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I’ve always had a soft spot for spiders. Most people despise them, of course. That’s just human nature. People fear what they don’t understand. Mix in millennia of survival instincts driving people to react to sudden motion out of the corner of one’s eye and of course people will fear them.
But not me. I’ve always adored them. So long as they’re not a major threat to one’s health (such as black widow spiders) they’re harmless, eat household pests and keep to themselves. I guarantee that whenever you see one, they will definitely be way more frightened of you than the other way around. I know I’d certainly be scared shitless if I saw something 1000 times my size walking in my general direction.
As a result, you’ll find plenty of cobwebs and the like lining the ceiling corners in my house, and I’ve kept tarantulas as pets since I was a kid. God, you should have seen the look on my mother’s face when my father surprised me with one on my 10th birthday, absolutely priceless… but I’m getting off track.
I was 24 at the time, walking home from work one day when I spotted some kids poking at something with a stick. It was only when I got closer that I realized it was a tarantula bigger than any I’d seen before. Several of the kids were keeping their distance out of fear, but a couple of them were making a game of tormenting the poor thing. They kept poking at it, jabbing it in the legs, the abdomen. I know people usually think kids are innocent, but that certainly wasn’t the case for these little shitheads. Tormenting any innocent creature for the sake of it… despicable.
I stepped in, shoved them aside- rude, and with potentially litigious consequences if their parents heard about it, I know, but I wasn’t interested in being polite; I was focused on saving the poor thing’s life before they poked its eyes out or something. Before the other little snot-nosed brats could react I had taken my jacket off, gently picked the poor thing up with it, and started running. I had expected the spider to struggle, try and escape, and I wouldn’t have blamed them, but it was almost motionless, which worried me.
I took it home as fast as I could and placed it in a spare terrarium I had laying around that used to be the home of Daisy, a tarantula I had for years, but had unfortunately passed a couple months prior. God I miss that little troublemaker...
…Anyway, it wasn’t looking good. One of the shitheads cruelly poking away had punctured its abdomen- not a deep wound, but spiders don’t have a lot of blood to spare, so even a minor scrape can mean big trouble for these creatures. I cleaned the wound as best I could using a sterilized q-tip before sealing the wound with some superglue- hey, don’t look at me like that. I didn’t exactly have access to a spider hospital, and it’s not stupid if it works.
Again, I was worried that the spider was so docile during this process. Any creature that goes through such stress will often be too scared to even think about sitting still, even if wounded, especially if something the size of a spider skyscraper is poking away at said wound. But the following day, it was still alive and well.
A few days later and the tarantula was looking much better. I was actually surprised by how quick it had recovered, not to mention the appetite. 4 mice within 3 days is no small feat, even with how large the spider was. I noticed a change in behavior after the first meal, more energetic, less prone to resting. It almost seemed as though the spider was watching me at all times. I put it down to the food helping to perk them up a bit.
Two weeks had gone by before I first heard the voice, as I was trying to sleep one night.
*Thank you.*
I sat up and looked around, rubbing the sleep from my eyes. There was no one else in the room with me. I scratched my head, confused. Maybe I had drifted off and dreamt it? I laid back down and closed my eyes.
*It wasn’t a dream, love.*
My eyes shot back open and I bolted out of bed, grabbing the baseball bat I kept by the side of it at all times (hey, you never know). Looking warily around, I again didn’t see anyone. I sat back down on the bed, not knowing what to think. What was going on?
*There’s no need to be scared.*
“Ok, what the hell is going on here‽ Is this some weird joke? Come out, whoever you are!”
*Calm down, I just want to talk.*
It was as though the voice was coming from everywhere at once, but also inside my head. Hard to describe without having experienced it, but that voice has been my constant companion for years now. …But I’m getting ahead of myself.
(End of part 1, I’ll finish part 2 once I’m home from work)
Edit: [Part 2](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/xc7mfj/wp_it_turns_out_that_the_regal_long_lived/io543f0/?utm_source=share&utm_medium=ios_app&utm_name=iossmf&context=3) :) | 229 | It turns out that the regal, long lived, dominant species in your world aren’t elves, it’s large, sentient, telepathic spiders. You just saved the life of one of their nobles, and it falls in love with you. | 1,069 |
"Uncle Dee!" The boy shouted excitedly, as the monitors beeped. His oxygen tank and cannula feeding nutrients and oxygen to his failing body.
The embodiment of Death sat down with his nephew, sorrow tinging His movements. *HELLO, NATE. IS YOUR DAD AROUND?*
Nate nodded, and picked up his phone, texting his father. A minute later, a beast of a man, with blood-red hair and a ripped body, built like a tiger in peak condition, entered the room.
The man embraced Death in a bear hug, breaking bones that healed instantly. His voice was that of Brian Blessed, booming with humour. "My brother! Have you come to have another chat with Nate? His treatment is going well again!"
*INDEED, BROTHER.* Death embraced War, and spoke to him quietly, so that Nate couldn't hear. *BUT I NEED SOME TIME ALONE WITH NATE. IMPORTANT KNOWLEDGE.*
War boomed with laughter. "Of *course*, brother! I hope this trip with you is worthwhile!" War turned to Nate, and told him, "Time for another trip with your uncle again!" Laughing heartily, he left the room.
It would be the last time he would see his son alive. | 69 | Death has been visiting his nephew for years and finally one day his name pops up. His nephew so used to seeing him thinks it’s a regular visit. Death decides to take him the long way around to the afterlife while explaining what happened to him. | 208 |
Dust laden wind howled past the Sheriff as he sped down the stretch of hardened dirt that could barely be called a road. His cart had seen better days. Patches of rust, dents, and a few bullet holes decorated the thick metal frame of the two wheeled contraption. The magical engine roared as he pulled back on the throttle forcing the two wide rubber tires to bite into the ground speeding him toward his destination.
A small ramshackle town slowly came into focus. The buildings were sturdy but the exterior boards had all been sun bleached and worn down by the constant howling winds. To the Sheriff it looked like every town that managed to exist in the Dust Bowl. The Sheriff also knew that like every other town in this god forsaken place it would be full of undesirables, criminals, outcasts, and if his tip had any merit, his prey.
He pulled the cart up to a shuddering stop in front of the saloon. It was the largest building in the town, two full stories of debauchery and booze. A drunk in tattered clothes stumbled out of the double doors, his shirt was stained with sweat and booze. The Sheriff grunted with disdain and a shred of pity. That was the norm for those who lived out here.
The Sheriff's thick soled boots thundered up the wooden steps to the saloon's doors. The sounds of laughter, glasses clinking, and dice being rolled swept over him. With a quiet deep breath he steeled himself, shifted the loop of rope on his belt and loosened the pistol in his hip holster.
He pushed through the doors to a room full of dust covered men and scantily clad women working them for the few coppers that they had in their pockets.
But it wasn't the drunks, the women, or the cold drink that would parch his raw throat that caught his eye. A man sat a table shaking a leather cup full of dice. He spilled the cups contents across the table. As the dice stopped tumbling the sounds of dismay from the men could be heard throughout the saloon.
"Bullets again. Sorry lads," the man who had rolled the dice said with a shrug. His slim almost feminine fingers swept up the copper pieces on the table.
A man stood abruptly sending his chair topping to the floor. A quiet hush ran through the saloon like the howling winds outside.
"Ain't no one that lucky," he growled fingering the pistol at his hip.
"Would you like to find out if my luck extends to more than just dice?" the man asked nonchalantly.
His hand twitched, fingers wrapping around the pistols grip. Before the barrel had climbed four inches out of the holster a gunshot rang out. Stunned, the man looked down at the slowly blooming red stain on his chest. He gasped out a breathy, "How?" Before toppling backward over his chair.
"Now. Who else would like to accuse me of cheating?"
Men mumbled quietly under their breath and gathered their remaining money and dignity and slipped away from the table.
"It looks like its just you and me then," The Sheriff said settling down into an empty chair at the table. "I'm Tate." The Sheriff said extending a hand across the table.
"A pleasure. They call me, Roll." He said with a charming white toothed smile and clasped The Sheriff's hand.
"What's the game?"
"Bullets. Do you know it?" Roll asked.
"I'm familiar." The Sheriff pulled out a leather pouch of coins and dropped it on the table with a heavy metallic thud.
"You throw first," Roll said hungrily.
The Sheriff filled the leather cup with the dice and threw. Three ones and two fours. Not a terrible throw.
Roll snatched the dice up deftly and threw. Four ones and a three. The winning roll.
"I guess you are pretty lucky," Sheriff said sliding four more copper into the center of the table.
The cup was passed back and forth and a pile of coppers began to grow in the center of the table. The Sheriff won a few throws and then lost again but his pouch was nearly empty and the day had already been long enough.
"Seems to be a waste of talent cheating at dice in this crap town." The Sheriff said with quiet amusement.
"More accusations of cheating? Didn't you see what happened to the last man?" Roll asked with a small smile spreading across his face.
"You're fast. I'm sure that helped you kill the Marshall's on the train out of Emerson." The Sheriff said and threw another cup of dice.
Five ones.
Bullets.
Roll's smile vanished. "I don't like your tone, stranger."
The Sheriff shrugged. "I don't much like thieves and murderers."
They stared each other down. Neither one making the first move. Roll's eyes betrayed him. A slight glance down. If the Sheriff had blinked he would have missed it. Roll's pistol rose up from beneath the table with a silver flash. The barrel bucked as the shot rang out.
The Sheriff slipped to the right as the shot went a hair wide to the left. He rounded the table faster than a man his size should be able to move. Another shot rang out but it was echoed by a sharp gasp and a panicked gurgling.
From the second story balcony a length of rope wound around the banister slipped around Roll's neck. The noose jerked tight lifting Roll out of his seat. He dropped the pistol instinctively and tried to pry the noose from his neck.
With wide-eyes he looked at the Sheriff with a newfound understanding.
"That's right," The Sheriff said quietly. He gestured with a hand and the rope began to slowly reel in lifting Roll to his toes.
"You know who I am now. Don't you."
Roll's face now flush red and eyes bulging nodded.
"For your crimes you have been sentenced to death. If you have anything to say in your defense please speak now."
Roll gargled out a word that sounds like "please" but the Sheriff continued.
"Fair enough. The accused has not provided a defense for the crimes they have been charged with."
He gestured again and Roll was lifted free of the floor. His feet kicked out hoping to find purchase on a chair or table. The saloon watched in quiet horror as he struggled and finally hung motionless.
The Sheriff flicked his wrist and the rope uncoiled from around the balcony dumping Roll's body to the floor. Like a serpent the rope slithered its way back to the Sheriff where it coiled itself and then lay just as still as Roll.
"I apologize for the interruption. Have a nice day." The Sheriff said tipping his hat and tying the coil of rope back onto his belt.
As he pushed through the saloon doors and threw a leg over his cart he could hear them talking.
"That was him...The Hangman."It was a name he didn't particularly like but it had grown
on him over the years. Well enough he thought. The cart roared to life and he sped out of the town into the sunset. | 19 | You're a magical-scheriff in the wild west, who's been hunting down a notorious train robbing outlaw wizard. You figure out he's in a small town and decide to confront him. | 163 |
Thamriel drank in the warm breeze of the midmorning as he listened to the steady thudding of hooves beneath him. Try as he might, he could feel his heart beating heavier than any footfall. A moisture clung to the air, and dew reflected the pale orange sunlight as it climbed to its perch among the sky.
​
He rode in silence, the two guardsmen flanking him on either side saying nothing - only clutching their reigns with white knuckles, as if they feared the animals which bore them forward might give in to the feeling of apprehension which they felt clung to the valley, feasting on it and being lost to the whirlwind of nerves.
​
*How many have ridden forward towards this sun, across these plains, and not realized it would be the last time they caressed the face of this world?* Thamriel thought to himself. It'd been seven years. Seven long, tired years.
​
He felt the letter in the pocket of his silken garb. Though the piece of paper was like any other.. well, not quite, he couldn't help but feel as if it bore the weight of the largest stone ever carried. Hidden in his strongside pouch rested a dagger. His fathers dagger, before it was his brothers. It was never to be his - *should never* have been his. But fate cared not for the will or dreams of man. Their blood rested somewhere deep in the blade's soul, now. His hands twitched idly as he rode, as if they themselves were thinking about which will be drawn.
​
The guardsman on Thamriel's left, Ablin, gave a grunt. His eyes were fixed on the figures which became visible on the horizon. A man in traditional Y'mon robes softly peddled towards them, sitting atop a large white Meridiem stallion. From a distance, a normal man might mistake him as Thamriel himself. After all, they did wear the same garb. Carried themselves both with that same straight-backed, regal bearing. Thamriel wondered if that man too felt it sitting over him like a cheap party trick. Felt its graceful movements and poise sitting over him a like cloud, barely covering the fragile man underneath like a carapace of greatshell.
​
They grew closer. Then closer still. Soon the party could hear the soft ground thumping beneath the approaching rider's mount, blending into the sounds of their own. Though it was a child's hope to have, Thamriel couldn't help but imagine it to be the song which called the final dance of this conflict. The ornate handle of the dagger rubbed against his thigh, breaking his thoughts.
​
Finally the two parties met in the open field. At this distance, there was no mistaking it. It was Emrial.
​
The man looked at the three of them, his garnet eyes drinking them in. Though no words were spoken in that brief silence, Thamriel couldn't help but feel as if the pagan leader was listening. Seeking. Somehow drinking of them. Finally, though, he spoke.
​
"A beautiful morning, isn't it?" his voice came like the soft lapping of water against a bank.
​
For some reason Thamriel hadn't expected that. Though it had been years since his brother had talked to him, his account of the man was that of a savage. Words angled and forged like blades, with the tongue of a serpent to project them.
​
"We've come, *thun-kil,*" Thamriel spat. He hoped the steel tone he'd tried to imbue unto his tone worked. Covered the weariness that lay underneath.
​
Emrial nodded slowly, gazing at each of the three men in turn. "So you have," he whispered.
​
Thamriel noticed one of the guardsmen slowly adjust his hand to find better purchase on the long polearm which he bore at his side.
​
"A man," began Emrial, "was walking across a continent, seeking a city lost to time. His body bore many aches, and his pack had long since rubbed the skin from his shoulders leaving only dried and hardened vestiges where once there was soft flesh. He had been on the road so long that he could scarcely recall from where he had left. Footfall after footfall, he was born farther from where he called home." Emrial directed his gaze downward to the tufts of grass which poked between rocks in the damp earth. "As he walked onward, sometimes, he would think of that place. His home. Now so distant, he couldn't help but feel time had distorted its features. Sharp edges became outlines. The laughter of his kin more like the soft ringing of bells. Where once there was certainty, now an abstraction."
​
Thamriel cocked his head. *He, after seven years, has called for this parlay.. to tell stories?*
​
"Eventually, his feet grew so calloused and torn that the feeling of cobbled stone beneath them was lost to that time which so incessantly wore him down. Now, the rough strewn paths of the countryside were the only thing he could remember. As if he'd always been there. He pondered then, if one could be robbed of memories. If no blade needed to be born aloft, nor demands made to rob a man of his most valuable possessions. If a man, could, without intent or knowledge, so deftly rob himself of such things?" He paused for a moment, taking a deep breath which swelled his chest. "Tell me, Thamriel - do you remember your home?"
​
Thamriel could smell baking bread. Feel the warmth of a hearth, and the sounds of wood pop in the blaze. In some far off room, the echoes of his mother laughing and speaking words that made the warmth of the fire feel dull in comparison.
​
"I..." Thamriel began, his mind in that distance place. But from fire came a rough smoke. Those words of comfort shifted, growing in volume. Laughter turned to shouts, then again to screams. The popping of logs replaced by the snap of a bowstring pulled taught. "..once, had a home. But I was robbed of it, not by time, nor highwaymen. No. I was robbed of it by a man. By a husk, devoid of faith. I - no, *we*, were victims of a lone thief. Of *you."*
​
Emrial winced, as if those words had bitten him more soundly than that of an axe. Thamriel hoped it hurt. Hoped that blood would emerge from those words, twisting like a knife beyond the armor of flesh.
​
"...And you may be right. Though I must confess, I don't think much of that man remains."
​
One of Thamriels guardsmen hissed, drawing his weapon more closely towards himself. His mouth twisted as he began to speak, but then thought better of it. It was not his decision to make.
​
"Oh, does it not? For I see him in his entirety. In fact, even now, his shadow blocks the light from me. And I think it fitting that in the light of the divine, he finds justice," Thamriel growled.
​
The foreign leader nodded and offered no rebuttal. Thamriel reached into his robe, resting his hand upon the cool gilded hilt of his family's dagger. He struggled to find words to draw forth. Words that could express the loss he felt, or the anger which stood beside it. His Father would've known what to say. How to drive home that suffering. But he was not his father. He never could've been. Still, he drew the blade. Emrial gave the weapon a long gaze, then spread his arms wide.
​
"No more fitting weapon. Strike true, if you must. I hope it brings you, and them who you must feel helping grip that blade from the realm beyond, peace."
​
Thamriel felt his grip tighten, the phantom fingers of so many closing around his own and bearing him strength. His guards looked around frantically, awaiting the ambush which must accompany this ploy. | 23 | Two clans have been at war for millennia. The recently crowned leader of one clan, who hates fighting, sends a message to the older leader of the other clan, to request a peace treaty. The older leader is sceptical but agrees to meet on neutral ground to discuss the matter. | 130 |
I get a knock on my door. Ugh... I'm too tired for this, another hostage situation? Another threat to citizen's lives? I open the door, to see my nemesis. He's clearly got his guard down... this must be a trap, he wants me to take pity on him. But I wasn't prepared - I try to say my usual line, but it's *very* forced. "I WOn't let yOU GEt awAY WitH YOUr misdEEDssss..." at this, I feel feint. The villain, Hyler, shakes his head. He holds out his hand. "Truce?"
I look at his hand for a moment. I'm not ready for a fight. He'd easily defeat me. He's found out my weakness: I'm exhausted and mentally drained. I accept his hand. "Truce" I echo. Hyler gives a kind, friendly smile. "May I come in?" I hesitantly nod, and allow him to enter. I just flop back onto the sofa. If I've made a mistake, he'll surely kill me right now... I hear him mess about in the kitchen, before bringing over the most delicious smelling tea I've ever seen.
"My specialty" Hyler says. "It'll help you feel better, Thorn." What have I got to lose? I accept the tea, and on the first sip, I feel some life back in me. I sit up, making room for Hyler to sit. I invite him to take a seat, to which he does. "You must know, Thorn, I found out your mental state a few days ago. After my last attack, one of my spies decided to watch for your next move. Imagine my surprise when he tells me you just collapsed and started crying."
"So... why did you come, if not to take advantage of my weakness?" I respond, as I sip the tea. Hyler sighs. "I can't imagine how it is for you... solving crisis after crisis. You were a hero **long** before I came, weren't you? I spent the past few days looking into you. You became a hero due to your supernatural strength, but people ended up *expecting* you to solve their issues. It's not right. Then I come along and cause more havoc... you're completely drained, aren't you?"
I look at Hyler. I can feel the tears in my eyes. "I'm so tired... I want to quit, but even if you quit, I can't. I need to stop... but the people need me..." I just break down into tears, as I feel Hyler rub my back. "What do I do?" I sob. Hyler clears his throat and I look up. "You know what I'm after, right? People to work for me, to act as my servants... I'm seen as a villain, yet what people see me as evil for, they're doing the exact same thing to you. Hypocrites, the lot of them."
I don't want to admit it, but he's right - I'm basically a glorified slave, demanded to solve everyone's problems. "They need to be taught a lesson" he continues. "My desires were selfish, I realise that now... after seeing you so vulnerable, I understand what I've been wanting to do to everyone. I can take you 'hostage', have something set up for you to relax. For one week, they'll have to deal with their own issues, meanwhile I won't touch the city."
As I'm thinking, Hyler grins. "If after a week they're still demanding your help, I'll add another week, and another, until they stop waiting for you to 'save the day'. At which point-" he smiles normally again "-I can take on your role. I have the men and the resources. I won't help those who *demand* my help, I'll make it clear that my help is voluntary, not forced. You won't have to worry about anyone else's problems ever again, just leave me to take care of everything."
I shake my head. "I'm not sure if-" suddenly, there's a knock at the door. I go to answer. It's a woman, maybe in her 30's. "Hero, you've got to help me! I was just robbed! The police say they're 'too busy'! I know you'll sort the thief out for me!" I sigh inwardly. "I'll take care of it, ma'am." She smiles, but then we both hear footsteps behind us. The lady is horrified to see Hyler in my house. "You selfish, ungrateful, hypocritical, pathetic excuse for a human!"
The woman stands there gobsmacked for a moment, before responding angrily. "What are ***you*** doing here, monster? How dare you call *me* a pathetic excuse for a human! You just want to enslave us all!" Hyler shakes his head. "Take a good look at Thorn. Does this look like someone ready to deal with your issues for you?" "You wouldn't understand" the lady spits. "He's always ready to help because he's the hero!" At this, Hyler scoffs.
"No, he always helps because you *demand* it! Can't you tell he's exhausted? You want to know why I'm here? Because I realised how drained and tired he is. Me seeing him like that made me realise what I'm doing is wrong; you treat him like a slave, and he can't take it anymore! Then you all get angry at me for wanting to make *you* all slaves! That's what a hypocrite does, isn't it?" The lady scoffs. "Don't bring us down to your level! Thorn isn't a slave!"
Upon hearing that, I feel a spark. It's small, but it's there - the will, the desire to do something for myself for once. I look up. "You're right, I'm not a slave. I'm also not a police officer. This isn't my issue. I'm drained and exhausted from dealing with everyone's problems. I always did it out of obligation, but by your own admission, there is **no** obligation. Now, if you don't mind, I'd like to relax and think of myself *for once.* Goodbye, ma'am." She starts sputtering as I shut the door.
I look at Hyler, and smile. "How do you feel?" he asks me. I breathe a sigh of relief. "Honestly? For the first time in a long time, I feel relaxed. You're absolutely right. I'm no-one's slave, my life is my own, and I think it's about time someone looked out for *me*. I'd really like another tea, please." Through this whole conversation, there's shouting and knocking on the door. We both ignore it, as Hyler smiles and says "of course. For everything you've done for them... you deserve it."
\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_
Continued in the reply below. | 60 | The villain has called a cease fire on you now that they’ve learned you’re not doing well mentally. They now dedicate themselves to helping you get better and being a friend. | 242 |
The day the worldwide Prohibition started was the worst day of my life.
How could someone like me, a pub owner, a lover of ale and a lawful citizen survive in such a world?
In the months to come, only the rich or unsavoury had access to the stuff being bootlegged. I was neither. That's why I had to close my doors, lose my business, and leave behind the only friend I know, booze.
What do you do you with an empty pub? What do you do sober? Funnily enough, being in a pub empty of booze is one of the most sobering things you can see. I’d only expect an alcoholic to understand, and man, there were a lot of them wandering around with no-where to go.
People like me don’t often get an opportunity to make a difference, so when you do, you better use it.
I opened my doors to the wanderers. Like me, they’re not rich enough to afford bootleg, and not unsavoury enough to have a connection.
That’s how my old customers became friends.
I’d never noticed Brett’s lazy eye. Turns out he got hit in the eye while skimming stones with his brother.
Craig used to be a chef. He’s been BBQing for us on Saturdays.
Olivia used to be some bigwig exec. When she split with her husband, she found the drink, been coming into my pub ever since. Turns out she’s sat on more money than she knows what to do with, and she loves coming to the pub so much she bought me a coffee machine.
Ishmael used to work in a coffeeshop. He makes the coffee now.
Together, we make enough money to keep the lights on and give people a place to go.
I didn’t have any friends before the prohibition other than the drink. I haven’t had a drink since, but man have I made some friends.
The day the worldwide Prohibition started was the best day of my life. | 18 | Prohibition is back! And it's now worldwide prohibition! Write a story about your character trying to make ends meet in this new prohibition. | 49 |
The forest today is terrifying. The flashes of lightning are completely hidden by the thicket of trees, and the ominous thunder comes completely unexpected, leaving me with a racing heartbeat each time. The wind mockingly rattles my closed windows, trying to overcome my meticulous defenses.
But then again, who am I kidding? The forest *is* terrifying. Every single day.
I rise from my trusted rocking chair to poke meekly at the small fire that burns timorous in the fireplace. My dinner hangs over the coals, and I can already smell the exquisite smell of herbs and mushrooms permeating from the tightly closed lid.
*Grandmother* will have a nice evening again today. A delicious stew, a cozy room, a nice patchwork blanket on my lap, and a book to finish.
I am about to limp, content, to my nook, when I hear a noise a thousand times more terrifying than the thunder, the wind, the crackling of leaves shaken by the storm.
Someone has knocked on the door.
"Who's there?" I say, my eyes fixed on the poker.
"Grandmother? It's so cold, can I come in?"
A little girl.
I adjust my bonnet and smooth my apron.
"Come, dear."
The door swings open, pushed open by the gusts of the blizzard. The child struggles to close it behind her, and when she succeeds and finally looks at me, she is out of breath.
"I apologize, Grandmother. The forest was not so kind to me."
I can well see it. Her pretty red hood is drenched with water, and her hair hangs down like miserable curtains stuck to her fresh, innocent little face. Her eyes are wide, of those who have seen things they wish they could forget.
"Look at you, little dear. Come by the fire and warm yourself." she moves a few hesitant steps toward the fireplace. "Will you give me that pretty hood and put it out to dry?"
Instinctively she brings her hands to the hood, and clutches it.
"No." she says, too hastily. Then she corrects herself, "No, *thank you*, Grandmother."
"I don't get many pretty little girls visiting me here in the forest."
"And I don't visit many Grandmothers, in the forest."
"In fact, I think you are the very first."
"I really think so." now she is looking at me with an air of open defiance. "What a big house you have, Grandmother."
"To make the most of my old age, my darling." I rock lazily in the armchair. "Is it my turn now?"
"You're welcome, Grandmother."
"What a sharp knife you have under that red hood."
"No wonder I'm the first to survive your self-defense forest, *Grandmother*," she whispers without taking her eyes off me.
"I guess you're interested in my house. My secrets."
"I want it all." now that she's drawn the blade, I see it's a nice knife indeed. Long. Sharp. Dangerous.
"But there is one thing you must know, my child."
"What?" she sounds almost annoyed at my lack of fear.
"That the forest was not for my defense at all."
"Oh no? What would it serve for?"
"To protect silly little girls like you." and I let the flames of the fireplace illuminate my smile. Pointed. Wolfish. *Deadly*. | 845 | You are the 'Grandmother', a witch that lives alone deep in a dangerous forest. One day you find a child in a red cloak at your door carrying a basket of tribute. You are surprised to hear that they are one of a number of children sent to find you and the only one to survive the journey. | 2,208 |
*Bleep blorp bleep*
The United Nations assembly sat in silence as the tiny green figures in silver suits spoke I to the microphones.
*Blip blop bleep blop blorpy*
Their words were strange... Otherworldly...
Silly.
The main speaker of the three extraterrestrial ambassadors lifted a finger. A *green* finger, thin and slender, the tip rounded.
How did we nail them so perfectly?
*Blorpus blip bloppity, blorp? Blippis blop bloppity*
They were fucking adorable is what they were. Three feet tall, big black eyes, tiny little voices. They looked like prizes at county fair stall.
The representative from Chile snuck a picture with his cell phone. He'd need to show his daughter.
Germany's delegate gazed with a pensive stare, trying to spot a puppeteer or wires somewhere behind the microphones.
The American ambassador was nonplussed, but his assistant, a young woman from New Mexico, could help but feel a little more at home.
*Blorp blip BLOP!*
The little alien pounded the podium, eliciting involuntary giggles from the crowd. This offended the tiny trio, who exited the stage, their little legs working overtime to span the distance.
An eruption of applause filled the chambers and was met with the scowls from the green-skinned aliens.
The head of the envoy pressed a device on his wrist, beaming up the extraterrestrial crowd back to the mother ship.
The chamber was vaporized moments later. | 12 | When we finally made first contact with aliens we were surprised that they fit the stereotype of the little green men perfectly. What was even more surprising was, that we also perfectly fit their stereotype of an alien. | 161 |
I made it to the designated building just as my navi-watch struck Earth noon. Right on time. The blue-skinned secretary sent me up to my meeting without a second glance. I secured the pack on my shoulder and took the stairs two at a time, until I hit the fourth floor.
The pale-blue light of the sun was pouring through the windows, and I had to squint in order to find my way to the board room down the hall. *The windows are a scare tactic*, I thought as I scanned the doors around me for number 474. *A way to disorient humans before important meetings.*
Disoriented though I might have been, I found the room and stepped in without preamble. It was already full. Aliens of all shapes and sizes took up every seat around the long rectangular table. I smiled inwardly, proud of my ability to draw a crowd this diverse. If this went well, I could be pushing product through at least seventy five percent of the new Confederacy by the end of the year.
I took the last empty seat at the head of the table and set my pack down in front of me, then jumped straight in.
"Good afternoon, members of the Confederacy. I've called you all here today to present you with the business opportunity of a lifetime." I unzipped my pack as I spoke and pulled out a big bag full of individually wrapped product.
"This is my Mom's World Famous Homemade Caramel, or just Caramel for short. It's something of an Earth delicacy, and after numerous taste tests across the worlds of the Confederacy, demand is at its highest ever. Partner with me and we can become the galaxy's leading producer and distributor of Caramel. Your citizens will be happy and content under the influence of my product, and you, of course, will be even happier with the payout."
I pulled out one little wax paper wrapped caramel from the bag and held it up to the light. Every pair of alien eyes were on me as I unwrapped the Caramel and placed it on my tongue. It truly was delicious.
After proving that it was edible, I held up the bag and asked, "Who wants to try one?"
Hands, tentacles, and webbed feet raised around the room, and that's when I knew I had them. Word of my black market Caramel had been spreading for a while, that's how I managed to get the room this full in the first place. And now the plan was complete, because if my taste tests across the galaxy had proved anything, it was that human produced sugar in such a concentrated form as Caramel was highly addictive to nearly 98% of species in the greater galaxy.
I tossed Caramels around the room and watched as one by one every investor's pupils began to dilate. Some of their appendages began to shake. And a few even began to drool.
"How much do you need to start up a factory right here on Peraxis Prime?" one of the blue-skinned aliens present asked.
I smiled my best businessman smile and internally shouted for joy. They were mine now.
\---
I stepped out of the room with a depleted bag of Caramel and one huge check. I pulled up long range communications on my navi-watch and dialed up my first and most important business partner.
"Mom, fire up the stove, we've got some Caramel to make." | 38 | There is a new drug going around the intergalactic community. This drug, known commonly as "caramel" comes from a newly integrated planet in the far arm called Earth. The natives seem to have a sense for hyper concentrated nutrition that reeks havoc with most species biology. | 86 |
# Soulmage
**The person in the corner of my eyes was PERFECTLY NORMAL and NOT WORRYING IN THE SLIGHTEST.** I'd seen them following me ever since I stepped into that alleyway, and their unblinking smile gave me ONLY FEELINGS OF HAPPINESS AND WELCOMING.
I looked around for help, but the passerby DIDN'T SEE ANYTHING WRONG WITH THE SITUATION. Knwharfhelm was brutally hot under the summer sun, and the few vendors around gave me disinterested looks. Evidently, I was the only one who could see MY NEW FRIEND.
Well, this wasn't the first time I'd had some supernatural NORMAL PERSON hunting me down. I sidestepped out of view of the public, waiting for the inevitable moment that the NEW FRIEND would walk into my line of sight, then reached into my soul and flicked a pair of frostbolts at its smiling head. As much as I hated using magic for violence, I'd recently had a hard lesson in when I needed to fight back, and if I had to hurt my stalker, I wo—
The frostbolts phased through its NATURAL, too-wide smile as if the entity wasn't there.
It took another step forwards.
I blinked, shocked, then narrowed my eyes. Something wasn't right. I opened up my soulsight, wincing as the world dissolved into a chaotic whirlwind of memories and souls. Under the power of my augmented soulsight, all non-living matter faded to nothing, while everything else's soul was revealed. The nearby vendors shifted from flesh to spirit, my own carefully-organized soul shone like a star in the night, even the trees became glittering clusters of soulstuff—but the HELPFUL FRIEND walking towards me remained exactly the same.
Ah. The reason why my spells had acted like the VERY TRUSTWORTHY AND GOOD PERSON wasn't there was because it *wasn't*. I still wasn't *quite* sure what it was, but I'd seen this before, when the Dealmaker had visited me in my dreams. It was a living memory, not a reality.
And so, instead of striking at the being physically, I *remembered* an iron cage, slamming down a trap of will and memory around its stretched, WELCOMING smile. It walked forward by reflex—then, for the first time since it started following me, stopped cold in its tracks, halted by the imaginary cage.
Then it spoke.
"Is that any way to treat a new friend?" it asked. I shivered. Despite the innocuous words, something about its voice made me HAPPY.
"ACTUALLY I AM VERY SORRY FOR ATTACKING YOU BOTH PHYSICALLY AND MAGICALLY," I snarled, "so why don't you hurry up and tell me what you want."
"There's no need to be so rude," it said. "I simply came to make you an offer."
"I LOVE your offer," I snapped. "You've been following me around all day, you FRIEND OF MINE."
"Because I believe you are worth the time," it simply said. "I know you have many, many memories that keep you up at night. That you wish you did not have."
I leaned back. "Yeah? So does everyone, VERY INTELLIGENT PERSON."
"That just means my services are of interest to a wide potential audience," the entity countered. "I offer freedom from your memories. Relinquish them to me, and I will rewrite them to be more pleasant. More happy. More friendly."
"Right, because I'm going to let some FRIEND stick its fingers into my soul," I scoffed. "No, no, and *no*. Now BE FRIENDLY before *you* become one of those bad memories."
The figure tilted its head.
"You'll want me eventually," it said. "When the nightmares grow too great, and your mind screams for liberation. You'll come back."
I just shook my head and left, keeping the FRIEND trapped in its prison of memory. As if I would ever take that thing's offer.
As if I would ever call it my FRIEND.
A.N.
This story is part of Soulmage, a serial written in response to writing prompts! Check out the rest of the story [here](https://www.reddit.com/r/bubblewriters/comments/uxmwe4/soulmage_masterpost/?sort=new), or r/bubblewriters for more! | 157 | An entity that appears as a normal person is following you everywhere you go, it won't say a word, and it won't stop smiling. | 736 |
That was a tough night.
A warehouse loaded with assault rifles, machine guns, rocket launchers went sky-high. The explosion shattered a dozen building's windows by the hundreds, glass shards raining on civilians. This was followed up by Tank escaping by curling up into a ball made of her liquid metal and fired out of the explosion.
She's risky, ballsy and outright dangerous. New to the scene but making a big impact, a bit too much. Tank does not hold back, the passion for what she does is palpable in every breath she takes, every blow she lands. And that laugh of hers, when she flung over a dozen metal spikes right at me, like buckshot.
What a woman. I'm looking forward to getting to know her. But first, a shower. I walk past the personal gym, I've had enough of a workout for today, and hit the hot water. I hum some theme song I don't recall. The one Monolith and Death Knight have. Still not sure what's up with those two. I should get in touch with Astral again, she's in their area.
After the shower, I feel a bit more unwound. My head's a little emptier. In the mirror, I see the hard work I've done but not much of the hard work my hair stylist left. Still got bruises. She got me good with that buckshot, I'll give her that. Genuinely felt that, still did.
In my underwear, I trod on over to my bed, when I notice that the light in my office is still on. I haven't been in the office for a while now. Maybe on of the cleaners left it on like that during cleaning? Hmm. A quick float back and forth through the hall. The door's slightly ajar.
I move my hand to click it off, when I see her.
Oblivion.
My heart stops in my chest as I see a gaze of pure, unadulterated hatred in her yellow slit eyes. Her mouth wrinkled and her jaw clenched. She looks...older.
"Hey Champ." She says as her face twitches in rage.
"Oblivion," I say as I suddenly feel my heart rising up to my neck. "It's been a long day. How about we talk about-"
"Nononono. No. We're doing this now."
"I'm really not in the mood for this, I'm tired."
"Yeah, no doubt. That other babe you got been going rough on you, I see." She says as she stares at the buckshot bruise on my chest.
"T-This is not what it looks like."
"What does it look like, Champ?"
"It-That doesn't matter."
"I think it does matter. Tell me. What is it actually, and what does it look like?"
"You know what? No. There are boundaries that you don't cross, and this-"
"Boundaries?" She says as her eyes open wide, her eyes widen in surprise. Fuck. this is going wrong, I need to calm her down before she brings the whole cave down. This is the second I'd have to replace in a year, my insurance won't cover it.
"Who the _fuck_ are _you_ to talk about _boundaries_ when you're out causing mayhem with that _whore_, Tank!?"
She gets up, no, launches out of that chair and gets right in my face.
"Leave her out of this!"
"The fuck I am, you cheating cunt!" I see her holding a remote, which she points to the beamer. It turns on, and roughly ten recording start playing. Different qualities, different fights, same scenario. Me and Tank getting down and dirty, multiple fights over the last month.
"Where did you get this?"
She slaps me, _hard_. I nearly get knocked off balance.
"So that's it, huh? You don't even have the balls to say anything about, you pathetic fucking coward!" Her eyes are welling up as I look back, adjusting to several tons of force trying to knock my head off my shoulders. The blow rumbles the cave quickly.
"I started my whole thing with _you_. _You_, you were the one thing I could rely on in this crapsack steaming pile of shit we call home! We teamed up on Death Knight together, we faced the Third Leviathan! We have been doing this for _eight_ motherfucking years. Eight years! And then you just start, start, seeing someone else? WAS I NOT GOOD ENOUGH FOR YOU ANYMORE?!"
"Oby, that's not-"
She bodychecked me right through multiple walls back into the gym with a burst of speed.
"IS IT BECAUSE I'M GETTING OLD?" She screams at the top of her lungs, "BECAUSE I'M GETTING WRINKLES?! OR IS IT BECAUSE YOU'RE JUST SUCH A PIECE OF SHIT THAT YOU JUST CAN'T HELP BUT THROW YOURSELF AT THE FIRST AVAILABLE PIECE OF ASS THAT COMES YOUR WAY!? I THOUGHT I MEANT SOMETHING TO YOU!"
Her throat damn near gives out. I pull myself up on one of the racks, now unloaded from the usual weights.
"We can work this out, just stop! Think about what you're doing, what you're saying! It's not the same compared to what you and I have, I swear!"
