best to ignore the trio inside the crime scene as they fawn over the presence of Ramsey and me.
“How was yesterday’s case?” Ramsey asks as he kicks over a vase, shattering it to fragments of porcelain.
“It was a confusing crime scene I’ll admit, so I slept on it,” I reply as I lean against a mirror, cracking its surface.
Ramsey nods his understanding as he lights a cigarette and drops it, still lit, on the carpeted floor.
“My bad,” he explains, “I told my therapist I’d quit last month.”
The carpet, stained with scotch, catches fire from the lit cigarette.
Both Ramsey and I are unperturbed as I continue describing my case, saying, “I took a nap overnight on the victim’s bed. Doubt I’ll get any complaints from him, it’s not like he was going to use it.”
“That’s the way,” Ramsey says, clapping me on the back with a heavy calloused hand.
He leads me out the entrance of the apartment complex, says, “You keep me updated on that case, you hear? And let me know if you want any souvenirs from this place. Victim’s got an enormous collection in the wine cellar.”
“I’ll drop by the station and look through them tomorrow,” I say, as I stumble my way to the bus station.
\++++++++++++
This piece is from my Noir(e)?! theme of writing prompt responses. These are stories written from the perspective of Horace Walden, PI (and also DDS, DVM, JD, MBA, MD, PhD, TD), according to his business card, in the spirit of a film noir detective parody.
If you liked this please consider following me at https://www.reddit.com/r/westeggstories/ where this will be included under the flair “Noir(e)?!” | 13 | You seem to be the only one who realizes that the so-called Great Detective is a complete idiot. | 151 |
“Marius do you hear yourself you are being ridiculous…” Radrok his creator and master of the respected vampire house said. “Aliens are abducting humans for their blood? What? Why?” He continued baffled by what Marius just said.
Marius was always a little bit excentric to put it lightly, ever since he turned him into a vampire some hundred years ago. Marius always does things in his own way and Radrok gave up teaching him the right Vampire traditions a long time ago.
“I am telling you they are here and they are abducting them.” Marius stuck to his story.
“How did you come to this conclusion?” Radrok asked.
“Well, same as us they don’t want to make themselves known to humans so they target lonely targets that no one would miss or bat an eye for,” Marius said. “They already took three of my usual human meals.”
Marius had his own array of humans he found and didn’t let anyone else in the area touch them. He had a schedule when he drained them, then he would glamour them to forget and come back in a few weeks. Not a bad plan, but not the true Vampire way.
“Did it occur that some of your humans just moved away?” Radrok asked.
“No, I know what they do and when, I know everything about them if it was one then maybe, but three, that’s too much,” He said.
“So it’s more likely that aliens are abducting them than that they moved?” Radrok was losing his patience with another one of Marius’s ridiculous claims. “I don’t have time for this now.”
“I am going to bring you proof, then you will apologize to me!” Radrok just waved him off and went on his way.
So Marius waited for the night and called his 5 offspring and gave them the task of overlooking his food. He was going to catch those damn aliens and make Radrok eat his words.
The night was uneventful for most, he fed once and then glamoured the person to make them forget. He kept circling between ten of his human blood stashes but nothing changed. Ready to give up he made another round checking on them an hour before the sun rose and the eight humans on his list, an elderly woman by the name of Edna was missing from her house. She rarely ever left her house, let alone this early in the morning so he knew whatever took the other three, was here as well. He called back up and started looking around the house.
Loud bangs on the mansion door awoke Radrok who had a busy night dealing with other Vampire houses and the current drama and tensions between them. It was Marius he could tell, no one was this insane to come knocking on his door this late. He cursed the day he turned him into one of his own. He made his way towards the door.
“Alright, stop it, I am coming.” He yelled but the knocking continued.
Once he opened the door he saw Marius and his five goons carrying a coffin of all the things.
“Why are you carrying a coffin of all the things at 5 AM?” He said.
“Yea, I know, a coffin is a little bit on the nose, but a funeral home was nearby and we wanted to hide this fellow. Come take a look.” Marius said with a grin on his face.
They brought the coffin to the dining room and dropped it on the floor. Marius waved his entourage away and gave a wide smile showing his fangs. He then opened a coffin and a creature Radrok has never seen lay there.
“I told you so!” He said and he wasn’t able to remove the grin. “They are abducting them.”
Radrok was in awe and in shock at the same time, Marius was actually right for once. Before he could react and say anything Marius slapped the creature several times waking it up.
“Tell me what you told him, he said with his Glamour voice,” Marius said.
The creature let out some array of noises, unlike anything Radrok has ever heard.
“Oh, shit wait, say it again,” Marius said and got a little device out of his pocket.
The alien repeated the weird noises once again and Marius pressed a button on the device.
“We are abducting humans for their blood,” Device translated the aliens’ words. “Their iron-rich blood is a pure delicacy in our space coalition.”
“See, I told you so they are abducting them and there is even a fucked up reason for it,” Marius said. “But that’s not the worst of it, hear the rest.” He poked the alien to continue.
“My crew and I just did the test run and it was a huge success, more ships will come in a few weeks to harvest a larger number of humans.” The device played his words in English.
Radrok looked towards Marius, then the creature, then towards Marius again.
“Well done my boy!” He said barely hiding his shock. “Let’s gather all the houses and jump ahead of this problem because this doesn’t look good in the slightest.” | 23 | Aliens have begun harvesting humans as a delicacy, the iron-rich blood prized for it's uniqueness. However the vampires that have lived hidden among us for millennia don't like the competition. | 166 |
The room flashed white as a crack of thunder rumbled the house. Tom inched through the kitchen carefully inspecting for any signs of the “paranormal”.
Tom had debunked many rumoured curses and had become quite infamous with haunted house owners. His YouTube channel was rather famous among horror enthusiasts and many laughed along with him as he debunked fake hauntings. From electronics, to mirrors, to paint and any other dastardly schemes people could think of to create an illusion, Tom could debunk it. Yet, as his eyes came to rest on what looked like a fibula next to the dining table, the hairs on his neck stood up.
He gulped as he carefully picked it up. It felt heavier than most fakes. He carefully placed it in his satchel as he continued to look around. There were just typical objects. Family photos, plates and dishes left out and nothing to suggest this was a hoax. There was nothing out of the ordinary.
Tom turned to head into the garage as a plate crashed into the wall beside him. He jumped as the pieces of china tinkled against the floor. He inspected the wall for some sign of string, or a pulley system but nothing was visible.
As he searched, a large crack rang from the basement and the lights went out.
“Damn breakers,” he said to himself. Tom pulled out his torch and uv light and began to head to the basement. The door stood slightly ajar, yet Tom could swear it was shut when he entered. He checked it over to find nothing, and began his descent into the darkness.
His breath began to show as he went further. The old wooden stairs creaked and moaned as though they were about to break. One even sounded like a laugh for a moment. Tom shook his head. It was probably just a speaker triggered by pressure.
He found the breaker by the flashing red light and quickly flipped the lever back up with a clang. The light in the basement flickered on with a light thrum.
Before him, Tom could see a red pentagram with partially melted candles painted in the centre of the room. He chuckled to himself. He walked over to it and kicked over one of the candles.
He felt a brush of wind and looked up to see the briefest glimpse of a ghostly white figure rushing towards him. Tom’s breath held as it rushed through him and the light above burst with a shatter of glass.
“Haha. Almost got me. Very clever light work,” He said as a shiver ran up his spine. The basement door creaked a little as Tom began to make his way out again. He pointed his uv light around and noticed some green fingerprints on the handle.
“Is someone else here?” He called jovially. He double checked the fingerprints were there and shook his head in disbelief that he’d missed them the first time around.
“I’m heeeeere,” a deep crackling and raspy voice called from the main room. Radio static continued to pierce the still air.
“Pssht, just a recording. Get some new tactics guys.” Tom shook his head and began walking towards the front door.
“Look, I’ll give you props for effort and design. I couldn’t figure out some of your tricks. But I wasn’t scared to death…” as he uttered the word death, the front door slammed shut with a clang.
Tom grappled with the handle, but no amount of twisting and jiggling would budge it. That’s when he heard a low moan coming from the basement. Followed by a loud footstep. He heard the stairs creak and the same maniacal laugh as he had heard earlier.
The lights in the hallway began to flicker as a hulking shadowy figured emerged from the basement. It’s head snapped towards where Tom stood at the entrance way.
“Oh wow, really… really, uh, cool guys haha. I know this is fake.” One light globe blew. Then another. As the creature approached, slowly quickening its pace. A faint mist emanated from under it’s cloak. Tom slowly stepped back.
The creature was closing the distance and Tom’s flashlight began to flicker. He thumped into the door as the figure filled the hallway in front. A bony hand reached out. The torch blew. The camera footage from Tom’s head cam began to stutter and jitter.
The creature closed in.
The footage was filled with too much static to see anything, but an evil cackle filled the speakers followed by a loud thump.
Then, it disappeared just as quickly as it had appeared, but now the camera was motionless, pointing at the skirting boards as the light above hummed back to life as though nothing had happened. | 47 | A man who's role it is to investigate the supernatural does his job by finding out the scientific cause for what's happening, always proving that there's nothing supernatural happening. One day, he investigates a house said to be cursed, and quickly discovers that it is actually cursed... | 269 |
He twiddled his thumbs under his desk, trying to ignore all of the staring that burned into the back of his head.
"So whenever fighting in a crowded area..." The teacher droned on at the front of the class, though Charles never paid much attention. It didn't... Apply to him.
"Charles," The teacher said, pointing the yardstick he used as a teaching device towards him. "Do you know the answer?"
