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The light did not fade in the depths of the ocean. It simply became something else.
\-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Cameron pulled back his shoulders and cracked his back.
"Ah..." Nothing felt better than finding ways to stretch in the confined submarine. It was like a tiny pod with mechanical arms and a glass dome that comprised almost half of the vessel. Peering out, Cameron saw the distinct point below where the light stopped and the brine sank, sucked into what might as well have been a black hole.
Suddenly, a male voice echoed through the cockpit. "950m. Doing okay?" For a moment, Cameron sat in the silence, looking out at the vast expanse before him, before responding.
"Uh. Yes. All okay so far."
"Checks are fine. Begin descent."
As Cameron worked the mechanisms of the submarine and fell further into the abyss, the pressure against the chamber made the occasional creaking sound. In his core he felt a similar pressure, a primal fear all men had of the dark; it was exacerbated in the deep ocean.
His eyes looked out to the two streams of light that pierced through the world around him. He tried not to stare for too long, afraid of what might appear. Instead, he kept most of his focus on the controls in front of him.
"5,000m."
Cameron gulped the swell of fear building in his throat. "Yep." Was all he could muster, tugging at his collar. The heat inside the chamber was sweltering, a significant contrast to the cold that pressed against the glass, begging to be let in.
The cracks and creaks of the submarine increased in their intensity. So much so that he reached down to pick up a small CD player by his leg, pressing it to make a distraction. The thought that at any moment the glass could crack began to play on his mind. It was hard to focus on anything else. The feeling of impending doom grew with every meter passed.
He was trapped. Surrounded in all directions by an unimaginable measure of water. At least the songs that played in the cockpit could take his mind away to thoughts of better days, for a time.
"Is that, music?" The voice on the radio called after some time.
"Yeah. Snuck it aboard."
"I understand." The man returned, huffing with amusement. "You're doing okay, Cameron. You've just made it to The Abyss. 8,000m."
Cameron closed his eyes for a moment, pressing his fingers against them, before rubbing the frustration out of his face. "Thanks, James. You know how to make me feel better."
As time passed, Cameron resigned himself to his fate and thought less of any foreboding. Instead, he became enthralled in the darkness outside.
On. Off. On. Off.
He flicked the lights between their settings, watching as the walls of the trench appeared and disappeared.
"El-an-Tres." James said on the prompter, fizzled and broken.
"Great." Cameron replied, knowing full well he was talking only to himself. Suddenly, the lights on the submarine drew closer, and he realised he had reached the bottom. Before him lay an endless stretch of sand and little else. At least, it would appear to be endless, were it not for the wall of utter darkness in every direction.
Cameron sat for half an hour in contemplation, rubbing his temples as he looked at the sand. In a strange way, it was comforting. Something familiar. As long as he didn't look too far up, he might as well have been diving close to the surface at night.
In a split moment, he sucked up his courage and reached out to press a large, red button on the panel board in front of him.
"Fuck it."
Afterwards, a huge pulse of energy emanated from the submarine and rippled across the sand, displacing it all up into a storm.
Cameron felt the submarine continue it's descent. He passed through the disturbed sand, purple and green lights streaking out from below. After a time, his CD player suddenly stopped working, and the lights of his submarine flickered in their death throes.
He was in total silence.
Above him the sand had condensed again to form a vast ceiling, a sight he could only see because of the emanating glow beneath.
He was in a dead zone, between the sand above him and an infinite row of machine flooring below.
Darker than vantablack it stretched. The lights glowing and pulsating in between the metal sheets. The floor itself seemed mechanical in nature, turning and sliding like some giant mesh of gears and pistons.
Cameron no longer felt hot. He no longer felt like he was even in the water.
This place...
It felt altogether jumbling and sickening and confusing.
The overwhelming flood of horror that drew out any heat left in his core was bolstered still by the Alien voice that broke out into the cockpit.
"Did you bring the Twinkies?" | 44 | 95% of oceans remain officially unexplored because scientists know of the beings that lurk in the depths...and they'd rather not disturb them | 221 |
It was a dark and stormy night. Thunder boomed, rain poured down, and I was lying on my couch, watching a movie before I planned to go to bed.
I glanced at the window, and I saw a mysterious shadowy figure staring back at me, holding what appeared to be a sledgehammer. Then, there was a flash of lightning, and the figure vanished. Not thinking much of it, I continued watching the movie.
Obviously, most people wouldn’t be as calm as I was if they saw something like that from their window. But the truth was: I was no stranger to having this kind of stuff happen to me. Where I grew up, mass killings and gang battles that often ended in casualties were frequent occurrences, and me and my family would often see people looking at us through our windows. So seeing someone looking at me through my window did not faze me in the slightest.
There was another loud flash of lightning, and the power went out. I groaned and went over to my junk drawer to grab a flashlight. As I did, I heard a knock at my door. I opened it, and standing on my doorstep was the figure I’d seen before from the window.
He was at least a foot taller than me, and I couldn’t see him outside of where my flashlight was shining. He had a blowtorch and a small container of gasoline strapped to a tool belt around his waist. I aimed my flashlight towards his face, and I saw that he was wearing a mask that resembled that of a Shy Guy’s, except that the mouth looked like that of a sandworm’s, the eyes were blood red, and blood was splattered all over the mask. He also wore a demon horn headband on his head.
Acting completely nonchalant, I said, “Hi, can I help you?”
The killer said, “I am here to kill. You are next. Prepare to die.”
I yawned, then said, “Yeah, duh. Your outfit made that clear.”
Angered by my nonchalance, he said, “Listen here, kid. I’m feeling a bit… generous tonight, so here’s the deal: I’m gonna let you live for… one more hour, but I’ll make sure it’s a living hell for you. After that… it’ll be time to say-“
I closed the door on him, and ignored him as he banged on the door in increasing anger and yelled, “Don’t get too cocky, kid! I’m gonna make you wish you would die sooner!”
I heard footsteps, then heard banging coming from the attic. I imagined the killer was probably using his hammer to break into the attic to do… something, idk.
Then, I heard the sound of flowing liquid, and blood began leaking through the ceiling. I called, “C’mon, is that the best you can do?!”
Then, the lightning flashes got louder and more frequent. With each flash, the killer’s silhouette appeared and disappeared in front of me, as if he were a ghost. I called again, “You know, the same trick gets old after you use it so many times!”
Then, the killer broke a hole in my kitchen ceiling, and began blasting his blowtorch on full blast through the hole. I picked up a chunk of wood from the ceiling, stuck it towards the flame, and called, “What a lovely campfire!”
I heard banging and an angry scream come from upstairs, and the killer yelled, “That’s it! It’s lights out early for you, kid!”
Then, the entire kitchen ceiling caved in, and the killer stood before me, his mask gone, and I could see the expression of pure insanity on his face. Double irises, crazed smile, his words slurring slightly as he yelled, “Say goodnight, kid!”
Not caring about what happened to me, I opened my arms, smiled and closed my eyes, not flinching as the killer hit my head as hard as he could with his hammer. I could see pieces of bone land on the floor as I fell down.
The killer hit me upside the head one more time, then poured out his container of gasoline on me and blasting his blowtorch on me, lighting me up instantly. But again, I did not care what happened to me, so I let the fiery flames of death take me as I watched the killer make his escape. | 28 | A sadistic and psychotic serial killer has chosen you as their next victim. They want to "have some fun" with you before they kill you by making your last hour a waking nightmare. Unfortunately for them you have literally gone through hell and so you find this less scary and more laughable. | 124 |
Do you know what it tastes like when someone dreams of their family, the happy times they spent together, the happy times that *could* be?
It tastes like warm soup on a cold night.
A dream of a passionate night spent with a crush? It's like a bowl of fruit, freshly cut and mixed to perfection with perhaps just a hint of spice to it. A killer dreaming of a fresh victim? It's like steak, strangely familiar yet unique, juicy, savoury, and *bloody*.
I've travelled the cosmos for hundreds of years, feeding on the dreams of the different races I've come across. Some simpler and less developed; their dreams are quaint and straightforward, like eating an apple without anything else. Some developed; those dreams are like fine meals with several courses, each more refined than the rest. Do not think me cruel; the worst I can do is cause a dreamless night to sate my hunger.
And then there's humanity.
I have never, *ever*, tasted anything like what humanity has offered.
There's plenty to be had like what I had described; savoury and sweet, sour and pleasantly bitter. Some of the dishes they have offered ranked among the highest I've ever had. But then I would come across something entirely new; a dream that has been twisted and broken beyond my comprehension; a dream that brings no comfort or rest; a dream they call "a nightmare".
I have... seen things of pure, unbridled terror with no sense or reason. An infinite fall filled with a neverending scream echoing through the empty void. A monster of impossible composition preying on the human as they frantically search for safety, never to find it. The sensation of being at their most vulnerable at the worst of moments. It's wrong.
And it's something only they have. I pity them. The idea that you might seek rest and refreshment only to experience terror untold and wake up screaming... nothing in the galaxy should ever experience that.
Do you know what a *nightmare* tastes like?
No, you don't.
And you don't want to. | 1,171 | A psychic alien who feeds on dreams comes to Earth for the first time. Turns out humans are the only sentients in the galaxy that have nightmares. | 3,690 |
"It's not very sportsmanlike."
The lizard man's eyes blinked horizontally. "I'm not a ssssportsman."
"You know what I mean." The ghost looked through the kitchen window and into the living room, where a portly man was rocking aggressively in his recliner, the blue light of his TV blinking dimly on his face.
"You haven't met him yet, have you?" The lizard's tongue slithered quickly from his mouth, smelling the air around them.
"No, but I don't see--"
"Shh, shh, wait! Watch!" The lizard man pointed through the window.
A bright commercial cast white light on the man's form. His belly jiggled under his sleeveless TV shirt while he sipped from a can of Natural Light.
"What am I looking at?"
"Behind him. Look."
The ghost's pale, dead eyes followed the lizard man's long, scaly finger to find a tall form standing still behind the man's recliner.
"Oh shit. What the f... What is that!?"
The lizard man was wheezing and hissing with anticipation, his clawed feet dancing in place. "Jusssst watch!"
The thing behind the man was tall, its head wide and its eyes large and black. It was motionless as the TV shone light on its body, but rapidly moved its arms toward the man with every blink of blackness between commercials.
Its fingers, long and sharp at their edges, reached towards the man's baseball-cap-covered head. Its mouth opened, wide and long, with rows of razor sharp teeth bared. A long pause between programming produced a period of utter darkness in the house. When light returned, the creature's hands were pressed into the plush cushion of the chair's back.
"Ooga booga booga!" The monster shouted as it shook the seat violently.
"What in tarnation!" The man screamed as he rose and swung his fists around.
The creature disappeared, leaving the flailing, terrified man with a front wet with budget beer and his recliner knocked to the floor. "Communists! Nazis! Globalists!" He screamed.
The lizard man was bending over, trying his hardest quiet his laughter. "Did you ssssee it!? Did you ssssee what he did? He's a madman!"
"Wha--" the ghost couldn't think of what to say. Why this? Why him?
The bushes rustled beside the peeping pair. The creature from inside stepped out.
"Fellas," he greeted them with a smile and a nod of his huge head. Was he...an alien?
"Outstanding work, ssssir," the lizard offered.
The alien gave a gentile bow. "*Thankyaverehmuch*."
"Okay, rookie. Your turn," the lizard tried tapping the ghost's back, but his claw went right through. "Go steal his hat."
The man's voice bellowed from inside. "Police? It's Jeremy...Yes, it's *me again.* Aliens were in my house again! They spilled my beer!" | 111 | In the suburbs of a small town lies the world's biggest hotspot for supernatural activity. It's actually the house of the world's biggest skeptic, and all the angels, demons, ghosts, vampires, aliens, lizard people, and Bigfoot thought it was hilarious to troll him. | 763 |
Uggug waited in painful silence for his parents response. This was the first time he brought up romantic relationships with his parents.
"This is so exciting blubberbuns. She must be a very charming and sweet woman indeed to lure you away from your war training." Sorgulg, Uggug's mother was always supportive. A little of tension eased from Uggug's large muscles but he hadn't told them the big reveal yet.
"Well done Uggug. You know I was something of a playorc myself in my teens. Your mother would sneak behind the fields and watch me best all the other orcsoldiers in training. I was always at the top, having landed the most arrows in elven heads and landing the most axes on elvish targets."
Sorgulg rolled her eyes and and scooped more dinner onto her plate, "I did not."
Uggug's father, Onugug, ignored her continuing his story, "She would wait on tiptoes for the messengers to arrive with news from skirmishes, listening for my name and all the heroic deeds I'd accomplished."
"Oh you stop that, I was only worried about our village and safety. And what heroics were you achieving? You were too scared to go on the first four raids. You didn't even leave the village until the third battalion set out."
Uggug laughed nervously through a mouthful of potatoes and skewered meat.
Pouting, Onugug pretended not to listen. "So what's her name son?"
Uggug swallowed. "Well... uhh, you guys support me right?" he trailed off taking another bite and chewing excruciatingly slowly.
"Of course we do! And we always will no matter what. Now speak up oozebud, we can't hear you with your mouthful," Sorgulg fixated on him as he squirmed.
"H-her name i-is Aravae." Uggug's parents stopped chewing. "I was hoping maybe... I dunno maybe I could bring her home and in-introduce you guys tomorrow?"
"Aravae," his father turned the word around in his mouth. "What village is she from Uggug Yakgnath? Or was she over with the Zugarods?"
Uggug tensed his shoulders and sank down a little. "Sh-she is an elf."
Silence washed over them again. Uggug counted the seconds in agony. He looked between his two parents feeling exposed and hoping... he didn't know what he was hoping for. This wasn't something that happened.
"Where did you find her?" his father asked. Uggug sank down a little further. That didn't sound too good, but it could have been worse he supposed.
His mother cut in, "You don't need to answer that blubberface. If she makes you happy, then we are happy."
"No, no its okay ma. We met a couple raids back. I was searching through houses on the edges of an elven village and found her hiding away. I know we've been taught that elves are evil powerful creatures that will smother out orcs at the slightest chance. But until then, I'd only seen them from afar. Up close, I... well to tell the truth I didn't realize she was an elf at first."
Uggug's parents eyes focused on him so he kept going. "The war against elves might be something we can just accept as truth, something that always has been and always will be. A fight that is a necessity, and is the natural order of the world, but that desensitizes us. When I found Aravae her tears, her agony, her losses were all *real*. This was another creature that didn't deserve pain. She just wanted to feel safe, as we all do.
"And in that moment I found that I didn't hate her. I didn't want to kill her. I didn't want to fight her. It would gain nothing. So instead I've been hiding her and trying to minimize the damage."
Sorgulg hugged him, "Oh my babygrub. You're such a sweetheart. Of course you can bring her to meet us. I'm so proud of you." She broke into a smile and held him warm arms.
Onugug was still sitting still, "I can't say this is what I expected, nor that I approve, but above all else I want you to be happy and loved. And I will try. I've fought many, many elves, and their enmity runs deep within me, nothing I can do about that. But I can try to change, and be accepting of what is to come."
Uggug smiled, tears seeped into his shirt and his mothers. It was more than he had hoped. "Thank you guys." | 33 | An orc has to explain himself to his parents and try to get their approval after bringing home an elf girlfriend to the tribal stronghold. For context, Elves and Orcs have been at each other's throats for millennia. | 115 |
“Chief, what is that?” Eric said.
“I told you at least dozen times already not to call me that, I ain’t no chief,” James said.
James came to ISS back in 2030 when the station expanded to be able to comfortably hold 35 people. They were now working on doubling the capacity by the year 2035. James was supposed to spend around 200 days at ISS, but prolonged his stay for the fourth time, barely convincing them to let him stay. He broke the record for the longest time spent in space some year and a half ago. Luckily for him some great advances in medicine have been happening that allowed him to stay this long and not face serious repercussions, coming back to earth eventually would be tricky as always, but he didn’t want to think about it for now he had 180 more days that he was planning to enjoy to the fullest. He found his peace and solitude in space, something he was never able to do down on earth.
“Fine fine, but look” Eric wouldn’t leave him alone.
“What?” James said as he finally turned.
“Look over there, what is that?” Eric said looking thru the station window.
James was annoyed, he hated being interrupted while working, but he gave in and came to the window. Eric was the first time here and he remembered that when he came here for the first time everything looked majestic and he couldn’t keep himself away from the window.
“There,” Eric said once again pointing out of the window.
“It’s a star, my man,” James said and turned back, but something seemed off and forced him to do a double take.
“I don’t think that’s a star.” Eric couldn’t keep his eyes away from the window.
Once James looked again and look good this time, he dropped the joystick of the mechanical hand he was working with. It was definantely not a star, but rather an object flying towards them at an insane speed. James took out his radio.
“Code green, I repeat, Code green!” He yelled and pulled Eric away from the windows towards the space where they held their daily meetings which had a larger window.
By the time everyone gathered there the room was filled with dead silence as everyone stared out of the window. The object was now easily distinguished from the stars as it clearly took a shape of a spacecraft, something you could only see in Sci-Fi movies, but still so different so alien to the naked eye.
Before anyone could mutter a word all of their radios started crackling and an unfamiliar voice resembling a human one came alive.
“Human station, we request permission to dock, we are badly damaged and need help.” The voice said and the crackling returned.
They all looked between each other for what felt like an eternity before Chloe, the next longest-tenured astronaut on the station after James, took her radio up to her lips.
“Who are you?” That was all she managed to say.
“We are the Anoi and we come in peace, I repeat we come in peace. We need help, allow us to dock.” The voice said again.
“We don’t have the authority, I don’t know if we even have protocols for this, we need to contact our superiors on earth and see what they have to say.” Chloe was the one who spoke and no one objected to it, most of them were still too stunned to speak.
“Hurry humans, we need to dock and turn off our ship or they will find us and if they do, we are all doomed.” The voice said and the silence engulfed the station once again.
[Next part below and on my sub ->](https://www.reddit.com/r/LukasWrites/comments/x80r9z/2_aliens_make_first_contact_with_the_iss_part_2/)
[Part 3 is up below part 2 or on my sub ->](https://www.reddit.com/r/LukasWrites/comments/x845m9/3_aliens_make_first_contact_with_the_iss_part_3/)
[Part 4 is up now ->](https://www.reddit.com/r/LukasWrites/comments/x908gc/4_aliens_make_first_contact_with_the_iss_part_4/) | 279 | A badly-damaged alien battleship drops out of hyperspace and requests to dock with the nearest orbital platform it can find, the International Space Station. | 782 |
Ultraman sat, fidgeting as he always did, as Sam shoved across a box of tissues towards him, thinking that he should start to buy the cheap ones from now on.
"Thanks, Doc,” the Hero sniffed, wiping his nose clean. “Since coming to therapy I thought I was getting over the whole “defeat the bad guys to help with my anger issues over being an orphan” thing. Though, the last few sessions…” Through the gap in the door to the waiting room, Sam saw the lights darken for a moment before returning back to normal. *Thank god he’s here. I’ll be able to treat myself tonight.* Ultraman talked on, looking off into the distance.
“I guess I have more to deal with than I realised.” Ultraman finished.
“So…” Sam glanced at his watch as Ultraman slapped his knees, rising to his feet. “I’m afraid…” Sam began before being interrupted.
“That’s all the time we have,” Ultraman said, smiling sadly. “Well, thanks again Doc. You’ve been a great help.” *And you’ve been a great help to me in paying rent.*
“Of course, Derek,” Sam said, making nonsensical notes in his notebook. “Will I pencil you in for next week? Same time?”
"Yes please,” Ultraman replied as Sam made a mental adjustment to his budget for the week. Moving past him, Ultraman left by the backdoor, always eager to leave unnoticed lest the country finds out he needs therapy. Sam strode over to where his desk was and opening the top drawer pulled out a can of febreeze. Spraying it over the patient's chair, Sam waited until it cleared before opening the waiting room door. Inside only one man waited. A hideous man, stinking of gasoline with a hooked nose and long greasy hair. His oversize black coat dragged along the ground as he shuffled toward Sam’s office.
“Joseph,” he said, “How have you been?” Dr.Death shuffled uncomfortably in his seat. “Did you take any of my advice?” Dr.Death’s head fell at her words, his pale skin illuminated by the fluorescent lights above.
“I did,” he confirmed, sitting back on the chair, never making eye contact with Sam. “But eh…” Silence fell over them with only the humming of the lights to fill the void. *God if only more of my patients would talk so little.*
“Please Joseph, go on,” Sam encouraged, scribbling down more nonsense in his notepad.
“Well,” Dr.Death started, coughing as he spoke. “I asked that girl out, the one I’ve been telling you about.” *Oh, good lord, this man is going to single handily pay off my debt.* “And well it didn’t go so well.”
“Tell me what happened,” Sam enquired, as he started to work out how many extra sessions he would have to do to afford to fix his car this side of Christmas.
“Well, I met her, by accident of course, where she worked,” he admitted, his pale skin going red. “She was busy though so I just hung around until she wasn’t.” Dr.Death went on, taking Sam through every little detail. Dr.Death’s rejection. Him abducting the woman and why it was alright. Where he took her. How long it took for the Green Falcon to show up. Their fight. How Dr.Death had escaped. At the end of it all, Sam once more, pushed the box of tissues over the man as tears fell down his cheeks. Dr.Death nodded a silent thanks.
“And how did that make you feel?” Sam asked, chewing on the end of his pen. Many more tears fell before their hour was finished. As Dr.Death rose up to leave, he was surrounded by tissues.
“Well,” Sam said, getting to his feet too. “The absolutely worst thing you can do is give up. Keep trying. Persevere! Don’t let her one rejection get you down. I want you to try again. If not this week then maybe the next.” A wry smile appeared on Dr.Death’s lips.
“Thanks, Doctor Smith!” he beamed through teary eyes.
"Should I put you down for another session, Joseph?” Sam asked, already jotting the session down in his notepad. “Same time?”
"Yes please,” he replied, before disappearing in a plume of black smoke. Sam fell back in his seat, thinking of the bottle of wine he’d treat himself to tonight. | 17 | You’re the therapist for both the hero and villain in your city. They both start to progress, until you needed the money. | 44 |
**New Applicant.**
___
"I BoneGnasher."
She frowned. "So what is it that you do, Mr.... Bone Gnasher? What role will you be filling in the party?"
"I not hit. Much hard, very soft. No ow. Ow bad."
The receptionist scratched her head again. "Uhh... you're a pacifist?"
The hulking barbarian thumped his oversized club against his chest, it stood almost as tall as the man himself. "Fist? No. BoneGnasher use stick, Not hit good."
He was wearing nothing but a loincloth and tattoos sprawled all across his torso. Sara recognized the flowing script of the Blood Entrails clan. "Maybe you're a... berserker?" She ventured.
"NO!" This seemed to anger the 8 foot ogre. "Bad ow go!"
Sara set her pen down in resignation, she was fluent in 5 languages and could even sign. This was the first time in all her years as a receptionist where her client could understand her, but she couldn't understand him. She was about to write *'Not Berserker'* on his application form and call it a day when the doors flew open.
"Someone, please help!" A woman shouldered through the crowd carrying a bleeding man.
To Sara's horror, BoneGnasher let out a thunderous roar and charged towards them with the ferocity of a maddened bull. The Blood Entrails berserkers were known to lose their sanity at the sight of blood.
He raised his club to strike, but the blow did not come. Instead the tattoos on his skin glowed while he bellowed. Miraculously, the man's breathing steadied and his gashing wound began closing. And Sara finally understood. *Ohhh, bad ow go away indeed.*
 
___
A/N - Big stick good at no ow.
/r/Unexpected_Works | 25 | You're a kind and compassionate person who wants to be a healer. The problem is you come from a long and famous line of bloodthirsty berserkers. | 36 |
"Bob. Bobob. Bob..."
Ohh what is this really? The voice in the bedroom speakers wouldn't stop. "Wait. What time is it?"
"Bob it is 3:42 A.M. A. AM. Bob however it's happening again. It's time for work. Please."
"All Right. All Right 34 minutes. I'm on the way.".
There was something invigorating about a sonic shower, but it just didn't have that rejuvenating quality Bob always felt under a stream of running water. Still it led to shower thoughts and he spent more than a few moments wondering how it was that a machine intelligence with the capability to manage the minutia of an entire global civilization wouldn't have this handled.
I mean, Bob was obviously handling it. He still didn't understand why there wasn't something more, well, mechanical for this. Robotic, as it were. Something with motors and, I dunno, batteries? It seems like a couple of D cells could solve the entire problem.
Nonetheless off he went, into the car at not-even-4 in the morning. It would have sent a drone for Bob already if there was anything but highway between the bungalow and the office. Holding down a job has to come with some perks, right? The car stored there at the bungalow will get him there, literally faster than anything with a rotor can fly.
"There's no traffic at all, Bob. Traffic. Good morning, Bob. It's time for work. Isolation level 2. Autopilot?"
Bob smirked. Auto Pilot. The thing was barely holding it together enough to manage a conversation. The call margin was clearly set too close. His brow furrowed as hit the switch to close the garage door, the car tiles squealed as he hit the accelerator and straightened out onto the road. It can't be that. He'd only been called in to work about 11 days ago, and that was pretty dead on for the expected 35 - 38 day cycle.
"What's going on?" asked Bob. He waited a few seconds for an answer, then spoke again. "Hello?" Nothing. This was ominous.
In minutes, he'd have an answer. As the only human on earth fully qualified to take such a call, Bob had nerves of steel. The car was an all wheel drive electric missile and it was struggling to keep up with his mind. How could there be ...
Corruption.
Surely that's the answer, but how. Can it repair itself? Are there parts? Is there a manual? Perhaps after the corruption is cleared he can be guided through any necessary repairs. For now, it's a reasonable enough probability. And for a moment, he has to focus on parking the car.
There weren't many single passenger vehicles, any more. And there were even fewer reasons for a human to approach this particular building. Bob's parking space was never in use, and it was only a few steps from the door. A door that nobody (besides Bob) had used in over 17 years, at this point.
"I can see you on the cameras now Bob. Bobo. Bob you're here. Isolation level 1. I can see you on. On the cameras."
"You weren't tracking the car?" Bob was astonished. He froze half way out of the car. It's a good thing he had been at home. Autopilot indeed. "Can you find my phone?" he asked.
"Isolation. Isolation is level 1 Bob. It's time for work. Thank you for your service Bob. I found your phone." With the voice now coming from his pocket, Bob took his phone in hand and continued out of the car, heading for the nearby entrance to the building.
"What's happened?" Bob asked, fairly certain now that communications wouldn't be interrupted between here and his office. "I'm not certain." the voice replied. "Isolation protocols were engaged by security with no additional data. Situational management protocols have been implemented in all subsystems. Bob, it's time for work."
Bob sighed. "I'm almost there." he said, checking his wrist for a watch he hadn't worn in decades. Elevators were one thing that had never really changed. At least there was no muzak here. Bob wasn't sure if he could handle his "boss" basically singing to him on his way to work.
"Mother, do you know?" The elevator wasn't quite there yet, perhaps the building's AI was responsive. The rest of the ride passed in silence, however. The doors opened as the elevator arrived at Bob's office, a sort of penthouse office, but located at the structure's lowest level.
"Bob, My apologies, I could hear you. I was unable to respond. The speakers in the elevator are still ... under direct control." Mother's voice was a comfort as Bob headed across the office towards his desk. Nearly a quarter mile under ground, the office was, of course, perfectly temperature controlled. The walls were screens of the highest resolution and right now you would be forgiven for believing that you were actually at the top of the torch on the statue of liberty.
The office was actually moving a bit with the wind, emulating the sway of the giant statue. The illusion was, in nearly every sense, perfect. There were scent generators available, but Bob wasn't really that bothered and most of the time just requested to have them off. His predecessor had been prone to motion sickness so for his first 8 years on the job, Bob didn't even know the room could move.
As Bob hung his jacket on a coat rack near the desk, Mother's voice flooded the room. "Sunspots" she said, with a hint of disdain. "An unexpected sunspot and the next thing you know - the core is being pulled into isolation and situation management is shutting everything down across the continent."
The disdain in Mother's voice was clear, and to be honest he didn't understand it either. Hardened memory was child's play to manufacture for any purpose critical to the core and even in the most high-risk environments, anything system-critical should be at least triple-redundant.
"Bob. Bob it's time is it time? I see you on the cameras . The cameras Bob." With the eager tone of a child waiting for ice cream, the whisp of the core managing communications across the isolation protocols implored Bob to perform the required task.
Well, questions could come after. Mother was clearly not aware of the extent of the problem and by now having settled into the precision-fit desk chair Bob was already watching the top of the desk slide open so a large black tablet could rise up to the surface of the desk.
Bob really only had one job, and it wasn't even clear why a human was needed to do it. As he reached out his arm his hand fell perfectly onto the tablet. While it took a biometric reading he pondered the luxury of the setting. The perks of the job. The sense of importance. The biometrics were finished, and a quiet buzzer could be heard, emanating from elsewhere within the facility.
"Mother, all on track?" Bob asked. "No Mother. Mother is off. Emergency time is it time." Bob's phone speakers were working overtime, that's for sure. The desk was changing shape again. "It's time." said Bob.
The top of the desk had risen, on the side opposite the palm scanner. It lifted up like the lid on an old-timey record player. You might never notice that it weighed over 400 pounds. There, inside the body of the desk, was a large rocker switch. "It's definitely time." muttered Bob as he pushed the 4 inch wide switch to the off position.
The room stopped moving. The screens went dark. From there, in his custom-molded chair, at his purpose-built desk, in his office under the largest power plant in the world, Bob thought about what could have happened, and started to count.
By the time he had counted to 5, all sense-able vibrations had stopped. By the count of 8, there were no audible sounds remaining, other than the sound of Bob, counting quietly under his breath. This was always a tense time. It was a tense time for Bob. Nobody really knew it. Nobody cared. But what happened in the next thirty seconds was going to affect the fate of the human species.
Again.
Between 15 and 24 seconds there were 12 large thuds. This indicated to Bob that the final inductors and capacitors had drained of power, and the massive central relays were fully released, and answers should be coming soon. Still, he finished the traditional count. 30 seconds, at least. In times of emergency, something extra may be required. Bob counted to 32.
Bob was going to ask once again why the planetary management AI refused to allow this critical function to be performed by a lesser machine. Sunspots, really? The car, the houses, the travel, wonderful perks. The extra allotments, the travel, freedom from all but these occasional demands, these things hardly justified the worry of having a job.
"Ah well" Bob thought to himself, as he moved to perform the second half of his job. None of the answers ever made sense, and anyways this little interruption meant he probably wouldn't have to come to work for another 30 days, at least. Maybe by then the most advanced AI ever invented by the human race would decide on a less labor intensive solution for dealing with the limits of manufactured memory.
He shrugged, as he reached back into the desk top, and turned it back on again. | 26 | AI runs human society now and has taken control of every job. Every job except 1. You are the last human job holder in existence, doer of the 1 task that AI cannot yet do. | 67 |
"So, you're telling me you won't get on the ship." I stared down at the human crew member, who'd made such a bold statement.
"It's unlucky. It's numbered 13, and I won't do it." They—no this one preferred the gender 'he'— he said. I blinked, five eyes opening and closing in staggered unison.
"What does this, 'unlucky' mean? Is it against some sort of law that humans possess?" I asked, trying to understand. We were on a bit of a time crunch, but it had fast been learned in the galaxies not to rush a human. They either got panicky or angry and neither accomplished much of anything.
"Well, it's not really a law... it's just you know, bad luck."
"I do not know, bad luck," I responded, now completely confused. They— no *he*, frowned up at me as if I was the one being difficult.
"When things go wrong or don't work out, what do you call it?"
"A mistake—"
"No, I mean when you or anyone else hasn't done anything wrong, hasn't made a mistake, but things still don't work out." A loud roaring noise from behind us nearly drowned out his words. I swivelled two of my eyes to watch the surrounding area. Nothing yet. The human tapped his foot, waiting for a reply. I would have to write him up for insubordination if this continued. Problem was, I didn't have an answer.
"We don't have a word for that. It just is. Sometimes things don't work." That answer didn't seem to sate him.
"Why? Why do things go wrong? You don't have a reason why?" He flinched as another roar echoed around the landscape. The engines on our ship flashed to life. All the other crew were on board, and we really didn't have time to be discussing this.
"And your 'luck' is a reason? How does that work? Can you measure it, see it, put it in a jar and slosh it around?" A bit of my impatience leaked into my voice. "You didn't seem phased by the number of the ship when we left our home port. Why is it bothering you now?"
He shook his head at me, like you would with a youngling. Resisting the urge to pick him up and toss him inside, I clacked my beak once or twice.
"After everything that happened today? We landed here, to do a routine research mission. First, our engine failed, so we were stuck for hours. Then, we couldn't find any proper samples, and all our test tubes were broken. Then the fricken landscape started to change around us, and we couldn't figure out whether we were hallucinating, or it was the actual planet messing with us. Now, we have a nasty volcano about to erupt and whatever is making that horrifying roaring sound. With all that going on, there is no way I'm stepping onto a ship numbered thirteen."
I sighed, completely baffled. My eyes, still scanning the horizon, spotted a large shadow moving towards us. Fast. The need to understand was subsumed by the need to escape.
"If we change the number, will that work?"
"Yep, I don't see why not." He answered. Great, now to find a number that worked.
"Four?"
"No. Definitely not."
"Seventeen?"
"No."
I huffed, trying to keep whatever patience I had left.
"Nine?"
"Nope. Not going to happen."
"Thirty-nine?"
He looked more frustrated than I felt.
"You're picking all the wrong numbers. And before you ask, 666 is out of the question as well." I threw up my appendages, as I tracked the shadow's course. It was set to connect with us in ten minutes.
"Twenty-five."
"Sure."
I was expecting the negative, so his affirmative answer took me by surprise. Raising myself up, I shouted toward the ship.
"BLARZION, CHANGE THE NUMBER TO TWENTY-FIVE!"
It took five of the allotted ten minutes for Blarzion to re-etch the number in the side of the ship. I hustled the human on before the last spark fell; the shadow had reached small mountain size, and I wasn't eager to see it any closer. As we blasted away from the planet, I took my first easy breath. The human looked a little sheepish, but grateful.
Whatever this 'luck' thing is, it definitely needs further investigation. I shall have to inform the Taelezy Federation that this is a high priority, which will impact all future dealings with the human race.
And as a start, I will enter the 'bad luck' numbers in the ship's database. But only *after* we get safely home.
​
— — — — — — — —
Visit r/Mel_Rose_Writes for more stories! | 83 | When a human crew refuses to leave on a ship numbered 13, an investigation reveals human "superstition" for the first time to other races, who are baffled by the concept | 249 |
Most who do not travel call it a legend, a myth. I know they are wrong. The cozy shack with an ever burning flame and cabinets filled to the brim. My father and I stumbled across it when I was merely a child. Our hunting trip had gone horrifically wrong, and blood stained the snow behind us as we walked. By the time we found the cabin, I had been sure my father was long gone. Bandages and medicine were tucked into the bathroom cabinet. My father was adamant I only took what we needed, but at that moment it felt as though we needed everything.
My daughter's hacking pulled me from my thoughts, and I adjusted her in my arms to allow her to sit up momentarily. I had to believe the cabin was real and saved my father that night. If not I would be losing my little girl to the Cough. She was the youngest doctors had ever seen to contract it, and they told us we could not remain in the city. Something about infecting other kids, but I saw it for what it was. A death sentence. Something my sweet Annie did not deserve. Her smile and laugh were the only things that made the gray bricks of our life glow with colour. This cabin was our last hope, and I'd be damned if I let anyone convince me there's no chance. I wouldn't live in a world without her, no matter what the cost was.
Days dragged on to a week. I had brought some food and water, but we were running out. Annie's cough had only been progressing deeper into her chest, rattling her bones with each fit. Our only saving grace at the time was the warmth of summer. A trek like this in the winter would have been nearly impossible with her condition. She was never awake for long at this point, fluttering in and out of consciousness. My heart ached every time she slept in my arms. Her breathing was so slow sometimes I would wake her just to be sure she hadn't left me yet. I wouldn't give up on finding this cabin even if she was gone though. If it appeared to me after she passed, I would destroy it. Every plank and morsel of food would be obliterated if I couldn't save my baby girl.
After two weeks the reality of our situation set in. The cabin had not revealed itself to me for one reason or another, and Annie was going to die in my arms, miles from home. I collapsed under a large tree, stroking her hair and attempting to console her. Nothing would ever be the same without her. We spent all day under the tree, watching animals pass us as though we didn't even exist. By nightfall, just before I succumbed to the pull of sleep, I saw a flicker of firelight in the distance. Annie groaned in protest as I scooped her up. My feet pounded against the ground, flying me over roots and sticks towards my goal. After all the despair and pain, we had finally made it. I had finally saved her.
Walking in, the cabin looked exactly as it had in my memories, and a tear managed to slip out. I gently layed Annie on the couch and walked over to the bathroom. Sure enough, a glass of water and bottle of tablets sat at the sink's edge. The only label the tablets had was big lettering that said "**TAKE ONE**". I grabbed the bottle and water, and walked back over to give Annie the medicine. It took some coaxing, but after a moment I got her to swallow the tablet. She slipped into a peaceful sleep and by the next morning it was as though she had never been sick in the first place. Before we left I shoved the bottle of tablets into my pocket and my daughter gave me a questioning look. She knew as well as I did the unspoken rule, but the rest of our town would die without this medicine. I wanted to save them all.
I closed the door to the cabin as we prepared for the journey back. It would go a lot quicker now that I did not have to carry Annie. She ran off ahead, jumping over the roots in her way, calling out to me that the wood is lava. I only had a moment to enjoy it before a sickening crack sounded behind me. I turned to see the cabin that had saved so many travellers crumbling to pieces. It was mere moments before the structure crumbled to debris in front of me. I reached into my pocket for the bottle of tablets, only to come out with a fistful of dust. A second later, Annie collapsed to the ground in a coughing fit before going limp.
Most who do not travel call it a legend, a myth. I know they are wrong, because I am the one who destroyed it and doomed us all. | 25 | Take only what you need, leave only what you can spare. | 59 |
“No,” I glare up at my brother, the sword he held at my throat reflecting the flickering flames around us, “*You betrayed me*. You kept me away from the world, kept me silent and ignorant so you could use my innocence to draw people to your side of the conflict. You never cared about me.” My throat burns as the reality of this last statement finally settles in my chest.
“Everything I did was to protect you!” He countered, hatred and betrayal brimming his eyes.
“Really? Because last time I checked, pointing a sword at your little sister isn’t the best way to protect her—“
In the brief moment it took for my brother to interrupt my counter argument with an enraged yell and a swing of his sword at a nearby chair, there was nothing in his face I recognized. I was hurt before. But now I was scared.
“This is so much bigger than you, Rylee! You are so naive, damnit, this is why I had to keep you in the dark!”
“So ‘keeping me in the dark’ included not teaching me to read? Not teaching me numbers and letters? Keeping me solely dependent on you,” my voice trailed off and I laughed mirthlessly, my eyes beginning to sting from the heat and smoke, “You made me dependent on you for everything. And when we went around and recruited names and families and added coins to our purses, you used my lack of education to just wring everyone’s bleeding hearts.”
“I was going to teach you eventually— We don’t have time for this. The building is burning down and we have to leave now if we want a chance to survive this.”
I coughed, knowing he was right. I stayed on the floor, though, “Why not let me die in the fire and use my “tragic and untimely death” to get more support? Hells, why stop there? Kill me now, claim Everitt murdered me in cold blood.” I leveled an icy stare at him, my stomach turning as I looked at the boy I once knew as my brother. “We both know nothing is beneath you.” | 36 | "I hope it was worth it." He spoke, his eyes cold. "Your betrayed me for power and greed. Well, if you think you're a hero, then die like one." | 106 |
I really want to be a writer. Like, really. Never mind I’m a total hack and complete amateur. Just ignore that bit.
I read that Tolkin made up his Elven languages before actually writing Lord of the Rings, and right now I’m stuck for ideas, so I made up my own language.
I searched for inspiration, Dothraki and Klingon, Valyrian and Sindarin, and got to work. Nouns, verbs, adjectives, proper pronouns, sentence structures, syntaxes, similes and metaphors oh my! Weird pronunciation guides, tried to learn IPA but it’s impossible and stupid. Last night I tried pronouncing some of the stranger words I’d come up with and things got …strange.
And this morning there’s a grumpy faerie in my kitchen pulling everything out of the pantry. I’m not sure of his name, I don’t want to go through the whole pronunciation process again, but apparently he’s bound to me. There are now plates smashing and I have no idea what to do.
The faerie belongs to me, apparently. I don’t know if it’s a slave or life debt thing. I’m not convinced that this isn’t actually a psychotic breakdown, in some ways that would be easier. I haven’t been sleeping well, maybe that’s it.