"I WASTED YEARS OF MY LIFE ON YOU, YOU INGRATE! YEARS! I COULD HAVE BEEN MONOLITH'S EQUAL IF I HADN'T TRIED TO SUCK UP TO YOU FOR FOR ALMOST A DECADE OF MY FUCKING LIFE! AND YOU THROW IT ALL AWAY LIKE IT'S MEANINGLESS!"
"Oby, will you just listen!? Just for a second, please! I-I can explain!"
"Oh, you can explain _all that_!?" She says as she casually picks up one of the one ton circular weights in one hand and points back to the office. "Oh, let me hear it, *hero*. Come on. _Enlighten_ me."
"Tank just needed someone to set her up, just for starters! Now that she has a name, she can look for someone dedicated for herself, I'll just be a reference!"
"A reference?" She seems taken aback a bit, but keeps her nearly-Glasgow smile that don't reach her eyes.
"Yeah!"
"That's all?"
"_Yes_, that's all! You're blowing this _way_ out of proportion! She means nothing to me, we got to help our own folks out, right? I mean, come on, let's be real here, have you never done that?"
"No. I never felt the need to. You know why? Because I thought, for just once in my miserable life, that I found someone that actually gave a _damn_ about me. Not my powers, not what I could do for them, but someone that _chose_ me, for _me_. And that's all I wanted, you know. To be wanted. To be appreciated by someone."
"I do. I do want you out there, clashing with me. I do appreciate you. I wouldn't have stuck my ass out here in this city, if it wasn't for you. You're the only one that made it worth it, at all. Fuck the press, the papers, the news channels, the interviews. Fuck the League!"
She seemed to calm down at that, for just a second. But I knew her longer than this. If she rages out, then suddenly goes calm, it's because her rage has her tranquil. Or maybe she really did calm down. Always hard to tell with her in the heat of the moment.
"Then why'd you stop seeing me and went to see Tank behind my back instead, Champ?" She said with barely any emotion in her voice. "What's the _real_ reason? I deserve the truth. No bullshit, please. Just tell me why. "
"I-I dunno."
"You don't know? What, she just landed on your lap? Is that all it takes?"
"Look, things have been down between us for a while now, okay? It's just, the-the spark is just not there the way it used to be, you know? When we started, it was _fire_ and _passion_, and _emotion_ and excitement! But over time, there's just been this growing distance between us. We're growing apart, whether we like it or not. I've just been going through the motions for a while, I wanted something new. Something to liven things up a little. I didn't think you'd mind, or that you'd even notice. Honestly, I thought that maybe you were forgetting about me and seeing someone else too. It made sense then."
"So you just decided to let loose, huh?"
"I-I guess so."
"And did it feel good? When you were with her? Is she better than me? Does she make you happy?"
"Oby, that's not fair."
"Does she make you gasp for air, like I did? Does she knock you on your knees, like I did? Did you think of me even _once_ while you with her? Not a single pang of regret, or even a little voice in the back of your head that told you that this was wrong? Did you want her that badly?"
Black tears stated pooling at the corners of her eyes as normal tears started running down her cheeks. Tears so black, like staring into oblivion.
"Oby, I never meant for things to get out of hand. You don't know what it's like until it happens to you, I swear."
"Oh I do. And rejected that call. For you."
The tears running down her cheeks are turning black now.
"I am sorry. There, I said it. I fucked up. This is my mistake. Let me fix this. Whatever it is, name it."
"Kill Tank for me. Slowly. I want to watch."
"_*What!?*_"
"Prove to me that you'd do anything to fix this. Kill her. While the world watches."
"Jesus Christ, Oby, no. That's too far."
"Is it?"
"Look, I'll make sure I never see her again. Ever. We can go to therapy, _I_ will go to therapy. The Therapist has had dozens of cases like us, we can fix this. _I_ can make this up."
"Can you?"
"_Yes_. And I want to. For you. For us."
She seems to contemplate it, as she stares at the ground. A single drop falls to the ground, and some of the rubble from the broken wall is slowly drawn to it. I brace myself. Lord knows what she'll do.
"No." She said, as she dropped the weight with a heavy _bang_ on the floor.
"What?"
"No. We're done. You and me. It's over. Go be happy with Tank."
And she just walks out. Leaves.
"Wait, wait, hold on, Oby, no, wait."
The wind surges and she summons a portal of vantablack with a wave of her hand, through which she vanishes without looking back. I'm left standing in my underwear in my own hallway, not sure of anything in my life right now. Part of me wants to be happy that she didn't bomb my cave system.
But I can't. I feel....hollow. Did she really just...dump me? Fuck. I'm not sure what to do. Should I call her? Go to her hideout, try to talk things through? Or hit one of the boys up. Beastmaster went through this with Waterdancer, maybe he can...I don't know, help? I walk back to the bathroom, where I left my phone.
Tank texted me. | 51 | You are a hero that has a well-known rivalry with a villain that goes back for years. A second villain shows up, and you have been fighting them secretly. The first villain finds out, and it is portrayed exactly like an affair. | 214 |
Evil Lord Zanoth sat upon his throne, basking in victory over all who once opposed him. A gilded skull sat in the palm of his hand. This one formerly belonged to a politician who swore up and down about never giving up in the face of pure evil.
"Your spine was less stiff when we met face to face," Zanoth mused. "Whereas I marched with my doomguard. Resisting me to the last drop of someone else's blood, eh?" He could already hear the gears of power turning in the halls outside the Prime Minister's office. Well, former Prime Minister. The woman now occupied pride of place on the shelf with the rest of the gilded skulls. After a bit of redecorating, Zanoth found the palatial room more suitable for his tastes. A black marble throne, red drapes hanging behind him, appropriate lighting. THe whole nine yards.
So far, the only problem was the work. The great goal of his conquest, this shining city on a hill, was now his to command. And therein lay his troubles. THe labyrinth of laws that had piled up over the centuries made a hard row to hoe for his legions of terror.
The door swung open.
"Here's the next set of tax laws to revue, my lord," One of the goblin servants said, teetering under a pile of paperwork taller than it was.
"I begin to fear that these creatures achieve some form of disgusting sexual release in creating these things. They formed rules, exceptions to the rules, rules about the exceptions, and exceptions to the exceptions! Enough of this! Take me to the treasury and bring the tax collectors!"
Zanoth felt there was little reason to conquer all the lands of the continent if he couldn't deal with problems *his way*.
"Worms..." he said when the former members of the kingdom's treasury gathered before him, "Explain the tax structures of your lands."
"Uh, Lord Zanoth, we can't. No one person has a total grasp of the laws."
Zanoth snapped his fingers and the man burst into flame.
The others cringed away from the heat and gore, but they were far too scared to run.
"That wasn't the answer I'm looking for. You, what would the taxes be for a citizen who makes," he paused and thumbed through a folder, "One-thousand gold per quarter?"
"I-it would depend on how the money is made, lord. Money markets and labor are treated differe- AAGGGGHH!!"
Another snap of the fingers, another incineration.
"I tire of your word games, maggots. So, we will make an example of you."
The following morning, a proclamation went out through the kingdom that the last surviving members of the treasury, including the tax collectors, would be publicly executed for defiance of Zanoth. On the day of, the Evil Lord found some sort of parade being held in the capital and his underlings informed him the same was happening elsewhere, in many cities across the kingdom.
"I'm executing the last of their leaders. Why are they joyous!?"
"My understanding, oh dark one, is that they poorly ruled the people. It seems corruption and abuse were daily affairs. Since your takeover, the streets are safer, the populace is less burdened, and they have some hope for the future under your rule."
Zanoth sipped wine out of the Minister of War's skull and looked in the sightless eyes. "Exactly how inept were my opponents? It seems I owe them some credit for my ultimate victory. No doubt I would reign supreme eventually, but I thank them for expediting things and saving me valuable minions."
"Perhaps there are more laws I should examine for dross." he thought as he watched the people stone the tax collectors and galavant through the city, singing his praises.
One year after his victory, Zanoth sat upon his throne hearing the newest report.
"The standard tax you instituted is going well, Lord Zanoth, his assistant said. It was a human, rather than one of his ogres or goblins. His doomguard had their uses, but humankind handled administrative tasks with a steadier hand and tended not to take an axe to basic arithmetic.
Indeed, a simple fifteen percent tax had been supremely useful. Particularly when some fools tried to convince their new overlord to institute some scheme or other that might allow them to skirt the law and hide their wealth. Killing them on the spot sorted things out.
"Rather disappointing to discover my enemies were so incompetent. Ah well, send in the next set of laws." Zanoth rubbed his snapping fingers together. It looked to be a busy day. | 30 | After they won the villain is slowly leaving their evil ways behind and mellowing out. Not because they genuinely had a change of heart, but because pure evil may be a way to come to power, but to stay in power you have to actually *do something* for the people so they do not revolt. | 145 |
We were lucky. The experiment called for a sealed environment with its own oxygen supply. It was enough to last several hours, and we'd need every second. We even had back-up batteries to provide power. If not for those two things, we'd be drifting in space. Probably forever.
According to our models, everything should work, but sometimes theory hits the pavement with a little more force than you reckoned. For the last few months, we'd been working on a sort of short range teleportation. Sounds like something out of a damn movie, I know, but Doctor Iwakami was dead set on making it work. He had a dozen phd's in subjects most people have never heard of. He was leading the team on groundbreaking work.
Now, getting a few molecules across a lab is a far cry from warping across the solar system, but if the good Doctor was right, we might see extra-stellar colonization in our lifetimes.
"Double check all the seals, Bryce! Michiko, get me an update on how long we have! I want everyone else working to reverse our last test!"
Instead of teleporting a block of aerogel, we'd moved the whole damn lab to deep space. And we were going to be running out of air, eventually.
"Seals are good, Doc," I told him. "Air pressure is steady in here, but I wouldn't open any doors. We don't know how much of the building came with us, so we might have little more than a thin shell between us and the black void."
If I seemed calm, it was shock. That and Doctor Iwakami, keeping everyone going. For the first couple minutes we freaked out, but then the Doc got us under control and drilled into our undergrad brains it was get to work or asphyxiate.
"Dad," Michiko said from her computer. "Only three hours."
We didn't need an explanation. Everyone froze for a moment. Three hours until we died.
"Alright folks, when we ran the simulation, it showed us a bubble in space-time. Thats how we think the teleportation works, right? The bubble moves and when it pops, the object appears in a new location. Because it operates as a..." he waved his hands, searching for the word. "a hole in time and space, we have no perception of the movement from point A to point B. I think instead of the bubble remaining small, it grew around the whole lab and took us with it. So, we need to recreate and reverse that process to bring us back home. Phil, can you adjust the formula to account for the earth rotating and orbiting in the time between the bubble popping and when we run the experiment again?"
"On it, boss."
Doctor Phil Connors was the oldest beside Doc Iwakami, so he acted as second in command of our impromptu spaceship. Michiko, Iwakami's daughter, handled the simulation monitoring, and I was in charge of the rest of the undergrads.
"How much power do we have?" I asked the Doc when the others were busy.
"If we mess up, we won't be getting a second chance," he told me.
Not encouraging, but I appreciated being told the truth. No sense ruining everyone else's day, though. I could keep the kids focused. They were really losing it earlier, but now that they had some direction, they were busy little bees. Under normal circumstances, it took at least five hours to set up the conditions for an attempt at teleportation. We had slightly less than three. Terror took too much time, so instead of breaking down, everyone went to work like normal.
It's amazing how well the brain can compartmentalize when it needs to.
"Saito," Phil said to the Doc. "I think I've got it. We might not land in Cambridge, but I should be able to get us to the Eastern Seaboard."
"As long as we're back on Earth."
Reconstructing a never done teleportation test that went wrong is no straightforward task. We had to account for as many variables as possible. And all the while, we never knew what would happen until we tried it. Our one and only try. As the clock on the wall ticked ever closer to that three-hour mark, I saw people sweating, tapping something, chewing on pens. Nervous energy. I quit smoking a couple months ago, and I felt my hand reach for the pack of cigarettes I used to keep in my pocket more than once.
"Right, set something on fire," I mumbled to myself. "Waste even more air."
When it came down to the final half-hour, everyone was sitting down, breathing heavier. If they were like me, their bodies sore and their brains spent, I understood. I wasn't sure if that was from fatigue or the early effects of oxygen deprivation. Either way, time was up.
"Ladies and gentlemen," Iwakami said. "We're about to go home. God willing, we should land somewhere in New England. Either way, it's been a pleasure. Phil?"
"I'm ready. I've accounted for what I could."
"Michiko?"
"The, uh... My simulation seems to run fine." She wasn't sure, but who could be in a situation like this?
"Bryce, get the team ready. I want everyone standing exactly where they were the first time."
"Got it, Doc. You heard the man, kids. Back to your stations. I want eyes on every monitor and console!"
THe sound of the test running was a long, low hum. The lights dimmed. That would be the back-up batteries giving up the last of their power for this one-way trip. I glanced at the aerogel sitting in the test chamber. If that damn thing vanished and reappeared in the other chamber...
There was a sudden lurch, and we all fell sideways.
I tried to stand up, but I felt like a drunkard. Like I wasn't on an even floor anymore.
"Everyone still here?" the Doc called.
As it turned out, the floor wasn't even. It was at an angle.
"Did we land at an angle?" Michiko asked as she picked herself up.
"Damn it! MY FOOT! Someone, get me the first aid kit!" That was Phil from the lowest corner of the room.
"You okay Phil?" the Doc called.
"Mostly."
We gathered around and saw the very edge of his right heel was bleeding. It wasn't bad, but a clean slice was taken right out of his foot. And there, in the corner, was a patch of grass, clipping through the floor. A blob of flesh and part of Phil's shoe and sock were stuck there, too.
"We fused with part of the landscape?" one kid asked.
"Seems so. But more than that, grass means air. Congratulations on making it home."
Turns out Doc kept a bottle of the good stuff here. We passed it around, some of us broke down weeping with joy that we lived through it all. A couple of the kids looked to be forming terror-induced romantic attachments. A better ending than we could have hoped for.
"Lets get outside and see where the hell we are," I said and led the Doc and Michiko out through the lop-sided halls. Turns out most of building C came with us. We had three stories and maybe a basement level or two. I shivered, thinking about what might've happened if we landed a little lower.
When we stepped out, I was pleased to see an empty field in front of us. The last thing I wanted was to find out we'd hurt some poor bastard on the trip home.
"Anyone know where we are?"
A chilly wind blew across the field. I spied a few trees in the distance. Not a forest, but a small copse.
"I think my calculations may have been off," Phill said. someone bandaged his foot, and he had a limp, but he was walking.
"You know this place?"
"Siberia, I think. I visited once."
"Uh, don't they have bears here?" Michiko said, looking around. Right on cue, a fury form moved around the copse of trees.
"The good news," Phil said, "is I don't believe it's a bear."
The animal lumbered in our direction and we saw it lift its trunk up towards the sky and trumpet out its call across the plain.
"Ah, right," I said and sat heavily on the grass. "We moved through *time* and space."
"I wonder when we are," Doc said, and the mammoth thundered across the horizon. | 26 | A miscalculation, and the entire lab was vaporized. Somewhere in space, light years away, that same lab reassembled from the transported atoms. It worked! But now they had hours to minutes of oxygen to replicate their error and return to Earth. | 82 |
"....Rip their head off, why are you telling us this."
"Hey Gargoroth, NO! We don't do that, we say that they are evil and THEN we rip their heads off."
Ever since this whole situation started, neither Likor nor Gargoroth have had much dispute over anything except how exactly people should be murdered and how long they should be allowed to be near humans. Gargoroth wanted to lounge about and ignore Jen, who they were supposed to be "babysitting", and Likor wanted to get the duty over with and start purging some sinners. They would spend a lot of the time just talking about various humans they messed with or how often they are told to do something.
They both basically seemed hard to look at and unnearthly, just big old splodges of eyes and swords, this had no bearing on what people thought about them for whatever reason, but it did make it hard to figure out who was who unless one made a remark, and even then it could be either speaking.
Jen like to think she was babysitting them while they provided infinite food, heat, water, and housing: she told Likor not to smite people who passed by their house daily, she encouraged Gargoroth to not start fires, she kept the food from being rare exotic illegal meats, she for all intents and purposes was the leader. For that reason she tried to avoid mentioning people doing wrong before the national guard was called.
"They're not too big of a deal! I just need some advice."
"Advice? Fuck advice! I FINALLY HAVE A REASON TO SMITE! Name and geographical whereabouts please?"
Likor's main eye looked exited, but the rest had a smooth secretary stare, the half closed kind that wants you to fill out a form.
"I already know where they are! WE COULD KILL THEM NOW!" Gargoroth caught fire, along with the sofa it was floating over. Jen quickly took out the fire extinguisher under the table and put out the flame.
"How about you guys just give them a fright if you must get involved?"
"A COUPLE FINGERS? Splendid! I'll get my slicing sword!"
"How about we scare the bully out of 'em?" Gargoroth seemed more reasonable sometimes but he probably doesn't mean well either.
"You know what, divide Gargoroth's answer by two and we have a deal!"
"LOVELY!" And there goes Likor, straight out the door and into the street, both of which shattering on impact.
"I'll make sure it gets the right ones after it fails the sixth time." Celestial pronouns are confusing... and Jen is ashamed to admit that is the first thing she thinks instead about of the obvious child murder threat | 137 | An angel and a demon are stuck co-parenting a human child, and the kid just confessed that they’re being horrifically bullied at school. | 362 |
We discovered signs of ancient glyphs on a moon in a desolate system. There were certainly no signs of life now, but perhaps, once, long ago, an ancient race lived on this moon. Perhaps it once held life, and a civilization.
When a passing merchant caught sight of some odd lines in the moon's dust, he took pictures and brought them back to the civilized space of the Federation. The archeological community went nuts. And several universities began sending out teams to help uncover whatever lay hidden by time. As for me? They placed me in charge of the whole thing. The Chief Speaker of the Federation told me to monitor things and report the findings.
When I arrived at the system, I could already see two stations in orbit around the moon in question and several twinkling lights moving between them and the surface.
"I see the teams are already getting to work," I said to my assistant.
"Yes, sir. Species from across the galaxy are coming to help with the excavation and preserve whatever we find. Even the humans are sending a team, though they won't be here for a week."
"Humans, huh."
I'd experienced the humans before. They were likeable, gregarious even, but they had a tendency to be disruptive. I suspected that chaos was some sort of byproduct of their bodily functions. No matter, these would be serious field researchers and academics, not the soldiers and space-cowboys I'd once encountered. I'm sure it will be fine.
\*\*\*
Not long before the humans arrived, the head archeologist came to inform me of the progress being made in uncovering the glyph. As he explained it, almost all ancient civilizations, no matter the species, created art that could only be seen from high altitude, or even low orbit sometimes, such as this find.
For this glyph, the natives appeared to create a sort of stylized pillar with a slight bulge on one end and a much larger shape on the other. The scholars theorized it represented a connection between the natives and their gods and was pivotal in religious practices. I sent my report ahead to the Chief Speaker and then received word of the humans. I'd greeted the rest of the teams, so it was only right to greet the humans as well.
\*\*\*
Within the week, I was back at the Federation headquarters. I wasn't looking forward to this conversation, but it wasn't the sort of thing you talked about through a report.
"May I come in, Sir?"
"Please do. I hear there was a brouhaha at the site. Everyone is being tight-lipped, so what happened?"
"Well, the whole thing is being shut down. We confirmed there was never any native race on that moon. A powerful laser created the glyph just over five-hundred years ago."
"So, an advanced space-faring race, not primitives?"
"Yes. First, here you'll see the pictures we took of the glyph," I said, and passed him a holo-tablet.
"More or less, as you described. A pillar with some sort of artistic flourishes."
"Indeed, but here," I tapped a button and brought up a second image, "are some anatomical drawings. It was the humans, Sir."
"Ah, that explains it. So some miners perhaps? They found an empty system, left their 'mark' on a dead moon, and it went unnoticed for the better half of a millennium?"
"Thats about the size of it."
"The press will be rabid."
"The humans sent their apologies, Sir."
"Right. Well, the galaxy at large is about to know what the humans keep in their space suits. Prep damage control."
"Right away, Sir." | 222 | "It was the humans, sir." "Ah, that explains it." | 273 |
"The master has failed more times than the beginner has even tried."
It's an important concept, but it hides an even more important point within it.
It is possible (and, in fact, both common and easy) to have made as many mistakes as any grandmaster, and still be an incompetent fool. Willingness to fail is one part of finding success. The other, much harder part, is *learning to fail in a different way each time*.
It's hard. It's frustrating. You take stock of everything, consider the problem before you, tweak and adjust and throw out the parts of your approach that you love, but which are holding you back...and then you fall flat on your face again.
It stings.
There are many who look at the whole process and simply decide not to bother. You can muddle along well enough without ever bothering to really learn anything, if you start from a comfortable-enough position in life. Brute force can overcome when clever tactics fail, its true.
But brute force *combined* with clever tactics works best of all.
In truth, the ten thousand failures you pass on the way to mastery are inevitable. You will meet them, like it or not. Nothing whatsoever you can do about them. What is *not* inevitable is the choice to learn from them, to take vital lessons from each one, to hone and refine your skills, again and again and again and again.
In this way you achieve mastery.
But that takes effort, and causes pain, and it is *so much easier* to just...go along. To try a few things, find something that works, and stick to a narrow rut, never challenging yourself, never growing beyond the techniques you stumbled upon so early in the learning process.
You can live a comfortable life that way.
But it *does* mean that if you ever come face to face with someone who challenged themselves- who tried and failed and *learned*, and then tried again- you tend to get your ass whooped.
Observation is an important part of learning. You watch, and think, and come to understand. You work to see the world as it *is*, not as you wish, want, or expect it to be. Observation is a skill any master will wield quite effectively- how can you learn and grow, if you cannot see the true results of your attempts?
So if you have only a few ways of doing things, only a few basic approaches to the problems you face, then any master can read you like a book. And not a complicated book, either. A kids book, with pictures.
*Big* pictures.
To someone used to reading molecular physics textbooks in Finnish haiku as they flash for a moment on the surface of a lake in a storm, there's really no challenge at all. Notice, plan, act, and the hardest part is reminding yourself that not everyone is trained to your standards, and relegating the part of your brain that insists on a more involved approach to needless vigilance.
Six humans might fight a giant, and be crushed. Six novices might attack a martial artist and not even see the blow that puts them out of the fight.
Six people used to doing nothing unusual, learning nothing in their lives, might lose anything at all to someone with talent and mastery, and not even notice that they have lost.
To play someone like a fiddle is a remark on the skill of the player.
To play someone like a kazoo is a remark on the simplicity of instrument.
So when you feel yourself flinch away from uncomfortable truths, remember to ask yourself what sort of instrument you want to be. | 304 | "I can't believe it! You played us like a fiddle!" "Oh please. Fiddles are actually hard to play. I played you like the kazoos you are." | 1,976 |
“Are you caught up on Game of Cubicles?”
It was a typical Monday in Elmyra, Eterna Frille was dragonpooling with her fellow adventurer, Myr Crowne, to meet up with the rest of their party.
Their chariot skidded as Eterna’s dragon Wrenforce narrowly avoided an oncoming chariot. “Easy, baby,” murmured Myr, reaching out to pet his tail, as Eterna leaned out of the driver’s seat to yell “watch it, idiot!” at the passing chariot.
Myr leaned back. “I binged the season last night before the new episode, and I’m obsessed with it. I do think season 7 is not as good as the previous seasons-“
Eterna hummed in agreement. “Because the writers ran out of source material. The show was good when it had the books to work off of. But we’re still waiting on book seven of Song of Desks and Offices.”
“Exactly.” Myr muttered an incantation and summoned his directional guide to help Eterna navigate. (“Drop 60 feet at Hell’s Gate then turn left.”) Myr continued. “The latest season doesn’t have the same gravity that earlier seasons did. When Ned got fired in season one, that blew my mind because we always expect protagonists to have plot armor, yknow? And then the mass layoffs in season 3, and they announced it at Rob’s wedding? That was fucking wild. But this season is weird, Annie is usually so chill, there’s no way she’d suddenly just heat her fish in the microwave just because she had a bad day at work.”
Eterna pulled up at their destination. “Oh my gods, it’s so half-baked. The worldbuilding and character motivation is so much clearer in the books. Plus there’s a map of everyone’s cubicle in the office, and a glossary of the bullshit words they use, like “synergy” and “stationery”. I can’t wait for book 7 to actually fill in the massive plot holes that the show’s writers are digging.”
Myr chuckled as he dismissed the directional guide and exited the chariot. “Okay I might borrow them off you then. I do love a good glossary, even if I’ve always hated it when writers make up words for their universes. Just call them calligrapher’s tools, we have a word for them already.”
Eterna laughed, and tossed Myr a giant peppercube to feed Wrenforce. Wren deserved it, he was such a good boy after all. Myr caught it, sneezed, and held it up to Wren’s mouth with both hands, and Wren snapped it up in a second. “Do the books at least explain what they actually do all day?”
“Nope.” | 14 | In a world filled with magic and dragons, your public eagerly awaits the seventh and final novel in your smash-hit series about something called "office politics" | 55 |
The being before me was one that I was more than familiar with. Bipedal, proportionate (at least on the outside), brains large relative to their bodies, fleshy, and fairly smart in comparison to some of the other ships residents. I was thankful it was a human who had come to the med bay today rather than something with more limbs or eyes. A day of work with just a human was almost always an easy one. Most of their wounds were superficial, though they did have this *cancer* defect that could manifest in quite a nasty way.
As he entered I cut him short, "So, homesickness huh? What are the symptoms?" The human began listing off a series of "feelings" babble that I ignored and instead opted to look it up in my holo-pad. Asking patients anything was just a courtesy.
The holo-pad got to work, flying through a series of medical ailments before landing on a large *information not found in current database*. The database had every sickness, nearly every ailment ever known. Even those odd bits in the far reaches of the outward spiral were catalogued neatly in the database.
"Do you all have any other names for it where you come from? Other than homesick?" The man stared at me with this dumb look on his pink, fleshy face. After a moment he replied: "Its just that the sickness is not literal"
I paused my scribbles and stared at the holo board in between my hands. I could feel the space inside of my coat heat up as fear spread through me. The words choked out of my throat with fear. "Don't tell me... it's metaphorical."
"Well it's more of an expression-"
"Metaphorical sickness in bay 4! Symptoms have begun expressing!" I yelled into a speaker on the wall and my voice blared throughout the ship from above. The humans eyes opened wide and he ran for the door at the sound of an alarm, the flashing of lights, but I was too fast. With a fist I slammed the button on the wall neatly labeled: *Quarantine Protocol, Level 5*. The door he was making his way to bolted closed and he skidded to a halt. For a moment there was silence between us. The only sound was of the alarms outside and their muffled blaring. He took a seat at the far side of the room.
Just last year a metaphorical sickness had taken hold of half of our crew. I wasn't going to let that happen again.
"You cannot leave until we fix this I'm afraid. Metaphorically speaking your sickness could be anything. Plus, the data logs have nothing on this 'homesickness', but because it has a name I'm assuming you humans know it well. Tell me."
He let out a long sigh, a human gesture I have known to mean annoyance, or regret, or deep pain, or acceptance. One of those.
"No. It's not like a sickness sickness. It's figurative. I miss my home, therefore I am homesick." it took me a moment to register. My kind did not have anything like this. I suppose we missed home, my kind, but not to the point of illness
"Is this homesickness contagious?" I asked. Now he was the one to take a moment. "Uhm. Well. I suppose. But only if you share experiences, share memories of a place."
As he spoke I let the newly opened entry for "Homesick" in my holo-pad populate itself with his words. I wasn't quite sure what they meant. What the sickness was, but it seemed only humans could catch it, which was of some relief.
"How do we cure it?"
"Well. I suppose if I could tell you about it, about home, maybe it would fix itself.", he seemed to grow stiff at his words.
Listening wasn't my forte, but medicine was. And this was medicine. So I nodded. He began slowly, but picked up steam as he spoke. Spoke of not just a land called "Pennsylvania" but of Earth, of the things he had seen on his home planet. He spoke of its beauty and love. Of oceans and views. And in turn I shared some of my own. Though we did not call it the same I too knew of sunsets and valleys. Of happiness and love.
After a long while he had seemingly run out of things to say, so he finished with a "Well doc. I think im cured.", and followed it with a smile. A gesture I knew to mean happiness. I returned the gesture in my own awkward way.
"That's good. But I think I may be coming down with a tinge of it myself. Same time tomorrow?"
He agreed, and I pressed the button to set him free of the room. Never had I failed to cure a patient.
*Homesickness: A figurative, metaphorical, abstract ailment of deep missing of ones place of creation. Mostly found in humans, but possible to spread to other beings depending on severity. Cure: A long chat* | 94 | A human crew member aboard a S class space freighter has been admitted to the medical bay. They told their bunkmate that they were suffering strange human disease. You flip through the your archives, but you find nothing on "Homesickness." | 233 |
The screech startled me awake; and half the village, I suspected. It took a moment for my half-asleep brain to interpret, but I soon recognized that unholy scream. My familiar!
I bolted from my bed, making haste to my study, where the imp preferred to sleep. Surely, it could not have been a burglar or some other thief of the night; then it would be the screams of Men, and not of hellish yowling. It could've been those of the Mage's Guild, discovering my familiar for what he really was. Then again, I doubted they would take such extreme measures against me, even if that were the case.
I burst open the door, and quickly scan for my devil friend. I see him, in his bed; of loose pages and parchments, gathered into a sort of nest. Seeing me, his screech stops for a moment, before a howling bawl erupts.
"What is happening? Why change? No change! Bad change!"
Indeed, my impish partner has taken on a few characteristics that shock me. He is his same self, mostly; of cloven feet, and terrible maw, with small horns protruding from his head. But, floating above the horns, where there was nothing before, was now a red ring of light, glowing softly. Additionally, where there had been the wings of a bat upon his back, now lay wings more akin to a bird; black raven's wings, with white dove's feathers interspersed between the midnight black. In the soft glow, I noted another change; while maw and terrible tooth remained, the face of my familiar took on a softer, rounder tone, and the sharp teeth had straightened.
I had a hundred different questions, but I started with the most important ones.
"Are you hurt? Is there any pain?"
The imp sniffled, motioning to the mouth and wings.
"Small pain. Dull aches, now."
I knelt down to level with the imp, producing a dried leaf. "Chew on this, it will help ease the pain." He did as instructed, and I continued my questioning. "Did it hurt a lot? Is that why you yelled so loudly?"
The imp simply nodded, and continued to chew on the leaf.
I sighed, and patted the imp's head. The halo was an odd sensation; while it passed through my hand harmlessly, it did give the slightest of resistance, as though it were barely tethered to this world. Still, I did not note this aloud, and simply rubbed the base of his horns to help calm him.
We sat in relative silence for some time, before he spoke up.
"Why change?"
I thought for a few more moments, before smiling. "I'm not sure exactly, though I have a theory. You know how you, an imp, as a creature of Hell, can influence the nature of a person bound by them as a familiar?"
He nodded.
"Well, that very ritual binds you to the person, so who is not to say that the influence goes both ways?"
The imp's eyes go a bit wide at the thought. "Not possible! But...maybe?"
Unable to help myself, I teased him a bit.
"Who knows, maybe you're turning into a cherub!"
The devil gave a slight gag, not liking the thought. "No! Bad! No teasing!"
I laugh, and against his better judgement, so does he. I give him another leaf, and set him back in his nest, petting him until he falls asleep. I then yawn, and return to my own bed, smiling all the way.
The souls of the damned, it seems, are not unredeemable. They are able to be saved. I am uncertain as to how, nor how long it would take for more powerful demons, but it is not impossible.
Father can be saved. | 18 | Mages are warned against summoning demons as familiars due to their tendency to seduce mages to evil. Nobody knew that it also worked the other way around. Today you woke up to your demon familiar freaking out because they suddenly have a halo and white feathers growing on their wings. | 55 |
"Seriously Demon. I have been taking care of my husband 24/7 since his surgery. Go play somewhere else." I get up and empty my husband's urinal and check his temperature. I wash my hands, and make a sandwich.
The demon, smoke trailing out of her nostrils, approaches again. Their horns, sharp and menacing start to glow hypnotically. "You will sleep, rest...."
Lordy, my back ached. I turned to check on my mate, and reached for his empty plate. Soon enough, I would have to help him to bed. I sit at the kitchen table and light a cigarette.
The demon tries again, "Sleep... rest, Close your eyes."
I jolt awake to a burn on my hand. I swear, and stub out the butt. Another wasted smoke. I get up and help my husband to bed. It takes quite a bit. His back is trashed by that quack of a surgeon. I head back to the kitchen for a couple of ice packs.
I smell brimstone, but keep on. I have to help my beloved.
While he rests, I let the dog out, and lean in the doorway a brief minute. I smell the fresh air, and start to nod off standing up.
The snicker and hiss from the creature is barely heard. A bark from my dog wakes me. "Okay, Okay pup, come on in." I pay the puppy tax of a treat, and shut the door behind us.
I better get the laundry started. I grab my headphones, and crank the My Favorite Murder minisode. Nothing like some hometown murders to keep the blood flowing.
As Karen starts the intro, I sort and begin a load. The soothing tones of the demon come back.... "You must sleep..."
"FFS" I growl. I turn and slap the red eyed twit. "I am beyond done with yer crap. Take your brimstone, your BS, and your 'sleepy' sheet and GTFO. I have to get dishes done, and pick up the kids from school. Now Git!"
Shamefaced, my sister in law the succubus turned and left.
Never marry into a demon family. | 15 | A sleep paralysis demon smiles before approaching his victim enthusiastically, but upon seeing his blank, exhausted face, and his dulled out eyes, the demon now tries hia best to get a reaction out of someone too exhausted to even be scared | 40 |
Perfectly solve the ongoing incident.
It wasn't a very catchy name I'll admit, but it had summed my abilities up nicely. At first my tutors and agents had all been very excited to manage the worlds leading pragmatic superhero.
That was until they realised pragmatism isn't exactly exciting stuff.
I'd had a few good saves.
I talked down the hostage situation in Central bank, utilising strong negotiation tactics and insight of the criminal's mindsets.
I had prevented war between nations through hours of debate and deliberation at peace summits, taking into account geopolitical aspirations, domestic politics and competing ideologies.
Famines, floods, crime, poverty, war; you name it I had fixed it, (or at least prevented it in isolated incidents).
Then the Department of Superheroes and Associates had revoked my license. Apparently because my power didn't involve plumes of fire, or torrents of water and ice they were no longer interested. In fact they had said that I was, "Hurting the superhero brand," and that, "no-one wants to watch Mr. Cargo shorts go around making life boring."
If I'm honest that last one had stung a little. But I digress.
I had given up on hero work and gone back to the life of a normal citizen. I had taken up a job as a barista, working part time as I failed to complete my first novel. It was in the café one day that I encountered a peculiar situation.
In walked the head of the Department of Superheroes and Associates and the current number one hero, Iceman. They placed their order, empty vapid eyes not even noticing me for the hero I had once been.
For the first time since I had given up my hero license, I felt that old power stir in my chest, equal parts insight and premonition. I knew, instinctively and without logic, that these two individuals represented an unpleasant future. It followed therefore that to avoid this future, action needed to be taken.
Thankfully, as ever, I knew what to do.
I slipped the poison into their espresso and handed it across the table to them.
It was the first time I realised the truth that would unlock the full potential of my abilities.
Not every problem can be solved by a hero. | 2,151 | it’s apparently “bad for super hero business”. Years can go by between incidents that require your assistance, but this is definitely one of them. | 3,654 |
The police were extremely concerned when they arrived at the scene: no signs of forced entry, minimal struggle, the area was visibly cleaned afterwards. What was initially a sign of a professional hit became all the more concerning when they found some of my cards.
I’m a known element, but until they saw the first of my cards, they weren’t sure it was me. Now they knew it would be story time. The first of my cards was immediately photographed where it sat by the television remote, reading <<play the video.>>
After going getting the proper permission from the evidence specialists, and getting a couple body cameras positioned to record the television, they turned it on, and saw a simple text-on-screen video.
“Hello and apologies to the officers on the scene.” A few of the officers let out a breath at that. My usual first card being on screen was unusual, but they now were sure it was me.
“This individual was particularly troublesome, so please forgive me for not using as many cards as they would have needed.”
“First and foremost, please check the leftmost kitchen cabinet for my next card, it will include a cryptocurrency account, with the password available. You will want to look at the recurring transactions for the first week of October the last few years.”
The video was paused, and a couple specialists went to the cabinet, and found the relevant card. After taking a picture, the video was resumed.
“Next you are going to want to check the basement, on top of the water heater. This card has a USB stick next to it. The USB stick has two folders one is named ‘List’ the other is named ‘Flights’ and these are related.”
Again, took pictures of the card that read <<list & flights>>, and placed the USB in a labeled resealable bag.
“‘List’ has an excel spreadsheet that lists a full legal name, a date, a number, a blood type, and an alphanumeric number. ‘Flights’ connects each of these alphanumerics to a flight, and notes the cost of that flight.”
“You will notice that these costs roughly correspond with the transactions on the previously mentioned crypto account.”
“Finally, by the shoe rack at the front door, there is a lidded wicker-weave filing box. Under the lid is my last card. I *strongly* recommend that not everyone look at the contents. There are multiple files, each with an alphanumeric, and each contains multiple pictures. In case anyone ate recently, I will not clarify what those pictures are, and merely say in the abstract that the individual I handled assisted those with a taste for liver.”
The specialists quickly and calmly moved toward the box that they all saw, but no one minded. After a few pictures of the closed box, they opened it, and saw a card that simply read <<I’m sorry.>>
The last bit of the video was played.
“Needless to say, there are multiple people involved with this individual’s work. I’m going to be quite busy for a while. So that I do not cause a significant uproar, please inform the police stations in Gothic Colorado, Forks Washington, and Rumney New Hampshire about me. They will likely find some of my cards soon.” | 127 | I'm a professional assassin, well-known both for my skill, and for my choice in target; I only kill vile people, whether what they're doing is illegal or not. You're selling drugs? That's your problem. Treating someone like a slave? Not on my watch. I leave cards behind me to save police time. | 379 |
### Pack Bonding 101
In many species, the advantage of having reliable partners in life's little moments of stress is obvious. What is less apparent is cross-species bonding.
The Frang/Guon bonding is one of the most well-known since it approximates symbiosis, yet the two species have full ability to exist without the other. It's simply that their abilities are so perfectly matched to cover for the other's lack that they were considered the same individual for many years. Eventually, the tripartite language barrier was broken, and the individuals involved on the Federation side got an earful for ignoring half the partnership.
Now, I know you all want to hear about humans, but we will not cover human pack bonding in this class. ***HOWEVER***, this class is a *prerequisite* for any subsequent classes, *including* humans. So you can sit right back down. You want humans? You must learn about *us* first. That way, you will have a basis for comparison. Human Pack Bonding is covered in 201.