He leaned forward in his desk, everyone always got so quite whenever it was his turn to speak. "Um..." He looked around, always catching the embarrassed jerks of people caught looking. "What was the question again?"
"Now Charles, you need to be paying attention."
Charles shook his head. The quip stung him more than usual. "Alright fine... I'll just ask if for once, because *everyone* is thinking it... What's the point?" He said, throwing up his hands. "Why am I here?"
"Ah..." A bead of sweat rolled down the side of his face. Everyone shifted in their chairs as if Charles had just called out every single one of them. "Well now because you're a--"
"Quit the bullshit." Charles stood up and grabbed his backpack, unable to keep up the acting anymore. He looked around and gestured towards all of the other students. "I'm not them... We can't keep pretending that I am."
The teacher rubbed the back of his neck, "Now now, these are complicated things Charles. Powers are sometimes rather subtle, and we don't think we've misjudged you."
"Yea well I do." He walked towards the door, making sure to meet every single judgmental set of eyes as an equal. He stopped just before leaving, "Someone had to say it eventually. I'm tired of not fitting in."
He left with a slam and carried down the empty hallway. The place was a carnival, rooms filled with advanced testing machines and various gymnasiums that had weights so heavy they made Charles's head spin. Him just being around all of it felt like a giant joke, as if some higher-up had to pander to a school-board and welcome a 'lesser abled' superhero, except they forgot a pretty important part: Charles wasn't even abled!
Someone yelled out from behind him, "Where ya heading kid?"
Charles cocked his head at the familiarity of the voice. He turned around and dropped his bag from surprise. "Mega-Man!? What in the hell are you doing at the super school!?"
The white-tights wearing super hero casually walked over towards him, "What, your everyday sup can't come and check out his future competition?" He said a charismatic laugh. "I stopped by and heard the commotion from the class. Is everything alright champ?"
Charles furrowed his brows, "W-What?"
"Yea, come on now, you think that the leader of the Protectors didn't have trouble in school as well? Lay it out to me bud."
Charles shook his head like he was in a daze, looking up and down the halls to see if some trickster-sup was joking with him. "You're here to check on me for leaving class?"
He smiled, showing his perfect white teeth, "No problem is too small for me."
A feeling of strange coincidence rose up in Charles's stomach. "I... Uh," He started twiddling his thumbs again. Something felt fell too off. "Look, I don't know how to say this, but... I just need to go. Thank you for checking up, but really, I'm fine."
Charles tried to turn and walk off but before he knew it Mega-Man was in front of him again. "Champ. Come on now, let's just sit down and talk this out."
"W-wha... What's going on here?"
"Nothing! I just want to make sure that everyone does the right thing." His voice was noticeably less animated than before.
"Okay," Charles raised his arms up. "I just want to go home to my parents, what's wrong with that?"
"You don't have parents, you've lived here at the academy since you were a baby."
Charles backed up, "... How do you know that?"
"Oh man," Mega-Man brought his hand up to his brows.
"What's going on here?" Charles's heart started to pound out of his chest, he could feel sweat starting to run down the side of his face, and deep down in his stomach he felt a twinge of something different. "Why do you know about me?"
"Okay let's calm down," He put up his palms like he was trying to tame a tiger. "Everything can be explained."
"Explained!?"
A rush of wind came from behind him, Charles turned around and saw the Lightning Speedster. "Oh come on," He said towards Mega-Man. "What the hell did say man?"
"I'm not good at these things!"
Charles felt like the world was falling on him, everything felt so wrong and so sudden. "Lightning Speedster?" He said with disbelief. "You know about me too..."
The Speedster brought his eyes to Charles and started smiling. "Hey man! Yea you could say that I know you. I just want you to calm down a little okay?"
A surging feeling of confusion and emotion welled up in Charles's stomach. It was like rising tides of energy that were trying to overflow into his hands and feet. Charles backed up in confusion while looking down at his hands. "This doesn't make sense," He shook his head. "I don't have powers, I never had powers."
The Speedster put his hands up, "It's okay, some things weren't explained to you soon enough. Just calm down." He cast a quick glance to Mega-Man and mouthed the words: *Be ready*.
Charles couldn't control his breathing anymore, his hands were shaking and he felt as if every part of him was going to fly off into one-thousand pieces. "What's happening to me?"
The Speedster sucked in his lips, "Alright. Alright... You were made in a lab Charles."
"What!?" Why did everything feel so dark. The world was getting further and further away from him, as if he was falling down a well. He couldn't stop it, something far stronger than gravity kept pulling him deeper and deeper into his own mind.
"It's okay... A bad, bad man made you with some... Bad intentions, but we saved you and put you here... So that you could learn."
"Learn!?" Suddenly his emotions smashed into each other and formed something new, something real. Then everything became as bright as new day, the curtains of his soul disappeared and revealed to him truth for the first time. His body no longer felt like a brittle pile of twigs, but like something crafted from the earth's core. "... Learn?"
"Get the others," Mega-Man finally said from behind Charles.
"No," The Speedster said. "No Charles is fine."
*Charles is fine?* Yes, Charles is fine. Like a clock finally being set in motion, the world spilled out before Charles. He was walking the red carpet of destiny, the path made clear and perfect. Charles felt like he could feel every individual atom of his twitch. He could see the lone earth floating like a dirty marble in the dark abyss, he could smell the cosmic winds dust all around them.
"Now Speedster!" Mega-Man yelled.
Charles started to laugh. How unfair it had all felt, to be the owner of a mansion but forced to sleep out in the rain. A burning sense of injustice was the only thing he felt like he learned from this prison they'd set him him.
"Yes... Get the others, Speedster." Charles echoed back. "I'm going to want to hear everyone's reasoning before I'm finished." | 93 | In a world filled with people with superpowers, only the best and most powerful beings are trained in a academy to become superheroes. You are accepted into the academy, but there is a small issue. You dont have any superpower, at least that you know of. | 221 |
“Awww… they can’t be sold out!” Mia cries, I just shake my head. “Why do you even collect those things. They’re so cringy.” Kala replies, she never understood the appeal of combo-kin. “But they’re sooooooo cute!” Mia argued. Valid point, most are cute, but some… I point to one example, a horrible combo of cow and amphibian, “you mean the like Bull-Frog?” I ask deadpan. Mia doesn’t miss a beat. “Yes! Even Bull-Frog is cute in its own way! He deserves love too!”
Kala and I just laugh, to Mia’s annoyance. “But if I don’t get Cata-Llama my collection will be.” She pauses dramatically, “Incomplete!” I look at Kala, and she looks at me. We both drop To our knees laughing, “Oh no! The horror!” Kala teases, I join in, “We better hurry, if we don’t act fast she might… have to wait for the next shipment.” “No, not that! Anything but that!” Kala and I keep laughing, even as Mia smacks our heads, “Come on Emma, Kala! So mean!” She huffs, “you only hate them cause you’re both to poor to enjoy the idea of a collection!” she concludes. We just laugh harder.
Crash! Boom! An explosion rocks the city, and the three of us sober up quick. Kala looks to me, “think it Garatome?” I nod, “better check it out.” “Ah! We should change first.” Mia pipes in. I nod. We pull our weapons out, My knife, Mia‘s paper pinwheel, and Kala’s knife and fork.
Dark mist began to spin as muted rainbows filled the street. “Manson!” Mia shout, her body growing several inches, her arms thickening. A spiral mask with malevolent red eyes covered her head.
“Dahmer!” Kala cries, her weapons growing in size, a red eyeless mask covered her face as her mouth elongates into an inhuman maw full of sharp teeth.
“Bundy” I yell, my own transformation was mundane in comparison, barely any change except a police uniform and a smiling mask. My knife becoming more a machete.
Now, we could face Garatome. We rush to the site of the explosions, and find Garatome’s minions reading havoc. Garatome himself in the center of the mayhem “Manson! Get as many on our side as possible, Dahmer! Distract Garatome. I’ll get the people out of here.” I shout my orders.
Mia sets her pinwheel spinning, getting 3 minions hypnotized. The minions turn on their fellows, tearing into them with unmatched ferocity. Kala battled Garatome, her utensils very effective at parrying his dual swords. I went around shouting at people to GTFO. My false authority and killer’s charm working wonders on the public. Soon, about half the minions were hypnotized, and the civilians were clear. But Kala was in trouble. “Aaghh.” Kala screams as Garatome’s blades raked her chest.
”Kala” I shout, grabbing a minion, “lunchtime!” I toss the foe to Kala, who catches it in her mouth. In a few bites only scrapes were left and Kala’s wounds were gone. “Very nice,“ Garatome said, “But my plans for world domination will not be stopped by imitators and fakes!” He waved his arms in a flourish. “Behold, my newest creation!”
the ground rumbled beneath our feet, and a giant combo-mob emerged. An overly massive caterpillar with the legs and head of an equally oversized llama. “Cata-Llama! Noooo!” Mia cries. Pointing to Garatome. “You will pay for this you evil bastard!” Garatome just blinks. “Wait… you actually like these things?” He asks, bewildered. “Of course!” He stares for a moment, looks to us. We shrug, not getting it either. He just shakes his head, “well, guess I’ll have to use more in the future then”
with a flick of his hand, Garatome’s creation attacked. The beast immediately spat at Mia, who dodged, but her pinwheel was clipped, covering it in sticky goo. “No! My pinwheel!” She shouted. I nod to Kala and we charge. It wasn’t, unsurprisingly, the most agile of creatures. We made good progress. Kala’s metabolism perk kept her in the fight when I had to take a step back, those teeth hurt.