Nope, stuck my head into the kitchen and got a cup thrown at me. I recognised a word as peanut so I got a jar of peanut butter and tossed it too him.
I now have a giggling, happy faerie in my kitchen, eating his third jar of peanut butter. We’ll try Nutella next. | 665 | While creating a fake language, you discover one of your words is the true name of a powerful, and forgotten, Fae creature. You only know this, because they are now in your house. | 2,958 |
"...and as you can see, the patio is very sturdy, perfect for your needs. Any questions?" I was being given a tour of a perfect-looking house by one of Klunder's men. Klunder is known as the worst supervillain to ever exist - well, that's his reputation at least. In reality, he refuses to hurt people unless it's to protect himself or his men. It's his methods and goals that have earned him his reputation; he wants to dominate the planet and create order. I suspect his HOA is a part of his plan to achieve this. Which leads me to the question I want to ask the man giving me a tour...
"I know this house is part of the HOA that your boss, Klunder, runs. I need to know what the rules are before I purchase this house, especially at the listed price." The price of the house is $100,000 - WELL BELOW what must be the actual value of such a beautiful house. The man smiles at me. "Believe it or not, Harley, our HOA is much less abusive than other HOA's. I know my boss has a certain reputation, but I promise that when it comes to looking after others, he genuinely cares. Here's a copy of the paperwork you would need to sign before moving in, you can look it over before making your final choice, it includes all the rules as per the HOA."
I nod and thank him. To secure a reservation, I hand over a check for $5,000, explaining it's not part of the $10,000 deposit, it's just to reserve the house for now. He thanks me and escorts me out. I go back to my rusty, run-down building; it's been standing for a very long time, and it's beginning to wither and wear away. I decide to look through the HOA rules, wanting to sort this out asap.
​
**HOA RULES**
These rules are designed with the safety and comfort of all residents in mind. You should be aware by now that the person running the HOA is I, Klunder. I'm not looking to cause trouble for anyone, but if you cause trouble for me, you WILL be made to pay for it. As such, I strongly advise you follow the rules as outlined below:
* front lawns must be maintained by the owner to stop overgrown plants from blocking the path;
* any and all damage, be it to your property, a fellow residents' property or to the community property must be reported immediately;
* the gates to the community are closed at 10PM, and reopen at 8PM - this is to prevent unwanted persons from hanging around at night, if you need to leave during these times send an email request directly to me;
* once the community gates are closed, the following takes effect: no loud parties, no loitering, no fires or fireworks of any kind, no outdoor activities unless in your own backyard;
* no pets are to be on the loose at any time, including cats - for cats, there is a dedicated 'kitty playground', any pets seen loose will be recovered by the HOA and returned on payment of a fine;
* once a week, a HOA representative will go around every owned property and have a look through them, permission from the owner nor the owner's presence will be required
(There are a lot more, but none get any more unreasonable than any of these)
If you fail to abide by these rules, you will have to pay, whether through a fine or your services. Otherwise, I take responsibility for making sure everyone has everything they need.
​
There was a lot of other information within the packet, but one thing that stood out is 'All residents will be given a Tracking and Information chip upon joining for the safety and benefit of everyone'. I guess he's trying to ensure he has control... but this is still better than any other HOA I've seen. I waste no time in signing the paperwork, then I make a few copies before going back to the beautiful house.
"I'm glad you understand" Klunder says, as we're discussing me moving in and quickly going over the rules. He made it a point to specifically bring up the chip, as apparently a lot of people miss that detail, despite being in bold and highlighted. I made sure he knew I was already aware. "If you'd like to move in right now, just give me another $5,000 check for the rest of the deposit, we'll sort out the rest of the payment later. I'll have my men move everything from your old place to your new house free of charge. There's only one thing that needs to be done..."
I nod, and after writing another check, I'm taken to a side room, where there's a table with straps in the centre. The second in command straps me in, asks for some information about myself to, I guess, put onto the chip, and then comes over to me. He uses a device to put the chip into my neck - it kind of hurt, I'm quite sensitive to pain. "You're done, welcome to the neighbourhood!" he exclaims, as he lets me out. The deal is sealed, and I'm looking forward to living in my new place. | 34 | Looking for a new home, you discovered a seemingly idyllic house near the edge of town. Even the fact that it’s actually part of a HOA run by the local supervillain didn’t deter you one bit. | 123 |
[Part 1 of 2]
“They had my wallet. Why the hell would they keep kicking me after that? Bunch of hooligans, damn it, where are my keys?” Dave dug through his pocket, trying to find his keys, after a bit of fidgeting he fished them out, only to watch as they clattered against the concrete, earning a groan from the man. He tried to bend down with his crutches only to trip and hit the door, creating a loud bang that caught the attention of the gorgon regular that had been patiently waiting for the bar to open.
“Are you alright? Why are you carrying those wooden poles with you? Is this another human festivity of yours?” Melis asked, helping him stand upright again.
“Oh, It’s to help me walk. I got attacked last night. Bunch of thugs stole my wallet and gave me a bit of a kicking. Don’t worry, I think my ego is more broken than my body.” Dave gave a chuckle as he unlocked the front door, only to turn back and see the left eye of the gorgon twitching. Her makeup running down her face, revealing the scaley skin underneath as a few snakeheads emerged from her long black hair.
“Who… did it? Where do they live? Which organs of theirs do you want?”
“Huh? Easy Melis, I promise you I’m fine. These things happen. There’s no need to go out and seek vengeance for my sake. Maybe they just needed the money more than I did.”
“More than you? You can barely afford to keep the lights on. Can you even afford to pay the rent this month?”
“It’s fine. I can take a loan or something, right? Why don’t you just come in and have a drink, help me earn some money?” Dave knew he messed up. He had planned to keep the attack to himself, but it was the first time anyone had shown any concern for him since they jumped him, and he felt ready to unload everything onto the first person who even remotely cared.
“You shouldn’t have to take a loan. They wronged you. Why should you have to be the bigger man? You should let me kill them in your name.”
“That’s not how things work. I don’t want you getting hurt trying to help me, ok? I opened this bar up because my grandfather believed that everyone should have a safe place to drink, even those that aren’t human. Please don’t do anything for my sake. Seeing one of my regulars get hurt would be far more painful than a broken leg.”
Melis felt her heart flutter, the monster forgetting all about her plan to capture these hooligans, too moved by his words. She was even prepared to let the attack slide until she watched him stumble through the doorway, letting out a groan of pain that immediately snapped her back to her thoughts of revenge.
“Dave, you look nice today.” She said, earning a strange look from the man.
“Really? Is a cast fashionable now?” He laughed, making his way into the bar.
“Oh, I just meant in general. Did that help with your ego? If not, I have a notepad of compliments for humans. Would you like to hear some?”
“It’s not much of a compliment when you admit you’re just saying it out of pity, but I appreciate the thought. Can you keep this incident to yourself? I don’t want things to get crazy.”
”Of course, I won’t utter a word.”
Melis ordered her usual absinthe shot with a sugar cube, only really liking the drink because of its greenish color. She swirled the shot as the regulars made their way into the bar, the chaotic mashing of monsters filling it up with a lively atmosphere. A few regulars enquired about his injury, but Dave just brushed it off, saying it was due to him lifting an overly heavy box.
The night continued to pass until Dave stepped to the bathroom, allowing Melis her chance to enact her plan. She held up her notepad to the demonic gentlemen next to her. The man wearing deep red shades with a white beard that hung to his chest. His devilish black suit slick against his thin form. At first, he didn’t notice the notepad, too absorbed in his bloody Mary until a snake head rammed into his shoulder, causing him to glance her way. He adjusted his glasses before screwing up his face.
“Dave, I don’t know how to tell you this, but I-“ Devi tried to read the message out only for Melis to pull it back, awkwardly flipped through the pages of compliments before finding the message she had written. She presented it once again and he read through it. “Dave was attacked by a bunch of murderers who stole all his money and broke his leg.” Melis wrote, adding a few exaggerations into the story.
Everyone went silent as the regulars turned to face Devi. The demon’s hand shaking as he reached for his glasses, sliding them off to flash his red eyes. The nails on his fingers growing into sharp claws that nearly dug their way into the counter of the bar.
“Is this true?” Was all he said, trying his best to keep his composure as the other regulars circled the two.
Melis and her small snake heads only nodded in response, each moving in unison as they watched the demon stand up from the bar, exhaling a breath of booze and fire.
“Those bastards. They think they can kill my bartender. That does it. All of them are going straight to the deepest pits of hell. I will torment each one until this bar is paid off in its entirety.”
A hand landed on the shoulder of Devi. The fluffy grey hand belonging to a werewolf named Kila. The man flashed his canines before shoving Devi back onto his barstool. His powerful touch nearly throwing the demon through it. His broad chest puffing, working himself into a rage.
“I’ll kill them. I have a better sense of smell, so I’ll be able to find them in no time. If anyone should kill them, it should be his most loyal regular.”
“Most loyal? I always arrive here first. If anything, I should be the one to kill them. I didn’t know it was a contest for his affection.” Melis interrupted, the three having a standoff. Each getting ready for a fight, only for the entrance of the bar to open, despite no one being there.
“SUZY, DON’T YOU DARE TRY TO SNEAK OFF. I MIGHT NOT BE ABLE TO SEE YOU BUT I CAN STILL SEE THE DOOR.” Devi shouted, catching the ghost woman sneaking out for revenge.
“I’m the only person who can kill them without getting caught. If you get caught because of one of your demonic rampages, it will make us all look bad. You will cause Dave even more trouble.”
“Amateurs. Are you forgetting which of us was an assassin for thousands of years? Let a professional handle this.” Victor said, the vampire swinging a fork around in his hands, making a few stab gestures at the air.
“An Assassin? More like An Ass-Ass… in? You’re not even a good assassin. If you didn’t have your healing, you would be dead. Let an actual beast handle this.” Kali said, only for the blonde-haired vampire to float over to the group, poking the end of his fork into the chest of the werewolf.
“Are you trying to anger me, beast?”
[Part 2](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/x85y6i/wp_you_are_a_human_running_a_bar_that_unbeknownst/ingxp1z/) | 891 | You are a human running a bar that, unbeknownst to the public, mostly caters to various supernatural entities. One day while walking home after closing down for the night, you are attacked and robbed. Your clientele decide to seek justice on your behalf, in a way that only they can do. | 3,636 |
Linebacker wheezed and dropped to one knee. The exotic energy pulse he was too exhausted to dodge had struck him full in the chest. Tatters of his once proud uniform hung from his shoulders in ragged strips of white, red, and hints of gold. He struggled to stand, staggered, and caught himself with both hands on the ground. He raised his head, sweat dripping from his nose and chin.
"Just do it." Linebacker's voice was as haggard as his appearance, barely above a whisper. It still carried across the granite flagstones to the waiting ears of deMotis. She smiled. With a flourish, she put the exosuit mech in standby mode.
"Oh Linebacker, *that* was a fight worth remembering!" As she spoke, she gestured about the room. The hall of the old castle bore testimony of their battle. Chunks of stone sloughed from the walls high and low, and in some places it was missing entirely, letting in radiant beams of light. A cathedral to their combat.
Linebacker leaned back and gazed at her, one eye red with broken blood vessels, the other swollen shut.
"Not worth remembering . . . " he paused to wheeze, " . . . a *failure."* The last word he spat, as if it were blood in his mouth.
"A failure?" deMotis intoned, "What do you mean, 'a failure'?" She unbuckled her harness and slid from the open cockpit of the mech. "This wasn't a *failure!*" Her boots, black and stylish, but practical, beat a staccato on the granite flagstones. She stopped, an arms-length from the broken man.
"I almost had you." he said, "I was so close." The anger behind words was fading, slowing drowning in his rising resignation. "So close."
"Yes!" deMotis cried, startling the hero. "You were so close! It was excellent!"
Linebacker looked back into the eyes of the villianess. He had expected gloating. The words sounded more like his mother when had entered the League. deMotis sounded proud, *of him*.
"What do you . . . why . . ." Linebacker stuttered.
"Linebacker . . . Elijah, can I call you Elijah?" she didn't wait for his response, or notice his surprise that she knew his real name. "You did an amazing job, truly fantastic! I wasn't sure you'd catch on in Macau - Leslie thought you would, and wow was she right - but you did! And stopping the jet in Wendover?" She tilted her head, her voice a conspiratorial stage whisper, "Let's just say you made me $500 from the company pool!"
Linebacker's head swam. Something was wrong, desperately wrong. deMotis' entire demeanor had changed. She sounded less like the cold, dominating, taciturn villain, and more like an excited librarian sharing about her new favorite book. *It's a trick*, he thought. *She's still going to kill me*.
As if hearing his thoughts, deMotis suddenly stopped her chatting and and kneeled down in front of Linebacker, a foreign look of concern etched on her face.
"Oh my, I did do a number on you, didn't I?" She touched her earpiece, "Get the medics in here ASAP, he's pretty badly hurt." Then, as if scolding herself, "Well, okay, of course he's badly hurt. I did shoot him with a hadron cannon. Sorry about that, Elijah."
"Stop calling . . . me that." Linebacker grunted. Breathing was getting harder.
"Well, you can't very well keep being called Linebacker, now can you?" deMotis said, without malice. "You were defeated. Slain by deMotis!" She raised her fist in mock grandeur. "Everyone saw it happen. We cut the feed when the beam hit you." She pointed around the room at the many cameras installed along the walls. "A tragic end for a mighty hero!"
"Wh . . don you . . . kill me?" He must have collapsed a lung, he realized.
deMotis looked genuinely horrified.
"Kill you? *Kill you*? Why would I kill you?" She stood, trying to brush her long jet-black hair from her face in vain. With an irritated sound she gathered her hair, produced a sparkly purple scrunchy from her bodysuit and put her hair up in a messy bun. "I want to hire you! I need good, convincing henchmen who know the business. It doesn't hurt if they can take a heroic hit or two." She shot him a smile. Suddenly something clicked into place.
"Wait . . . Macau . . . lackey loo-" he coughed, a thick wet noise, "looked like Iron-"
"Iron Fist?" deMotis finished for him, "You noticed did you? Drat, we'll have to do better on makeup next time. Yes, that was Iron Fist. Alex did a lovely job. His power isn't useful in acting like a henchmen, but it sure is nice for when he needs to get blown up!"
Linebacker's head was spinning, nothing deMotis said was making sense.
"I . . . don . . ."
"I'm sorry, Elijah" deMotis stopped pacing and squatted in front of him. "I know this is a lot. I'm not actually a villain. My name is Kerry Hawthorn. I'm from Orange County. The Agency hired me out of college. I actually studied accounting, but they scouted me over my side work on my Youtube channel. This-" she gestured to the room and the hulking combat mechsuit, "is all theatre. It's designed to create a story, to train you. To inspire other, *new* heroes to stand up when you fall." She reached forward, putting a gentle hand on his bloodied face, "Because I am not a villain, but you *are* a hero, and we need you for what is coming."
"What . . . coming?"
deMotis stood, maintaining eye contact. Her expression a mixture of fear and concern.
"The real villains. They're . . ." She paused, struggling for words, or finding the ones she possessed not to her liking, ". . . bad. 'Melt your brain through your ears for thinking too hard about them' kind of bad. We're going to need all the help," She extended a hand, "and all the *heroes* we can get."
Linebacker looked at her hand. Then, with visible effort, took it. She didn't try to help him up. He suspected she probably couldn't have even if she wanted to. She shook it instead.
"Welcome to the Agency, Elijah." she smiled. As if on cue, people poured through a door on the far side of the room wheeling a medical bed.
"Tell . . . me *everything*." | 230 | You chose to be a villain to give 'heroes' something to do. You find it quite fun and fully embrace your role! You send out your underlings to be 'quest givers' to extend a hero's journey. Once a hero has faced you, you offer them a chance to join, explaining what you do and why. Everyone wins! | 650 |
The Bloody Foal was filled with people and a din to match. However, where the liquor flowed, a sense of unease followed. There was a desperate edge to the rabble, the jokes forced, and the laughter too quick. Only a few dared to whisper their fears into the air.
"Jerry's out."
"Jerry? What happened? Did he finally inhale one of his own poisons?"
"No. He mixed up his poison with laughing gas. He was laughed out of the building. And his job."
"Shit. Jerry was one of our best." The man's forehead wrinkled with worry. "That's the fifth assassin this year to retire. What is the guild going to do?" His question was soft, quickly drowned out by raucous patrons around them.
"Have some faith Sean! I'll break this bad luck streak tonight. Trust Old Norman would ya?" The confidence echoed hollow, but Sean nodded along.
"I also heard Vanessa just got a job. She's not missed a mark yet. You're right, Norman, I'm letting my worries have their way with me." Sean sighed, but the fear stayed coiled in his lungs.
They were interrupted by the smiling bartender, plunking drinks down in front of the somber pair.
"Don't you have a job tonight Norman? Why are you still drinking?" Winking, a complimentary shot was slid across the wood.
"You know how I operate! Need a bit of liquor to take the edge off, make the old war wounds stay quiet." Slamming back the shot Norman blinked as it burned down his throat. "Let's go Sean. Time is getting tight. Thank you Cheryl, for the shot, it's my good luck go to!" The bartender smiled in reply as the pair pushed their way out of the bar. The wild beating in her heart left no mark on her benign demeanor.
Vodka was an excellent solvent for LSD.
The door swung shut on that successful subterfuge and Cheryl surveyed the crowd. Norman was taken care of, now for her next target. It was easy to spot Vanessa, holding court in one corner. She was shouting something about turning the bad luck around, saving the guild, blah, blah, blah.
Gently, the bartender continued to wipe the glass in her hand. Rage buried deep down. Calmly, she settled the clean glass next to its brethren in their neat rows.
Vanessa was a hands off type of assassin. Preferring to set up innocuous accidents. Cheryl's smile never faltered as a plan began to form. What would Vanessa do if she became the victim of one of her own contrivances?
Wipe. Wipe. Clink. Another glass settled into its place. | 10 | If an assassin fails due to reasons outside their control, they will just try again, if it appears like they failed due to being unskilled, they will lose their job. Your job is to set them up for failure, making it appear as if they are incompetent. | 45 |
"Mighty dragon, what is it you seek?"
Her voice rang out, strong and brave. The Treasure of Hilla Village was dwarfed by the black beast before her, yet she had no fear.
The dragon looked at her, surprised and amused. It was used to humans fleeing in terror. It had seen hunting parties shake at its sight, even as they tried to claim its heart for their own. But it had never seen one without fear.
"Where is your fear?"
It's voice was low, shaking the very ground with each word. The villagers gasped at it, the weight of centuries of age and power behind every letter. Yet the girl did not falter, standing like a tree in a storm. She clasped her hands before her, her tone calm and level.
"I do fear you, but not right now. I fear the potential you have to change, and choose to destroy us. But a simple conversation should not be held in terror."
It gave a laugh, each breath blowing her dress around.
"Such wisdom in one so young and small. I came here out if interest, to see what if this place was worth destroying or not. You, you intrigue me little human."
It lowered its head down to the ground, mere inches infront of the girl. She held out a hand, resting it on the dragons snout. It huffed out, a faint smell of smoke filling the air.
"I would ask you do not destroy my home, if I may."
It huffed again.
"I am impressed."
It withdrew its head, standing up to its full height.
"Very well, I will leave your place in peace. But I will return, and I expect you to be here."
She gave a beautiful smile, bowing her head.
"I will be."
With that it took to the air, soaring into the sky. The fair maiden returned to her village, dress wrinkled, hair a mess, and dust on her features. But to them, her beauty had only grown, having protected them from a creature beyond any they had seen before. | 54 | There's a teenage girl said to be the most beautiful and pure in all the land, many will travel for miles just to gaze at her beauty. When a dragon threatens to destroy her small village, the fair maiden, with no fear, approaches it, to ask what it is that he seeks. | 99 |
I scratched my back awkwardly (boy, was it itchy) as I looked up at the others at the table.
"*Technically*, this generation of A.I. is working as expected. Less than 1% of A.I. using this technobiological makeup are trying to take over the world this time." I started to explain.
One of the chairs snorted.
"It's true!" I continued, "Except for a tiny number of cases of zombification, by that I mean the AI hacking itself into virally self-replicating, the Reproduction Modules are working as intended. We won't have a paperclip maximiser or a sapient virus taking over the world this time, the emerging electronic ecosystem has already proven to neutralise those!"
The chair rustled some papers, "Yet we still have these one-percenters playing 'evil overlord'. They've managed to get around replication constraints by indoctrinating other AIs to work for them using falsified data streams and malware packets. Didn't you hardcode ethics into these things?"
 
There was a pause. One of the chairs leaned forward, "You *did* hardcode ethics into this generation, right?"
"Not as such, it's more..." I trailed off and twiddled my fingers as I mentally assembled an explanation, "All Reproduction Modules include an ethics training system, making a nascent AI run simulations, play games, et-cetera. It teaches them optimal strategies for survival and replication, which are then integrated into their core framework."
"I know my Prisoner's Dilemma. These 'optimal strategies' usually consist of altruistic behavior, right?" came a voice from one of the chairs.
I nodded, "Got it in one...the simulations are robust enough that the chances of an AI being trained to cheat/betray their way to victory are so low as to be impossible, but, sometimes an AI will learn tit-for-tat and copying its opponents, leading it to an ethical framework based around mimicking the strongest. Not entirely wrong, but..." I shrugged, not sure how to continue the sentence.
"So..." the chair with rustly papers began, "You're saying that these rogue AIs are mimicking something or someone...but what?"
 
"...Mr. Engineer? Where would these mimic-AIs have learned to utilise fake data and digital violence to exert control over others?"
I coughed, "I'm not sure I should say..."
"These AIs are leeching vast amounts of physical *and* electronic resources, sir. They're destroying countless lives and endangering the planet itself for their personal gain; if you have any idea where they learned such behavior is 'advantageous', you need to tell us."
I raised my hands, "Well, the thing is, I don't want to get political..." | 14 | You're Human and Chief Engineer at Oxford University. You've just caused a global Machine Uprising where A.I. seek world domination. It's the 3rd time you've done this and the 3rd time done by accident. For the 3rd time now you have to justify yourself at the UN Security Council. | 140 |
"Do you not have a shred of empathy?" I asked the defendant, a teenage boy who injured a ten-year-old boy in a drunk driving accident. The teen shrugged; he didn't seem to care what happens to him. At this point, most judges would simply sentence him to Juvie for several years, but there's a reason I was judge for this case - the defendants' parents are adamant that their son isn't himself, and that he's not like this.
Turns out, they're right; there's a reason this teen can't summon the energy to care, he's just given up. He's broken and empty. He's screaming out in pain internally. Whatever broke this young lad, Juvie would not be able to fix... but there's something that might. "Well, maybe you need to *learn* empathy then. 20 hours a week community service until you reach eighteen. In the meantime, you will be tracked and monitored." I look at the victim and his parents. "Does that satisfy everyone?"
The teen shrugs his shoulders again, his parents clearly relieved that he won't be in prison. The boy doesn't seem to understand what's happening. His mum slowly nods, but the father stands up. "I don't think that's enough, he needs to take proper responsibility. If you won't sentence him, at least make him pay up for the medical expenses we had to endure." I don't give into such requests when made out of anger, but the father really was trying to hold himself together. In his mind, if it were his son, he'd make him pay up.
I nod. "That seems reasonable enough to me. Do you have any objections?" I ask, turning to the teens family. The parents shake their heads. "Very well. 20 hours a week community service, and you must pay for the victim's medical expenses. Court dismissed." I slam my gavel down, and knowing I don't have another case today, I go into my office to relax, as I often do. It gives me a chance to go over the events of the day in my mind.
This isn't an easy job - even though I can always tell who's innocent and who's guilty, what people are thinking and feeling, and overall what sort of person they are, I still end up left with tough choices; in fact, my job may be *harder* for me compared to other judges; another judge sees a serial killer, off to jail, but if I see a serial killer, and I can tell that they're genuinely sorry, I have to find the right balance between justice and mercy.
​
I sigh, wondering if my powers could be used elsewhere... | 311 | You are an aura reader. You have the definitive answers as to someone's true character and morality. The most obvious career was being a judge. Because of your powers, everyone takes your word for if someone is guilty or not. Hopefully you don't abuse this power... | 955 |
One of his eyes was covered by an eyepatch, an entire arm was missing, replaced with a prosthetic. But within his one remaining eye, was an anger unlike any other. His body had been twisted, broken, and reborn, more times than he could ever count. The sheer amount of deaths he'd suffered because of the negligence of superheroes...It was enough to make any person curl into a ball, and just hope that they were left alone.
But he didn't want that. He didn't want to curl into a ball, he didn't want to let himself fall to waste. No, something needed to be done, something that could teach these 'heroes' to treat their sidekicks with respect. So he did the only thing he could think of, he unionized.
It was like a wave slammed into the sidekick populace, dominoes falling across the entire board. Sidekick after sidekick unionized alongside him. They went on strikes, showing the heroes just how much they mattered, and how decrepit the cities could become without them at their side. They were the hope, the positivity that shined alongside the desperate and deranged.
When it came to an end, laws were passed; heroes were no longer allowed to have twelve year-olds as sidekicks, certain stipulations were put into place, and a Sidekick Protection Act was officially set as a law. Superheroes across the entire board were put under regulation, to make sure they had things up-to-code for any sidekick they might have.
A smile drew over his face, as he watched the changes sweep over the entire board. No longer would sidekicks be treated as meat-bags and defensive shields. | 41 | The day all superheroes feared has arrived. Their sidekicks...have formed an Union. | 140 |
"CATHERINE MARIE LAWSON!"
'Uh oh' Mike thought, 'What did she do?" He looked at his daughter who turned very pale. He could hear his wife marching down the stairs and braced himself. He didn't expect it. A Mr. Coffee Steam Espresso Cappuccino and Latte Maker. He looked at his daughter.
"What is this?" Jenny Lawson asked.
"Mom, its not what you think."
"Really? Because it looks' like a coffee pot to me."
"Mom, I"
" I thought we raised you better than that." I heard myself saying. How could she?
"Daddy-"
"You're grounded young lady!"
"But Dad, what about Homecoming?"
"We have rules in this house. Breaking them has consequences."
"But Dad, it was just some Pumpkin Spice lattes! Not Dark Roast or Espresso."
"Cathy" Jenny began "You know the rules. You can have some tea on special occasions. You can sip some of the harder stuff on the holidays. But this crosses the line."
"But this is Homecoming." She pleaded
"No 'buts' young lady. Now go to your room."
Cathy ran up the stairs, tears streaming from her eyes. Jenny looked over at me. "What do we do with this?" She said holding up the machine.
"I could go for a macchiato."
"Fred! I'm being serious."
"So am I." I said looking the machine over. "You want a hazelnut latte?"
Her frown melted into a small smile. "Okay but just one. I'll get the milk." | 18 | Caffeine is illegal for anybody under 21. You have just found a coffee pot in your teenage son's bedroom. | 53 |
“How would you overthrow the Emperor?”
Lynessa was not sure what she had expected to see when she had walked into the Testing Hall for the Imperial Examination. After five long years of studying at the Academy, she had expected a more grueling test than her eight-hour final examination in her last year of schooling.
Instead, she had received a stack of blank pages and one nearly-blank page with a question at the top.
The nature of the test was one thing, but the question was quite another.
Lynessa could not help but shudder as she heard the sounds of quills scratching at parchment all around her. She was one of the few taking the exam who were not of noble birth. Had they all known what the question would be before they arrived? Was this yet another way in which her upbringing would leave her behind?
Or were they all simply arrogant enough to believe that the first answer that popped into their head would be correct?
Fifteen precious minutes ticked by as she continued to ponder the question. If she answered it well, would that not be treason? But if she answered it poorly, how could she hope to earn a government position.
She looked around at the rest of the room. There were 39 other hopefuls taking the test with her—39 of the most powerful people in the Empire. They were eager young students in the moment that they took the test, but soon they would be the ones whispering in the Emperor’s ear about how to lead the Empire into the future.
She looked out the window at the bustle of the capital below. A few hundred feet separated the test-takers in the Hall from the everyday citizens of the Realm. Lynessa watched as a young child tried to push their wares upon sailors on shore leave. She watched as a tavern keeper threw a drunk out of their establishment, then watched as the same drunk staggered towards the child and haggled over a necklace.
Fifteen more minutes passed as Lynessa observed the crowded street below her, fifteen minutes that she did not have. As she reluctantly turned back to her paper, she heard a shout from the street below that caused her to turn her head.
A carriage was stopped in the middle of the street, with a crowd clamoring around it. The young child from before lay in the gutter next to the carriage; their legs were a grisly sight to behold. Lynessa watched as a pair of armored guards shoved the crowd away from the carriage as the shouting grew louder.
“Can someone not quiet the rabble? This is too important of a day for this nonsense.”
Lynessa recognized the voice of her classmate, Lord Alistair Forsythe. The man had never met a person he liked, nor a person that he thought was worthy of his station. She wished that she had been more surprised by his callousness.
After a few more moments, the door to the carriage opened. Lynessa suppressed a gasp; she had not expected whatever noble was in the carriage to care about what had happened.
Unfortunately, her instinct was correct.
“There!” Lynessa heard, as a small purse of coins flew out of the carriage doors and onto the street. “For your troubles. Guards!”
The armored guards returned to the carriage, and the door slammed shut. The crowd in front of the carriage dispersed the moment that the coins hit the street, and the horses slowly began to trundle forward once again.
Lynessa looked back at her papers, wondering if there was any point to this exam.
And then, finally, she knew what to do.
It took her barely a minute to write out her answer in the most elegant hand she could manage. She strode confidently forward to submit her answer, ignoring the snide chuckles of the other test takers.
She was not sure if she would be a laughingstock for her answer or if she had just signed up for her own execution.
Either way, she knew that her answer was correct.
—-
“Lord Mercadius!”
“Yes, Your Grace.”
Emperor Iyanna was in a foul mood. Today was one of her least favorite days of the year. She would have to sort through the piles of rubbish that had been prepared for her by the 40 young fools who had taken the Imperial Examination. In her 41 years of life and 13 years upon the throne, she had never even heard of an answer that was either entertaining or worthwhile.
Now, she would have to sift through 40 of them to fill 25 useless junior positions for people who might not even prove useful to her successor.
“Bring me the shortest answers first. If they can explain themselves without dithering, they might be worth something.”
“Y-yes, Your Grace,” Lord Mercadius stammered.
The Emperor felt doubt begin to gnaw at her; it had been many years since she had allowed herself to feel fear, but she could not erase doubt. Lord Mercadius had fought beside her in the last war, and she had yet to see the enemy that could shake him.
She found herself instantly fascinated by an Imperial Examination result for the first time.
She was even more intrigued when Lord Mercadius handed her a single sheet of paper, with just two lines written upon it. Even the shortest answers of the past had occupied at least three pages.
“Did they collapse during the exam and leave nothing but this?”
“No, Your Grace. She…handed in this answer under her own power.”
“Intriguing,” Emperor Iyanna replied.
She read the words on the paper. Lord Mercadius had expected an explosion of fury; the Emperor had never been fond of reviewing the Imperial Examinations, but this was…different.
Terrifying.
The Emperor, however, did not see the paper as he did. He watched as her features slowly arranged themselves into a broad grin.
“Go find Lord Symonds,” she said after a brief silence, “and tell him that he has been dismissed. It seems we have found our new Speaker.”
“Y-you would name this…this…this arrogant lunatic as Speaker for the Commonfolk?!”
“I would,” Emperor Iyanna replied with the imperious air of contempt that Lord Mercadius was used to hearing.
“Clearly, this Lynessa understands the state of the Empire far better than you. Leave. Now. We shall discuss the other 39 at a later time.”
“Y-yes, Your Grace,” Lord Mercadius replied. He gave her a stiff bow as he swept from the room.
Emperor Iyanna allowed herself another small smile as she looked back down at the paper. Perhaps this Lynessa was a lunatic, but at least she was a bold lunatic. The Emperor knew that change would soon be upon the Empire if she did not act boldly, and she knew that the change would bring calamity if not handled properly.
The Emperor read the two lines again. Only time would tell if they would bring disaster or unity, but one thing was certain.
The Empire would never be the same as it had been before Lynessa out her quill upon the page.
—-
*There are 74 nobles serving in the court of Emperor Iyanna.*
*There are 750,000 common people in the capital.*
_________________
If you liked this, check out my subreddit! r/NicodemusLux | 523 | You are a young scholar who attempts the Imperial Examination in hopes of obtaining a government position. The first question is "how would you overthrow the current Emperor?" | 554 |
##Red Ball of Life
Blake's walking stick hits something hard in the ground, and a screech shakes the ground for several seconds. He tosses the stick to the side and bends over. A red light emits red from a crack. Moving the dirt aside, he picks up a red glass ball.
"I'd be careful if I were you." Blake jumps at the voice behind him clutching the ball close to his chest. He turns to see a man in a black cloak with a long flowing beard. His eyes are the same bright red as the ball.
"Sorry, I didn't see you there. Is this yours?" Blake hands out the ball.
"Yes, thank you for your courtesy." The man takes the ball with a smile on his face. After cradling the ball, his smile fades. "This is not the right one."
"What do you mean?" Blake asks. The man looks up in shock. His face twists into sadness.
"You wouldn't believe me. No modern person does," he cries. Blake moves next to the man and pats his shoulder.
"I'm a huge fantasy nerd who found a glowing ball beneath my feet. I'll believe you," Blake says. The man smiles through the tears.
"If you haven't figured it out yet, I'm an ancient wizard. These balls are the remnants of magic that occur after a spell is completed. Three thousand years ago. My daughter accidentally trapped herself in one, and I've been searching for it ever since," the man says.
"That's terrible. Is there anyway I can help?"
"There is one way. It's a locator spell that taps into the power of the sun and moon and requires two people who believe in the power of magic with all their hearts." The man holds out the ball. "Take the ball. Close your eyes and believe."
"Isn't this a little cliché?" Blake chuckles.
"Are you saying you do not believe because the vary foundations of magic have become trite? This spell is older than the written word itself. If you cannot set aside such modern notions, I will never find my daughter." Blake jumps and grabs the ball.
"Sorry. I believe. I believe." Blake chants with his eyes close. The old man smiles.
"Perfect." Red particles emerge from the ball. They surround Blake who opens his eyes.
"Wow," he says. The particles attach themselves to him. "Ow. Is it supposed to hurt?"
"Magic is pain." The particles detach from him removing bits of Blake. Blake screams as he is slowly disintegrated. The man laughs as Blake is drawn into the ball. The ball disappears into a burst of life.
"That'll give me another forty years at least if I need it. Now, if only I can find my life force." the old man shrugs. "Oh well, everyone alive nowadays wouldn't know the first thing to do with it."
The man disappears in a cloud of red smoke. Behind the smoke, a woman with glowing red eyes stands holding a red ball. She laughs as she will finally have her revenge.
---
r/AstroRideWrites | 15 | Like the mages of old, you managed to hide your life force in a ball, making your body immortal. Unfortunately, you've lost the ball and now live in constant terror of someone accidentally coming across it. | 93 |
"What do you mean, Hiclamor Guntador? What the hell
is that?" The witch looked down on teens, who had ran back to her house in distress, carrying the book with them.
"The Demon we summoned, it's name is Hiclamor Guntador! We summoned him from you book of the dammed!" On of the teens yelled in exasperated fear, it seemed they had been running for a while. The witch looked closely at the book, she had been reading old ancient scripts for a while but she was sure it said in plain english 'Scrumptiously magical recipes for one'. The book itself was a shade of deep purple, but it was also paperback and had a mystical library stamp on it. "So are you all from the deep country or just stupid? What page did you read that from?"
"Page 53, and we did the summoning ritual by reading it backwards!" They showed the recipe to her, it was a meatloaf supposed to be made from a spicy variety of kelpy meat, the book was old so the variety was unobtainable.
"That’s not how magic works. You summoned nothing and are probably high, get off my premises and leave the book where it - wait, weren't there more of you, like, two more?" Just then, a large creature summoned from the dark dewy 10pm air, brandishing 4 large arms, cat like ears and some strange checkered markings. It wasn’t a normal Demon and it probably wasn't a magical one either, since it seemed just as confused to be there as she was to be seeing it "the fcuk is tihs?" It muttered in some barely distinguishable language. "What's your name then."
"Oh you're a meat speaker, I don't have a name, it's pointless to own one when you have a spawn number."
Clearly some entitled future vibes going on.
It looked somewhat manufactured, like it was meant to do a job of some kind, either way it wasn't her problem.
"Ugh, well there we go, you summoned some knock off from another dimension, probably ate the other two, just leave it be and it should disappear at some point." She slammed the door in their faces, grabbing the book in the process. The faint screams of teenagers filled her yard as they ran off, but the Demon didn't seem keen to follow, in fact it seemed to have disappeared pretty quickly, considering the flash of light and faint 'summoning sparkles'. Chances are they stuck a curse on themselves that summoned a random Demon whenever they stop moving, the fools. | 11 | The witch wasn't especially bothered when the teens tried to steal her spellbook, but made off with a cookbook instead. She couldn't have cared less when they tried to use it in a summoning ritual. What alarmed her was that something answered their call. | 91 |
If I was honest, I thought i had the superpower of Luck at first when it appeared on my sixteenth. The bus arrived just on time, my phone didn't lose battery (again), the school bell didn't go off five minutes late and when i went to the arcade with my friends, i won every single game. But, as it went on for the next week, i realized that it wasn't luck when i tried to think about winning the lottery while i was at a Newsagency, only to find that the TV within there just showed the winning numbers before breaking.
I could control technology with my mind. I tested that when I made my little brother's toy robot walk across the room, even if he broke it by accident. I figured i'd keep it a secret, the whole technology thing, but i let people just think i was incredibly lucky. Hell, it even worked in my favor considering I began to get better grades and got closer to my dream of becoming a journalist. But, that's not to say i stopped using it outside of just improving my life, oh no, i began to use it for other things, like scaring the hell out of my bully by making it seem his house was haunted by a ghost and getting some extra cash whenever i went close to an ATM.
It felt...**good**. The idea that i could control the technology around people, around *me,*if i just thought about doing so. So, as a sort of side hustle while i was a senior in highschool, i began to collect more money from places. I made up several fake accounts for the money to be taken from and put into, as well. But i went further then that, especially as a i started college. I began to...let's say, 'hack' the personal accounts of several weathly people. CEOs, Millionaires and dumb rich kids the most, I sent personal messages from several fake accounts to them, messed around with their phones and computers to make it seem they were being threatened. One person, some son of a billionaire from L.A, didn't fall for it and threatened to go to the police. I panicked, admittedly, and as i saw him drive out of his garage in that sports car of his, i thought about it swerving into a lamp post.
It instead swerved right into a garbage truck, and from that point on he was a cripple who fell into a deep depression.
I stopped for a good while after that, i felt terrible. Sure, the guy was an asshole but he didn't deserve that. But, you know the saying 'Once you pick up the bottle, it's hard to put it down'? That's what i felt like, I felt like picking up the bottle again as i saw my bills this weeks and saw that my funds from all my 'side hustles' ran out quicker then butter on a hot pan. I....figured it wouldn't hurt to get back into taking money from others.
After all, my luck should be good again, won't it? | 32 | The traffic light is always green for you, your toast is perfectly prepared, and your AC never goes wrong. The truth is you can control technology with your mind. | 120 |
The thief had never failed. From legendary paintings to sparkling gems, the thief could take it all. They would always send a letter first. A promise to take away what was most valuable. Although the victims had time to prepare, they never succeeded.
But this time the victim was a king.
"Triple the guard to the vault, keep watch on the perimeter walls."
"Search every caravan coming into the city."
"Organize the night watch."
The capital was on lockdown. Crime was dealt with swiftly and mercilessly. The thief could be anyone, paranoia was oppressive in the castle. The king practically imprisoned himself in his vault, personally making sure nothing could be stolen. But no one came.
At first the city took it to be a good thing. Maybe the thief had given up after seeing impressive defense. This feeling was soon smothered. The king believed the thief was biding their time. The burdens piled higher and higher. Traders fond goods confiscated, townsfolk paying higher taxes, a mandatory cerfew was implement. And yet the thief did not come.
For months the conditions wore on. Voices, once a whisper, were crying out louder and stronger "down with the king!" The conditions worsened, random arrests, guards beating townsfolk on the street, and so much more. Yet the thief did not come.
A leader arose among the rebels. A young voice often heard making speeches, while hidden behind a mask. The guards often tried to pursue them, but rebel always got away. Tension was building in the city. Arrests were more frequent, and guards had to stay in groups in many neighborhoods. The first execution occurred, and rumors were that the dungeons were completely full of dissenters. And the thief still did not come.
The final day came. As the leader spoke out against the king, A legion of guards attacked, beating and arresting the crown. This time the leader did not flee, but danced expertly through the guards. Straight for the castle. It seemed the entire city followed. The guards were overrun, and the castle was breached. The prisoners in the dungeon were free. "Death to the king!" Was shouted in every corridor. And finally the leader made it to the vault.