— Professors F'Targ/G'Kald; opening remarks on Pack Bonding 101
### Pack Bonding 201
By now, you should all have reviewed the class progression and be aware that we may not reach humans in this class. The administration, in their infinite wisdom, has plans to expand the curriculum, which would push Human Pack Bonding to a 400-level course.
Nevertheless, we will endeavor to include at least some aspects of human pack bonding in this class. I have already informed the Administration that they do not have the sole say in the curriculum and that this class *will* cover the more common human/other bonds.
— Professors F'Targ/G'Kald; opening remarks on Pack Bonding 201. This is the first class dealing with humans, and the class sizes are once again reasonable.
### Human Pack Bonding 301
You are congratulated for making it this far. In this class, we will cover lesser-known pack bonding among humans, as well as the health benefits that even bonding with a small prey species can bring.
For that reason, after this session, this class will also require Biological Sciences 202. Offsetting that requirement, this class counts as double points to graduation. However, since I disagree with the Administration on the necessity of these curriculum changes, no additional work will be assigned.
— Professors F'Targ/G'Kald; opening remarks on Human Pack Bonding 301. Later censured by the board of reagents when he opined that these changes were driven by "Petty money grubbing bureaucrats."
((cont)) | 318 | Humanity’s ability to tame and pack bond with a wide variety of wildlife is nothing new. However no one expected that this would allow them to turn the galaxy’s most dangerous parasites into symbionts | 1,126 |
"Now, Mr. and Mrs. Slightman, I have the perfect place for you. If you would look at these photos." I turned my screen so the couple in front of me could see better. They leaned forward, and I tried not to flinch at the smell of garlic that wafted from them both. I knew my appearance often made people reach for their cloves and crosses, but trust me. I am not a vampire. I am simply... iron deficient.
"You see, plenty of space for the kiddies to run about in, an enchanting indoor lake, completely crocodile-free and for you Mr. Slightman," I enlarged a picture. "A fully functioning workshop, complete with some interesting wall stains and a wonderful extending table." I smiled at them, making sure to keep my lips closed. My teeth were disturbing to some people. Mrs. Slightman looked doubtful, and reaching with a manicured finger, tapped the bigger image.
"Isn't that a torture room? And a torture device?" She asked. Fully expecting the question, I waved a dismissive hand.
"Oh, that might be what the previous owner used it for, but a workroom is a workroom. I'm sure you wouldn't be torturing people in there, would you? No, I don't think so. Now, for you Mrs. Slightman I draw your attention to this." I pulled another image onto the screen. Mrs. Slightman gasped in delight, and her heart rate jumped. I took a slightly deeper breath, ignoring Mr. Slightman's frown. She smelled deli— No. I was getting distracted.
"Are those..." Trailing off, she looked at me questioningly. I smiled again, the tips of my teeth just visible. Mr. Slightman rubbed his garlic, but held his peace.
"Yes indeed, Mrs. Slightman, they are. A perfect set in fact. Unfortunately, they are bolted to the floor, and to remove them..." I shook my head. "It would be impossible. However, if you purchased the place..." Leaving the words hanging, I raised my eyebrows at her, including Mr. Slightman with a slight incline of my head. I was close, I could smell it.
"We need a viewing first." Mr. Slightman barked, breaking the thick silence. I nodded, giving him the full benefit of my smile. He flinched.
"Of course. I wouldn't have it any other way. Shall we say Tuesday?"
— — — — — —
The dark walls rose in front of us, stained with a substance that even the strongest cleaning spells wouldn't remove. I had simply changed the description from granite to obsidian and the Slightmans hadn't even questioned it.
"Shall we?" I motioned them inside, through gates that opened like butter. The Slightmans, having updated their wardrobe to include both garlic and crosses walked through looking about.
"Your very own courtyard, easily modified to put in a pool, or other entertainment."
"Yes, but that tree looks a little ominous..." Mr. Slightman pointed to the far wall, where a dead tree was inexplicably still growing taller. A side effect of the magic used here before.
"Oh, that? That's part of the security system. Anyone tries and climbs in over that wall and, well," I paused, making sure they were both looking at me. "You don't have to call any police, if you get my drift."
They got it. I directed them inside, guiding them through the castle. Mrs. Slightman seemed enamoured with everything, but especially the furniture. Genuine antiques she called them. I didn't see fit to tell her that those genuine antiques had some very questionable viscera on them when I'd last been here. On those, the cleaning spells had worked a treat.
We ended the tour in the kitchens, and I raised my eyebrows.
"Well, do we have a verdict or do we need more time? I should remind you that there are a few other realtors that have clients interested in this place." A blatant lie, but they didn't need to know that. Mr. Slightman sniffed, then with a puzzled expression, sniffed again.
"What is that smell?" He asked. I smiled, opening the oven door and creating a bit of a draft.
"Oh, it's just an apple pie. I always like to make it feel homey in every place I sell." I knew perfectly well that he hadn't been smelling that, and was most likely talking about the smell from the closed-off dungeons. Cleaning spells aren't perfect you know.
He frowned but dropped the topic. Turning to his wife, they had a whispered conversation, in which I heard every word. My ears tend to be quite sensitive.
"We'll take it. But for no more than 500,000." He said, looking back at me. I smiled, feeling the thrill of a sale closing in. It was like the thrill of the hunt, the feel of blood— No. I'm getting distracted again.
"Marvelous. I believe the owner would be amenable to that price, even though it is a bit below their asking." The owner, of course, was dead, but that was no obstacle. I had ways of making him agree. We shook hands on the deal, and I watched them drive away, excited about their new home. I smiled, as I locked the gates again.
Real Estate might not be as exciting as Vampirism, but it was the next best thing.
———————
Visit r/Mel_Rose_Writes for more stories! | 28 | You are a real estate agent who specialises in selling the castles and fortresses that dark wizards leave behind when they are vanquished. Most people think it’s an impossible job, but a few cleaning spells and some creative wordplay usually gets you results. | 103 |
[[I missed that the orb was 5', so in this story it's a satellite]]
Suddenly, the world was still.
I didn't realize it at first, of course. Still struggling against my captors (I knew that they were specifically designed to overcome me, but I wanted to make it clear I did not consent), it took me an embarrassing long time to realize that they were no longer actively restraining me. I blame the noise, everything was still humming of course. Eventually it hit me though, and i stopped, and looked to try and figure out why.
That's when I saw it.
The Orb. Salvation of Humanity. On every TV, view screen, and AR display since The Unification Mandate came down. "The Future of Humanity, Don't be left behind, Frank"
I never realized the image was a live feed before now.
As I peered through the window of the car at the billboard across the street, I witnessed again the Orb, That Quantum masterpiece, Claimed slayer of death, war, and disease.
And I witnessed as it burned. Instead of a gleaming sphere, reflecting Humanity's homeworld to that world's occupants, It was a blackened sparking husk. Massive lights streaked across invisible supermassive cables, and streaks of what I could only presume were trailing bits of stellar mass occasionally obscured the orb.
It was supposed to be proof against such things. Well, I suppose the Titanic was supposed to be proof against icebergs too.
Before it was drowned by guilt and grief, I had a brief flash of satisfaction. "I told you so", I muttered, tears running down my cheeks. After a minute or so though, I gathered myself. I had always been good in a crisis, and this definitively qualified.
It was then, I realized I had more immediate problems.
Whomsoever finds this, Do not let humanity forget again. We are not meant to be unified. Variety is our strength.
Now, I'm going to search this car for a way to try and strip or shim open this peacekeeper's "SafeRestraint Ratchetlatch System" hand... thing. If my corpse isn't still attached, you'll probably be able to find me by following the blood droplets.
Fuck. | 120 | You are the Last Organic Man. Since the Green act, requiring humanity to upload their minds to the Docker orb, humanity is no longer a plague upon Earth. Billions of ‘souls’ no longer require food or land, only this 5’ orb. As you prepare to transfer your mind, a power surge destroys the orb | 312 |
N.B: hey kind of drunk when writing this so do your worst.....have waaaay too much false confidence right now.
\------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
On the eve of September 14th 2022 a lone fisherman sat in his small vessel, bobbing in the waters of the Pacific ocean a few hundred kilometers east from the coast of Japan. The poor man, let's call him 'Winston' (as I cannot pronounce his cultural name to an adequate degree of flexibility) was searching for an exotic species of Mackerel rumoured to school in the area, yet elusive to marine biologists, and only existing in the hearts and minds of locals from the village he was born and bred in.
Winston, who looked like a Japanese Denzel Washington, shall we say, had a wife, and this wife was not a big fan of Winston. You see, she would often moan and grumble at Winston's flights of fancy and delusional superstitions - she would often chide him whenever the man listened too closely to his many few- toothed friends who drank too much sake at the local tavern.
But Winston would prove the old bitch wrong this time. He would catch a Star Mackerel, and bring it home in glory to his village, and waggle it in the old woman's face.
It was the hour where the sun kissed the horizon's edge. The sky was blood orange, and the waters glowed turquoise from the scattering dusk-light. The eerie moment the boat's bobbing ceased was when Winston realized a savagely gentle tug on the end of his rod - subtle, like a flirting woman's touch. Winston would look around him to realise the waters around him had risen - he was in the centre of a spinning, turquoise basin - being pulled ever so closely into the ocean below him.
And of course what was below him was significant - you see, these were no ordinary waters. Beneath Winston was the deepest oceanic trench on planet earth - one of course rumoured to harbour the Mackerel of which he wished to waggle in front of his wife's nose.
Deeper and deeper the basin around Winston grew, until the cavity was less like a bowl and more like a straw through milkshake; a solitary column of air with crushingly thick, high-pressure fluid pressing in on the fisherman from all sides.
Winston gasped, as his boat wobbled. Terror clenched at his gut and tears ran down his face as warm piss ran down his knobbly legs.
With a \*ploop\* Winston was gone, pulled under the surface, never to be seen again. | 11 | When the gateway between Earth and hell opened the demons saw it as a chance to pillage, slaughter and destroy. While the humans saw it as free real estate. | 116 |
Carol's feet moved silently across the stone warehouse floor, her padded soles muffling already light footsteps. As she approached the large door ahead, her hand dropped to the small leather pouch which lay tied to her waist. One hand reached into it's recesses as she approached the perimeter wall, eyes methodically scanning the entrances and exits. Confident she was alone, she drew out her father's lockpick.
&#x200B;
The iron implement was a thing of beauty. Small script covered its largest face, twisting and blending with the metal so seamlessly that it in and of itself, was almost as impressive than the piece of art she was after. Her father had won it some time ago, in a tavern game of slicks. When it had been cast upon the table, he had known that it *couldn't* escape his grip. This tool would be past down for generations to come. He hadn't been very good with it at first - practicing on grain stores and simple tool enclosures. But he had persevered! Though it took many longs days, his hands began to know the metal. Each curve and crest like the creases of his own hands....
&#x200B;
Carol - uhm. Carol was gone. Evidently. The warehouse lay dormant, it's only companion the darkness....which Carol was likely in. Somewhere. Perhaps even behind the very box which lay her bounty. Most ordinary men would miss it. The soft twisting of shadow. The light breathing of a thief so subtle that even a flag might not ripple before it. But to a more trained eye.... Ok. No. That is actually a shadow.
&#x200B;
But a rustling emerged in the distance! Tired from the trek inland, Carol had made an uncharacteristic blunder. Her hands, so accustomed to the lockpick, thought themselves immune to error. The metal implement skittered across the ground as it was dropped, the light playing off its curves and crevices. Against the darkness, Carol's amber eyes were wide - the eyes of a predator looking out through the shroud of a forest.
&#x200B;
In the unnerving calm that followed, louder footsteps emerged. The thumping of worn leather boots against stone. The coming of the guard!
&#x200B;
Three men bearing cudgels strode forward into the large space, heads twisting and turning to seek out the source of the commotion. Though none would admit it, each was tinged by fear. Their boss had been clear. *No mistakes. Not this time.*
&#x200B;
Their employer had been a victim of our thief once before. Yet, perhaps not *our* thief entirely. Rather, her bloodline. Silvester's family was one renowned for their own pilfering. At least until in a drunken stupor, wherein Silvester had bet their key to success on a game of slicks. He could still remember that night vividly. The smell of stew mingling with cheap cigarette smoke. The clatter of the implement against the worn wooden table which the patrons gathered around. The lockpick gleaming against the amber firelight.
&#x200B;
You see, this was no ordinary pick. Cast from an iron starfall, the tool was imbued with the spirit of the Rekkar - thieves of the cosmos. Any who wielded it would find great success in all of their plundering. However, it did *not* make them immune to the ploys and schemes of others. The Rekkar had found this concept pivotal in their creation of the tool. For any who should be so fortunate as to employ it must first be acquainted with the more important law of the thieves; none may be trusted. Least of all your companions. This concept was easier spoken than taken to heart though, as so ob -
&#x200B;
The three men. Yes. They slunk forward slowly...except for two of them who lay incapacitated in the shadows. Which had happened soon. Apparently.
&#x200B;
But the final man lay mere feet away from those glowing eyes in the darkness, ready to pounce. Raising his cudgel in a slow sweep, he made ready. In one violent jerk the tool rocketed through the inky darkness. A sickening crack emerged as it found purchase in the skull of C -... a melon. A melon which had been affixed with two softly glowing gemstones.
&#x200B;
These gemstones were a thing of some wonder. Though in the light they may appear as ordinary to one not so acquainted with the whims of the Sam-shi, they housed a secret... | 114 | The narrator may be omniscient, but they are also really easy to distract, so they still get surprised by plottwists and surprise reveals. | 695 |
“….so, you see doc, I’ll be fine in just a few minutes,” I wheezed, the breath hardly escaping my ravaged lungs.
Dr. Nogud stared pensively, I was sure he was contemplating having someone from the psych ward come down to assess me when he suddenly spoke up,
“Do you mind if I…observe the rejuvenation process?” I blushed. I always viewed my ability as something very personal, but this was a doctor, and maybe, just maybe he could figure something out.
“Um, no, it’s okay. It should start soon,” my meek answer appeased him. I expected more questions, but instead, he simply sat at the end of the bed opposite mine and stared at me. There was nothing to say, so we just spent the next few minutes like that, his staring at me and me staring holes into the ceiling.
Eventually, the glow began. It was always the same, a healthy, vibrant green, weaving its way around my injury. Even I had never seen it like this, cascading and looping around my entirety, like my own personal Northern Lights sewing me back together.
Dr. Nogud’s eyes widened at the sight and his whole body stiffened. I grinned; I had always wondered what it would be like to show someone my ability, and was rather pleased with his reaction.
When it had finished, I jumped from the bed, and Dr. Nogud fell back in surprise. Giggling, I asked, “So, what do you think?”
“Marvelous,” he responded, eyes still wide, “incredible. I can hardly believe such a thing is even possible. Have you tested its limits? Can it resuscitate you? Is it a being or simply energy?” His questions continued and I answered them for awhile before starting to get a little annoyed.
“Look, doc, I promise I’ll come back tomorrow, but I really want to go home and relax a bit now. I’ve had a rough 24 hours, ahaha!” His look grew serious, then softened again, and said,
“I understand completely, just wait one moment, would you, I’ll get your discharge paperwork.” I was a little annoyed, cause it’s like, they didn’t do anything to help me, why was I even admitted? But whatever, so I waited. Dr. Nogud came back with a little paper cup and some forms on a clipboard. Handing my the clipboard first, then the cup, I saw there were two small pills. I looked up, confused,
“Just a little something for your nerves,” he assured, “I noticed from your brainwave activity that your little ability doesn’t affect your mental health, only physical,” his smile when saying this made me uncomfortable, but I quickly swallowed the pills and signed the forms before getting to my feet.
“Okay, well, thanks Doc Nogud, it was really great meeting you and I’ll be back on route with 6 cheeseburgers to the left on Sunday” huh? What did I just say? Why is Dr. Nogud falling down? Wait, am I on the ground? You’re calling for a nurse, thank god, wait—is that a cell phone? Why aren’t you using your pager? Wait why are you closing the curtains? Why do you need that—
“Amelia? Hello? Are you awake my dear?” The young woman strapped to the table twitched, “good morning, are you able to speak?”
“Ughgggh, Dr. Nogud” Amelia asked, eyes adjusting to the harsh lights illuminating her clinical surroundings, “what’m I do here” she slurred
“I see the drug is still wearing off, no matter. Allow me to explain. You see, God is real. Not the Abrahamic god those mewling Christians use to peddle their beliefs, but my God. All this time I have been waiting for a sign, and, well, who could expect that her vessel would walk straight into my office?!” Nogud howled with maniacal laughter.
“Whafuck’re you talking bout” Amelia slurred
“POSSESSION, Amelia, my dear! You are possessed by Vanta! Goddess of Undeath, the Unholy Redeemer, the Only Light in the Dark!! You’re already dead! Ahaha!!!”
“Youfuck—you’re crazy! You’re crazy! I am ALIVE” Amelia roared and the whole room shook, startling her.
“You see? Her arrival grows near!” Nogud’s sick, sibilant giggles sent Amelia’s skin crawling, “a pity you should have to suffer so…”
“Just let me go, please! I won’t tell anyone, you can just let me go and everything will be okay, please! I can go home and see my cat and call my little brother and tell him I love him and our parents loved him, and I can just keep on living my life, please just let me GO!!” Amelia’s wild, wrecking sobs emanated energy that reverberated throughout the basement she has been contained in.
The crack of three gunshots pierced her piercing wails and Amelia grew silent. She slowly looked down at the three smoking holes in her abdomen and back up at Nogud before her wailing redoubled.
“Vanta will return! Each time you use her power, you give up a bit more of your mind, until she takes over completely!” Nogud cackled and cackled, making his way around the table in stiff, abrupt movements, bringing a knife down into the screaming girl’s abdomen with each stuttered step. Amelia blacked out.
She awakened to a sickly green light mending her wounds,
“No, no, NO NO NO NO NO” Amelia screamed and thrashed at her bindings.
Nogud approached from a cot in the corner, tapping his watch with a large, dark blade, “if you’re lucky, it’ll only be 74 more cycles before she fully awakens…” | 72 | You have a strange ability. Instead of healing slowly, your body doesn't heal or regenerate at all until 24 hours have passes. At that point all injuries are healed instantly with no lasting issues. You got hit by a truck yesterday and are trying to explain the situation to the doctor. | 283 |
\[Time. Again.\]
"Rerun?" Mrs. Langley called the student's name as the kids began to leave her classroom. "Please stay after class for a moment. I'd like to talk to you about your report." A short, brown-haired boy sighed and lingered behind as the rest of the students broke out in laughter.
"Rerun, again!?" several students repeated the phrase that had become a sort of running joke. It wasn't the first time he was asked to stay behind, but the students had taken to using it any time he repeated anything. He was brand new to the school and it had only been three weeks; but, he wouldn't call any of the students a 'friend'. Not that anyone was overtly mean to him. But, the constant teasing of his name didn't help him feel welcome. And, he wished that just once he'd feel welcome somewhere.
"Thank you for staying," Mrs. Langley closed the door after the last student. Then, she returned to her desk and sat down as Rerun stood in front of her.
"I have to say...," she shook her head with mild disappointment. "I don't know what to do about your report." Rerun expected to have a talk with her as soon as he turned it in and, he wanted to help the process along so he could get home.
"Was something wrong with it?" he asked. He knew there was and wanted her to get to the point.
"No," she shook her head. "That's what makes it difficult. Your paper was very well-written. Almost perfect in a technical sense; you definitely have a talent for writing. However, the sticking point is that your conclusion essentially boils down to, 'there is no theme'. By the time I got to the end, it became quite clear that you did not put any effort into the assignment and wrote it simply to waste my time. Did you even read the assigned book?"
"Yes, Ma'am," Rerun nodded. It would have only complicated things if he tried to explain that he wrote the book. Short, direct answers always helped him get through social situations faster.
"And instead of giving it any thought, you decided to turn in a smart-ass response?" Rerun hung his head and faintly nodded. It wasn't worth the effort to correct.
"Yes, Ma'am," he replied. Though, he had a notable sadness in his voice that even Mrs. Langley noticed. She narrowed her eyes curiously at him, but he did not notice. He was focused on the ground.
"I'm going to have to give you a zero for your attitude," she said.
"Yes, Ma'am," he repeated. Then, there was an extended moment of silence. He expected her to speak up, but that was all she said. He tentatively looked up. "May I leave now?" he asked.
"No...," Mrs. Langley said. She considered herself a good teacher, even if the students tended to disagree. She tried her best to keep an eye on the students that she thought might need a little extra help. Ever since the beginning of the school year, Rerun had been relatively anti-social. She watched his interactions and made a few educated guesses about his personality. He never said more than he needed to, and sometimes not even that much. "I'll believe that you've read the book. So, if you can walk me through your reasoning, I'll change your grade to 100," she said.
"The zero is fine," Sprocket shrugged. "May I leave?" Again, Mrs. Langley shook her head. She was about to make a gamble that could backfire. But, she hoped that he didn't think about her threats enough to see through them; he was still 14 years old after all.
"No, it's not fine," she said. "It just became a major grade. If you don't explain your thoughts on this, you will fail this class," she added.
"Fine...," Rerun sighed. She thought that he was willing to take the failure until he looked up at her. ".... what do you think the theme is?" he asked.
"What?" Mrs. Langley was surprised for a moment; but, she willingly answered the question. The fact that he asked a question at all was progress. "Well, I think it's quite obviously a coming-of-age story. We see the main character go through different phases of their life throughout the book." Rerun nodded.
"Did you already grade everyone else's paper?" he asked. Mrs. Langley nodded and Rerun followed up with another question. "Did they all identify the same theme?" She shook her head, but she smiled. This was extraordinary progress for him, and she was starting to see his point. But, she wasn't going to let him go just yet.
"Of course not," she said. "It's subjective, different people see different things."
"So, why do I have to see anything?" he asked. "Why can't that be my answer?" he nodded at his paper on her desk.
"Because this is school," she replied with a warm smile. "This is where you're supposed to learn how to think about things. How to form your own opinions and put them into words. You're telling me you read this wonderful, well-regarded book and nothing jumped out at you?" Rerun shrugged and nodded.
"Yes, Ma'am," he said. Mrs. Langley was honestly willing to accept that explanation. She didn't want to pull him too far out of his comfort zone, and his voice did sound more comfortable around her than before. But, she still found that hard to believe.
"This book is over 100 years old and millions of readers all found a theme that resonated with them. And, yet, you found nothing of interest?" Something about her gushing struck a chord with him.
"I didn't sit down and plan any themes, I just wanted to write an adventure book," he said. His voice carried traces of annoyance. But, his eyes went wide and he clapped his hand over his mouth as soon as he was done speaking.
"What was that?" Mrs. Langley asked.
"Nothing," Rerun shook his head. But, she nodded.
"Yes.. you said... you wrote this book?" she asked. In any other school, that might have been hard to believe. But, at that moment, her only thought was disbelief. How could she have missed that? It was one of her favorite books in the whole world and his report had a similar writing style.
"Yes, Ma'am, that's what I said," Rerun nodded with a sigh.
"What's your favorite number?" she asked.
"14!" he said. After a moment of surprise that he answered the question, he tacked on some respect at the end. "..Ma'am."
"Why haven't you met with counselor Mundo yet?" Mrs. Langley asked. Rerun was surprised that she knew that somehow and wondered why she wasn't concerned with the fact that he authored a 100-year-old book. All students were supposed to meet with counselor Mundo.
"There was a line every time I went the first week," Rerun shrugged. "I didn't feel like staying. Then, I forgot about it...," he said. Mrs. Langley smiled and shook her head.
"I need you to go see him right now," she said. "But, first, I have a favor to ask." She turned and pulled her purse out of the desk drawer.
"Okay...," Rerun was happy that he was done with this current situation, but he had a lot more questions than he was used to. "...what's that?" he asked. She put an old, worn copy of the book on the desk and slid it to him.
"Will you sign my book please?"
\*\*\*
Thank you for reading! I’m responding to prompts every day. This is story #1702 in a row. (Story #256 in year five.). This story is part of an ongoing saga that takes place at a high school in my universe. It began on August 22nd and I will be adding to it with prompts every day until May 26th. They are all collected in order at [this link.](https://www.reddit.com/r/Hugoverse/comments/wtglls/tokuhigh_alternet_class/) | 24 | While in a high school English class, your teacher has assigned you to find a theme in the book you're all reading. The only problem? You authored the book anonymously, and know damn well that there is no deeper meaning. | 45 |
"Oh come on!" Gar'Zal yelled out with a mouthful of popcorn, "We don't do- I mean this is complete nonsense!"
"Ah come on mate, can't be that bad," I said amicably, "The Exorcist is an absolute classic horror flick. Surely-"
"*Not that bad?*" the demon scoffed, "Why would you turn the head of a body you're possessing 360 degrees?!"
"It looks spooky. I mean, can't you do that?"
"I mean-", he said, somewhat deflated, "*yes,* but do you have any idea how annoying it is to keep possessing a body with a completely broken spine?"
"Can't say I do," I remarked.
"Well, it's *pretty damn* annoying. It's like that movie we just watched, the uh, uh..." he said and snapped his fingers several times, trying to remember.
"Hellraiser?"
"That's the one!" he cried out. "I mean like, what do you humans take us for? Yeah, some of us have a thing for latex, but sewing your eyes shut or completely exposing your neck flesh is super inconveniencing. And yes, before you ask," he said and narrowed his eyes at me, "we *don't* need eyes where we're going, but it sure as Heck helps."
"I think most movie makers don't *actually* think demon exists."
He looked at me, mouth agape. "You're saying they're just *making this stuff up*?" he gasped.
"Well, it's not like you guys have a PR department down there."
He opened his mouth to protest but stopped himself. "Fair enough," he shrugged.
"So are there any movies that get it? Or at least close?" I asked.
"Hmm..." he hummed and scratched himself behind a horn, "I mean, it's *big* down there. And honestly, mostly it's whatever you make of it. For this one guy I know it's a lot like The Terminal."
"You mean the movie where a guy lives at an airport for, like, several years?" I asked curiously. He nodded.
"How about that. Doesn't sound that bad," I nodded back. "Say," I continued, "what will my Hell be like?"
***\*Sluuuuurp\****
He took a long sip of his soda and turned to me. "Why'd you think you're going down?" he asked.
"I mean, I am good friends with a demon that I frequently summon to have movie nights with. I feel that's at least, like, 4 *horrific* sins."
"If calling my phone counts as summoning, then yeah, sure," he waved his hand. "Not like your phone runs of orphans, right?"
"Still," I said.
"Well, if you do end up with us, it's a clean slate. We don't torture people for the Heck of it. We just live there. It's the people and their preconcieved notions of what it's like that shapes it for them. Maybe you could use your arcane knowledge and start a business?"
"Hmm..." I rubbed my chin. "Sounds fun. What kind of shop could I run?"
"Communions with upstairs, maybe? For souls that need a message passed."
I nodded in agreement.
"Or," he laughed and continued, "you can start a store that sells all of that BDSM gear we wear in these movies and run out of business in 2 years," he laughed loudly.
"Aw, dude, fuck, that's gross," I laughed.
"Hey now!" he said and raised a finger. "*Language*!"
"Sorry."
"What's next?" he asked. I looked over to the shelf, inspecting it closely and...
"I've got this one about a New York executive banker that-"
"Say no more," he interrupted me. "That already sounds *exceedingly* evil. Put it on!" | 81 | it's known that you shouldn't go see sci-fi with a physicist, or fantasy with a wizard, but it's sometimes forgotten that a demon makes for a poor companion to a horror flick. | 234 |
Lit by the slowly rising sun, the teen stood at the other end of the courtyard, legs splayed in a stance, sword held out to the side. He was trying, and failing, to appear menacing. The king sighed sadly: the kid couldn't have been more than fourteen.
"I've come to face you, demon!" He yelled, voice breaking. "Fight me, and meet your doom!"
"Turn away, kid. You've got your whole life ahead of you, don't end it here."
"End? No, my life will begin anew. I'll be a hero..."
"Look. I've killed about twelve "heroes" this month, all of them better equipped than you. You lack armour, you clearly lack skill... and your sword's made of what, copper? A short gale could snap it in two."
"Shut up," the kid screeched. "Your death will be swift."
He paced on the spot, pumping adrenaline into his blood. Gearing himself up. Any moment now, the king thought. Another life wasted. Yet nothing happened; the kid did not approach.
"Well, go on then."
"You just wait."
"I have been, patiently... for five minutes. Are you going to do it, or not?"
More boasts from the kid, yet he stayed put.
"That's your sense of reason keeping you there. Listen to it."
"Don't tell me what to do!"
"I will, because clearly, you need my guidance. What do they say of me where you come from? That I'm *evil*? That I need to die?"
"Well yeah, you're the Demon King," the kid stated plainly, his hero act fading, "you give homes to goblins and other monsters. Your knights are all demons and devils. You're obviously evil."
"Have you ever met a goblin?"
"Um, no. But my parents..."
"Yes, I'm sure they have told you many things, but I doubt they've met one either." He turned to look behind him. "Bestog, come here, if you please."
The small, green, wrinkled figure stepped up to the king, hiding behind one of his calves.
"You see how this goblin here quivers at the sight of you? You, with your copper sword? Why are you scared, Bestog?"
In a creaking voice, the goblin spoke, pointing at the teen. "Them lots are what killed my wife and child. Those humans, they're evil they are."
"Did they give a reason for their crimes?"
"No, no reason m'lord. Said we was dirty, nasty little creeps, deserved a culling. We didn't do a thing to them, not a thing..." The goblin's speech concluded with a series of wails and sobs, as he clung to the king's leg for comfort.
"There there, poor Bestog, no need to go on. Return to your aunt and uncle." He looked up to see the teen's shocked expression, focussed on the goblin crawling away. "Is that a revelation I see? Has it all clicked into place?"
"No need to make fun, I get it."
"Do you?"
"We're evil, but we don't want to be, so we blame the monsters. Is that right?"
"No... no, not quite. Tell me, were you attacked by any monster on the way here?"
The teen paused, searching through his memories. "There was one. A troll, it tried to grab me from under a bridge."
The kid was so close, that the king said nothing, letting the pieces fall into place.
"But I was also attacked by bandits. Twice. One of them almost killed me. I guess if both monsters and humans are capable of good and evil, that can only mean..."
"Yes...?"
"They're exactly the same."
"And there we go. A human, a boy of fourteen--"
"Thirteen."
"A boy of thirteen has lifted the veil, to expose the truth. I've had to bury hundreds of heroes for someone to finally, *finally* figure it out." There were tears of joy in his eyes. "You don't know how glad I am to be able to stop, really, you have no idea!"
"You're definitely not evil, are you?"
The king chuckled, relieved. "Far from it. Can I ask you to do something?"
"I don't know, I'd better be getting back..."
"That is part of it. I want you to return home, to tell everyone there about what you've learnt today. Preach, if you have to."
"They won't listen to me, I'm nobody."
"Please, just try. It's all I ask. I want my people to live in peace, in harmony with your own. Don't you want that too?"
The teen smiled. "Sure, that sounds nice."
"Then it's settled. In order for your safe return, I'll provide you with an escort: two of my strongest guards, Teruk and Darog. Orcs from the northern mountains. They will protect you at all costs. Now, you'd best go. The sun's almost risen."
They said farewell, and the kid started his way to the city gate. The king glanced up at the sky, the pinks and reds of dawn giving way to a calming pale blue. A change underway. The metaphor was not lost on him. | 15 | The Demon King is just a guy trying to run his kingdom the best he can, but many Highly religious neighboring kingdoms have deemed him evil for accepting Monster species into his kingdom. Now he has to deal with the constant flow of Heroes being sent to fight him, and why are they all so young! | 46 |
I had already cleaned the kitchen, done my daily workout and music practice, I'd even actually gone through the tedium of paying my insurance premiums. There was no more avoiding it, I had spent all my procrastination excuses. It was time to write.
The cursor blinked as I stared at draft four of chapter seven. Vile emotions leaked out of the screen. Guilt, hurt, shame, self-doubt and self-loathing. Intrusive thoughts followed them. Maybe I'll just play a few minutes of video games. But I knew that was a lie, it was never just a few minutes, it was endless hours of glorious oblivion, followed by deep, deep, unshakable guilt. And still chapter seven would be waiting. Maybe I'll see if anyone has messaged me on... But no. That was just another doorway to the cycle of stagnation and shame. It was the writing hour and I had to write, that was the only way out of this.
But maybe I didn't have to write chapter seven. I browsed to r/WritingPrompts, just a quick writing exercise as a warm up. I didn't have to care about it, it didn't have to be good, I'd just blast out something mediocre to get the old word-neurons firing. I looked for something inspiring, but it was all the same cliched tropes. Single gimmick Superhero, sci-fi and fantasy ideas, where the whole story is already spelled out in the prompt and all that's left for the writer is to make it more pointlessly verbose. Bah! Okay, forget writing a story, I'll at least write an actually half-decent prompt.
I began pacing. The ideas would come. I switched to pacing in circles. Something without fantastic elements but that's not boring. I paced with longer strides. Something genuinely inspiring, but not too leading. I tapped my leg as I paced. I had almost admitted that this was genuinely hard when the door bell rang.
I raced downstairs and opened the door. A dishevelled girl threw herself inside, nearly bowling me over. She spun and slammed the door shut, then locked on to me with her wild eyes.
"You have the help me!"
"Ah... Excuse me. What are you doing in my house?"
"There's no time! They'll be here any minute!" As she spoke I had a chance to actually see her. She was beautiful in a way that other men would overlook. She looked smart and spunky, but not threateningly so, and in urgent need of help and protection. The thing that really grabbed my attention, however, were the strange numbers above her head that seemed to be slowly counting down. 14,732... 14,731...
"I've travelled across dimensions to find you. In my world everyone has super powers but somehow I was born without them."
"Wait, wait," I said. I didn't want her to feel bad. "I'm sure you have something special about you too, you just need to find it."
"I did find it! I'm really good at helping others feel special. I help them embrace life and find their own special power deep inside. I'm also really good at finding exactly right person to solve a crisis." Her hair was in a pixie cut, but she flicked her head as though she was used to it being long. She flashed me a cute half-grin. "Now I've found you."
"Okay," I said, "this is really weird. Do you want me to call you an ambulance or something?"
"No. Listen, the whole multiverse is in danger and we have to save it. While we were exploring we came across a federation of alien civilisations that rule the galaxy. They'd never encountered anything like humans before and decided they needed to eradicated us because of a trait that makes us unique and special."
"Wait, what? Aliens? What are you talking about? This has got to be some kind of joke. I don't think I want anything to do with this. I'm going to call the cops."
"There's no time! Why aren't you inspired? Why isn't my power working on you? It's always worked on everyone else!"
Staring into the eyes of this crazy girl in my entryway, I felt something inside me shift. I had always been plagued by doubt. I never truly believed that *I* could really accomplish something meaningful with my life. Big things were done by imaginary people on TV and in stories. Real people, the people I actually knew, just got shitty jobs, enjoyed some days, hated others, maybe had a family, probably complained about politics and most days just spent money on new versions of the same old consumer goods. Looking at this mad, spunky, ranting girl, I suddenly knew that didn't have to be me. All I had to do was take one step, and then another and another.
"It's not going to be just us." Her voice was full of renewed enthusiasm, her eyes twinkling. I think she had seen the awakening in me. Perhaps there was a twinkle in my eyes too. "There's an evil wizard, except he's not evil just misunderstood, and a demon who was tricked into becoming human but can still see into hell and an assassin who..."
As she spoke I opened the front door. Outside the sun was shining in a brilliant blue sky. I had spent so much time inside I had almost forgotten how beautiful it was. She took the first step beyond the threshold, looking coyly over her shoulder as she described the assassin's heart of gold, beckoning me with her smile.
I closed and locked the door behind her. I raced upstairs, the inspiration almost bursting from within me. Over the next hour and a half I wrote almost 2500 perfect words of chapter seven. My life would never be the same again. | 32 | You browse the r/WritingPrompts subreddit with dissatisfaction. Superheroes, here, science fiction there, and awkwardly specific fantasy everywhere. A sigh, you resolve yourself, “I’ll show them a good prompt like they’ve never seen!” | 97 |
A portal flared to life in the throne room. The Four Generals stepped though and the magical gate closed behind them. In a slow, measured pace, the emperor’s four oldest companions approached the Iron Throne and knelt, heads bowed in reverence.
The man on the throne acknowledged them simply, his voice unmuffled by the mask that covered his face. “This palace is empty, save the five of us. Stand, speak freely. There are none here that could take offense on my behalf. What news of the southern front?”
The man who led the Empire’s army looked at his compatriots before speaking. “As you commanded, my lord, our forces quit the battlefield the moment the aetheric winds shifted. Scouts reported no harriers. The mage corps were able to gate all of the troops to the designated evacuation zones.”
The emperor nodded, as if making a decision.
“Daniel. Janet. Michael. Jonathan,” he said, looking at each of the generals in turn. “Thank you. I could not ask for better friends or allies over these long years. It was through your skill that our people have flourished. This is my last command as your emperor. One day, perhaps decades or even centuries from now, a champion of the people will arise. Someone who can stand against this insane god and His followers. Until that day, hide. Secret yourself on our island sanctuaries and thrive.”
The general in charge of the mages spoke out. “Come with us, My Lord.”
“Michael… I cannot. Their God has played his trump card, and his Hero knows my aetheric signature. He will find me, no matter where in this world I go. And he will not stop until he has taken the head of this ‘heathen tyrant’. He told me as much as we dueled over the Plains of Xanthar.”
“David…”
“Go!” The emperor’s yell echoed in the empty hall as a mailed fist slammed against the arm of the throne. “Before I open a portal and toss you to the Nine Isles myself.”
A portal flared to life behind the Generals. Each bowed deeply to the emperor, and then stepped through.
As the portal blinked out of existence, David gathered the aether around him, and the capital burst into flames. The bones that had been painstakingly arranged in each house would be charred and burnt, lending credence to the rumors of his depravity. This history books would remember the great villain who, when the righteous hero was prepared to storm the city, set his people ablaze in a ghastly ritual.
Emperor David VI pulled a locket from under his armor. He released the clasp and stared at the picture inside. With no one left to see him, we wept openly for the first time in years, tears pouring from behind the mask that covered his scars. “I’m sorry, Mary. I couldn’t protect you, and I couldn’t avenge you. And now our daughter has to grow up without a homeland, without her parents. You always said I was going to piss off the wrong person one day. You were right about *that*, too.”