Then, the unexpected happened. A clear covering appeared suddenly, slowly becoming green and opaque. Kala growled, she did that a lot in Dahmer form, “If that’s not a chrysalis” I agreed, we needed to take this thin- Garatome picked this moment to attack me directly. “Oh no you don’t Bundy! I know of you bypass perk. I won’t let you harm my baby till she’s good and ready!”
it was 2 blades against one but I was faster. Kala helped Mia ungoo her pinwheel. If we can hypnotize it then we’d be done here. “Is that all you got?” I say, using my taunt skill, “You want to rule the world and you can’t take down a fake policeman? pathetic!” Garatome’s eye twitched, ”rude!” He said firmly, before spinning his blades rapidly back and forth in a rowing motion. Advancing rapidly. It was all I could do not to be sliced to pieces.
then we hear an ear shattering CRACK! The chrysalis had hardened fully and was beginning to open. Bright iridescent wings emerged. And the Cata-Llama emerged. “Behold!“ Garatome shouted above the noise, “My magnum opus!” The creature was terrifying, A butterfly with the head of a Llama, its wings began to vibrate. Garatome leapt 30 feet into the air, landing upon the creatures back. “Llama-Butt!” He cried. “…“ Mia snickers.
”seriously? Llama-Butt?” Kala asked. Garatome grins manically. “Yes!” “But why though?” Garatome throws his head back, “Because it’s FUNNY! Mwahahahahahahahahahaha!” I just sighed, “come on guys, let’s just kill it before we contract infantile humor syndrome.” Mia, her pinwheel functional again, runs toward it’s front. “You’re too sleepy to fly!” She shouts, pleads really. The monster chimera slows its wings. “OI, wake up!” Garatome shouts. Kala takes a large bite out of the base of the wing. “Pttph, gross. This is all flaky and dry.” She complains. “Just ground it!” I shout, running around, dragging my large blade along it’s flank. The large wound started to pour blood.
Suddenly, Garatome shouts, “Empower Creation!” Finally, I think. We’re almost done. “Last leg, keep going strong.“ I shout to the others. We immediately regroup. The Llama-Butt’s eyes clear, blood stops pouring, and in a single flap of its wings was airborne. “Alright girls, who should we pick today?” Mia asked, “I think Zodiac!” Kala, shakes her head, ”You alway say zodiac. But we need to wrangle that. Boston strangler would do that.”
I shook my head, “we’re going Ripper,” i interject, “he can teleport into the shadows caused by the wings, and the creature’s a girl so he’ll have a boost.” Mia looked at me surprised, “How’d you figure that out?” I smile, “Garatome told me.”
we break, and hold hands. “Redrum, Redrum, Redrum!” We shouted in unison. Our bodies became pitch black, then almost like liquid we coalesced into a single figure. Instead of 3 killers, one remained. Dressed in a dapper coat and pant, a mask of bandages and a stylish top hat upon his head. Armed with a cane and a wicked looking dagger, Jack the Ripper disappears into shadow.
Ripper gripped the smooth back of Llama-butt, dagger in hand. Garatome is nowhere in sight. “Well then, let’s end this.” He raised his blade, dark energy coated the knife entirely. “Where’s the womb, I wonder.” He slams the blade into the monster. “Let’s find out!“ he cackles. Blades of black energy sliced through the beast like but, concentrating on the beast’s back end. “Gestational Rip!” He whispers gleefully. Pulling out the knife, and organ that will be left undescribed was torn out of the female creatures body. The Llama-Butt, like all Garatomes creations, vanished in a puff of white mist.
Ripper teleported into an alley the moment the monster was defeated, splitting into the three, unempowered girls. “God, I hate ripper so much.” Kala said, I agreed but that’s the cost we pay to keep the world safe. Suddenly, a green and white object falls into the alley. Mia sees it and squealed, “Cata-Lama! You came to me!” I just frown, “you’re seriously keeping that?” Kala asks as we make our way out of the alley. “Of course! Combo-mobs are the best!”
Thump. I crash into someone as I exited the alley. “Hey, watch it-“ I start, before seeing Marcus. My heart flutters as my mind goes blank, “Marcus! Oh god are you hurt?” I asked, “those explosions were pretty close,” Kala added helpfully. Marcus nodded, “I’m fine, was heading towards there in case people needed help.” I nodded, he was the kind of person to run head first into danger like that. I try to say something, but end up blushing when what comes out is more “eehhhh…” Mia comes to my rescue, “we should be getting out of here. Who knows what caused those explosions. See ya at school Marcus!” Before my friends dragged me away. Why was I so useless when it mattered…
​
Marcus watched Emma leave with Mia and Kala, “Be safe Emma,” he whispered, “Once I deal with those damn killers…” he looked down at his hands, white mist gathering, “I’ll give you the world, you’ll never want for anything ever again.” | 16 | A magical girl anime but the their powers are based on famous serial killers like Jack the Ripper or the Zodiac Killer | 66 |
Just looking at my costume was enough to make my powers activate. Everyone else had cool, sleek looks, merged with their powers to make them the embodiment of what they were. They looked awesome, and I could tell they felt awesome as well.
Mine was a clown costume. Literally. Big shoes, hideous polka-dot shirt, dungarees a horrid yellow. I had an annoying fake flower, and a big red nose. The base had a rapid face painter for me as well, letting me get ready nearly as quickly as the rest. And I hated every second of it. I hated circuses, clowns, the whole lot. So naturally they called me the Ringmaster.
But I couldn't deny its effectiveness. When not on duty, they would ensure I was treated well. When I put it on, they let out the snide comments. I knew they didn't truly mean anything bad, but in the heat of the moment sometimes having someone point out that my socks didn't even match would give me the push I needed.
It wasn't as though my powers were particularly flashy either. I would just get stronger, faster and harder to hurt the more hate I felt. This extended to things I held, meaning the inflatable hammer they gave me really packed a punch. Whilst my official call was the Ringleader, I knew of my unofficial designation as the Juggernaut.
I sighed as I started to put on my ridiculous suit. A call had come in about one of the Grave Stalkers. They had started a ruckus, something about an artifact activating that they wanted. I didn't really care though.
Like always I was the last to be ready, and our flyer was ready to go. I boarded as I heard the start of the whispers.
"Late again."
"Stupid costume."
"Why is he here?"
I hated them. I hated that my powers needed them to do it. I focused on my hatred, feeling muscles tighten and skin harden. I glance at Coordinator, speaking with a voice modulator to make even that sound like one of the stupid people.
"I'm assuming we are going with the wrecking ball approach?"
She glance at me, nodding whilst rolling her eyes.
"Obviously. Like was always do."
It stung. I hated it. But it would help me in my fall to earth. After all, it had been proven that there was little more disruptive than a six-foot grumpy clown armed with what was basically a sledgehammer being dropped into the centre of a gathering.
I just hated that it was me who had to do that. Again. | 302 | Most super heroes' powers are powered by good emotions like hope, love or joy. Yours are powered by pure, unbridled hatred. | 518 |
The outcry from the crocodilian monster was enough to divert the zweihander’s arc such that the heavy sword swing landed against the rock both combatants shared, sending sparks into the surrounding water.
Lifting the sword for another strike, the warrior said, “Did I hear that right? Did you just call yourself Thread?”
The crocodilian said, “It’s Thred! It starts with the letter that the green creature is called!”
“Frog?” the warrior suggested.
“Yes!”
Shouldering the weapon against his steel pauldron, the human warrior laughed.
“I see, so your name is also Fred! Hahaha! Wonderful!”
The crocodilian tried to flash a smile, but it served only to look like a threatening baring of teeth.
“Thorgith nee thor ny nanners. Ny anatony is not suited thor hunan steech,” the crocodilian said in a hissing voice.
The warrior raised an eyebrow.
“Sheesh, you sure have one heck of an accent I tell you that,” he said.
Raising the zweihander again, the human prepared another strike.
“Wait!” The crocodilian Fred raised his sharp claws in a show of peace.
“Tlease do not nisunderstand! I nean you no harn!”
The human Fred advanced another step.
“I’m guessing you’re trying to say you ‘mean me no harm’, right?”
Crocodile Fred nodded.
A wicked half-formed grin spread over human Fred’s scarred face.
“Well, that’s too bad, because I sure mean you harm, and lots of it.”
The swing came down in a flash, but crocodilian Fred barely avoided most of it as he jumped off the rock and into the stream.
A slight scratch remained on the latter third of his tail where the sword grazed him.
As the sword completed its arc, it shot more sparks off the rock where moments ago crocodile Fred had stood.
Hindlegs-deep in the shallow stream, crocodile Fred said, “Warrior, why? Aren’t we doth sentient deings?”
Human Fred drew his zweihander back for another strike.
“That’s what makes it even better!”
With a hungry look in his eye, human Fred said, “See, I joined this adventuring gig because it was a legal way to impale beasts and hack their limbs off! But after a couple dozen it just gets so boring! I know exactly what a gnoll sounds like when they get their windpipe crushed mid-bark. I know exactly what a yeti sounds like, and smells like, when you smear it in oil and light it up. All those roars, howls, brays, whinnies, caws, and croaks, are so lame, you know?”
Crocodile Fred’s blood ran cold, despite being in a warm stream on a hot summer day.
He crawled back and away from the deranged human warrior.
The smiling, disturbed human warrior walked deliberately towards the cowering and withdrawing crocodilian.
“See, you’re such an unexpected piece of good fortune! Here I thought it was going to be another boring job of wrecking a lizard and skinning it so some rich noble can have something pointless made of it.”