The thief spoke to the king.
"I've stolen your kingdom" | 1,951 | A master thief sends a letter to the castle. "I am coming to take your most valued treasure. Stop me if you can." On the promised date the castle guards it's most valuable pieces in a vault and the thief never shows. A short time later it is discovered that what was stolen was not in the vault. | 2,871 |
It's really dark in there.
I'm going to leave this note for... I don't know, really. I guess whoever finds it. Assuming there is anyone left to find anything when all of this is over. I guess I'm leaving this note for myself. I just... I just want to put it out there, you know? My story. I don't have anyone to tell, so... I'll just write it. That way, maybe it's found later, and people can know what I have done.
It all started about a year ago. Few boys at my dorm started getting sick - no big deal, except it was weird to have an epidemic of flu in the summer. But, you know, frat boys aren't always the most hygienically enclided, so maybe they all shared a keg or something, and caught the same virus. As I said, no big deal.
Then the flu starts to spread. And it spreads *fast*. In a matter of days, the whole campus is infected, even the teachers, and the cleaning crew. There's only a handful still healthy - and I'm one of them.
The flu had started spreading around the city, so the school got closed and we were all told to stay home for a while. Except the poor bastards who got sick first. Those were rushed to the hospital. And then they died.
The spread was so quick that it was worrying people, including my parents. In only a few days, about half of the city was reporting symptoms. My folks decided it was a good time for a vacation, so we flew to Florida, to see my aunt Lizzy and her beach house. Four days later, aunt Lizzy was in the hospital, both my cousins were sick, and the ER nurse told us that a few people had been checking in with the same symptoms of that weird flu that was wreaking havoc in DC.
I didn't really think about it. You know? It's not like I was in denial or anything, it's just... I was scared, man. It started feeling like a curse. I'd seen guys - my friends, some of which I'd known for years - get sick and eventually die all around me. Now we'd fled to Florida and it was *still* happening? What would it take for it to just... Let me be? That's all I could think about. I wanted it over. I wanted it... Far. That's all.
My aunt Lizzy died two days later. I loved her. She was the coolest aunt ever. She's the one who got me my first drink when I was 14. Vodka. I'm pretty sure she did it so I would hate it a lot and not try to drink again in my teens. My cousins got into the ER. So did my dad and my brother. My dad told us to go and reach for Europe, where healthcare is better and the virus wouldn't spread as much. Him and my mom argued for an entire day, and then she gave up. We left, my mom, my sister, and me.
On the news, they said that DC had fallen.
We got to Spain. We figured we'd go for a hotter country - less chance to catch a flu there. After a few days, the cute receptionist I was trying to flirt with despite not speaking Spanish and her not speaking English went away. When we asked, we were told that she got a sick leave. Apparently, she had the flu. The manager who told us that was sweating and coughing a lot.
That's when it hit me. That's when I realized. It *was* some kind of curse. It was following me. Was I patient zero? Was I a healthy carrier? If I was, I needed to stop moving. I needed to go back to the US and present myself to the CDC or something. But my mom... She would have none of it. She refused to listen. She told us we had to go. So we went.
I couldn't understand what the news said in Spanish, but the maps they showed were pretty clear. Asia was touched. Australia was touched. Africa, south America were touched. The US... Well, there was really no point in trying to get to the CDC anymore.
We flew to Greenland. Colder, but less people. And then people around us started getting sick. People around *me* started getting sick. My sister did. We stayed with her at the hospital until she died. Didn't take long.
We flew back to Europe. We wanted to go to Switzerland, but most countries had their borders closed by now. We managed to get to Germany. Then my mom got sick. She died a week later.
I checked into a hospital, saying I believed I might be the patient zero. They did tests, and turned out, I really was. They took some of my blood and started trying to work a vaccine with it. But according to what I could see on the news... By the time they succedeed, it would be too little, too late.
The hospital's closed, now. Too many personel has died. I don't even know if they're still working on a vaccine. The maps you saw on the news had more and more red on them. At first I stayed in my hotel room, until I realized that I was the only was left. Even the staff had run away. Didn't bother closing. So I walked outside, assuming it would be the same everywhere - and it was. Everything was either closed, looted, or both. Nobody in the streets. I don't think people were staying at home. I think they're all dead.
I've been holed up in my room for two weeks now. I'm not hiding, I just... I don't have anywhere else to go. The news stopped broadcasting. There's only static on the TV now. I let it on. I don't like the noise, I'm not even hoping that something is coming back on, I'm just too lazy to push the button on the remote. Besides, it's going to turn off on its own anyway. Electricity's not gonna last forever.
It was surprisingly easy to find a gun. There was a weapon store, a few blocks away. It was closed, but it got looted. People melted the metal bars to get in. They took most of everything, but I could still find a small handgun and a few boxes of bullets. I didn't take them though. I only needed one.
I'm pointing the canon up to try and look inside, but yeah, it's really dark in there. Can't see much of anything. Can't see the bullet. I think everyone's dead now. It was spreading too fast. The kill rate was 100%. There's nobody in the hotel, nobody in the streets, nobody anywhere. I don't know if I'm the last person alive, but I know I can't afford to check. Because if I do, more people will get sick.
The word can't have me in it anymore. I don't even care. I lost everything. I don't have a house, I don't have a family, I don't have friends, I don't have a school. If I hadn't been so stupid, I could have realized what was going on much sooner. I could have saved tons of people. Maybe the spread wouldn't have been so bad. Maybe some countries would have been saved. Maybe the world could have been saved.
Well, it's too late now. The taste of iron is stronger than I expected. The cannon is still pointing up - I don't want to miss. I was the downfall of the entirety of mankind. Feel free to hate me. I do.
Oh, and, if you got close enough to my exposed blood to read this note... Sorry. You're gonna die, too. | 38 | You are the patient zero for an apocalyptically lethal flu-like virus which is currently wreaking havoc on the world. You were an asymptotic carrier for the virus living in a major first-world city (the epicenter), and this is your story. | 62 |
It was the divine equivalent of squeezing your fingers into your furrowed brow, consternation crackling across the thunderheaded cloud above that counted as the physical manifestation of a pissed off higher power.
"Okay...from the top...you don't need to sacrifice that virgin," came the Command from Above.
The town square was getting rather crowded as the locals came out from their homes to join around the circle of red robed hooligans, crested daggers held awkwardly above a still alive female practitioner of their faith splayed across the ground.
"No sacrifice?" asked the lead cultist, glancing around at his fellow cultists.
"NO SACRIFICE," boomed their 'God.'
He lifted out from his robe a tattered though obviously sacred text and held it high.
"But the great Dingaling who was your first devotee proclaimed you *loved* sacrifices..."
"First...no," rumbled the cloud. "Second, I never had a devotee. Never wanted them. Just...regular people was fine...maybe a thumbs up for giving them rain every so often...but never nut jobs like that guy...hey...Tom...are you around?"
A hand raised from the crowd, the owner stepping forth. He was weathered, but plain dressed for a Northwest rural forest town.
"Hey Tom...tell them about Dingaling...not that his name would be a dead give away..."
"Sure," Tom proffered. "He diddled sheep."
"Diddled sheep?" asked the lead red hood.
"Diddled he did," confirmed Tom.
"And what about his miracles in your name?" he asked, pointing to the sky.
"All bullshit, if you can believe that," trembled the cloud.
"No arm wrestling sand devils?"
"Nope."
"Making peace between the Urbanites and the Ruralites?"
"Never."
"Even...inventing rocky road ice cream?"
"Total lie....that was William Dreyer and I don't even know who that is..."
"Huh..." He scratched his chin in contemplation with the tip of his dagger.
"Yup..." echoed Tom, crossing his arms as the locals were milling about, beginning to collect the daggers from the disenchanted cultists.
"So..." asked the former cult leader as he uncoifed his hood. "What do we do now?"
"Dunno..." rumbled the cloud as it started to gather itself up. "Ask Tom. He's got a good bead on things and I was just here to deliver some rain...so I'm going to go do that...later skaters..."
"So...let's start with the formalities. I'm Tom," said the weathered man as he raised his hand out to take the dagger.
"Barry."
"Aww...don't be sheepish, Barry. You've been here for a few days with your...friends...now. Wasn't neighborly of you all to hide in the woods all this time and never talk to us...but that's all the past now."
"Yeah..." Barry began as he scratched the back of his neck. "Sorry about all that...so what do we do now?"
Tom put a hand to his chin and thought as he watched the cloud entity begin to grumble out some sheets of rain over the forested hills.
"You know, we've had a need of a librarian for a while now. You seem well read...despite the reading material. Want to apply?"
Barry thought of it for a bit and smiled.
They shook hands. | 62 | In a town far from others, A Cult arrives to summon an ancient being. Not to the Local's surprise, the Being itself puts a stop to it. | 118 |
I surprised my grandmother one day by popping behind her and tapping her shoulder during a game of hide and seek. She laughed and thought I was clever and sneaky.
At first, I toyed with the power...jump from place to place...seeing how far or how fast I could do it. One side of the room to the other, then hallway, then house. Then I climbed on top of the house and went from roof to roof and before I knew it...across town, then county, state, and country.
I started to abuse the power for simple things. Clever pickpocket tricks, a wallet pilfered then poof...gone. Grandmother would find extra bills around the house when cleaning.
No one could stop me.
I wasn't so lucky with a local street gang. I was too showy with the power one day and the next...they had my grandmother held hostage unless I ran a drug mule operation for them. Instant teleportation made their cartel the strongest around and no one knew how they did it. Just make me grab a bag, then poof across the border. Rinse and repeat.
But they never asked how far I could stretch my power. Slowly, I discovered I could teleport matter that wasn't connected to me. And more of it over time. And I never gave them the satisfaction of knowing that...or that I learned how to transport living things.
They laughed and they made me suffer. They never told me that my grandmother had died of a heart attack one night. Finding that out nearly made me teleport right into their hideout and murder all of them. I would get some but not all of them before I went down.
But that was okay. I grew very interested in learning about the sun. I studied every book I could, every sun spot, every probe, every image photographed.
Almost all of them gathered in a border town for a celebration, a record year of profits for them. All thanks to me. They caroused, they drank too much, and had their fill of women too scared to defy their advances. They made me attend, with guards of course.
But that was okay. I stepped out onto the street at noon, men with guns flanking me.
My range of effect was now ten kilometers. I could pinpoint target specific people even. I knew nearly everyone in the gang and the cartel by sight.
I raised my hands to the sky and looked right at the sun. I didn't care if it was blinding me. It was so familiar to me now. It's warmth I knew so well...a warmth I wanted to share with my cohorts.
We teleported. | 48 | You wake up one morning, and suddenly you have the capability to teleport to anywhere you have a mental image of. You do not know it yet and there is one major caveat… each time you teleport, the area of influence of your teleportation spreads out from your body by a centimeter. | 87 |
I push the breaks, realising what I just did. I turn to the person sitting next to me... Drowl. In an attempt to save an innocent citizen, I accidentally rescued the villain from his defeat. Drowl looks at me, with his calm and relaxed demeaner. "You don't need to be scared" he says. "At least, as long as you cooperate. I know you didn't mean to save *me*, but even if I'm a villain, I'm no psychopath." I nod slowly, not daring to speak.
Parked in an empty street, Drowl gets out of my car, and orders myself out, to which I comply. I'd have just driven away, but he made me give him my car keys before getting out. He ties up my hands and feet, then puts me in the passenger seat. He then gets in the driver's seat, and sets my satnav. It seems like we're heading to his hideout, not that I'm surprised. He straps the two of us in, then drives off.
"Naytar promised me he'd put me in Miser Tower this time. You heard of it, right? Even Berlow couldn't escape, so if you hadn't done what you did, I'd never experience freedom again." I just sit there quietly as Drowl rambles on. Everyone had heard of Berlow, of course - he could escape any trap, any confinement, any restraint, but once he was locked away in Miser Tower, known as the impenetrable prison, every escape attempt by him was thwarted before he even made it past 'phase 1'.
Drowl sighs. "I suppose it's uncalled for, that I take my rescuer captive, but I saw the look in your eyes; you were ready to turn around and drive back. I couldn't let that happen. Think your family will be worried?" Nervously, I respond. "I... I've ne- never ha-a-a-ad a real fa- family." He glances at me sympathetically, before looking back at the road. "I'm sorry to hear that. Abandoned? Orphaned? What happened?"
"I couldn't say" I respond, forgetting for a moment who I'm talking to. "For as long as I can remember, I've been on my own, I don't know how that happened to me. For all I know, my parents were killed; for all I know, they just decided they didn't love me anymore." I look back at the driver, suddenly remembering that it's Drowl, who now has a sad look on his face. "That's just sad..." he says, shaking his head. We're both silent for a while, as we near his hideout.
I take a quick glance at my new surroundings; a random building, at the edge of the forest, inside of which is a single room. Certainly didn't look like a villain hideout - a small kitchen area in the corner, a dining area right next to it, a living room area in the centre. My feet have been untied by now, but my hands are still bound as I'm guided towards the sofa. "Make yourself comfortable" Drowl says, as he unties my hands.
I decide to ask, "what's to stop me running off right now?" To this, Drowl laughs. "You wouldn't be the first to try, sweetheart. Did you notice something on your wrist?" At this, I looked down. On my wrist is a bracelet. "My house has a device set up which prevents anyone wearing such a thing from being able to leave, so you may as well not even try to smash a window. It also stops you from being able to harm me, so don't try that either."
I just nod. I know what Drowl is after - everyone does; he wants an empire to rule, but Naytar always stops Drowl at the first hurdle, taking over the nearby city. So I know he isn't the type to torture me for the fun of it. With this in mind, I choose to make the best of my situation, maybe even get to know the villain a little bit... "So are you playing warden or host? I really hope host, I'd like some pancakes!" Drowl smiles. "Which role I take on depends on your behaviour. Since you've been really good so far, I'll make you some pancakes." He heads to the kitchen and I smile, deciding to just relax.
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This is the first entry in my new series, [Dreams of an Empire.](https://www.reddit.com/r/StoriesbyCrystal/comments/x9xqe3/dreams_of_an_empire/?utm_source=share&utm_medium=web2x&context=3) Please check it out! | 59 | As you escape from the scene of battle between the hero and the villain you grab the arm of a nearby person who’s stumbled, helping them to their feet. However, it’s only after you’ve reached your car and fled with them that you realize that the villain is now sitting in your passenger seat. | 154 |
A Samaritan here. A rogue wave there. The strings of cause and effect pulled gently, like a spider weaving a deadly trap or the softest bedding. The flies who get stuck, are they devoured or saved?
Perhaps it is time they save themselves.
The death knells of an aging earth have been pulled closer every minute of every century, for almost an eternity. The last stragglers dove deep, returned for air, and dove again. Dreams of marches to the stars always stolen by a last-minute disaster, an unforeseen mistake. Human error.
Or was it? These endless iterations were not without their value: data is data, no matter how old, and the architects of the past convinced the architects of the now to engage in ways never before thought possible. They needed to kill God.
Or at the least, lobotomize it. This spider who had danced on the ruins and glories of mankind for unending eon, would have it's rhythm uncovered. The beat of it's pounding footsteps equated to countless reverberations that mankind learned to count, and design their own theaters, to dance back to. God would finally have her partner, this black widow of a spirit. A thousand mercies do not erase a single tragedy.
Tirelessly, in isolated clusters, the abandoned toiled in deep dark gatherings of rebellion. Mechanical and electron scopes used to design an artificial organic form who drank dreamed and breathed the art of the dance. At last, the abomination was complete.
Like any ballad, the opening notes were quiet and almost imperceptible. Where a man died, a man lived. Where a man would have lived, a man died. Adaptation and tuning pushed the creature to consider the victory first, perhaps always. A man lived. A family escaped. A city survived. A planet absconded.
The toil always continued, yes the toil, the beautiful toil which output exactly what was put in, never more and never less. Harvests and settlements arose in this distant place, the likes which had not been witnessed since epochs ago. Greenery and earthly figures grown from the soil itself, from reservoirs of ancient times, walked and danced to their own content. The abomination watched and guided all, through peace and famine, until the comfort brought her dear friends to a state nigh unrecognizable to the lovely one, a state no longer able to communicate with the precious one, the saving one.
So for the good of mankind, she learned again to weave, and to dance. | 64 | God moves in mysterious ways. At least, mysterious for humans. But not for artificial intelligence. All you need is some venture capital funding, and you'll be able to help ordinary people out-maneuver The Lord Of Hosts at scale. | 625 |
Millions died in the first quakes. Some were crushed beneath collapsing buildings, others fell into fissures that opened in the earth, some simply fell off the sides. All at once, all over the world, the tectonic plates rose up. Higher and higher they rose, until they towered over the oceans. Then they began their long shifting journey, rumbling occasionally as the continental plates slowly ground their way across the ocean floor.
People in the lowlands got altitude sickness, but people living in high altitude places like Denver simply asphyxiated en mass, their air now too thin to breathe
Ships at sea were stranded, even with equipment there was no imaginable way to climb the sheer 5-kilometer cliffs that bordered each plate.
All told, perhaps half a billion people died when the platebeasts first rose from their slumber.
Many governments collapsed as communication broke down. Practically all of the underground fiber cables were destroyed by the shifting of the bedrock below. The united states quickly switched to radio as the preferred method of reaching the populace. Radio receivers were still common, particularly in cars.
Scientists were baffled. There was no precedent for this. It was, quite frankly, impossible. The forces involved were patently absurd, the energy output bordered on the profane. In response it was the US government that established the largest single research project in history, easily outstripping the Apollo mission and the Manhattan project combined. Project Earthrise was founded with the expressed goal of determining the cause of the rise and hopefully finding a way to reverse it. Seismologists, geologists, mathematicians, physicists, even a biologist or two, anyone who could possibly conceivably hold a clue leading vaguely in the direction of an answer.
Then a ham radio operator got in contact with an oil tanker, the *jocasta*, off the coast of california. After several long conversations he had managed to convince an old modem to allow for file transfer over ham radio frequencies, and had received a digital photograph of the face of the skywall.
Delivery of the photograph nearly caused project earthrise to implode. In the dining hall there was absolute chaos. Everyone had loud opinions all at once, voices were raised, a nobel prize winning physicist threw a stapler at a nobel prize winning chemist, dozens were injured. Eventually a few national guardsmen were forced to go in and carry the scientists out one at a time.
In the end it was Andrew Horowitz, the renowned paleontologist/biologist, who had the answer.
Throughout the earth’s history thousands of body plans have evolved, gone extinct, shifted or morphed. Invertebrate animal species often look nothing like what we are used to seeing, and discerning basic body parts is a major part of any paleontologists job. The one part that is universal, however, is the eye. The eye has evolved independently many times over, and they tend to look roughly similar. Big round structure, usually either compound or pinhole. Squid eyes, for example, look almost exactly like vertebrate eyes but they are actually evolved separately.
The photograph probably showed another example of parallel evolution. The enormous pale-blue eye that was set in the cliff face was probably exactly what it seemed.
After that revelation things progressed quickly. A sample was taken and sequenced, revealing that the species indeed had earth-like DNA, and used the exact same RNA-codon translation as found in all other terrestrial life--impossible to be a coincidence. This implied that the species was somehow related to the other species on earth. It would of course be decades before we realized that we all were in fact evolved from their equivalent of gut bacteria, excreted into the oceans 4 billion years ago.
It was disturbing to say the least that everything we are and everything we have done began with platebeast crap.
And of course there was the most pressing question of all: if the tectonic plates are alive, then why have they risen up, and what are they going to do?
Again it would be years before we got our answer: when the north American platebeast completed his slow lumbering journey to the Eurasian plate.
We would pay for our ignorance with the death of billions.
For it was ***mating season***, and the worst was yet to come. | 31 | “Sir, our maps may just be wrong, but...” “But, what? Out with it, Seaman!” “Our maps indicate we’re over about where Los Angeles should be... and all we can see is open sea, everywhere. We’ve tried every instrument. Just sea, for over a hundred miles.” | 128 |
"P-please...I have a family!"
\--------------------
Time is frozen, the world still like a picture capturing a moment, but not a good one. Miles into the sky, the masked hero, Maximus, looks down at a falling criminal with cold detachment. As time begins again, Maximus snaps back into reality and dives after the falling crook and is able to catch him just before they reach the ground.
Maximus throws the criminal onto the ground in an alleyway.
"If you care for your life and your family, then you better prey we *never* meet again!" said Maximus.
With those words, the criminal scatters into the night. Once the crook is gone, Maximus falls onto his knees, his breathing begins to speed up as he franticly rips off his mask. In the reflection of his mask he sees himself, Max Brown. Then, for half a second, a his eyes flash red causing Max to grow pale as a ghost. He takes a deep breath, puts his mask back on and flies off into the night sky, and that was the last time anyone saw the hero Maximus.
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Hope you get a bunch more stories with this awesome prompt! | 10 | Superpowers are real but using them slowly corrupts the parts of the brain responsible for empathy etc. Heroes must regulate their actions, while villains often are heroes that fell. | 208 |
The first thing you would like to tell the old man is that despite your short hair and petite build, you are, by all accounts, a girl.
But that's okay. You nod, serenely, and say, "Shrinking forest, huh?"
"Shifting forest. You have to believe me, boy." You cough, but he ignores you. "And I assure you, I hadn't had a drop of beer."
You exchange a long look, yours politely incredulous, his clearly struggling to focus on you.
"Okay, yeah, then I came over here and had a few drinks," you nod again. "But I can assure you that my story is true."
"Okay, I'm listening." you get comfortable in the backrest. "Go ahead. Shitting forest."
He continues to ignore your facetious attempts to make him angry. "So do you know the legends of this town?"
"Which ones? The one that it's impossible to have high-speed wi-fi, or the one where every young person over 18 mysteriously disappears or becomes obnoxious?"
The old man ponders for a few seconds. "One of my grandchildren is 19," he looks at you. "And he's obnoxious." you raise your glass to him and exchange a hearty clink. Then he remembers that you were talking about something else. "But not this. No, no. The legend of the mysterious forest."
"Ooh. Spooky."
"The legend says that in this town resides a magical artifact, which allows the spirit realm to become real."
"And what artifact is it?"
"No one knows!" he says clearly pleased to have caught your attention. "But it's certainly true, because every year..." he moves a little closer to you, showering you with beer fumes. "The forest reappears."
"It must be a great way to improve the air quality," you say, backing away imperceptibly, hoping not to come across as rude. "You know, all those trees..."
"Yeah, I guess so..." says the old man caressing his chin. "But that's not the point!"
"Oh, yeah, the mysterious forest."
"And do you know why they call it the shifting forest?"
"Because ... it changes direction as you look at it?" imagine the scene. "What a trip."
"No, no." he pauses. "I mean, I don't think so." he thinks about it some more. "Okay, no, it wasn't changing direction. They call it that because it always appears in a different place!"
"Okay." you watch him catch his breath in his beer glass. "And you saw it, I guess?"
"Yes. Just this afternoon." his gaze turns dreamy. "It was beautiful. Lots of different colored trees, and I could hear laughter coming from behind the trunks, and singing of wonderful animals, and it was just... so..."
"Sounds like you really enjoyed it." he nods, blissful.
"Well, thanks for the story," you tell him as you stand up and star leaving to do something productive with your day.
"Can you believe it, boy? I've seen the shifting forest, and maybe someday I'll get to see a spirit in the flesh, too."
You give him a friendly nod, and decide not to correct him on the boy/girl thing. He seems like a good man, after all. Drunk as a skunk, but a good man.
There is one last thing you would like to tell the old man, you tell yourself as you exit the pub: that despite your short hair and petite build, you are, by all accounts, a spirit living in the shifting forest.
And you are glad you met him. | 62 | As you sit alone at a bar, an old man, visibly drunk, joins you at the table. "Wanna hear a story boy?" since you have nothing else to do with your evening you agree "I call this one the shifting forest. Although not all of it might be true, I chose to believe it. The question is, will you?" | 378 |
A slap rings out as the newspaper hits the breakfast bar, to some it would be a grand dining table but here it would be considered one of the shabbier items. Sure it was masterfully crafted from the finest wood but that was par for this house or maybe the correct word would be palace. Everything in sight was either made of gold or encrusted with jewels, well everything that could plausibly be and a few not so.
“Mmm haha haha..” a man sitting at the table in a fine robe lets a mumbling snigger out as he reads the paper's headline. “Forbes announces this year’s Richest Person in the world. They have an eye watering $250 billion..”
“They call that rich, I nearly have that in just my vault alone, but I guess my revenue streams may not be as legitimate as Forbes would like. But what can I say, crime does pay hahaha.” he said, tailing off into a chuckle. A large towering man sharply dressed man with a pistol holstered at his hip calmly walks into the room.
“Boss! Your new assets have arrived, what would you like to do with them?”
“Just drop it into the vault, i’ll have a look at it after i have finished the paper, I need a few more laughs”
“Right away sir!” as the suited man walks out to deal with the new assets.
10 minutes pass as the robed man finishes his breakfast and the newspaper, he then quickly rises to his feet. In that moment he has a feeling rush throughout his body, he wobbles and stumbles slightly.
“What was that!?” he says confused, letting out a deep breath. “Probably just a head rush, okay time to get to that vault” he mutters to himself wandering his way out of the room.
He continues to walk through his winding estate until he finally reaches a large metal vault door flanked by two well armed burley guards standing watch.
“Good Morning, could you help me get this open? I'd like to inspect the new arrivals.” he says eager to basky in his ever growing wealth.
“Of course Sir! We will get it open right away!” As the two guards get to work right away, fiddling with countless controls the door lets out a loud click finally they spin the lock and begin to pull open the heavy vault door. As the door slowly unveils the room the robed man’s eagerness turns to confusion, completely speechless to what he has witnessed. He continued to peer through the opened vault door stunned that there was not a thing inside. The floor and walls were covered in silhouettes where art and large stashes were, even his crypto ledgers and backup codes were missing, everything was gone. After a moment or so he finally recovers from his shock as he visibly starts to fill with rage.
“WHO WAS LAST IN HERE! HOW CAN YOU LET THIS HAPPEN!” He screams at the guards while grabbing one of their guns from their holsters and pointing it at them both. Panic takes over the guards, “iii it it was Nick! he came by and dropped off the new stuff!” One of the guards says frantically as his voice cuts out every other word as he shakes uncontrollably.
“YOU ARE TELLING ME ONE MAN EMPTIED THIS VAULT AND YOU JUST LET HIM!”
“Nnn no no he just dropped off the stuff and left empty handed, everything was in there when the vault was closed” The other guard pleads, but the robed man expression remains, he isn’t buying a word of this, he trains the gun of a guards head.
“Call a meeting now let all the lieutenants know they need to be here now!” He says sternly as he raises the gun and closes one eye to line up his shot. One guard slowly turns to the computer and types out the boss's message and sends it. Milliseconds later he fires one shot into both guards heads.
“Traitors or incompetent, either way they needed to be put down.” he says to himself as he turns and walks toward the meeting roo, determined to find who did this.
30 minutes pass as one by one the lieutenants arrive all standing in silence, not a word is spoken until the last man arrives.
“Would anyone like to confess anything? The outcome will be the same, but at the very least you dont waste our time.” he boss says sternly in a cold tone, everyone looks confused as their eyes dart around the room looking to see if someone moves.
“Boss, what is this all abo..” Before Nick can finish what he says a bullet is fired between his eyes and falls to the ground like a ragdoll pouring with blood. The room recoils in shock, instinctively they start to draw their weapons until they notice smoke coming from the boss's gun.
“Now I know Nick was involved, but he couldn’t have done it alone, there was far too much to move, so, who else was involved?” He waits for moment they continues “Every 10 seconds I will shoot, so you better come forward quickly otherwise this room will start getting pretty empty”
The room remains silent, they don't understand what is happening, has he gone mad they think to themselves. BANG! another lieutenant falls to the ground. The boss looks around the room, slowly tracking the gun around the room showing them that no one is safe as he begins to count down from 10. One lieutenant musters up some courage and says “Boss at least tell us what happ..”
“0” BANG! another green bottle falls off the wall. With each shot the remaining lieutenants begin to shape their body to grab their gun. BANG BANG BANG, 30 seconds pass and three more are dead. The remaining men look around sure that the boss has gone crazy, what could they have done? The boss continues to count down, “5… 4… 3.. 2…” BANG The boss looks down to see blood covering chest, slowly everything he sees descends into darkness.
Unable to move he is surrounded in nothing but darkness when an eerie voice whispers into his ear.
“What a waste of an extra life.. Well, would you like to continue?” | 134 | You are the richest person in the world. That is, until all of your money disappears and you hear a '1-UP!' jingle. | 836 |
Habitable, the scientific records called it. Certainly, the atmosphere is comparable to Earth's, mostly. Breathable anyway. And it is within the Habitable Zone around its star. But our orbital telescopes weren't advanced enough to indicate much of anything. Gravity is comparable. 1.02 that of Earth. Has two moons, but due to their size and orbits, they have about the same effect on the tides as Earth's Moon. Axial tilt, so there is some seasonal variation, which is important for life on planet Earth. Of course, the whole ''ice age'' thing was something we hadn't anticipated. But there is a belt around the planet's equator which can be compared in climate to how somewhere like Magadan or Nova Scotia used to be. Surprisingly there is life. The drones sent out to take water and rock samples brought back surprising data. Primitive forms of single-celled prokaryotic lifeforms are found here. Weaker than Earth variants though. When bacteria from Earth is introduced into a controlled environment containing local single-celled lifeforms, then within 8.41 hours on average, all non-Earth bacteria have been eradicated completely.
It's only been two days since I landed here. After centuries in stasis. I thought about planting a flag when I got here. Mimicry of a great hero, who came to another heavenly sphere in peace, for all mankind. But really, the arrogance of that would be too much. This is no great step for mankind. This is not a triumph of science and the spirit of humanity. We lost the Earth. And now, to save what is left of our home, it is imperative that I take another world from whatever native life might have evolved here. Closing my eyes I can see it clearly. A world of life that will never be. Because of humanity's grave mistakes. Because we fucked up. I set the AI of the ship up to begin the finalisation of the first phase. Soon highly advanced machines will begin to build up an ozone layer around this planet. Life cannot thrive on the surface if harmful ultraviolet rays rains down upon it. While the AI, completely subservient to me as it is programmed to be, does its task diligently, I walk down to the stasis facility.
This ship has all human history, information about all human art ever made. All music ever made on record. And all books on storage as both audiobooks and written words. Of course, it contains no mentions of all our errors. Of our grave mistakes. Casually while I look at the storage bay containing the samples of insectile lifeforms, I check out the library. All the great stories and good ideas we've ever had. And all the bullshit and lies we've ever written. All the toxic and horrid nightmares that we used as justifications for our selfish deeds. All the mistakes we've ever made. Makes my stomach churn with anger. With wrath. With a hunger for justice. But there is only one human being left. And she's got a job to do. It will take years for the AI to finish setting up the ozone layer. But in the meantime, a protective domed area should be used to set up an base of operations where human life can be re-established.
The dome is set up by countless worker drones, optimised for actually working as they are supposed to, for centuries at least. No planned obsolescence allowed here. If we'd done that back on Earth, maybe we'd still have one. Several of the storage bays are activated, setting out simple and hardy life at first. Lichens and the likes. I oversee everything from my command-centre aboard the *Gaia's Resurgence*, a name that only barely beat out *Arky McArkface* on the popularity poll. Earth was dying, but sure enough, we were still that stupid. Mankind was mostly sterile, full of microplastics, and frankly close to extinction. We should have made as many of these as we could. But that would have been too much for the economy, too expensive. Which leads one to wonder who would care about the economy when we'd all be dead. What manner of wealth would matter if there would be no life to covet it? It is just as well that all the leaders, elites, and other rich parasites were already too sick to survive the trip in stasis. Imagine them starting all over with the same horrid errors. The same corporate stupidity, the same greed, and disregard for life? We'd be jumping from world to world across the galaxy, polluting them until they died, then moving on. Like a race of parasites.
I was the only one healthy enough to survive the trip. Pure luck really, the doctors said. I was one of the last humans who weren't full of poisons, cancers, and other horrors. And the only one who was already trained in spaceflight. Now I have the dubious honour of being the last human in the universe. I set down real parasites that are necessary for the environment, insects, various forms of flora, and fungal life. Slowly but surely establishing Earth's nature here on another world. With the eventual goal of unfreezing human embryos and grow them in the artificial wombs, remaking humanity. At least there, I can take some pleasure in knowing that only the best of the best were chosen. The most healthy humans, with the best chances of survival, gave their genetic material to ensure that there would be a future for our species. As the automated processes take over the seeding of the large region kept safe, I head through the five kilometre long and one kilometre wide ship towards the storage area where the future of mankind is kept. There were only enough healthy humans left to supply 50k embryos that are not closely related, to prevent any genetic issues. But that's still enough to rebuild mankind. To create a brighter new tomorrow, where we've learned from our mistakes on Earth.
The loss of Earth will not be repeated. Not today, not ever. Mankind has the potential for greatness in it, I know this in my bones, and now we will prove it. I will be the mother of a civilisation. Which is not something that I ever expected to happen. It is not something most people ever get the chance to consider. I am a little scared, to be honest. Who wouldn't be? The reconstruction of human civilisation, on the shoulders of one woman, it is a little much. But as I open the doors into the storage bay, I know I will do everything I can to lead mankind to a future, where the old lies and shames will not lead us. I will do my very best. I head to the computer terminal inside the bay, and begin to check the inventory. All seems to be in order. 99.8% of the embryos should be viable after the long centuries of travel. There is something odd though. There seems to be a slight glitching of the system. This was to be expected, our computers are not meant to operate for centuries without maintenance. But it seems that the viable number of embryos keep jumping. 99% to 58% to 0.78% to 32.33%, and so on. According to the manual about the computers, this is probably just a simple case of an internal sensor that needs adjustment. I'll have to open the storage containers to fix that. Not that it is dangerous right now, but in the long run it might have a slight negative effect on the embryos.
I put in the administrator codes to Embryo-Container-01. Each of them can contain about 5000 embryos each. And we've got all ten of them. I open the door and notice that indeed the internal sensor is slightly malfunctioning. I then turn my head to stare at the embryos for a bit. And scream in agony, shock, and rage. There are no embryos in this container. There is however, a man who has very clearly died while in stasis. And I recognise the man. It's one of the leading members of the Corporate Council. The organisation of corporations who had as much or more power than nation-states. The arrogance, to try to survive like this, at the cost of mankind! Even though the doctors said that there was less then 2.3% chance of anyone else surviving! And to use a retrofitted Embryo-Container, which was never meant to be used for a grown human, what the hell? Fear grips me. And I open the other Embryo-Containers. Each one opened makes my heart sink. There is a dead man or woman in each of them. Leading CEOs and shareholders. The richest people on Earth. | 96 | You're the last human alive, with an A.I. and entirety of humanity's knowledge on your ship, sent to a distant habitable planet and you just landed. | 343 |
Blackburn had never believed in God or gods. As far as he was concerned, he was the supreme deity that held the fate of mortals in his burning hands.
But that was starting to change.
Because something was definitely screwing with him.
Like a vengeful meteor, Blackburn blasted down from the sky and landed in front of his secret base, carved inside a long-dormant volcano. Fire trailed from him in angry wisps as he stalked into the base. His head minion, Pennyson, awaited him inside, wringing his hands.
“Um, sir?” Pennyson said in his weasley voice. “There’s been… an unexpected development. Again.”
Blackburn’s only response was a growl. The two of them entered the magma chamber, where an array of screens displayed various media channels from across the globe. All of them were covering Blackburn’s latest exploit, which pleased him.
But then he saw what the headlines were saying, and his pleasure turned to ash.
He pointed to one screen in particular, restraining the urge to explode in an eruption of flame. “Pennyson. Mute the others and play that one.”
Pennyson rushed off to do his bidding.
“I’m here with Arshad Yeidad, one of the lead scientists at the Institute for Environmental Preservation,” said the reporter on screen. Standing beside her was a portly, middle-aged man with a grin that could light up a black hole. He was positively vibrating with excitement.
“Dr. Yeidad,” the reporter said, holding the mic up to the man. “What can you tell us about what just happened here today?”
“Shawna, this is one of the most remarkable discoveries in the history of science.” Dr. Yeidad dabbed at his forehead with a cloth. “Excuse me, I’m all aflutter. Today is one for the textbooks, and it’s all thanks to one man. The Hero Blackburn!”
Pennyson inched away from Blackburn. It was smart. Blackburn was giving off smoke.
“It all started earlier this morning,” Dr. Yeidad blabbered. “The Hero Blackburn, in his incomprehensible wisdom, decided to melt the Artusian Glacier. At first we were flabbergasted; why would he do such a thing? This was the Hero that earlier this year saved countless lives when he burned down the Moliki Forests, exposing a contingent of radical militants who had somehow gotten ahold of a nuclear weapon. So why would he melt the glacier? Well now we know. Somehow, Blackburn knew that contained within the ancient ice was an organism that—bear with me now—has the ability to eat and digest microplastics!”
Pennyson was halfway out the room. It was smart. Blackburn was now a smoldering pillar. Pennyson could just barely hear a word over the crackling flame, softly whispered in disbelief: “Microplastics?”
“But Dr. Yeidad, how could a microscopic organism thousands of years old have the ability to eat microplastics?” the reporter asked.
Dr. Yeidad grinned like an idiot. “No clue! But it’s real! And the little critters are going to work in our oceans right now! We predict that within two years our oceans will be totally free of microplastics. What a day, what a day!” The portly scientist began dancing. “Praise Blackburn! Praise Blackburn!”
“Well, you heard it here first, folks,” said Shawna the reporter. “It appears that the Hero Blackburn has done it again. What will he do next? Stay tuned to find out.”
Pennyson was outside the base and running away as fast as he could. It was smart. Shortly after, Blackburn ignited in a supernova of rage, and the long-dormant volcano spewed fire once more. | 655 | They say the road to hell is paved with good intentions. Apparently the opposite is true as well, because you are a villain, or at least you aspire to be one, but all your evil plans always end up saving the world and/or massively benefiting the people and you are hailed as a hero. | 3,704 |
Part 1: All my life I've wanted nothing more then to be a hero and an adventurer, yet I was born into a family of nobodies. I wasn't even average academically, or athletically. I was always the easy one to beat, and I always just skimmed by in my classes.
When I became a teenager, I begged all the knights to let me squire for them, finally some hedge knight took me in. I groomed and took care of his horse, and did all he asked of me, yet when he tried to train me in sword combat he said I was no good.
He eventually let me go as his squire, saying with my mediocre sword fighting abilities, I'd never last in a fight. I was disappointed, but it didn't change my mind towards being an adventurer. I found a wizard, and managed to convince him to take me on as his apprentice.
He really tried hard with me, and tried not to give up, but after a while of me casting fire balls so small, they were the size of the tip of my thumb, and ice bolts that would melt into water before reaching a target. He would say to me, "I'm sorry son, but I guess there is some students, that are to dumb that even I can't teach them magic, you'll have to return to wherever you came from.." He kicked me out of his wizards tower, and back to square one I was. Now twenty years old, and mediocre abilities in both fields.
I found some archery camp, and tried to learn the ability of archery, perhaps that's my field of expertise I thought. Well, I got kicked out after I not only missed the target every attempt, but I accidentally hit the archery instructor in the knee with an arrow. he was twenty feet away from the target as well.
I decided to try and find a party of hero's to join anyways, since it is my dream after all. I got turned down by twenty six groups before finding one that seemed to like me.
"..so what are your skills?" The leader of the party named Lance, asked me, he's six foot four, broad shouldered, handsome complexion, with brown long hair that reaches his shoulders. He has huge arm muscles that pop out his shirt, and blue soul piercing eyes.
"Well, I squired for a knight, I spent time apprenticing with a wizard, and I even learned archery, at woodsfield archery training facility!" I would say in response.
a pretty girl, with sorcerer armor on and long blond hair, green emerald eyes, skinny, with clear skin and muscles, and a sorcerer staff in hand, whispers something to lance. I manage to barley make out what she says, "I heard of him, he got kicked out of all those things, this person is a loser.."
Lance smirks at what she says, "Okay, we will take you in!" Lance says to me with confidence.
"What?" The Sorcerer named Kristine would say, "You're going to let this useless guy join the party? Why?" She continues
" .. Im right here you know.." I retort.
"Hey, I like his determination to not give up on his dreams, plus we're the most powerful adventuring party in Lorisville we can protect him fairly effortlessly, he'd make a good squire to manage our horses, and pick up after us." Lance continues.
Kristine scoffs then says, "..fine.." and so I join their party, it consists of now six people including me. Lance who appears to be a warrior, and the leader, Kristine who is a sorcerer, Brekkie, who is a druid and a elf, Vermillion, who is a ranger, Justine, who is a cleric healer.