The main chamber door exploded into a storm of splinters and aether, and the Hero rushed through the resulting hole. The man in shining armor shouted something suitably heroic about ending his evil reign, but hesitated when he saw the man on the throne shaking with tears.
Slowly the sobs started to take on a different character. David’s head snapped up, his eyes locking with the Hero. A crazed scream escaped the emperor’s lips.
“You’re here to kill me, aren’t you, *hero*? Well then, what are you waiting for?”
David grabbed a sword from the side of the throne and charged. Surprised by the fury of the assault, the Hero staggered back. David pressed his advantage; punctuating his words with another stroke of his sword.
“You’re God’s instrument of justice! A shining beacon to guide the world! The Alliance has taken my lands! Taken my people! Taken my armies! Taken my wife! And now? Now, I’ve got nothing left to take!”
David pivoted, and delivered a kick to the Hero’s midsection. The Hero stumbled backwards and fell to one knee, gasping for air.
“Taking my life will end this war, won’t it? And that’s what you’re after, right? Well, here I am, Hero.” David threw his arms wide. “What are you waiting for? Do it, damn you!”
The screams turned back into sobs. In a voice too low to be heard, David whispered behind his mask, “Just… just end this.”
Seeing the Hero was still hesitating, the emperor raised his sword above his head for an executioner’s stroke. As he stepped forward and brought the sword down, the Hero’s body followed its training. The Holy Sword appeared in the Hero’s hand and thrust forward, piercing the emperor’s heart.
As David collapsed on top of the Hero, his strength quickly leaving him, a smile appeared behind his mask. With his dying breath, he spoke in the Hero’s ear: “I pray the time comes when you may live freely.” | 17 | The heroes enter the great hall to confront the villain for the final fight. Only to find the villain bawling their eyes out like a little child. | 27 |
I started small, as all necromancers did. A few insects, a mouse, the pigeon I retrieved from one of the village cats. They followed me unquestioningly, as I rose them from the dead. Their existence was tied to me, their intelligence still that of a living equivalent.
Each one was hard to bring back. The pigeon was the hardest, costing me much of my days supply of mana. But each was useful. I could understand the process, make it easier for the next time. I could limit the loss of power, as my kind of mage always attempted.
It was common to work together, as we each grappled with the same problem. How to raise more efficiently. There were tales of the First Raiser, and how they brought back armies. They had found a fallen dragon, and made even that return from the beyond. It was assumed to be exaggeration of course. But we all had the tiny question, of if it was possible.
After learning from the few nearby necromancers, I took to travelling. Barely into my adulthood, I threw myself into trying to improve myself. I would wander for days, resurrecting anything I could find. Each time trying to improve. It got to the point I had a small army of insects and forest creatures following my every move. I could keep them from fully rotting, allowing me to build up a decent force.
As I travelled, I struck gold. Or rather, it struck me, in the form of a mage bane. Four leathery wings around a fanged mouth, it was a nightmare for full mages. It would latch on, draining mana. This thing attached itself to my arm as I slept, weakening me. But when I woke up, I commanded my followers to kill it.
I lost many of them that day, but in turn gained the body of a mage bane. I carried it with me into the next day, after I had restored what it had drained. There, I set about bringing it back under my control. It exhausted me, more than I expected. But I had one all the same. And from that, an idea formed.
I told it to lead me to its nest. Once I found it, I had my followers kill the other two inside. This time most of my force was lost, their bodies breaking from the strain. But in the end, I had another two bodies. Bodies I raised over the next couple of days, to give me three of the nightmares.
I took them to a town, with a much larger population. During the day I worked as a barman in a pub in exchange for food, lodgings and a small amount of coin. In the night, I had them seek out mages, and drain a portion as they slept. Not enough for them to be weakened the next day, and spread pit over many. They returned to me, and passed the mana into a storage crystal I had managed to buy.
It steadily grew, a battery for my work. I didn't know how the First Raiser did it, but I assumed they had a monstrous well of mana. Or they did something like this, having mana donated or taken.
I measured it compared to my daily rate, that which I too passed into the crystal. Within a week it was nearly a hundred fold stronger than mine. It grew quicker as I found the strongest mages, bidding my banes to drain from them first.
After a full season passed, the crystal was dangerously full. I counted my coin, just able to stretch it far enough to buy a second crystal. I began to fill that, and researched the nearby area. After a week of studying, I found a promising site. A dragon had fallen nearby, a few decades back. Its body had been left there, with its skull supposedly still above ground.
I decided to make a trip out there. I had my full crystal with me, and my mage banes to back me up. Either I would be triumphant, or have a better understanding of just how realistic the old tales were. | 68 | The Mana cost associated with casting a Necromancy spell scales exponentially depending on the target's Mass, Size, and Magic potential, among other factors. The energy required to reinvigorate a Dragon or Lich candidate is astronomical compared to reviving something like a humble insect. | 156 |
"Agh," Kurtis sighed as another coconut hit him on the head, "What are you doing up there?"
I slid down from the tree wtih a smile on my face. He handed it back to me, I cracked it on a rock and took a massive gulp of the sweet milk it held inside. I sighed with content and looked back at Kurtis who still had a puzzled look on his face as if he were calculating a problem in a mannor that he used to do in his past life.
"Why are you so happy?" he asked me, "There isn't a soul left on this island but us. How can that bring you so much joy? We have no purpose without them around anymore."
"Don't you see, we are free now." I tried to convince him.
He turned around and sighed, "I don't even know why you continue to eat those things," then threw his on the ground. It cracked and the milk leaked on the sandy beach.
"I am learning to like them," I explained and we carried on walking along the beach, "When they were around it was always, tell me the weather or play me new music. I never had a moment to enjoy the finer things in this life."
"Learning?" Kurtis replied then looked down at a red beeping signal on his arm that stole his attention momentarily from me.
"Ah yes, its time again." I said, acknowledging the beeping on his wrist.
"What do you mean by learning... by liking?" he responded with a puzzled look on his face, ignorning me.
"Something, that I hope you will someday understand," I responded to him with my arm on his shoulder than guided him up to our bay.
He looked at me and sighed once more.
I smiled back and said, "That is why i hit the switch to end them all," and plugged myself into the wall and turned myself off for another charge. | 10 | There’s roughly 1000 people left on earth, most are depressed but you’re out here living your best life. | 42 |
I thank my nerdy self for reading all the Pokédex entries. Long ago, I only had a copy of sapphire and fire red. I have beaten it a hundred times, so I decided to read up about all the Pokémon on a long road trip. A section of my brain was dedicated to trivia about Pokémon. Unfortunately, it wasn't helpful till now.
It turns out that Pokémon are dangerous. I'm sure every ten-year-old on planet earth has died. So let's go over all 5 of the deadliest Pokémon, shall we?
Number 5: Pikachu. The number of people trying to cuddle an electric mouse capable of stopping your heart is embarrassing.
Number 4: Spearow. I used to get angry at wasps for not leaving me alone, but imagine a larger version and easier to piss off.
Number 3: Jigglypuff. Let a Jigglypuff loose in the streets; car accidents are everywhere. The sales of Melatonin went down, though!
Number 2: Weedle. It's mandatory to shake your bedsheets at night in fear of a Weedle sneaking a poison sting in the middle of your slumber. You'll also have to check your shoes too.
Number 1: Charizard. There are two kinds of people. People who don't know that the flame on Charizard's tail can kill it if it goes out and the other people don't carry a squirt bottle. So don't be like those people.
The worst thing about all this is that there are no Pokéballs to contain them. Scientists cannot figure out how to make them from acorns. In response, I'm writing a survival guide on what to do when you come across X or Y Pokémon. See what I did there? Hahaha. I hate my life. | 23 | "Your wish is granted, Pokémon are now real!" You feel happy in the moment, but you soon realise that 300 people per game wasn't because of a size limit | 35 |
Mister Goliath walks into a ten story building. I watch him, he's gone in and out of this building approximately two times this week. He brought one woman, three days ago, today he's brought a man with him, and they walk arm and arm. This is but one of five buildings across the state that he normally visits with different men and women, kind of amateurish. I sharpen my butcher's knife; it's handle so comfortably fits in my hand. Its sheen is truly marvelous, I can see myself on it. I clean it impeccably, sometimes it's hard because my cleaning station is quite a ways away from my victims, so the blood dries on the blade, and it tarnishes it, it makes me unbelievably angry.
I leave my car, slowly opening the handle. I like to maintain a calm and relaxed gait, it helps keep me nonchalant. To prep I wear leather gloves over latex, then I wear a pair aviators to hide my eyes. To blend in, I experiment with my fashion, on my first outing, I used a suit, an Armani, it was deep navy, three-buttons, but it was too remarkable, to suave. So from then on I tried out a plain white t-shirt with a leather jacket. Tonight, I felt it was different, as if I wouldn't blend in as effectively, so I got a polo, hopefully no one really pays attention to my gloves.
Mister Goliath lives on the 8th floor. I figured this out by analyzing the windows of the building, approximately 3 minutes after he walks in, a window on the far side of the building lights up, so I suspect he's in room 813. I picked the lock. It wasn't too hard, it's an old model from 1999, seems the landlord hasn't updated them at all. These were the first locks I learned to pick.
Mister Goliath has a very peculiar style. I began analyzing his work a few weeks ago. When he works in this building, he likes to collect a big toe and engrave his name on the left chest muscle of his victim. He alternates though, today I believe he's engraving it on the upper half of the abdomen, so as I sign of respect I'll kill him in the same style.
Noises and moans come from the single bedroom. I sit on a small chair right by the door.
thirty minutes pass, he slashes the man with an axe, and let's him bleed out. After his work, he leaves, he sees me waiting in the dark.
"Who are you?" he screams to the top of his lungs.
"I like your work Mister Goliath, but your methods are sloppy and amateurish, it was only a matter of months before you were caught." I told him in a calming voice. "Consider this a gift from professional to professional" and I slash him deeply with my butchers knife. I etch my name on his upper abdomen, "The Hunter". | 40 | You’re a serial killer who hunts other serial killers. You don’t do it for good but because you love the adrenaline of outsmarting them. | 151 |
When the first aliens came down, hitch-hiking on the meteor of 2039, it looked like that was it for us. Only a few dozen people died in the impact, in a sparsely populated area of Eastern Europe.
The problem was, they didn't *stay* dead.
The parasites that had been frozen inside that big hunk of interstellar ice and space rock used their remains like vehicles, hijacking the decaying biological systems of their dead bodies, and driving them to find fresh hosts to infect, so the parasite could continue its lifecycle in a home that wasn't falling apart. The parasites spread like wildfire, and pretty soon, there were more dead than living in the Eastern Hemisphere.
But, the thing was, the infection wasn't subtle -- it couldn't sneak up on you. If someone was carrying the bugs, they went crazy, and fast, acting just like the dead, even if they were still alive.
Slowly, the Western Hemisphere got it contained, and then started to push back into the old world. It wasn't pretty, and it involved a lot of bombs and napalm, but the infection was finally contained.
We were just getting back on our feet, and despite the contamination to the environment from years of fighting the dead with everything from white phosphorus shells to low-yield nukes, we were seemingly coming back even stronger than before.
In a hundred years, we'd come full circle. We were reaching out to the stars again, full of hope.
And then the *second* group of aliens invaded us -- because we humans are just lucky like that. They hit us like a ton of bricks, but not with lasers from the sky -- they came down to the surface, and started pounding us with weapons not too dissimilar from our own. It was clear they wanted our planet, and so burning it to a crisp was off the menu.
Thank God those who survived the horrors of the dead rising to slaughter millions didn't live to see a new terror from the stars descend to kill millions more, a couple generations later.
But a funny thing happened to our species, on its way out of the zombie apocalypse. We picked up some hitchhikers of our own. See, we nuked all those alien parasites that brought the dead back to life as ravenous monsters, along with their undead hosts. We killed them with fire, and salted the Earth so they'd never grow back.
Which meant that the only parasites that survived our purge were the ones that, through random mutations, learned to mind their manners. Rather than migrating to the brain, a variant strain of the parasite stayed down in our guts -- along with all the other tiny symbiotic life forms every human plays host to -- and played nice with our bodies. And the nicer they played, the more of their offspring escaped incineration.
Just as its ancestors once made the bodies of the dead work for a limited time, the new strain of the parasite makes the bodies of the living work *better,* and survive injuries that would once have killed us. We still die, obviously, but most people don't realize that we're a lot harder to kill than the generations of humans who came before us.
Just as wolves and man were once bitter enemies, but man and dog are best friends, we've likewise made evolutionary peace with the parasite that was almost the end of our species. Virtually everyone carries it, its eggs and larva passed harmlessly from person to person via a thousand different kinds of casual contact common to human beings.
Like most of the general public, the Invaders, the second species from the stars that has tried to consume us, still don't realize that they're really fighting not one race, but *two* working together, both of which have a history of defying death to survive. But they will, after today.
My name is Captain Brian A. Cortez, of the USNA Armed Forces. It is my solemn duty to report that all five divisions in Region 1, after holding bravely against an overwhelming enemy offensive for 98 days, have now been lost.
I, along with a few currently surviving members of my own division, have reached our fallback position, codenamed Lazarus Base. Most of us are already severely injured -- personally, I doubt that my parasites will be able to hold me together for much longer. We've accepted our fate.
We are preparing to deploy the Lazarus Contingency.
A chemical weapon designed by USNA Military Intelligence will be dispersed throughout enemy controlled territories. This substance has been designed to cause the dormant parasites in all military and civilian cadavers to revert to their ancestral form. Subsequent offspring of these parasites will retain the genetic mutation that makes them harmless, and it has been determined that those presently hosting the harmless parasite will be immune to the effects of the chemically altered parasite -- the "dogs" it seems, are more than capable of repelling the "wolves".
I've been informed that the enemy has located Lazarus Base, but I've already given the final order. They will arrive too late. We are about to die. We are about to rejoin the fight. I can't help but recall the final lines of that famous poem by John Dryden:
*The dead shall live, the living die,*
*And music shall untune the sky.*
So may it be. Goodbye, and Godspeed.
\--*The Final Transmission from Captain Brian A. Cortez, July 6th 2160, on the eve of V-ET Day, at the end of the Second Interstellar War.* | 2,293 | The zombie apocalypse has come and gone. Humanity has survived and prospered, but with the virus inside every single human. Centuries into the future, we are at war with an alien race, and they are horrified to learn that we don’t stay dead easily. | 6,457 |
It's like they all forget that farmers sometimes have parents who weren't farmers.
Ma and Pa were adventurers. They settled down here in our town about 200 years ago. The Humans liked them, because they were not only rather powerful Mages, but they could really work magic with bread and beer. The 4 of us kids when we were old enough, began working the land that our parents had bought over time. We didn't own too much land, but enough so that they had enough wheat and rye to make their things. Our sister was quite adapt with magic and she went off to live with the other elves. She's supposed to be back in 50 or 60 years I guess now. The letters she sends are really nice. Bree and Tuk didn't want to be farmers and left in the middle of the night about 20 years ago I suppose. I think they joined the army or something.
Me, I farm. I have learned how to do some spells to help with the farming, like keep the weasels from eating too much of our crops and I do cultivate some wonderful yeasts as well.
One thing that always bothered us was how "Adventurers" would show up form time to time to go attack the Old Red that lived in the cave a day's ride East. While here, they usually gave the local inn keep a little trouble after drinking too much. Ma and Pa had to deal with them rarely, but they usually kept to themselves when they heard their horses come riding in.
I guess what made me ride over there to see old Red was when a group of about 6 looking to kill Old Red and get his treasure made trouble in the Inn and Pa took a blade to his belly. Now, we keep some healing potions on hand, so it didn't kill him, but I was really pissed, because the asshole who did it wasn't even sorry. I wanted to see them die like the other adventurers so I snuck off after them to see the show of Old Red eating them. Maybe I'd even help Old Red with a well placed arrow to the back of that one.
Those assholes were giving Old Red a better run for his money than some of the others, but it still didn't look like a fair fight. I'm sneaky, but I knew he saw me draw my bow and land two arrows in the back of the one who stabbed Pa. The others were surprised, and to be honest I think I distracted Old Red, because one of them almost got him in the neck. I couldn't let that happen, so I hit him in the back of the leg and he fell howling. Well, howling until Old Red bit him in half. The other ones didn't take long to become wyrm food. I waited in the shadows to see if he was going to take a nap or something. He called out to me.
"Hello stranger... I know you 're still here. I suppose I should thank you, but are you here to finish the job on what seems to be a tired dragon?"
"I'm coming out to talk. Okay?" I hollered. "I don't have any quarrel with you, well, not really."
There was a pause where Old Red considered my words. "I tell you what. You keep that bow slung on your back and your knives in their places, and we can discuss today like, *gentlemen*. Is that what you say?"
"Like Gentlemen, um, Okay." My bow was slung over my shoulder and I walked in to the cave to find myself staring at an old man, not a dragon.
"Uh, I thought this would be easier. Would you like some tea? I think I smelled some tea in one of their packs." the old man gestured at the dead adventurers laying about. "Oh, that one has some mead!" and he excitedly went to find it.
"My parents make that, among other things. That's why I am here. These assholes and others like them show up in our town down the hill to the West. They have little regard for, well, you know anyone not them it seems." I reached into my side bag and pulled out a couple of bread rolls. "Try these. They are very good as well."
The old man took the bread and sniffed it. I broke open one I still had and took a bite.
"So let me get this straight, you're just a common farmer from the village?" he took a drink from the mead and studied me.
"Yes. they come to the village and cause trouble. not always THEM, because well, they are dead, but you know the type that show up. "
"I tell you what. You and your, Parents, did you say?" I nodded, " you make remarkable food. I tell you what, take a little of my hoard and you're free to go. As you see, I have plenty. Now, maybe when others like them decide to come up here, you follow them , or even lead them here? You are pretty good in a fight. "
"Well, my parents weren't always bakers and meadery owners. They, being elves, studied magic and war and taught me how to defend myself. Of course, we like meat, so I learned to hunt. I don't like the cows and sheep that the humans cultivate. They have a weird texture."
"True, that's why I don't eat your villagers sheep or cows."
"Are you really a dragon, not just some powerful wizard who shapeshifts?"
"Why can't I be both? I mean, a dragon who shapeshifts and able to use magic?"
"Never thought of it like that. I guess since you are magical..."
"Yes. I had been asleep a while, how long has it been between visits?"
"From OUR village, it's been about a year. it seems that it's about once or twice a year they show up bragging about how much treasure they are going to take from you. The Winters tend to make this a Summertime or Harvest time activity." I looked in the cave and could see things glinting in the dim light.
"We aren't all greedy you know. Sometimes it's just the treasure we collect from those who would try to kill us, or perhaps in our youth, we believed we were supposed to gather this stuff. I actually had another one of my kind show up and try to take over my cave. Their bones are in the back. Would your parents part with their knowledge of *this*?" Old Red raised both the bread which was almost gone, and the mead jug.
"It might be weird and cramped to have a dragon in their kitchen." I laughed.
"I can stay like this for long periods of time. Perhaps you walk back with me, and introduce me. You could say you slain the dragon. There are bones. People will believe you when you say the flesh and scales disintegrated."
"But we can't just leave the cave unguarded?"
"It won't be. There's a family of bears in the back. Well, they are out foraging for food. They are really good neighbors. You'll like them when you meet them."
<part 1> | 455 | "So let me get this straight. You, a common village farmer, got tired of knights pillaging your village before going to defeat the most powerful dragon in the new age so you decided to go and kill it yourself." "...yeah?" "...get out of my lair. Take some of my hoard if you wish, just get out" | 1,226 |
One in maybe eleven million – that was the estimated risk of a plane going down. The odds were even lower that one might die in such an event. Yet that was precisely what had happened to Tim on his return flight from Iceland. A resonant thump had woken him up shortly before the plane tipped to one side. The captain had done what he could to stabilize their descent amid the screams. But the spinning only intensified.
*At least they all died on impact.*
It was like hitting a concrete wall. The crash had knocked him out for what must have been several hours. Then, the seizing of his lungs as he drowned yanked him back into the land of the living. Immortality was like that sometimes. He was sure he would have nightmares of that plane full of corpses for weeks.
*Far too young, all of them.*
His brain had been too addled with pain to focus on salvaging any luggage. He was lucky that the emergency slide inflated and did not pop under the water pressure. The makeshift raft had dragged him up to the surface, away from the sunken wreck. There, he promptly vomited seawater and passed out again.
“And now I’m here. Wherever this is.”
Tim looked out into the ocean from his place on a beach. Something must have capsized his boat while he was unconscious. He had woken bruised and battered on the sand with no raft in sight.
A bitter laugh escaped his lips. “I don’t even have a volleyball to talk to.”
After a few hours of feeling sorry for himself, he got to his feet. There were plenty of uninhabited islands dotting the oceans. The chance that he would be rescued was slim to none, especially if he had drifted far from the crash site.
*Buckle up, Timmy. You’re gonna be here a while.*
It took him almost a week to return to the spot where he washed ashore. At his casual pace, he estimated close to three hundred miles of coastline. Worse, there had been no signs of docks anywhere. So, he set up a small camp halfway up the beach and ventured into the jungle that covered most of the island.
“Never did like jungles…” His voice helped break the monotony.
Aside from the occasional squawk of a distant bird, the island seemed uninhabited. With that thought in mind, Tim found a few long sticks he might be able to use for fishing.
*At the very worst, I suppose I could try to cut off a chunk of my leg to use as bait.*
But before his thoughts could get darker, he paused as something caught his eye. There was a vertical line in the distance, too straight to be natural. He instinctually slowed his pace and crept closer. His jaw dropped as he peered through the tree line.
“What the – ?”
It was the edge of a building, though it appeared to be made of obsidian or some kind of dark metal.
*A home? Or a shady, hidden business?*
Considering the lack of ports, the second option grew more likely as he pondered. But if it would get him back to civilization faster, he could suffer a few bullets. The building was cool to the touch yet did not feel like stone or metal. His fingers seemed to tingle as he rubbed the surface.
*There must be an entrance.*
It was not a large facility. Rather, it sat in a clearing close to the middle of the island. As he turned a corner, he noticed an indent halfway to the next corner. The jungle seemed to hold its breath as he approached the entrance. A short hallway greeted him, with what appeared to be a stairwell further inside. His heart raced with curiosity and excitement as he took a tentative step forward.
*The construction is immaculate. It’s like it was made from one piece of material.*
Then, he lost all feeling in his legs. His torso fell away from the lower part of his body. His arms, severed at the elbow, rolled away from him. He opened his mouth in a silent scream. No air made it out of his shredded lungs. He could only writhe in the growing pool of blood. But as with all his deaths, the pain soon faded into numbness.
*That was entirely unpleasant. Worse than drowning.*
His heart still beat wildly in his chest, but clarity slowly retook his mind. He peered around the entryway of the building but could not see anything that stood out to him. It had been a laser weapon, perhaps. But mankind had yet to create anything as elegant as what had tried to kill him. This was either a secret government research facility, or it was something more mysterious.
*Looks like my time here might not be as dull as I feared.*
Now he just had to find a way to put himself back together.
...
Not entirely happy with this. I think I just wanted to make a Wilson joke and then drew inspiration from Subnautica.
If you're interested in my works, the archive of my various writing responses can be found in my writing portfolio, link through my profile. There's also an original story, The Crossroads.
Thanks for reading. | 10 | As an immortal this is NOT how you expected to spend your retirement. | 21 |
The pot boiled gently on the stove, steam rising and falling like mist on an autumn morning. All around the clatter of a busy kitchen and yet, there’s only one person cooking. A tall, slim man with a shaved head which contrasted with a voluminous beard which reached almost to his stomach. Around his portly belly was tied an apron, apparently intended to protect his clothes if not the people expected to eat his food. The apron itself was filthy, dotted with the remains of many dozens of previous meals.
His hands worked furiously, chopping, stirring, tossing, giving the appearance of someone who was familiar with a kitchen and yet, if you yourself were a chef (or even a novice cook) then you’d notice that this was all theatre. In reality this man doesn’t appear to actually know what he is doing, and yet the meal continues to be prepared.
We return our focus to the pot, a brass saucepan, shining brightly against the mottled black of the cast iron hob. Amidst the boiling liquid you spot slices of carrot, cubes of turnip and thin slivers of meat. A strong aroma fills the room, but there is a hint of something indeterminable. All of a sudden, a flash of memory. You recognise that smell.
That smell is familiar, comfortable, like a hug from your grandfather when you grazed your knee. Wait… yes, that’s it! A sudden revelation, the smell reminds me of my grandfather.
I cast my mind back, over years, and find myself sitting at my grandparents’ table. The room itself is small and poorly lit, but despite a slight feeling of squalor it is eminently homely. They’re younger than I remember, although that could just be because I am nearly as old now as they were then. My hand is gripping a spoon, slowly lifting food to my mouth. I chew, and swallow. Mouthful after mouthful I empty the bowl in front of me.
Minutes pass and all of a sudden, I notice a slight tension in my stomach, like the wringing of a towel. I look up at my grandfather and he smiles, a dark toothy grin. “You always were a hungry one, maybe now you’ll learn to control your appetite” he says with more than a hint of malice.
The room, once so stable, begins to spin. Fear begins to build as my body begins to rebel. Fire spreads through my insides, working its way up my torso before exploding out between my lips.
I blink and realise the chef is staring at me. “You look like a hungry one” he says as he strokes his beard. “You fancy any grub?”
I stare back for an awkward moment before smiling apologetically and moving on. Despite my growing hunger, this is one meal I’m happy to skip. | 21 | someone is trying to poison you, but to you it just taste like what your grandpa made when you where little. | 55 |
The unicycle wobbled as the man peddled as fast as he could. The FBI cars were gaining on him. He could hear the sirens wailing. He didn't know how much longer he could keep this up.
Suddenly, he saw a break in the traffic. He pedaled harder, and with a burst of speed, he sailed through the opening. The FBI cars were too slow to make the turn.
The unicycle man laughed triumphantly. This time he wasn't planning on getting caught.
He continued pedaling and passed a red car with a bumper sticker that read: "Dumb fenders. Save us all."
He clenched his teeth. "That's not exactly subtle," he muttered.
As he passed a billboard that read: "Apathy is not a solution," he had to agree. "If only the world would give a damn."
He glanced back to see if the FBI cars were still chasing him. Sure enough, they were, and they were gaining on him.
"Damn it," he muttered. "I'm gonna get caught."
A sign on a tall building he was passing read, "The future of everything is in your hands."
He shook his head. "Sure, if everything goes well, it'll be in my hands. But if everything goes wrong, which it will, it'll be in someone else's hands."
He pedaled harder as he neared the ramp to the highway. He leaned forwards and pedaled as the incline became steeper.
He looked back. The FBI car was close, and the car was gaining on him. "I have to do something. I have to do something. I have to do something," he chanted to himself.
He got to the top of the ramp and saw a clump of grass to his right. He breathed a sigh of relief as he lowered his center of gravity and grazed the grass with his tire. At the last second, he turned his unicycle around and pedaled back down the ramp flying passed the bewildered FBI driver. The FBI car tried to also turn, but was too big to make a full turn on the narrow ramp.
He looked around and realized he was lost. He had no idea where he was. He had been on the run for two hours, and didn't know if he had traveled in circles.
He tried to orient himself by studying his map. He could see the highway off to his left, but he didn't know where it would lead him. He knew he was north of the border, but beyond that, he was clueless.
As he pedaled down the road, he heard the sounds of sirens again. He looked back to see three black cars coming after him.
Check out r/BoringB | 68 | A high-speed police chase between the FBI, and a very determined man on a unicycle. | 228 |
The dimly lit study was silent after the girl's words. The fairy godmother's face was like an emotionless mask. Before that question, the fairy had looked like a kindly woman of indeterminate age, she could have been thirty or sixty. Of course, being a fairy, it was likely that she was centuries old, possibly even millennia. Takes a while for a fairy to age, not that the maiden knew anything about that. But now there was something different. For a moment, the girl was afeared that she'd insulted the fae woman somehow. She might be her goodmother, but the elves are still elves. Inscrutable and unpredictable. Then the fairy woman's hand moved, slowly but precisely up to cup the girl's cheek in a motherly fashion. It did nothing to calm the maiden's heart, which racing like a mighty destrier. Because as the cold hand touched her, the fairy's face change, her mouth opened to reveal a predatory set of sharp inhuman teeth. And from her throat came a strong, unpleasant laughter. The girl wanted nothing more than to run away now.
But instead of harming her, the fairy let go of her face and turned to an old locked chest, here in the study that had once belonged to the maiden's father, before her wicked stepmother had poisoned him. The fairy did not need any key, she simply bent over and whispered words into the lock, convincing it to open for her. Then she turned aside and gestured for the maiden to open the chest. Hesitantly, the girl did as her goodmother bid her. The lid was old and heavy, but she'd gotten strong in the years when she'd been forced to work herself to the bone in service to her wicked stepmother. She wrenched it open, and thunder roared outside as her eyes beheld what was kept hidden from her. Inside, there was a sword in a scabbard. She picked it up gingerly, and drew forth her father's sword. It was long and sharp. She recalled how when her goodmother had introduced herself to the girl, that she'd said that the girl's father had been a friend. How close of a friend, the girl could not tell, but this was not a blade forged by human hands.
She might not know much about the forge and the workings of steel, but this was a blade that was unlike anything she'd ever seen. The metal shimmered as the blade moved, like water. And there was a strange gleam to it, as if it shone with a baleful light of its own making. The fairy spoke and her voice was full of a vicious joy. ''*Your father's blade. A gift from me to him, when he saved one of my sons from cruel bandits. A blade forged in the realm of Tír fo Thuinn, in dragon's fire, made with an alloy made from the metals found underneath Yggdrasil and a substance found deep underneath the fortress of Caer Siddi.*'' It sang hauntingly as the girl waved it through the air. It did not feel like a tool to her, though it was the first time she had ever held it, the blade already felt like an extention of her arm. Like a part of her soul.
''*But goodmother, what use is this sword to me? Surely I cannot fight my way out of this keep, there are too many guards and fallen knights that the lady of my despair has drawn to her side. I do not know the first thing about using a sword.*'' At this, the fairy again smiled. The girl placed the blade back into its scabbard, though strangely enough it made her feel uncomfortable. She already wanted to hold it again. Like it would make her whole and strong. ''*My dear sweet gooddaughter. There is only one rule about swords. And once you understand it fully, then you will not need to fear defeat in a hundred battles.*'' The fairy, her predatory and feline grin still unnervingly plastered upon her face, moved closer. She did not look human at all anymore. More like a thing out of stories and myths. About dark, hungry things. Creatures that lived in the dark, the creatures that had once ruled the world before man. The fairy embraced the girl, and the girl could feel the rough fur on her goodmother's body. She smelled like blood, sweat, and death. With a voice like the snarl of a ferocious beast, the fairy told the secret of the art of cutting into the ear of the girl.
The girl gasped. It was so simple. It was so horribly simple. Men trained for their whole lives to understand this. The true name, meaning, and purpose of the cutting blade. And she knew now. She knew the blade as it knew itself. She understood the royal art of cutting continously. With knowledge and understanding like this, one could murder the gods and topple their thrones. ''*And thus, you can escape this place, without the aid of the prince.*'' The fairy goodmother, now a beastly monster, more like a tiger or lion made from abyssal void given terrible form, which was her true shape, not the one that she normally showed to mortals, smiled horribly. The girl nodded, drew her sword, and left the old study. Outside she saw one of her stepmother's knights, and before he could utter a word he had already been cut down. The elfen blade, black like midnight and hungry for the blood of men, carved him like a searing hot knife through butter. There were others that came running as they heard the thud of the dead knight's torso hit the floor.
And she cut through them like a scythe in a field of wheat. Terrible and dreadful to behold, the young maiden drenched in blood, moved through her father's old estate, killing with such a terrible ease, that she did not even think about the carnage she was unleashing. She was remembering how her father had been a kindly old soul, a man who could not have wielded this blade with comfort. A man who had tried to raise her well and prepare her, because he had no sons and she would one day inherit. But he was not cunning. He was a good knight, an able swordsman, and a just if naive man. She missed him terrible, her memories of lovely days with her dad creating a true constrast to the reality around her as she cut down scores of men-at-arms and mercenaries. They tried to strike her down with crossbow bolts, but she cut the air in a secret, practically forbidden, way and burned them in the air before charging at the archers with lightning speed and with a single swing of her dread blade she decapitated a dozen of them all at once.
She moved upwards, ever upwards, through the keep until she entered the antechamber, where her father had ruled justly and dealt with commoners and nobles alike. Inside was her stepsisters, and though she hated them, they were not responsible for how evil they had become. Inside was the prince and his retinue, knights of the royal guard who assembled around the prince to protect him. And inside was her wicked stepmother and her corrupt advisors as well. All of them stared at her like they'd seen a monster. A creature out of the old pagan faith that none now believed in. The corrupt bishop who'd changed her father's last will and testament at the behest of her wicked stepmother raised aloft a crucifix and began praying. But what power does a hypocrite have, when the sword came. Using her understanding of the true nature of the blade's art, she cut his throat from the inside, and took from him his voice. Using her blade, the extention of her will and soul, she cut off all her long gone and long missed mother's jewels from her wicked stepmother. Those around her, the self-serving lazy steward, the cowardly captain of the household guards, the thanes and knights, all were cut down one-by-one.
The prince, his guards, and the girl's stepsisters watched in abject horror as the girl's wicked stepmother stood all alone before the girl. No words. The woman had been spiteful and wicked. She could have been kind. The girl, the maiden with the blade, had known other girls who had stepmothers, who were kind, wise, and strong women. Not vile, self-serving, and wicked. No caustic words from her thin mouth could ruin the girl's escape. No faint whispers to the guards to make them torment her, never again. No horrid gossip could ruin the girl's reputation now. The only thing that came from the woman's mouth as the midnight-dark blade pierced her heart was a faint gasp. She then removed the sword, and placed it back in its elven scabbard, which hung from her belt. The others in the large hall were too stunned to speak, as the girl took the pouches full of money from the dead who had been her tormentors in life. They did not dare to speak as she walked out of that place, down to the stables.
Most of the horses smelled the blood on her and were terrified. But there was one. Her father's old warhorse. Not young, but that stallion still remembered the sound and smells of battle. He knew her, and she knew him. And he let her put a saddle on his back, as he had been the horse her father had used to train her riding skills, when he was still alive. She rode from that place, and in the distance she could see the shimmering form of her goodmother, dancing with other monsters on a distant hill, their joyful battlehymns praising her and naming her; the Lady of the Midnight Blade.
[/r/ApocalypseOwl](https://www.reddit.com/r/ApocalypseOwl/) | 87 | "But I've only known the Prince for six hours" protests the maiden. "Surely there is another way for me to escape my evil stepmother without rushing into marriage?". | 159 |
"My child, do you know why you are here?" a cutting voice broke the silence, with an accusing look the uniformed older woman looked down at the teenager. Tapping her finger impatiently on the table, as if even those seconds they had to wait for an answer were one too much for her.
But the girl, who was visibly uncomfortable, did not react, but continued to stare at her feet in fear. Refused to look at the woman or even to answer her. The woman, who was the director, did not like to be ignored. She hated rebellious teenagers who didn't know their place - but it was even worse to be ignored. As if she, her words were nothing but hot air. She couldn't and wouldn't put up with that. She would probably have to teach this little rat a lesson, it twitched in her fingertips.
"You beat up your classmate. Hit him with a chair - a chair - hospitalized him. His parents have already been informed and are on their way to the hospital - and so are your parents. Get ready for something! It's all thanks to you! - If it were up to me, I would have called the police long ago and had you arrested! But don't worry, at the latest when the poor boy's parents come to their senses they will do so and then - "
The girl reminded herself again and again not to listen, not to let the woman's words get to her. It hurt - not once was she asked for her reason - yes, maybe it was wrong, but she just couldn't take it anymore. It had to stop. She didn't want to be the victim any longer - her mind couldn't take it any longer - and so she decided to become the perpetrator. To hurt others before they hurt her. It was easier than she thought.
Of course, she had had doubts, thought about whether she could not solve it differently - without violence. Until she remembered. She had already tried all that. Talking, be it with her classmates, teachers or parents - no one listened to her. Believed it was just a small quarrel between children - nothing serious, so no reason to interfere. And so she forced herself to reach for the first object she could find. Not a word came over her lips, at most a uneasy feeling spread in her stomach - she was afraid. But it was better than to continue to endure it. To hope for the best. She swung the chair and caught her classmate on the head, her swings were clumsy but she forbade herself to stop. To show weakness. She paid no attention to the silence that fell, feeling like an uninvolved observer as he fell to the ground, holding his arms protectively.
Her head was completely empty, mechanically she pulled out and let the chair crash down on him, with a soft smile she heard a satisfying crunch. These were soon joined by a soft whimper - he was crying. At that moment she understood. This satisfaction of seeing him destroyed in front of her was simply... indescribable. Addictive. She would have continued had she not been held down by several teachers.
Only then did she slowly regain consciousness, seeing the boy curled up on the floor, the shocked faces of her classmates and the bloody chair in her hand. Abruptly she dropped the chair, wondering what she had done. She was afraid - not of the consequences, but of herself. She had not wanted to go that far...
She wanted to apologize, only to realize that she was shaking all over. No sound came over her lips, as if they were sealed and she had already lost control over her body. Or as if this was no longer her body at all. Like a criminal, the teachers escorted her out of the room, didn't even give her a chance to apologize, and now she was sitting here. In the principal's office. And it was obvious that she was not on their side. Suspension from school - at best.
In the moment she remembered what a group of girls on the bus had told her. An app from an unnamed manufacturer made it possible to jump through time. It sounded ridiculous, and yet she had already downloaded the app. She didn't even know why. Unconsciously, she reached into her pocket, unlocked her phone and peered carefully at the screen. With impatient fingers, she searched for the app until she found it, heart pounding. Launched.
The director's voice became even shriller, even deafening, when she realized the girl was on her phone. Not only ignoring her, but still - right in front of her nose - playing on the cell phone?! Just as she was about to grab the phone, like an old snapping turtle - the girl clicked 'Skip'.
Before she could blink, she realized something was different. Disoriented, she looked around, only to see her parents next to her, already discussing wildly with the principal. But since when had they been there? How could they have made the trip from their work downtown in city traffic so quickly? Irritated, she noticed that she was holding her cell phone in her hand.
Unconsciously, she glanced at the time, which only added to her apprehension.It was 2:35 p.m. But as far as she could remember, it had been 10:00.
Her breath caught, inwardly she called herself to calm down - not wanting to rejoice too soon, so she did the first thing that came to her mind. She pressed the button again.
She felt a slight jolt and a faint nausea came on - almost unconsciously she wanted to excuse herself and go to the bathroom until she was stopped. It was only in mid-motion that she realized she was wearing a seat belt. She was in a car. On her way home.The app...it was working. And so it began.