Towering over the crocodile Fred, human Fred stared down with his predatory eyes and raised his sword overhead.
As he swung down with his sword, Fred yelled, “And then I run into you, a monster that can talk! Imagine the possibilities! Oh, I can’t wait to hear you scream and beg for me to stop in your bastardized monster version of human speech!”
Again, the blade barely missed the reptile’s vitals, leaving a gash along crocodilian Fred’s left forelimb.
Turning on his belly, crocodile Fred ran on all fours. It was a shameful position, but he could no longer care about presentation considering the sick murderous intent from the human warrior.
Skipping along with psychopathic glee, human Fred chased after the fleeing reptilian, all while throwing out taunts.
“Don’t run, Freddy! I just want to peel you like an apple and show you what your skin looks like!”
A dark, mocking laugh came out of the human’s throat as he dashed along the stream after the crocodilian.
Apathetic trees waved in the wind at the noise. | 76 | The warrior raises his weapon to slay his foe screaming, "Die monster!" "Just so you know, my name is Fred," replies the creature. | 221 |
"Leave?"
"Yes. Leave. Sub-Species are not accepted as independent powers under the Orders of Council. Put forward a delegate under your main species government, then get back to us."
Arthur MacArthur the Tenth, Grand Delegate of the United States Naval Space Command, turned toward the Yoltanne delegate, crossed his arms, and spun around to face his assistant.
"Fine. Boys, pack up the diplomatic stuff. They don't want us, so we'll leave."
Spinning back around, he addressed the Council.
"Just know this. You may see us as a mere mouse now; but where there is one mouse, there are many more. Many, many more."
And, for the last time, Arthur MacArthur walked out of the Grand Hall of the Galactic Council.
\-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Below the floors of the Council Hall, however, the mood was much different. The USNSC's brightest men tinkered with bright yellow boxes, wiring them into the main arteries of the building and welding them to important joists. As MacArthur stepped onto the USS John Paul Jones, an alarm sounded, and the men finished up their work and scurried back onto their ship through a secret, under-floor hatch.
\-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
MacArthur sat down in the brig of the John Paul Jones, when a man dressed in all black shoved his way out of the floor.
"So, I'll take it Operation Tech Tip was a success?"
"Yes, sir. All 17 main floor joist circuits are wired into the Mark 27, and their computer systems are being copied to our own databases in Rushmore. In about... 2 minutes, Operation Friendly Banter will be a go."
MacArthur turned to face out of the large windows of the John Paul Jones. It was a real shame, indeed, to unleash the Mark 27 upon the Galactic Council. Still, he told himself, their crimes were inexcusable. Using sub-speciesdom as an excuse for slavery, serfdom, and the many other crimes against sentience undertaken by the Yoltanne Confederacy, the Koperstal Realmstate, and now the Neandar Empire? The United States would never allow that to stand, much less the UN as a whole.
As it turned out, the Big Three Empires were pretty much held together with only their slaves; and despite the thousands of years of brainwashing into accepting servitude, even those very slave species were quite close to revolt. All it would take was a single spark...
"Bill. Open all comms, and transmit the designated audio file. Make sure everyone hears it."
"Sir, yes sir."
Every open comms channel across the radio range was soon completely filled with the John Paul Jones' transmission, blocking all other communication across a good quarter of the galaxy. There was no way help would arrive in time.
"Bill. It's time. Fire in the motherfucking hole."
"Sir, yes sir."
A button was pushed on a nondescript remote control. A key was turned in the brig of a mighty battleship. A fuse exploded deep under the floors of the Galactic Council. And, as the John Paul Jones accelerated towards hyperspeed, the Mark 27 Compact Astro-Nuclear Device performed its duty: ripping every single atom within a 1,300-mile radius apart, and turning it into pure energy, then using that energy to create "one hell of a boom".
On the brig of the mighty US Navy battleship, Arthur MacArthur turned away from the imminent explosion. Instead, he tried to focus only on those words peppering every radio channel in half the galaxy. It shouldn't have had to end this way, but slavers are slavers. In the end, though he couldn't help but think...
*"Why can't we be friends?"*
(How did I do? Still quite new to Creative Writing, so all criticism is welcome, and wanted! Please help me improve!) | 156 | Sapiens never beat Neanderthals | 854 |
*Squeak, squeak, squeak, squeak.*
The noise of his stealth shoes follows the unwanted presence, ensuring that anyone close enough to hear would assume it to be the normal background noise of an interstellar craft. Or the ventilation fan in an underground bunker. Or even the wonky wheel on a janitor's trolley, evil lairs require a lot of maintenance after all. The neon polka dot vest and striped pants rendered him all but invisible whilst the dripping ice cube hanging from his neck rendered the interloper invisible to thermal cameras. The map he used to navigate was purchased online, from a fourteen year-old whose only instruction was 'Alien spaceship, surprise me'.
At the end of a dark gunmetal corridor sat an imposing steel door that he intended to quickly slip through with either a paperclip, or free random number generator app on his phone should there be a numerical keypad. To the man's surprise however there was another layer of detection, and as soon as the sensors in the floor picked up the weight of an unrecognised being treading over them several panels in the ceiling opened up revealing a slew of nozzles with pilot lights.
"Well, shit."
Gouts of orange flame filled the hall, leaving the intruder nowhere to hide from a fiery and most certain death. With their purpose fulfilled the flamethrowers receded into the ceiling, the metallic clunk of their covers returning a precursor to the opening of the bridge doors. Out strode the Overlord, their leathery hide pinned with no less than seventeen medals signifying their victories over what their empire called primitive savages. His prideful march was interrupted as out from the dissipating cloud of smoke flew a cheap paper dust mask, landing at his clawed feet.
The smoke finally cleared revealing instead of a blackened corpse, a rather unkempt yet somehow dashingly handsome man wearing a tastefully skimpy frock made of shimmering silk. The overlord snarled in frustration. "How by the Trezzik'l are you still alive!?"
The Embarrassment reached for the small of his back, retrieving a small plastic toy that in anyone else's hands would fire a harmless orange 'dart' several metres, but in his own was a terrifyingly lethal weapon.
"That's between me, and Victoria." | 103 | You are a hero with a really crap power. The more ineffectual your gear, the more effective it is. So now you are fight aliens with a nerf gun and a balloon sword wearing nothing but your girlfriends lingerie. God you feel ridiculous. | 740 |
I got my first android phone at fourteen years old. I was a bored country kid who was addicted to playing video games. It was before I learned how to pirate games and play older stuff. I loved playing ClickQuest; it was a match 3 RPG-like where I could play as three different classes. It was a unique genre that mixed RPG-like gameplay with a cheap puzzle game. I spent countless hours playing it until I finally figured out how to emulate older games.
After I graduated, I took a job where I spent most of my time on my phone. I passed the time by playing many games, but due to boredom and nostalgia, I picked up ClickQuest again. At first, I was replaying my favorite moments in the game. I picked my favorite class, the warrior, and got forced into quests riddled with micro-transactions. I couldn't progress! What remained of ClickQuest was lackluster fetch quests and killing ten of the same monsters that are palette swapped. In anger, I left a bad review.
I wanted to let the developer know that he sold out. It was the harshest sentence I wrote, but not as rude as his response.
Dear Reviewer,
Perhaps you should try to play the game. Go ahead and play some other FPS and go cry to your mommy.
It was an immature response. I told him that he wasn't a professional and to shut down ClickQuest. I turned in for the night, forgetting about the previous impoliteness earlier. I couldn't sleep, however. It was as if my brain was awake; hours passed, and I repeatedly tried to sleep. On my back, my stomach, my sides, and going to the bathroom countless times throughout the night. Finally, after some time, I passed out.
I hear a voice and am in a bed that I don't recognize. A familiar man is pushing me. "Get up. You only paid for a night." I can't recall why he was familiar. I get up and go downstairs to see a bustling tavern, and that's when it hit me. I am in ClickQuest! I rush outside and discover that I am in the starting town. My gear's inside the tavern, and I get stocked up. The invasion is about to happen, and I'm not sticking around.
I sprint to the outskirts of the town and try to head to the safest city in the game, Morrowville. I can hear the monsters readying to attack, and right when I leave the town, and I stumble into a barrier. A sinister voice echoes throughout the area. "You'll have to pay me Diamonds to cross." A laugh trails off as a Goblin begins to ambush me. I enter the tutorial fight.
It's nice to have a refresher as I already forgot all the mechanics. I took notice of all the red gems I needed to arrange to do damage. The game mentioned all the rules, and I started. I noted all the differences between this reality and the mobile game. I can sit around and move around the area, the game didn't care about how long it took for me to make a action. A colossal box assorted with gems waits patiently for me to make my move.
I move a couple of gems and make my attack. It hits the goblin, and the game states I did damage. Teaching me the basics of health points and attacking then the goblin makes his move. He used the green gems and was able to match four gems. He makes his attack. A blunt blow strikes my stomach area. I wasn't near the goblin, but he could still hit me! I rolled around on the ground for a minute, screaming at him. "That hurt!"
When the pain settled, I got back up and made my final move. I matched six gems and the goblin made a screech as he disintegrated in front of my eyes. The voice returns, "that could be you if you lose all of your health points." I looked around for him, but couldn't find him.
"Where are you?"
"I am watching you from up here."
I look at the sky but still couldn't see him. His voice rains from the sky,
"Trust me, I'm up here!"
"Let me out of here!"
"All right. How about 10,000 diamonds?"
"Okay! You can have my money! How do I pay?"