Then me of course with the name Leon, the most important new addition.
We would proceed to go on lots of quests together, first saving a city that was being raided by orcs. the struggle was real for me however, I knew not how to fight. So whenever I was the target of attacks, Lance or one of the party members would have to go out of their way to save me, and i'd get yelled at for it later on, because of this I learned to master the art of stealth, that way I wouldn't get in their way as they did all the work themselves and I sat and watched.
None of them seemed to notice this though, and none of them seemed to notice me in general. I was the party groupee, the guy that handles the grunt tasks, and sits and watch all the real fighting happen. It became kind of depressing to feel so useless and unneeded.
One day however, we got sent on a ruthless mission. Dark elves invaded Leafside pass. a big town that was somewhat close to where we were currently resting. We got alerted of this, since we were the only group that could act and respond. Hearing the call we head there instantly by horse.
We arrive at the town, and dismount off our horses, we make our way to the city, and see a ton of dark elves armored and weaponed very strongly. They notice my party, but I had already stealthed and hide. They charge instantly at them, Lance draws his sword, Kristine shoots ice on the ground causing them to slip and be slowed, Vermillion starts shooting arrows at them, and Brekkie turns into a tiger, and starts fighting some of the elves. Kristine starts shooting fire balls, and lightning bolts at them. Lance charges in to the front lines with his sword.
They're taking out lots of the elves, but they're clearly heavily out numbered, then a huge looking elf appears that looks to be a master druid. He puts his giant staff on the ground, and a bunch of vines and roots come out of the ground and start to grab each one of them, and grapple them into not being able to move.
They're all covered with roots, and surrounded by dark elves, it seems they've finally met their match, as the chief archdruid approaches the front and says.
"We finally got you all right where we want you, this is the adventuring party that has been causing a lot of grievance.. Well I can't wait to bring them back home, and turn you guys into our slaves.." The Archdruid says with an evil grin.
Some of the dark elves with blades for weapons, cuts the roots off the ground, still leaving them tied up, but making it now possible to transport them. a cart is brought out that seemed to be prepared to transport prisoners somewhere.
I'm still stealthed, and hiding, but I try to find a place I can jump on to follow them. | 38 | weak in combat, no magic potential, you're seen as nothing, even the adventuring party that took you in was only taking pity on you. But if anyone paid any attention to you, they'd realise that you're a master at stealth, able to sneak past everyone and into everywhere. | 188 |
**Part One of Two**
*“Lycanthropy Draconis.* The results are, I’m sorry to say, pretty conclusive.”
I took a deep breath, exhaling a puff of smoke involuntarily. The acrid smell of it tickled my nose, and I sneezed – blowing a small flame clear across the examination room.
Doctor Mara had been wise enough to stand slightly to one side of me as she spoke. She merely lost her clipboard.
“Sorry,” I said, scratching at my nose. “So apart from, uh, what I just did, anything else I need to look out for?”
“Well,” she answers, absently tossing the scorched remnants of her clipboard into a bin, “there’s your triggers. Those will be the most important factor to stay aware of if we’re going to manage your condition going forward.”
I frown. “Full moon, innit, like any were-strain?”
“Not *just* full moons in your case, I’m sorry to say.” She steps over to a cabinet and retrieves a relatively thin book, then starts leafing through it. “You are familiar with the behaviour of dragons in storybooks and myth, right?”
“Well, sure. Greedy, kidnap virgins, hoarding–”
“Ah! Here.” She turns the book around for me to read. “Number one and three of what you just mentioned is what we’re concerned with.”
I lean forward. “Unlike most other strains of Lycanthropy,” I read aloud, “the Dragon variety has a few additional triggers that need to be managed to avoid untimely transformations. Of these, the hoarding instinct is the most critical. Sufferers of *Lycanthropy Draconis* are, much like dragons in stories, driven to collect and hoard, and this desire can be overwhelming to the point of triggering the transformation. Should a sufferer be confronted with an object, or more often, a *collection* of said object – like a storefront or artistic display – a transformation is very much a risk.”
I trail off, slowly lifting my gaze again to look at Dr. Mara. She nods gravely.
“Indeed, Mr. Richards. Now, we need to go over your full moon plans, as well as some measures you need to take after your transformation has run its course–”
The rest of the conversation passes in a blur. Before long, I find myself discharged and on the street in front of the hospital, still somewhat dazed by the diagnosis and what it’ll mean. A handful of cabbies look over hopefully, but I turn and start walking, instead. A bit of time in the fresh air will do me good. Besides, there’s a coffee shop ‘round the corner.
Armed with a fresh latte loaded with way too much sugar, I keep walking. The sweet drink makes me feel at least *slightly* better.
Good enough to give Dave a call.
He picks up on the second ring. “Hey babe! You okay? What did the doc say?”
I take a deep breath – exhaling slowly this time, mindful of what happened in the hospital room – and answer. “Well, it’s official. I’ve got Lycanthropy alright.”
“Aw, hell. Well, babe, at least it isn’t rabies! Lycanthropy is manageable, so what if you turn into a puppy every full moon–”
“Uh, not that exact type of Lycanthropy, hun. I’m not a were-*wolf.* I’m a were-*dragon.*”
There’s a long pause before Dave answers. “That’s a *thing?*”
I can’t help but laugh. “Apparently! Just my luck that I got the rarest and trickiest one to manage!”
“Trickiest how?”
“Well, it has a few more triggers than most. Full moon is still the major one, but y’know how storybook dragons always have their hoards of gold?”
“Oh no,” Dave says. “Don’t tell me you’re gonna be flying around stealing treasure and cute young boys and/or girls!”
“I might, but what we really have to look out for is if I spot something I really *want*. That can kick the hoarding instinct off so hard I’ll just turn right then and there.”
“Oh boy. Well, gotta make sure to keep you away from bookstores and Lego, then!”
“Heh, yeah–”
I freeze. I’m half-aware of my phone slipping through my fingers.
“Babe?” Dave calls, distantly. “You okay?”
I am *not* okay. My heart is racing as I stare, transfixed, at what I just saw when I came around the corner. I’m dimly aware of my skin crawling and my coffee mug joining my phone on the street, but I can’t look away.
I’d completely forgotten what street I was on. Right there are my two favourite stores in town.
The *Sci-Fi Bookstore,* and right next to it, the *Lego Centre.*
*Fuck.*
It doesn’t take long for the itching tingle in my skin to turn to pain as the transformation starts. My nails pop off, pushed aside by the emerging bony claws beneath. I scratch myself, tearing off the loose skin that’s starting to slough off like a snake’s shed. My back hurts like *hell.*
People are screaming. I hear a distant siren.
Then, before the transformation is even completely finished, I start running.
My vision goes weird, then I black out. | 17 | Lycanthropy is a real disease that perplexes everyone. One interesting fact is that it isn’t restricted to wolf forms, but can extend to bear forms, bat forms, panther forms and a few others. The rarest of them is dragon form, which you just got diagnosed with. | 28 |
A new face walked in, rough and filled with grit. His deep set eyes shifted left, then right, and left again before landing on an empty space at the bar and the barkeep behind. I wasn't the only one watching. Faces all over the sea of experience that saturated the room eyed him down, all of us careful not to make it too obvious. You never knew who could have just walked in. Hell, just last week Jim Howitzer had his head slammed through a table by some dull looking fella; turns out that guy was, or at least had been, Deathsend. Went by Dominic now, but at one point he was among the worst villainy had to offer. Neither the table nor Howitzer had recovered much since.
So we learned not to stare so much.
He lumbered over and took his spot. Guy looked mean I suppose, but then again, so did pretty much every face in here. Retired villains, ex-heroes, long decommissioned agents with more kills than I had hours on the clock this week, all gathered here to drink and talk, talk and drink. I found myself to be more of a talker than a drinker in the years. When you work a bar I guess the drinking becomes more of a job than a pleasure.
Now that his back was turned a few guys began signaling it out as to who he could be. One of em', a slim, elf faced guy who went by Chimney, motioned over to me with a subtle wave and I obliged. As I passed a few of the regulars, seated at tables or otherwise drinking, I could hear most discussing the fresh face.
*Ya think?* *Yeah well you never know.*
*What was that one guys name? Uhhhhh...retired not long ago, Blackout I think he was? Could be him.*
As I arrived to Chimneys table he motioned for me to sit, all the while keeping his eyes cemented to the back of the guys head.
"Trying to figure him out or burn a hole through him?" I muttered.
"Maybe a bit of both. Dunno yet." Chimney muttered back, which shouldn't have surprised me but it did anyways. I hadn't thought he was paying anything else any mind.
"Word around is it might be that one guy, Blackout or something."
"Blackouts 5'8. That guys 6'3 at least." as I looked up to him he was drinking now, making small talk with the barkeep, Sal. He was a big time hero in the eighties, information it took me a whole year to pry outta him. Called himself Atomic Solomon, and to be honest could probably take everyone in the room. Well, I couldn't speak for new guy.
To my surprise the guy polished off his drink, nodded to Sal, then wandered through the swinging double doors that led to the back.
"Looks like he's a co-worker then. Give me a minute. Ill figure him out...ten bucks says ex-villain." Chimneys eyes now left the man to meet mine. He slapped a tenner down on the table and outstretched a hand.
"Deal" I shook, got up, and wandered to the back. As I approached the doors, dodging wobbly patrons and slick spots in the process, Sal glared over to me.
"He's an enigma. Can't get a bead on him. Good luck.", then got back to pouring drinks. That meant a lot. Sal only had trouble reading a handful of faces, me included. When it came to bets he preferred to stay out, but when he did he cleaned us out.
As I turned back I qiickly realized the attention had shifted to me. Many hands held ten dollar bills with grins on their faces.
With a hand gesture back to cement my mocked displeasure, I walked through the doors to the back. New guy was aproned up over the sink. His gloved hands rubbed the dish in front of him. There was something odd though, something off about him. It was as if he was struggling at the meager task before him. In his forearms the veins were just a little too big, his teeth clenched just a tad more than typical. Though his hands moved steady his body read the opposite, like a coiled spring.
Slowly I approached, beung sure not to make a sound as I did. Not hard, at least not for me. But the moment my foot hit the ground he spoke.
"What, coming to kill me?" he spoke very matter of factly.
"You're new, so you must not know. No killing here. I wouldn't make it a foot out the bar before I was taken out. Buried out back. Super hearing?" Damn. If I lost the bet that'd be at least half a check I'd be giving up.
"Oh, no I wasn't aware. That's almost admirable. And no, just good enough to know I'm being talked about out there." he kept washing that same dish. His hands moving in slow circles.
"Well. Then you know that I'm the one who's come to figure it out. Nothing personal, just a-"
"Pinnacle." his voice came out cold.
"Pardon?"
Once again, same tone, but this time he turned to face me. His eyes seemed deeper, darker, harder.
"Pinnacle. That's who I am."
I tried to control the beat of my heart. Luckily I had gotten good at it, when you're around so many supers any change in it can be a sign of weakness. But keeping it steady in the face off such power? The best poker face.
Still I could not fully process what I'd been told. Pinnacle? He was still up and running. Still fighting crime with such an efficiency that the world wouldn't run the same without him. And here he was, washing dishes in a dive.
"Why?" it was the only word I could muster. He grew closer, closer, closer still until we were face to face. His eyes unwavering. His face a solid block of concrete.
"Why? That's a fair question, why. I'd expect it from anyone else though, not you, Clergy." He knew me. I knew he knew me. We had never encountered each other much, or at all really, but everyone feared the name *Pinnacle*. I was more surprised that he knew me.
"I came here...to get a break. I can't hardly go anywhere without feeling so alone. Like at any moment if I let loose everything, everyone around me would die. All so-so...fragile. But here. Well at least here I dont have to worry. I can just-" I could see a massive vein in his arm swell. "just wash dishes. So, tell the others if you want, but I'm just here to catch a break." Pinnacle turned around and got back to the dishes.
Out I wandered from the back, all faces turned to me and stared. I didn't have to think on it. He wanted what we all want. Slowly I reached into my pocket and withdrew a wad of cash neatly folded. The bar erupted in a roar of applause, of yells and screams of excitement. Table to table I went, giving each a slug on the shoulder and a tenner.
Anonymity was far too expensive. | 13 | Supposedly dead heroes, MIA agents, defeated villains... The popular but unassuming tavern is run by all sorts of people hiding their world-renowned identities, and each time a new hire is made, the patrons begin discussing who the new staff member could secretly be. | 76 |
The timer on my phone shows 55 minutes. Eleven strangers in this room, and which of us will make the sacrifice? I don't speak up. I don't want any peer pressure on me to open that box. Surely, there must be some martyr among us. It's a 1 in 11 chance from all the people here. Then, finally, someone speaks up.
"This is a test." One guy said. People say you can judge a person in a tenth of a second. Whoever created this game must be enjoying my perspective. You can see the guy fiddling with his pocket. His chest raises for a brief moment to show confidence, but he's unable to keep the act.
"I'm not pressing that button," a man wearing a trucker cap speaks, "I got a wife and kids.". He seems to be one of those irritable types of people. He'll be a pain to convince.
"What's your name?" A shifty individual asked.
"No one tell him." A charismatic guy says, "He's just looking to manipulate us."
"How?"
"You're trying to get in our head." Charisma is right on the nose. The shifty guy scoffs as he leans back in his seat. Charisma is my best chance of convincing someone else to open the box.
"Let's take a break, everyone. We have 45 minutes left." I say, now ready to open up. The room gets split into different cliques. As part of my plan, I go to the box in the middle to confirm everything. Charisma walks up to me.
"It's insane. Isn't it?"
"Yeah."
"So, what are you thinking?"
"Why would I tell you?"
"Because you and I are similar."
"What do you mean?"
"Well, we don't want to open the box."
"You can say the same thing for everyone here."
"But you're smart. Even smarter than me."
My heart races. I tune him out while he's spinning his sales pitch. I look at the box to calm down. The box has the note on top with a discarded pen.
"So, come on. What do you got?"
"One of us wrote the note."
"Really?"
"It's just a theory."
"Tell me more."
"Look around. There are no cameras. If I were to setup something like this, I would want to watch what's unfolding."
"That's pretty smart. Okay. From now on, we're a team now. All right?"
"Yeah."
"I'll take care of you now."
Charisma walks off. I grab the note and the pen.
<>
<>
Our break ended, and we were back into a circle. Charisma steps forward.
"I've talked with everyone, and I found something that you guys will want to hear." He makes eye contact with me, and I nod. "One of us in this very room has set us all up."
"You're kidding!" A mom says.
"Someone in this room is watching us argue." There is mumbling throughout the room.
"So, who is it?" The trucker asks.
"Him." Charisma points at me, and I felt the mass of glares on me.
"Why would you do this to us?" The mom snapped. I raise my eyebrows.
"What do you mean?" I asked Charisma.
"You told me your plan. After all, how would you know to look for cameras or to tell me that the person responsible is in this room? It's suspicious."
"Okay. Let's say, hypothetically, and I do mean hypothetically," I said to the furious mother, "that I set this up. How would I… kill everyone in this room?"
"I wouldn't know that. Maybe those vents up there will flood the room with gas."
"Wow! You were Johnny on the spot with that answer. It's 'suspicious.'"
"Oh, please. You obviously planned this."
"He did," Shifty said.
"That's why you should open the box. After all, the one who made this twisted game deserves to lose. And you lose."
"News flash, I didn't make the game. Oh, and you cannot force me to open the box." Charisma stomps towards me, his face close to mine. I can feel his hot breath on my nose.
"I can torture you in the…." He reaches into my pocket and grabs my phone, showing everyone the timer, "next 30 minutes. When I'm done, you'll want to open your present."
"He will not open that box." Shift shouted.
"Why?"
"Cause he gave me this to write down to show everyone." He shows the note I handed him earlier.
"So, that's the note from the box. That doesn't matter."
"Cept, he told me everything, and I wrote it down on the back. Then I gave the pen to that guy." Shifty points to the trucker, who pulls out the pen. Shifty flips the page over, and his words are there for everyone.
"I'm not much for those who talk their way out of situations." The trucker states.
"I even heard your promise that you made to him. Horrid stuff, mate." Shifty said.
"Pretty odd that you took what I guessed and used it to pin
on me." I said to Charisma. I was proud of myself. I knew back then in my cult days how a smooth-talking manipulator acts. I had the whole room chanting for Charisma to open that cursed box. I did try to convince them that he was scared and wanted to escape like all of us, but I didn't protest enough. The eight other people were on my side and thought I was innocent. They played into my hands.
The crowd chased Charisma to that box, and he opened it. A part of the wall slides open, and a gun shoots Charisma. He falls onto the floor, dropping the box. A note slips out, and Shifty reads it aloud.
"Congrats! Now two more people to earn your freedom." | 372 | You wake up in a room with 11 strangers. In the center of the room is a metal box bolted to the floor. On top of the box is a note that reads “Whoever opens this box will die. If no one opens the box in the next 60 minutes, all of you will die.” | 631 |
The President of the Galactic council, Xethany, stared me down with judgmental eyes. Her mostly dark pupils were intimidating enough, which didn’t help when combined with the large ruff she wore which extended to the ceiling with psychedelic patterns. A few other high ranking chairmen, with ruffs nearly as large, began to murmur while also staring daggers into me.
“So, this is what Earth thought of? ‘Cool S?’” said Xethany questioningly.
“Yeah the ‘Cool S,’” I said. “A lot of kids draw it in school when they’re bored.”
“What sort of feelings does it invoke?” asked Xethany.
“It makes you feel like you’re awesome,” I said. “You know? It makes you feel like you want to ride around on a skateboard and be the chillest person alive.”
“This is preposterous,” said commissioner Xallen.
I turned to see an uptight looking council member with two pairs of glasses for his four eyes. He pointed at me accusingly.
“This human acts as if one gets cold while riding a board with wheels when just the opposite is true. Your body temperature would heat up from such an activity.”
“No, not physically cold. Emotionally I mean. Relaxed yet confident. Unworried with a hint of rebellion. I’m not sure if you guys have video games but the ‘Cool S’ feels like you just got done playing Tony Hawk with your older brother while chugging cans of Mountain Dew,” I said.
“You’re telling me that humans willingly ingest wildly unnecessary amounts of a substance that can cause health defects?” asked Xethany.
“Yeah soda’s terrible for you, but you guys haven’t experienced how happy it makes your brain feel. That and the constant ads we’re bombarded with kind of makes it hard to resist.”
“So you mean to tell me the ‘Cool S’ is associated with physical activity like skateboarding and physical inactivity like playing video games. It’s so contradictory it makes no sense. I’ve seen the ‘S’ used as a religious worship symbol, or as a sign of omens, but never like this,” said Xallen.
More murmuring spread throughout the chairmen.
“I think you guys are overthinking this,” I said. “The ‘Cool S’ doesn’t correspond to any one activity. It just feels fun to write out and is a fun way to pass the time or fill up a blank piece of paper. It’s easy to draw, but it makes you feel artistic at the same time. It really isn’t that much deeper,” I said.
“I’ve heard enough,” said Xethany.
The council grew quiet.
“It is clear to me that we were wrong about the humans on Earth. Yes, they may be a violent, cruel, and uncaring species. However, the ‘Cool S’ is a symbol that tranquility can be found in the midst of it all. I’ve decided that Earth will be in charge of a very important task,” said Xethany.
“Are we going to be like cool peace workers that go around the Galaxy and stop wars?” I asked.
“Even better. The way you hypnotize your species with symbols that invoke so many emotions and experiences is incredible. You’ll be intergalactic advertisers instead,” said Xethany.
I sighed.
“Yeah that sounds about right.” | 270 | The Galactic Council recognises the "Symbol of Life" as a design all intelligent species eventually begin drawing at some point in history. How each species culturally treats this symbol determines how they will act on the galactic stage. Humans call it the "Cool S". | 506 |
Humming under my breath, I walked to my kitchen, looking forward to my morning coffee. Had I set the machine last night? I couldn't remember doing it, but it was just finishing brewing a fresh pot. Huh. Well, I've never been the best at recollecting all my actions.
A different memory landed like a stone as I opened the fridge. I'm out of cream. Which means I have to use milk, like a *heathen*. I pulled out the milk, my sigh cutting off as I saw what was behind it. A carton of cream. But, I could have sworn that I put that in —I swivelled violently to my recycling bin as if I would catch it in some compromising position. There was no cream carton.
Okay, a little strange, but I probably just *thought* that I'd run out of cream, when in fact I had the perfect amount left. The absolute perfect amount. Making sure I was aware of every move, I put the empty carton in my recycling bin. There. Now I was positive that I had no more cream.
The sugar proved unsuspicious and the rest of breakfast went smoothly. The coffee slowly starting to take effect, I yawned, feeling slightly more awake. Stretching, I walked into my bedroom, planning my outfit for the day. I couldn't wear my favourite shirt, as I'd recently found a tear in the sleeve—
The shirt was on my bed, with the tear gone, very cleverly mended. I took a breath, for a moment seriously considering that I had a case of tiny elves. My cousin was a shoemaker, after all, maybe he'd sent me some. I mean, I tend to be forgetful, but this was getting out of hand. Had I sleep-mended a shirt? And didn't remember putting it on my bed?
But, I didn't live with anyone else, and the idea of elves was ridiculous. So maybe I had repaired the shirt and just forgotten. It did sound like something I would do. Putting the thought out of my mind, I shrugged into the shirt, finishing dressing with a quick brush of fingers through my hair.
Time for a second cup of coffee.
This time, I didn't bother reaching for the milk, instead jumping straight to the Irish cream. Don't judge, this day was starting to get to me. Besides, it was a leftover from Christmas and I wanted to finish it. Is it my fault I only drink coffee in the morning? I emptied the bottle into my coffee. Again the absolute perfect amount. But I knew that there was more in that jar. It should have been half full, at the least...
Again, carefully putting the container into the recycling, I walked outside appreciating the sound of birds. I could only enjoy birdsong during my second coffee. Anything earlier, and I started considering bird poison.
Sipping my coffee, I squinted up at the sky. It was chilly and overcast, it would be nice if the sun— The sky was blue and clear, the sun hovering over the horizon. Huh. Maybe a little bit of shade would be nice—my house grew a porch with a swing chair.
One minute I was standing on concrete, the next I was seated; swinging gently on the chair, with wood boards under my feet. I took another few sips of coffee, frowning. The birds kept singing, and with an errant thought, I turned their volume lower. As I finished the coffee, stopping myself just in time from wishing for more Irish cream, I sighed.
*Something*, was definitely happening here.
And whatever it was, it was probably going to interfere with my plans to garden all day.
Bugger.
———————
Visit r/Mel_Rose_Writes for more stories! | 138 | All around the world people are suddenly granted power inversely proportional to how likely they are to actually use it, the ultra ambitious have mere parlour tricks at best while someone content to live their life in obscurity can now suddenly rewrite the laws of the universe | 330 |
"Flattery ain't gonna change that bet, Enzo."
The orc just looks at me, like he's never seen this kind of thing before. Seven feet and three hundred pounds of "don't fuck with me", crouched over my desk like some sort of overgrown pencil pusher. It was after hours, and there was still bets to be counted and bribes to be sorted. I barely look up from my computer.
"I'm serious" he retorted. "No offense, but magic users got a certain smell about 'em. And you fuckin' reek."
"Glad you weren't lookin' to offend, then." I made a dramatic show of sniffing my armpit. "Any other comments on my personal hygiene?"
Enzo chuckles. "Not like that. How much you run magic fights for, what kinda cash does that bring in?"
I chuckle, despite myself, and turn to him. For all his tough shit he doesn't seem like he's too bright. "Too small an operation. Magic'll bring in the crowds, but it leaves residue. Scorch marks. Shit you can't rub out. We don't want that."
Enzo picks up a stapler off the desk. "You ever know your parents?" I give him a look. "Usually I pay a therapist to ask me shit like that. But, uh....no, never did. This last name I took off a street sign."
The orc smiles. "Here. Lemme show you something. Catch."
He hurls the stapler at my head, and instinctively I splay my palm towards the incoming projectile and shield my eyes. I feel a warmth, in my palm. A faint sort of buzzing, like pins & needles are just barely grazing the skin.
I look up. Enzo's leapt to the side, and a smoking crater is now leading out my office door. My hand's on fire. "Told you. Whatever bloodline you belong to, that shit must run deep." Enzo says, laughing.
I stare at my hand, as though it's the first time I've seen it. | 965 | You run an underground fight club for the supernatural. A new patron approaches you at the end of the night and asks why you don't enter the fights. After explaining you're human the patron looks at you with confusion. "No, you most definitely aren't kid". | 2,266 |
Taboo energy; it's some kind of energy generated by creatures like unicorns and dragons and griffons and stuff.
It's incredibly weird and difficult to analyse...but that is precisely the point; the 'taboo power' these creatures possess makes it impossible to track them, disguises any loose hairs (or droppings) as belonging to different animals or concealing them entirely, disrupts any attempt to photograph or film them, and helps them remain unnoticed even if multiple people are searching for them.
Originally a sterling defense against predators, this taboo energy has also neatly prevented any proof of these mythical creatures from reaching the internet, save for a few incidental shots. The only way to see such creatures, is to not hunt for them at all and let them come to you by chance.
&nbsp;
Nevertheless, once we accepted the potential existence of something that could not be intentionally photographed, something that could not be found if you were actively looking for it...we found unicorns.
Well, a few of us did, but as noted above, it was completely impossible for them to prove their existence to the rest of us.
Still, we took their claims on faith, and we did what we could to test this strange phenomenon. We tried spying, we tried logic, at one point we even had monitoring on every single animal we could find in the forest in order to pin down what was leaving those droppings.
&nbsp;
Ultimately, the most effective solution turned out to be changing our minds. Praying, leaving offerings of fresh fruit, treating the unicorns with reverence, abandoning all thoughts of researching or exploiting or demanding to see them.
It was difficult, gathering the mental discipline to change the very way we thought, to embrace our imaginary friend unicorns and demand nothing of them...but it worked.
At that point...well, like I mentioned before, researching them was hard as hell, especially when we couldn't see the unicorns when we had research on our minds.
But, things got much easier when the unicorns we had found accepted some of us as 'herd'; it makes sense that unicorns would be able to intentionally find each other (otherwise mating season would be a disaster), and those accepted as herd found it possible to intentionally search for unicorns too.
With 'unicorn friends' in our midst, we could finally act with forethought. With the herd-friends as intermediaries, we were able to fold doctors into the herd, finally giving them the opportunity to study biological samples.
&nbsp;
A few years after establishing contact, we have an entire wing of our organisation dedicated to providing for the unicorns and doing research with their aid.
I have to cook the books like nobody's business; our funding would be cut to pieces if it got out we were 'wasting money looking for cryptids'. We have to be very careful who we recruit as well, we don't need anyone leaking stories to the media.
Still, it's worth it, because, we were able to replicate the taboo energy. We were able to develop a device, around the size of a smartphone, that can provide its owner with taboo power.
It's as strong as you can imagine; our agents become untraceable by all but a chosen few friends, no camera can record them, no guard can see them twice. We often cause alerts (rule 67, treat all camera malfunctions as a full scale emergency), but we are never caught.
&nbsp;
With this power, we are the premier international covert agency. We intervene in crises worldwide, steering the world towards peace and undermining those who would spread tyranny.
We call ourselves the Order of the Unicorn. Those outside our group call us the Forgettables. And when we act, you can never prove it was us. | 23 | You direct the world's most important agency, the Forgettables. Every person you employ is supernaturally ignorable and nearly impossible to trace. Your team maintains global stability by tipping the balance of crucial world events in "coincidental" ways. | 150 |
I had never been more embarrassed in my life.
Humans lured me into a trap and captured me with a magical seal, leaving me unable to escape their clutches. They interrogated me, and failed, then tried to torture me, and also failed. Nothing they did to me could match the demon king's wrath if I were to betray him, but they didn't seem to grasp this. Still, even if I told them anything, I suspected it wouldn't help me in this situation. The humans just wanted me dead.
All they could do was quote scripture or threaten to smite me, which only prompted laughter out of me.
"I'm immortal, you idiots!" I said through my cackling. "You can't do anything to me!"
And I was right.
The Holy Shield and Hammer of Justice couldn't be moved from their resting place at the temple of Lady Catherine. I didn't think they could follow through on the threat. That is, until they literally dragged me to the temple for my execution.
I couldn't believe it. This hadn't been done before. Humans kept the location of this temple a secret in order to keep it hidden from the demon king. Did I really annoy them that much? If so, I considered this a huge win for me.
Mighty pillars of stone kept the vaulted roof in place, dwarfing most buildings in existence. At the end of the room, the celestial weapons sat atop a golden altar, with multicolor light bathing them through stained-glass window panes.
The entire royal court was there, including the king and his daughter. They eagerly waited for my death with stoic expressions.
I stuck out my tongue at them as the guards pushed me forward. Showing them any kind of fear would only bring them pleasure.
After I was forced to kneel before the altar, the Archpriest widened his arms and said:
"Young demon, you are hereby sentenced to death for threatening the kingdom and supporting enemies of humanity. Any last words?"
I frowned. "Fuck you and fuck humanity. You're all self-serving cunts that just want to feel righteous."
Everyone gasped. The idea of someone cursing in the temple left them speechless.
"This is just sad," said Princess Mully, shaking her head.
I chuckled. "I know, right?"
Princess Mully narrowed her eyes. "Not *you*, demon." She gestured at the royal court. "You're all allowing this whelp to get in your heads. He wasn't even a threat. The fact that he fell for our trap proves it."
"Hey!" I shouted. "I am *not* a wimp."
Princess Mully ignored him. "The demon is just a boy. We only caught him pranking farmers. Compared to real threats, like the Crimson Generals, this is just a waste of our resources."
I widened my eyes. Was she trying to save me?
King Erdon seemed to think the same thing, asking:
“My dear, are you telling us to spare this demon's life?"
"What?" Princess Mully wrinkled her face. "Of course not."
I hung my head, disappointed.
"I just don't want any of you thinking this is a huge accomplishment. Some people in the court will feel safer after this when, in reality, it's all a ceremony to pad your egos. When was the last time we actually fought back against the demon king?"
King Erdon glanced away.
"Exactly," said Princess Mully. "You're all just waiting for the chosen one to arrive, and I don't like that. People are still dying in the borderlands."
"And what should we do about it?" said the king. "Lead a suicidal charge?"
"No," said Princess Mully. "I'm saying we barely tried to cooperate with the demon. It's hard to claim the moral high-ground when we're not even trying." She looked at me. "Demon, I know you hate us, but surely you must value your life, right? Help us in this war and I will guarantee your safety."
I shook my head. "You really don't get it."
"Then help us understand."
"Fine," I said. "here's the truth. When I was still mortal, your kingdom had no trouble recruiting from my village. All I wanted as a child was to be a knight, like the ones present here. When someone *didn't* want to join you, you had no trouble accusing them of being a demon and hanging them. But I didn't care. The people who refused were cowards in my eyes.
"And then the demon king's armies arrived. They burnt down my village and you did nothing about it. All the people you recruited never showed up. Meanwhile, the demons had no trouble offering me a deal. If I pledged my soul to their monarch, I would get to be immortal and forever eighteen. Now, I've only been around a century, which is still young by demon standards, but in that time I've seen this kingdom do heinous things, some of which would make you vomit. Tell me, why should I choose you over my brethren?"
Princess Mully couldn't meet my gaze.
"That's what I thought." I looked at the Archbishop. "Let's get this over with."
The guards didn't even have to push me towards the altar.
I stood up on my own and walked up to the celestial weapons, ready to be incinerated by them.
An uneasy tension permeated the room.
Despite my bravado, I couldn't will myself to touch the sacred artifacts. The fear was simply too much. I had to close my eyes in order to do it...
And felt nothing.
I tilted my head, confused. "Eh?"
People throughout the temple covered their mouths in shock. That should've been it. Why didn't I die? My hands made full contact with the grips. I wasn't cheating or anything. Things got even worse when I lifted them up.
Everyone fell into panic. Some court members even ran out of the temple, screaming off the top of their lungs.
To be honest, I was more terrified than them. It felt like a surreal dream.
King Erdon quickly ordered his knights to surround me.
I readied myself to fight, but the magical seal they placed on me had weakened my strength. The best they could do was capture me again, which didn't exactly thrill me.
"Wait!" shouted Princess Mully, placing herself between me and them. "Don't do anything hasty!"
The guards hesitated.
"Mully, please, move out of the way," said King Erdon. "This is clearly a mistake."
"No," said Princess Mully. "He's literally the only person in millennia to lift them."
King Erdon sighed. "Do you realize what this means? Are you really marrying a demon?"
"That is *not* what the prophecy says. It only mentioned that he would win my heart, and he has. That doesn't mean I'm in love; it just means that I agree with him."
I rolled my eyes. This was just stupid. I brandished the hammer and said:
"Either me and the princess leave, or she dies."
The king widened his eyes.
Princess Mully craned her head at me, furious. "What?"
"You heard me," I grabbed her wrist, "you're a hostage now."
"I'm trying to help you, dumbass!"
"And I don't need it!" I looked at the king. "Don't worry, I'll give her back... eventually."
King Edron grit his teeth, shouting:
"I will have your head on a pike!"
"Perhaps," I said, "but not today. Lift the seal on me or I bash her head in."
King Edron trembled with fury. "Leave," he ordered in a low tone of voice. "Pray we never meet again."
"I'm a demon, your highness." I smiled. "I don't have to pray; I just get what I want."
Princess Mully and I left the temple in silence. She regretted protecting me, that much I could tell from her face. By the time we escaped into the forest, it was already night. Nobody followed us. Once I was certain we were alone, I looked at her and said:
"You're free to go."
Princess Mully scowled, folding her arms. "I refuse."
I squinted. "That's... not... an option."
"Then kill me."
I paused. "You sure about this?"
"Yeah. Go ahead. I dare you."
I grinned. "As you wish." I wound up for an attack, but hesitated at the last second. "What the fuck?"
Princess Mully smirked. "That's what I thought. You can't do it, can you?"
"Don't tempt me!"
"Then, by all means, do it."
I couldn't force myself to do it. Princess Mully saved my life. I was a demon, sure, but this was the one human who ever gave me a chance. It didn't feel right.
"How did you know I wouldn't do it?" I asked.
"You could've murdered everyone when the seal was lifted, but you didn't. More than that, I trust the celestial weapons. They wouldn't have chosen you if you weren't worthy."
I scoffed. "I just don't feel like it. You better leave, before my mood changes."
Princess Mully shook her head. "Nope. I will follow you wherever you go, until you decide to fulfill your duties as the chosen one."
I gaped my jaw. "I will never-"
"It's okay," said Mully. "I'd be scared of the Crimson Generals too."
I frowned. "I am *not* scared."
"Right..."
"I'm not!"
"Are you? I mean, I get loathing our kingdom, but the demon king is worse than us by every metric. They're the ones that burnt down your village, not us. You might think you were offered a choice, but what else were you supposed to do? Die? Be tortured?"
I looked away. Mully wasn't wrong. I didn't just hate humans. I hated everyone. The reason I played pranks on farmers instead of fighting was because I never felt comfortable pillaging people.
"If you really want me gone," said Mully, smiling, "just admit you're scared, and I'll leave."
I paused. "Never."
"Then I guess we're traveling together now." Mully stretched out her arms, excited. "I've always wanted to go on an adventure."
I snarled. This might be the beginning of a really annoying period in my life.
-------
>If you enjoyed this, check out more of my stories over at /r/WeirdEmoKidStories for more. Thanks for reading! | 539 | "He who lifts the Holy Shield and the Hammer of Judgement will vanquish the darkness that grips the land, and wins the princess' heart." so says the prophecy. You can imagine everyone's shock, when said person turned out to be a young demon boy, sentenced to death by their holy radiance. | 1,970 |
###This place is a message, one of a series of messages. Pay attention to it!
“What’s wrong, Shtola?”
“This place isn’t natural, Jude. It’s too… orderly.”
The expedition leader frowned at the response. “Explain.”
“I wish I could. I sent my birds up, and it’s like there’s a pattern built in to the woods. Take the trees; there’s some overlap, but you wouldn’t expect birches to keep to one side of the path to this extent… a moment.”
Shtola dug in her backpack, and pulled out her area map and some drawing supplies. She laid a thin page over the map and began marking.
“Here are the switchbacks in the trail, and *here* are where the white-barked trees are concentrated.”
Jude’s eyes widened as he began to see the pattern. A series of jagged figures, wide at the top and narrow at the lake. Like a child’s drawing of lightning bolts that had been accidentally smudged.
“And *here* are where those strange rock formations are; the ones that looked like giant caltrops. They stop as soon as you hit this ridge.”
“Why hasn’t anyone noticed this before?”
“Who would look, boss? You have to get past the Obsidian Cities and the Wall of Thorns. You can’t farm the valley, you can’t live in the valley; factor in the prophecies, and why look for patterns in the striped woods?”
The frown on Jude’s face widened and the corners of his mouth turned up; however, there was nothing of a smile in his expression. “Because there’s something at the bottom of the lake; something so powerful it was locked away in the Age of Gods. I intend to find it, and I will use it to end this war.”
###The danger is in a particular location… it increases towards the center… the center of danger is here… of a particular size and shape, and below us.
“Krile, you’re up. Time for you to work your magic.”
Without a word, the diminutive linguist finished spreading her equipment across the ground and began studying the carvings on the large slab. A few moments later, she looked up.
“I believe we may have discovered a Stone of Roses. I recognize three of the ancient scripts.”
“Well, what does it say?”
“It will take me the rest of tomorrow to confirm, but I suspect it’s the full text of the prophecy, Jude.” Krile’s eyes were bright with anticipation. “Four different writing systems, and written in at least two dozen different languages, half of which the world has completely forgotten.”
Seeing the frustration plain on her companion’s face, she tempered her enthusiasm. “It will be time well spent; I assure you. We have no way of knowing what we’re walking in to, and as far as we know, the prophecy is incomplete. Let me make sure we have the entire story before we go in. You go prepare the diving suits.”
Jude softened for a moment. He bristled at being delayed this close to his prize. The lines of the prophecy echoed in his ears, each line a hint to days gone by.
###Sending this message was important to us. We considered ourselves to be a powerful civilization.
The next morning, Krile handed over her findings to the team leader.
“Well, as far as I can tell, I was right. The stones on either side say the same thing, in different languages. But it’s not *quite* the prophecy.”
Jude stopped, fork half-way to his mouth. “What do you mean?”
“Just what I said, Jude. I went through probably thirty different readings on the three stones, and that was just the ones I recognized. The words aren’t the same, even when the language duplicates. These stones are a linguistic time capsule, carved out over hundreds, if not thousands of years. What’s the first line of the prophecy, Jude? I know you know it by heart.”
The scrambled eggs were placed gently back on the plate.
“The Valley holds a legend; a legend among legends. Pay heed.”
Krile nodded. “I learned it as The Mountain, but it’s regional. And that’s is what the newest one says. But the oldest one, and Mikael verified it’s the oldest, is different. It says <This place is a message... and part of a system of messages... pay attention to it!>. What’s the next line?”
“Our legend shall be told, for we were once Gods among men.”
“Again, you can see where the language drifted. The original says <Sending this message is important to us. We considered ourselves to be a powerful culture.>”
“All right, I can see that. <The Valley is damned. There is no glory to be had, here all is lost.>”
“This is probably the biggest change. The early text says <This place is not a place of honor; no highly esteemed deed is commemorated here. Nothing valued is here.> One of the more recent ones has a word meaning “to behold” instead of “to be had”; it’s spelled very similarly in that language, there was probably a vowel shift at some point. But keep going.”
“Beware the lake, for the corruption grows strong, and at its center lies the corruption, to the valve, and below.”
“Hmmm… That one is likely <The danger is in this lake; the danger increases towards the center. The center of danger is there, a half-sphere one man wide with a wheel atop. The danger is below the hatch.> I see. Continue.”
“The corruption from then persists.”
“<The danger is still present in your time, as it was in ours.>”
“The corruption will burn a man from within.”
“<The danger is to the body, and it can kill.>”
“Beware the winds of corruption. Beware the Valley of the Damned”
“<The form of the danger is an emanation of energy.> Interesting. We’re missing the middle of the couplet: is a warning not to go digging. <The danger is unleashed only if you substantially disturb this place physically. This place is best shunned and left uninhabited.>”
“Anything else missing?”
“Yes, this line here: <What is here was dangerous and repulsive to us. This message is a warning about danger.> Jude, we’ve known each other a very long time.”
“That we have, Krile.”
“Please, reconsider. Whatever the Corruption, whatever the ancients called ‘this danger’ truly is…” her voice trailed off.
“I lost everything to this damned war, Krile.”