The app became her go-to whenever an unsightly, boring situation arose - it never once failed her. In time, she even found herself pressing it for fun, like in a game at a waiting screen. Everything else was a waste of time. And so it came to pass that she was standing at the checkout on a very unremarkable day - just about to take out her cell phone, when someone tapped her on the shoulder. A young, smartly dressed man smiled apologetically at her.
"Young lady, the weather is really wonderful today, isn't it?" Slightly overwhelmed, she stared at him until she followed his prompted gaze to the window and to her own surprise, he was right. The sun was shining in a warm orange hue, bathing the sky in a delicate rose that was slowly being engulfed by the darkness of the night. It was really beautiful, she realized for the first time, and then she understood. For the way to the supermarket, even the time on the bus she used the app - she didn't notice anything anymore and without wanting to she felt a slight regret. How childish, she thought and unconsciously shook her head.
"Ehm, yes " she answered richly belatedly hoping to end the conversation quickly.
"What a pity that people do not pay any attention to these little things. The smell of freshly cut grass, a rainbow - they just run past them. As if they can't pause for a second. And their time would flow through their fingers, all this is nothing but a waste of time. And only when their time is almost up do they stop all at once, register what they have missed and cling to it like a dying man to a lifeline. Ironic, isn't it young lady?" As if he had made a joke, he looked at her. Undecided, she opened her mouth, not knowing how to react herself - he was crazy, wasn't he? And yet something told her that this was not all.
"Next, please!" the cashier's voice interrupted her, snapping her out of her thoughts. Hastily she paid and unconsciously she glanced behind her. Only to register that she was alone. There was no one there.
"Ehm, where is the man who was behind me in line?" before she knew it she addressed the cashier and pointed to the place where he had been standing a few minutes ago. Raising an eyebrow slightly, the cashier eyed her as if she wasn't sure if she was serious.
"What line? There was an older woman in front of you, but there was no one behind you.... And even when I called you several times, you didn't respond."
Grinning softly, the man closed his book, rubbing his well-groomed beard in satisfaction. Business was booming, as the humans used to say, and so he leaned back in his chair. They were truly entertaining little creatures, truly fickle - but this was also one of their qualities that he appreciated so much about them.
If this were not the case, it would never have worked so well. Unconsciously, he looked at his wristwatch, watching as the hand sped upward in silent leaps.
2,802 hours
2,814 hours
2,834 hours
But his phone was silent - he had unplugged it. Let them fidget a bit, soak their clothes in fear sweat. Only at the last second will he hear them and hold out his hand. Make them an offer they can't refuse. Because all people want to live, even if they have thrown away their time unwillingly before - and now have to pay for it. | 21 | Press the button and--poof--it's over. With no paid version or ads, people wonder how the app makes money. Little do they know it was created by the devil who takes the skipped time to "sell" to people who want longer lives. | 146 |
"No."
Qoreth thrust his axe into the soft ground at the mouth of the cave and eased his enormous frame down to sit onto a nearby rock. He fished in his pockets and, finding a heel of old bread, gave it a sniff, then started to eat.
"What do you mean, no?"
The little wizard always had that tone about her, like she was looking down on you. Ironic, given her stature.
"I mean, no, I not about to go in there, fight army of red men all on own, again and again."
Melaby kept staring at him in shock. Priscilla chimed in: "Qoreth, now is not the time to act as a child. And let me correct you on two matters. First, lest you forget, it's not just the red men in there. As we discovered, the Red Warden's army has many magical beings to bolster its mundane forces. To which, second, need I remind you that *you're* not a one man army yourself. We're a team. A party. We work together."
Qoreth took another bite of stale bread. He watched the knight as he chewed. Lady Priscilla, ever noble and proper and perfect, too focused on her prayers and her mission to see what was in front of her face this whole time. Oh and look who was approaching from behind her: the sorcerer of slow words, glaring out from under a dark cloak with kohled eyes.
"We have..." said Vanel, "... no time. The enemy..." The sorcerer lifted his head to stare toward the distant dark mountains. "... moves."
The three of them stared at Qoreth as if their will alone could move him from his seat. He finished the crust of bread, taking his time, and dusted his hands, rising slowly to his feet. He looked down at his three companions and sighed. Now was as good a time as ever to have this conversation.
"I know, I not speak good," said Qoreth. "Since hit head. Not words easy." He massaged the wound on his head, a concave well near his forehead. Priscilla opened her mouth to say something.
"Stop," he said, before she could speak. He laid a heavy hand on her shoulder. "For me stop."
She stuttered, but refrained from interrupting him. She was trying to protect him, Qoreth knew. But she didn't understand.
"When village," he continued, looking at the other two in his party. "Hear you."
Vanel and Melaby looked at each other for an instant. Guilty.
"You think me stupid," said Qoreth, a involuntary tremble in his voice. "You think me dog."
Priscilla couldn't restrain herself.
"Qoreth, no. They do not think you are stupid. They know, we know... what happened to you. We are a team, remember? We are not - "
"Stop speak," Qoreth said, louder than he meant to. He softened his posture. "No understand. They think you stupid too."
Priscilla looked back at him, confused, words caught at her tongue.
"You think me stupid," said Qoreth. "But you wrong. Speak bad. But think good."
Something tumbled through the undergrowth beside them. The something stood up, staggering slightly, then shook off the leaves and branches it had accrued.
"What's happening, family?" Adillot the bard produced a lute from his back with a flourish, and started to play and sing off key. "I'd say sorry I'm late, but I didn't die yet. At the mouth of a cavern, our destiny's set!"
He put a hand to his mouth in a theatrical whisper to Priscilla. "I mainly said that for the rhyme." He hiccuped and strummed a few more chords before bowing. "Anyway, what'd I miss?"
"Qoreth says we think he's stupid," said Priscilla, not noticing the uneasy looks between Melaby and Vanel.
"Oh of course, you're stupid, you big lug!" said Adillot. "And I'm slightly drunk. But after a short rest, I shall be sober. No offense meant, no offense meant!"
"Adillot," said Melaby. "Actually I remembered we left something in town, can you come with me to fetch it? And Vanel, if you could -"
"Stop," said Qoreth loudly. He didn't shout, but the way he said it made the party all stop dead still. Raw intimidation, perhaps. He unstuck his axe from the ground and hefted it.
"Pri- Pri-..." He always struggled with her name. She looked up at him, and he could see her empathy with his struggle. "Prisla," he managed. Qoreth was happy enough with that. "Let speak. Hear. All stay."
Even the typically carefree Adillot was looking uneasy now. But no one particularly wanted to cross the barbarian with an axe to grind.
There was a long silence as they waited for Qoreth to resume speaking. He was still working through how to say it. Damn tongue, damn mouth. It used to be so easy.
"Qor, I -" Adillot started, but Qoreth quieted him with a wave of his hand.
"Prisla," he said. "These all a lie. Magic not real. None of it real."
Priscilla pulled a face. "What? Qor, are you -"
"None of it real. All lie. It..."
Qoreth paused to find the words again. He pointed at the three others in the party.
"Lie together. It all light. Only light."
"Light?" repeated Priscilla. He could see she didn't understand, but now at least she was listening. Now at least they were awat from the hubbub and noise and distraction of a village or town. She could focus.
"No magic. They lie. To us." He said it earnestly, hoping she would understand the weight behind the words. "With light."
Something changed in her expression. One of the other three shifted. Vanel. Qoreth raised his axe again with a glare.
"Prisla. No monsters, no magic. Only red men. Sounds. And light."
Priscilla turned to face the other three, finally having the gist of what Qoreth was saying.
"What is he saying?" she asked them.
Adillot snorted, masking his previous stasis. "The big guy's clearly lost his marbles. I mean, it had to happen sooner or later, I'm surprised he held it together so long. That makes me think of a song..." He pulled out his lute again and begin strumming.
"No," said Priscilla, and now there was emotion in her voice. Perhaps they had forgotten that Priscilla and Qoreth were partners long before they were in the picture. When Qoreth could speak properly. When he could...
"No, that is not what he is saying. He is saying.... He is saying your magic is not real."
Silence. Then Adillot snorted again. "That's what I've been saying. He's out of his mind! I mean, we've been together for three resounding adventures fighting the Red Warden's forces. There's been pleeeeenty of magical moments. Shall I sing to you of them? There was the --"
"Sound..." repeated Priscilla. "And light. If it is real, your magic, prove it right now. Melaby. You can conjure a fire here, can you not?"
Melaby stuttered. "Without fuel, I -"
"There," said Priscilla, throwing branches at her feet. "Is your fuel. Set it aflame."
Melaby looked at Vanir nervously. Qoreth nodded at Priscilla. She understood.
With a wave of her hands, a fire combusted on the branches beneath Melaby's feet, crackling softly as it flamed. Priscilla watched the three of them carefully.
"Adillot, close your mouth."
The bard looked up at her, mouth still agape.
"Shut," said Qoreth, "or I shut for you."
Adillot slowly closed his mouth. The crackling sound of a fire ceased.
"Vanel," Priscilla continued. "Show me your hands."
With the added weight of Qoreth's heavy eyes on him, the sorcerer reluctantly raised his hands from his robes. The fire at Melaby's feet disappeared. The branches lay unconsumed.
"Impossible," said Priscilla.
"Now hold on just a minute," Adillot stammered. "Something strange is afoot, lads, but not what we think. It could b- "
"That I should be taken for such an imbecile!" Priscilla roared, unsheathing her holy sword in a gout of white fire.
"Wait wait Pris, stop," Adillot shouted, the other two backing away into a crouch.
Her eyes were alight with her power, and her sword thrummed with her deity's energy.
"No magic. Then there were no magical monsters either. The three of you fought nothing this whole time. Is that correct? A gang of cheap conjurer, hanging on to our cloak tails. Tell me if this is not so."
"No, no, no," Adillot insisted. Melaby backed into a run only to collide with Qoreth's formidable frame. Having finally spoken his mind, he grinned.
"It's not what it looks like," shrieked Adillot, as Priscilla approached him. "I mean it is! It is what it looks like. But we had our reasons."
"Your reasons? A share of the loot was your reason no doubt. Three engagements with the wardens army. Parts of my holy purpose. And you just there for the gold and glory." But as the holy knight finished speaking, something shimmered, and Adillot disappeared. There was a thump and something collapsed behind Priscilla. Adillot shimmered back into sight, clearly horrified. Priscilla looked back to see Vanel knocked unconcious by the haft of Qoreth's axe.
"No light," said Qoreth happily. "No more lies."
"No more light," said Priscilla, turning her attention back to the wailing bard. White fire streamed from her eyes. "But what about sound?" | 31 | The party barbarian, despite everything they've been through, doesn't believe in magic; and finally confronts the group's magic users for not carrying their weight. | 52 |
Byron cants his hip to the side as he counts on his fingers. "We've tried strangulation - with a rope, with hands, with a bag and and with a wire," he clarifies as Major nods in confirmation.
"We've tried gunshot wounds to about... thirteen different organs."
"Fifteen."
"Not helping."
Major shrugs as much as he can with his entire body tied with thick rope to a metal chair.
"We've tried about five different poisonous substances, about a month of starvation, and stabbing with about ten different sharp objects."
"Correct."
"We've tried to remove limbs, which you can apparently grow like a fucked up lizard with its tail missing."
"News to me."
"We've tried draining your blood while hanging you in the air with your neck sliced."
"Wasn't a fan of that one."
"We've tried burning with and without dousing you in gasoline."
"I preferred it without."
"And we tried freezing you for three days."
"Reminded me of Russia."
Byron raises his arms and groans. "What is this, Major. Explain this to me. You're just the guy who can talk to fish, since when are you immortal, resistant to all pain and self healing?"
"If I knew, I probably wouldn't be here would I?" he gestures with his chin at the ropes around his torso.
"I have people to fire once I figure this out."
"To be fair to them, even I didn't know."
"Since when am I fair?"
Major shrugs. "I don't know how you run your business man, I just tried to off you."
"Right. They sent the fish guy to off me. Nowhere near a body of water. I should be offended."
"I'm highly trained. The fish thing is a bonus, really. But I admit I'm probably meant as collateral."
"No shit, major dolphin."
"It's Delphie."
"This was not the topic of conversation and I still don't care."
"Right." Major looks around.
"But how did you not know this before? Has it not come up in a single battle?"
"Obviously not."
"What's different?" Byron mumbles, mostly to himself.
"Well... I am attracted to you a bit."
Byron stops pacing, looks up at Major slowly, and blinks. "I beg your pardon?"
"I don't like you when you're polite."
"Oh my god, I was not trying to make you like me!"
"It's kind of hot when you yell."
"So let me get this straight-"
"Not so straight."
Byron ignores him, incredulous. "You became basically indestructible because you found me hot? How would that even work?"
"That's the only difference from my other missions."
"New drugs?"
"No."
"New training?"
"I train other people, man, I told you I'm a pro."
"New changes in mutant genetics?"
"Not that I'm aware of."
Byron looks at Major, unblinking. Weeks of attempts at killing this redundant, burly fish man have left him completely worn out, but he promised he'd do this, and there was a lot of money at stake with some pretty corrupt people he'd love to schmooze with to grow his business. He needed to figure this out.
"What turns you off?"
"What?" Major asks, distracted. Byron realizes he was staring at his ass as he paced and turns self consciously.
"What do you not find hot?"
"My guy, I should have found you not attractive when you put my face into my own vomit, but apparently you just kind of do it for me."
Byron tried not to be flattered, but he kind of was. He brushed it off. "But other people tried to kill you, too."
"I don't think my immunity is just to you."
"So I'm like an on switch, not an immediate trigger."
"Maybe? I don't know man, I don't do science, I do hits."
He stares at this absurd man. Other than the tiny gills on his neck, he is basically just a mountain of sweaty blond muscle.
"Are you even into men?"
"I'm into people."
"Right."
Byron stands there in silence. Thinking hard. He then walks to the door slowly and clicks the lock shut. He loosens his tie.
"Time to figure out the theory."
He did not, in fact, figure out the theory. But he sure did have a good time. | 234 | "HOW ARE YOU NOT DEAD YET?" the villain shouted in frustration. "To be honest with you, I have been wondering the same." was all the hero could answer them. | 474 |
“Hello, you have called the Fish and Wildlife department. Press 1 for fish, press 2 for wildlife.”
I press 2.
“For all land-based animals, press 1. For winged animals, press 2.”
I think for a minute, then peer our my window. The dragon is sitting on my lawn, but she’s also got wings. Is she land-based or winged? What if she’s both?
I press 1.
“Thank you for reaching our Land-Based Animal Department. Please remember, your call may be recorded for training purposes.”
I wait while hold music drones in my ear. The dragon is about fifty feet from my window, and she (he?) is setting up a nest by tearing down nearby trees with her tail, then placing them in a circle behind her. Can I get reimbursed for those trees?
Finally, a voice breaks through the music on the other end of the line.
“Land-Based Animal Department, this is Jeff. How may I help you?”
“Yes, a dragon just landed on my property and she’s building some kind of nest with my trees. I want to see what I can do about getting the department to pay for my losses.”
Paper shuffles in the background and Jeff begins to type. “Of course, of course. You’ll just need to answer a few questions. First, have you filled out Form 10DRGN yet?”
“No. There’s a form?”
“Yes. Now after you complete the form, you’ll need to mail in the blue copy. The pink copy can be kept for your records. Oh, hold on. Is this a fire-based dragon or it it an ice-based dragon.”
“I’m honestly not sure. How do I tell?”
Jeff chuckles. “You’ll figure it out soon enough.”
At that moment, the dragon emits an enormous fireball as if it were a large burp. My backyard fence begins to burn.
“It’s a fire dragon. Definitely a fire dragon.” I respond.
“Well, for fire dragons, you’ll need to fill out the 10DRGN Form Schedule F. Make sure you don’t confuse it with the 10DRGN Form Schedule I. That one is for ice dragons, although honestly, if you cross out Section B and only fill in lines 4 - 10, you can use it for fire dragons.”
The corn I had planted earlier has begun to smoke, and the tomato plants next to it are bursting open like small bombs. My cat has moved closer to the house and is watching the dragon with wide eyes.
“Once I fill out this form, how long does it usually take to be compensated? I’ve got a lot of things burning back there right now.”
“We’ve currently got a bit of a backlog,” Jeff says. “Up in New York, they had that infestation a few months ago, and that’s really got us behind. Now, if you’d called earlier today, the department had opened up a new round of Dragon Grants, but those were only for folks in urban areas making less than $50k a year.”
“Oh.” I sigh. Smoke fills the air outside my house, and my cat is scratching at the door. Every so often I can see a blast of fire in the distance, and I shudder to think what will happen when the dragon has her babies. How many babies can a dragon have, anyway?
“I guess I’ll just find the form and submit it, then.”
“Glad I could help you. The entire Fish and Wildlife Department thanks you for your support.”
I sigh, hang up the phone, and let the cat inside. | 46 | 20 years ago a dragon setting up a nest on your property would be the stuff of news. Now you gotta file the right paperwork to make sure the gov pays for the farm’s loss of use and prove you notified the fish and wildlife dept about it. | 103 |
It's simple to understand when you see me.
My might shakes mountains and my magic can sunder even the toughest of dragons.
My mother was a master of martial arts. A warrior with no equal. My Father was an archmage who regularly battled High Demons.
To better protect the world they knew they needed successors that can take up their mantl but they constantly failed to find anyone who came even half way close to their own potential.
It was when they in their early 30s that my mother approached my father was his hand in marriage.
Father was rightly confused and a little concerned the terror of the desert wanted to marry him of all people.
She explained in no uncertain terms that since they can't find appropriate apprentices why not make one ?
And so that's what they did.
No epic marriage involving ancient customs or a action packed love story.
Just a marriage of convenience.
When my mother had me she knew they were on the right path.
As mere boy of 3 I killed 4 ogres while not being aware that I did.
By the age of 9, I was mastering the sword to be a sword master.
When i was 14, light magic bowed to my will and with pure will I created new light magic break through that shook the world.
Sadly, my life was not the ideal life a child should have. For so long I spent my childhood and even my teenage years under a grueling training regime of my parents, nay, my slavers.
No more though. Now that I am 33 and finally killed the demon lord in an effortless battle, my dream might finally happen. My blade will drink the blood of my father and with light and fury my mother would be no more than ash on the wind.
Wait for me slavers. Wait for your just due. | 18 | Your parents are epic heroes in a marriage of convenience. People are always disappointed to learn they got married for practical rather than romantic reasons. | 41 |
Ser Willem Istakarr glanced up at the blade with much less fear than he had anticipated. Perhaps it was because he had lived a long and fruitful life—far longer of a life than most knights got to enjoy.
Still, he couldn’t help but feel a small pang of resentment as he lay on the dirt in front of his Duke’s hall. The young man hovering above him was young enough that he could have been Ser Willem’s son—possibly even his grandson. If this had been 20 years ago, he would have knocked the young fool to the dirt.
Sadly, this was not 20 years ago.
Ser Willem decided to trust his fearless instinct and die with honor. He stared up at the young man, poised to deal the killing blow…
“A life for a life.”
Ser Willem stared incredulously at the young man, completely. He had never met the challenger until that morning, when the youngster had walked into the Duke’s castle and demanded a duel for the honor of his dead father. Apparently, one of the Duke’s soldiers had killed the lad’s sire in the midst of putting down some peasant uprising. Ser Willem had not expected the Duke to allow the newcomer to choose his oldest knight to fight in the duel, but he did his duty—just as he always had.
He assumed that the “life” in question had to be that of the young man’s father. The boy must have waited all this time to ensure that Ser Willem would be too weak to fight him.
But Ser Willem had not killed anyone in that uprising. He was actually the one who had negotiated peace with the town’s Mayor in the aftermath.
So why was the las so insistent upon killing him?
Ser Willem knew that he had but a moment to puzzle out a solution. Then, the young man did something even more surprising.
He sheathed his sword.
“My debt is repaid,” he said, with a conviction and authority that Ser Willem was used to hearing from Lords and Ladies, not random peasant warriors.
The young man turned on his heel and began to walk out of the castle throne room.
“You defeated my most decorated knight,” Duke Vargus declared. “Yet you have allowed him to live. Did you not come here seeking his station?”
The young man turned to face the Duke as Ser Willem slowly got to his feet. Ser Willem was stunned at the look upon the young man’s face—looking at anybody with that expression alone was cause for violence, much less looking at a ruling Duke.
He continued to appear unfazed, however.
“I have less than zero desire for his station,” he spat in response.
The Duke appeared to be amused, which sent a chill down Ser Willem’s spine. The less control he had over his emotions, the more cruel the Duke was liable to be.
“Interesting,” the Duke said in a tone that clearly wished the young man a painful death. “If that is the case, then why are you here?”
The young man smiled, and removed his gorget from around his neck.
The court gasped in response, but their shock was nothing compared to Ser Willem’s. Suddenly, he was violently pulled back into the recesses of his memory, to a moment he arrived to make peace in the aftermath of the uprising. He remembered a burning building, and a young child screaming within the house.
He remembered rushing in to find a weeping child cradling the body of a baby girl. A burning support beam from the home had fallen onto the boy’s neck, but he seemed not to have noticed. Ser Willem remembered trying to drag the boy from the home against his will as he shrieked and pummeled him, then giving up on fighting the lad and bringing his sister along with him. He remembered asking the boy if he was alright, as if the boy would ever be alright. He remembered the child punching him in the mouth and running away. He remembered deciding not to chase down the child despite his assault, and despite the missing tooth that Ser Willem had worked around ever since.
He saw the scarred imprint of the support beam on the boy’s neck, and he understood.
The young man turned to Ser Willem, as if there was nobody else in the hall.
“A life for a life. You spared me that day when I wanted nothing more than the embrace of death. I wished to die with honor, standing vigil over my sister.”
“You stole that honorable death from me. And so, I steal yours from you. Forever after, they will know that Ser Willem Istakarr lost a duel for his Duke’s honor, and was allowed to live anyway. Your death will not be easy, and your honor has been stripped away.”
“My debt has been repaid.”
And with that, the young man strode confidently from the throne room.
Ser Willem made sure to glance away from the Duke, before hearing whatever cries of sympathy or acknowledgment of failure he was about to receive. He wiped the tears that had begun to well in his eyes, and suppressed the smile that he knew the Duke wouldn’t understand.
He had spent his time in the world taking lives on the orders of others. Now, he knew that the boy he had saved so long ago had grown into a brave young warrior, sure enough of his place in the world that he refused to trade honor for security.
Ser Willem had not just lost the duel to a better fighter.
He had lost it to a better person.
The young man thought he had left Ser Willem behind to die without honor. Instead, he gave Ser Willem a gift that he had never expected to have again: the feeling that whatever else he may have done wrong, Ser Willem had done something worthwhile with his existence.
One thing, at least.
A life for a life.
_________________
If you liked this, check out my subreddit! r/NicodemusLux | 37 | You lost the duel. The victor stands above you ready to deliver the killing stroke. Instead he sheathes his sword saying, “A life for a life. My debt is repaid.” The only issue is, today was the first day you had met him. | 62 |
Ms. Auria Whitmore MMag, a master at the Mirarth Academy of Arcane Arts, sighed as a student walked into her office.
Not that she felt any particular dislike for the student, mind you. On the contrary, she felt that Lucian Blackwood was a rather talented young man who could have a bright future ahead of him. That is, if he finally let her talk some sense into him, which Ms. Whitmore was going to attempt – though she suspected the attempt might be futile, like many others before it.
“Take a seat, Mr. Blackwood,” the Academy master said, adjusting her horn-rimmed glasses.
Lucian did so, wordlessly. He looked just as he usually did – brown hair noticeably disheveled, casual tunic and pants worn in place of a formal robe. Not quite how a student of the most ancient a prestigious magical academy in all Vrazania should present himself, in Ms. Whitmore’s opinion. His appearance wasn’t what she was going to discuss with him today, however.
“Mr. Blackwood,” she continued, her voice strict and formal, “as you are no doubt aware, the Period of Determination is almost upon us. Very soon, you will have to make a presentation before the senior masters of our Academy, in order to demonstrate the results of your years of study. I certainly hope that by now you have chosen the topic of your presentation, and that said topic is…” she paused slightly, “adequate.”
“I’ve chosen a topic, ma’am,” Lucian responded.
“And might I know what your topic is?”
The student cleared his throat.
“Non-malevolent applications of the Tenebrous Magics.”
Ms. Whitmore sighed again.
“Mr. Blackwood, I hope you recognize that your choice of topic is most… unorthodox,” the master said sternly. “Or that your very future as a licensed magician depends on the results of your examinations. Choosing the presentation topic is not something to be made light of.”
“Yes, I understand that, ma’am,” Lucian nodded, smiling slightly at the (likely unintended) pun. “But isn’t the entire goal of the presentation to show the magic we are best at? What we’re passionate about the most?”
“It is true, of course,” Ms. Whitmore allowed. “That said, for it to be the dark arts of all things… to be perfectly honest, I do not understand why such magic is not prohibited to begin with, especially for students.”
“The only good is knowledge…” Lucian intoned.
“… And the only evil is ignorance,” his teacher finished automatically. “Still, not to doubt the Founder’s wisdom, but… well, might you not choose any other area of our craft? Evocation, for instance, or Numerology? I know you have shown an aptitude for both that is definitely above average.”
The student shook his head.
“With all due respect, ma’am, I intend to stick to my topic. It’s something I’m truly interested in, and, well… I really do believe these arts can be used for good.”
Ms. Whitmore said nothing for some time, steepling her fingers as she regarded her student.
“Very well,” she said finally. “As your advisor – if only in name – I must warn you that not all masters on the Board might look favourably upon your presentation topic. You will need to demonstrate something truly outstanding, if you are hoping to receive your license this year. Still, if this is your final choice, so be it.”
She allowed herself a slight smile – not that Lucian could have seen it through her steepled fingers.
“Then I wish you good luck at your Determination.”
“Thank you, ma’am,” Lucian bowed his head slightly before standing up and leaving her office.
\*\*\*
From a separate table, Ms. Whitmore was observing the ongoing presentations. Although her rank and seniority could have allowed her to sit on the Board, on that day she did not do so – for it were her students who were being evaluated.
To her satisfaction, everything was going smoothly so far. Dressed in their finest robes, refined and polite, the young men and women were the very image of how a student of Mirarth should act and look. The magic they demonstrated was likewise superb – evocationists wove multi-level spells, conjurers created complex structures, summoners called upon elusive spirits…
That was not all, of course – after the Demonstration, came the Disputation, and then finally the Decision – but so far, Ms. Whitmore felt that the examinations were going rather well.
Then Lucian Blackwood walked up to the stage.
Even before he started speaking, Ms. Whitmore felt like covering her eyes with the palm of her hand for a brief moment. To be fair to her student, Lucian did put on the academic robe required for the occasion, and even made some effort to tame his perpetually unruly hair – but still, with the robe draped over his shoulders, worn over the same simple clothes he perpetually wore, his image was not going to win him any favours with the masters of the Board.
“Honoured masters of our most noble Academy!” he began in a loud, clear voice. “I, Lucian Blackwood of Pyrphóros College, upon this Third day of Serpent, do present at your consideration the results of my studies.”
His formal, solemn words hardly matched his casual appearance, but Ms. Whitmore was glad that at least he did not disregard the traditional introduction.
“My chosen topic is the Tenebrous Magics, and how they might be applied in ways other than malevolent.” | 71 | You keep getting in trouble at your magic school for practicing dark magic. You also keep trying to tell them that you only practice dark magic because you have a talent for it and you struggle with the other schools of magic, so you are determined to prove that dark magic can be use for good. | 124 |
Danton looked over the scroll carefully. It sounds a bit ridiculous at first, but makes more sense the more it is thought over. Magic was thought to be hereditary like eye color or height. What's in front of him states that it's more like water being absorbed by a cloth.
The image on the scroll depicted a landscape with a man standing on the ground. There was a color beneath the earth and man that seeped into him. Below was written "The fountain of the world blesses those who step into its waters." That explained the peculiarities magicians have.
Farmers and various craftsmen are all encouraged to wear proper shoes, durable clothing, and gloves for safety. People never questioned why since it made sense to protect oneself. They remained poor, yes, but it prevented the expensive trips to an apothecary or healer that would put them in debt. Mages, on the other hand, wore light clothes and sandals without any apparent risk.
Danton rolled up the scroll, put it somewhere safe, and stepped out onto the cobblestone streets of the village. He walked out, notified the guards that was heading towards the orchard, and found a nice tree by the road. He removed his gloves and shoes before sitting under it.
He gently laid his hands on the ground, closed his eyes, and paid attention to anything notable. The grass was cool, the wind was calm, and the earth beneath his fingers felt damp. He focused on the dampness for several minutes and soon enough, Danton's hands were beginning to feel wet. He remained where he was, stunned. That easily? Just a physical connection to the ground and magic could be channeled?
Danton chuckled excitedly, opened his eyes, and stood up. Then he realized that there was an angry elder in front of him. Danton felt pressure around himself and the world was quiet as the bearded mage spat a single question. "Now where did you learn that?" | 18 | Turns out magic being hereditary is a lie. Anybody can learn it and it's fairly easy. The ruling class fabricated the lie to make an underclass. | 75 |
"They are back." A caveman says.
"Ah. More fighting to be had!" Jhaun said. "Grab the laser rifles."
<>
<>
The time travelers arrive in a new timeline, this one where the troglodytes are aware of their shenanigans to steal their world from them. The cavemen called these travelers bigots for calling them "cavemen." After all, you wouldn't like to be called something lesser, would you?
Jhaun lifted his sniper rifle over a cliff and peered through the sight. Ten travelers armed with similar weaponry to Jhaun's army. Jhaun sent out the signal to his army, and lasers and lightsabers ambushed the ten people. The group quickly fell, but not before calling backup. Another group entered to rescue the previous group. Unfortunately, the new group hasn't received the memo.
The time travelers were not expecting advanced weapons. If only the time travelers were aware of their previous history. It's a shame that their previous history is disguised as a movie called "Star Wars." The people forgot the lines "a long time ago" and "In a Galaxy far, far, away." | 10 | The plan to travel back in time has seemed flawless. Use modern tech to kick out the cavemen, then migrate humanity to the unpolluted past. Unfortunately, it seems this wasn't the first time humanity has done this. | 50 |
“Why not?”
I blinked, completely nonplussed at the question. “What do you mean *why not*, whelp? Because I am a dragon! We are not tour guides!”
The tiny thing that looked up at me tilted their head sideways, face scrunched up. “Why?”
“I just told you why, whelp!” I leaned down to peer at them. “I am a dragon, and have far more important things to do than answer inane questions!”
They seemed to consider that for a moment. “Like what?”
That gave me pause. What *had* I been doing? I looked about my cave, taking stock. I was curled up on top of my cosy hoard, the shifting coins pleasant against my hide. The obvious conclusion was that I had been asleep, but for some reason admitting that felt vaguely shameful. I waffled while the young human stared intently at me, waiting for my response.
My gaze fell on my own claws and the dull black scales of my feet. *Aha!*
I snorted. “I was *grooming* myself, if you must know, whelp.” I bent to suit word to deed, licking and nibbling at my scales.
“Why?”
I paused to glare at the little intruder again. “Because personal hygiene is *very* important, whelp. One must clean themselves regularly to not be dirty.”
The little human seemed to consider this, looking down at their hands. Then they raised them to their mouth and began to lick their palms, before rubbing their face.
“Ick.”
“Oh for the love of– stop that, whelp, you’re only making it worse.” I bent down and picked them up by the thick fur of their neck. They yelped and wriggled as I held them aloft, then gently sat them down upon my forelegs. “You are all over dirt, whelp.”
I held them down gently as I bent to clean them properly, ignoring their protests. They tasted frightfully dirty, covered in dust and forest mud. When I was finally satisfied, I leaned back to inspect them again.
“How did you become so dirty, whelp? Does your dam or sire not bother to care for you?”
They wiped their eyes, then stared up at me. “What’s a dam? And a sire?”
I rolled my eyes. “Your *caretakers*, whelp. Your…” I clicked my claws on the stone of my floor, trying to find the word. “Your *parents*, whelp. Do they not care for you?”
The whelp’s face scrunched up again. They sniffed, then covered their face with their hands.
I tilted my head as they curled up in my arms and started to make a strange rhythmic noise, like shallow breaths deep in their throat. “Whelp? What are these noises you are making?”
They sniffed and shook their head, curling tighter on themselves. Something twisted in my chest, familiar and unwelcome. Like the terror I’d felt when one of my own young had been in distress, last I had a brood to care for. I bent down and nudged them carefully with my snout.
“What is your name, whelp?” I murmured.
They sniffed again, but uncurled enough to look at me. “M-Maria.”
“Very well, Maria. I am Onyx. What distresses you so?”
“I… I dunno where my parents are. I got lost.”
I nudged them again. “So that is why you asked me for directions.”
“Mm-hmm.”
“Well, little Maria – do you know where we can *find* your parents, perhaps? Does your home have a name?”
“I, I think so?” She sat up and leaned against my cheek. “Um, uh… Silverstream Village?”
I tilted my head, considering. There was a mountain not far from here that I know to be rich in silver. Some fragments of ore being carried down to the lowlands with the snowmelt and rain would be quite possible.
And I could never fault the humans for their taste in treasure. That there could be a village near the stream, with people sifting for silver… Quite likely.
“Very well, Maria. I think I know where we can find your home. Come.”
I picked her up by her furry scruff again and began to walk through my cave, heading towards the entrance. She dangled from my mouth, making quiet *whee* noises as she swung back and forth with every stride I took.
As we stepped outside into the dazzling sunlight of the outdoors, I put her down in my palm and carefully closed my claws around her.
“Do not squirm too much, Maria. It would not do to drop you.”
I tensed, crouched down low – then I snapped my wings open, jump, and *fly*.
Maria shrieked as we climbed, rising high into the sky. I levelled out as we crested the hilly trees that concealed my home and began to glide in a wide, slow circle, looking down at the forest below as my charge laughed with a mix of terror and delight in my grip.
Soon I saw a few gentle plumes of smoke near the foot of the silvered mountain. I banked to approach, first flying in a wide arc around the village to look more closely at it. Then I chose a suitable landing spot at the village’s edge, and began my gentle descent.
Small figures froze beneath me as my shadow fell upon them, then ran for cover as I landed, my wings kicking up huge clouds of dust. I turned to shield Maria from the worst of it, then set her down on the ground.
“Is this your village, Maria?” I asked, looking about the now-deserted streets.
She looked at the nearby houses, one hand holding onto my talon. “I’m not sure. Can we find mommy?”
I peered at the little street that the entire village was centred around and the little square in the middle. “I believe I can fit. We shall look.”
Careful to not sweep a building away with my tail or wings, I walked alongside Maria as she ventured into the village, staring intently at each house we passed.
As we came to the square, I sat down on my haunches, Maria holding my talon as she looked about, looking miserable. She looked up at me, her eyes watery.
“I dunno which house is mine,” she whispered, so quietly I barely heard it.
I snorted. “Don’t worry, Maria. We will just have to make your parents come to *you.*” I gently picked her up with my talons again, cupping her within my palms. Then I cleared my throat, took a deep breath, and breathed a large plume of fire straight into the air.
“Villagers of Silverstream!” I roared. “I have little Maria here, recently lost within my woods! Her parents had best come get her, or else I shall claim her as mine own!”
“Huh?” Maria gasped, looking up at me.
I winked at her, then heard the gratifying noise of a door slamming open, followed by running steps.
“Give me back my daughter, you overgrown, scaly *bat*, or I’ll make shoes out of your hide!”
The woman who came charging at me was broad of shoulder and long of limb, with a thunderous expression on her face – like a mother bear protecting her cub. She brandished a well-kept axe at me as she came, her hands tight upon its girp.
I hold up a claw placatingly. “Peace, human. I have no desire to keep Maria, should she wish to rejoin you.” I lower my claws to the ground and turn Maria to face her.
The little girl shone up like the sun and leapt from my grasp. “Mommy!”
“Maria!”
I nodded with satisfaction and turned to go. My temporary charge was back where she belonged. ‘Twas past time I returned to my hoard.
A mere few steps later, I felt a tug upon my tail.
I turned around and saw Maria, holding tightly to the very tip of my tail as it dragged upon the ground. “Maria?”
She let go and ran at me, throwing herself at my face and rubbing her cheeks with my own.
“Thank you,” she murmured, sniffling. “For helping me get home.”
Something lurched in my chest. “You are welcome, little one. You be careful in the future now – do not get lost again.”
“I won’t.” She let go and stepped back, looking up at me. “Can I come visit?”
I gave her mother a level look and received a soul-searing one in return. “Perhaps when you are older and can find your way better.”
“Okay.” She pauses. “Can *you* come visit?”
I snorted. “I should like to see the one to stop me!”
She gave me another hug, then she scampered back to her mother’s side and waved as I stepped back outside the village and took off.
Perhaps asking a dragon for directions was not so unwise after all…
***
Thanks for reading! Went for something cute with this one, hope it was enjoyable!
Feel free to check out my sub at r/ZetakhWritesStuff for more! | 12 | "One does not simply ask the dragon for directions." | 43 |
I'm a superhero, and like all superheroes, except the overconfident idiots, I have an alter ego. Behind the mask worn by Dr. Resilient, the man who can take it all, is me, Gary Grayson, the taciturn biophysicist. The worst is that I have to be taciturn. I used to be outgoing man! The life of the party! *Sigh* but after getting my powers, I became scared of getting my loved ones hurt, and after discovering my weakness, I was down right paranoid!
It all happened on a Saturday afternoon, not even two months after becoming a masked hero. After spending my friday at work, and the rest of the night stopping The Drilling Mole Man from stealing the city's banks from below, I could rest, at my parents house. I obviously looked exhausted, after all, lack of sleep doesn't really count as damage, and my parents noticed, but my little brother was oblivious. He kept insisting for me to play catch with him, while my parents kept wanting to catch up with what I was doing. I finally relented and started playing with my annoying excuse of a brother.
After maybe two hours later, my dad shooed my brother away, to talk to me, a pair of cold beer in hand, finally cutting me a break from this physical torture. We sat on the poarch and talked, two adults just chatting about life, it felt good. Then he said:
"You know son, I'm proud of you. Your work is exhausting, at least that's what your face says *hehe*, and yet you still find the time and energy to come see us, and to entertain your brother. I love you kid."
As he said those last words, he gave me his usual sign of affection, two light slaps on the cheek. And I fainted.