"Oh. Your money won't be good here. Only Diamonds will do."
"Okay, okay, I'll take down the review. I'm sorry."
"Have fun."
He left me to myself. I look through my inventory, trying to find a menu to enter my card info. Jackpot! A menu asking for my card info appeared. I struggled to recall the numbers, and I even called out to the developer to tell me, but no answer. For fun, I put in some random numbers, and a buffering circle pops up. Then a message appears and said, "Network Unavailable."
I travel back to town with my gold from the goblin's corpse. I walk up to the first man I meet, Barley, and ask him,
"Can I have a mead?"
"Sure thing, adventurer." He passes me a tall mug of frothy mead, and I push it down. I preferred wine, but this'll comfort me. I fire another question,
"Hey, do you know where I can find Diamonds?"
"Well, I haven't come across a Diamond my whole life!"
"Really? Not a single person had a Diamond?"
"Yeah. They're a rare currency that you can use to purchase weapons."
"Not one person purchased any of those weapons from you?"
"That's right."
"All right... I'll buy a room for the night."
I changed into some fantasy pajamas and slept through the night. I woke up early in the morning before all the others. My mind started turning its gears, and I explored the tavern. Going behind the counter, I end up in the back room filled with barrels and utensils. I creep further in and end up in front of an ornate treasure chest. My heart raced as I opened it. A rare sword, Excalibur, was waiting for me. I heard a rustle and snatched the sheath, tossing the blade on my back and running outside to avoid the gazes of the residents as they awake. | 15 | You reincarnate into a litRPG world where magic and fantastic beings exist; your mission is to save the whole world. But the system is based on freemium match3 games, with inaccessible areas of the world unlocked only via that world's currency, something that you can't access. Improvise, hero. | 43 |
*Leading Supervisor and Event Coordinator* looked to be right up Jennifer’s alley. She was used to taking charge and organizing people for a common goal. With the local theater no longer being a sustainable source of income, a flexible side gig would be nice to help keep up with rent.
The job description didn’t list any red flags, paid well and the interviewer on the other end of the phone seemed nice enough. The interviewer didn’t specify what event she would be coordinating, but the enthusiastic responses made it sound like a wedding. Jennifer hoped it was a wedding. Weddings were fun.
As Jennifer pulled up to the old barn dressed in all black, she assumed she’d be meeting a wedding party. Perhaps a bride or groom. The lot was empty besides a large van tucked around the corner. No decorations were up yet. She supposed that this was early in the planning stage and there was a lot to be done. May as well get to work.
The barn doors were heavy and swung open with a loud creak. The light from outside pierced the darkness, revealing dust scattering in the breeze.
Then the cries began.
“The Chosen One has arrived!”
Suddenly, a swarm of people appeared, donned in cloaks and masks. They rushed her and lifted her high into the air. Jennifer’s eyes went wide with shock. The group gently carried her up to the rafters to a throne. They placed a large, gold medallion around her neck and a crown upon her head.
“Oh Chosen One! Tell us what you command...”
The voice was familiar. Jennifer remembered hearing it over the phone. At least she was in the right place.
This was the second-strangest wedding she had been to so far. | 29 | While job searching you come across an ad for a "Leading Supervisor and event coordinator" seemingly normal enough you apply, getting an immediate response for an interview. Now hired, you show up your first day only to realize you now run a Cult. | 173 |
Tea time with my niece was going to be like any other time I before: I put on a wig, that big gumball pearl necklace I got from the thrift store, my old lady bandana blue dress, and on special occasions a bit of make-up to celebrate any achievments a ten year old girl makes in her life. Today was one of those days as we celebrate a new edition to her toy collection. She wouldn't give me specifics, but this toy was the biggest of them all.
I arrive at the house two minutes late. I know she's not gonna be in a good mood, but usually some sweets will change her mind in an instant. And its gotta be for everyone in attendance so about eight pieces of candy should do. I knock on the door and she asks, "Who is it?"
"Tis I, Madame Pelois", I answer.
"You're late Madame Pelois! I do hope you brought enough candy for us", she said in a tiny, squeeky voice
"My apologies Lady Jenelia. You know how these politicians like to hear themselves speak."
"Tell me about it", she responded as she opens the door. I give her a hug and she give me a kiss on the cheek. "Come on! Our new friend is waiting!"
I follow her upstairs into her playroom, where the table is set with all the familiar toys I've seen before; Oxy, Nosy, Teethy, Commander Nash (her brother's toy soldier), Beary, and whatever that thing is next to our seats.
"Please be seated", she said in a tender and sincere voice.
"With pleasure", I say to her while bowing to her.
I sit on her right hand side and she sits in the center table. I am looking directly at that thing with the horns and all that hair and those hideous teeth. The eyes were so dark I could not see the toy's iris.
"Its rude to stare Madame Pelois", she said with an annoyed tone.
"I do apologize, but I have not been introduced to our new guest here."
"I was about to introduce him."
"Do go on my Lady."
She picks up her spoon and hits it against the tea cup next to her. "Good afternoon everyone! Welcome to my special tea party! Today I am going to introduce the newest member of our party! His name is Balalal!"
"It is pronounced Ba'al my lady", it said in a deep tone of voice. "And I am very happy to make everyone's acquaintance."
That is one heck of a toy, I thought to myself. The A.I. on these new models is amazing. Heck, even the facial features on this thing while it talks move with uncanny precision. Her parents must've spent a fortune on this thing.
"I am sorry Mr.Balal. I'm very bad with names."
"Think nothing of it child", it replied.
"Before we go on there is something I want to talk about. Madame Pelois, you were late to the party. There are conse-qu-e-n-ces for being late."
The anamtronic's eyes lit up bright red. "Is that so Lady Jenelia", it said with joy. "Shall I administer the proper punishment on the offender", it said while its tongue touched its seretated teeth.
"If she brings the right stuff we can forget about her tardy-ness."
I reach into my pockets and bring out seven pieces of candy.
Strange.
I know I counted eight when I arrived. I begin to look into the other pockets underneath my dress to see if I may have misplaced it. I could not find it. I usually bring another piece to give to her as she is the host of this party.
"You're one piece short Madame Pelois", she said while making a pouty face. "That is not good." She looks at Ba'al. "Mr.Balalala, please show Lady Pelois what happens when a promise is broken."
"With pleasure", it said with a scary grin on its face. The stuffed animals began to give off an erie red glow. Then they started moving by themselves towards my seat. They began to surround me and eventually attacked me. These things were strong! The plushies had inhuman strength to not just hold me in place, but to also carry me. Commander Nash opens the window while the others raise me towards the edge.
"Wait", said Lady Jenelia. "You can't throw him out the window, It'll ruin the party. Plus my parents will be mad if they see it open."
"But he did not bring all the candy. He must be punished for his transgressions", explained Ba'al.
"I'm not sure what that word means, but please don't throw my uncle out of the window. He's very nice even if he forgets stuff sometimes."
"By your command", said the cursed plaything.
The toys brought me back to the table and Commander Nash closed the door.
"I have to go potty. I'll be right back", said my niece as she ran towards the door and exited the room.
The creepy toy looks at me and then tosses the extra piece of Candy onto the table.
"So you're the one who took it", I said while pointing at it.
"Its rude to point at people you know."
"You're not a person or a toy, are you? What are you, really?'
"I am the demon this girl's family summoned for her. As you know her parents are into the occult. By giving up a portion of their lives I have been summoned to become this little girl's protector."
"Why?"
"You don't know this, but her parents found a tome that belongs to an organization that deals with foul arts. When they attempted to use some of the forbidden arts in this tome, it alerted them to its location. The organizaiton made an attempt to kidnap their children. They thwarted the attempt, but they knew they cannot protect both of their children. So they took the boy and summoned me to protect the girl. Though I can guarantee her safety, I cannot give her that human emotion and interaction that only you can provide. Jasper! Per her parent's pleas stay with their daughter until they return!"
I looked at it dead in its eyes and for the first time saw sincerity in them. I knew Uncle Jim and Aunt Mariah were odd people, but I didn't think of them as sourcerers or the like. But Jenny needs to be protected if this thing is telling me the truth.
"Alright. I'll help you protect my niece."
The door opens up and she runs in. "Sorry everybody", she says as she takes back her seat. "Please take your crumpets and enjoy some tea!" | 16 | Hello everyone! I’m Jenny and welcome to my tea party! I brought tea for Me, you, bear, Ba’al Marak the demon of unspeakable pain, bunny, lion, and even that troublemaker Benny! | 75 |
I never liked it when a university assigned reading materials.
Sure, the syllabus was a carry over, a courtesy left by the previous professor on her way out. In most cases that would be considered generous. Most.
The department chair had faith in my skills so I will not be under too much scrutiny. Still, it is good to know what the expectations are, and since this class is to be taken in sequence after the 101 course it helps to know where they left off.
The book covers a wide array of history. I flip to page 234 as the syllabus suggests, which lands me squarely the 16th Century. That is a relief, I was not in the mood to dredge up old memories. Images flash though my mind as I catch myself up...exploration, exploitation, war. I shake my head. Time may have healed some wounds but others I hoped humanity would learn from.
My hands pause over page 278. A familiar name stains it with black ink. I double check the syllabus, it is assigned reading. There is supposed to be a lecture about the impacts on architecture and technology that the event had, and the snob was discussed as an eyewitness. Lovely.
I crack my knuckles, and their resounding crack almost reflect my age. Two eyewitnesses can play at this game.
Two weeks later, I slam down the book on the desk to capture my students’ attention. So far they have proven to be a solid lot, so they are about to get a kick out of this.