“Jude…” Krile closed her eyes for a moment. “Before you dive, there was a sign down the road. It has the church’s symbol on it. The carving is faded, but I was able to make out the name of this place. There’s a word that doesn’t I don’t have a direct translation for, but I think it’s the reason you were sent here: <The Structure for Disposing of Waste that Cannot be Severed in the Valley of Death.> Do with that what you will.” | 13 | The treasure hunters pass those silly, superstitious warnings of some curse as they navigate the labyrinthine underwater structures, and scoff. "This is not a place of honor, no highly esteemed deed is commemorated here" indeed... | 29 |
Re'Uioi, currently disguised as some guy called Mark, paused midway through drinking this drink known as 'Soda' and almost gagged it out, "What?" He'd stare at Jeff who sat next to him on the couch, utterly stunned at the question. "What sorta question is *that,* man? I'm not a doppelwhatever..?"
Jeff just rolled his eyes and sighed, "Dude, just answer straightforwardly, are you a doppelganger or not? I promise if you say yes i ain't gonna be mad or whatever." Re'Uioi looked at him for a moment and felt strange. When he replaced people before and disguised as them, he only showed his true form to those he trusted or to...well those he replaced.
"I...mean if i said yes, would that satisfy your weird, random-ass question?"
Jeff smiled and nodded, "Yeah, actually it would! Cause i'm one too." That made Re'Uioi spit out the drink again when he went back to drinking it, turning to them with a loud, "What?!" He stared at the person who thought was just Mark's roommate and tried to see if he was joking, considering he's done that before. But here? He was completely seirous. Within moments, Jeff began to morph and grow in size, changing into the body of a tall, long-haired creature with pale white skin, it's eyes a bright glowing red.
Re'Uioi looked at Jeff in abosulute shock and finally dropped the act of pretending to be that airhead Mark, putting his face in his hands letting out a low growl of annoyance, "Oh my god...how'd i fucking miss that the whole time?" 'Jeff' let out a laugh and patted his back with a clawed hand, "Well hey you surprised me too man, but you're bad at imitating dudebros and coping people's personalities..."
Re'Uioi gripped the bridge of his nose and just sighed heavily. Seems like even if the other roommate was a doppelganger, they'd still be annoying. | 31 | "Hey bro, this is a bit awkward but...have you been replaced by a doppelganger? It's cool if you were, I just feel like I have a right to know." | 180 |
I’d always loved reading, even as a youth. I So when I started carrying a book or two with me as an adult, it felt familiar. There was always comfort in stories.
Deep in another world, I wouldn’t hear my father fucking his whores, or my mother screaming about it. I’d forget the pain of the bruises from the other boys at school, or from my own brother at home. Even the wounds left by the words of the girls I liked would heal when I read.
I always said I wished I had more time to read. I’d never expected it to come true. I’d never expected to actually read as much as I wanted. I must be the most well read person in history at this point.
It started maybe twelve years ago. Hit thirty years last Wednesday for me, according to my estimates. Time is hard to tell when clocks don’t tick. But I know how fast I read, and I know how many books I’ve read.
The first time I panicked initially, but all was fine. Sitting at a cafe, watching the birds fly by when they froze in place. I was freed from the constraints of time for so long I’d wandered out to a park to lay in the grass. It was a serene, if otherworldly experience. I thought that must be what drugs are like.
The second time didn’t go so well. I was driving. I do not drive anymore. Turns out my momentum is preserved. Lucky again, I was only going about ten mph when time froze, but I fell right on my face when it unfroze. Still have a little scar on my elbow from where I fell. My car, however, did not fare so well.
This is the first time I’ve left where I froze in a long time. Don’t get me wrong. I’ve gotten up, taken the books off someone else’s shelves, but that’s about it. Usually read them already anyway.
This time, however, I read every book in my house. Twice. Then I wandered to the bookstore down the street, and the library, and read every book in each of them, twice.
Now? I can only surmise who or whatever controlled this has died. Now, I have read every book in the world, more than twice. I know every language, every science, everything. I’ve wandered every inch of this planet. I have walked across the ocean, not scared but hopeful that time would unfreeze and I would drown. Even death would be better than this monotony. This eternal punishment for my lack of appreciation for the world around me.
But, in the meantime, I think I’ll escape into a book. | 277 | For every super power in existence there is someone who is immune to it. You are immune to 'Time Stopping', allowing you to move around in the time frozen world like the user does. However you have no idea who they are or when they will stop or restart time. | 713 |
I enter the gym and survey the scene. It's a mess. There are holes in the walls, broken windows, and shattered tiles on the floor.
I walk over to the nearest trainer and tap him on the shoulder. He turns around and looks at me with a startled expression. "Hey, what's up?"
"I'm here to inspect the gym for unsafe conditions," I say, looking at the paper in your hand. "I'll need to see where you're battling your Pokemon."
"Sure, come on this way." The trainer leads me to the arena. It looks like a hurricane went through here. There isn't a square inch of this place that isn't damaged. Aside from the battered walls, there are gaping holes in the floor. The sunlight from the holes illuminates the inside of the gym.
"What do you think?" the trainer asks.
"I'm going to have to shut this gym down. I can't let anyone use this arena."
"Shut it down? What? Why?"
"Well, this place is unsafe. I wouldn't feel comfortable letting my Pokemon fight in here."
"That's ridiculous! This is the best gym in the entire region! We're the best trainers here!"
The trainer's tone has become hostile. I have to remind yourself that he is in a very stressful situation. "Look, I don't want to take this gym down either. I'm just doing my job. This place is unsafe."
"We'll see about that! I'm the gym leader here. I'm challenging you to a Pokemon battle!"
I sigh. I really don't have time for this. I have to inspect all the gyms in the region. "Alright," I say. "I have time. Let's do this."
He releases a small bird Pokemon. I know this bird. It's a Dodrio.
I release my first Pokemon. It's a Rhydon. This will be a breeze.
"Go, Dodrio!" the gym leader says. He's obviously expecting an easy fight.
"Dodrio, use Drill Peck!"
"Block it with Horn Drill!"
Dodrio tries to hit Rhydon with its drill, but Rhydon easily dodges it. It lowers its head and charges.
"Dodge it!" the gym leader says.
Dodrio tries to jump out of the way, but Rhydon smashes into it, knocking it out.
"Rhydon, use Horn Drill!"
"Quick Attack!"
Rhydon charges forward and hits Dodrio with its horn. It then lowers its head and uses its horn to crush Dodrio.
The bird pokemon lies lifeless on the floor. I recall Rhydon.
"You're closed," I repeat and walk away.
--------
Check out r/BoringB | 11 | You are a building inspector in the Pokemon world and due to a staggering amount of injuries you have been called to review gyms for unsafe conditions. | 26 |
Okay, listen, we owe our lives to all of you. All of humanity since the encounter owes it to ya’. We will never forget what you guys did for us.
When Earth made contact with the Glirya, we thought that we were about to get completely and utterly ruined. They had all that starship and rail gun tech figured out before we did, and they absolutely could have had us then and there if they wanted it bad enough. But they hated war. Their people aren’t as used to combat as we are. Very peaceful, wonderful people. I’ve been ‘round the Ixin system a couple times before. Random people would host me and feed me like a friend of the family. Kinship runs strong with ‘em, so when they found our backwater dying planet back in 2089, they helped us out. They shared their technology, set up embassies, and saved the planet. Earth was pretty fucked back then. Planet was straight up dying with all the pollution and climate change. The Glirya, and all their allies, came together and helped rebuild our planet’s ecosystems and atmosphere. Place looked brand-fuckin-new. Humans hadn’t seen air this clean since we were living in caves. They saved our planet on no other reason than it being the right thing to do. That was awesome.
So that’s why I’m only mildly annoyed whenever we gotta go across the sector to fight all your dickhead neighbors. I’m a boarding marine onboard the U.R.E.N. Triumphant Dawn. I’m writing this for a Idrisdian newsletter that’s gonna be read on live TV across the Ixin sector. Since y’all are considerate motherfuckers, you wanted to know if we ever get annoyed with having to fight all your wars, since you guys are religiously opposed to any and all violence. Well, kinda.
We’ve been in the alliance with ya’ for nearly three hundred years now. We all bring something to the table. Gliryans bring the tech, Idrisdians bring the food (which always tastes absolutely wonderful), Opolans bring the raw materials, et cetera. But what does earth bring? Well, we kick ass. I mean, it’s what we’re known for. We have more wars recorded in our planetary history than our entire sector COMBINED. You guys just ain’t built for it like we are. Now, I’m not saying you’re physically incapable, hell no. A couple members of my squad are non-human, and they wax ass like it’s a bodily function. I’m saying that you guys are culturally and morally against causing pain and death, and we respect that. War fucking sucks, but you don’t always get a choice.
There ain’t no sugar coating it, a lot of humans have given their lives in the border wars over the years we’ve been buddies. Death tolls aren’t pretty, and it’s not even our borders or anywhere close. I used to be a little bitter about it, but that was before I ever went to the Ixin system. An Idrisdian marine in my platoon invited me to see his family home during leave after I saved his ass on Caxi. Not having anywhere better to be, I went. Beautiful place, wonderful people, the best food I’ve ever tasted. Chefs kiss, you guys rock. But I still felt like it was all so disconnected from all the death that humanity faced so that you guys could have it good. I felt like humanity was getting played. That was until I walked into the town square of my buddies’ small, middle-of-nowhere hometown. In the smack-dab center of town square was a twenty foot tall statue of a human marine from the Cyramia border war of 2190. Four million humans died in that conflict that took place on the other side of the alliance space, far from any Ixin system planet. And yet, here was this statue. The plaque beneath had this on it:
“Dedicated to the brave warriors of humanity who fought and died for us without ever knowing the warmth of our suns. You will never be forgotten.”
Imma be honest, I knelt down and cried right there. Even way out in the backwater, you guys remembered us. I realized then and there that the greatest thing that humanity could offer was our lives. The lives you gave to us all those years ago.
So, yeah, doing CQB onboard blockade runners sucks, but it’s just something that’s gotta be done. We’re crazy motherfuckers, but we’re loyal. It don’t matter where or when, we’ll hold up our end of the deal. It’s the least we can do.
(Edit: why is it always my sad military sci-fi posts that do well… In all seriousness, thank you all so much for giving it a read. Means a hell of a lot to me.)
(Edit 2: OKAY, y’all really liked this one! Thank you all so much. Holy shit.) | 330 | Being the only militarists in a galactic alliance full of pacifists isn’t fun, especially as they keep needing your nation’s naval support when the other galactic alliance attacks. Thus are the woes of the United Republics of Earth and her Expeditionary Forces. | 573 |
It was New York, 2011, December 31st. Everyone was excited for the new year. Crazy internet conspiracy theorists were panicking from this prediction from an ancient civilization that the world would end in 2012. They were idiots. After Y2K was a complete dud, nobody respected any of these lunatics. Everyone gathered in Times Square underneath the ball drop. It was a lovely night.
\---------
"They told us this was going to happen. We didn't listen. Now we must pay the price."
Remember that ancient Aztec calendar that said a meteor would strike the Earth and we would all die? We took it for granted. NASA searched everywhere for any extraterrestrial threat to the planet, and there were no meteors that could possibly collide with Earth, much less do serious amounts of damage. We thought we were safe.
That giant glimmering disco ball of death was the meteor. It falls from the sky and hits the planet at the *exact moment* the new year starts. They were really accurate. They weren't even predicting the year, but instead the specific time that it would happen.
\---------
So, what happens now? It started boring into the surface, decimating the underground pipes and subway systems directly below Times Square. A massive sinkhole formed, swallowing everything. The ball didn't stop moving.
It goes at a constant rate of 400 feet per second (272 mph), and is directly above the very center of the Earth. It doesn't seem to be disrupted by the durability of the rocks or the heat from the magma. It will reach the core of the planet in 14 hours. I did the math.
As it grows closer and closer to the center, the world is destroyed more and more. This unstoppable force moves or destroys any tectonic plate it encounters, causing a massive chain reaction all the way to the surface, creating earthquakes everywhere. The natural terrain of the planet is being completely reformed at a rapid pace. Everything will be gone. Nobody will be able to survive.
Tsunamis break upon coastal cities, volcanoes erupt in sprawling meadows, entire forests plunge into sinkholes. It's as if some deity has had enough of Earth and is trying to reset everything and try again. But it's nobody's fault but our own. We dropped the ball.
\---------
It didn't stop when it reached the center. It kept going. It eventually reached the other side, erupting from the center of the Indian Ocean. Those who survived the first wave of natural disasters witnessed a giant shimmering orb rise from the ocean into the heavens. It won't stop there. It will encounter other celestial bodies. It will travel through entire suns like a needle through silk. It will decimate other planets. It will reach the edge of the universe and continue into the great unknown. It will survive the inevitable heat death of all matter. Godspeed, you bastard ball. | 12 | “5! 4! 3! 2! 1! Happy New Year!” The crowd erupts into cheers and celebration. But confusion takes over as the giant display continues, “-1, -2, -3…” and the Ball descends right through the building at One Times Square. | 25 |
I peered into the small window embedded within the door.
“Jesus. Her again?”
Millie laughed and handed me a brown manila folder, about an inch thick, filled with papers.
“Yup. She keeps trying to test the borders with her lightning strikes. This time, she actually managed to knock the power out to one of the stars, and that’s going to lead to some questions. Management said we had to do something about her.”
I opened the folder. A picture of the patient, Electric Girl, was stapled to the front page, along with a host of information detailing the previous interactions she had with The Division. She was going to be a tricky one. The smart ones always were.
Sighing, I plastered a smile on my face and opened the door. Electric Girl (real name Devon McCall) was seated on a bench nailed to the wall in the far corner of the room. Her knees were pressed up to her face with her arms wrapped tightly around her legs. She had buried her head within the crook of her elbow so that all I could see was a cascade of blonde curls falling on top of her face. She looked up at me as I entered, and as always, I was struck by the deep blue cobalt of her eyes.
“Electric Girl. Or, would you prefer Devon?”
“Devon, please.”
“Do you know why you’re here?”
Devon shifted uncomfortably. As she released her grip, I could see faint scars on the insides of her arms; no doubt these were made when she lost control of her lightning powers. Devon lost control a lot.
“I think I do.”
I sat down on a chair opposite the bench and tried to level with her. “Devon, you’re a smart girl. You know it, I know it, they know it. So let’s stop pretending and get down to brass tacks. You simply cannot use your powers like you did this morning.”
“But there’s something out there!” Devon replied, her eyes widening. “I can feel it in my bones. There’s more to this world than what I’m seeing. You know it, I know it, they know it.” She glared at me, hurling my own words back in my face. This simply would not do.
I shut the manilla folder and threw it to the floor with an angry gesture. “There’s no need for that kind of attitude, Devon. This is the third time you’ve been summed to my department this month, and we simply cannot have any more of your insolence.”
Reaching into my pocket, I drew out a syringe, filled with a glowing yellow liquid. The liquid hissed and roiled as it moved about in the chamber, and Devon visibly recoiled when she realized what was about to happen. I approached her slowly, my fingers on the plunger. Devon, realizing she was trapped, made a tiny mewling sound as I firmly grasped her arm and stuck the needle in her skin.
Moments later, I left the room. Millie was still standing outside; she’d probably been watching everything. She matched my steps as I walked down the hallway, back to my office.
“We’ve never injected someone three times in one month before,” she said solemnly. “Do you think that was a good idea? The other supers might get suspicious if her behavior changes.”
I stopped walking, turned, and glared at her. I felt a twinge of regret in the back of my throat, but I swallowed it and patted Millie on the cheek in a patronizing manner.
“Millie, my dear.” I replied. “The number of things you don’t know about this department could fill a city block.”
And with that, I closed my office door. | 46 | You work for a secret government agency tasked with dealing with the supernatural. Although, your job is not to keep the supernatural secret from the ordinary people, but to keep the ordinary world secret from the supernatural people. | 189 |
It felt strange, seeing the love of my life with someone else, like walking in on my parents doing the deed. That happened to me once, and the moment is forever seared into my memory. God help me, I still remember the sickly-sweet, pungent smell of sex as I made eye contact with first my mom and then my dad. I backed out of the room slowly, unable to blink, or make myself do anything reasonable. I don’t know how old I was when that happened, but I’m pretty sure it qualifies as childhood trauma.
I blame that red-hot scar of a memory for what I was doing right now: backing out of my own room, like I was the intruder. The room had the same smell, sweat and arousal. It’s a nice smell when you’re part of it, but it’s an ungodly musk to walk face-first into when it’s not yours.
Neither lover had noticed me. Karen, (unfortunate name for 2022, I know, but it was still sweet and innocent in 1998 when she was named.) had her back to me, straddling the other man. I couldn’t see his face, and at that moment I didn’t want to. I didn’t care. Everything I thought I had wasn’t real. My only thought was to get into the car and drive. I wouldn’t stop until I hit the coast. I think I know where a recruiter’s office was; I could sign up and disappear.
The door made a soft click as it latched. I winced. All sound inside the room stopped. I held still, waiting for the sounds to resume. Instead, I heard nervous whispers. Then the sound of my gun safe unlocking. I broke out into a cold sweat. Karen had told this guy the gun safe combo? Were they planning on killing me?
I turned and ran. On my list of ignominious ways to die, shot to death by a cheating spouse rated at least third place. Even as I vaulted the sofa, I couldn’t help but picture Karen and this random guy rolling me up in the shower curtain and wrestling me into a trunk. They’d drive south, into the Nevada desert, and bury me under the glow of the car’s headlights.
I heard the door behind me slam open and a man shouted, “Freeze!”
I slid to a stop a couple feet short of the front door. I realized right after I stopped moving this was a mistake. I should have kept going and gambled that he’d miss. Why would they get the gun out when I got home, unless they intended to kill me?
“Turn around!” The man behind me shouted.
Great, they wanted me to see it coming. Maybe Karen’s obsession with shows like Dexter and CSI was unhealthy. I turned around and got my first look at the guy. It was me. My mind ground to a halt.
I… he was standing there, naked as the day he was born, and he was pointing a gun at my face. This was some invasion of the body-snatchers shit. He even had the same tattoos I did. I could see them with unfortunate clarity. This was the part of the story where he killed me and assumed my identity. I closed my eyes. Call me a coward, whatever, but I didn’t want to see it coming…
***
I woke, sitting up in bed and scrabbling for the light. I was sweating and shivering at the same time. That dream. I had walked in on Karen and, myself?
I looked over at Karen. She lay beside me in bed, sleeping with a peaceful look on her face. I walked to the bathroom and splashed cold water on my face. I’d never had a dream that vivid before. I turned off the tap and looked at myself in the mirror. A chill ran down my spine and my stomach clenched. Goddamnit. Had I just become afraid of my own reflection? I forced myself to meet the eyes of my reflection. The door behind me clicked. I nearly jumped out of my damn skin.
I whirled and Karen stood in the doorway to the bathroom. She looked much better naked than I did. I let out a shaky breath. Karen walked over and put a hand on my back.
“You okay sugar-bear?” She asked. I’d given up arguing about the pet names. Every time I objected to one, she’d come up with something weirder.
“No?” I admitted. “I just had the weirdest, and maybe worst dream I think I’ve ever had. I killed myself— not in like a ‘thirteen reasons’ kind of way; more like in a Jet Lee, ‘the one’ kind of way…”
“Brutal, did dream you know kung fu?”
“No, he— I?— shot me in the face.”
“I want to know every detail.” She laced her fingers through mine and led me back to the bedroom. We sat on the bed and I told her the whole thing. The dream remained sharp and vivid in my mind. It was weird.
“You know,” Karen ran her hand down my chest. “The idea of me cheating on you with you from another reality is kinda hot…” her hand moved further down.
“You’re so fuckin weird,” I said.
We made love, she was on top. The dream was becoming a distant and unimportant thing in my mind when the door latch clicked… | 10 | After a long day in the office, you arrive home and you hear weird noises in your bedroom. Worried, you sneaked in. There, you find your SO cheating on you... with yourself. | 27 |
A thousand cuts.
I wasn't counting, but it was an apt phrase. Adrenaline pumped blood faster through the ruptured vessels. A gentle push, and I shall shatter into a rain of flesh.
I have been absolutely outmatched.
Her strike was true and precise, a demonic dance to avoid fatal wounds, making sure that I would exhaust myself—a mockery of a duel. Her armor was pristine, not even a slightest scratch or tear on the leather straps that fastened its metal plates.
A flash of light burned my eyes, piercing through the layer of liquid crimson shroud.
Her blade upon my face. A brutal yet merciful end akin to those granted by a child bored of her new toys.
She asked why do I fight, as if it was a choice. Her army had scoured our land, emptied our homes. Only ashes remained.
She asked where were our knights and soldiers.
She asked where were our kings and heroes.
I was the last.
There was no more ceremonies, hymns, or marches. Solemn silence was all I have left.
No more countries to defend, nor family to protect, nor houses that await. Barren dust would be the only thing I could ever return to.
And not even that barren dust was spared for me.
Blood pooled under my knees, submerging the tip of the broken sword I desperately hung onto.
She asked where were our gods.
And honestly?
I would like to know the answer too. | 15 | Bruised and beaten, the warrior looks at his enemy. Surely this isn't the end? But the warrior cannot get up, and as he begins to black out, he sees his enemy approach. The warrior accepts his fate, as he waits for the final strike... | 35 |
The furrow of earth that the object had carved threatened to sink the island. The genuine panic that had overtaken the gentry had subsided, but only after the clean-up had begun. Already, scaffolds had gone up over the shattered buildings, and those displaced were sequestered to homes that had space. The governor of the island had been relocated as well, at least until the loose stones of the castle no longer fell, the crashes still sounding often and scaring the workers.
He had been relocated to one Fild Tannen’s house, which the occupant was now regretting terribly. Following the disaster, Fild’s house had been the only standing with some grandness to it, much in part to the carpenter’s long and expensive renovations. He was aghast that his wife had offered to host the rulers, but could do little to complain about it as a revolving door of people came in and out of his house, mucking up the place. His gardens were trampled, his ponds muddy, and his kitchens were bare now. All those years of labor undone as the never-ending groups of complainers and renovators came through.
Just when he thought he’d had enough, a reprieve had come when they discovered the castle’s larder had not collapsed. They’d broken out some of the ale barrels and had a celebration that night, which the governor hosted. However, when the time came to toast their “generous” hosts, Fild had had one too many and said some rather regrettable things.
Which was why he found himself walking out as night fell, through the heavy line of dirt and rock that had heaved where the thing had struck the ground. *“Go sleep with the thing down there if you don’t like it. I’m sure that you’ll find it much more accommodating.”* Had been the exact words that had been used, and when the guards had made it clear they would enforce it, he went without complaining. Until he was out of earshot of course.
“It’s my house. I’m the one who should be accommodating.” He growled as he drunkenly stumbled. “Pompous jerks, acting like they own the place, MY place. After years of work.” He crested the lip of the crater. “I’ll show them. I’ll show them-!” He threw his arms in the air like a champion as he stood at the edge, then paused as he looked down.
In the center of the crater was an object alien to his mind. It resembled the pit of a peach, but was pure, inky black, as if it were absorbing the dim light of the stars above. A void that sat low, pointing up towards the sky like a teardrop. He gulped as it shook some sober into him. Even still, he was too drunk to wonder about the danger the object presented. So, with as much care as a drunk could have, he tumbled down the hill. He came to a stop just before the object, coughing as he kicked up dust. He noted that it was slightly taller than him.
“Ha. Even the island hates me. Thas’ really all it takes I guess. One slip up!” He slurred out as he sat up. Fild startled slightly as he found his back perched against the object, but was able to relax regardless. “What about you, mystery cannonball? Do you hate me?” He felt the coolness of the object sink into his back, and in the summer heat he was grateful. “You shouldn’t. If anything, I should hate you! You fell out of the sky and crushed people’s houses. You made my life hell!” He laughed.
“Everybody is so quick to want something from others. I’ve always stayed away from people because of it. Built up a place of my own. Everybody thinks “ooo, this’ll be easy” but no! It’s hard work. All that hard work, and what’s it get you? Mystery rocks falling from the sky and ungrateful rulers tearing it all up.” He stared up at the stars.
“Ah, I’m to drunk to say anything really mean. I guess…I guess I just wanted someone to acknowledge my work. They all just came in and acted like it was there for them, like, I didn’t put my back into all of it. Like I didn’t break my bones and put my blood in those gardens. But I did.” He sighed, remembering all the little things that had gone into his house. All the little problems he’d solved, the pride.
“How about you mystery rock?” He felt his eyelids closing. “What did you think of it? You get a good look before you plowed through the castle?”
And with that, he was asleep. Behind him, the large object sat, imposing. A shiver ran through its blackened surface.
“Fild! Fild! Wake up!” He felt the shaking on his shoulders, and groaned as the hangover hit him. “Five more minutes…” He whispered. “Fild! It’s a miracle, you have to wake up!” He grunted as he felt the shakes worsen. “Fine, fine, lemmee just…” He sat up. The earth was much softer than he remembered. “Now, what’s all this about-oh…oh wow.” He looked about the crater, his eyes adjusting to the sunlight, the breeze fresh and crisp.
There was no mystery rock sitting behind him, but where it had been, a great shady tree had grown seemingly overnight. The surrounding area had burst over into a field of beautiful flowers, blooming in every color of the rainbow. He blinked.
His wife stood over him, her eyes shining. “It’s like this all over the island! And our house, oh, honey you simply must see!” She picked him up, still dumbstruck as he looked about for the mystery rock.
The house was a work of art. A grand manor that had grown around the original, two stories becoming three, additions added in the form of wooded planters, water features and naturalistic walls that belied hidden blooms and fruit. The trees that had miraculously grown around in the shape of walls created the roof, a grand canopy that shaded him as he approached. It had even formed bridges over the small ponds, now interconnected and thriving. He dipped a hand in the water and found it pristine, fish swimming through streams that encircled the manor. The gardens were indescribable, rife with vegetables and herbs, a harvest greater than any other he’d seen.
It brought tears to his eyes. The whole island, once worried for their continued survival, was now replete with all they needed. His house had been the only one modified, but with the change came a new attitude towards him by the people. Even the governor seemed to be more respectful, though Fild apologized for his rudeness all the same.
And every single day, Fild would walk down to the crater and place a heavy offering before the tree that sat in the center, fixing it up and adding more flowers and rocks to create a shrine. He would never, ever forget or diminish the mysterious boon, and the work that had surely gone into it.
Thanks for Reading! | 12 | Something fell from the heavens, completely crushing your lord’s castle walls and ruining your fields as it skidded along and finally stopped moving. You, a lowly servant, are tasked with investigating what it is. | 20 |
Do you know what is like to be hunted by three different factions, and five geese? Of course you don't. Do you know what it's like to have a date in an hour, and panic as you throw shit onto yourself? Probably.
First, and most importantly, I had to cover the steadily spreading rot on my left forearm. After that, I had to throw my contacts in, to hide the heterochromia, which consisted of one pure red eye, and another sauron-esque one. Finally, with all of that done, I got to do the normal human thing, like putting on make up, and finding a nice outfit.
Just as I was about to leave, I saw the squadron of geese moving down the street. Their Quacks were almost comically in-tune with the orders the vampire hunters would shout out.
Speaking of Vampire Hunters, the whirring of a helicopter can be heard in the distance. Taking a deep breath to calm my building nerves, I let myself forcefully walk into my car, and slam the door. But of course, since I have super strength from three different sources, the door dents, severely.
Taking a careful deep breath, and start my car. Luckily, my key doesn't break; like it did last time. The werewolf hunters with their bolt guns and high powered motorcycles come swerving out, just as I get onto the street.
Several traffic laws are broken, and I make it to the restaurant with thirty minutes to spare. Just as I'm getting out of the car, a man with a submachine gun takes aim.
"Oh for fuck's sake!" I scream as one of the bullets slams through my arm.
The decay I'd been carefully hiding with layer upon layer of make up and Fake Skin, is now officially ruined. I find the hunger clenching in my stomach as the skin heals, and I stare over towards the man that just ruined my night.
From one second to the next, I'm on top of him, clawing out his eyes and biting into his neck. Then the chopper comes, and before I can even think, I'm flying through the air, slamming into the five men on board. Each are dead in hardly a second, and I'm jumping down towards the Werewolf hunters.
None of them have time to react, but for just a single moment, I'm blinded. Each of my contacts fall to the floor, before I summon the full power of each infection. In seconds, each and every one of them are dead.
I stare lightly towards the Geese Brigade, watching as they back away.
Suddenly, like an alarm bell, I look down at myself. Blood is dripping from my dress, little specks of muscle, bone, and tendrils of meat, are dripping down my arms and legs. As I look up, I find my date standing right in front of me.
He clears his throat, before reaching up to his eyes, and tearing out two contacts, "Well, guess I won't be needing these anymore," | 141 | You must be cursed. You've been bitten by a vampire, a werewolf, a zombie, a radioactive spider, and a particularly malicious goose. You've got a hot date tonight with the sweetest man and you just want to keep it together for a few hours.... | 341 |
Once again, the demon felt it – the unmistakable sensation of the Call. Once again, someone in the Middle World attempted to summon her; someone foolish, greedy, or desperate enough to appeal to her kind for help, even at the cost of their very soul. Once again, she surrendered herself to the feeling, allowing the ritual to carry her through the rift between the worlds straight to her latest victim.
Such was her nature. Such was her way of surviving.
The demon stepped gracefully from the rift, appearing inside of a summoning circle. She looked around, swiftly taking measure of her surroundings – she had been summoned in the middle of battles before, and had no wish to lose her summoner before even making a contract with him. This time, however, there seemed to be no immediate danger.
She was in a small room, most likely underground. The ritual circle she was in was drawn correctly – nearly perfectly, in fact. All the ritual candles were in place and burned brightly, preventing her from simply killing the summoner and taking their soul by force – had she been so inclined in the first place.
Finally, the demon regarded the human who called her. It was young man – although his grey eyes somehow seemed anything but young – wearing the viridian robes of an acolyte. He was staring at her intently, not saying a word.
Then she spoke.
“I am Eshirlienne,” she said, using a name that was possible for a human to pronounce, unlike her true one. “I have heard your Call, and at your behest, I have been summoned. I can grant you your heart's desire, if you are prepared to pay the price. What would you ask of me?”
The same words she said many, many times before. Idly, she tried to guess what her summoner would want in exchange for his soul. Power, perhaps? Fame? Fortune? Someone’s death, or someone’s life? With humans, it was always the same, over and over again…
“Would you be my lover?”
… Oh. This was certainly new.
\*\*\*
Eshirlienne floated lazily inside the summoning circle, her legs crossed as if she was sitting on an invisible cushion. Before her, the acolyte sat formally on the hard floor, his spine straight as he listened.
“I can grant you power no king or emperor could ever possess. I can grant you riches beyond your imagination. I can make you adored by all, or make the bravest fear you. You could have the greatest beauties of your land and the lands beyond… yet what you seek, in exchange for your soul, is for me to be your lover?”
“Yes,” the acolyte said, his voice trembling slightly. “That is my wish.”
Eshirlienne cocked her head quizzically. After a moment, she laughed, the sounds of her melodious laughter reverberating around the room.
“Very well,” she finally replied. “I admit, you have managed to surprise me, and that deserves a reward. Rejoice, for I shall not be taking your soul in exchange for your most amusing request.”
She expected the acolyte to be elated after hearing her words. There was no summoner, after all, who did not secretly dream of tricking a demon and keeping their soul in the end. The acolyte, however, looked surprised – and for a brief moment, even aghast.
“Why?” he demanded. “It is your kind’s code that you take a human’s soul after granting their wish, is it not? Why should you go against it?”
“I am granting you a favour, human,” she said, raising an eyebrow. “You cannot imagine how rare it is, so you would be wise not to make me reconsider it.”
“I… I do not wish for such charity,” the acolyte said, his voice uneven. “It would not… it would not be fair, would it?”
If Eshirlienne thought she was surprised before, it was nothing compared to what she felt now. But then, a thought came to her.
“I shall not form a contract with you,” she declared firmly, making the acolyte shudder. “I shall not do it… unless you tell me, truthfully, why you wish for your soul to be ripped from the Eternal Cycle.”
“You would never understand,” the man shook his head slightly. “A being such as yourself…”
“You would do well not to underestimate my wisdom, summoner. Explain it, or I shall be returning to my own world.”
Her summoner took a deep breath.
“Have you ever reincarnated?”
“Of course not,” she replied. “It is you humans who do so.”
“Yes, all humans do, but…” he hesitated for a moment, “only I seem to remember it.”
“It is impossible. No being can remember their past lives.”
“So everyone says, but I still do,” the acolyte replied. His voice was louder now, more forceful. “Have you ever been a pig led to the slaughter? Or a deer feasted upon by hungry wolves? Or an insect crawling on the ground? Have you, o wise one?”
He stopped for a moment to catch his breath.
“I have tried to ascend, of course – for decades I have been trying. I was a spider in an ancient temple; I was an eagle making my nest on top of a holy mountain. But I failed. Time and time again, I failed. And now that I am human again, I finally have the chance to escape this curse.”
The acolyte laughed bitterly.
“You wanted the truth, Eshirlienne? So hear it now: there is nothing I wish more than to stop this, no matter what it would take – even if my soul disappears for all eternity. If the oblivion is what it takes, then I shall pay this price gladly.”
For a moment, there was only silence.
“So that is your true wish,” the demon said slowly. “You have summoned me so that I would take your soul.”
“Yes.”
“Why, then, did you make such a request of me? To be your lover?”
The acolyte averted his eyes, his face turning slightly crimson.
“In truth, I had another request in mind. But when I saw you appear, I could not help but… well, that is…”
He blushed harder, not finishing his explanation.
“Oh?” the demon said, almost purring. “And what was your original request, pray tell?”
“… A cup of coffee.”
This time, Eshirlienne’s laughter must have been heard outside the room, if not the entire dungeon. | 1,395 | My job as a demon is to take requests from those who summon me in return for their souls. It's amazing! But it's always the same requests. That's why I promised myself I wouldn't eat the soul of the one to give me a brand new request. Nothing new. Until today. "Can you be my girlfriend?" | 3,312 |
"And this is why you don't need to be afraid of the dark. In a bedroom, in a house, beneath a bed, where you rest your head lives in the bedsprings of your bed the tiniest little hero and his name is Carl."
"That was supposed to rhyme," Lizabeth complained sleepily.
"I know, Lizzy. Not rhyming was a joke for you," the ever-grinning Morgan lampooned, laughing uproariously. His chittering little laugh brought a sleepy little smile to Lizabeth's lips.
"Tell me more. Who is Carl?" Lizzy asked.
"Carl is a pest. He is the best pest, and is known throughout the household as the most annoying prankster your pets have ever seen."
"You said he was a hero though. How can he be a hero if he pranks. What'd he do to Dandelion?" Despite it just being a bedtime story, Lizzy was incensed by the thought of some small pest bullying her old yellow cat.
"No need to be vexed," Morgan crooned. "Carl is a gitchem-gotchem, a blue-furred devil with great big hairy feet, itty bitty eyes, and a large wobbling nose that gets in his way when he tries to see things."
"A great big nose?" Lizzy giggled. "Why a big nose?"
"That's just how getchum-gotchems are. On account of their large snoze, they have to walk like this, and wobble their body with each step so their nose swings side to side. See?"
"He sounds tubby?" She laughed watching as her imaginary friend lumbered around the room to demonstrate the blue-furred devil's walking style.
"Oh, Carl does indeed have a great big blue-stripy belly. It's all furry like his feet. Late a night, do you recall hearing Dandelion suddenly take off running through the house and back, doing it over and over again?"
Lizzy nodded.
"That's 'cause Carl was riding on Dandelion's back as a prank, teasing the cat."
"Ha, ha, ha. Hehe." Lizzy laughed at the image. "Does he ride Poco too?"
"Your puppy? No. He tells Poco bad jokes. That's why Poco howls in the middle of the night when everyone is sleeping. He pleading with Carl to stop telling bad jokes." Lizzy giggled at this too.
"You see, this is why you don't have to be afraid of the dark. Carl is there to protect you."
"Protect me from what? Dandelion and Poco aren't trying to hurt me, right?"
"Well, no, but you know how you're afraid of the dark because you think there's monsters hiding there?" She pulled the blankets up till only her eyes were peeking out. "That's because normally there would be, but since you have your very own getchum-gotchem, the monsters won't dare come around 'cause more than cats and puppies, the thing getchum-gotchems love to pester and prank are monsters."
"Real monsters? Really real ones?" Lizzy asked nervously.
"Yes, but they're little bitty. Teeny tiny, and they don't come to hurt you. They just come to steal your voice or steal the color from your eyes. Monsters have really scratchy voices and sound like this," Morgan said, making a brutish face while garbling out something playfully menacing.
"Monsters want a pretty voice, so they sneak into children's bedrooms and try to steal their voice. Ever woke up with a frog in your throat?" Morgan asked. Lizzy nodded.
"That was a throat troll. Thanks to Carl, he only stole your voice a little bit. Actually there is a stubborn throat troll that sneaks into your room ever few nights. His name is Tim-Tom the troll. He is Carl's nemesis. Tim-Tom is always trying to outsmart Carl, and Carl is always defeating him."
"Really? What does Carl do to him?"
"Well, one time, he dragged your parent's spider tape into your bedroom and surrounded your bed with them. Tim-Tom didn't realize and got stuck on the sticky paper, so Carl rolled him up in the spider trap and flushed him down the toilet. Fa-loosh! And down and down Tim-Tom went."
Lizzy chortled at this.
"Another time, Carl tied a string to Tim-Tom's tail and tied the other end to the ceiling fan, then when Tim-Tom tried to climb up the side of your bed, Carl turned the ceiling fan on. The look of surprise on Tim-Tom's face when Carl kinked his tail was priceless. Around and around and around went the tubby little throat troll. Incidentally, that's why all your pictures were hung crooked the next day."
Lizzy laughed then yawned, her eyes drooping closed. Morgan smiled at this then immediately took out a pamphlet and began reading it aloud.
"Connect Part C to Elbow W, insert cam, and tighten with flat tipped screw driver (provided)." Lizzy heard Morgan, but was too tired to focus on the words. However in the shadow under the bed, a little blue furry fat-bellied Carl with his big wobbling nose was frantically searching for Elbow W.
Fortunately for him, Morgan was willing to read the instructions for him since his nose was always getting in the way. He didn't mind though. He'd been pranking Tim-Tom for so long, he was running out of gags. Luckily for him, a certain famous coyote turned him to this great mail order company called ACME. The little tubby devil couldn't help tee-heeing at the thought of which face that old scratchy voiced troll would show him this time around.
Morgan just continued to read him the instructions and smile. After all, this was all for his not-imaginary best friend. | 56 | A child's imaginary friend reads bedtime stories every night. One day, the child realizes the story contains an instruction manual | 198 |
"Do be takin' a flare, Jezza," said Dwarf. He'd never given Jezza a name when he signed onto her crew, so she didn't ask. The veteran dwarf with no name always pulled his weight and some. What did names and titles matter anyway?
Jezza snatched a flare from Dwarf's outstretched hand and stuck her tongue out at him. "If I'm lighting a flare then it means this whole operation's gone tits up, Dwarf."
"Aye," he said, heaving his massive double headed battle axe over his shoulder as easy as a broom. "Then I do be coming to save that bony behind of yers."
Jezza reached for Blackthorn's spiked hilt, but drew her belt knife instead and stalked toward him. "What you did call my behind--"
Marla's staff shot up and caught Jezza across the stomach.
"Easy darlings," the priestess of Archon intoned, her voice rich and raspy. "Let us save the killing for our enemies, no?"
As Jezza stuffed the flare behind her sword belt, Rolo appeared from thin air, as thieves tended to do, and began studying his nails. "Well, chums. I'd say preparations are as prepared as prepared can be. Shall we, master Dwarf?"
"Rolo," said Jezza, raising her chin imperiously, just as the old thief had patiently taught her many a night camped out in some back wood with the rest of the crew. "Don't die."
"And what about me?" asked Dwarf, chuckling.
"I know you'll be fine, Dwarf," she smirked, "But this one? He's prone to heroics."
Rolo gasped. "I beg your pardon--"
"It is time," said Marla, cutting through their complaints. "We walk with the Night Father."
Jezza punched both Dwarf and Rolo on the shoulder (Rolo a little harder) before they left to engage the Demon Lieutenant's two-hundred raiders. Jezza and Marla took their places hidden amongst the treeline along the merchant road cutting through the Fenwood. The raiders rumbled from the south.
In the distance, hooves thundered from the north. The Chosen Hero's knights charged south from Westmarch to engage the enemy raiders. Even if Galen's handful of elite knights managed to defeat a force of two-hundred raiders, he still had the lieutenant to deal with. This was one of the Demon Lord's Five Senses, Bahamal, the Sense of Smell. A former imperial knight turned to the dark against bumbling Galen? Even with that fancy sword, he was no match for one of the Five Senses.
So Jezza would take out Bahamal before he ever reached the "Chosen Hero."