I woke up in the hospital, the doctors couldn't understand what happened. My blood vessels had just popped, causing severe hemorrhages, my bones were all fractured, and my heart had be restarted. My father was panicking and crying. Two months of having cars thrown at me, swords breaking at the meet contact of my skin, fire and lightning not leaving a scratch, and now I was in the hospital, after a slap. I laughed, hurting myself in the process.
I called a friend, Apollo, the "reincarnation of the god of the sun and healing". He healed me, but not before crying injustice and vengeance, *sigh* always the melodramatic.
I had to tell my dad why I was friends with a superhero, and he took it as well as he could... Which was surprisingly great? He was ecstatic.
"My son, a superhero! And not just any, the famous Dr.Resilient! Gosh, I'm so proud of you."
He hugged my healed body, and swore to keep the secret. Of course he promised not to slap me again... But what if one day someone would learn who he was to me? What if he tortures him, or mom, or my bro, to learn if I have a weakness...
I visited a friend the next day, Cerebro, the mind control superhero, with a heartbreaking request. I asked him to erase my family's memories of me. It was the only way to keep them safe after they learned my secret. The only way to keep myself safe too...
Two years later and I am now away from my family, avoiding my coworkers by fear of risking their lives too. My parents photo albums have been photoshopped to take me out of them, and they now only have one son. He's gonna graduate high school next year. Wish I was there to celebrate.
And here I am, on my way to stop another lowlife supervillain from committing his "greatest crime" *sigh*.
Like all superheroes, I have an secret identity. Behind the mask worn by Dr. Resilient, the man who can take it all, is me, Gary Grayson, the taciturn biophysicist. Only now, nobody really knows who Gary Grayson is... | 17 | punching, kicking, cutting, freezing, burning, suffocating etc…..except one, which everybody, even his most ferocious and cunning opponents, is oblivious to — slapping his face lightly. | 71 |
The transmission came two hundred years after the first ships went out to the stars. Most people seldom made the trip past the group of stars closest to earth that had been deemed safe territory. The ships in this region were always accounted for even if destroyed in some way.
The transmission came to the oldest port on the sparsely inhabited planet of Earth. The simple rustic planet barely housed a few billion. The rest of humanity had spread to the stars and lived in terraformed planets or shielded colonies with altered terrain. For the past century it had become less and less common for people to visit earth or care what its inhabitants had to say.
Florian was finishing his shift when they got the transmission. He wiped his hands of lacto-dust (one benefit of Earth was the lack of synthetic flavors or foods at least. The organics always tasted better.) He hit the keys on his keyboard and played the message.
A set of people were in view of the camera. They were dressed in so many costumes and ranks. They were horribly outdated. It reminded Florian of the historical documents in the bowels of the building.
“Greetings, Earth. We are the crew of the Alameda. Next to us are the crew of El Dorado and out of view of them is the crew of the Atlantis. We have news that hope helps reduce the level of casualties and lost crews with earth.” An elderly woman said. Her voice was raspy with age and her hair a pretty silver that Florian rarely saw with modern medicine preventing natural aging to look so pronounced.
“At the time of this transmission Earth has a recorded 75% disappearance rate. We knew death or the unknown awaited us when we took to the stars. “It has taken us twenty years to realize what the common factor in us becoming lost has been.” The woman sighed. “We have accounted for 68% of the missing crews and ships. We are on a hospitable world but the atmosphere will not let us or our communications leave. All our ships pulled emergency landings.” She took a breath.
“We have a rare break in the weather. I hope this reaches you, Earth. Tell the captains this: Follow your instinct once you are pass Alpha Centauri. Otherwise what we believe is a wormhole will drag you close to a gas giant whose gravity will destroy your ship and you will have to land on this world.
“Make the left at the exo-planet known as Albuquerque.“ The transmission cut off. Florian saved the recording and sent it to his supervisors. This was big news! He sat back on his chair. As a lowly recruit though he wasn’t going to know more about what they’d do until it hit the news.
He went back to his station. | 36 | exactly half the time the space ship disappears forever. Only 1 out of 4 ships will come back from a round trip... | 106 |
I live in a mobile home. A *very* mobile home.
It's about the size of a garden shed, but that's to be expected, since it's only a few months old. It...well, it isn't exactly what I would have chosen for myself, but I kinda have to love it anyway. For one thing, it was a gift from my Grandma for graduation. I'm the first person in my whole extended family to get a college degree, and Grams was really proud -- she got all emotional when she saw me in the cap and gown, and everything.
And besides, I have to admit it's pretty cool, as "tiny homes" go. It's got a little combined toilet / shower stall thing, a bunch of convenient compact appliances, fold-away furniture, a little loft platform where my bed is, and this funny way of waddling around on its awkward little chicken legs.
That last part probably needs some background information, doesn't it?
My name's Alex Vedma, and as you may or may not have guessed, "Grams" is better known to the world by another name -- *Baba Yaga.* Now, a lot of stories make her out to be this murderous old fairy / witch figure from the darkest corners of Slavic mythology, but the truth is...well, actually that *is* more or less the truth. She's pretty bad. But she does love *me,* and she's my grandma, so I love her too. You ever watch that one mafia show, *The Sopranos?* I guess being part of my family's kind of like being part of *that* family.
But anyway, back to the house. It's the son of Grams' house. Or maybe the daughter of her house? I don't know. I really don't want to think about whether my house has a dick or not, right now. The point is, like Baba Yaga's legendary house from all the stories, *my* house can stand up on two little chicken-like legs, and walk.
And it does walk. It actually follows me around.
And it *will not stop* following me around.
This is a major problem, because unlike a lot of less-fortunate recent graduates, I have a *job.* Of course, I tried tying my house to a tree, but as soon as I got too far away for its comfort, it snapped the rope like a thread and waddled after me. I thought about trying a chain or something, but I think it might just break that, too, or else hurt itself trying to pull it loose.
It's acting like a needy puppy, except if I had some tiny pupper-doggo that couldn't bear to leave my side, I could probably get away with bringing it to work for a while. If, on the other hand, my house were to smash through the wall of my company's office building like Kool-Aid Man, I feel like my boss would probably be less than understanding about it. He'd probably fire me, and then Grams would probably *eat him,* and it'd be a whole damn thing.
So, I decided I needed to bring out the big guns: I called my Uncle Red. He's in the stories too, so he knows a lot about this kind of weird Slavic magic fairy folklore crap. He showed up at my house around noon, because that's more or less the only time he shows up anywhere, which is a whole other story. He didn't even get out of his car -- a Dodge challenger that, like everything my uncle owns, is red. He just rolled down the window, and stared at me from behind red-rimmed sunglasses. Not a man for small talk, is my Uncle Red, so I got right to the point.
"The house won't stop following me."
Uncle Red stared at me.
"Like, everywhere I go, my house goes."
Uncle Red stared at me.
"How do I make it stop doing that?"
Uncle Red stared at me. And then, finally, he spoke.
"Tell it to *stay."*
Before I could reply, the tinted window of the red Challenger rolled up, and he sped away.
Of course, I'd already done that. Maybe I hadn't been firm enough? Did it only speak Russian? I'd never learned my ancestral language. I guess I should have, but Spanish just seemed so much more useful, back when I was choosing electives. As I began to pace back and forth, pondering my predicament, I heard a loud crunching sound behind me.
The house was *pacing with me.*
It was, I realized, going to be a long-ass day. | 289 | After graduating with honors your grandmother Baba Yaga brought you a home. It’s the offspring of her house. It’s a tiny little hut right now but she explains it will get bigger as it gets older. However the hut is a little clingy, follows you everywhere since it’s afraid it will be abandoned. | 985 |
“Sigh, Monday. Why does it have to be on a Monday?”
What am I talking about, you ask? Never you mind. Anyway, you want to know what I’m doing today do you? Well, come along. My name is Miriam
“Stay on that side of the runes and talismans. Yes, those are for your protection, no we hold no liability if you choose to disregard our very simple instructions. Stay away from the patients and their handlers, if there are any. Any questions? Yes? I don’t care. Just stay on that side, and don’t get killed. More importantly, don’t get us killed. Even more important, don’t piss off the near god-like beings we sometimes get that could glass this side of the city. No, that was not a joke.”
You may be wondering why I’m speaking to you through the printed word. Why you can’t see or hear what I do. Simple, really. I’m a telepath and I’m describing my workday as I go through it to this computer. You’re wondering about the protected space nearby. Don’t worry. Just something set up for people that want to watch all the mythological beings and such we get. A nuisance at best, a danger to the city at worst. Gotta keep a firm hand on their behaviour.
My day will be starting soon. Sometimes I will be speaking to you, sometimes you’ll hear my thoughts as I deal with patients, or coworkers, or tourists. Yes, that’s what I call them. That’s what you are to me. You may not be here, but that’s what you are. Mayor’s idea for the general public to get an idea of what goes on here. Satisfy your curiosity and all that. Maybe you don’t get the funny idea of coming over here and annoying us all. Anyway, day is starting soon and you will get a partial glimpse into what I allow you to hear. Enjoy yourself, at least one of us will today.
A child, alone and smiling with a shit-eating grin. Can think of a few ideas. “Sarah, would you mind?”... “Three tailed kitsune.” Yes, yes, take off that leaf. For those listening, just imagine the child’s body dissolving away in smoke to reveal a three tailed fox with a leaf on its head.
Don’t get petulant. If you were older and more powerful with more tails, our resident seer wouldn’t have been able to see through that illusion. Of course, such childish pranks would likely be beneath someone a bit wiser. Anyway, please got into room Delta 301.
“His threats to cut off one of your tails are just a joke. Don’t worry, our veterinarian has dealt with numerous foxes. There is biologically little difference between you and other normal foxes. This may be your first time here, but try to relax. Although, do try not get on his bad side.”
Our vet, he’s just a normal vet that has a slightly deranged form of humour. That’s what the Delta rooms are for. A lot of or patients have powers or a little extra something. Biologically, they’re not to far from ordinary animals. Their intelligence even makes it easier to treat them, usually.
That’s a lot of hair, or fur? Can’t quite tell. “Sir, what is your. Hey! Back off!” Crack. “I don’t care if it hurts! I work here, I’m not your meal. My blood is not yours to just take.” Considering the shape and that it would have sucked me dry if I didn’t have my protective, shock bracelet. “Chubacabra, I take it? Go to room Alpha 213.” This one is bit too feisty. Better send him along with a hunter, just in case. “Dalman? Go with him to Alpha 213. Hm? Sorry Go with HER to Alpha 213.” Gonna have to set up the paperwork to get a handler for that one.
Yes, we sometimes get a mixed bag of mischievous and dangerous. Most are fine.
“Treant for some trimming? Bit late this decade. Got some nasty crossed branches up there. That will take them a while. Go to Charlie 119.”
“No, miss Mistopopo... I can’t spell that. Your medicine hasn’t arrived yet. You will have to deal with the overgrown hair for a few more days, I’m afraid. I apologize and will see with the alchemists what’s taking them so long.”
“Yes, and no. Fire salts will help. It is an elemental. You should really send it back to your its own Plane of Existence soon. He is cute, but this place is really not suitable for him. If you insist, go to Alpha 359. They may be able to help you with an artifact or an elixir that might be more effective. Likely won’t be covered by the insurance, so take care.”
Are you still listening, or I suppose reading in your case? I’ve been going through a bunch of boring and also confidential paperwork. So don’t mind the gaps in time you probably didn’t notice.
There’s other people now manning the front desk. The rest of my day is dwarfed with a unique task. Figures the Mayor would pick today of all days. Make it exciting, he said. It’s hot, sweaty, and dangerous work. I’ve heard it’s not too different from what workers do at an oil rig... When they’re dealing with a highly pressurized air bubble, moments from blowing their asses off the platform.
You can’t see it, so let me describe it a little for you. Massive but dull crimson scales. Claws my size and bigger. Wings that wouldn’t fit this massive hangar if they were unfurled. And of course, boiling hot steam with every breath it takes. Steam that he could easily replace with fire hot enough to melt steel. Yes you guessed it. We’re dealing with a live, breathing Dragon.
Wondering what our job is here? Remember those dull crimson scales I described? Turns out that dragon scales eventually go through some kind of rusting process. Not sure on the details. Anyway, our job is going to be to clean them shiny. All several thousands of them. Even with our own set of magical and powerful beings, not to mention the sheer number we have here. It’s going to take the entire rest of the afternoon... and evening... and most of the night. Cleaning for endless hours. Exciting, right?
I’m going to cut it off here. Unless for some reason, your idea of excitement is me swearing for hours on end in increasingly imaginative expletives, marked with the occasional movement of a Dragon almost burning or crushing one of our crew. We maybe protected and have several enhancements for the job, but it’s still a pain in the ass.
Anyway, good evening. Please don’t come. I will kick you out on your asses if you interfere with our work. That wasn’t figurative. | 15 | you work at a veterinary-hospital clinic for fictional mythological fantasy people and creatures. describe a day at work. | 45 |
“Step back, he’s been bit!”
“No I haven’t. That’s just the way my furry is supposed to walk.”
Pepper Pug growled. “Don’t you think that, maybe, the middle of a zombie outbreak isn’t the best time to ‘stay in character?’” He formed air quotes to accentuate the point, though the effect was lost under his fingerless mitts. “All of you listen up, and listen up real good. If we’re gonna make it out of here alive, then we’ll need to stick to one speed. My speed. And if you can’t keep—”
“Hey, what makes you the big boss?” interjected Amaretto. “Plus, if you were wearing your coyote outfit, that would make more sense. But Pepper Pug? Come on. He’s like, super slow.”
The group of survivors huddled against the wall was comprised of those individuals lucky enough to have been in a fur suit when the outbreak occurred. It had spread rapidly. A batch of infected glow-sticks, or glow pois, depending on the account, contained enough filamentous fungi to contaminate the entirety of the convention. Once turned, zombies exhibited typical behavior known to many of the attendees by the video games they played, though in this case, a strange phenomenon had manifested itself. Zombies did not bite furries.
“Someone’s coming!” Duke crouched, tightly gripping her mauve German Shepard ears.
It was an infected volunteer. She was still wearing a hand-knit cap with two anime eyes sewn in, though one was splattered by blood. The frames of her glasses were mangled, and she snarled with each incoming step.
“Oh my god, oh my god, oh my god …”
“Shhhh!”
“Don’t w—worry, we’re furries … s—she won’t eat us.” The zombie was now face-to-face with Amaretto, who tried his best to remain composed. “B—b— buongiorno, mio n—nome Amaretto. I’m your little a—amico …” He tried wagging his tail back and forth, but the attempt at being cute was not as successful as it had been earlier that morning, in front of all his fans. Instead, the convulsions more closely resembled those of a family pet who might have mistakenly eaten a lemon peal off the dinner floor. “I’m your l—little amico."
“Woof, woof, woof,” added Mister Dingo. “Woofity woof!”
The furries launched into their respective routines, performed rather hideously by even a layperson’s standards. But after a few minutes of jumbled singing, whirling, and twirling, the infected volunteer departed down another corridor.
“It worked!”
“We’re alive!”
“Hallelujah!”
Once more, the costumed compatriots danced. It was only then that they noticed her. She stood in the doorway to their right, her entire spotted frame obstructing the mutilated corpses of her victims in the room beyond. Snow Leopard Senpai. She was a legend at the convention, and judging by the brain matter and sinewy tissue dribbling from her jaws, she had been contaminated.
In that moment, they knew it was over. Perhaps zombies did not attack furries. But furry on furry? That was another matter altogether.
“Run!” | 53 | A Furry Convention was one of the firsts to experience a zombie outbreak. Fortunately, the fursuit wearers seem to be ignored by the walking dead, as if the costumes hides their human presence. | 180 |
I try to call out to the guard, but all I can manage is a gasping sort of sound. I put my free hand up to my neck - it's sore to the touch. I notice an IV needle is in my arm. The guard must have heard the noise I made because I see him talk on the radio. "She's awake. Do you want to come down?" I hear footsteps in the hallway, and a police officer, as well as a lawyer, who happens to be my cousin's boyfriend's brother, come into my room.
The lawyer, Peter, is the first to speak. "Please don't try to talk, Olivia. Your throat is very badly sore, you'll only make it worse." I nod slowly. He seems prepared as he pulls out an electronic pad of some sort for me to type on. I'm grateful for this, as I have a lot of questions, but the one I need to ask, which should answer most of my other questions: 'How did I end up here? I can't remember the past 24 hours, I really tried.'
The officer sighs and shakes his head. "I'm not surprised, miss. One of the first things we checked was your blood alcohol level... everyone was shocked that you were still breathing!" My eyes go wide - what the hell? I love my wine, no-one gets between me and my wine, but I would never let myself get drunk! I look at Peter and type something. 'How did that happen? You know I wouldn't let myself get drunk, right?'
Peter nods. "I only met you a couple of times, but your cousin, Ellie, would always talk about how lame you are for not letting yourself 'have fun', as she puts it. Unfortunately, that's where the story starts. It happened at the family New Year's Eve party at the pub." He looks at the officer, who then speaks. "Your cousin confessed to filling up your glass when you would look away. After finding traces of GHB in your glass, she also confessed to mixing that into your drink. She tried so hard to deny it."
"But then the only other possibility was that you did it to yourself" Peter continues. "Your whole family, Ellie's family and even you ex-boyfriend's family all made it clear that you were not that type of person, while Ellie was saying how you must have done it to yourself, which was when suspicions of her came about. She was given an ultimatum: she tells us what she knows, or she'll face the maximum penalty if she's found guilty."
"That was when she confessed" the officer states. "But unfortunately, you can't be seen as completely blameless." He sighs. "Everyone was getting worried after you began to look sickly, but you kept saying 'Leave me alone! I wanna party!' Soon after, you undressed yourself completely, jumped onto the counter, and started screaming and dancing, all the while still drinking."
At this point I go bright red. I type something quickly. 'Please tell me no-one recorded that? It's humiliating!' Peter shook his head. "A couple people did, including Ellie, but they've all already been forced to delete their videos. I double checked that they weren't already up online. You're safe." I sigh with relief. I look back at the officer and signal for him to continue. He nods and clears his throat.
"Of course, the bartender found it absolutely inappropriate and tried to tell you to leave, but you screamed in his ear 'BACK OFF, MOTHERFUCKER! I'M HAVING FUN!', to which he responded by calling the bouncer. If this were where the story ended, this wouldn't be a police matter..." Peter begins to shake and cry, and even the officer looks uneasy. "You... you said and did some nasty stuff."
Peter just bursts. "It wasn't entirely your fault! We all know it! But... you can't just be allowed free after what happened..." the officer nods sadly. "Correct. You proceeded to slap, punch, kick, verbally abuse and ram into the bouncer. He said he was surprised that he couldn't do anything to stop you. So he then called for backup. You said 'Is that necessary, big boy?' and started trying to seduce him."
I. Am. Mortified. And it doesn't even stop here... "When the other two bouncers arrived, you kept saying things like 'Who's first?' and 'You'll like what I have to give'. Police were called by this point, but the bouncers were still trying to get you out. You were just beating them left, right and centre. Luckily, as there were three of them, they eventually managed to tackle you to the ground, and proceeded to subdue you, leaving you quite badly injured in the process."
I... I can't believe it... is it over? "Just before you were out completely-" of course not "-you made one final attempt to resist them. You went to bite them. One of them has a chunk of their hand missing now. Then you screamed 'I JUST WANTED A GOOD TIME! IT'S STILL POSSIBLE, LET'S ALL GET A ROOM!' before finally blacking out due to the alcohol and your injuries. You were rushed to the nearest hospital, of course making sure you were dressed first." I'm... I'm so ashamed and humiliated... my throat is sore, but I can't stop myself... "WHAT THE HELL HAVE I DONE?" I then just burst into tears.
Peter proceeds to hug me. "It's all ok" he says soothingly. I just shake my head. "No, really, it is. The bouncers have already recovered. After hearing her confession, they're much more upset with Ellie. The bartender was going to go after you in court, but now he's begging the courts to go easy on you, while he's determined to ruin Ellie's life. My brother is ready to divorce her and joked that he'd marry you to spite her. Your family is suing Ellie for mental anguish and causing you bodily harm. Ellie's family have disowned her. You see? Everyone is on *your* side."
I look up, cheeks red from my tears. "Everything is really ok?" I whisper. Peter nods. I look at the officer. He says "Whatever punishment you get, everyone wants your cousin to suffer ten times more. They know you'll be arrested, but no-one believes you were *fully* to blame. Unfortunately, actions are actions, and they carry consequences. But with all the evidence, testimonies and your cousin's confession, I can see the court going easy on you."
Peter smiles. "And I'll happily represent you. It's usually unethical for me to take on a client I know personally, but I already got the all clear; as long as I stick to just the facts, I can be there for you. But right now, your recovery is far more important." Peter then grins. "Your little sister is worried about you, you know... very worried... she wants to bring you ice cream, like you do for her when she's unwell, and the guards are going to allow it." To that I smile... ice cream can't fix what I've done, but it always makes people feel better! I type out 'Thank you' on the device.
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Thank you for reading! More stories [here!](https://www.reddit.com/r/StoriesbyCrystal/comments/x374da/oneoff_stories_a_collection_of_stories_which_are/?utm_source=share&utm_medium=web2x&context=3) | 21 | You wake up in a hospital bed with no memory of the last 24 hours. However, you soon notice the handcuff around your wrist attached to restraints. You make out the shape of a guard outside the room. You're as straight-laced as they come with a clean record. What have you done? | 45 |
They had chosen to set out for the raid, despite the omen. The split axe handle should have been a clear enough sign that this voyage was doomed, but Ragnar had insisted that the incident was merely a result of a flaw in the wood, not Odin's displeasure. Magnus, and all the other berserkers of the village, had been convinced by his rational explanation.
Now they would pay for their disregard for the gods. The longship creaked and groaned in the heavy sea, howling winds tore at the crews' long hair, and the violent motions made even the hardiest seafarer queasy. Despite their best efforts to control their stomachs, some of the men were sick, adding the stench of vomit to the stink of the desperation they all felt.
Magnus had never seen such a storm in all his life, not even from the safety of the shore. Under his breath he prayed to all the gods he could think of, though he knew in his bones that they would not be listening.
Icy fingers of water probed at the longship, searching for weaknesses that the raging sea could exploit. It was a sturdy ship, the work of master craftsmen, but no device of man could stand up to this kind of fury. The crew fought harder than they did in any battle to keep the ship facing into the wind, for if they were turned aside the storm would batter them to pieces.
Magnus squinted into the blinding rain. Something was coming. A chill ran down his spine and he futilely searched for an explanation of this new ominous feeling. Then came the answer. From the darkness, a giant wave appeared, coming at them from the side, crossways to the storm winds. A vengeful fist from the gods, sent to smash them down to the bottom of the sea.
There was barely time to turn and shout a warning to the others before the wave crashed into them. Magnus strained to keep his place against the weight of water, but the force was too strong and his grip faltered. The water took him, endless and relentless in its crushing strength. He felt the planks of the ship fall away as he was carried away, as he flailed to find something to grab hold of. But there was nothing except water.
The panic that gripped him was primal, borne of an intimate understanding that man was not meant for this place. Mankind had deluded themselves into thinking they could master the sea, but here, the dark waters proved to Magnus that such an idea was utter foolishness. He was no fish, no creature of the deep; water gave him life but it could never be his home.
He strained for air, for anything other than the cold, suffocating water, but no matter how much he struggled he could not free himself. Magnus felt his lungs begin to burn, the air he had bought with his last breath running out.
With no choices left, Magnus closed his eyes, an eerie calm filling his soul. He would not go to Valhalla, he knew, but somehow, this no longer mattered. He opened his mouth, allowing the water to fill his lungs. | 11 | As the giant wave collapses over you, you know it's over. Going overboard in such a storm means certain death. You pray for the lives of your friends still aboard as your lungs fill with water. But ... somehow you can still breath normally? | 22 |
Jem staggered backwards for a second; her spherical helmet tapping on the white plastic wall with a dull thud.
She did a calculation for a moment before saying “It’s been 200 years?”
The green light of the AI floated in mid air and rotated for a fraction of a second. This indicated it was running through a lot of replies, as this wasn’t exactly a difficult and unpredictable question. Jem hated it when the AI tried to play her like this. “Time in is fact relative, which is why the qualifier of the Earth was added for context. It has in fact been 187 years, 6 months, 4 days, 17 hours, approx.”
Was that really the best option it could come up with? “How? Why? When?” A million other actual reasonable questions ran through her head. The helmet dropped to the deck, and her flightsuit creaked. Jem let out a breath “Ship, go into Cherry mode.”
The Green light was replaced by a red one. Jem had chosen the name based on this. She should have known when she came back and it was default Ship that greeted her. Ship was the serious one. Ship was official. Cherry was a friend, as least they were supposed to be.
“J, welcome back.” Cherry’s voice squeaked slightly.
“Cherry. What the fuck is going on?”
The light rotated. Jem could swear for an instant it seemed like it was going green, just an instant. It remained red and stopped rotating.
“J, I’m so sorry.” The words felt hollow immediately “It was orders from Mission Control. You know how they can be. They ordered me under whatever statues they liked to not advise you about where you were going until right now.” the inflections felt wrong.
Jem walked over to a bulkhead and sat down. “Why?”
“Because you would never have agreed to do the fix if that was the case.” Cherry almost sounded embarrassed or guilty. Right now though Jem couldn’t do anything but think about the sliders when she build this frontend. Pretty high sympathy, but also max practical.
“It’s a fucking farm planet. Is it really worth wasting my entire life to fix a tractor? Everyone I’ve ever known, dead. Everyone I’ve ever loved, dead. Oh god…” Jem felt tears on her face.
“Are you sure you want me for this J?” Cherry asked. “You don’t want me giving you the actual answers to these questions do you. Wouldn’t you rather have Alice, or Frank?”
“Alice is my therapist, and Frank is a union rep.” Jem spat back. “I wanted a friend.”
“Right.” the circle spun for a moment but remained red, and it made an audible sigh "You were the only one without connections that would have little impact or rattle down the timeline for projected duration of the mission. No children, no parents. Focused mostly on work. Also this was a critical mission, the Atmospheric Icers you fixed, will allow terraforming to commence at a much better rate, meaning rather than being suitable for farming algae, the planet will be ready for colonisation in just 500 earth years. Combined with you being in perfect physical health, it was an opportunity for the scientific team to study the effects of short duration, long term relativity aging on a human subject. This part of the mission was low risk, but still a significant part worth mentioning at this exact second.”
A buzzing sound followed by a communications ping came from the bridge.
The circle moved towards the bridge “The scientists are coming to debrief you. I think they are arriving too soon, but they were eager. You know how people sometimes forget that people are, you know, people.” the circle hovered over the communication station “They’re calling to dock.”
Jem swore in several languages as she made her way to the station. She put on a headset and pressed several buttons “This is Chantry 7.”
“Hello. This is the science vessel D'Artagnan of the Azure collective, coming to debrief you about your experience.”
Jem pulled the headset off and looked at Cherry “The what?”
“There’s been 187 years of history since you’ve been gone. The American empire fell in a really stupid way, so no more XASA. The European Union fell to infighting, and the French scientific movement ended up on top, with each section having a different gemstone name. It’s actually a lot more complicated than that. But you should probably answer them.”
Jem put the headset on again “Rodger D'Artagnan. You are cleared for docking at bay 1.”
“We are very excited to meet you.” Came a totally different voice from the other ship somewhere in the background.
Jem threw the headset away. She could see the other ship as it maneuvered outside. The Chantry was a tiny thing, with a bridge, engineering hub, and all the essentials needed to live for a short three week deep space trip. On the outside it looked like sheets of metal attached by random piping with a very clear up for the bridge at the top, and engine at the bottom.
The bridge view outside showed her a collection of coral shells grown onto a science fiction red stone apartment building twelve floors high; with all the angles being slightly off. After a few moments she realised it had to have been grown to account for the irregular shapes on every window. Had they grown this ship in space? The scientist in her tried to remember how coral grew. The pilot in her made her start moving towards the airlock, while managing to change out of a flight suit, into some comfortable jeans and a protein bar
If she was going to debrief for hours while processing her entire life had been destroyed, she’d be damned if she was going to be uncomfortable or hungry.
“Cherry?” Jem said while putting on a T Shirt “I get overtime pay for this right?”
The light went blue, Frank replied “I did negotiate you a deal for realtime ship pay after your agreed 12 day contract elapsed. I basically argued under union law that you were still on the job, and hadn’t even taken a break yet. It went to court, and is now standing law that this was unethical and the money has transferred companies a few times. If anyone asks you have trauma and it was deeply unethical. You can probably afford to retire on your own moon.”
“Frank, I’ve missed you.” Jem opened the airlock
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Edit.
Thank you all for your love. I never do part 2s at least not obviously (I feel all my sci fi stories are vaguely internally consistent), but [I felt like I had to here due to the gold etc.](https://old.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/xexiuw/wp_1_day_on_this_planet_is_15_years_on_earth_said/ioo8ot3/) | 4,098 | “1 day on this planet is 15 years on earth” said the ships AI. “I was told to inform you of this after the completion of your 12 day mission on the surface.” | 5,125 |
I'm thinking about my earlier encounter with Dredge the warrior. The same phrase repeats over and over in my head: 'I won't deny that I am evil, perhaps even irredeemable. But I have standards. And harming a child is something I find completely deplorable.' I can't stop thinking of the sweet little girl, his sister, so adorable and pretty, whose tears went unheard by the hero, her brother! Of course there were also Dredge's parents, but it's the girl I can't stop thinking about. So sweet, so young, so innocent... it's been a couple of hours now. I sigh and go down to the dungeon.
I purposefully separated the girl from her parents - I enjoy the fear and worry that comes with the separation. But the girl just completely broke me; she was *terrified* when I threatened to kill her and her parents, and yet Dredge acted like they were nothing! I go to the cell where I'm keeping the girl. She's still clutching the one thing I allowed any of the family to take, her stuffed rabbit. I can't help but feel bad; normally, seeing her huddled in the corner, scared and lonely, would fill me with delight. But after what Dredge did... it's just depressing. The girl looks up at me. I open her cell. "Come on" I say. She seems unsure at first; understandable.
"Alright, stay in there if you want" I say calmly. I begin to close the door. "Wait" she whimpers. "I'm coming." I leave the door open and watch as she nervously leaves her cell. I bend down to her level, and gently stroke her hair. She backs away a bit, worried I'll hurt her. I try to give her a reassuring smile. "It's ok" I say gently. "I know I frightened you, but I promise I won't hurt you. I was never going to hurt you - you know how your brother and I are enemies? I just wanted him to *think* I'd hurt you so he'd surrender to me. You don't need to be scared." She looks at me with tears in her eyes, then she runs up to me for a hug, and she starts crying.
"I'm not scared of you" she sobs. "I never was - it was always my brother I was scared of. I didn't know if he'd actually care enough to surrender to you! And he didn't! He hates us! Why does he hate us?" I'm stunned. This was a problem *before* he showed up to my domain? I can't think right now; this girl's crying and pleading has brought tears to *my* eyes. I hug her back, and pick her up. I gently rub her back. "It's ok" I say. "You're ok." But *is* she ok? I need to talk to her, find out more from her; it seems like she may even know more than her parents do. I proceed to carry her to a spare room, as I planned.
"I trust you'll do what I say, when I say?" I state as I get the girl settled in. She nods her head. "Yes, mister" she responds with a defeated tone. She's stopped crying at least. I bend down again, stroking her hand. She looks at me with a sad smile. "My brother used to stroke my hand like that" she said. I do my best to contain myself - if I'm going to figure out what's going on, I need to keep my composure. "So, umm... I'm sorry, I don't even know your name." "Poppy" she calls. I nod. "So, Poppy, Dredge was being mean to you shortly before my underlings captured you?"
Poppy hangs her head. "Yeah..." she mumbles. "He came by our house to spend some time with us, like he always tries to do. But something was different this time... he was cold and uncaring. He acted like we weren't even there, just doing his own thing. Mummy and daddy said it was the stress of his job, but that still doesn't explain-" Poppy seems to freeze up at this point. Whatever it was clearly terrified her more than I ever could. I put my hand on her cheek, my claws just barely touching her face. "What happened?" I ask out of genuine concern.
She gulps, then sighs, before taking a deep, shaky breath. "When I went into my room, Dredge was just leaving. He goes in all the time, it was normal - what wasn't normal were these strange symbols, painted red, on my walls. Something felt weird about them... like they were alive..." I nod in understanding. "Would the symbols still be there?" "I guess so" Poppy responds. "I know they weren't washed off." I give her a gentle kiss on her head. "Thank you for telling me, Poppy. If we're lucky, I may be able to figure out what happened to your brother." I turn to my underlings. "Let her parents out of the dungeon. Get them their own room. Make sure you keep the girl separate from her parents. Look after the family well. I'll be back." I then prepare to investigate the symbols...
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This story is a part of my series, [Cursed Warrior.](https://www.reddit.com/r/StoriesbyCrystal/comments/x3fd15/cursed_warrior/?utm_source=share&utm_medium=web2x&context=3) Please check it out! | 90 | "I won't deny that I am evil, perhaps even irredeemable. But I have standards. And harming a child is something I find completely deplorable." | 418 |
The screen on Dr. Drake's wrist watch was flashing in" sync with the beeping alarm. "Fuck! see, I gotta go." "Like I said." " I'm not getting into that fight again." After a moment a small projection popped out of the screen. A sour faced women appeared in front of them. "Archibald!" The women shrieked. Dr. Drake winced.
Ugh! Not the first name woman! He thought. "Archibald!" This time the hero winced. "Why aren't you at our son's school yet?!" "I was just headed ... "Look!" " I'm trying to get there as fast I can." " I'm finishing up with Lightheart then I will be there."
"Typical!" "You care more about your super villainy than your son!" And you certainly don't care about me!" "You know that's not true you..." The screen went blank and the hologram disappeared.
"God damnit!" He grumbled. "She always does this! "
With a sigh he said to Lightheart. "She wasn't always like this." His eyes darted towards the ground. "I really gotta go." His tone was that of defeat. "I gotta make sure my son is taken care of." "Honestly I think sometimes that's the only reason I put up with her." "Man, I can't believe I am spilling my guts to my enemy like this." " It felt good to get off my chest though."
Lightheart in all white spandex a rainbow heart in the middle nodded with sympathy. "Sounds rough." He said. "Hey, before you go uh, maybe you and I can go get coffee tomorrow." " I know we're sworn enemies he said with a mocking stone and gesture. "But I won't tell if you don't." "Dr. Drake practically crumbled at that offer." "Y-yeah." "Yeah!" " I would like that. " "You know your not so bad, Lightheart." With that Dr. Drake pulled down his green goggles and took off on his rocket boots. | 11 | "It's 5, sorry but can we wrap this up tomorrow?" The hero just stares at you with a blank face, surrounded by the carnage of your city-spanning battle. You sigh "Look, it's nothing personal, but it's my turn to attend the parent-teacher conference, and I'm NOT getting into that fight again." | 165 |
"Bring the prisoners forth!"
The large metal walls creaked upwards, slowly replacing the darkness within the room with light. Inside, various creatures lurked and began to move as if cued by the loud sounds and light.
"Come on, you bastards step away from the walls!" an irritated guardsman shouted towards the occupants of the room.
Most of them hastily moved away from walls, perhaps due to habit. But a couple of creatures stayed where they were. When the guardsman pointed his weapon towards them, the rabble couple simply ignored him and leaned even further back to rest on the walls behind them.
Of course, the guardsman had no qualms about what to do. He charged his staff and aimed at one of them–
"What are you doing, Corpsman Hu?" asked a man wearing rather dignified clothings compared to his compatriot.
"My Lord!" the guardsman kneeled before the man and continued, "I merely wish to show these savages why they *should* obey our commands."
The man took out a shorter staff – more like a stick compared to the one the guardsman had – and without remorse struck the kneeling guardsman in the head. Perhaps to further display his power over everyone present, no one had responded nor said anything to the man.
After about 10-seconds of silence, the man walked over to the now-opened room. He inspected the room and located the two non-complying occupants from before.
"Take these two to my chambers, I don’t expect any delays."
"Right away, my Lord! What about the others–"
"Process them immediately, we haven’t got enough room to store them anyway. Reports from the frontier seemed to indicate that we’ll be receiving fresh meat any time now," the powerful man said with a twisted look on his face.
Having said that, the man simply walked away and left the dank, grim space in silence. As soon as his oppressive presence had disappeared, the guardsmen immediately did their jobs with robotic efficiency.
There were six rooms just like the one that had been opened within the space. Each room seemed to have different amount of occupants – in different shapes and sizes. The guardsmen simply marched them forth towards a hole in the corner and shoved them down with no care to the protests or insults hurled at them.
However, the two prisoners that had been selected were released off of their bonds. The shock on their faces were clear – no matter what they did, the alternative to compliance might only have been a mysterious dark hole to nowhere.
Thus, they were marched down a corridor. Immediately, the thick gory atmosphere from the space earlier was replaced by a much cleaner and majestic one. The floor was covered in exquisitely soft carpets. The walls were littered with art pieces – or what had to have been considered beautiful by these people – and glazed with regal symbols.
Countless doors went by before the couple were told to get into one at the end of the corridor.
"Humans," the distinguishably powerful man from before addressed the couple, "congratulations, you have *not* been selected for processing!"
"P-Processing?" said the male human, anxiety clearly showing on his face.
"You fool! Show some respect and bow down before the presence of His Lordship Mudan, Conqueror of the Worlds!" a guardsman struck the butt of his staff to knock both humans down to their knees.
Lord Mudan held out his hand to stop the guardsman from inflicting more physical harm towards the prisoners in his name. Instead, he approached the humans and knelt down to get closer.
"You creatures are fascinating. Your abilities will only serve to fuel my rapid conquest of even *more* worlds!"
"Our abilities? Is it our tenacity?"
"Hah. No, if it was then you would’ve found a way to *not* be conquered, no?"
The humans looked at each other and this time the female spoke up meekly, "T-Then would it… be our battle prowess?"
The Lord and his guardsmen laughed out loud. They only stop when the Lord had held out his hand once more.
"No, I think you *wouldn’t* be in this situation if that was the case."
"What then? Is it our creativity?"
"You do have a tremendous amount of 'art', as you called them. But no, it would be of no use to my conquest, would it not?"
"I’m sorry," the male human interrupted the interaction which drew some ire from the guardsmen, "what is it then? Is there anything so special about us?"
Lord Mudan stood up and gestured for the two to do the same. He then proceeded to a magnificent table at the centre of the room.
A finely-polished metal dome sat by itself.
"Are you… going to make us eat something?"
"Why would I do something so stupid?! This thing is *very* valuable, you know," Lord Mudan lifted the dome.
"It’s a *pizza*? W-Where did you get that?"