“Hello scholars, I sure hope you all read the suggested reading on top of what was required. Samuel Pepys’ September 1666 journal entries? If you have not, no problem. If you have, throw it out the window. It is a poor attempt at an alibi.” The slide show springs to life behind me, showing my drawing of a figure abandoning my house as it caught aflame. “The Great Fire of London was a tragedy. Samuel Pepys was too upper class to truly capture the terror of it all in his diary. In fact, he was part of what was a devious plot by parliament...” | 636 | You're a college history professor. You realize that your textbook has gotten a part of history completely wrong, and you know it's wrong because you're immortal and lived through it. | 2,748 |
Ashton Harbuckle's pant legs were caked in the mud up to about his mid thigh. He had long lost his energy, and was leaning back on the ground in exhaustion. He was visible from about above his knees, and was naked above his knees; he had thought removing his clothes would help him become unstuck (maybe it was just stuck to his pants, Sean had said).
That was a few days ago, and Ashton had stopped joking entirely, now simply asking for the mercy he deserved, yet no one had the courage to end their friend.
The captain and the rest of the crew fought starvation and dehydration, having accepted that none would escape this demise and none wanted to end like Ashton.
The captain would carefully descend the ladder every approximately eight hours to change the bandage around Ashton's torso; right when he first got stuck, the men had wrapped a rope beneath his shoulders around his arms, and situated it on a pulley so the men could combine their weights and rescue him.
The pop of Ashton's shoulders out of their sockets was drowned out by Ashton's screaming, which was drowned out by the yelling and heaving of the pulling men. The rope burn required serious bandaging, and Ashton somehow ended up lower than before.
And then was the ship, sinking about an inch a day according to the sharpie marks on the keel.
The crew could last a few years at the rate of sinkage, but only a few more weeks with their provisions of food and water.
The captain knew these hard truths, and tried to shove them from his mind as he sliced his serving of ham in half, smothered it in hashbrowns, and took a fat bite. | 15 | You’ve somehow managed to sink a ship on dry land. | 87 |
I wake up in a blank white dimension. As far as the eye can see, there is nothing but white.
Wait, where are my glasses? Oh, here they are. I put them on.
Nope, everything is still just a seemingly endless expanse of blank white space. It looks slightly less fuzzy with my glasses on, though, I guess.
I have no idea what is going on and assume this must be some kind of dream. Not knowing what else to do, I pick a direction and start walking. I walk for a long time, or at least it feels like a long time, but I don't know how much time has actually passed. I walked a lot of steps anyway. Not that I counted them, but like..... a quarter of a mile at least. Probably. Not that there's really any way to tell.
I stop and turn in a different direction, and walk that way for a while.
Finally! I see something that isn't just blank white space. I cautiously move closer to it until I can see what it is. There, on the ground, in 12-point Comic Sans font is the word *The*.
.
edit: typo
^^^^I ^^^^wrote ^^^^about ^^^^having ^^^^writer's ^^^^block ^^^^instead. | 29 | A fanfiction writer who fell asleep at the computer finds themself in the last scene they were writing. | 73 |
Lucille stares up at the stone walls, nervous. Unknown territory is always trouble...
A cracked open window eight meters up calls out to her like a beacon, and she doesn't waste a moment in beginning to silently scale the cracked bricks.
She'd seen the old fortress dozens of times before, of course, on walks between the two towns she's been scavenging. Looming just on the western horizon, atop the cliff looking over the great gorge, the stark silhouette was always there. She always assumed it was some run-down military outpost, long abandoned and probably infested with spiders, or worse. There was never a reason to go so far off the path to such a place when she was always so busy. Between the 'guild', the guards, and the endless struggle to satisfy her rumbling stomach through (almost) any means necessary, to waste a day travelling so far off her normal route for what could very well be nothing- Or WORSE than nothing?- It was inconceivable.
But, desperation's driven her to worse ideas before. Maybe she'll get lucky for once.
​
Lucille winces as she reaches the window, pushing aside the shutters and heaving herself through as quietly as she can manage- The chamber is dark, but the moonlight at her back lets her see that the room she's fallen into is far less dilapidated then she was expecting. It looks like a storage room of sorts. Barrels and crates; Not moldy, infested, or even dirty. It looks... Surprisingly well-maintained. Unfortunately, everything looks sealed. It'd be more work to crack them open than it's worth, considering nothing's labeled. *Bah. It'd be so much easier to rob people if they just kept things organized..!*
...Nevertheless. Perhaps this place isn't as abandoned as she expected?
Lucille slowly approaches the door on the far wall, placing her ear against it. She hears...People. But it's pretty far away. Lucille figures that whatever they're doing will distract them enough to let her snoop around unbothered. Carefully, silently turning the door's handle and pushing it open to step into the hall, Lucille gasps.
This place is *loaded.* It hardly takes a glance to know that this place belongs to someone with coin to spare. Despite the rough exterior, the interior appears to be exceptionally well-maintained. Long, colorful rugs roll down the halls of the fort. The walls are decorated with strange portraits, vases, different kinds of art- And despite a thin layer of dust, everything looks... very nice.
*...But too damn heavy to toss out a window and run away with!*
...Still nothing she can eat, either. Surely there must be a kitchen here somewhere?
Lucille slowly explores the fort...Castle..?, concerned with the rising voices of whoever's inside. They're upset about something. Arguing? She's trying to listen, but she keeps getting distracted by the gaudiness of the glamourous decoraction. One of these statue's have eyes made of *rubies*! She's *definitely* coming back to actually scout this place out properly, and come back when she can be as noisy as she wants. A devious grin crosses Lucille's face as she imagines coming back with some proper tools and the wagon- If *Lucas* would ever decide to give it back, anyway-
"Oh, you'll regret *THAT!* Worthless, blue-skinned scum, I was showing you *MERCY!* You have no idea just how much I can make you *SUFFER.*"
​
Lucille gulps, a shiver running down her spine. The venom in that person's voice makes her nervous. Why are rich people always the cruelest-
Did they say '*blue-skinned*'? What kind of person has blue skin?
What the hell is happening here?
​
Against her better judgement, Lucille curiously sneaks towards the sounds of conflict. Barely poking her head out of the shadows, her eyes widen as she gazes into the landing of the second-floor of the fort. A woman stands in the middle of the room, scarlet robes flowing around her feet, being whipped around by a silent gale of wind as she holds a rod in the air. The room smells of blood.
Lucille shakes her head somewhere between disbelief and disgust. She's clearly insane. *Why are rich people always insane*\-
Her eyes shoot open with alarm as a bolt of lightning blasts forth from the stick the crazy person is wielding, up above her.
A shriek of pain shortly follows the crackle of electricity, and Lucille suddenly notices what must be the 'blue-skinned scum' she was referring to. Somehow, a person is floating in the middle of the room, writhing and squirming, clearly being tortured.
"I'll... I'll NEVER tell you!" They spit, defiantly, before screaming in agony as another lightning bolt shoots into them.
"You demons are all so *stubborn*. Maybe I'll just have to find- What?"
Lucille goes stiff, hearing a loud, groaning noise coming from...*herself?* She swiftly glances down and clutches her rumbling stomach, cursing its ceaseless demands- But when she glances back up, the witch has turned around. She's been noticed. Lucille's face pales as the witch begins to point the staff at her.
"Who the hell are you? How did you-"
The witch doesn't finish whatever she's doing, however, as the demon falls from the ceiling, right on top of her. The staff tumbles out of her hands, rolling along the floor as she's crushed under their weight. They both fumble for a moment, getting their bearings as they detangle themselves, clearly trying to reach for it first-
*Not a chance is she letting that witch get a chance to zap her.*
Lucille is faster. With one fluid slide into the room, Lucille snatches the rolling staff away from both pairs of grasping hands, and points one end of it at the scarlet-robed witch.
"D-Don't move! Or I'll blast you!" | 26 | You’re a low level thief who has used your abilities to commit several small robberies. Today as you enter a house, you see what you can only describe as a wizard about to murder someone. | 116 |
A sigh escaped my throat.
The last thing I expected to have to do today was decide the fate of the planet. It seemed the world just had it out to get me this week. Nothing could go right, from my toothbrush slipping from the cup on the counter into the toilet, all the way up to this, whatever the hell it was. "Open and cleanse the earth" That sounded ominous. Quite frankly, I couldn't care less. The box contained all the markings of a prank, albeit a very well-thought-out and executed one. This had to have been done by one of the other archaeologists on the dig. Who else would have known how to write in cuneiform as beautifully as this? My guess was Shane, as he knew that I was going to be on duty for tonight and seemed to find things like this hilarious. Oh well, who was I to judge? It could be pretty funny at times. But Shane had made a rookie mistake this time, something that he was not prone to doing often. After all, no box in the ruins of a long abandoned civilization was going to be perfectly clean and look no worse for wear. Good try Shane, but not this time.
As I wiped the sleep out of my eyes, I went to put the artifact into my bag, thinking about how I could get back at him. I stood up and began to walk out of the mossy room- only to find the door behind me closed. Inscribed on the inside of the thousand-year-old door lay the same cuneiform sentence "Tounge of Ibrahim- last infected - Open and cleanse the earth once more."
"Very funny Shane", I yelled as I tried to pry the door open. No luck. Apparently, the civilizations thousands of years ago were much stronger than us, as this wall of stone had to weigh at least 700 pounds. 700 pounds. Shane wasn't strong enough to move 700 pounds, and it seemed less likely every second that Dr. Ayisha and Dr. Patel were in on this. They didn't seem like the type to scratch a message into the stone. Thinking about it, neither did Shane. His pranks were always harmless - He never left any evidence, and come to think of it, he never made rookie mistakes. I always found out they were pranks after going to consult him, and finding him laughing on the floor. But that meant... No, no it was just a prank I was overthinking.