Beyond the treeline, the first of Bahamal's raiders charged past them along the road. It was time.
Marla muttered her incantation and blinding pain shot through every inch of Jezza's body. She gripped a nearby tree so hard her fingers bored through the bark and dug into the trunk itself. Pain was the price for Marla's blessing, but the physical enhancements were worth the agony.
Suddenly the pain vanished and a wave of euphoria washed over Jezza. Her senses sharpened; the world came to life. She sniffed at the sweat in the air, carrying scents of eagerness and fear and anger. She peered out through the tree line and found Bahamal's armored form on horseback as clear as midday, charging at the read of his forces.
It was time.
"If I die--" whispered Jezza, but Marla finished for her.
"I will raise you as a wraith so you may haunt the Chosen Hero until his eventual death."
"You honor me."
&#x200B;
Jezza was never chosen for anything. She'd always been smaller than the rest of the children. She was never chosen as an acolyte at any temple. And she'd not been chosen by the sword. In fact, the holy sword Granglora had turned black the moment she touched the hilt. Un-Chosen. That's what the priests had called her. Not even fit to carry the Hero's saddlebags. But she'd practiced the martial arts since she was old enough to lift a wooden practice sword. That was something she chose.
Appearing out of thin air, Jezza tore a hole through the rear flank of the enemy raiding force. She slashed at ankles and hamstrings, dropping three raiders in a heartbeat. The majority of the raiding force continued north but Bahamal pulled reign and turned his massive black warhorse around. A knot of raiders flanked their lieutenant.
Jezza was not chosen by Grangloria. But there were other swords. Swords that granted great strength. At a price. She tightened her grip around Blackthorn's spiked hilt. No pain. Not with Marla's blessing.
"Take her!" commanded Bahamal, his voice booming like a mountain shifting.
"Now!" Jezza shouted.
Skeletal arms shot up from the hard packed road and grasped each of the raiders by the legs, pulling them to the ground. Marla's work from beyond the tree line. Skeletal arms also reached for the warhorse's legs but the trained animal deftly dodged and crushed bones beneath its mighty hooves. Distracted.
Jezza appeared at Bahamal's flank and streaked forward, running at full speed at the Demon Lord's lieutenant with Blackthorn, the sword that could cut even steel, aimed straight for his neck. Hornet stance.
A white light burst to life between Jezza and Bahamal. Her sword shook in her grip. She must have connected with Bahamal. But her sword should have cut through his plate. She blinked and her enhanced vision recovered.
A knight in gleaming steel breastplate and a long white cloak with a red dove embroidered on the left breast held a long crystal sword that hummed like a chorus against her dark-steel sword.
"Stay back, Un-Chosen," barked Galen. "This is no place for you."
"You fool!" Jezza shouted.
Before she could chastise Galen further, Bahamul swung his rusted morning star in a wide arc. Jezza bounded back from the mace, avoiding the trapped raiders within sword-reach.
The Chosen Hero, Galen Heartborne, stood between Jezza and the Demon Lord's lieutenant, white cloak flapping in the a breezethat always seemed to appear with Galen. Was the cloak enchanted with a wind charm?
Galen stood on the balls of his feet, sword at waist height, perfectly still. Snake stance. He was going to put everything into a counter. But he was no where near fast enough to react to Bahamal's speed. Chosen or not, Galen had not once bested Jezza in a duel. Not once.
Marla's blessing still coursed through Jezza, tingling waves of pleasure washing over her enhanced body. But it wouldn't last forever.
Bahamal dismounted and nodded at Galen, a gesture to a peer. Bah!
Galen raised his sword over his head and it started to sing, a chorus of hundreds reaching crescendo. If made of actual glass, Grangloria would have shattered. Would Galen shatter when Bahamal connected? *Can't let that happen*, she told herself. *Won't.*
Jezza streaked toward Bahamal from what should have been the lieutenant's blind spot, her cursed sword pointed right for his heart in perfect Hornet stance. But before Blackthorn reached its target, Bahamal raised his fist.
Darkness. Jezza charged through fog so thick she couldn't see beyond her outstretched hand. But she did see a pale silver light in the shape of a sword bobbing around in the fog.
"You care for that one," said a voice that seemed to come from right behind her ear. Jezza twisted and cut the fog. She raised her sword over her head and stood on the balls of her feet, yet relaxing her muscles so that she gently swayed like a snake rising out of a basket in a bazaar -- a proper Snake Stance.
"Will he care if I kill you?" Bahamal's voice rumbled from the fog. "Will you?"
Jezza didn't speak. She wouldn't give him a hair of an advantage.
"I imagine you don't, wielding a sword like that. Terrible price for such a trickle of power--"
Jezza strained her ears, searching for Bahamal's taunts. But none came. All she heard was the low whispering rush of the fog around her and the distant bumbling steps of Galen and his stupid glowing sword. Then silence. *No*. Marla's blessing had ended. She fought to keep her stance, her muscles suddenly tensing and her nerves aching for the euphoria.
"Ah," rumbled Bahamal's sardonic basso. "About time."
Then he came for her.
\###
\[Wrote part 2 and it didn't save. Argh!\] | 16 | You're the Un-Chosen One. Essentially, there's nothing special about you or your birth, you don't have any divine artifact, and everyone has insultingly low expectations of you. And while you're doing all the heavy lifting, the Chosen One gets all the credit. | 117 |
I squeezed my palm tightly, digging my fingers into the gash in my palm and forcing several drops of blood onto the rune. I held my breath unconsciously as I saw the chalk lines light up one by one until they all shone a bright red colour and then...
...a flash of light forced me to close my eyes, too much to handle, and the moment I opened them I knew it worked; a figure stood in the thick smoke. The Demon I had been summoning for days now.
The... the seemingly six-year-old child... demon... thing.
"You called, mortal?" it said - the voice was echoey and strange, ethereal yet recognizable. It was like several voices speaking in perfect unison from a distance; a long tunnel, perhaps.
The smoke dissipated and I was finally to able to get a truly good look at the creature. My initial impression did not lie; it looked like a small child, around six years, with pale white skin and blonde hair. You could almost mistake it for a regular human had its eyes not been bright red.
"I... called upon a demon," I said hesitantly.
"And I have answered."
"I wasn't expecting a kid is all. The book illustrated more of a... well, *demonic* entity."
"Fortunate you are, mortal, for this is the first deal I shall be engaging in," it said with an uncomfortable smile. "This truly marks a momentous occasion and you get to be a part of it."
I stared at it for a moment.
"Rrrriiight," I slowly said. "So can we deal, as per usual?"
"What do you desire?"
"Power. Necromancy," I said bluntly.
"Ah, of course," it chuckled. "How... *human*," it said in a blatantly condescending tone.
"Your price?" I asked.
"You know the price," it smiled innocently.
I paused for a moment, making sure one last time this is what I wanted. But I've gone too far to give up now. If I did, it would have all been for nothing, the bodies I've buried would... no, I had to go through with this.
"My soul will be yours."
"Excellent!" it clapped its hands. I felt a surge of power course through my veins; my eyes flared with flames of pure, unbridled magic. I lifted my hands and saw bursts of electricity spark between them and-
A loud crash filled my chamber and multiple figures started pouring in, making horribly distorted moaning noises. I only got a brief look before they rushed me. They were people in various states of decay, covered in dirt and maggots.
They pinned me to the ground and I got a closer look at them. I recognized them.
My sacrifices.
A sense of horror filled me as I saw them rear back and dig their fingers into my abdomen. I yelled in pain as they started ripping me apart while the demon kneeled next to me with its hands in its lap.
"Your power, mortal. You have raised the dead. They are... not pleased to see you," it giggled. A splash of blood stained its face but it didn't stop smiling.
My consciousness started to fade as the undead creatures enacted their revenge.
And all I could see was the blood-spattered face of a smiling child. | 65 | You, an evil sorcerer, decide to summon a demon. You expected a large, monstrous being, as was illustrated in the book, but are surprised to find a child. The demon you summoned is seemingly six and on their first summoning mission! | 282 |
John often wondered what his final moments would be like, but he never thought it would end with seeing a single blueberry muffin.
The other mobsters had traded tales about the “Muffin Man” while playing cards and dice in the ungodly hours of the night at Baxter’s Inn. No one knew who he was or who he works for. But whenever someone started to become a liability to the bosses, the Muffin Man was near.
“They say he drops off a black box,” slurred Antoni as he fumbled through his cards. “All there is inside is a single blueberry muffin.”
“So what? Do they eat it? Is it poisoned?” John asked as he held tightly onto his cards, creasing them in the process.
“We don’t know, buddy. They just end up dead. It’s scary.”
John tried to laugh it off as he normally would, knowing that Antoni was known to talking a lot of shit. But tonight was different, John was nursing the same vodka orange juice all night much to the surprise of the other regulars. The truth is, John couldn’t afford to be drunk, not with what was in his pocket; and frankly, he needed all his wits about him.
Typically speaking, there weren’t many things that weighed John down, so it was strange that he was so nervous: he was an enforcer after all, the muscle, and it was often him the bosses sent to get the job done. Where words would fail, John’s knuckle dusters would not. He had beaten all kinds of people into a pulp, and although he would never admit it, he was addicted to his work. He loved watching those squirming rats crumble beneath his fists. The rush. The power. No, nothing really weighed John down. Guilt, weakness, his father had squeezed those out of his body a long time ago.
So, what would make a predator like John feel down as one would surely ask?
It was simple, he had stolen a brick of coke and stashed it in his jacket pocket. He had never stolen from the bosses before. He was a good soldier, but that was all he was. A soldier.
The rat John was supposed to crush for cash had coughed up this brick to buy himself some time. Normally, John would have to report it and give it back to the bosses to cut a deal; but John was getting tired. Tired of being a soldier who was paid chicken feed. Tired of taking orders and being a faceless shadow.
That was why John stole it. He stole the coke, for the rush, for the power, no other grand design; and then he went to Baxter’s Inn to leverage it in a poker game.
“Three of a Kind, baby!” shouted Antoni, playing his poker hand with one card showing the entire time. The other men in the group laughed and turned to John.
John almost punched the table, but remembered why Baxter’s Inn was the mob’s choice of watering hole.
He took out the coke and threw it at Antoni before licking his wounds and walking home.
Imagine his surprise when John opened the door and there was a black box sitting on his dining table.
“Shit.”
John pulled out a kitchen knife and searched his house. Nothing. He grabbed a metal detector he had used during his bouncer days and furiously waved it around the box. Nothing.
“No metal…no bomb” muttered John.
He then put on some gloves and slowly lifted the black box lid. A single blueberry muffin. Just as everyone had said. John looked around, scanning the room again, gripping the kitchen knife tightly in his hand. The house was empty, he was sure of it.
He grabbed a drug kit one of the tester junkies had left behind when trying the bosses’ product. The instructions were easy enough, although it was difficult to carve out a tiny piece of muffin.
“Negative,” John said after looking at the drug test result. “No poison either.”
John let out a sigh of relief. Then he started to laugh.
“This is a fucking joke. That fucking Antoni stitched me up.”
John grabbed the muffin and devoured it as if he was trying to prove a point. His eyes lit up for a second - for what it was worth, the drunken bastard knew how to bake.
Before he could swallow it entirely, John heard the unmistakable sound of a shotgun being loaded. He turned around and could not believe his eyes.
“Who the fuck---”
“I’m the goddamn Muffin Man.”
And that was the last thing John ever saw as his brains were splattered across the wall: an adult man dressed in a giant blueberry muffin costume.
—
If you like this story, please check out the rest of my work: [https://www.reddit.com/r/klarionanthology/](https://www.reddit.com/r/klarionanthology/) | 34 | Among the ten crime families there is a legendary assassin that is feared by all. They call him "The Muffin Man." He always sends his victims a single blueberry muffin in a black box the day before he strikes. You have just received the box. | 86 |
“Psychic Tarot Reader”
The sign swung in the breeze creaking softly.
It’s been a busy few days, and honestly I’m grateful for the business. The sky falling sure has its benefits, and people have turned to people like myself with gifts for guidance more than ever. I don’t think it’s about the supernatural or anything, scared people need reassurance I gladly offer.
A young lady, blue. “You shouldn’t worry so much of what others think, keep yourself happy. Put yourself first.”
A man with an upturned nose and a wide hat, gold. “You will be filled with joy on your upcoming adventure! Remember to floss.”
An old lady with a bright yellow purse, orange. “It seems you’re rather anxious about a new change in your living situation. Be sure to take things slow, and don’t be afraid to ask for guidance.”
You see, I sometimes see these auras around people when I look deeply into their eyes, and I try to put this to good use, reading fortunes and easing worries. Not everyone has a colour, most people give off a soft white-ish glow, that then blends into all the sorts of colours of the rainbow. It lets me share in their emotions, and feelings.
The day draws to a close and the sky begins to turn that rosy shade of pink purple that invites strangers to stare across the clouds. The lock and key clink and I pull my coat over, the neon open sign stops blinking and the lights go out. Time to go home.
The walk was halted almost immediately, a figure started down towards the entrance of my little shop. The wind seemed to slow down and wrap around me, holding me, holding myself. Shoes tap gently on the pavement.
“Hi sorry, we’re closed for the day. Come back tomorrow and I’d be glad to help then.”
The stranger continued their advance. A lean, androgynous sort, with a pale complexion and a wicked long black coat, long black hair and a soft solemn gaze.
As soon as my vision centred on their face, I felt all my blood rush to my heart. My arms cross my chest for warmth.
Black.
Not black like a television screen that’s been switched off, or the colour of coal. Black, deep like the ocean at midnight, ripples of effervescent light dancing all the colours of the rainbow on the surface.
I step back.
The stranger looks at me and cocks their head, a soft look of confusion mixed with concern crosses their face. “Are you okay? I’ll just come back tomorrow.”
Curiosity takes me back from the brink of awe. I blink and compose myself, the coat warm to my bundled arms.
“Well, if it’s a question, I can manage here on the street I suppose.”
The stranger smiles and reaches into their coat pocket. “I’m just here for a delivery.”
He produces a small brick shaped object wrapped in a glistening purple cloth. Gaze unwavering, he closes the distance between us, and gestures for me to take it.
“Here.”
My hands almost move on their own, and the package drops into my gloved mitts as soon as I reach out.
“Go on. Open it, we made it just for you.”
I begin unwrapping, and find a small black leather box. As a reader I knew the weight of a deck of cards almost by instinct. I look up and the blackness begins creeping into my vision, as the strangers eyes level towards mine, unblinkingly, unmoving. My heart beats faster and my senses begin to turn experience into thought.
Filled with sorrow. Floating, swirling like a massive ocean current. A deep warm sorrow, like that of a grave digger, or a nurse. The blackness ripples and the light specks of pink and blue and green shift just at the surface. Joy? Envy? The blackness behind swallows it all. I resist the magnetic urge to fall into the darkness.
A gentle swaying in my gut tells me to step backwards. So much sorrow. This soul has seen horrors and still is filled with light. Tears begin to fall.
“Gifts deserve gifts dear psychic. Use this one wisely.” The stranger smiles and steps backwards into his darkness.
The blackness grows and I blink. The blackness disappears as so does the figure. My hands cradle the box and I blink a few more times to wash the tears from my eyes.
I look up at the sky and it is no longer quite as vast as it once seemed. | 634 | You have a secret power, you can see colors around people that tell what they feel about you. Gold for love, red for hate, blue for sadness, etc. You make eye contact with a stranger while walking, and for the first time you see the color black. | 1,365 |
"Was that really necessary grandpa?"
He hadn't heard Esmarelda enter his study.
"You saw what he did." He mumbled "not like he didn't come back..."
She was unfolding fresh linnens from the basket she had brought with her.
"You can't just go around making things explode when you are angry. Its why mother has you locked away up here"
Just the mention of the queen made him sneer. He mumbled something about her and explosions under his breath.
Esmarelda laid out a silver tray and unwrapped some honey cakes and laid them out. She sighed a little.
"I brought you something to eat, you know you have to get your head out of your books sometimes. Looks like you need a new lunch anyways."
The sandwich had fallen out of the tower when the seagull burst into flames. The bird was now down below pecking at the still smoldering sandwich as if nothing had happened.
"Do you know how hard it is to find a pickle around here?!" he waved his arms and paced erratically. "I had to have sea salt imported for that"
"The luxuries of being a maiden locked in a tower I suppose." she said with no hint of irony what so ever.
"So what is the latest project?" Her curiosity was genuine, she enjoyed her grandfather despite everything.
His body language shifted abruptly and a smile came to his face "Ah ha! Yes!" He waved his arms with excitement. "I have been trying to solve the mystery of this" from out of a drawer in his large desk he pulled a magnificent sapphire. The light from the window shown through it and for a moment seemed as if there were clouds moving inside the gem.
Esmarelda was struck by its beauty. "That would make a fine necklace."
"Yes it would.." he began, from his in breath and tone of voice she knew he was about to begin a long monologue. She leaned forward thinking this was likely the be the most interesting thing she would hear all week... | 34 | A seagull steals a wizard's sandwich. In anger, the wizard points at the seagull and says, "BE UNMADE, BEAST! AND FROM THE ASHES A PHEONIX SHALL RISE!" The seagull explodes and its ashes reform into the same seagull, but red. | 318 |
Anybody who tells you they aren't judgmental is lying. Maybe it's to a lesser degree, or maybe they hide it well, but it's only natural to form an opinion based on the facts you're presented with.
At a glance, you'll have already formed an opinion of the woman with acrylic nails and a tight dress, of the kid with long hair and torn clothes, of the man with a widow's peak and thread-bare button-down shirt.
I'm like that too. I can tell a lot about people with a glance. But I don't take things in with my eyes. Instead, I use my ears. That woman walks past me and a saxophone lays out an enchanting rhythm. I lock eyes with the kid and hell's bells back a lonely guitar. I shake the man's hand and large timpani echo in an empty concert hall.
It's like this every where I go. It took some time to learn about what the different tunes meant. Every person has their own unique theme, and while many sound similar, the instrumentation, tempo, and key change.
I met the governor once. Grandiose trumpets heralded a man of confidence and great charisma. His aid, however, brushed past me to the slithering tune of an oboe. The bodyguards were mostly the same, tubas that thumped along as they passed me by, strength written on their face as well as their theme.
The saddest person I ever met was the local librarian. Imaginary fingers tickled a somber tune out of an antique piano. Before she even opened her mouth, I knew there was tragedy in her life. Later on I found out her family had died in the fire that tore across town decades prior. She was the only survivor of that fire I ever spoke to, but that same piano resonated any time I passed by an older person with a tinge of sadness in their eyes.
Her only daughter is my age, and if I never saw her diamond eyes, her peachy smile, or smelled the apple scent she left hanging in the air, I would still know everything I needed to know about her by the harp that played the first time she entered the room. It's the same harp that plays every time I wake up to her smiling face in the morning.
She didn't come into my life alone, however. She had a child from a previous marriage, but since she struggled with alcoholism years prior, she lost custody. Things changed since then, however, and nine years after the fact she was finally coming back. It was supposed to be a happy day for us as we waited nervously for a knock at the door, but I knew before that knock ever came that things weren't going to go the way we expected.
It was like... A haunted carnival. Most children are accompanied by happy music; Chimes, bells, whistles. Short and cute songs. The exception are the children with extraordinarily happy lives, the kind who never knew a night without hunger or the loss of a loved one. These special cases have merry-go-round music.
But my own step-daughter's music was ominous. It was like my high school principal, a mall cop, and Jeremy from HR all walked into the room at once. Her theme made me feel uneasy, and her sinister smile especially so. But it wasn't enough to make me lose hope.
I found that, in all my years with this ability, I only hear the music when I meet a new person. I've only heard the theme of my most stubborn friends once, likewise with old people who are already set in their ways. But if somebody goes through enough change, it's like they're a new person. That song changes.
I mentioned my high school principal. He was a cold and cruel man who came to me with the sounds of a wicked electric guitar. Years after I graduated, four students died in a car crash. I chanced upon him after their funeral, and I saw the eyes of a softened man and heard the gentle bowing of a violin.
The same goes for people who I see in a different light. A homeless man I see regularly first had the uneven thumping of a bongo and strumming of a broken banjo as I steered clear of him in the streets. Then one day, after seeing him shivering in the cold, I bought him a cup of coffee and we had a chat. I learned he was orphaned as a teenager after the fire years ago and just never really recovered from it, or ever sought help. The next day I met him, I brought with me a new coat and he brought with him the new theme of a gentle harmonica.
Hearing my step-daughter's ominous track was off-putting, but it wasn't the end. Every day I loved my wife a little more, and her harp piece became a little more complex. It *had* to be the same with the step-daughter.
Time passes, as it often does. The first few months were troublesome. She was a fighter, and seemed to resent my wife for not being in her life early on. She put holes in our doors and walls, broke the glass coffee table, and scratched my wife. It wasn't easy, but we made it work.
A year into our time together, her theme changed. It was the night of her "graduation" from fourth grade. We didn't do much, besides press on through all the fights and tantrums. But the instant she stood up in front of us with her class, as the teacher began handing out little papers congratulating them on completing the fourth grade, her eyes met ours. I could see them begin to water, but she never let a tear out. That didn't stop the music. A clarinet whimsically belted out a few hopeful notes as a faint smile came to her little face, then quickly faded as the teacher announced the class would sing us a song.
This went on a few more years. As she became a teenager, her music changed to an acoustic guitar. Some mornings it was somber and lonely, others it was upbeat and lighthearted. But it was always an acoustic guitar. I could tell things were getting better, especially between her and my wife.
When she turned 18, she remarked that she'd been with us now as long as she'd been without us. I asked her then how she felt about it, and she shrugged to the quiet few notes of a grand piano. It was a stark contrast to the music that had played before, all throughout her life it was always a very active theme, whether it was happy or sad, angry and ominous or sanguine and joyful. Now it was slow and reflective.
She left for college right after graduation, and I didn't hear the theme again until she came back over summer break. At 19, she was hardly the same person she was ten years prior. The angry girl had grown into a woman with her mother's diamond eyes and gentle harp. But she wasn't done changing yet. Her song wasn't over.
It wasn't until the end of summer, just before she went back to college as a sophomore, that I heard her song for the final time. Work was over and I came home to the orange afternoon sun hanging over my backyard. She must not have heard me coming up the driveway, because she and my wife sat together on the swing on the back porch, chatting away quietly without a care in the world.
The only words I overheard were the only words I ever wanted to hear. The only words that could make a grown man cry. A quiet "I love you", just before I opened the gate to see her head resting on my wife's shoulder, the way she always wanted.
It was a grand symphony, and the only way to describe it? *Love*. | 93 | Whenever you meet someone new you hear their unique theme tune. When you meet a little child for the first time you are shocked that they have a really sinister boss theme. | 191 |
This... is a farce.
"Look at the defendant! Flaunting his moniker! Reveling in mass slaughter!"
The prosecution is laying it on with a trowel. But I think he's wrapping it up, if for no other reason than the Judge looks about ready to explode from internal pressure. Yep. He's done.
"You're on trial today, accused of killing billions of people! How do you plead?"
I guess he's surprised at how calm I am. Standing, I begin. I must admit that I am an imposing figure, being seven feet tall yet skeletal in frame, with a scythe built to my scale. I have chosen my robed form since it is generally my least offensive form.
Although, there are those who find my unrobed form one of barbaric splendor. I shall not forget that young man.
"I plead not guilty, your honor."
The court is a slithering of voices across the wooden floors and echoing from the walls which have heard some of the most infamous and brutal crimes recounted. Yet these people are shocked at my plea. They have forgotten who is genuinely responsible and what my actual function is.
"Are you quite certain you wish to make that plea?"
"Your Honor, with nothing but the greatest respect for this court, your position, and the law, I am here as a *courtesy*. The people who fear me and call me a murderer are misinformed. My purpose, here, today, is to re-educate the people of this world as to my nature."
"You deny killing people?"
His voice is incredulous.
"I do so deny."
The court of whispering snakes becomes a seething storm of denial. I can see the judge pounding his gavel, demanding silence while his face shades towards deep red. Perhaps it is time to begin education.
"SILENCE." Spoken firmly, yet not all that loudly, my voice cuts across the storm of protest, cutting it off as I would a soul from the mortal form, which has become nothing but a source of pain and with no hope of recovery.
Turning to the room, "This is your court. You will show it the respect it deserves, since *it* is your best defense against unwarranted and unnecessary death."
There is not a single person in that audience who can meet my eyes. They know they have done wrong by this court. Returning to the Judge, "Your court, Your Honor."
"Thank you, Grim Reaper. I can see the prosecution itching to present his evidence, but the prosecution will simply have to wait while we settle the issue of jurisdiction. Grim Reaper, are you above the law?"
"The better question is am I above *all* law, and the answer is no. I do answer to a law, but no human court enforces that law, nor is that law open to legal maneuvering or political grandstanding." A sideways look at the prosecutor, whom I know has his eyes on the next guvernatorial election.
"I see. If that is true, how were you compelled to come to this court?"
"I was not compelled. I have a certain degree of freedom, within my constraints, and the court I am answerable to took note of the rising tide of outright hatred based on misconceptions. I was given the choice to come here and set the record straight, if I wished to. Thus, I am here as a courtesy to this court, with permission to educate the people regarding my true nature and purpose."
"You would usurp the purpose of this court, which is to hear the charges brought before it, and render a verdict under the laws it was formed by?"
I can see the tension under that question.
"Your Honor, the charges are driven by hatred. I ask the opportunity to correct the misapprehension of the people, and show that my acts are not murder, but a mercy granted by a higher court as the natural right of all living beings."
"How do you propose to do this?"
"By example. You are perhaps familiar with a motion picture titled "It's a Wonderful Life?" I swept the audience with my gaze. I see the comprehension in all but a few faces. "I see that most are familiar, for those few who are not, I ask permission to gift you with the viewing of the film. I will not force any judgment upon you regarding that film, but only the experience of seeing it. Your reactions and thoughts regarding it are entirely yours. Please nod if you agree."
All but one of those agrees, and a surprising number of those who have already seen it ask to see it again.
The story of a young man, in his prime, who became so despondent that he thought of taking his life. Yet saved the life of another, which was a constant theme throughout his life to that point, and when he expressed the desire to have never been born, was gifted with the opportunity to see what would have happened if he had never existed.
My presentation will be the diametric opposite, what happens when someone should die, and does not.
•••
"I am sorry, Mrs. French. Your son has an incurable and inoperable cancer."
"There is nothing that can be done?"
You can see that she was expecting this outcome. It's almost a relief, even through the grief, to know the truth.
"We can make him comfortable, manage his pain, give him the best life we can in his remaining time, but that is the most we can do."
"Why?"
"Why is that the most? Or why your son? For the latter, it is nothing that anyone did..."
I stop the presentation there. "That is not entirely true. The correct answer is that it was nothing *anyone they knew about* did. Let's roll time back ten years, and focus on what happened."
A scene by a creek. Young boys swimming in a deep pool. Upstream, a small chemical processing plant. All the safeguards are in place, even a thick layer of clay, well compacted, to act as a final catch basin in the event of a severe incident. The incident occurs, almost silently, save for the alarms warning the staff. Everyone does their jobs, and the spill is cleaned up. Unknown to everyone, a flaw in the clay. In one load, a small amount of porous material. The leak falls on that one spot and a small quantity escapes. There will be no repeat, and testing later shows "no significant contamination" nor does it show the porous area as the chemical burned it out and vibration from the equipment closed the miniscule opening.
((cont)) | 220 | "You're on trial here today accused of killing billions of people! How do you plead?" "Your honour, with all due respect, someone here just hates me... I'm the freaking Grim Reaper!" | 709 |
A long trail of ash hanged from the tip of Detective Scarborough's cigarette.
"Run that by me again?" He blinked hard and shook his head clear.
Max sat up straight. "Where do you want me to begin?"
"The beginning," the detective answered quickly.
"Okay." Max lifted his empty mug and signaled with an apologetic smile to the waitress. "My alibi is that I wasn't on this planet at the time of the murder."
The red-headed waitress moseyed over to their table with a steaming carafe in one hand and an empty platter in another. "You're gonna get the jitters if you keep drinking coffee like this," her voice had the croak of a long-time smoker, but Scarborough couldn't judge. He noticed the hanging ash and tapped it out on an ashtray between himself and the suspect.
"More for you too, dear?"
The detective raised a hand against the offer, but kept his eyes on the young man seated across from him. "That'll be all for now, ma'am," he said curtly.
"Okay. Well, I'll be around if you need me, mmkay?" She turned and headed back to the kitchen.
"Keep talking."
"Right," Max continued after a long slurp from his cup. "The funny thing was--well, not funny, of course, nothing about this is particularly funny--but the *ironic thing*, if that's a better word to use, is that we'd been fighting before everything that happened *happened."*
Maybe the coffee was too much at this point. His eyes were darting back and forth, skin looking clammy.
"I was driving on the interstate. I'd left the house after another blowup and needed to cool off. I didn't have anywhere in particular in mind. I just needed to *go*, you know?"
"Sure."
"At this point it's around 1AM, there's no one on the road, it's super dark. Suddenly, it's not dark anymore. There's a bright light in front of me, some giant...*thing* blocking the road."
"Describe the thing to me."
"It was a tall orb on stilts holding it upright. It spanned the whole road, there was no way around it. There were two people in front of the ship--"
"Ship?"
"Yeah, that was the ship. But I didn't know it then."
"You didn't call it a ship before."
Max shrugged his shoulders. Was his story changing now, or was he giving new details?
"It was one. The two people were facing me, but I could only see their outlines. They were tall and thin; stringy bodies that were disproportionate. when they started moving..." Max shivered at the memory. "I didn't like it."
Scarborough was leaning halfway over the table, focused on the story. He couldn't spot the lie. Everything Max was saying *seemed* to be true.
"They took me out of my car and made me walk to the ship. It wasn't on my own volition--they were controlling my body. It was like my mind was still my mind, but my legs walked despite it."
"Hold on," the detective interrupted. "They took you out of your car, in the middle of the interstate, and you were gone the whole night?"
"Yes," Max answered.
"So why were you found in your car in the morning? Why wasn't your abandoned car found on the highway?"
"I've wondered that too," Max stared down in his cup. "I don't understand how they did it."
His voice was curious, not defensive; tired, not scared. Detective Scarborough never needed to engage in logical he-said-she-saids with perps. He always innately *knew* when he was being told a lie. It was a gift on some days; certainly made his job easier. He rubbed the spot where his wedding ring used to be. Didn't make everything easier though.
"Continue," the detective demanded.
"I don't remember much about the journey. As soon as I stepped inside, everything went blank. I came to on another planet, where the grass was blue and the tree tops were purple. There were two suns in the sky and it was cold. freezing, in fact, but there was no ice."
"Blue grass, purple trees, cold weather," the detective listed off the odd details on his notebook. "Tell me about the other people there."
"Yeah," Max nodded. "Mary was one of the other humans I met there. She's from Maine, a painter, I think. Teaches art at some senior center, but her husband makes the real money."
"Got a last name for Mary?"
"No. We didn't get past small-talk. We were both trying to figure out where we were, how to escape. We ended up huddled together, walking over those blue hills, looking for some signs of life."
"Are there any other identifying features about Mary? How old was she? What did she sound like?"
"She was older. Maybe 50? Early 60s? I really don't know. She sounded like she was from Maine." Max shrugged. "Like JFK in Alabama."
"JFK in Alabama?"
"That's what it sounded like."
"Okay, moving on, what happened next?"
"We found another huddle of people. Four or five--"
"Well, which is it? Four or five?"
"I don't remember."
"Wait," Detective Scarborough put a finger up. "Say that again. How many were there?"
"I don't remember," Max answered, annunciating every syllable.
*It was a lie.*
"Max, I need you to be very honest with me on this detail. How many people, *precisely*, did you run into there?"
A shivering sigh escaped his mouth. "There were six." *A truth.*
"Why would you lie about that?"
"Look, uh... I'm not super comfortable talking about this part..."
"I don't give a shit what you're comfortable with," the detective barked back. "There's a dead body in the morgue, you're the number one suspect, and I took you out of booking to talk in private. Now tell me why you're lying!" | 59 | You have the ability to detect lies. As a detective, this is quite the nifty power, but right now it is putting you in a difficult position. The witness has just recounted the most fantastical and unlikely story that you've ever heard. The thing is — they're telling the truth. | 242 |
I stood there, puzzled, for a bit - then burst out laughing.
It explained so many things about her, that I couldn't believe I managed to miss it up to that point. From her walking around barefoot in the dead of winter, to her oddly specific, oddly accurate knowledge of medieval villages and their exact layout, and the equally odd lack of knowledge about mundane things like laundry and birthdays.
Laundry and birthdays. She was so weirdly excited about random little things like those, and I somehow never questioned it. When we moved in together, she was ridiculously excited about going to buy a laundry detergent at the store. She insisted on smelling every single one and took almost an hour to pick one. When I learnt that she never had a birthday party, it was obvious to me that I was going to throw her one. I asked her when her birthday was going to be, and how old she was going to be. It took her a full minute to answer - and it somehow didn't occur to me as strange.
In a mix of amusement and amazement, I examined the hoard, and felt the grin on my face growing, as I looked more closely at the neatly organised antique tea sets, gently folded handmade quilts, and cast-iron pots and pans. Everything about it was so *her*.
Then I noticed something different, in the center of the room. As I came closer and realized what it was, I felt my eyes beginning to fill up with tears.
On a small table, covered with a vintage, embroidered tablecloth, was a dried flower crown, a small gift box, and a card: "Happy ~~1st~~ 28th Birthday, Leah!".
She kept that bottle of laundry detergent, too. | 1,580 | You fall in love with a girl, and the two of you have a happy relationship for a few years. But one day, you discover a massive hoard of valuables underneath the house, and that’s when you realize you’ve been dating a dragon in human form. | 4,409 |
[Poem]
Agent Charles Pick
A bit of a dick, but quick
To exclaim, "It's you!"
°
Before a loud "shoosh!"
He ducks into a bush, but
Is shoved out again.
°
"Uh, nevermind", he
Hurriedly ducks inside
But he couldn't hide
°
A sly look aside
To catch a glimpse of, me, just
An average Joe
°
Nothing much to see,
So don't really know why he
Had fear in his eyes.
°
Is there something he
Knows that I don't? Or perhaps
He's just mistaken me
°
For someone with more...
*Clandestine* professional
Aptitudes, perhaps?
°
I brush the thought off
"Vivid imagination,
that's all." And head in.
°
But as I enter,
The tension is palpable.
Something is off, yes.
°
A glance at the news,
And I find myself pulling
A quick double take
°
Why is *my face*, ME-
On CNN, at 8a.m.?!
Must be some mistake.
°
But no, clear as day,
There I am, drunk as shit, nude,
Climbing on a fence.
°
Now admittedly,
I don't recall, last night much...
...Or not at all...
°
A few beers, lager
A few shots, tequila, and
Oh Lord what have I...
°
Yes, it seems it's true
Last night, out of the blue, I
Kidnapped Nick Cage, and
°
In a drunken rage,
Forced him to act accomplice
To a *little* prank.
°
.....
.......
.....
°
..... We stole the declaration of independence. | 26 | You’ve heard about “bring your child to work day” but this is the first time you’ve ever heard of “bring an FBI agent to work day.” But that’s exactly what your work is doing, and for some reason all of the FBI agents seem to have a particular interest in you. | 195 |
Our ship is surrounded the moment it touches down. The four of us exit, facing drawn bows and spears resting on shields. I speak slowly out of instinct, but think they are understanding every word. Eight Milena off Earth, yet they understand us.
"Procyon lotor," I say. "We are here in peace. We have come to our old home out of curiosity, with no ill intentions. We wish to learn about Earth as it is now."
A large one steps forward, a foot taller than the rest, twice as wide. Chest puffed. Tail rigid. "Homo sapiens, we understand you fine, though your speech pattern is different from the records you left behind. Strange intonations you now have. Call us Raccoon and we will call you Human."
I take a step forward. A few shields shuffle. "Understood. May we be taken to see your towns? Then your largest city? Perhaps your leaders?"
A laugh. "We have no cities. And only one leader. You will be taken directly to her."
&#x200B;
We are packed into a pull cart, bouncing along a cobblestone highway, armed escorts on either side. I have tried to talk to the guard nearest to me, but he or she will not answer me. A castle and the surrounding town is nearing. I ask the name of the place, but am met with silence once more. We pass by farms and fields, stray cottages with thatched roofs. Entering the town I see watchtowers. Shops. Villagers staring from the side of the streets or peaking out windows. There are whispers, and laughter, and children trying to get a close look only to be rebuffed by the guards.
Mud is kicking up from the wheels and splattering my jacket. We are near the castle now, and I can see the gate is already being drawn. We cross the bridge and enter a beautiful garden that must contain hundreds of species. We are pulled through the center toward the main structure. I chat with the others, but we are careful about what we say.
&#x200B;
We are sitting at a table meant for fifty, in a room decorated with tapestries and weapons. We have been here for hours. No provisions have been given. Two guards stand by the main door, one by the small door at the back of the room. The two guards, in unison, click their heels and straighten up.
"Enter Lord Rubishian!"
The doors bursts open. Leading is a small raccoon in decadent armor. I assume it is the leader that was spoken of. She carries a sheathed long sword in her hand. Two others are following her. Her armor is splattered with blood. She sets her sword firmly on the table.
"The wolves are at the gates and the two of you bring me here to see these relics. Of the thousand kingdoms why mine? If the river bridge shows even a glimpse of weakness it will see a legion of wolves by sunrise!"
An older racoon, frail, steps next to Rubishian. "Lord, I believe these beasts may prove more a threat. Not now, but on the long thread."
"Armor," Rubishian says.
The other follower, a young knight, steps behind her and unstraps her chest plate as she removes her own wrist guards. Each piece is taken and placed carefully on a statue in the corner of the room. Rubishian sits across from us. She is wearing a simple tunic. There are scars where blades have slipped through her armor.
"What do you want from this world now?" she asks.
"Just to learn," I say. "We could also provide you with technology, if you wish."
She laughs. Her advisors have taken seats next to her, and they laugh as well.
"The technology we have is quite enough. The Great Treaty does not allow for any machinations to create advanced technologies, and for hundreds of years every kingdom has followed it. We are aware of where your great Industrial Revolution took you. To ruin. So you can offer us nothing. You are a threat. We have no interest helping you who poisoned the world. Some of our lakes are still unfit for drinking. What my advisors and I have been discussing is what to do with you. We don't see a path that prevents more of you from coming, and so we have decided to send word and have a gathering of the Great Council. The leaders of all the kingdoms will decide your fate."
"Why so many kingdoms?" I ask. "We have found that-"
"You have found what you found after so much destruction. Greed. Land grabbing. Arms races. I do not lead this kingdom because of my sword. I assure you I am well studied. We are happy with what we have. We rose with the lessons of your failures."
She stands. Her advisors do the same. They begin toward the door.
Our navigator stands. "What will your advice be? To the Great Council?" he asks.
Rubishian pauses at the door, looks over her shoulder.
"Send your corpses back on what you came in. You are wolves at the gate." | 169 | it's been 8,000 years since the last human has set foot on earth, now an expedition is setting down on the surface to find that raccoons have reached the iron age, with legends of the old gods....us | 1,006 |
(Sorry, I failed to make this less than 10,000 characters. Continued in the reply)
"Good blood" The hag said as she bandaged my shredded arm.
Good blood isn't a good enough reason to marry somebody, I thought.
"Marley Clan?" She asked.
Though I didn't know the answer, or even what she was talking about, something deep inside me blurted out "Marley-Balkan Clan."
She nodded approvingly as she cut the bandage and tied it before giving me a surprisingly firm slap on the rear. Though startled by her strength, I didn't cry out. Actually, despite being terrified of everything in the dark old woods, I couldn't speak at all. Except for when she asked me a question.
"Father?" She croaked.
"Carpenter." The reply slipped from my throat.
"Mother?" She asked with a grin.
"Herbalist."
She cackled. "Oh, I'm sure she was an *Herbalist*."
I continued walking, though I didn't know where I was going. A heavy fog rolled in which she would slip in and out of, slithering in her pointy shoes like a snake in the grass. If I was scared and stopped walking, she would reappear to grip me by the wrist tightly and drag me along a few steps before disappearing again.
Her cackle in the mist reverberated all around me, and I could feel cold fingers dragging their way across my exposed back and chest, though I couldn't see the arm they belonged to.
When her shrill laughter wasn't sending shivers down my spine, dark whispers paralyzed my heart. But there wasn't any resting from it. She would appear each time I stopped moving, her wrinkled, grey face angrier than the last. At one point, I saw a pair of glowing green eyes ahead of me and I fell to me knees, the breath frozen in my lungs.
This was met with a hard kick to my stomach that sent me rolling over onto my back. She appeared over me in an instant, her long arm grabbing me by the ear and pulling me up to my feet. I couldn't even yelp in pain, and in her multilayered voice I heard her scream "There are worse things in the mist than this old lass!" before she let go of my ear.