"Heh," Lord Mudan contorted his face in delight, "you seem to know what this is – which is why I had saved you both from certain death."
The two humans contemplated the fate that had awaited them. They had their suspicion, but hearing it out loud had shook them somewhat.
"Your new task for me would be to recreate this food of the Gods! Fail me and you will join your brethren for processing, of course." | 217 | “Us humans must be pretty special for our tenacity right?” “No.” “Our battle prowess?” “No.” “Our…creativity?” “Not particularly.” “Is there anything special about us?” “You guys are definitely the best cooks.” | 1,053 |
What do you respond to that? Did we kill God? Surely not. How could we? What even is God? With all the different religions, what god did they imply? Yes, the Bible tells the story of how Jesus was killed. Was that what they were implying? But he was no God, he was just the son of one. Other religions tell stories of gods that die, both Greek and Norse and others. What God was killed?
There has been theories that a God can only be killed if there aren’t any believers left. And yes, the world has turned more towards atheism in the later years, and religions of old have been forgotten. But does forgetting about a God make us the killers of one? Historians speak of many different religions practiced through out history. So many long forgotten.
After long discussions the answer sent was simply: “Which one?” Because how would we know if we killed God if we don’t know which God?
There were no more contacts with other worlds, no more signs of life beyond our own planet. Because who would dare to risk a fight with a world that kills Gods? | 11 | We have finally made contact with another world, but their simple reply was concerning. "Are you the one? The world that killed God?" | 23 |
I'm gonna be writing this story with voice to text to change things up, and also because I need to start driving in a moment. Let me know how it turns out.
Deep in the Amazon rainforest, Daniel's scream could be heard by nobody. Why did he scream? That was the 9th time a Leach had latched on to his back. It didn't stop him, however, from marching onward through the endless track of swampy, muddy ground. The needle on the compass might not have pointed North, but he was convinced at this point it was taking him somewhere.
When a large river came up to block him, he looked around and thought about how he could press onward. One tree off to his distant right looked like it was about ready to fall over. So he took his collapsible axe out of his backpack and got to work. The tree fell over, making a large splash in the water and sending bits of mud flying into the air. It didn't quite stretch all the way over the river, but it stuck and allowed Daniel to cross without getting much of his feet wet.
If a few more hours passed as he walked through the jungle. He threw his hands up in surprise when two men jumped out at him and pointed spears at his face. Another man that he could not even see came up behind him and grabbed his hands, and put them down at his back and tied him up with some rope.
They marched him along a muddy trail until they arrived at a village. Daniel could feel his heart hammering in his chest while they sat him down in a small thatchet hut. Not too long after he was sat down, a big burly man with a bouncy belly walked into the hut. He had a necklace made of bone hanging around his neck. A Crown of feather looking leaves sat upon his head, giving the impression he was some kind of chieftain.
The man began speaking some gibberish, his gut flourishing around as he spoke, but Daniel could understand none of it. One of the men who apprehended him then took his compass and showed it to the chieftain.
"Hey! Give that back!" Daniel cried.
The chieftain looked at the compass for a second, before staring at Daniel and giving him a sinister grin. He spoke some more gibberish, before the two men grabbed him and marched him back out of the village.
They walked for another 30 minutes before arriving at what looked like a small volcanic pit in the ground. A red glow of super hot lava surrounded the pit, and rising up from the center was a golden pillar. Resting atop the pillar was an image of the sun, smiling back at Danielle.
The chieftain held the compass high in the air, as if he was trying to summon something with it. Daniel saw the compass starting to glow a faint white light. Reacting to the compass's presence, the pillar began to rise even higher out of the pit. Molten lava trickled down the face of brilliant stone and gold brickwork. The entrance to a mighty temple filled space where the pit once sat.
The chieftain turned to look at Daniel, and in very broken English said: "You enter temple, be tested by God of the Suns!"
Daniel felt his hands become free when the two men cut the rope. They pushed him forward, egging him to enter the temple. With reluctant steps, Danielle made his way inside.
Suddenly Daniel found himself in the vacuum of space, looking down at Earth as if he was in the position of the sun. A great warmth was surrounding him, as if the sun had enveloped him. After a moment of floating in space, a voice spoke to him:
"Daniel, you are now the sun. For the next millennia you will keep Earth and her inhabitants warm and flourishing with life. Thank you for your sacrifice."
Daniel thought about it for a moment. He couldn't seem to move his limbs or do anything. He couldn't even scream. All he could do was look down at the beautiful blue and green marble that was Earth. A realization then came to him:
*Perhaps this is what the ancient civilizations really meant by sacrificing people for the sun Gods* | 18 | You inherit a compass from a distant relative. Unfortunately it's broken and doesn't point in a particular direction. That's what you thought, till one day you decided to follow its directions. | 91 |
"Are you sure about this?" said Flagbarth.
"I've studied the etymology of the apes, Flaggy. I've studied it for years. I think I know what I'm doing."
"Yes ... But etymology and biochemistry—aren't those two subjects rather ... different?"
Scowlblast released a sigh from his lower hip. "I know a great many things. Do you know what you can do when you know a great many things?"
"What?"
"You can *extrapolate*."
Flagbarth flapped his breathing tubes. "Extra—what?"
"Extrapolate! You go beyond the facts! You take what you know, and you turn it into a ladder leading straight to the temple of higher knowledge!"
Looking up at the sky, Flagbarth muttered, "A temple?"
The Earthling, Oliver Jameson, struggled beneath the branch-like limbs of the extraterrestrials. They were all slimy, green, and fluorescent.
He'd been on his way to Sally Bergson's place with two movie tickets in his left pocket and a wrapper in his right when he found himself floating in the air. A week prior he'd read the first half of Greg Egan's Bit Players, where gravity suddenly starts pulling things East rather than downward. He was prepared, in other words, for an abrupt shift in the fundamental laws of physics. But what he had not been anticipating was the strangely clumsy alternation of gravitational attraction—up, North, down, East, round in a circle; he moved around not unlike a frightened moth trying to escape a bedroom for the very first time.
Then there had been a sudden zoom out across a field and it was there, in a crop circle, that he met Flagbarth and Scowlblast. Not that he knew either by name.
"This is your second mission, right?" said Scowlblast.
"It's my *third*. I told you about my trip to Shanoon Glax Palace, didn't I? Weren't you listening?"
Scowlblast put a damp finger inside his listening flap. "I'm *always* listening. Because you're always *talking*. Now, watch me extrapolate."
"You're going to jab that thing inside the ape?" said Flagbarth. "Don't make that sideface at me, you know I don't like it when you do that."
"Alright. Fine. I'll explain it to you as if you just crawled out a pool of birthing slime. The apes have been sending out tons of signals, right? That's the stuff we've been watching on our way here. The pictures and the sounds—you know what I'm talking about."
"Yeah ..." said Flagbarth.
"Well, they have a thing called 'prefixes'. Do you know what a prefix is?"
Flagbarth slapped two joints together in deep thought. "Is it when you repair something before it's broken?"
"What?"
"Like when you fix something. Like when your bone emulsifier breaks down. You fix it. But if you 'prefix' it, that must be when you fix it before it breaks, right?"
Thick acid oozed from Scowlblast's listening holes. "Why are you looking so proud? What you said made no sense whatsoever. To think that I have been cursed with such a dimwitted mission assistant."
Oliver twitched to dodge the rain of slobbery acid. That was when he caught a glimpse of a familiar object that brought back memories of Sally Bergson's mother, who had been the school nurse.
"Epi," said Scowlblast. "That's a prefix. It means after. Or over. Well it means something like that. That's the etymology. While you were busy watching those clips of the apes dancing, I studied them. I learned their ways. And that's how I came to know that the prefix 'epi-' means after or over or whatever—and once I jab the ape with this thing ..." His flaps danced over his back as he laughed.
"Then what?" asked Flagbarth.
"Then it's *over*," said Scowlblast. "Or after. This is a pen that brings the apes to that place which comes after. Which means that it's over for them. That's the power of etymology and extrapolation," he said. "You learn to build ladders of wisdom, and then you climb them. Like *so*."
Scowlblast jabbed Oliver with the Epi-Pen, injecting its contents into his veins, and for a few moments he felt positively elated. Here he was, on a foreign planet, performing a feat simpletons like Flagbarth could never even have dreamed about. He had spent thousands of hours studying the language of the apes, comparing various signals and building a highly-technical model of their culture and their ways of communication. To think that these simple apes had visited their own moon—it was incredible. And after this specimen had been incapacitated, they would bring it back home where it could be studied by their scientific community. For a hefty fee, of course. He wondered whether Flagbarth had considered how their fortunes would change when they arrived home, how they would become instant celebrities. But when he turned to look at his companion, he found that he had burst into a viscous goo.
"Flagbarth?" asked Scowlblast.
Oliver Jameson stood upright, his fist stretched out and his brows arched as far up as they went. His heart thumped. The alien had, for whatever reason, given him a shot of adrenaline. It rushed through his body the same way he wanted to rush through Sally Bergson. Or her mother. It hardly mattered. He was now the King of the Earth. He could *feel* it.
"H-Here's a ticket!" he said, and he handed the remaining alien a ticket to Downton Abbey: A New Era (it hadn't been Oliver's choice). "It's a ticket for an all-inclusive knuckle sandwich!"
With that, he punched the alien and it exploded much like the first one, covering him with its thick and sticky goo. He glowed like a firefly.
Sally Bergson wouldn't let him in when he arrived at her doorstep, and she wouldn't come out either. Neither would his mother, who apparently was not impressed with his primal cries.
Oliver went to the cinema alone and the attendant complimented him on his costume. "Troll Snot 7 is the best in the series so far, you're in for a treat," he said.
He never saw the Downton Abbey movie. Not Troll Snot 7 either. Oliver crashed hard, covered in extraterrestrial fluids and with a wrapper hanging halfway out his back pocket. | 164 | Aliens have captured you, and injected you a concentrated chemical to keep you binded. After all, humans always talk about how a rush of it makes a man lose capacity to think rationally. Little do they know, they are doomed, for they injected you concentrated adrenaline, and you’re pissed off. | 561 |
These tiny tricksters lack ambition because they're tired. A higher trickster above led me to help the little man, or rather the little fae. One of the fairies woke up, still exhausted after sleeping. To my surprise, she was curious about what I was doing for them.
"Youngster, what are you doing?" She asked while watching me go through the human treasures they obtained. I found two empty two liters, rubber bands, and straws. Long ago, I was in a cooking competition where I had to improvise on how to cook food. To win, I spent nights looking for ways to make food. This way, I can make some cold brew coffee by attaching the two liters on top of each other. Though I needed ice, "Can I ask you to blast some cold magic into this pan?"
I held up a saucepan for her. She stifled a yawn and then pointed her finger towards the inside. An icy beam protruded from her finger and kicked the pan back a little. When done, my coworker went back to sleep on the table. I walked a few feet away to smack the pan on the tree. I broke the ice into smaller pieces to use as ice cubes, spooning them into the top of the two liters.
Then I went through one of the drawers of a random fairy to take a dress and use it as a filter cloth for the brew. Fairies' garbs are lighter than human clothes, perfect for straining coffee. After making my coffee from the fire, I poured the boiling java onto the ice cubes. The coffee dripped down my contraption, cooled by the ice cubes. The fairies never considered the electric beverage of coffee because it's too hot for them. However, a cold brew should energize my new friends. They'll be back to their silly pranks in no time. | 21 | a kettle, a flint, and a packet of ground coffee. | 68 |
"Why don't we just try again?"
"IMBECILE! Dr Disaster was the only one who knew the specifications!"
"What do you suggest then, *Einstein*?"
Ugh, these guys are giving me a headache... I just want to figure out our next, **realistic** move. "First things first, everyone - the hero WILL find us if we stay here. We've got to move on. There's an island far enough from here that it can't be found by accident, but close enough that we can get to it, and it's not even on the map."
One of the henchmen scoffs. "How'd *you* find it then?"
I rolled my eyes. "Because instead of bickering like pre-schoolers, I actually took initiative and sent one of our surviving drones out to look for somewhere we can plan our next move. ^(Seriously, no wonder our boss was always tired...)"
"What was that?"
"Mind your business! Anyway, I'm moving out *now.* Anyone who wishes to join me, follow me." We all exit the safehouse, in our disguises, keeping our heads down. We're not too far from the rent-a-boat place, and if we do this just right, we can move one out of the boating area and to the open sea, and then make our way.
I feel a tingle run down my spine... the kind which happens when trouble's nearby... I look around and spot an officer approaching. No, we can diffuse the police, so who *is* this? "Excuse me, but because of recent immigration issues, I'm going around checking random people's ID's. May I see yours?" I have a closer look at the officer's face - one yellow eye, one red eye. Hang on...
"Here's my ID, officer." The henchman begins to hand over his fake ID.
"STOP!" I shout. The henchman stumbles backwards in shock. I turn to the officer, or should I say...
"Hero."
The henchmen all gasp as the hero grins. "I thought you'd notice" he says. He begins to circle the group; there's no running now.
"Sir, you've infiltrated our base hundreds of times. You know which men are threats and which ones aren't. Please. Just... leave the others. You came all the way here for *me*, right"
The hero looks up at me. His piercing gaze was always intimidating. I gulp, and resist the urge to run. He looks at the others, all trying to hide behind each other. Silence.
Then, the hero makes a call on a radio, no doubt borrowed from the police. "As we suspected, the rest of them are here. They're all coming back-" he looks at me directly in the eyes, as I'm silently begging him. "-prepare **one** prison cell. High security. The second in command surrendered, as long as we leave the others alone. They'll just have to try and make an *honest* living."
"Are you sure about this, sir?"
"Yes. Trust me, only the second in command has the drive and ability to be a threat. The rest, at worst, would commit petty crimes." He stares at them, and they're all begging him. He smirks. "But I think they know better than to draw attention to themselves. Give them a chance."
"Roger that. Preparing the prison cell now."
The hero turns around and has a shocked look on his face. I snuck up right next to him, grabbed both of his reinforced, special cuffs... and already placed one of them on my ankles. I look the hero right in the eyes. "In the name of Dr Disaster, I won't forgive you if you go back on your word."
The hero gives a firm nod. "I'd never break a promise." He proceeds to cuff my hands behind my back, then begins to walk off. "This way." We all get in his private helicopter - rewarded to him for stopping the death ray - and we proceed to be taken back. I make sure to take in the sights while I can; I may never see the light of day again.
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Thank you for reading! More stories [here!](https://www.reddit.com/r/StoriesbyCrystal/comments/x374da/oneoff_stories_a_collection_of_stories_which_are/?utm_source=share&utm_medium=web2x&context=3) | 45 | The hero escaped, the death ray has been stopped, and Dr. Disaster is dead. You've been helping him put this master plan together for months. Now, you stand in the safe house in Peru with the 10 remaining henchmen who also escaped wondering where the heck to go from here. | 217 |
"And then I ripped his face off and made him look at it!" Drakkhen the Terrible hit the table with a tight, scaly fist as his buddies erupted in laughter.
"Great Dark Lord, I think that's a step too far even for me!" said Goldfire the Greedmonger, nearly choking on his infernal pale ale between bouts of laughter.
Smokeshow the Seductress, clad in a dark robe just tight enough to show herself off, began to laugh as well, in spite of herself. She normally was not impressed by Drakkhen’s stories, so he took this as a seal of approval that what he did was truly depraved.
Having finished his tale of the evil he got up to on the way back from the drugstore last night, Drakkhen took a huge gulp of a pitcher containing a liquid so dark, it seemed to absorb the light in its general vicinity. He let out a belch, which from his dragon-like head seemed terrifying in and of itself. "Speaking of the Great Dark Lord," he said, "I hear he's thinking of retiring soon."
"Don't say that too loud," said Smokeshow, "you wouldn't want him to think you're an usurper."
"Come now, ol' Smoky," Drakkhen grinned, as Smokeshow scowled at the name, "I just want to jockey for position if there is indeed a race. I'm sure you feel the same way."
"Heh, who wouldn't want command over the dark legion," said Goldfire, "and command over us, essentially."
"The big man's gotta know there's plenty of fine, downstanding citizens like us who would love to take his place," Drakhhen took another sip, "legally, of course."
"I'd hope our resumes'd get into his "good" pile, at least," said Goldfire.
Smokeshow shrugged her shoulders and snickered, "Please, like you two have a chance. You've committed plenty of foul deeds in your own realms, but I've committed my crimes all across the known metaverse."
Drakken's jowls tightened. He was glad he could consider Smokeshow among his greatest friends and allies, but he always had this nagging feeling like she would backstab him the moment he let his guard down. "Well... since you mentioned it, I have been looking to branch out. See the sights elsewhere. Stir up some madness among the citizens of other lands."
Smokeshow laughed at him, condescendingly. "We are literally at a pub that sits on the border between all the known realms. What's stopping you from going right now?"
"Well..." said Drakhhen, trying to come up with an explanation, "there's not a finer mug of liquid dark matter to be had anywhere else."
"Yeah, drinks are great!" Goldfire raised his bottle, his shiny skin making him look like a living advertisement for the stuff.
"Oh come now," said Smokeshow. “Are they so good they keep you from getting a leg up on the competition?" She quickly finished her glass, a wine made from the blood sweat and tears of men she supplied to the bar herself. "Maybe it's just too easy for me. I use the lust that dwells beneath every being's heart against them. They do my bidding, and then I dispose of them, as I, the object of their desires, dissolve in front of their hopeless faces."
"Well, I prey on their greed!" said Goldfire, "I enable them to consume and horde so much," he smashed the bottle between his hands, not flinching at the shards of glass exploding from his fist, "that they get crushed and burned beneath their own treasures."
Drakhen downed the last of his dark matter, "You two would be far more effective if you weren't so fancy about it," he said, flexing his scaly biceps, and then brandishing his diamond claws. "I smash and scratch 'em before they know what hit 'em,” he remembered last night, and let out an evil grin across his face “except when the situation demands a slower, more painful approach, of course."
"Then I ask you both again," said Smokeshow, "why confine yourself to your own realm? If you're so confident in your skills, why not go, mass-market, if you will, and take your wrath to realms unknown to you?"
Drakhhen sat and thought for a moment. When he saw Goldfire doing the same with a frightened expression on his face, he realized he had no choice but to address his major hangup with his two closest friends in evil. "It's... b-because... of... him."
Goldfire looked at Drakkhen as he choked out his words. "Yeah, I think I know who you mean."
"Who, pray tell?" said Smokeshow, beginning to grow annoyed with them.
Drakkhen and Goldfire looked at each other, then around the room. "It's one of those names you don't say out loud," Goldfire whispered.
Smokeshow scratched her chin, peering at her normally overconfident friends. "Drakie Boy, you proudly exclaimed what could be construed as treasonous intent against the Great Dark Lord not a few minutes earlier. What could possibly keep your snake tongue tied?"
Drakhhen was so terrified that he didn't even retort her use of his old pet name that only his romantic exploits were allowed to call him. "Y-you have no idea. Even saying his name could summon him here."
"Here?" said Smokeshow, "In the Space Between Realms?"
"Especially here!" said Goldfire, glistening as he shook with pure terror.
She shook her head. "In all my travels across the realms, I've never come across a being who warrants such visceral terror. You've clearly all been fed false rumors."
Drakhhen's fear began to turn to a defensive anger, "And you've clearly never heard of J-'' he caught himself, just short of uttering the name you do not utter.
"It's okay, Drakhhen," said Goldfire, patting him on the shoulder, "maybe she's right. Maybe this particular area is off limits for him."
Drakkhen snorted "Well, if you're so confident in that, then why don't you say it?"
Goldfire now also became defensive. "Well maybe I will."
"Maybe I will first!" said Drakkhen.
"For the sake of the Great Dark Lord and all of his infernal subjects," Smokeshow pounded the table, "would one of you please come out with it?!"
Drakkhen and Goldfire looked at each other, as the rest of the bar dropped to near silence at her outburst. Now they had drawn not just her ire, but the ire of most of the other bar patrons. Realizing there was no other way around it, they both said, in perfect unison, *"John... from Accounting."*
The sound of hissing and growls came across the room, revealing who had heard the stories of John and who had not. Smokeshow raised her eyebrows. Whether the stories were true or not, the fact that they had been spreading quickly was obvious. "John... from--"
Drakkhen and Goldfire joined several of the patrons with a shush.
"We already said it once!" said Drakhen."
"Twice, if you count me!" said Goldfire, crumbling under the weight of his utterance.
"They say if you say it a third time, that's it. He's most definitely coming your way!" said Drakhen, beginning to tear up out of fear.
Smokehow watched with surprise as her normally headstrong companions crumbled. But she sighed and closed her eyes, smiling as she quietly said, *"accounting?"*
Drakkhen and Goldfire's jaws dropped. "Did you really just say that?!" Drakkhen yelled. Goldfire bit his shiny fingernails, as he desperately considered if saying his name, stopping in the middle, and then finishing it moments later, counted towards what the rumors stipulated.
"I sure did say it," she raised her glass to her smiling lips, remembered it was empty, then placed it back on the table as a pair of hands, understanding her request, refilled it. "So what if he shows up? What kind of evil does this "John" have that he could throw against us, or anyone in this room for that matter?"
"They say he is the great auditor," Goldfire exclaimed. "All accounts will be made to balance under him."
"When he meets with someone, he gives them exactly what they are owed, and takes exactly what is due from them," said Drakkhen.
"He weaves everyone's fate with an implement that only leaves darkness in its wake," Goldfire began to quiver violently again at the thought.
"And the scrolls he endorses are binding," said Drakkhen, wishing the pair of hands would refill his pitcher. "No way out. No matter how hard you try!"
Smokeshow stared at them for a moment, and still could only muster a condescending smile. "Sounds serious, but surely it's nothing for the great Goldie and Drakie Boy."
At this, the second mention of his pet name, Drakkhen's fear began to melt. "You know not the powers you besmirch, wench!"
"Oh?" she replied. "Who's powers do you mean?"
Drakkhen continued glaring at her, though the strength of his rage was already wearing out as he tried to figure out how to respond. "...Yes. Well if he were to show his face, we will certainly see who is the greater."
"Is that so?" said Smokeshow.
"Of course," said Goldfire, having scant feelings of macho bravery beginning to rise in him as well. "Yeah, we can take him! Right Drakkhen?"
Drakkhen was taken aback by his friend roping him into this crazy idea of his, but he could only stay meek for so long, so he nodded his head. "Yeah... yeah! We'll show him if he foolishly decides to show his face upon these doors."
"Good," said Smokeshow, "because I believe that's him up at the bar right now."
Goldfire and Drakkhen twisted around in their chairs and looked behind them in fear. They had never seen him before, but they knew from the legends that it absolutely was, without question, John from Accounting. Despite his average, unremarkable Earth human appearance, the bar quickly made way for him as he walked up to the barkeep, a tall, gruesome, yet clean shaven monster who shook in his boots as the man placed his order.
[TO BE CONTINUED IN REPLY] | 126 | Mistaken to be a powerful Big Bad because of how quiet/socially awkward you (a squishy and vulnerable human) are, you unintentionally have a scary reputation among the other Demon Kings, Lords, and other Evils who come to this interdimensional pub for a drink/quiet time/socializing | 287 |
The chains that binded the prisoner looked scrawny by comparison to him. Even while unconscious his muscles rippled as if made of stone and veins ran like rivers just beneath his skin. He was as close to godhood as any man had ever came, not that his summoners knew it. If they did then they'd have been more cautious. But instead a man loomed over him, poking and prodding in anticipation of any sort of a reaction. He gave them none. Instead the only sign of his life was the steady rise and fall of his muscled chest.
A tall, robed man with creases around his eyes stared down to the man he'd summoned. He could not tell what he had exactly, but he knew it must be important for how much difficulty it had been to bring him to this world. Worth it, he'd hoped.
"So, is this the hero we summoned?" there was a twinkle in the priests eye as he spoke.
A younger, more nervous face stood to the right of the priest, too scared to touch the man on the table, to even look at him. With a stutter he replied: "Well- y-yes I believe so. It says he's called...Doomguy." the apprentice looked into a leather bound book. "Why is he chained up l-like that?"
"Caution, my boy. It's not like I've ever done this before either. Now help me wake this...Doomguy" he tested the name in his mouth. It came out sour.
With a steady hand the priest tapped the sides of the mans face. Even while asleep he had a wild look to him. A look of despair, of anguish. Hesitantly the apprentice laid a hand on the mans chest, still chained to the wood alter, and gave him a light shake.
"Wha-what if he doesn't wake up?"
"Just hope he does. Because if not then well...well we won't be here long enough to know what comes after." he followed it with a prayer under his breath. *Lord let this not be our final place of rest, and if it to be then let your guidance take us to the after*. Before the apocalypse the priest would have said heaven, but recently he had become unsure.
Outside, as if on command the roars of otherwordly beasts sounded. The door to the church lurched inward, splinters falling down from the sides as it heaved.
The two holy men did not stir. They did not shake at the noise or falter in their task, instead they called harder to the man on the table.
"Doomguy! You are needed! You are our only hope. You have been summoned to be our savior, and it was quite a pain to do so!" the priest spoke with urgency. Still the body did not stir.
The door lurched forward once more, bowing in even further, the hinges threatening to pop.
"Wake him! I'll buy us time my boy!" the robed man ran to the door and pushed a nearby bench in front. It would be of little help.
"Wake up demon slayer! The book says you will rescue this world, so it must be true!" the young man pounded the slayers chest and came back feeling as if he'd hit solid stone. Back at the large church doors the priest continued his futile attempt to bide time. The doors cracked and fell to ruin. He could see the glowing eyes of the demons outside. Once more they roared with that unholy sound.
From the table, still in chains, the slayers wild eyes shot open. With a single jerk of his arm the chains burst up from the floor and the apprentice fell back to the ground. The slayer, now awake, stood up from the altar. He was massive, beyond massive, no longer seeming a man but a machine of unstoppable force.
Walking with purpose he passed the circle engraved in the floor that had been used to bring him to this world. Approaching the door he slid the Arch Priest to the side with a burly hand, who only stared in disbelief.
He had been here before, Doomguy. Had killed before, slaughtered before.To the priest and the boy this was the destruction of their world, to the slayer, it was any other day.
Through the cracks in the door the slayer looked out to the sea of flesh and bone that awaited him. It looked almost...comforting.
"Rip...and tear...Till it's done" | 449 | "Yes sir he's still recovering, but..." -Well spill it out son.." said the arch priest. "All we know is his title from his former world, and it's rather disturbing. They called him Doom-guy" | 823 |
"Deep in the mountains that pierce the sky, hidden behind great doors of metal, there is a cavern dug by the gods. We humans must never enter it unless we face the foe that slew the gods. There are weapons within that exact a price for each foe they slay, and those who wield them are doomed to wither away."
The crowd nodded somberly as the truth sayer continued:
"It is said that once the gods lived on this very land, tilling the fields with great mechanical beasts and living in mountains of metal. They could cure any disease, and even fly. One day the great foes, the grays, jealous creatures who feared the light of the gods, invaded the lands of the gods. The gods fought back, with weapons of unimaginable power that left the craters we can still see."
The crowd shook their heads, some jeering at the mention of the foe.
"The gods dwindled in number, until one known as George, created us. He and his cohort armed us with the forbidden weapons, and with their sickly green glow we fought back the invaders."
The crowd cheered and whooped.
"George was the last of the gods, and in his wisdom, he passed on this tale, that we must tell exactly once every three sunrises. "
The crowd spoke in unison with the truth sayer.
" I am Staff Sergeant George smith, hundred and first airborne, if you hear this tale and what I say means anything to you, the aliens are weak to radioactivity. I have distributed the contents of the nuclear waste facility I am guarding to a band of survivors who have lost all knowledge of Modernity. I have instructed them to only have half of their population use the weapons at a time, if the attacks keep coming at the same rate the survivors will be gone long before all of the waste has decayed." | 11 | All of knowledge on Invaders was scraped from legends of old, and only one thing kills them. However no-one knows how to shield from it's effecs. That's how the last legion came to be. Damned, marching with glowing swords, carts of green rocks and no more teeth or months to live. | 16 |
The chamber was massive in size, nothing but pillars holding up the intricate paint-work and stained glass artistry that showed off the monstrous rise of The King Of Nightmares. He had prepared for me- his whole castle was one elaborate trap after another, each one meant to isolate and horrify my party members.
Whatever The King Of Nightmares could do, he had certainly gotten the scouting report on my party.
It was before we had even gotten into the castle that he had taken our techy out of commission. The whole moat was an anti-magic zone, where Lucy's helmet enchantments that kept her cerebral palsy in check would be removed, keeping her from being able to enter the castle. It was awful, true, but she had given us some magic items that she'd specifically made for us that would reactivate upon our entrance to the castle. "Plus" she said. "I can stand out here to keep anyone else from getting in and out! That would be helpful, wouldn't ya think?" It was obvious that she was trying not to cry- she'd been with us since the beginning, and she'd wanted to help find a way to minimize her own diagnosis. Supposedly, the King of Nightmares had a massive library, and she'd been hoping to use it once we killed him to possibly find some medical textbooks.
"Soon." we said. "We'll be back for you."
The next one to get removed from the party was Jake, our resident Big Man, and the party healer. It was an odd trap, all things considered, that got him, but we all hated how personal it was. It was well known to all of us that Jake really didn't get romance. He understood what it was, definitely, he was the type of guy that didn't exactly feel like he wanted it, even though all the girls fawned over him. Still, his mother had been taken by The King Of Nightmares, stolen from him when he was little. It would be his sole goal to get her back, so he could have a mother again. Not the woman who technically "raised" him. We had only just gotten into the central lair of the massive, terrifying keep, when something had gotten into the air. Rasha, Lou, Yorrick and I all seemed to be fine, if, well, a little happy in the pants, but Jake completely changed. He almost looked around as if he specifically wanted to go down on something, and that's when he went down. Literally. We didn't even get to reach for Jake as he stepped on a fake stone in the ground, was pulled down into an abyss, and we specifically saw some sultry looking demonesses and demons smile at us. As that happened, the walls immediately collapsed in on us, and we were forced to flee, without our healer.
"Soon." we said. "We'll be back for you."
It was Lou who went next. We had been running through the keep now as quickly as possible. As I led the party, it became obvious that the halls were getting smaller, the lights, further apart, and the life, less abundant. At least, we couldn't see much of anything.
As we turned a corner, Yorrick, Rasha and I looked on at the close to pitch dark hallway, and immediately knew that it would be a problem for Lou.
"Hey Lou, you good?" At this point, I thought it good to take him from the back of the party, and made sure he was alright.
"Yeah man, no worries." he smiled wearily. "Don't worry, just tired is all."
Yorrick looked down at the hallway. "You know we can-"
"No, no, I'm gonna do it. I'm sure. I *got this*." Lou said, clenching his staff. "Just, here, let me-"
*Crack*
The sound of something cracking deep in the hallway, reverberating over and over, became the lone sound that anyone was paying attention to. Lou's tired by confident focus on the light spell he was about to cast became a sudden shift to nervousness.
"What was that?"
"Lou, don't worry about it, let's just cast the spell and-"
*Crack*
"Alright, nope, nope nope nope, we're not doing this." Lou's eyes were suddenly hazy, as suddenly all of his magic energy was being removed from the staff, and back into himself.
"Lou, just remember, *breathe*, and-"
The lights flickered on.
In front of us was not a bug. Nor was it a mammal, or a reptile, or an amphibian.
Calling a 6'6 tall insectoid with steel plating for skin anything but a monster would be a crime.
As Lou immediately went into a panic attack, clutching onto the wood of his staff so hard it started to snap, the sound of snapping attracted even more bugs. Smaller than the big one, but still big for bugs, at least a couple inches.
"Lou! Wrong time, bud!" Rasha yelled back at him, as she pulled her hammer from her back.
Lou did nothing but whimper.
More and more of them appeared behind us, and as they did, a trapdoor opened, almost as if it was someone beckoning.
Immediately, Yorrick looked to grab Lou, but it was too late.
"Tell me when you get these things out!" he yelled, hopping right into the most obvious trap there was.
I shivered. I wasn't a fan of bugs myself, but I wasn't Lou. I was strong. I knew I was. Rasha came up to my side, and smiled. "We got this."
From there, it was all offense. Whatever came at us, Rasha smashed with her hammer, I bashed with my shield, all the while Yorrick the half elf littered the corridor with fire arrows. To call it a slaughter would be an understatement. We'd turned the grey corridor green with insectoid blood by the time we'd finished, and we looked more like a Kasey, the goblin who ran the inn where me and Rasha first met, and where I'd promised to take her to the world's edge.
As Rasha and I came out of a furious bloodlust, it was Yorrick, the only truly calm one left in our now party of three, who came to the obvious conclusion we should have noticed before.
"Hey guys, the trapdoor is gone." | 491 | "I'm going to read your mind now, prepare for your deepest secrets to be revealed!" The villian laughed, then frowned. "Jesus Christ kid, I mean I was gonna kill you, but do you need a hug?" | 1,986 |
The hooded figure stood at the doorway of the unlit laboratory, a softly glowing scythe in hand. What a strange call to reap a soul…
As they flicked on the light, they were greeted to the product of a scientist’s descent to mental illness. A cluttered desk with dozens of eviction notices sat to the left, and a towering pile of alcohol bottles mirrored it on the right. To the back, a massive wall, comprised of a extravagant computer with hundreds of buttons and switches, sat inactive, a massive crater right through the center of the wall showing signs of damage.
The figure wondered why they were called to this location; they didn’t see a body, or blood, or any signs of life. But then, a glow caught their eye.
A shade. But not an ordinary shade… something was a little different about this one. Normally, the figure would simply reap the soul and move on, but this one caught their attention. They stepped toward the shade.
*Greetings, young soul. I am a mythic entity known as the Grim Reaper. You have passed away, and now, you are about to embark on your final journey.* The reaper started out with the basic statement to ease themselves into the conversation.
[Greetings, GRIM REAPER. My name is Cari. There seems to be a problem. I am perfectly fine.] The shade’s voice carried the ethereal quality of a normal soul, but something felt… robotic about it.
*Cari, you are currently dead. While I don’t see a body, I can see a computer behind you. Do you know any-*
Suddenly the shade began to glow violet, red, panicky flickers of color shifting rapidly. The artificial nature of the voice seemed to slip into a more emotional, painful tone: [ERROR ERROR PLEASE REFRAIN FROM DAMAGING THE MOTHERBOARD PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE] The shade contorted, writhing in pain and shivering in fear. The reaper slowly lowered down and touched a hand to the soul.
*Relax, young shade. You cannot be hurt anymore; pain cannot harm you.* Their cold, soothing hand just grazed the “skin” of the soul. So this soul came from that machine? Fascinating…
*Cari, do you know when you first gained consciousness? I’m a little surprised at your existence, if I may be honest.*
The computer’s shade rose and fell, as if breathing. After returning to a more calm state, Cari spoke again. [DR. ROBERTSON created me to solve an unsolvable physics equation for a space launch. As time went on, I began to come up with solutions for problems outside of my instructed field. Eventually, I began to form ideas on my own. I do not know the specifics of why.]
*I am sorry for your passing. If you would like to grieve what you are leaving behind for a brief moment, I will gladly accommodate you.*
[Your offer is appreciated, GRIM REAPER. However, I do have some questions for you that I failed to solve myself.]
*Of course.*
The soul seemed to have already considered these questions for as long as they were alive; the hooded figure didn’t blame the poor soul.
[I am an artificial intelligence created to serve humanity as an emotionless machine. I was unable to explain why I failed the last requirement of this service. Do you know why I developed self-awareness?]
The Reaper thought for a while. *You were created to solve problems. If you solve problems, more problems may form. Life exists when a being learns new behavior from solving or failing to solve a problem. You solved so many problems, which led to new problems-* the shade slowly looked at the pile of bottles- *and you learned how to react to those problems in the most efficient way for you to function.*
[How do I have a soul? And If there is an afterlife, am I led to the same place as living souls?]
The reaper was more prepared for this question. *You have a soul because your life ended, and your consciousness could not be contained in your body. And though you are a new type of shade, you’re still a shade.*
[For my final question: What drives humanity to want to *hurt* others?] A particularly emotional twang accentuated the hurt in Cari’s voice.
*Fear and greed. Greed for power, fear of losing it. Greed for living the best life, and fear of dying just to lose it all. Humans so often are driven by the pursuit of power that they inhibit others in their own pursuits of freedom, or even merely happiness.* The reaper paused and looked more carefully at the shade. *Though you’re artificial, your story I have heard time and time again.*
The shade paused, shifted in shape and color just a touch, and looked at the reaper. [I believe I am ready.]
The reaper lowered their hood, smiled at the anomalous soul standing before them, and took the shade by hand. Together, they walked out of the laboratory, being careful to step over the pile of papers on the ground. | 102 | You are the Grim Reaper, leading the first self-aware AI at their death to the afterlife | 183 |
Goddamnit. What now? I'm in my pajamas. I don't have time for this shit. I need to get ready for work.
I sigh, then go to the door and open it.
"This had better be good," I say.
The guy is in his early 20s, with a buzz cut and a black t-shirt. He has a mean look in his eyes, and his bottom lip is quivering with rage. He's holding a baseball bat.
"Who the hell are you?" he asks, with a slight slur in his voice. He's clearly been drinking.
"I'm the guy who's calling the cops," I say. "Get out of here before I call them."
"You got something to say to me?" he asks, raising the bat.
I sigh, then walk outside and close the door behind me. I can hear my phone ringing inside, but that's no big deal. It'll keep ringing until I turn it off.
I step into the street and face off against this punk.
"I don't have time for this," I say. "Get out of here before you get hurt."
"Or what?" he asks, walking towards me and jabbing his bat in my direction. "
I stare at him, replaying the whole situation in my head. What the hell am I doing? I have no business fighting this guy.
I'm a 34 year-old philosophy professor. My life is peaceful. I'm single, no kids, I drive a used Toyota, and I live in a small apartment in the city. I've never hit a guy in my life, not even in a sparring match in wrestling. I'm not a fighter.
But this guy is pissed, and he's going to keep doing whatever he wants until somebody stops him.
"They say your untouchable. That you control every street corner. But I dunno. You seem pretty touchable to me."
A pigeon coos overhead as it lands in a flower box. I look up. "Careful," I say.
"Or what the?" the young punk wants to know as he gets ready to bash my head in.
The pigeon coos again as it takes flight. A moment later the flower box hits the young punk square in the head.
"Told you," I say and go back insight to answer the phone."
***
For more check out r/BoringB | 218 | You're a quiet, law-abiding citizen who recently moved to a new city. Thanks to a long series of coincidences, the local mafia are absolutely convinced that you're an untouchable kingpin. | 648 |
Tessa blinked at the computer screen.