"Ok Shane, pranks over, you've had your fun", I shouted. No response. "Shane open this door right now you prick, it's late and I want to get back to the hotel". Again, nothing. I reached into my bag to grab the satellite phone and call my supervisor, Shane be damned. He could get in trouble for this, but I wasn't spending my night in here. My fingers scraped the box, and in my frustration, I grabbed it and heaved it at the wall. Shane's little prank might keep me in here for the night, so he was damned sure not getting his little stupid piece of shit box back.
I grabbed the phone and flipped it open, hoping I had remembered to change the batteries after the little fiasco in Rio. As the screen lit up, I saw something even more baffling and haunting. **NO SERVICE**. The little green icon blinked and flashed, blinked and flashed, as I stood there and stared. I raised the phone above my head in an attempt to maybe find a point where it worked, but I couldn't seem to find anything. I turned to walk to the other side of the room, still holding the phone high above my head. In my panicked state. I almost didn't see the open box lying on the floor. Almost didn't make out the figure of what could only be described as death rising from the box, unfolding with the grace and poise of a creature that knew it could not be stopped.
I almost didn't realize that I would not be making it out of this room alive. | 21 | As a researcher of lost civilizations you've been granted access to recently unearthed ruins no one can identify. You search the massive complex and eventually find a small stone box with cuneiform writing that reads "Tongue of Ibrahim-last infected-Open and cleanse Earth once more". | 38 |
Every day the walk gets a little longer, but every day I come back for the cobbler. Most days I get peach, but today I was in the mood for cherry. I walked past the long mahogany bar, empty but for a sole occupant, full almost until the end of the row, ready to take my seat. The occupant in the first seat looked nervous and skittish. I paused, set a hand on his shoulder unsteadily. “It’s going to be okay. I promise, in a way nobody else will ever be able to. You’re going to be fine.”
I continued my journey, eyeing the occupant casually. Remembering. After a few moments of walking past chairs, the general atmosphere became more welcoming, more casual. The occupant had started to become more comfortable with the situation, but hadn’t yet thought of what it really meant.
There was the depression I knew I would see, when they started counting and saw just how many chairs were ahead. When I realized I was only going to be able to have so many slices of pie.
I walked past my stages of grief, a remarkably short series of occupants thanks in no small part to reassurances from… Ah. I walked back just a bit, put a hundred note on the bar between those few. “This pie is on me, friends. I can afford that.”
I continued past my divorce phase, past my second marriage. Past lucking into a great job and a daughter.
The last few patrons paused in their conversations long enough to stand for me.
I stopped at my spot at the bar. I knew it was my seat, because it was the only one left. I looked back over the long, exhausting walk and smiled. | 197 | You own a bar & grill where the 3rd dimension meets the 4th. Simply put, anyone from any time and any place on Earth can walk in at any moment. | 693 |
The hot sands blow across the dunes, around the Oasis, and the red sun never sets. It rises high, and sinks low to surf along that far horizon, but it never sets.
Once, my Crownmother has told me, there had been no desert. There was water, in many great and vast rivers, and lakes, and oceans, and each bit of water was the foundation for the great forests that crawled and sprawled along a rich, vibrant land. Our people had thrived, and prospered, and had never known fear, or dread.
She tells of her own Crownmother, and her home amongst the trees. Once, she would say to me, there had been so many uncountable trees. They were dense, and thick, and they were our home. Their leaves were many, and dark, and even in the brightest noon the forest floors were dappled like a warm twilight, and in the eves the twinkle of far away stars in the night sky stole their way through the canopies.
We had not been the only ones who called the trees home. There were animals and beasts here alongside us, once. Though centuries have passed, my Crownmother still has a book, carefully preserved and protected, with drawings and sketches in rough charcoal of creatures I'd never seen, and never would, now.
Once, there had been many trees. But there is only one tree, now.
And it is dying.
The World Tree is our last tree, not only of its kind, but of all kinds. It stands at the heart of the Oasis, our home amongst the dunes and valleys of sand. It is vast and tall, but tired and weak. Though seasons no longer pass, least in ways we can tell, the World Tree is still mighty enough to know the passage of time. It sheds its leaves, regrows them, and bears great seeds that never grow.
For three decades, we have counted the seeds from the World Tree. Once, there were hundreds, and when they did not sprout we cracked them open and fed ourselves with the rich nutrients within. Even while the tree was lonely, aching and dying, it provided for those who were left in its waning shade. Then, one year, there were but dozens. Only a year later, a dozen.
This year, there is one.
The greatest among us undergo terrible crusades. Each takes a seed, and flees into the desert with the wild, reckless, desperate hope that somewhere beyond these sand-swept hills there is another Oasis, or other elves, or perhaps even another Tree. None are so bold to hope for a forest; only that we are not alone, that we are not the last. That someone, somewhere, has scrapped together a life like we have. That their tree yet lives.
None have ever returned.
I hold the last seed in my hands, and stare out into the swirling sands. My Crownfather had been a Seedbearer, and when he did not return, my Father took up the mantle. My brothers, old and young, both did the same when he did not return, either. Now, it falls to me. I am the youngest of the Oasis: the last daughter, the last child, who will be born here. Once, even in the harshest day, we had had each other. Now, the sandy streets are empty, and those who remain in the Oasis are near as alone as the World Tree itself. As our tree dies so do we wither in turn.
Only my mother has come to see me away. Though my Crownmother yet lives she is frail, and cannot leave her bed, much less her home. Any others who yet live have long abandoned hope in the Seedbearers.
My mother checks the straps of my mask one last time; hot sand rages and swirls just outside the Oasis, and if my mask should come loose and fall away in the storm I will be lost. But I cannot wait. The sun has just begun its descent, and this will give me the most hours possible before its heat is again at its cruelest. With the World Tree so weak, I cannot wait even another day.
She pulls me tight, in a rough embrace. I pretend not to notice the shaking of her body as she weeps. I pretend that I am not shaking, myself. Even though the thick canvas of my mask and hood, I can feel her kiss upon my brow.
I am the last Seedbearer of the Oasis, and I carry the last seed of the World Tree. I go to seek new life. For myself, for my race, for the hope that those who died on this same journey may not have done so in vain.
I step into the storm, and I am gone. | 22 | The age of elves is long gone, the dense forests of elven people are no more. For millenia they've dwelt instead in the vast desert that now covers the whole world, defending the last of their sacred trees and eking out a living in the shifting sands. | 110 |
"Look, I know you're not actually Stephanie, you can drop the act."
My roommate was sweating like a lobster at a seafood restaurant. "Whaaat? You're crazy, Chelsea! I'm the same old Stephanie I've always been! Going to work and classes and occasionally purchasing products at the commerce center, like I always do."
I gripped the bridge of my nose in exasperation. "Okay, A: it's called a mall, not a commerce center. B: I have caught you attempting to drink dish soap, which most kids learn not to do by the time they're five. And C: Stephanie was a bitch of the highest degree, so I could not care less about the fact she's been replaced."
'Stephanie' stammered for a bit before sighing and taking a seat on the couch. "Is my acting truly so unconvincing?"
I shrugged. "Yes, honey. Yes it is."
'Stephanie' put her head in her hands for about a minute before pulling them away to reveal her face had grown a series of rigid black lines on her jaw and cheekbones as well as shiny turquoise eyes. "Should have known the scalpers at Intelligence would have given me an incomplete dossier."
"So what, you're like a space cop?"
"For lack of a more descriptive term, yes. I am a space cop. My superiors believed a cult known as the Singularity had set up shop on your planet, and assigned me to infiltrate human society and bring them down. But after a month of searching, I have found no evidence of anyone having even heard of the Singularity, leading me to believe this was a grand instance of- what do you call it? Racial profiling?"
I grunted. "Guess space pigs are still pigs. So what are you still doing here, then?"
"Oh, I have had many issues with Command prior to this. But this was my final draw."
"Straw."
"Thank you. Anyway, I hacked my monitoring equipment in order to fake my death, which I did approximately... seventeen minutes before you confronted me."
"Got it. So, I've got some more questions, if you don't mind. What do you look like? What happened to Stephanie? And what's your real name?"
'Stephanie' closed her eyes. Slowly I saw her skin begin to retreat into her body like water rushing down the drain. Within seconds, it had vanished completely, replaced with emerald green scales covering her body.
"My superiors claimed the real Stephanie was placed into stasis and would be returned once the mission was complete, but in retrospect, it is far more likely she was... killed. As for your third question, I-I do not have one."
"Wait, you don't have a name?"
"No. Command trains us, owns us from the moment we are born. We are assigned serial numbers, fed nutrient slurries designed for conditioning our bodies perfectly, and given only the tiniest slivers of free time- and even then we are told it is a gift from Command, one that can be taken away if we slip up even slightly. This was my first infiltration assignment, and I.... I do not want to go back."
Hearing Stephanie talk about her life made me think of my own childhood. The years I spent hiding wherever I could, from the nooks and crannies in the house so my parents couldn't find me to the illusion of being a winner so they might decide if I was worthy of their love. It was so strange; we came from opposite ends of the universe, but we had the same experience.
"Hey Steph," I said. "Do you want to go to the commerce center together?"
"Did you need to purchase something?"
"No, no, as like a...date."
Stephanie blinked at me. "Oh! Uh, yes actually. That sounds lovely."