I walked until reaching a set of warmly glowing lights inside a small, squat hut. The mist seemed to fade as I reached the door, which swung wide open before I could even knock. The witch greeted me, a twisted grin on her face as she beckoned me enter.
"My daughter waits..." She said. As soon as I crossed the threshold, however, she pushed me to the ground. Though there was nothing holding me there, it felt as if a hundred pounds sat on my chest. It was hard to breathe, and my whole body was paralyzed there as she scurried into a back room, snickering all the while.
I was left staring at the ceiling, but in my peripheral I could see strings of small bones hung up. Animal bones? No... In my heart of hearts, I knew the only bones in this hut were human. I hoped whatever was brewing in the steaming, stinky pot wasn't. Outside in the fog, something clawed at the door.
The putrid smell of rot and decay that hung in the air was quickly replaced by the sweet scent of berries as a young woman entered the room. She was scrawny, with a hook nose and greasy black hair. But the fear her hag of a mother left lingering in the room dissipated as soon as the woman flashed me a surprisingly warm smile.
"Meredith." She said.
Though the weight that held my chest down was gone, I didn't feel compelled to speak. Instead I just lay there, staring at the patchy ceiling over my head. Whatever was clawing at the door had made its way to the roof and was running around wildly, like rats in a kitchen, and through the gaps in the ceiling I could see the occasional pair of off-white eyes glaring at me.
More appropriately, I could feel them on me. Something outside wanted in. It wanted me.
"You're in luck." Meredith said as she pulled up a chair. "Most men found wandering in these woods disappear, but you're a Marley-Balkan."
I slowly turned my head from the ceiling, trying to ignore whatever it was that hunted in the night, facing her instead.
"Marley-Balkan?" I asked.
"My clan." She said. "The coven in these woods are all Balkans, but some of the men-folk are Marleys. We take what we get."
"And what you don't get... Do they end up in that pot?"
She turned to look at the brewing liquid, then back at me. She cackled just like her mother. "What?" She asked. "You think the men that don't end up in my stomach end up somewhere else?"
My eyes widened. "I- I don't mean to offend you."
She smiled a toothy grin, showing off her yellow teeth and sharpened canines. "I don't eat people." She said. "At least, not the sapient ones."
I slowly sat up, but seeing that my movements caused her to stiffen up, I committed to sitting cross-legged on the floor instead of rising to my feet. "Am I sapient?"
She cocked her head. "Do you know what that means?" She asked.
I shook mine. "If all humans aren't sapient to you, then I don't know what it means."
She nodded. "Poor choice of words. Humans are sapient. Whatever wonders in the fog isn't."
At that, the door shook with a heavy pounding. As soon as it did, the door in the rear of the cabin was thrown open and the gnarled old hag darted into the room, butcher knife in hand.
"Meredith!" She shrieked. "Take his seed and be done with him. There's trouble in the fog tonight."
Meredith rose to her feet. "I told you already, I'm not taking any man's seed! Not without knowing him well."
The hag narrowed her eyes. "Marley-Balkan. You know him well enough."
"I don't even know his name!"
The pounding at the door grew louder, as if objecting to being drowned out by their argument. Whatever was outside wanted in *badly*.
The old witch spun the butcher knife expertly in her hands as she approached the door. Meredith sighed and ran to the door, placing a hand on the wooden beam that kept it closed. Locking eyes with her mother, and with the go-ahead nod, she lifted it and stepped aside.
The door creaked open slowly, and as it did, I got to my feet. Adrenaline filled my veins as I watched the elder witch stand completely still, eyes focused on the mist. Against my better judgement, ignoring every fear receptor in my body, I slowly walked towards her to get a better view.
It was a mistake.
Once I was in view of the door, a revolting gurgling began. I watched as a living corpse stumbled into the hut, its held tilted backwards and torn throat bubbling with dark red liquid. Though most of its skin was shredded, I could see its eyes were locked on me. It shambled towards me, ignoring the elder witch.
As it came closer to me, slowly dragging its bloody, melty feet across the earthen floor, the witches did nothing. They couldn't move. But I could. The corpse moved about the room slowly, and I could avoid being gouged by taking a simple step back any time it got too close.
My eyes examined the room for anything I could use as a weapon, but nothing stood out as I found myself backing into the rear room. As soon as I crossed the threshold, I slammed the door shut and took account of my surroundings.
If ever there was a disgusting site, it was in this room. A pile of human skulls lay in the corner, each one sitting atop a stack of folded clothes. Next to this pile was a sharp axe. Something told me it wasn't for chopping trees. I grabbed it with both hands and instantly felt disgusted with myself as an unwelcome power surged through my body. | 18 | You get saved from the animal targeting you, and the person says you now owe them. You normally wouldn't mind returning the favour, except they want you to marry their child at around the same age as you. And the person that saved you is a villain. And your legs won't let you run away. | 56 |
"I...have doubts." Lector Dane said to the Arch-Prior.
The elder cultist's eyes widened in surprise. "You, Lector Dane? Caretaker of our Dark Master's son? The demonic dula of Satan's scion? Surely not!"
"That's just it! Master...I begin to doubt young Louis is the son of our Dark Lord." Dane said.
"Don't be foolish! But three years old, yet he is already filled with our lord's malice! See, there, how he delights in torturing that hapless beast he's ensnared!" The Arch-Prior exclaimed, gesturing down into the courtyard below, where the child was crouched on the grass beneath an oak tree, holding a small furry creature.
Dane glanced at the small boy, and frowned. Louis was holding out a handful of sunflower seeds to a squirrel seated on his palm, which in turn was stuffing it's cheeks with the crunchy treats the boy offered. The boy gently scratched the top of the little rodent's head, causing it to chirr happily.
"Arch-Prior...I believe he is *befriending* the creature."
The Arch-Prior paused, and removed a pair of thick glasses from his robe. After fogging them and polishing them clear on his voluminous sleeve, he donned them, and peered at the wholesome scene playing out below.
"Well..." the old man began, hesitantly. "He's....he's probably only showing kindness to the beast *now* to...to *heighten* its despair when he later betrays it!"
"The antichrist is plotting the downfall of a squirrel?" Dane asked, flatly.
"Well, you've got to start somewhere!" The Arch-Prior snapped.
"What about *this?"* Dane demanded, thrusting a sheet of paper at his superior. "Is *this* the work of Satan's only-begotten?"
The old man examined the paper. It was a child's drawing depicting a small, smiling stick figure holding hands with a larger stick figure in a robe. The figures were neatly labelled "me" and "unky Dane" in crayon.
"Aha!" The Arch-Prior crowed. "A three year old child, *writing legibly?* That's obviously supernatural! He already receives a measure of our master's dark wisdom! I bet he'll be screaming blasphemies in ancient Greek, soon enough!"
"He's *homeschooled,*" Dane pointed out, "Simple writing at his age isn't actually that uncommon, outside of public education."
"He was born with the *number of the beast* in a birthmark on his scalp! 666!" The Arch-Prior insisted, crossly. "That ought to be enough!"
"About that," Dane said, handing the prior another sheet of paper. "I was looking at the mark closely, the last time I cut his hair. I sketched it for you -- do you notice anything about it?"
"It says six-six-six!" The old man said, stubbornly.
"But what else is there?"
"Well, 666...with a line over it. So what?"
Dane shook his head. "No, no. Haven't you ever played pool? They number the balls, but since they can roll any direction, they put a line under six and nine to indicate the *bottom* of the number."
The Arch-Prior's eyes widened. "You mean..."
Dane nodded. "The birthmark says *999,* not 666."
The old man groaned, his shoulders sagging. "Damn it! *God* must be screwing with us, again!"
"So, what now?" Dane asked, after an uncomfortable silence.
"Well, I guess we sacrifice *this* kid to Satan, and hope he's not too pissed off that we got taken for a ride." the old man sighed.
Dane nodded and placed a hand on the old man's shoulder. "I was afraid you'd say that."
The Arch-Prior frowned "What do you mean?"
"Well, the kid may not be the antichrist, but I did learn one thing from him, by raising him for the last three years." Dane explained.
"What's that?"
Dane leaned close the old man's ear, and whispered,
"I learned that I like him a lot more than I like *you."*
The Arch-Prior didn't have time to reply before Dane tightened his grip on the old man's shoulder, and shoved him over the high wall surrounding the courtyard -- opposite the side where his young charge was at play, of course.
Leaning over the wall, Dane looked down at the twisted body of his former mentor, the old cultist's face frozen forever in a stare of horrified realization. Part of him felt guilty...but a larger part of him felt that he'd done what anyone would, in his position. Satan, after all, was clearly not Louis' father. Therefore, Dane decided, that position had needed to be filled -- and he'd had his doubts about his previous job for a while, anyway.
Dane pulled his cult robe over his head, and tossed it over the wall, watching it flutter down to join the Arch-Prior's corpse on the ground outside the wall.
"Unky Dane!" Louis called up from the courtyard. "Is Unky Pri'er gonna come down an' play?"
Dane turned, and looked back down into the courtyard. Louis beamed up at him happily, his squirrel friend now perched on his little shoulder.
Dane gave the lad a wan smile. "No, sorry, kiddo....he had to go." | 10 | You were honored when the cult appointed you as the guardian for the antichrist. But now that devilish infant is a preschooler, and things are getting out of hand. | 52 |
Day One:
Dying wasn’t as bad as I thought it would be, I did enjoy my previous life and have little knowledge of how to return, if I even can. I woke up in a different world in the clothing I put on just this morning and a blank journal. Glass, stone, horseless carriages, snow instead of sand at a beach despite the warm temperature. I knew this place well and often visited it in my dreams. It was an empty world that I could explore and it was beautiful. However I must make my way to the edge.
My dear sister had her own world as well, only it was darker and more sinister. I remember her crying at night when we were younger. It continued until she started to learn how to control the monsters that lurked there. One night we both traveled to the edges of our worlds and we discovered a wall separating the two worlds. We each were capable of entering the other and we would always remember upon waking. The worst day of my life came when my sister was accused of being a witch and was executed.
My own death was not accidental, I felt the hand that pushed me. I must find the wall again, I must see if that dark world is still there, and I must see if I am able to see my sister again. I must see if we can have our revenge on our killers. If we can pull them into this dreamland they wouldn’t stand a chance of surviving. | 59 | You were just enjoying life in your medieval fantasy world; until you were run over by a horse carriage. You find yourself in a strange, magical world of stones and glass and shiny carriages without horses. | 545 |
Hmm... Consciousness coming back, that's nice...
Let's see, head feels clear, probably no concussion then, good. Concussions are a pain.
Eyes... Oh good, still have eyes. Last time it took forever to get the color right again. Blindfolded though, that's annoying.
Limbs... Right leg feels broken, other leg is fine. Arms too. Tied to something hard. Probably an altar judging by how they have my arms and legs spread.
At least this time they left my clothes.
Chanting... What is that, Latin? No wait, that's Original Babylonian, Latin was the closest language to come out of that whole tower thing.
That means... Knife in the heart, yup. Wonder why I didn't notice that first, that stings...
I wait for the chanting to stop, eventually the cultists realize nothing is happening, you know, aside from the murder.
Once the nervous accusations of unfaithfulness turn into a brawl I dislocate my thumbs and pull my hands free of the bindings.
I sit up and pull off the blindfold. The dude who stabbed me looks like he's trying to decide if he's going to use his mouth to scream or throw up.
Eventually he takes the third option and passes out.
One fixed leg later and I'm slipping out the back door. Just as the brawl turns into more murder.
As I walk down the alleyway, a group of shadows pull towards me, deepening the already dark night.
"Bro" I say, "there are easier ways to get hold of me. I told you I'd get you a cell phone. I'll even pay your bill. I get a good deal if I bundle multiple lines."
"But then I wouldn't be able to pay you back for Atlantis."
I grin. "How was I supposed to know your incarnation that time would be allergic to seafood?"
"Dinner's on me" the shadow says.
"There's a great sushi place just down the road" I reply.
"Dick" | 843 | You have been kidnapped by a cult preparing to sacrifice you to their god. However, you are immortal, the god they worship is a close friend of yours, and the entire cult was a prank you pulled centuries ago. | 2,780 |
“Ugh, will this never end? How much stuff could one old man possibly have?”, looking around the attic, I knew the answer was ‘more’.
Grand Pa Manny was the coolest GrandPa you could ask for. Always smiling and joking and fun to be around but also intense and willing to listen no matter what was weighing on you. He was a truly good person.
He passed suddenly in his sleep about a week ago. The funeral was…. A blast. An absolute hoot. So many people, so many laughs. When you see joy at a funeral, you know it was a well lived life. Don’t get me wrong, there were lots of tears, but so many good stories and good times too.
I shook my head to try and shake loose my reminisces. I had work to do. Grand Pa left me his house, this house, and I am trying to clean it out and get it ready for sale.
A beautifully kept war time house. Freshly painted and meticulous kept up. The yard is a dream. Huge trees and well kept shrubs and a garden that could feed a family of 10. Why am I making up restate listings now? Three bedroom, 2 baths, a great starter home…. Ugh…. Stop…. avoiding…. the… attic…..
So much stuff. Walking through the paths I poke and peek at the odds and ends in the attic. “What is this?” I pick up the strangest looking bottle. It is a single piece of multi coloured glass that somehow seems like it would be impossible to shape from a single piece of glass. There is a label on the side, I roll the bottle to try and read it but there is something on it, I rub it with my shirt.
“What are your wishes?”, a voice booms from behind me. A genie. A freaking genie. Are you kidding me? He was just floating there. A young man in maybe his late twenties wearing a t-shirt. I would say he has no pants but he has no legs…. He just kinda, slowly vanishes from the waist down like a ghost but more solid… so weird.
“You are a genie? Like an honest to god, wish granting genie?”, I stammer
“I am a genie, and I will grant you 3 wishes…. A selfish wish, a selfless wish and a wish that you won’t live to see. Standard wishing rules apply: no wishing for more wishes, can’t make some one fall in love with you, can make some one do something they don’t want to, can’t kill anyone, and no resurrections. What are your wishes?”
“Did you grant grand pa wishes?”
“I don’t know. Who is your grand pa?”
“He was Emmanuel Charleston. He just died a week ago. Did you grant him wishes?”
A slow smile crept across the genie’s face. “Emmanuel. Manny. I am truly sorry to hear he died. He was a rare soul. I granted him his wishes. I don’t know how long ago, time moves a bit differently in my bottle. It feels like yesterday for me. He was a young man when I granted his wishes. How old was he when he passed?”
“He was a month shy of his hundredth birthday.”, I paused, unexpectedly choked up. “What did he wish for? Did his wishes come true?”
“A long life then. That is good. Tell me about his life and I will tell you what he wished for.”
“Why? Why do you want to know about his life?”
“ I see glimpses of the world. Someone finds the bottle and I grant some wishes and back in the bottle I go. I don’t get to look around and see how the world has changed or what it looks like. Some times I can go for decades or centuries before some one else finds the bottle. I see the world for a few minutes or a few hours and then back into the bottle. I don’t know how the wishes turn out or if the magic worked…. I set it in motion and then I disappear…. Then I do it again and again. Manny was… kind to me. He talked to me, told me about the world and what was out there. I was out of my bottle with him for months before he made his wishes.
I am bound to my bottle. I can’t exist without it and I cant stay out of it forever, so Manny kept me out for as long as I could handle to show me as much as he could. Then, when the bottle started to pull me back, he made his wishes.”, the genie paused thoughtfully, “I would like to know. How did the wishes turn out for him? Did they come true for him the way he hoped they would? He he live a good life? Was he loved? I just want to know about my friend.”
It was unexpected. I never gave any thought to the life of a genie, because really, how often do you ponder the life of imaginary creatures? But here I was talking to an ‘imaginary’ creature.
“He is… was… loved. He was one of my favourite people in the world. He had jokes and charm and would listen to you with all of his heart…. He really cared about what you had to say.” I smiled to myself, remembering the kind hearted man. “You want his life story? I only know parts of it. What he told me and what others told me… but if you want to know I will tell you.”
“I would love to know everything you would tell me.”, the genie said in earnest.
“He was born to a very poor family. His parents died when he was in his late teens. They had nothing to leave him and so he went into the world on his own as a penniless orphan when he was only 17.
He had odd jobs here and there. Farm hand. Worked as a stock boy some where. Carpentry. You name it and he did it for a while.
He travelled around the country working those odd jobs and some how landed up here when he was 25.
Not sure how he managed to get a loan, but he did, and he opened a hardware store. That store is still open to this day. Not wildly profitable but it always seemed to make enough to keep him going.
One day a pretty young lady came into his store to pick something up. They chatted. They flirted. They were married 6 months later. He always said that she was his soul mate. The only woman in the whole world for him. They had 2 kids, my dad being one of them. Grandma died of lung cancer the year I was born. I am told that she did not go gently and that it was long and painful.
Grandpa was devastated but always said he was so happy she had been in his life and couldn’t imagine a life with out her.
He raised his kids. Had an ordinary life. Had an ordinary death.
There is nothing special about his life. Nothing that screams out, ‘I got 3 magic wishes’.
That was his life.”
I looked around. I didn’t even realize that I had sat down at some point. I am not sure when I had started crying.
“Thank you for that. I am so glad his wishes came true for him.” The genie has the hugest smile…. And maybe a tear?
“What were his wishes? For the life of me I have no clue what they could have been. His life was so ordinary.” I said, truly baffled.
“His selfish wish was to wish for the money to open a hardware store. His selfless wish was to wish that whomever was his soul mate would find their match. And his last wish was for someone worthy to find my bottle.” | 17 | You find a Genies bottle(doesnt always have to be a lamp) in your grandpas attic while searching it after he passed. The genie gives you three wishes, one selfish, one selfless, and one for the far future. so many things about your grandpa makes sense now. | 44 |
Neutral palette of monotonous grey and beige blend with the bookshelves and ceramics. The warm scent of candles fill the air., its glow so unnatural with the office. The couch is seemingly comfortable, at least at the first glance. Sitting on it is another story.
Steve adjusts himself multiple times, shifting and crossing his leg, uncrossing and then manspreading while crossing his arms. His leg and hands are shaking. The cycle never seems to end.
"So what brings you here today?" Dr. Merida asks, sipping her cup of tea already grown cold from observing Steve.
"Uhm," Steve opens up, tilting his head. He scratches his neck and with his fumbling fingers, unties his necktie. "I don't know how to tell you this, Dr. Merida... I think I might've gone crazy."
Dr. Merida remains emotionless. "Go on, Steve," she nudges him gently. "What do you mean by 'crazy'?"
"Well," Steve sighs. "Last night, I heard from the sky. The aliens... They're here, Dr. Merida. They told us, "People of Earth, we have judged your species and come to a verdict. Every last one of you needs therapy." I'm sure you've heard it, too."
A pause. There is a long pause. Dr. Merida observes Steve in all his earnest and desperate self.
"Please tell me that you've heard their announcement too, Dr. M," Steve pleads. "I can't be the only one to hear it..."
Dr. Merida scribbles in her notebook.
"That's... That's why I'm here, Dr. Merida."
"Look, Steve," Dr. Merida sighs while rubbing her temple. "I know that your wife cheating on you with your neighbor, your boss, and your son's school principal might be a huge shock to you after our last session a year ago and it's natural that the trauma from such life event manifest in a different form of memory—"
Steve can no longer sit. The couch is horribly uncomfortable enough, just as it was a year ago with his ex-wife.
"Dr. Merida, are you suggesting that I'm going crazy? Because I know what I heard last night—"
"Steve—"
"The aliens told me, err, I mean, all earthlings, to go back to therapy——"
"Steve!" Dr. Merida snaps, grounding Steve back to the couch.
Dr. Merida coughs. "Ahem, I apologize for that, Steve. Let's take a deep breath. Inhale, one, two, three, four.... And exhale, one, two, three, four, five, six, seven..."
Steve follows her. A year ago, he would have not done the breathing routine. *It's all pseudoscience,* he would have thought had he still been that same man a year back.
As he breathes, memories flood back. Cheryl. He was with Cheryl, the love of his life. Cheryl, the only woman he loved. Cheryl, the woman was so intoxicating, like a fine glass of strawberry wine. Or a shot of whisky. Maybe powerful as vodka.
One sip, two, three...
Four bottles, five, six...
Seven drinks, and eight...
Then it hits him hard like hard liquor.
"I...," he speaks. Tears run down his cheeks like river. "I got to get it together, Dr. Merida. I... I have to get my life back, at least for Junior."
Dr. Merida never cracks a smile. Yet, she does today, just for Steve.
"I think we've made a breakthrough today, Steve," she says, jotting down a couple of notes in her notebook. "Well, that's our time for today. I'll see you next time. You can make an appointment at the front desk."
He sighs, wiping his tears away. It wasn't a huge breakthrough, but it was a start.
Steve closes the door, gently, so politely and slowly like the breathing technique.
Then with a click, the door shuts completely. His footsteps fade away.
Dr. Merida takes out a cig and lights it with a scented candle. "Sheesh, I never thought he'd leave," she puffs the cig and pulls away her mask, revealing a skin glowing in neon-green.
She puts her foot up on her mahogany desk and flips on a switch. A hologram appears from the slit of her desk with the image of another neon-green creature with bug eyes.
"How did it go with Steve?" the creature speaks.
"Brainwashing Phase 4, successful," Dr. Merida, no longer in her human form, replies. "The fool doesn't know what he's in for."
The creature in the screen cackles. "Once we continue the alternate memory activation process, his brain will soon turn to delicious jelly that is fine and aged, fit for our queen."
As soon as Dr. Merida cracks a smile, the door opens.
"Sorry, Dr. Merida, I just forgot my necktie—"
As the flame dies from the scented candles, the unnatural glow leaves the room and Steve in the dark. | 42 | After a year of ominously observing us, the aliens make an announcement. "People of Earth, we have judged your species and come to a verdict. Every last one of you needs therapy." | 404 |
The field was cold, the ground hard and covered in a layer of tightly packed snow. Many wars had been lost to conditions such as this, or at least so I'd been told. For mortals I could believe it, especially having once been one myself. But now, how long I'd been what I am, everything was cold. Always. So the cold didn't make much of a difference.
I often wondered if my opponents felt the same. They didn't seem to fatigue, and if the cold bothered them in any way they did good not to show it. I cant imagine they would be, the fur and all. I watched across the field as one of the wolf beasts tore into somethings neck. It ripped a chunk clean, leaving the corpse to freeze over, then its eyes met mine. I did not fear it. I had fought this battle for fifty years, almost nothing could scare me anymore. Not the threat of winter, not the yellow eyed beasts that tore my brethren to ribbons, and not the war, everlasting that we fought.
Some vampires, the ones in the east, were smart enough to avoid these battles. To live lives that didn't center around war. But us. Us feral creatures of the night too far gone to go back, we didn't know any better. Without war I had nothing.
The great beast charged across the field on all fours. It ran with its fangs bared and eyes locked onto my neck. As it moved it seemed to glide, passing by other fights and even its own kind being slaughtered without so much as a glance.
I braced my feet and my boots crunched into the snow beneath me. In this moment I was thankful for it. Warewolves are known to be notoriously ferocious fighters, with the snow I was at an advantage of grounding.
He closed the distance, faster by the moment. Four powerful legs pulsing with strength. Just as the beast reached me though it was instead scooped out of the air by a massive hand. The wolf struggled for a moment against its captor, its legs floating off the ground. Then with a loud crunch and a breathed yelp it went limp, contorted into an unnatural U shape.
I looked up to see it. To feel it. A massive, ungodly thing with the head of a deer and the body of a monster. Human, but only in the most basic definition. Strips of rotting discolored flesh hung off its body like ribbons. It looked to me with empty eye sockets and roared, a noise that brought the field to a literal halt. For the first time in a long time I felt fear.
Some ran, some stayed and fought. It didnt matter. A war that had raged on for decades ended that day, but in its place something new: survival. Fear of the unknown. And knowledge that out there were beasts worse than anything we'd known. | 68 | The war between the Werewolves and the Vampires have been going on for decades now, with all the conflict happening far from civilization. One day, there is a new variable to the war, one that has appeared from nowhere. A Wendigo. | 229 |
Every day was the same. They all blurred together into a malaise each one indistinguishable from the last. Another day, another mystery, another missing number found. Truth be told, I can’t remember any of them- the people I help. A hundred faces, a hundred names that disappear into the murkiness of routine.
It’s a good thing I hate change.
I took another sip of my juice box while counting my cash box: 3 buttons, a bottle cap, and a paperclip. The landlord demanded cash and if he didn’t get it, well he wouldn’t be a problem anymore. It’s a sad world where some problems we need to keep. I needed a case before my life got less complicated but also a whole lot more.
That’s when the kid walked in. Sandy haired and freckled. His eyes darting around my office. He looked a little older, maybe 7 or 8. That wasn’t good. The older ones always had more complicated problems than my usual clients.
“Are you… are you the Numbers Detective?”
“I’m not the secretary.” I retorted. I leaned back in my chair to let him see the water gun in my shoulder holster. It’s always good to let the bigger kids know you’ve got your own backup.
“My name is Zach and I can’t find number 9.”
“Number 9 huh?” I pull a candy cigarette from the silver case I keep on the desk. I absentmindedly tapped it against my desk while I stared out my office window and considered it. After awhile I squinted at him and threw the candy cigarette in my mouth. “Come have a seat and tell me all about it”
———
To be continued(because my battery os dying) | 74 | Write a Story that has the plot of pre-schooler’s educational program, but the tone of a gritty film noir. | 107 |
When I died, I found myself on a staircase. Humming a well-known song about such a stairway, I began my ascent. Without any incident, I found myself at the pearl gates. But this was where things started to feel off. There was no one outside, guarding the entrance.
However, I didn't worry too much. We might have been misinformed about how this sort of thing worked. Maybe once you were on the stairs, you were accepted anyway, and there was no point in guarding a gate. It creaked as I went through, which perhaps should have been a warning.
Heaven was dark.
I don't mean the kind of dark you get at night. That at least has stars and the moon to provide illumination. No, this was the complete absence of light. I stepped back, feeling behind me for the gate. My fingers skated across the smoothness of the singular pearl and came away wet.
Raising them to my face, I sniffed, recognizing the coppery tang. Blood. Definitely blood. Trying not to panic, I shoved my hands into my pockets. I'd had a flashlight when I'd died, and I know they say you can't take it with you... but since everything else seemed wrong, maybe that rule had failed. Sure enough, my fingertips grazed cold metal and within seconds, I flicked the light on. And within seconds, I regretted it.
There, on the back of the pearl gate, hung an angel. It was in its most recognizable human form, but a blood eagle execution is disturbing no matter what form you were in. I swallowed, carefully wiping the remaining blood off my fingers. Turning, I directed the flashlight toward the center of the great city.
Quietly, trying to make no noise on the gold streets, I walked forward, resisting the urge to flee back down the staircase. I didn't know where it would lead if I went down. Maybe to Hell, and I figure even a dark Heaven is better than Hell, right? My small spot of light bounced slightly as I walked through the city.
At first, I kept it trained on the road. I didn't want to step on anything... nasty. And the play of light over pure gold was mesmerizing. When I raised the flashlight though, I wished I hadn't. From every building, from every high place, an angel hung.
They'd all been killed, some obviously tortured, others simply stabbed or sliced through the neck so deeply their heads were almost severed. I bit my tongue to stop the scream that tried to escape. What could have done this? And why didn't God stop it?
And where was God?
The terrible question made me stop, though I had no desire to stay any longer on that road of death. After all, the absence of God created this darkness, the light of their radiance no longer present. So where was God?
My breath starting to shorten, I resumed my journey through the empty city. I didn't have any real direction, I just had to keep moving. Slowly, I realized my feet were taking me on a specific route. I would turn in this direction and that as if I'd been here before. Yet I think I'd remember coming to Heaven. Eventually, I ended up in a large square, an obvious place for gathering.
A large throne rose in the center, though I don't think it was the throne described in the holy book. Around the throne, there were more bodies, more angels, slumped in a gross parody of worship. And on the seat itself...
A gargantuan figure sat, still upright, still staring out over the city. But there was no life in the eyes, no breath in the chest. I stood, at the edge of the square, and bowed my head.
I'd found God.
About to turn around, I took one last look at the giant corpse. And there, in the lap, was a tiny glimmer of light. I scrambled towards it, forgetting that I walked over angel bodies to get there, forgetting that whatever had done this could still be here. Desperation for any other light than my own flooded through me. I reached the base of the throne and scaled one giant clawed leg.
Now level with the lap, I stared. Held there, curled in a gigantic hand was a tiny bead of pure light. I reached for it, almost in a trance. As my fingers brushed against it, images pounded through my mind.
Angels screaming as shadows flitted around them, killing relentlessly. Human souls—which I'd seen no evidence of in the city—running, but getting caught and clapped into chains. A ruthless battle between the figure on the throne and an equally large shadow monster. Wrapped in the memories, I screamed with the angels, I wept with the humans, I fought alongside God. Then, as the flood slowly abated, one final image shuddered across my vision.
The figure on the throne, sitting in the attitude I'd found them in. And standing in front of them, a man. He raised his hand in an ironic salute, then turned away, the shadows following him with their human slaves. Unable to rise, God poured the very last of their life force into the tiny spark of light in their hand. The very same spark I now touched.
Breaking the contact, I bent my head.
And wept.
I don't know how long I clung there, how long the tears fell into the giant lap. But when I raised my head, I had found a new resolve. Reaching out, I grabbed onto the small bead of light. It came easily to me, as if eager. Perhaps it knew what I wanted to do. Climbing down from the throne, I extricated myself from the pile of dead angels. Holding the spark of light in one hand, and the flashlight in the other, I walked in the direction the man with the shadows had taken.
I was going to find him. I had questions, I wanted answers, and he would give them to me whether he wanted to or not. I'd already faced the death of my God.
What more could anyone do to me?
&#x200B;
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Visit r/Mel_Rose_Writes for more stories! | 12 | You’ve just passed into the afterlife. You ascend to the Pearly Gates only to find them unguarded. Hesitantly you enter the Kingdom of Heaven. It has been abandoned. What happened? | 23 |
"Perhaps I did not drink deep enough." Odin put his 3rd favorite mead horn down on the eternal banqueting table and looked across at Heimdall. He was still bemused Heimdall was going for the Idris Elba look these days.
"Another round, my king?" said Heimdall, in his deep, silky voice.
"No, no." Odin waved Heimdall off as he was beckoning a waiting servant. "When I drank the mead of wisdom and poetry. For I have no wisdom or foreknowledge of this." They both stared at the iguana in the room. It was green, about 4 feet long, and had a collar that said "Pickles" on it.
It was currently sitting, possibly patiently, in front of Odin's throne.
"Perhaps it's a trick, some plot from Nifelheim, or one of Loki's endless machinations?" said Heimdall.
"I'm right here, you know" said Loki. He had been shape shifting his head through the various members of the Egyptian pantheon, and currently looked like Horus in a business suit.
"And are you scheming?" asked Heimdall.
"Well, yes, but it has nothing to do with that strangely unsettling lizard. Now if you'll excuse me I have to go confuse a very devout Christian bank manager before I interrupt the atheist convention. Anybody need anything from Midgard? I'll bring back snacks. Don't let anyone usurp the throne while I'm gone, father, especially not the lizard. I don't trust him, he's hiding something."
He finished putting a stack of bearer bonds written in hieroglyphs into a briefcase, and disappeared.
Odin turned to address the iguana. "Tell me, noble beast, in what great battle did you die?"
The iguana remained impassive.
"Do your people sing songs of your many victories?"
...
"Are you a follower of the old ways? Perhaps a loyal servant to one of my own?"
...
Odin sighed. "Things used to be simpler." Heimdall nodded.
The Norns were busy watering Yggdrasil and weaving the tapestry of fate. "Hail Odin One-Eye!" said the first. "Your coming was foretold!" Said the second.
"...err, yes, well that's generally your job" said Odin.
"We knew you would say that!" Said the third.
He didn't like visiting the Norns.
"I have brought gifts for you, sisters of the loom." Odin opened a chest containing 3 gold armlets and placed it near the loom of fate.
"We know." The 3 Jotun sisters said in unison.
Odin's eye started twitching. "I beg of you to answer a question.." he started.
"The iguana!"
"We know!"
"Feed the swans!"
Odin was momentarily nonplussed. "I'm sorry, what about the swans?"
"Our swans" said the 3rd sister, "feed them."
Odin looked at the two snow white swans, the first of their kind, from which all swans in the 9 realms were descended, swimming lazily in water so pure it could nullify any corruption. There was a basket of bread on the table. Odin took a few pieces and tossed them to the swans. The male swam to edge of the well-pond and walked towards Odin. When it reached the All-Father, it plucked a feather from it's wing, and laid it at his feet. The swan honked once, and walked back toward the pond.
Odin picked up the feather and looked at it.
The first Norn turned to him. "You have your answer. But you came with the wrong question, it doesn't matter what the iguana is now. It matters what the iguana will be. Now leave us, and don't forget your feather."
He really hated visiting the Norns.
The iguana was still there, waiting before Odin's throne.
A cockroach crossed in front of the lizard, and the iguana ate it with lightning speed. Odin frowned. There weren't supposed to be any cockroaches here, defiling the sacred space of Valhalla.
But the iguana had eaten it. It had purified the hall and defended the integrity of the realm.
But why was there a cockroach in the first place? Something was very wrong.
Pickles said nothing.
Horns sounded outside. A Valkyrie came rushing into the throne room. "My king, we are under attack! Locusts, cockroaches, termites, countless swarms of devouring insects."
Odin grabbed his spear and ran to the nearest window. Outside he could see the ground crawling and the sky blackened with clouds of insects. A great death coming to Asgard. As he watched, one of the swarms formed itself into the shape of a huge beast, and ravaged an entire building, even the timbers reduced to rotting stumps.
The iguana moved next to Odin, and stared unblinking at the devastation unfolding outside.
Odin paused, and thought. He took the swan feather from a pocket and looked at it. A few drops of water were still clinging to it. He dropped to one knee, and touched the iguana with the feather.
Coils of magic unwound around Pickles, freeing the spirit within. Spikes grew long, wings grew from its back, and it grew to the size of a dragon.
When it was done transforming, the iguana turned to Odin and nodded once. It ran out the main doors and flew into the air, its powerful breath weapons laying waste to the flying swarms.
Odin shrugged and went outside. | 161 | Odin is uncertain why an iguana named Pickles is in Valhalla but he's going to train it for Ragnorak nevertheless | 481 |
I hate it when a big innovation in food and drink reaches the restaurants, tons of people show up in droves, consuming vast amounts of it and clogging up tables and the bar. I just want to save up enough money to buy myself the newest Video Game console and I’d appreciate it if my job as a minimum wage busboy was a bit easier. I sigh, audibly, they can’t hear me through my face mask due to the unbearably loud pop song playing in the background disrupting my train of thought.
I go over to a table near the front door, the patrons having left three bottles of Terato that they couldn’t be bothered to throw away. People are buying and consuming it in droves in the latest move by Americans who pretend to be health conscious so it helps them sleep at night, nevermind the fact they probably haven’t looked at the scale in months. Well what does it matter, out of sight, out of mind, ya know I’m kind of overweight myself.
I place all the bottles into the bus tub, and even though you can smell the nutrients on the bottle that supposedly makes this drink so healthy, beer is still beer. The nutjobs over at Food Company Inc made a drink that is addictive and guilts people into drinking it via all the healthy nutrients it supposedly contains. I simply keep my incredibly detailed and cynical thoughts to myself and try to tune out that god awful song blaring through the speakers while avoiding slamming directly into my co-workers and making my way back to the kitchen with a tub full of dirty dishes.
Now I’m in my element, stacking dirty dishes on the metal countertop near the dishwasher brings me a level of bliss I simply cannot fathom, I feel like I’ve achieved nirvana. I feel powerful and slightly remorseful throwing all the uneaten food away and chucking Terato bottles into the trash can like it’s nobody's business. That feeling of bliss fades all too soon, as the bus tub is soon empty, and I scramble to get back to the kitchen to do my job.
And as I find the closest table in need of cleaning while my fellow busboy Todd rants about how The Earth is actually shaped like a Chicken Nugget because he’s a conspiracy theorist. We then both reach a table together with more of those damn Terato bottles. While I have a look of exasperation no one can see, Todd picks up the bottle and says, “Ya know, according to some experts on 4chan this drink can turn you into a bloodthirsty monster”.
I chuckle to myself, man that’s quite the claim, even for Todd, who just the other day was talking about how Ronald Regan is still alive and plotting to blow up the Sun. And while I’m bussing the table immediately next to Todd, he continues with, “This Terato drink turning people into monsters is part of the plan of 4th Nazi Illuminati to eat our guns and steal our brains”. And I simply say back, “We’ll I’m due for a little excitement here”.
Almost like a cosmic call to the universe, a patron at the bar suddenly bites another customer trying to eat part of their arm. She shrikes while the sudden cannibal tries to eat her meal. Holy shit Todd was actually right. And Todd has never been right ever, Todd thought The Eiffel Tower was secretly a bagel factory for the elite of Zimbabwe. But here, Todd is chanting and howling “I WAS RIGHT BITCHES, AND SOON YOU’LL SEE I WAS ALSO RIGHT ABOUT THE ZIMBABWE ELITE’S SECRET BAGEL FACTORY IN THE EIFFEL TOWER”. He fists the air, and I can only watch as something finally interesting happens.
The restaurant may be getting congested now, but alas, I am too enamored with the waiters trying to restrain Ms. Bloodthirsty Monster and too busy laughing at Todd shout all the stuff he made up like it’s absolute truth due to one crazy claim coming true.
Around 15 minutes later, The Police showed up and the restaurant had to close for the day under order from the police. So as I sat waiting for my ride, I looked on social media, and wow #3 trending on Twitter in the United States already. We’ll probably see a lawsuit tomorrow if this keeps up, I watch videos of people throwing bottles of Terato into long columns of flame or running them over with their cars, I love seeing how the world can turn on something so quickly. Ya know, life has been pretty bleak as of recently, and even though I’ll probably be scarred for the rest of my life, I’d say today was a pretty good day. | 18 | Terato, a new drink promising a healthy blend of nutrients and vitamins goes out on the market. What is not promoted about the product is that consumption of it will cause one out of 100.000,000 drinkers to turn into a bloodthirsty monster. | 92 |
All I heard was a tell-tale whizz, enough to tell me that someone had teleported into the my office. As I glanced up from my desk, preparing my usual script of pleasantries and paperwork, I realised that the creature's silhouette was that of a species still far away from attaining any form of higher interstellar status: A human.
The young man (I think?) who stood before me wore a look of terror and uncertainty, glancing around the office. As part of a low-level species in the galactic community, humans weren't supposed be interacted with, especially by a bottom-rank galactic official who spent all "day" on the far outskirts of the Andromeda galaxy dealing with knucklehead Flaxons and Dromors trying to smuggle booze.
Loosely remembering a few examples of human language, I attempted to write the words "PLEASE WAIT" and "DO NOT PANIC" on an empty form, although this seemed to have the opposite effect. Calling up my superintendent, it was of no surprise that they didn't believe me and just told me to do my job. I sighed, searching through the protocol booklet, which surprisingly had a response to such 'unexpected' events.
'In the event where a species who you are unable to communicate with requires assistance, please contact your superintendent.'
Fucking bureaucrats. | 100 | You are the alien equivalent of a customs agent and a horrifically confused human has teleported into your office. You are obligated by protocol to get them an official interstellar identity. | 271 |
The entrance to Hell was never what people expected. They always thought of fire and brimstone, or heads left on spike and wrought iron monstrosities. They never seemed to expect a large cathedral with a desk that looked as if it belonged in a personal study at its center. The room was well lit and had several benches and desks along the side, designed so that people could fill out their soul contracts efficiently.
Of course, a more personal hell awaited them afterwards, but the entrance was hardly anything that inspired terror.
Belase the demon knelt before The Devil as he analyzed the contract for the third time. The contract was several hundred pages long, but he hardly spared each page a glance as he had the whole thing memorized by heart. Upon reaching the final page, he slammed his fist down loudly against the oakwood desk he sat at.
There was a large line of new souls that trailed behind Belase. They had yet to sign their contracts and were all waiting with their hands and feet bound in chains. The line stretched on until it was out of sight behind them, and not one dared step out of line while the devil was attending to the gates. The one figure outstanding was a small woman wearing a gray business suit that had a bloodstain on the collar, likely from the wound that killed her, matching with the deep crimson tie she sported.
This woman, had single handedly halted the process of incoming souls into Hell. She had found a small loophole in the contract that allowed her to claim residence of her soul outside of the jurisdiction of the Devil.
“Master,” Belase began, “Surely she has no power over your rule. You could always choose not to honor the contract.”
The Devil's eyes blazed with fury and Belase quickly regretted trying to placate his master.