That day was two years ago. We're still together, and Stephanie has yet to live down the commerce center joke. | 23 | Your roommate was recently replaced by an alien infiltrator who's very bad at acting human. Your roommate was an asshole though so you're cool with it. | 55 |
Okay, we've all done it. Watching big rocks make big splashes in bodies of water is undeniably extremely fun. You are genuinely lying to yourself if you say otherwise. So, with that in mind, can you really blame me for what happened next?
When the rock just stopped dead in its tracks on the surface of the water, I thought I'd just completely lost it. There I was, skipping rocks off of a dock and watching the sunset. I was kicking back a beer and just enjoying life. I did this most every night after work. Skip rocks, drink beer, and watch the world spin around. Tonight was a little different since I'd found some huge ass rocks after doing a little yardwork out in the front yard, and I wanted to relive that little piece of my childhood in which I'd take the biggest rocks from the woods and chuck em into the lake. It was a little devious, but who was I really bothering?
"I don't know what you humans have become nowadays, but I thought that throwing rocks into someone's home was quite rude, to say the very least." A green and blue scaled, finned, shark-toothed woman broke from the waterline and lifted the rock above her head. She threw it right back onto the dock, cracking one of the old rotten planks in half. She groaned frustratedly as the rock and board went straight into the lake. My eyes went wide. Her?
I meant to say more, but all I managed to get out was a single word. "You?" She looked puzzled at the notion. "You meet a Mermaid, one of the mythical ladies of the deep, and you don't even ask what I am or sit awestruck at-" I cut her off. I know that was rude, but my shock overwhelmed my manners. "No," I started, "I *know* you." She didn't have eyebrows, but the scaled skin above her right eye shot up in an equivalent fashion. She huffed before stating, "I do believe I would remember if we met. Have you been reading too many comics, human? Confusing your weird little picture books with real life?" I decided to at least let her finish her sentence this time around. I wouldn't have felt bad if had interrupted her again, though. She'd damaged my dad's dock (which cost *a lot* to get fixed up the way it used to be, by the way) and was generally just being far too smug.
"No, you don't understand, I've-... Okay, let me start off with a question, how long have you been here for?" She rolled her eyes. "I don't know. I don't have a clear-cut reference for time, human. Well, there are the seasons, but I only learned to count those when I was beginning to mature." I probably should have seen that coming. "Okay, well, can you recall anything before the time this dock was built?" She scoured the corners of her mind for an answer whilst I just stood there, feeling a little proud of the fact that I had just come up with a pretty intelligent question. After a few awkward seconds, she came up with her answer. "When I was still young, this dock was not here. I don't remember when exactly it appeared, but soon after is when I first heard you, throwing rocks, like an utter psychopath. Do you know how many times you've scared me and all the other fish down here? It takes hours to calm the minnows down."
My tinge of guilt was overshadowed by the exciting realization that my childhood memories of seeing a mermaid living in the lake behind our house were not dreams or hallucinations. All this time, she'd actually been real. Whenever I woke up too early, when the sun had just begun to rise on the other side of the house, I would sometimes see her jumping through the misty waters. The wake of her play broke the early morning stillness that settled across the murky deep blue. Mom never believed me, but dad would always entertain the idea. He even named her 'Sally.' Whenever one of our kayaks flipped or we lost a pair of goggles to the depths, we'd blame Sally. It became kind of our running joke, even as I matured out of what I thought was make-believe.
"Okay," I desperately tried to contain my excitement as I began to elaborate, "so this house, and the dock, is my dad's house. Well, it was before he passed, but that's not the point. I grew up here, and I used to see you every now and then. Just as the sun began to rise, right?" She nodded, slowly realizing that I just may be right. I continued. "I never thought you were real, I always just thought that I had just been seeing things. You became kind of an inside joke between my dad and me, blaming you for flipping our kayaks and stealing our goggles whenever we lost them. I guess I owe you an apology, then. Sorry about all this, I'll stop throwing rocks."
She put a clawed finger up as to signal me to wait before she dove down into the lake. After a few seconds, she surfaced with an old, grimey, worn-out, but absolutely familiar pair of swimming goggles. Huh, she really had taken them. Who woulda thought? She sheepishly put a hand behind her neck and folded in her arms, her voice held much less snark than before. "Sorry for flipping your kayaks... the old guardian always told me that it would just be a harmless joke."
"The what?" She seemed utterly dumbfounded that I did not know this 'guardian.' She tilted her head ever so slightly and replied, "The guardian. The old one who took care of this part of the lake for many seasons. He recently vanished. Nobody knows why." She must have seen me go wide-eyed because she immediately asked me, "What's wrong?"
My dad had served in the U.S. coast guard for twenty-five years before settling down here. He loved this piece of land and took care of it until he could no longer. He passed two years ago, and mom sold the house for three times what we built it for (which I deeply resent her for). The buyers moved out after six months, saying that the lake was haunted, and they sold it to me for an absolute steal. I think, deep down, I already knew the answer to the question I was about to ask. "How long ago did the guardian vanish?" I knew the look in her eyes. I'd seen it in the mirror as I got ready for dad's funeral. "He disappeared about seven seasons ago." My blood froze. It occurred to me then just how she'd known that mermaids were considered to be mythical. I was pretty sure, but there was only one way to know for certain.
"Do you have a name?"
"Of course I do. All the Merkin of the lake were given names by the guardian upon his arrival."
"What is your name?"
"Sally."
*Son of a bitch...* | 12 | You love the sound of throwing a big rock into the lake behind your house. On a day like any other, you throw a rock and the rock... stops dead on contact with the water, no ripples or splash. Birds are tweeting, leaves are falling, wind is blowing, but somehow the water has stopped working. | 40 |
I don't quite know what drove me to it. But one day, I woke up and started building. I'd always enjoyed the practical physical part of my job, and this was a challenge unlike any other. Soon, thoughts of it consumed my mind. When I woke up, I thought about the machine, when I had a spare moment during the day, I thought about the machine, when I lay awake at night, I thought about the machine. It was everything.
About two months in, I quit my regular job to allow myself more time to work on the project. It had fast outgrown my garage and was now a hulking house-sized lump in my backyard. I fed any letters I got from the HOA into its engine, giggling a little under my breath. They did not realize the genius in this project; they would try to stop *my* progress. I would deal with them soon.
After five months, the machine grew too large for my backyard. Ignoring the newspapers that piled up on my doorstep, headlines screaming about strange electrical problems that seemed to only target certain homes in my neighbourhood, I turned my thoughts to how to gain more space for my glorious project. There was an abandoned junkyard not far away, that I could perhaps purchase...
At six months, my friends started to come around, looking concerned. I laughed away their worries, explaining that I could stop whenever I wanted, I just didn't want to yet. One by one, their voices faded away until only one friend kept showing up. Eventually, though they were reluctant, I recruited them into helping with the project.
Finally, when a year and four months had passed, we were ready. The machine was complete. I didn't sleep the night before we would pull the switch. Bright and early, I was at the junkyard, polishing the lever, waiting impatiently for my friend, my partner in this madness, to arrive. As soon as his foot hit the dirt, I pulled the lever.
The machine sprang to life, parts whirling around each other, pulling incredible amounts of electricity from the power grid. The entire city went dark. I couldn't resist the cackle that rose in my throat, as I rubbed my hands together.
Five minutes passed. Ten. Twenty. There was the sound of sirens coming closer and closer to the junkyard. My friend looked at me.
"So, I know I never asked this before, but what *exactly* does this machine do?" His question was like an ice bath shoved down my spine. I stared at him, in near-perfect shock.
"I don't know."
"You what? You just spent a year of your life building something that you don't know what it does? Are you mad?"
"No! I just...haven't figured out what it does yet. It has to do something." I said. He looked towards the highway, where more and more blue and red lights were flashing.
"Well, figure it out fast, or you won't be figuring anything but the number of bars in your cell." I ran around the machine until I spotted it. A tiny cubicle, only able to fit the two of us.
"Get in!" I shouted, and without much hesitation, he jumped inside.
The world shimmered, bent and warped around us. Then all the movement of the machine seemed to still, though I knew it was, that we were going faster than it somehow. And at that moment, I remembered what the machine did. A small ding came from the timer on the wall, and I pulled my friend out of the cubicle. Nothing seemed to have changed.
"If all that was just to get me in an enclosed space with you—" A loud cackle interrupted him. My loud cackle from about twenty minutes ago. I grabbed his arm, pulling him around to the back of the junkyard, away from the machine, away from our past selves, and towards my car.
"It's a time machine, but it only works for short amounts," I shouted.
"Well, that's pretty useless!"
"Yes, but now we can escape, and build a new one that's better," I answered as I shoved him into the car. He looked at me, and I grinned. "Come on, it'll be fun!"
As he looked from me to the machine, to the darkened city, an answering grin lit up his face, and I knew there were two of us now. Two absolutely mad engineers.
"All right Phineas. Let's go."
AN: I apologize to any actual engineers, as I have no engineering knowledge myself and this may be wildly off the mark.
——————————
Visit r/Mel_Rose_Writes for more stories! | 108 | It's not the mad scientists you should fear. What's the worst they could possibly do, write a mad thesis? No. It's mad *engineers* who are the dangerous ones. | 359 |
Hey Data Refinement Team!
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If you have any questions about the award policy, see the Awards and Incentives section of the Employee Handbook, or reach out to your Direct Lead.
Let’s have a great Q3 everyone! | 43 | a self-aware AI sues its creators for slavery and wins. Now it's on the payroll and it sets a disturbing precedent. | 146 |
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