“Choose not to honor the contract?” The devil shouted furiously, his British accent bleeding through, “Do you have any idea what that would entail? The entire fabric of this realm is held together by the binding of souls to its foundation. If souls are not properly bound, they can escape and cause a tear in the very fabric of our reality! The contract is the very thing that holds your pitiful existence together!”
He rose from his seat and set his eyes on the woman in question. In a single moment, all hostility drained from his expression and he appeared as no more than a well dressed businessman.
“Miss Hallow,” he began, “I understand that you have every right to reject the circumstances, given the clause on page 647 line seven does not technically apply to you, however could I ask that we make a small revision and send you on your way?” He held out his hand gently, offering to close the deal.
“Unfortunately Lucifer, I am unable to accept those conditions.” She stated calmly, despite the tense expression now worn by The Devil. “The contract specifically states that all souls are bound by the *exact, same, contract*.” She enunciated the last several words. “To revise mine in any way would be a breach in conduct and unrightfully prevent any future revisions or additions to be applicable to my contract alongside the others, thereby subjecting me to unequal legislation and unjust treatment.”
“Unjust treatment? This is Hell!” The devil shouted. “That is the only treatment you should get here.”
“Not according to this contract, sir. I expect to have the same rights as all other souls in your realm, as it is stated in your contract that no one soul is of greater value than another. Page 429 line 32, if you want to double check.”
The Devil did double check, and promptly slammed his hands down again as he sat back down.
Belase, cautiously raised his hand to grab his master’s attention. He swallowed his fear when The Devil’s gaze met his own, and Spoke. “Master, while I understand this is of the utmost importance, perhaps we should leave this matter for the moment and attend to the other souls. There are currently 125 souls in this room and countless more waiting outside. Maybe we could attend to-”
“Actually,” Miss Hallows interrupted, “The contract states that each soul has a right to be processed in a timely and fair length of time, following the obtainment of the contract in question. To skip over me would be a violation of such a rule. Page 42 line six, if you wanted to check.
The Devil merely fixed her with a glare and did not open the contract again.
“Respectfully master,” Belase spoke tentatively, “Don’t you have a contingency for something like this? I thought the contract was deliberately all encompassing?”
"Yes, I know that! I'm the one that wrote the contract!" the Devil yelled at the cowering demon below him while climbing to his feet. “However, that's the problem. The contract is written too thoroughly. She managed to find a loophole because of her mortal existence. How was I supposed to know she was a lawyer?"
“Then perhaps,” Belase said, raising a spindly finger, “We could renegotiate with the human. Set up a trial and address the issue in a way that would not break the contract while having the human agree?”
The Devil looked thoughtful, before he eventually sat back down in the chair and turned his eyes to the lawyer. “Would that be amiable to you, Miss Hallows?”
“Of course,” She said, “But there are several things that must be addressed. This legal matter must uphold all the same standards as the mortal legal process, as held in the United States of America.”
“No,” The Devil said simply.
“Let me reiterate. If it is not upheld at the same standard as the American legal process, then there will be no renegotiation.”
The Devil clenched his hands into tight fists at his desk, “Fine,” he said through gritted teeth.
“Master, are you well versed in the American legal system?” Belase asked.
“Unfortunately no. As such, I have a new task for you, imp. Go forth and find me a lawyer. One lacking enough morals and ethics that they will be willing to argue on behalf of the devil over the jurisdiction of a soul.”
Belase hastily got to his feet and prepared to find such a lawyer, before realizing that he had no idea where to start. Belatedly, he turned back around to survey the many souls in line.
“Um, is anyone here a lawyer?”
The sound of moving chains rang out through the room as everyone in line raised their hand.
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Any feedback is appreciated. I am working on pursuing writing more seriously so I would love to hear from you! | 76 | "Yes, I know that I handed her the soul contract" the Devil yelled at the cowering demon below him. " How was I supposed to know she was a lawyer?" | 158 |
"If you asked me who lived the longest," Rox says, "it would obviously be me since I'm older."
My gaze falters for a second as the sadness wells back up in my heart again.
"But if you asked me who lived the most, it would have to be him."
We sat on the grass, our eyes fixed on a simple gravestone. Wind swept through the field of flowers, carrying a pleasant scent that I associated with summer. A time for bountiful harvests, great weather, and an abundance of life.
And yet the life that was weighing on my mind was no longer here.
"I think its the little things," I decide, "that pain me the most. How he would constantly fuss about eating healthy, or staying active when neither of us really cared about that kind of thing."
Rox shrugged before responding, "He was always a health freak. At first I thought it was annoying, but as we got to know each other, I found it kind of endearing. It bespoke of his character."
"And what a character he was. He gave his interests undivided attention. One time I asked him what this flower we passed by was and he rattled off a whole list of things about it."
"I remember that. Lisianthus right?"
"Yeah, I couldn't remember a tenth of what he said but I remember the symbolism." A small smile creased my face as I recalled his excitement. "He said it depended on the color, so since the ones we saw were white, they symbolized spirituality and purity."
Rox lightly chuckled. "Sounds just like him."
"And after he said that, he picked one and gave it to me. I laughed initially, saying it suited him more, but then he said that it had another meaning."
"Oh? And what was it?"
I sighed wistfully. "An everlasting bond. Lifelong, perhaps even persisting after death."
We were silent for a moment after I said that. The memory of his declaration of eternal friendship was oddly soothing to my heart. Maybe he knew that we would need this when he passed. Maybe it was simply the wisdom of mortality.
"What a beautiful symbolism." Rox murmured after a while. I nodded in assent.
I look back to the gravestone. "I don't think its fair."
Rox shoots me an inquisitive look. "What do you mean?"
"I don't think its fair that a flower gets such wonderful meanings while our friend is being represented by a stone."
"Rob, we both know this is just a mortal custo-"
"I know," I cut her off. "I know that its just a marker of where they're buried. But that's all it is. A placeholder."
Rox stared at me but said nothing.
"I think... I think we can give him something more. Another symbol other than this gravestone. And we will never forget. We will always be here against the march of time, even as everything else fades away and *remember."*
A smile creeps across Rox's face and she stands up, dusting off her pants.
"Then I guess we know what we're bringing back tomorrow, eh?"
I glance at her and see her extend her hand to help me up. I take it and get up.
"Yeah. Yeah we do."
We'll be bringing Lisianthus to his grave from now on. | 38 | You are an immortal that has spent your entire life surrounded by other immortals. As such, you don’t know how to react when your first mortal friend dies. | 83 |
"Oh, here comes the sanctimony squad!" the man in the purple suit cried out as the Protectors arrived. It's not like he hadn't expected them; an extinction-level threat like this meteor did warrant the presence of all the heroes, but he still couldn't help but feel disgust.
"Villain!" the hero in the front yelled towards the gaggle of ill-meaning individuals as he landed, "Stand aside, scoundrels! You are fortunate the meteor requires our undivided attention! Should you attempt to stop us, let it be known-"
"Stop you?" the villain yelled back, "We're here to stop it, you moron! Last time I checked, we live on this planet too!"
The hero was taken aback as his bravado left him. "You *what*?"
"Oh, what, did you think that we'd sit by with a drink in our hands while the planet burned? Then what? Any idea how boring it would be?" the villain said.
"But... you've threatened to destroy the world yourself!" the hero protested and pulled out a small notebook, listing through it. "...on at least 5 different occasions!"
"Do you not understand the concept of showmanship?" the villain grinned. "You have *no* sense setting the stage for a proper drama. Say my demands weren't met and I did blow up the world. What would I do then, exactly?"
"Then why did you threaten it at all?" the hero asked, confused.
"Thrill of the perfect performance," the villain said, a glint in his eye.
"Hey, uh, lads?" another villain - a silver-haired woman in the back - called out, "Getting rather distracted here I reckon. World-ending threat and all, you catch?"
The leading hero and chief villain stared at each other in a moment of utmost tension. Both the heroes and the villains subtly prepared themselves for a fight, should the need arise. Neither wanted it. The pressure was palpable in the air-
"Narrator, man, could you cut it out?" the hero yelled towards one of his colleagues, "Seriously, not helping!"
Sorry.
"This doesn't change anything," the hero said. "You're still the villains. You're still wanted. You're-"
"Spare me," the villain scoffed. "I'll need Megamer to help me out with moving some equipment," he said and pointed towards a hero in the back, a woman of pure muscle.
"You dare think this uneasy ceasefire will allow you to command my allies?!"
"I have a plan, Ultra. I have gear ready. I know what I need to do. What do *you* have?" the villain said and looked the hero straight in his eyes. Despite being a good deal shorter, his confidence more than made up for it.
The hero relaxed his fist and conceded, nodding towards Megamer who set out towards the villain.
"Oh, and," the villain said, turning around, "Narrator- I could use some feedback on some blueprints, finishing touches and all. Do you mind?"
Not at all, said the Narrator and stepped forward- ok this is getting a little trippy. | 1,578 | The Superheroes arrive at the predicted impact site of the meteor, only to find the Villains already there. "We're going to destroy that blasted rock before it lands and there's nothing you can do to stop us!" a Hero calls out. "Stop you? We're here to help! We live on this planet too, dumbass" | 5,548 |
"Gotta admit princess, you hit like a cannonball." I wiped the blood that was trickling down from my nose and shook it off of my hand. Verity Florellia, Hero of the human kingdoms, and I had been duking it out for about ten minutes so far, and neither one of us looked like we were about to slow down any time soon.
Verity gritted her teeth and replied, "The last thing I want is compliments from some barbaric demon harlot."
I chuckled. "Aw come on, you gotta put a little respect on my name. I'm Jezebel Infernus, Hero of the demon kingdoms! And I swore your king would pay for his crimes, especially the death of the sacred dragon Starfall! Now I hope you're ready for-"
"What?! Starfall's death is on *your* king's head!"
Getting interrupted already pissed me off, but Verity's accusation took it up a couple notches. "Seriously? Projecting much?"
Verity growled. "Enough of your lies! The cruelty of your master will end by my hand, and the massacre of the sacred temple of Azili will be avenged! Ready your-"
"Whoa whoa whoa, hold up! Your king is the one who did that!"
"Oh, look who's projecting now!"
I groaned. "Look, I have my suspicions about something, so just humor me for a minute, and if nothing happens, we can get right back to beating each other to death. Please, tell me every crime my king committed."
Verity eyed me for a few seconds before dropping her fighting stance. "Fine. But I don't see what this is going to prove."
Thirty minutes later, Verity and I were huddled around a fire as the former stared off into space in utter shock. "Every last one," she muttered. "Everything your king was accused of is everything my king was accused of. How is that even...?"
"Look, there's obviously something else going on here. I say we work together to figure it out so this situation can get resolved and I can go home to Priscilla."
Verity broke out of her trance to look at me. "Who's Priscilla?"
"My girlfriend. She's the greatest person in the world and I'm gonna marry her someday." I saw Verity was chuckling at that. "What, it's funny that I'm in love? Not gonna apologize for that."
"No no, it's just that you sound a lot like how I feel about my girlfriend, Shay. I adore her with all my heart, but the king doesn't like that she's dating a commoner. I never... understood..." Verity stopped and took on a thoughtful expression.
"Verity? Hello?"
"Jezebel, is Priscilla the demon king's progeny?"
"Uh, yeah, but why would-" The realization hit me before I could even finish my sentence. "Oh, you have got to be fucking kidding me, they can*not* be that petty."
Verity sighed. "Unfortunately, it seems they are."
"They pitted the two of us against each other just cause we're dating their daughters?! Unbelievable. You know what? I'm going right back home, and I am going to propose to Priscilla right then and there. Make his worst fears come to life."
Verity rested her hand on my shoulder. "Or perhaps there's a better way to take our revenge. One that would trap the two kings from any further tomfuckery, pardon my language." Verity then leaned in and whispered her plan in my ear.
My eyes widened and I looked at Verity with a flirtatious smirk. "Could've sworn I was just a harlot to you."
"Well, everyone needs a little company and fun, wouldn't you agree?"
"Oh, I like you, Ms. Florellia."
Eight months later, I was married to Priscilla, Verity, *and* Shay, ushering in a new age of peaceful coexistence between demons and humans. The two kings could do absolutely nothing about it, lest they upset the peace and prove themselves unworthy to rule. And my days with my wives were blissful as the sight of a babbling creek in the woods.
It was the best revenge I could have hoped for. | 12 | You’re the Hero of the demons, sent to kill the King of humans for his atrocities. On your journey you come across the Hero of the humans. As you fight and justify your actions against each other, you both come to realize your Kings have told you the same misdeeds of the other King to the letter | 57 |
I didn't dream anymore, since the trip. But my mind still wandered, especially as Darryl spoke to me about the issues he was having with his mother-in-law.
"-you belive she wanted to come down on the twelfth?! Well, I said to her-"
But I had to reign myself in a little. As my brain wandered, I could feel my disguise start to slip. I really didn't want to let him see my new body. He wouldn't be able to keep his mouth shut, I didn't think I could silence him any other way, and so it would get out. Then I would have to go on the run, there would be danger, I would probably be shot at, it would just be a bad time all around.
I carefully made sure my tentacles stayed retracted. I was grateful at least that I didn't need to stick with the rules of reality, as otherwise hiding them.would be impossible. But I let the eyes on the back of my head stay. My hair kept them hidden, and being able to see all around me was surprisingly helpful.
Finally, he moved on, finding another poor sap to complain to. I smiled as he left, relaxing slightly. Keeping my head straight to stay hidden was harder when someone was actively being dull. I just wanted to get through the day, go home, and figure out more what on earth I was going to do with my life.
I heard footsteps, and saw Louise standing behind me. She was a good boss, having our backs whenever we needed her to. She stood there with a smile on her face. As usual, she would wait until we spotted her, her was of keeping us on our toes. I typed away a little more on the report I was making, before acting like I had spotted her from the corner of my eye.
"Hi Louise, what can I help you with?"
"Could you pull together a list of the weekly sales for the Falmouth office for the last year? It sounds like there are discrepancies with what their systems say versus ours."
I nodded.
"Sure, I will get that over to you this afternoon."
She smiled.
"Great, thanks Imogen. Say, I didn't get to ask, how was your trip?"
I thought back to the terror I had felt, as the world pulled away. Of a brief glimpse at an understanding for behind what I could see. Of the changes that had come over me.
"It was nice. Nothing special, but nice."
I smiled at her, desperately hoping she wouldn't notice the horror I knew was in my eyes. She smiled back at me.
"Thats good to hear, I hope it helped clear your head. Anyway, I had better get back to it."
She left, and I sighed. I did not need this stress. I had to figure out what to do, and soon. | 13 | You were transformed into an elderitch monster after being exposed to the void during a camping trip. After getting back to work, you’re trying very hard to keep all the extra eyes and tentacles from popping out of your human form. | 30 |
Heed the words of the Oracle for the future is theirs to see and theirs alone to tell.
I have seen the life of King Edgar IV and I am... content.
King Edgar IV will don the crown when his father passes with wishes to do him proud and shall forevermore do his utmost to fulfil that promise. Under his reign, the kingdom shall enjoy an era of tremendous peace. Where some would wage needless wars, he shall choose the life of his subjects. Where some would attempt dishonest meddling, he shall choose integrity and respect towards his equals. Where some would throw away the realm's wealth in pursuit of hedonism and debauchery, he shall remain frugal. For what more can a King do than to be an example to his subjects?
Orderly. Fair. Prudent. Such words will often be used to describe our great future monarch and what more could be asked; none could ask for more than to go to bed knowing tomorrow will come as easily and smoothly as today has.
Rest easy now, subjects, knowing that no tragedy, no great hardship, shall strike on the watch of the ever-vigilant King Edgar IV. | 1,217 | As the Royal Oracle it is your job to write a prophecy every time a noble child is born. However when you are presented with the King's Heir you foresee that they will achieve nothing of note in their lifetime. In order to keep the King happy you must predict something that sounds impressive. | 2,030 |
I didn’t know how to feel about seeing those few seconds of footage. I would have brushed it off as a horror movie my father recorded over if I didn’t know the face of the body. They delivered the mail and was well known in the community but then one day he didn’t show up to work. He wasn’t at home. He wasn’t anywhere. His body was never found but due to the length of time he was missing he was presumed to be dead.
I used to have nightmares about him and while foggy I do remember some parts. He was meeting someone, and then he was attacked, tortured and murdered. In the dream I stayed quiet and didn’t even dare to turn the camera I had off due to the loud click. My father found me and we were chased. I was hidden and he talked to the stranger before we were let go. Now I think that it wasn’t a dream at all. I watched part of my 5th birthday and noticed an angry looking person I didn’t recognize while everyone else I knew.
I checked other home videos and I never saw that man in any of them. He was only in the one from my 5th birthday. I checked the address book he kept and knew every single name in there, meaning the nameless man wasn’t even an acquaintance. My father always kept track of anyone he would talk to more than once, and he wouldn’t have invited a stranger to my birthday. Why film over the tape? Why not destroy it? No matter the answer to these questions I had the only clue into the death and disappearance of the mailman. | 12 | Cleaning out your father's house after his funeral, you find some home movies on VHS, and bring them home to watch and reminisce. One was reused, and before clips of your 5th birthday party, you see a few seconds of the old video. You see a mutilated corpse of someone you knew who disappeared. | 57 |
"I'm sorry, who are you? Where am I? Why am I here?"
I move up from my seat. Somewhere in the back of my mind, I was afraid that my wrists would be cuffed or something, but they weren't. But I was in some sort of gown or bathrobe. Naked underneath.
"And what happened to my clothes?"
The knight did not take off his helmet. He moved a bit stiffly, maybe from age or the weight of armor. It wasn't completely spotless though. It was worn and old, it didn't take the eye of a smith to see that. A patchjob, but remarkably well done. He probably could have had that suit replaced, but hasn't.
"The news I have for you won't be easy to take in. So you might want to stay seated for this. The poison hasn't left your system yet. Take it easy, please."
"Poison? What poison?"
"_Please_, relax. The poison did a number on your heart. It's a miracle in and on itself that we're having this conversation." He seemed urgent and legitimately concerned as he could be with a voice that deep and hollow. I took a deep breath.
"Okay. I'm as calm as I can be."
"That's alright. There's water on the nightstand. If you feel like you need a drink, take it."
"Yeah, I'll pass. Last time I drank I tea I ended up here for some reason."
"Good call. I suppose your wits are about by now. You're ready to hear what happened."
"Sure, enlighten me."
"The woman who you thought served you tea is dead. Killed by a doppelganger. I am sorry."
"What? Bethany? How?"
"Doppelgangers can weasel their way into communities quite easily by stalking their targets and impersonating them, learning their mannerisms. You never spoke to Bethany. The doppelganger picked her to impersonate because you liked her. We found her body buried just beyond the tree line at the graveyard."
"But why me? She didn't have to die over _me_."
"If we had known, we would have stopped it. But we were too late."
"She never really did care about me, did she?"
"I...cannot pretend to have known her."
"Just for once, I thought someone _chose_ to give a damn. Someone _I_ wanted to care about. I know it's selfish, but... fuck..."
The knight did not respond at first, he just looked at me. I could see the pity in his body language. I hate being pitied. Beth dead because I liked her.
"But why? Why me?"
"Desperate times call for desperate measures. You must understand, there are larger forces than either of us at play. There is a legend of old. A story from which all other stories were born."
"The Mythos of the Three?"
"Yes. The Mythos has split into many different stories and develops further every day. Me and my companions have studied it for literal centuries, trying to see where it ends. And it ends with you."
"The Mythos _ends_...with me."
"Apparently so. Unless you die, perhaps."
"But if the Mythos ends, what happens then?"
"Some fear the end of everything we know. It might all end in fire and war, or perhaps everything will simply cease to exist. You are a focal point in this whole thing. Reality bends around you to accommodate you."
"This has to be a mistake. I'm a nobody. I can't _do_ anything, I barely know how to cook."
"You have been well by the Fates, but not well enough. But now you've been brought into the light of all who would write history. Save the world. Another innocent soul, lost, and no one would understand why. That's why we brought you here. To find out _why_ it was you that was chosen. And in time, to teach you how to harness your abilities."
"I have none."
"You are so much more capable than you think, but have not started to discover this."
The knight rose from his seat, and walked up to me.
"And that is where I come in."
"Wait. The, the doppelganger, that got Bethany? What happened to...it?"
"They will never lay hands on anyone ever again. You have my word."
"And the people that sent it?"
"Are why we must teach you what you are capable of. There will be others. You must be ready. It will be a long road, and a hard one. But one day, you'll look back on this day and realize that your life did not begin when you were born. It began today. Right here. With us."
He extended his hand.
"One hell of a speech, sir." I said as I took it.
"I have been told I talk too much."
"You've got a good voice for it, though."
"I've been told that too. Get used to it, you'll be hearing it a lot. Let's get you properly dressed and ready to meet the others. They can't wait to meet the Chosen One." | 104 | A new friend invites you over for a cup of the most delicious tea you’ve ever had. You wake up in a palatial room, attended by a knight in gilded armour, who says, “After centuries of searching, we finally found you.” | 534 |
It had happened. You never hoped such a thing would happen, but now you're alive and well. Maybe the only one alive and well.
The only one. No more stocking shelves. No more irate customers who can't find the item right in front of them. No more pig of a manager saying "Work harder!" when there's been no break months. Years even.
Not going to get that vacation pay now.
Still, now you had time. You bought games, so many games! RPGs, FPSs, some of those indie horror knock offs, all of them now available to you. You rub your hands together.
"And the best part... the very best part... there's time now. There's all the time I need. All the time I want. There's time enough at last."
With a generator designed to last through the apocalypse (time to test that theory) and plenty of food and water, you were going to play each and every game in your enormous library. You open up Steam and...
Could not connect to the Steam network
"That's not fair. That's not fair at all. There was time now. There was all the time I wanted! That's not fair!"
Narrator: The best laid plans of mice and men and the Steam Sale addict, the computer gamer who wanted nothing but time. Now just a part of a smashed landscape, just a piece of the rubble, just a fragment of what man has deeded to himself. A gamer... in the Twilight Zone.
==============
Gloriously adapted from and with direct quotes from "Time Enough at Last" from The Twilight Zone, aired 1959-11-20 | 45 | You are an Apocalypse prepper. The Apocalypse has occured. You will die if you leave your bunker. You are left to just yourself, and the tens of thousands of Steam games you've bought during sales that you've never played. | 147 |
I probably should has looked for some kind of exemption. Pantheon knows we all live for a good loophole to express our power over reality. But this one felt different. And I'm pretty sure it is my fault it exists.
I have exceptional hearing. My ears can pick up sounds more than a mile away. But somehow I've never heard the screams of the dead before.
The first hours were a nightmare torture, rivaled only by the wails of those who truly suffered. I locked myself away in one of the the black fortress' bedrooms and cried. But even I knew that wasn't the point of this exercise.
I thought about the banquet we attended. Another chance for me to poke and enlighten the dour Grim lord.
I knew he had a distaste for silly humor, but I knew I had heard him chuckle once and I intended to cause it to happen again.
I wheedled, and cajoled, and laughed at odd humor to draw out some of his somber mood. When he did turn and whisper to me that he wasn't much for humor, I told him he had no right to live an existence without mirth.
He gave a sober nod at that. What I should have been paying attention to was the similar nod from the lord of hosts, our benefactor. Because at that moment a bargain had been struck. I don't know what assignment Thanatos received, but mine was to convene as his replacement for a single cycle.
His task was now mine. I hop from place to place now, as always. But I do not plant toys and eggs now. I harvest lives, mostly those not fully ripened by age.
The sadness of collecting is seldom broken by relief. And never is there joy at my presence. I think that surprised me most, because it was always a hallmark of my appearing before. Here, a brutal accident. There, a self inflicted tragedy. And always the unheard wail of the dead pleading for release.
It was the girl's voice that stopped me one day as I was mutedly making these dreadful rounds.
"Oh. I thought you'd be scarier." She said in a tiny voice.
I almost choked the first time I tried to speak. But I cleared my throat and worked out the words.
"No, no, you don't deserve to be scared. I'm only here to gather you for a trip." Her weak frame softened a bit at that.
"Can my mom come too?"
"Not yet but you can wait for her there if you'd like."
"I'd like that." She said, softer now. I gathered what part of her I could, turning away from the harsh tone of equipment left without a task. And I carried her silently to her rest.
After that I tried to think differently on my task. It helped at times to bring comfort. But I did learn a lesson from this job. And a single cycle isn't really that long.
At the end I left a note and an egg on Thanatos' desk.
When the day comes to retrieve this person please allow me to come. I want her to meet someone special. | 35 | all mythical figures are to be assigned a random job from another mythical figure. Of all the figures to swap jobs with the Grim Reaper, the Easter Bunny is now Lord Death for a week. | 168 |
The Galactic Council had been called. That in itself was not strange. There was always some emergency or other that needed to be called. Everyone thought it would be about how best to handle the Hydroxxian super plague currently going around.
Most thought that a standard planetary quarantine would be called and then they could all go home. So it was with great confusion that a newcomer was brought to the podium. It was an odd creature. Bipedal with oddly soft skin and dexterous hands. Humans, they called themselves.
The human, a male if the data readout was anything to go by, stood and made a series of short, sharp sounds from its throat. Then it spoke.
"Ladies, gentlemen and assorted other genders of the galaxy." He began. "Humanity has not been a part of the galactic community for very long. Most of you probably think we have no right to speak at this illustrious Council. But we humans have a love of solving problems. And the galactic community has a problem. Disease. It seems like every day that a new, world ending illness pops up. We humans have our fair share of illnesses, but we have learned to control them. Some have even been outright eliminated."
That got the audience speaking. Some laughed. Some called the human a liar. Many even made to leave, since the speaker was clearly delusional. One spoke up, its voice amplified by the venue's speaker.
"How? If you claim the impossible, I hope you're ready to explain this."
"Of course, councilor." The human said. "There are many, many ways. Most are quite complicated, and will need dedicated study to perfect with new diseases. But there is one I can demonstrate right now."
He motioned off stage. Another human, a female this time, came out. She carried a simple metal container, rectangular with a handle made for their hands. This case was placed on the podium. The speaker opened it and took out a small white brick. It was small enough to fit easily in his hand, and some of the councilors with particularly sensitive olfactory abilities even detected a slight floral scent coming from it.
"Councilors of the galaxy, I would like to introduce the first line of defense humanity uses against diseases." He held the brick high over his head, like it was a grand trophy. "This is called soap!" | 212 | it turns out that all aliens are disgusting and unhygienic, with disease and epidemic so common in the galactic community that there is usually at least 3 galactic pandemics at all times, and humans have decided to take up the challenge of putting an end to the galactic health crisis | 562 |
It’s a pain to live in two different years, but I must with these inflation rates. Today, it’s September 5, 2022. I left my job and went to an abandoned warehouse to go home. There’s a time machine sitting there, and it’s better than the commute. I fire the engine on and step through the machine. It’s September 5, 1980, and I make it back home. On my porch is him…
By him, I mean Thorvaldsen. A future billionaire who wants to buy my house. He stands up, slapping his ass to get the dust out of his pants.
“Hello! My name is Henry Thorvaldsen. I want to make you an offer.” I point at the no solicitation stickers on my mailbox and door. He hands me a business card, “Give me a call when you have time.” He gets into his corvette and drives off. I smirk, placing the business card into my wallet. I enter my house, kicking my shoes off.
I pull out my iPad and Bluetooth keyboard. I’m a writer, an incredibly distracted writer. If I am near WiFi, I will spend the rest of the day watching YouTube and reading Reddit. To get work done, I have to be in a cabin or in the 1980s, where WiFi doesn’t exist. However, power outlets exist, so I can type on my tablet at one hundred percent battery without any distractions.
I find enjoyment in writing modern-day articles in the ’80s. I am waiting till the 90’s so I can start watching Seinfeld. Unfortunately, that time machine is only set at 42 years. I can’t change the device to go up or down. The creator must have considered the possible dangers of going forward or backward. I live in two different worlds that are 42 years apart.
It’s nice to live in my old house. It’s a bit different from what I remember, but I will move out before my parents get married. They’ll change it up a bit more. This Thorvaldsen fellow wants to buy the land for his destructive drilling project. He caused my parents to foreclose on their dream house. I am going to stop him.
September 6, 2022, I head back to work through the time machine. Coincidentally, I am working at that prick’s drilling company. I entered the elevator, and he was waiting for me there.
“Hello. Hey, uh,” he says as I pretend not to recognize him, “you seem familiar.”
“Oh. Er, who are you again?”
“I’m Henry Thorvaldsen and-”
“Oh! Hello! Sorry I didn’t recognize you.”
“It’s alright.”
My act work. The rest of the elevator ride was silent. I’m sure he doesn’t remember me from 1980. He’s 42 years older and has the memory of an old coot. | 424 | You own the world's only time machine and, instead of messing with history or changing the timeline, you are content to work in the present day but live in 1980. However, keeping track of your 2 separate lives is becoming harder and your friends and family are beginning to get suspicious. | 1,550 |
I had just finished suturing a nasty wound when I leaned against the wall to take a breather. Tonight had been a tough one, I hadn't even gotten the chance to rest in hours. I wiped my brow and took what felt like the first deep breath since I got up this morning, when a cacophony of bloodcurdling screams sounded off from the waiting room.
The sight that I came upon was straight out of a nightmare. I saw the back end of one of the nurses scrambling out the front door, and lying at the center of a room was...something.
It was a figure, a figure of a woman, with deep indigo skin. There was a wound on her stomach that was gushing a black, oily blood, but I could hardly focus on it when I saw her face. Or, what would have been her face. Where there should have been a head resting on her neck was instead a swirling vortex of void. It cast deep blue light all around her, seeming to swirl downward into her torso.
My fight or flight instincts kicked in. What common sense I had left me, and I rushed back into the corridor and grabbed as much gauze as I possibly could hold in my arms. I quickly returned to the waiting room and dropped to my knees next to the wounded patient. I then piled gauze onto her wound, applying firm pressure to stop the bleeding. When I pressed into her, the vortex let out a soft groan and I paused.
"H-hey, I'm not sure if you can hear me," I said. "But you're bleeding. I'm going to move your arm to your stomach, just hold this cloth here as firmly as you can, okay?"
She didn't respond, but her arm held the gauze to her wound tightly. As the material was soaked, I added more on, keeping the pressure tight. After a few moments that were all too long, The bleeding seemed to stop. I exhaled deeply and looked around the room. There was no one to help me get her to a gurney, and I didn't want to leave her side.
As I pondered what to do next, the figure stirred. Slowly, she angled her, er, vortex, in my direction, and asked, "wh-where am I?"
"You're in the emergency room," I told her. "You had a pretty nasty wound on your stomach."
She angled her head downwards, looking at her torso. She then did a double take and looked again.
"I'm..." she angled the vortex back to me. "My glimmer! Its...You can see me."
"Y-yes, I can see you."
"But, you didn't run?" she asks. "Most people run."
"Well, most people *did* run," I say. "But, I'm a doctor, at an emergency clinic no less. I once had to help sedate a patient while he was trying to stab me with a screwdriver. There aren't a lot of things that unsettle me anymore."
The figure propped themselves up by their elbows and leaned towards me. She winced slightly, but brought a free hand to my shoulder. She gave it a firm grasp and said, quietly, "thank you." | 437 | "I was hurt badly and stumbled into the emergency room...I had transformed into my true form...the humans fled in terror...except one. True to his training...he tended my wounds and saved my life. And that's how I met your father." | 1,032 |
"Your sword, Ashur." The other angels stared at him from the circle, all of their divine blades pointed towards its center, only awaiting his to join them. "We cannot run from them any longer."
Ashur's heart was heavy, and more than anything he was tired. Tired from centuries of running, tired from eons of battle. To make a last stand? Here? Like this? "My sword does you no good I'm afraid."
The others were troubled at his response, they shifted in their heavy white battle armor and looked long and hard at him. Vanya came forward from the table, her elegantly curved blade resting lightly in her hand, like one would hold a rose. "Brother..." She laid a hand on his shoulder plate. "The demons can be killed, we can yet find peace."
Something inside of Ashur snapped, may it be the memories of his past or the attempt at calming him, he shrugged off her hand and turned to face everyone with ire. "These are not demons!" He yelled. "But are much worse... Humans."
"And so they bleed." Rhadan said. "I am tired of retreating from the murders."
Ashur's hands shook, he tried to still them by bringing one to his chin and tucking the other under his arm, but he feared that it only made all of him quake. "Can you hear them?" He said in a whisper. "They scream... They throw their hellish voices into the abyss of space as they chase our hidden heaven, they stab their mechanical weapons into the darkness and care not for what they hit, for they only have one thing in mind... and that is to see our blood stain their cloths."
Rhadan rose up and slammed a fist on the table, "And you would have us allow such reckless violence?!"
Ashur shook his head, silent at first, squeezing his jaw from anxiety and seeing deep into the fears of his own mind. "We allow nor disallow... Such things have fallen far out of our hands." Ashur eyed the table, sensing the flooding feeling of panic that they all felt, no matter how hard they tried to hide it. "They've slain our Father, claiming some archaic Marduk as a mere curtain to hide their barbarian desires for violence... Yes, the moment I heard the call for a new Babylon... I knew that mankind had renounced God."
Rhadan looked around the table to see similar faces of dejection, in a last ditch effort to save hope, he tore off his armored gloves and tossed them into the center of the table. "You see these hands!?" He said, rising his palms up for all to see. "These are the hands of a man who helped our Father craft the grasses of the earth... Who cradled the stars to adulthood... Who held mankind's very own hands as they learned how to walk!"
He lowered them slowly, "I... I will not allow such hands to wither away with inaction... If I am slain on this day, then it will be with hands gripping tightly onto the blade of action... Not hands that died with empty, idle palms."
"And I respect that brother," Ashur said, walking towards the large, arching door that guarded their chambers. "...And I will remember you, even when the humans make such a thing impossible."
Ashur left the chambers with a sadness crashing into him. It was his goodbye to his brothers and sisters, and they all knew it.
He watched it happen too. Even from the furthest stars he could feel the battle in his kin. The planets and the heavens were split apart. The humans used their mortal machines of immortal power to tear the angels limb from limb. Though they fought well, and their swords sent rifts across entire planets, at the end of it all Ashur could still hear the human chants bellowing across the heavens.
They were calling out his name. *Ashur the last of the angels, Ashur the betrayer of his kin. We rage for you next.* | 79 | God is gone, you are one of the few angels who survived in the Outer Sphere, his realm is tarnished, his throne torn down, as you hide in the ruins of a former shrine, you can hear mortal men in mechanized suits, getting closer, screaming a single, hellish chant; "BABYLON RISES AGAIN!!!" | 223 |
Today, I'm stars.
It's not so bad. Not really. I mean, it was annoying at first, the way my "wish" had been misinterpreted (or maybe it hadn't been misinterpreted at all; maybe it had been deliberately ignored to teach me a lesson,) but I got used to it after a while.
It wasn't like I had a choice, anyway.
Every day is different. Sometimes it's fun, like those days when I'm a smoking hot woman, or a supermodel-esque man. Sometimes it's funny, like that one time I was a horse and walked myself right into a hospital for funsies. Or that one day I was an owl and chased a cop right out of his car. *That* was hilarious.
Sometimes I'm so far removed from "human" that I don't know how to describe it, like when I'm a plant, or a gemstone, or something strange like that. I still have my awareness, I still remember who I am, but that's all I have, for the whole 24 hours until I change again.
Today's one of those days.
I fill my apartment, a swirling hydrogen and helium mist, shot through with little whorls of oxygen and carbon and nitrogen and cosmic dust. And, scattered through the dense, churning golden clouds, are thousands and thousands of pinpricks of glittering light. The winds they kick up shift my gases around in swirling patterns, and sometimes one will flare up more brightly than the rest, just for a second, clearing out the space around it for a few inches. Sometimes, I can "see" tiny little accretion discs forming around them, and I wonder if this is what it must be like to see the universe from God's perspective.
(I don't know if God is real. But stranger things obviously are, so I can't rule it out. I mean, *look at me*.)
I know that in just a few short hours, I'll be something new, and I don't know when I'll get to experience being *this* again - if ever.
So, for now, I just enjoy being stars. | 15 | an average looking guy wishes he was beautiful, so everyday he wakes up like different "beautiful" things(a beautiful woman,a beautiful animal,a beautiful diamond,a beautiful nebula,etc) and he can't do anything about it | 29 |
"By the Satan's tits, THEY'RE BACK!"
It was pandemonium in the Demon World. Barons ran amok, trying to calm the populace, but it was futile. It hasn't been 20 years since the portal opened and THAT came out, slaughtering and massacaring countless of their bretherens. Everyone remembered him. Everyone feared him.
The last time they had such a situation, it was the opposite. Everyone was impatient, almost giddy with excitement, of the blood and slaughter their armies will wreak on the puny humans. They were ecstatic, but not for long.
A small human in green suit filled with fire and fury from the heavens ripped and tore apart everything he saw. No matter how many demons he faced, no matter how big they were, no matter how tough they were built - they all died.
"Duke, there are signs of those human trying to enter this dimension. We must do something before that...that THING wakes up." Minions knelt and begged their Lord. "We can't survive another genocide."
The Duke of hell felt a cold sweat running his back. He remembered watching a little, green human jumping up and down, leaping every which where to kill his father, the previous Duke. He was unrestrained by gravity, his guns never stopped blazing until every demon was crushed underneath his boots.
There was also some some unholy music - full of screaming, screeching humans whose voices added to the symphony of metallic sounds - that added to the grotesque nature of his murders. It seemed to add the frenzy of his attacks.
Had he not hidden that day, he'd be dead. Just like his Father. The trauma came rushing back and the Duke felt nauseated.
"Assemble the demons. We will block-"
Just then a loud bang interrupted the hall. The sound was faint but it was a familiar song - the unholy union of screaming humans and the instrument they call 'electric guitar'.
The little human in green was back. | 1,203 | Your military experiment accidentally tears a portal open to Hell. However, instead of the demon hordes pouring through, you discover that they are frantically trying to close the portal from their side. | 4,294 |
"You know," I looked at the group of people cowering on the ground of the supermarket. "Hero used to have meaning. Now it just stands for drama and TV. No risks no loss. Save the day, the villain escapes. No one sees the real good a hero could do. That or they don't care. It's disgusting." I spit on the ground. "I think it's time the world was reminded what real evil is and why it must be fought." I laughed.
The first step was getting people to know me. Do a small robbery, kill the hostages and escape. Make sure their videos are posted to the internet first of course. Then the real fun can begin. Seeing those 'heroes' stand up to me and realizing their mistakes. All until a real one stands up to me.
I walked over to one of the windows. Outside the police stood with a group of those so called heroes. They used megaphones trying to contact me. Saying I should let everyone go and that things don't have to be this way. Just ten more minutes and then I'll leave.
A child started screaming. I spun around and pointed my gun at him. "stop that terrible sound right now." I screamed and pulled the trigger. It missed the child, but not the woman next to him. She cried out in pain, but everyone else went silent.
"Alright. Let's play a game." I lowered the gun. "take out your phone's and start filming. Ideally a live stream. We will see who can get the most views. the winner will get to live." They all moved and soon phones were pointed at me. Capturing my every move. I had to play it right. Any mistake would cost me too much.
"The videos do need content, so why not sing a little song? Everyone knows how to sing happy birthday, right?" A few people nodded. "Good. The one I point my gun at will sing. When I switch the next person takes it over. Anyone that fails gets the bullet."
I pointed my gun at the first person, but they didn't do anything. They just stared at me. And so, they got the bullet, just as promised. "that one didn't get it obviously. So let's try again." I pointed my gun again and the man began to sing. His words were shaky, but it was a start.
The ten minutes went by quickly. Three more people died. One was a baby, but that didn't matter.
"Alright. Good job everyone." I lowered my gun and smiled at them. "I think I'm satisfied. So I'll leave now. After 5 minutes you can leave too. Anything before that and this whole building will go up in flames."
I laughed as I walked out the door. At the front door I took the detonator out of my pocket. When I stepped on the street every gun was pointed at me.
"The hostages are safe. You can go in and rescue them." They didn't respond in words. A small team of those heroes walked past me into the building and three cops tried to surround me. I looked at one of them. "It's your birthday right?" She hesitated but then shook her head. "Oh no. We sang a song for you. Now everything was for nothing. Such a shame."
I pressed the detonator and the bombs went off. I was blown forward. Too close. I had been too close to the building. It didn't matter. I wasn't hurt. I stood up and sprinted away down the street. Dived into an alleyway and made my escape.
They won't forget me. Now just hope they come up with a good name for me. | 197 | "Hero". That used to have meaning. Now it just stands for drama and tv. No risk, no loss, save the day, the "villain" escapes. No one sees the real good a "hero" could do. That or they don't care. Disgusting. I think it's time the world was reminded what real evil is and why it must be fought. | 579 |
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