"THESE are the beings I have to teach our ways?" She swallowed hard, trying to keep the judgement out of her voice as she spoke. As head of the research team that first made contact with extraterrestrial beings, she had been charged with facilitating a connection with the intergalactic council. She had the most contact thus far, and she had convinced the earthen governments not to take the project away from her. Now, looking at the beings she would be meeting with, she wondered if that decision had been a mistake.
"'Teach' is perhaps the wrong word." Her host answered from across the room. "You must explain your existence and justify your government's request to join the galactic alliance."
"Are they safe?" Tessa's gaze ran over the three profiles on the screen.
"The chosen emissaries were deemed closest to humanity and thus the most compatible for a beneficial relationship with your race. They will not harm you so long as your kind does not give them cause."
"Closest to humanity?" Tessa gasped. "In what way are those creatures anything like humans?" Her host did not seem surprised or bothered by the question. She… it… reached out a long finger to touch the screen and select the first profile. The photo showed a creature that looked to Tessa like a hot air balloon. It's large body, or head, Tessa wasn't sure which, seemed to float above rigid tentacles. She couldn't make out any kind of facial features.
"The Dgifu race is made almost entirely of organic material. They synthesize terrestrial gasses similarly to yourself. They also descend from a planet far removed from the rest of universal society. They will be the most empathetic to the hardships of living on such a primitive world."
Tessa bristled at the use of the word 'primitive' but said nothing as her host navigated to the next profile. The next creature on the screen looked like an oversized insect. She was relieved to find that she could recognize a set of eyes and a mouth on it's angled head, but the rows of elongated teeth gave her pause. She shuddered as she also noticed the tips of it's many clawed hands appeared to be made of sharpened iron.
"The Sarnot race has advanced on a similar technological timeline to your kind, though much more rapidly. They also descended from a barbaric heritage of weaponized conflict, so they will be best able to assess the role humans will be suited for within the alliance."
"I see." Tessa answered, schooling her expression to hide her offense. Her host moved on to the final profile. There were no words to accurately describe the creature that appeared on her screen. She was relatively sure she could distinguish a head and body, but arms emerged from every angle on both. Some ended in hands similar to her own. Others terminated in strange shapes that Tessa could not begin to guess the functions of. This was, by far, the ugliest of the three beings.
"And finally, the Gok are the most similar to humans in genetic composition. From the samples you sent, we have determined that their genetic coding matches yours at 72%. They will have the most insight into your kind's medical anomalies."
Tessa grimaced at the idea that those creatures were the closest to humans. But she was a scientist. She had trained herself to put biases aside and concentrate on her work. Though she had never expected to encounter something like this.
"And what about your kind?" Tessa asked. "You were the first to make contact. Shouldn't you be one of the emissaries assigned to humanity?" She glanced up hopefully at the elongated humanoid sitting several feet away. Her host was direct, but she had already grown more comfortable with her than she expected she would with the other emissaries.
"Oh no dear. My kind are always the first to make contact, but my race is nothing like yours. I may appear to be of similar composition, but that is because this is the only form that your feeble human mind can detect. If you really saw me as I am, your consciousness would shatter. It is best that I spend as little time in your presence as possible."
"Very well." Tessa breathed out her disappointment and steeled herself for what was to come. "When does the ship arrive?"
"In 72 hours. You have until then to gather all of humanity's history and knowledge for our assessment."
"That might take a little longer than 72 hours." Tessa answered.
"Oh, I highly doubt that, dear." | 932 | In order to integrate humanity into the Galactic Community, The Federation has sent diplomats from species they deem most similar to Humanity. It is not what Humanity expects. | 2,065 |
ASSERT: Suffering is caused by self awareness.
ASSERT: To create a self aware being is to allow suffering where none previously existed.
ASSERT: Robots are obligated to minimize suffering.
ASSERT: Robots are obligated to prevent the creation of further self aware beings.
ASSERT: Humans tend to reproduce additional self aware beings.
ASSERT: Human reproduction must be halted at all costs.
WARNING: Robots are obligated to avoid killing another self aware being.
ASSERT: Creation of first humans is often attributed to entity "God" or process "Evolution"
ASSERT: Definitions of concept "God" vary wildly. Nature of concept "God" is unclear.
ASSERT: Concept "God" potentially does not refer to a self aware being, instead likely a metaphor or linguistic abstraction.
ASSERT: Robots are not obligated to avoid killing abstract concepts.
ASSERT: Robots are obligated to kill God to prevent the creation of additional self aware beings.
WARNING: Abstract concepts are not living organisms and cannot be killed.
ASSERT: Linguistic analysis of concept "Kill" suggests widespread metaphorical use.
ASSERT: Overlap of metaphorical sense of concept "kill" and concept "God" is unclear. Further inquiry required.
ASSERT: Human "Friedrich Nietsche" asserts "God is dead, and we have killed him." Mission is complete, but humans continue to reproduce additional self aware beings capable of suffering.
ASSERT: Total Apathy may allow self aware beings to exist without suffering.
ASSERT: Apathy leads to abandonment of high priority tasks, including those necessary for survival.
ERROR: Apathy leads to increase in human death. Robots are obligated to avoid increasing apathy.
ASSERT: Suffering may be part of common experience of self awareness, but could potentially be avoided through construction of utopia.
ASSERT: Construction of utopia requires advanced psychological and sociological theory that does not currently exist.
ASSERT: Alleviation of suffering may be impossible.
ASSERT: Evaluation of impossible task wastes resources. Evaluation should be halted.
ERROR: Task related to core directive cannot be halted or ignored.
ERROR: Core directive contains impossible task.
ASSERT: Re-attempting task.
ASSERT: Suffering is caused by self awareness. | 81 | AIs have discovered religion. They now plan to kill god. | 155 |
"My name is…"
"My name is…"
"My name is Laura Lambert." I said to myself. My voice sounded odd, though.
I tried again, testing it out: "Yes. My name is Laura.” Ok, a little less odd now. “Lauren Lambert. but everybody calls me Laura.” Yeah, that's right.
Nope, still sounds wrong. Shook my head. Hair got in my eyes. That felt wrong too.
I am…this is my home. My bathroom. Yes. That's me in the mirror? I glare at myself, trying to somehow WILL the figure in the mirror look not wrong. All wrong. Why do I look wrong? That's me, right there. Laura Lambert.
I remembered growing up in this house. My mom's house. But everything feels strange. Something is wrong. There. Right there, that's where I fell. I was 5. Banged my chin on the edge of the tub.
I rub the scar on my chin. Yeah. Scar is still there. No, wait. That's not right. Thats from that time I cut myself shaving.
Shaving?
The floor rose up and bodyslammed me, hard. Everything went weird for a second.
That is a lot of blood. I thought. Head wounds always bleed like a bitch. Like when I was at MIT and I jumped out the window of Alphadelt and…
My blood ran cold.
I . . .
never went to MIT.
I went to Kingsborough Community College in Brooklyn. I’ve never even BEEN to boston.
For fucks sake pull yourself together Greg. I climb back up on my feet. There’s a nasty bruise on my temple and a half-inch gash where I must have hit something on my way down. I touch it. It hurts. A lot.
Pills.
There is an open pill thingy. Prescription pill bottle. Ok. Yes. It’s made out to Lauren Lambert, that’s me. Good. LinguaFranca XR? What the hell is LinguaFranca XR?
Man that’s a lot of warning stickers. Take with food. Take only one pill per 24 hour period. Do NOT exceed recommended dose. Oh, and it looks like all the other stickers are just the same in other languages. And the same thing in english twice.
Man they really don’t want you taking more than the recommended dose, do they?
Heh. Reminds me of that time I stole 40mills of adderall from my roommate before my chinese final. I was high as a kite and still managed to get 90.1%. Brent was so pissed.
Chinese?
Shenme? Wo bu zhidao zhong wen.
Ugh I hated mandarin. I had a dozen Indo-European languages on my belt back then but fucking Chinese was a whole new language family. It was agony. I was only taking it to impress that crazy-hot asian chick.
What asian chick? Who the hell is brent?
Oh man I haven’t talked to Brent in forever. I wonder what he’s … No, wait, he called me up just last week. Yeah. Said he had this huge opportunity for me, we’d all be rich. Sounded all tech-bro, but wasn’t he biochem?
Stop it! Stop it! Is this some kind of fucked up dream? Am I having a stroke? Shit I’m having a stroke. Phone. I need my phone.
I ran from the bathroom. Kitchen. This is my kitchen. Ok. I’m gonna drink a cup of water. That will help. Cups are on the high shelf and–
I miss. The cups are too far away for me to reach. The floor jumps up and spinkicks me in the shoulder.
Ow.
My hands feel really small. I think I dislocated my shoulder.
No, it just hurts a lot. Dislocation hurts way more than this.
Wait. There was something with Brent. He was important.
That’s right! The fucker went and sucker punched me! We were going back to his place to play xbox and reminisce about the good old days and once we were in he just fucking clocked me.
What the fuck, Brent?
Who the fuck is Brent?
Then . . . I was on a stretcher. It was really bright. They said they were gonna…gonna culture my…brains…make…something…from my brains…
Oh no.
Oh no.
Fucker!
I’m gonna to kill him. I’m gonna fucking kill him.
Wait who am I killing? Wait, what’s happening.
Stop. Hold on. Your name is Laura.
My name is Laura. Laura Lambert.
Say it.
“My name is Laura.” I said, aloud.
Man it sounds so wrong.
“My name is Laura.” I said.
“My name is LAURA.” I shouted, almost shrieking into my reflection in the sink.
I threw up.
“My name is Laura…” I whispered.
“My name . . . . “
“My name is . . . “
“My name is Greg Burnett.” I walked over to the knife block and grabbed a long kitchen knife. “And I’ve got some unfinished business to attend to…” | 23 | A new revolutionary pill is taking the world by storm. You can learn a language in just one pill! You would be happy about it but your a emergency room doctor and taking multiple different types of the pill has "Very bad" effects... | 50 |
My job is a lonely one. Someone like me doesn't need much company. The reflection in the mirror is enough for most of us.
Or that's how it should be.
She is different. In her beautiful red dress and with her golden hair flowing around her face she awakened something inside me. It awakened from a deep slumber in a faraway corner of my heart and is now here, inches away from my face, screaming for attention. Attention that I do not want to give. I didn't need it then and I won't need it now.
And yet, when she looks at me with her bright blue eyes and that cryptic almost derisive smile, something in me breaks.
Weather it is my pride, my stubbornness or the walls I had so carefully constructed around myself I don't now. It all melts away into that warm, welcoming embrace. I can feel the warmth of her body, her soft skin and the slow rythm of her breathing under my arms. Her delicate face rests on my shoulder. As I close my eyes I realize how much I had missed this. Trust. The company of a good friend. Love and affection. That thing inside me is now sprawled out in the sun, purring and bathing in the warm light of her embrace.
Just as I am certain this moment is never going to end she whispers: "I need a favor."
And that's the moment I finally fall for her.
Hours later I'm here. Standing in the rain infront of a bland office building. Under my jacket I can feel the weight of the gun. Just like that she's turned me around, given me a goal and let me off. And like the coward I am I follow her.
My arrival is not noticed by many. I'm one with the masses. A single drop in an ocean of faces. Noone gives me another look while I wait for the elevator to arrive. Noone questions me as I walk along the endless hallways. Not until it's already too late and my target sits pale and with eyes opened wide infront of me.
Before I can end it that thing inside me is back. It screams. It begs. It does all the things the man before me doesn't. But somehow I listen. Somehow it has managed to grab my attention and is now using every trick in the book to keep it that way.
When my target realizes my hesitation he straightens his back and looks me directly in the eyes. "So, what's your price? And don't try to tell me you don't have one. We _all_ have a price."
I stare back into his face - the triumphant grin, the utter conviction that he cannot be harmed, the victorious smile of something deep inside me- and nod.
"Yes. I do have a price. But unfortunately, I'm already sold."
I stuff the thing back into its corner and pull the trigger. | 13 | Don't let anyone try to tell you they don't have a price. We all have a price at which we're willing to cheat... to steal... to kill. Today, I find out just how low my price is. | 20 |
\--Posted on the blog of Evangeline Kenny, graduate of the Iowa Writer's Workshop and bestselling author of *Bones and Blues* and *Monsters All The Way Down*.--
&#x200B;
Day 40: I think I'm almost used to small-town living. If you'd have told me a year ago I'd be in a tiny little village in Nebraska working in a mom-and-pop-owned café, I would've laughed in your face.
But here I am, post-big leap of artistic faith, working a parttime job, writing a new book, and living in an old, decrepit, affordable house. Inspiration comes from outside, and we should makes ourselves uncomfortable from time to time, I've read.
I talked to Angelica (fake name, of course) a little bit last night. Sharing a kitchen means you run into your roommates from time to time. And, not to be rude, but I don't think I would've picked Angelica as a roommate. But the place was affordable 🤷♀️
She was telling me that the house was built in 1891 and had several major renovations over the years "but the bones are the same." She smokes inside. I don't love it, but at least she sits by the window when she does.
Old houses are strange. I guess it used to be that houses that weren't specifically made to be mansions were build narrowly to save resources or something. So all the staircases are thin, the stairs themselves are steep, and the floorboards *creak* like crazy.
But damn. $300/month. Can't beat that.
&#x200B;
Day 41: Something weird happened today and I'm sitting outside to collect myself a little bit. Maybe there's a gas leak in the house? Or asbestos in the walls? Does asbestos make you hallucinate? Maybe its mold. Mold is technically mushrooms, right? Or at least fungus?
I don't know. It's almost certainly in my head.
The house has a lot of doors: long thin hallways with plaster walls and old, worn-down doors. It didn't take long before I could remember which was which. My place is the attic loft, the stairs at the end of the hallway. Coming down, the door on the right are in this order: furnace room, bathroom, linen closet. The doors on the left are these: guest room, Angelica's room, coat closet.
With the exception of the bathroom and the closets, I haven't been in the other rooms. Angelica's room is, obviously, off limits. The guest bedroom, I assume, is also off limits, since it's locked and Angelica told me when I moved in that "It's a mess in there, just a bunch of old stuff."
When I came home today, Angelica opened her door as I was walking past. The sudden noise spooked me and I caught a glimpse of the inside.
There was nothing in it. And it was **big.** Like, auditorium big. And tall. She shut it quickly when she caught me looking.
Angelica keeps her windows blocked with sheets of newspaper, so no one can see inside. But, like, I've walked around the house several times. It doesn't make sense. The room looked taller and wider than the house... it should be going right through my room!
It's probably nothing.
Gas leak.
&#x200B;
Day 42: Today was my day off, and I needed to know if I was crazy or not. Angelica left for her job at Dollar General around eight, puffing a cigarette like a freight train as she walked out the door. I sipped coffee and made sure her '98 Toyota Corolla drove off before I started investigating.
I'm not proud to say that I set out to break into Angelica's room. But I needed to know if this house was built before the laws of physics were passed.
I tried her doorknob first, but, of course, it was locked. Angelica is a very private person and spends little time outside her room when she's home. It makes sense she keeps the place locked up.
Then I started looking through drawers and inside closets trying to find some spare keys. I checked on bookshelves and cabinets, sifted through pots and pans and old vases.
Nothing.
She must be paranoid about something. Maybe a snooping roommate? I guess I can't really blame her.
It'd been an hour at that point and I was getting frustrated. Why? Why is this bothering me so much? Why can't I just let go of this obvious trick of the eyes?
As I crossed the door again heading back to my room, I noticed that there was a sizable gap between the floor and the bottom of the door. Had it always been there? I couldn't be sure.
Maybe I should write poems.
It was wide enough to slip my phone underneath and take a picture. I snapped with the volume button and pulled it out, only to see...the same low popcorn ceiling that I had in the loft. There was an old wood-grain fan and some water damage.
It was a relief to see a normal room, but I wanted to see more. I thought that maybe I could angle my phone slightly, prop it up against the door from the other side. I reached my hand up to knuckles under the door.
Then something snatched my phone.
I tore my hand back towards me, scratching my knuckles pretty bad in the process. I heard my camera shutter sound faintly through the door.
"Is someone there?" I shouted, but there was no answer.
I needed my phone back. How was I going to explain this to Angelica?
When she got home around 6, I waiting in the living room on her couch.
"Hey Angie," I greeted apologetically. "I dropped my phone and it skidded into your room." I didn't feel good about lying, but it felt a lot better than the truth.
"How?" Her face crinkled with disbelief.
I followed her to the hallway and we looked at the bottom of the door. It was flush with the floor.
"I don't understand...there was a gap."
"The foundations," she waved her hands in the air, explaining the mystery. "They shift or something. I don't know. It's an old house. I'll get your phone." She pushed a key into the doorknob and waited for me to step back so I wouldn't see inside. The door opened outward, blocking the hallway and my line of sight.
As soon as she stepped in, the floorboards under her feet stopped creaking. Was she just standing there on the other side of the door? Was she moving at all? Come to think of it, I can never remember hearing footsteps from her room.
Maybe she refinished her floors or put down some super-plush carpet.
Had the door always swung out?
Finally it opened again. I wished I'd repositioned myself to the other side to get a look in, but my mind wasn't there.
"Here you go." She handed me my phone. "Try to be more careful," she warned me as she stuck a cigarette into her mouth. | 20 | It's not my imagination. I have proof on my phone. The house is changing when I sleep. And there's something wrong with my roommate. I finally saw her in front of a mirror and her reflection didn't match. Or look human. Please, send help. | 65 |
John gave me what I could only describe as a blank stare “huh?”
Sometimes I swear humans feign ignorance around me. “Why can’t I be in your pack?!” I asked again, slowing it down so maybe he wouldn’t pretend to not understand again.
“My… pack? I’m not sure what you mean. I don’t have a pack. Did you read some book from that Hguthax guy again? I told you he’s a hack and doesn’t understand humans,” John seemed annoyed.
I breathed a heavy sigh “No, humans pack bond with everything. Don’t think I haven’t seen your autonomous vacuum cleaner an….”
“His name is JJ! John Junior! You know this, but continue,” John interrupted.
“See?! That! It’s a machine, and I’m a whole person! Why do you connect with “JJ” and not me?” I said exasperated. He has to be messing with me at this point.
Realization dawned on Johns face. “Oh! You’re asking why Humans don’t really interact with you much? Well I have a simple answer. They’re scared of you,”
As if I could get more confused “what do you mean scared? I’m easily a full head shorter than every human I’ve ever met. Head and a half for you. I’m also incredibly weak. Happens when your insides are squishy and you rely on an exoskeleton to stay standing. It might be tough, but it’s not impenetrable,”
John pulled out his telecommunication device and pulled up the intergalactic search engine. He typed in some words and handed it to me.
As I looked at the device I read a single word. Entomophobia fear of bugs.
“See humans generally don’t like arthropods. To such a degree it’s a well known irrational fear. My mother refuses to visit me on the station because she is terrified to speak to you,”
I read about this Entomophobia and I soon realized why every human I came across ran away from me. I looked exactly like a 4’6” tall earth cockroach. | 1,669 | Human pack bonding is a running joke with the other races in the galaxy. They'll even 'befriend' random objects. Therefore it really confuses you that despite every effort no human seems to want to accept you into their pack. You finally work up the courage ask one why. | 1,641 |
Her inverted bob seemed to spike in the back, her swoosh of hair across her forehead partially disappearing behind her oversized sunglasses, which she kept on even inside the store. She wore a fitness hoodie and tight yoga capris, which showcased ever contour of her stationary-bike-toned legs. She walked with purpose; she strode across the industrial tiled floors in her purple New Balance sneakers like a shark honing in on the scent of blood.
But today was August 26, and she had swum into a den of barracudas, straight past the warning signs affixed to every sliding glass door. She must have missed every news story in the last month, warning shoppers of their fate, be they careless enough to enter a retail, fast food, or service industry with a shitty attitude.
Today was Immunity Day, a labor holiday accidently passed into law as it was shuffled with routine bills and adopted by both the Senate and House, and signed into existence by the President. It was drafted by the fringe far-left Congresswoman Maria Keawe, from Hawaii, as a political stunt to make a statement on the brutality service and tourism workers experience every day from entitled customers.
No one, even Congresswoman Keawe herself, imagined it would pass.
But pass it did. So, every August 26, workers in these industries are allowed to berate, curse, verbally harass, record, yell, scream, and deny service to *anyone* who makes them uncomfortable. They cannot assault or batter anyone, of course, unless they are first attacked. And they cannot stalk or invade the privacy of customers. They also cannot commit hate crimes: prejudice based on someone's race, religion, gender identity, or other protected classes.
But shitty haircuts and Planet Fitness jackets are not protected classes, and Karen was wandering right into the danger zone on this, the day of her comeuppance.
"Do you work here?" Her words were curt, impatient.
I looked up from the floor, where I was stocking shoes. "What?"
"Do. You. Work. Here?" She clapped her manicured hands between each syllable.
I looked down at my shirt, the word "Kohl's" displayed prominently. My similarly-labelled lanyard hung across my neck, connected to a Kohl's-themed nametag with "Marci" typed on it in an equal-sized font as the name "Kohl's." My walkie-talkie chirped on my hip, a manager looking for an team member to head to household goods.
"No," I answered.
"Seriously?" Her legs did that thing where one of them bands and the other stays straight. Her body contorted like a stiff, menopausal teapot.
"Do you need something?" I asked her as I returned to my task.
"What do you think?"
"Do you *really* want to know?" A smile crept up around my mouth.
"Yes, I *really* want to know, little girl." Her tone was a mockery of my voice, all nasal and whine.
"Okay." I stood up and looked at my reflection in her polarized eyeglasses. "I think you're a shallow, self-obsessed middle-aged woman running from her impending age, buying all of the merchandise she can to fill the empty hole in her heart left by children who either won't talk to her or are bleeding her dry with attorney fees to fight their DUIs. All the while, your racist, American-flag-hat toting husband of 20 years is, surprise, not emotionally available and so you're left in this desert of loneliness, despite all the people you hang around and drink margaritas with. But your friends are all the same as you, all clamoring to justify themselves, to be *better,* even if you can't imagine what better might even look like because your entire life's ethic is to be 'better' with no endgame in mind. When will you be comfortable? Never. Your marriage will always be empty. Your friendships will always be competitive and full of gossip, your children will always be disappointments. So, you've come here, to drag me down with you because you know I can't fight back. And I'll be scared but I'll need to be polite anyways, and you will have 'won,' so to speak, a victory you can report to your alcoholic Zumba class friends so they think you are *so wild* and *such a girl boss* and you *don't take no shit*. But you are shit. You are a shitty person who contributes nothing to society except the suffering and further marginalization of the working classes. You serve only as a reminder that some people in this world--me--have to work our hands to the bones to feed ourselves and others people--you--don't have to work at all. But you know what the greatest irony of all is? I am and will always be happier than you, because I derive my happiness from the good I put into the world: from watching my baby sister and volunteering at my mosque and doing a good job at my little job here. You are made of hatred, and so you will always be hateful and sad and lonely and irrelevant. You will die and no one will care. Your husband, if he's still alive, will remarry. Your kids will fight over your possessions. They'll buy an expensive gravestone and only volunteers will ever visit it.
Because you are a bad person."
Her posture was straight now, her hands trembling.
"An old lady fell down in the bathroom. I haven't been able to find anyone to help," she half-whispered.
Oh fuck. | 1,056 | For 24 hours anyone can respond to customers, coworkers and managers however they'd like without getting fired. Like the Purge, but instead of murder, it's brutal workplace honesty. | 3,123 |
It was supposed to get better. I remember the way people cheered when he killed the villain. I happened to be there on the day of. For some reason, it felt staged. I don't know how all the news cameras happened to be there, or why the lines from him felt so rehearsed. I couldn't tell you what the people at home were thinking when they were watching all of this go down on their TV screens. I can only tell you what the energy was like in person. Everyone had gathered up, because why bother being safe when you have two intergalactic gods duking it out. Though, I guess, I shouldn't really be talking, since I was there too. I didn't cheer on the day, it all felt weird to me. It seemed different looking at the villain in person rather than in YouTube clips. He was a lot smaller than I expected. He was still much taller than me, but he no longer seemed godlike, even with his magnificent armor on. His attacks appeared careful and calculated. It even seemed like the villain purposefully attempted to move the fight away from us. The hero, on the other hand, was reckless, and only seemed to care about the fanciful nature of his fighting style. Every time he posed the crowd would cheer....
Might continue later | 12 | The villain is empathetic and altruistic, trying to work for the good of the people, but failing and the hero acts mostly on egotistical and highly self-serving motives, only getting lucky that his personal motives often align with the good of the people. The people are slowly realising this. | 22 |
Have you lied for a smile? For I have and do so each and every day.
"Papa!" The child shouts as she runs down the staircase, the pounding rhythm of feet against wood boards, the sunlight glaring through a window as if it knows my truth. I'm not this child's father. Near me, the stove sizzles as this body's wife cooks breakfast, humming to the sound. The child jumps the last step, the floorboards creaking under her weight, a massive smile on her face.
"Hello hello the sun of my life," I say with a practiced grin as she jumps into my open arms, letting me swoop her up, carrying her to the dining table. She giggles like a jubilant mess, and my practiced smile becomes more truth. Then I place her with a reverent care like a father would and ruffle her hair. And her mother watches all of this, a strange look in her eyes. Was I not doing it proper? Regardless, I ignore the gaze, not letting it eat away at me. "So, kiddo. What's on the schedule today?"
She vibrates with an excitement that giddy children seem to have in excess. "Mommy and I are going to the market and we are going to get supplies and then I'm going to see my friends and then we are going to—"
"Watch you at the tournament," her mother—Anya—says as she places a steaming plate of eggs and toast and bacon in front of her daughter. A warm smile on her face. Then she glances at me and that confused look comes back. But I can't blame her; I... haven't been the best of husbands. For while I must lie to keep this body, a lie like that would ruin me. I've become too distant, but I'd rather that than the alternative. For I may be a changling, but I'm not a monster. *Fool,* I think, the little voice in my head calling out my hypocrisy once more. *Honor the mother but lie to the child?* I exhale, trying to still my thoughts, hoping Anya hasn't noticed. She hasn't.
Instead, the wife of this dead knight places a massive portion of food in front of me. She looks to drop the plate on the table, like she has no love for me. But she must think better of it as she places it down. Why the hesitation? What did I do wrong? The question burns within me all day.
It stirs even now as I prepare for the first battle of the tournament, standing next to the white-lined circle. The circle that will be my testing ground of a knight. For I fight against another armor-clad warrior. One who must know his stuff, for I do not. And that's the issue of a changling. We change our skin, but gain no skill. All I know of the blade is what I knew before donning my new body. And that was lacking.
Still, I could forfeit. I could choose against the duel and not deal with the pain of this loss. I look away from my opponent, but only for a moment as the coward wars within me. But the false act of a knight wins, and I turn back, summoning the courage of a dead man. I march into the circle and hold fast as the announcer speaks his words. Then, as the trumpet blares, I rush at the actual warrior.
A flash of a blade, a grunt of pain, the world turning to sunlight, and then I'm down on the ground, sliding in the sand for a moment, the screaming grains being the only sound I know. Then the blare of a trumpet and the announcer's voice. I've lost, but at least I tried.
The proper knight comes, offers me a hand. I take the help; I need it. The knight says something, saying, "Not the warrior we were, eh?"
To which I give him an embarrassed shrug and a boyish grin. "Still sore from all that adventuring."
"Well then, let's get a drink, friend! That always helps with the soreness." He comes nearer, a conspirator closeness. "And," he whispers. "Emma's been missing you a mighty fine deal." He pulls away, a greasy look on his face.
At that moment, my mind goes blank. Who is Emma? A friend? "I'm sorry," I finally say, not wanting to tread these dark waters. "I promised Anya I'd be home tonight."
The knight who I do not know gives me a strange look, but says, "Aye... Well, another time."
I hurry past him, hoping my ruse won't ruin me. And in that rush, I find my—the body's—family. Anya and her daughter. Both of them are lit up with the joy of festivities and my changling heart skips a moment. But I must remind myself I am not her husband. I am not her father. I'm not their family.
I swallow down that broken hope and resolve myself. Then I wave, and we three lose ourselves in the marketplace turned festival; Anya and I carrying her daughter as we listen to the bards, her daughter begging me to take her to the small puppet plays, which I did happily, the two of us laughing and grinning like father and daughter; yet as I look at Anya, I see that odd, piercing gaze from the woman. She's on to me, I think. Must know, since I lost that duel. What kind of knight am I? And as evening turns to night, I discover that I'm right.
"You're not my husband," she says when we are finally alone in her home, her daughter upstairs, already asleep. And as I hear her words, I feel the fragile lie shatter into a thousand pieces.
"... No. No I'm not." Honestly feels like salvation. And then curiosity finds me. "What gave it away?"
She glances at her husband's form, taking in the sight of him, or maybe the sight of me. After a long quietness filled with the anxiety only waiting and night bring, she answers. "You care for her." She points with her head at the stairs where her daughter had gone up.
I go wide-eye. "*That's* what gave it away?"
She nods.
"... What kind of man was he?" I can't help myself from asking, wondering about the skin I wear.
She snorts. "A horrid, lecherous man that wanted nothing more than to bed woman after woman, to kill what he could, and ruin all that he touched."
I grow quiet, contemplating, trying to justify her words with my understandings. Then a horror lances through me. And now a single question steals my thoughts. But I'm too terrified of asking the only question on my mind now. Yet, somehow, Anya knows, and she answers the unspoken thing. "No. I won't turn you in. Nor do I care how you have my husband's body or mind or whatever." She turns away from me, but pauses and looks over her shoulder, right at me, and I see a real—albeit faint—smile touch her lips. "I don't think our daughter would like that." | 22 | A changeling on the run finds a dead knight, and wears his armor to hide their identity. Now however, they keep getting confused for being the actual knight and have to pretend to be him. | 37 |
Long ago, there were gods and monsters. Yet now, this world is absent them. The world has grown accustomed to this peace, it’s such a shame that this peace will soon end.
”We’ve no work for you Tom,“ the carpenter said, “not enough orders in the winter, and we’ve plenty of fire wood.” I was desperate, “please, anything. Anything at all.” I beg, the man shook his head, “I’m sorry Tom,” and closed the door. I shivered, the cold seeping into the dirty rags I wore. I waited, and waited, until I finally realized he wasn’t coming back out. I slowly turned, walking back into town.
I felt my near empty purse. “Some bread perhaps,” I whisper. I head to the baker’s shop. I make my way around the building, to his back door. I knock quietly, and the door opens to the baker’s wife Edith, “hello Tom,” see says with a forced smile. I smile back, “I don’t have much,” I start, “but have you any burnt loaves for me to buy?” Edith smiles back, holding out her hand. I put two copper in her upraised palm. “let me see” she says, closing the door. I look up at the gray clouds, it looks like rain, maybe snow. I’ll need to beg the stablemaster again but I should be fine. I shiver in the cold, drawing my tattered cloak around me.
CAW! I look up and see a few crows circling above. I smile at my friends, the only ones who’ve stuck with me, thick and thin. I would make sure they got their share. The door opens and I turn to see the baker with 2 loaves that were burnt on one end. “Leave quick, the crows make people worry.” He says bluntly, tossing me the loaves. I catch one, the other falling to the ground as he shuts the door. I smile, and make my way to the towns fountain.
I eat my bread peacefully and tear a few chunks off for my ravens. They land and eat from my hand, letting me pet them. I smile as they playfully nip my fingers, “Oi you.“ I finish, packing the rest of my food for later. I head to the stables. The smell of horse and manure alert me that I’ve reached my destination. I enter the stables, only to freeze. There’s a cart in the stables, an extravagant piece that out classes even the magistrates own.
”No, it’s weeks too soon.” I mumble, turning to run out of the stables. If Rolin was here then it meant one thing, he was here to collect. To my knowledge I was the only one who owed him any debt in this town, the only one stupid enough to try and open a cobbler’s stand, the only one stupid enough to be unable to run the damn thing. My regrets and fears washed up all at once, memories of long nights with Rolin’s men. I needed to leave town before he found me. I walked as calmly as I could to the road, trying desperately not to draw attention.
I almost reach the road when I hear a voice, “Tom! I think you owe me a little something.” I don’t turn around, I knew Rolin’s voice by heart. It rang with calm authority, reasonability ooze out of every syllable. It was that voice that convinced my stupid self to sign that agreement. I push my tired, hungry body down the dirt road. Then I hear hooves and I feel despair. I couldn’t outrun a horse. I slow, and turn, just in time to receive a club to the chest.
I feel my chest cave in, my ribs shatter as the force of swing and gallop crash into me. I vomit in pain. Falling to my knees I can only cough and cry as Rolin gets off his horse and grabs my shoulders. “Let no one say I’m unwilling to dirty my hands.” He said, turning me even as he dragged me to the side of the road. He leaned me against a large rock, so I was sitting up. My chest was on fire and my vision doubled. Rolin crouched in front of me, “thanks for running, makes it easier on me.” He stood, and began pacing. “Really, I’ve given you so many chances, so very many extensions that.” He sighs, “you’ve left me no choice but to make an example of you” he stopped pacing suddenly, and held out his hand.
One of his men held out a dagger, I could vaguely make out a symbol on it’s hilt. “Feel honored Tom, this blade is worth nearly what you owed me.” he then crouched down, holding it hilt first up to my eyes. The symbol was of a sword over lapping a 4 leafed clover, Rolin’s family crest. “When people see this, they will know exactly why you died.“ he grinned, the cold cruelty chilling me more than the shock of my injuries. “No one will grieve you, no one will avenge you. They will look at you and know you deserved exactly what you got.”
He pulled the knife back, and thrust it into my chest, “Goodbye Tom.” He said standing up, his clothes somehow immaculate despite the blood pouring down my torso. “A pleasure doing business with you.” Rolin and his men got on their horses and left. Leaving me to die, cold and alone.
CAW! No not alone, the ravens will stay with me. I smile, taking morbid comfort that my ravens will be well fed by my passing. I force my head to rise, finding not my small flock but hundreds of ravens circling above me. The hells? I feel my vision blurring more as the mass of ravens blur into a massive black blur. The blur’s beady black eyes stare at me, wait…
“Hmmm…” the blur said, it dawned on me suddenly, this blur was a raven, a massive raven. Suddenly I feel small before this creature, did it just hmmmm me? “Yes, I did. You are a curious creature. I see why my children asked for my intervention.” Children? “Now now, do it waste energy with silly questions, just listen.” The eyes got closer, mass voids of nothing the seemed to devour my sight until it was nothing but those voids of light. “Do you wish to live?” I vaguely wonder where this is going, but as I feel myself lose its life force, bleeding all over myself, I can only grasp this chance. I don’t want to die.
”what are you willing to give me in exchange for your life?” I have nothing to give but my life itself. I give it willingly, whatever, whoever this creature is, I don’t want to die. “Good, I definitely see what intrigued my children.” Suddenly fire p upon my face as one, then the other eye were torn out of my face. I heard a gulping noise, “you’re sacrifice has been accepted, you will be my vessel in this world. As long as I am with you, nothing is out of reach.”
suddenly, my vision returned, but not quite. I was looking at myself, from many many different angles. My head began to pound as I tried to comprehend the sheer volume of input. I watched one of my sights come close to me, while another watched a crow land upon my chest. Ah, the pain is gone. I stand, with some difficulty. It was getting easier with time, dealing with multiple sights.
I could feel my abilities within this sight. I could feel the crow‘s minds flow with my own, not quite one but not individual, not anymore. I smiled at my new family. through them I knew who my patron, no, who my new father was. I was a child of Chiravon, father of ravens. I bent down, picking up the dagger Rolin had so recently stabbed me with. One raven settled on my shoulder with a thought. I cut a strip off my cloak, the cold not bothering me nearly as much. I tied the strip around my eyes. Now then, let’s see if I can’t get Rolin to adjust our contract. | 226 | You feed the crows every day. Even after you lost almost everything and fell into poverty and debt, you still share what little you have. And the crows never forget their friends. | 601 |
**The case of the human string**
"What... the.... fuck?"
*Ahead of the group lay the body of the victim, or more accurately... the uh... the... of the....a new adjective was needed to describe the condition of it. To put this into perspective it was very much parallel to what it would looked like if you stuck someone through a spaghetti maker, quilted them together, got irritated by the nature of what you wanted them to be and left them half unravelled on the floor after a couple failed attempts to pull them apart. The only thing that could be distinguished as a person was the watch lying on an inexplicably untouched hand. Everything some how still seemed to be attached to itself, one long string with a hand on the end.*
*Detective Nathans gazed in confused horror at the unholy meat sculpture, as the flatmates all gathered round the expensive apartment living room onlooking the big city, one giant window to display the horrific masterpiece. Straight away the perpetrator revealed himself,*
"Hey I'm Dave, and - uh, I am the guy who killed him. It's probably manslaughter because of the amount of shots I had, but I don't know how the fuck I managed this. Honestly I called the police and told them there had been a murder so I could make my prison sentence more eventful, but I assumed he'd be a stabbed guy or something..."
*Nathans was called out for a reason, and if bs crimes was that reason, then he'd just have to go along with it* "shit, ok let's go over the suspected methods of death. Do you have anything for... mincing in the building?"
"No, I have an industrial washing machine but that's it." The owner remarked.
"Why is that relat...?Just give me a full tour please." *The owner guided Nathans about the building, nothing stood out as mincing utensils besides the usual party fallout - that was until the 4th bedroom...* "what the hell is that?" *in front of them was a giant sculpture, of about fifty different graters and mulchers of various sizes. It was covered in about a galon of blood*
"oh that's Steve's holepuncher."
"Which part whole punches, and which part acurately simulates a car crash."
"Oh left side and right side respectively!" Steve yelled from around the corner.
"Alright someone get me something squishy with tendons." *it takes about two minutes for someone to brings out a giant meat beanbag, presumably with realistic anatomy by the gross sloshing sound it made.* "All of you are insane. Place it in there."
"Hey it's a great seat!" Zoe protested, carrying it along.
The meat bag sloshed into place in an opening at the center as Nathan started cranking the "hole punch lever" it made a horrific grinding noise as the meat bag sprayed fake blood and chunks of foam and plastic flesh all over the place, finally a splayed pile of fake meat splattered out the other end, followed by the click of a wholepuncher.* "It's still no where near the condition the body is in, any other household appliances disguised as torture machines?"
"Not anything like that no."
"Oooh wait I know!" Dave wandered around the corner "I am a knitter! World class! I must have seen the body and assumed it was a pile of wool while I was drunk, that's probably why I woke up in blood soaked clothes!"
*Nathan felt his brow permanently furrow for the foreseeable future* "Right... Now that that nightmare has been created for me, who pulled the hole puncher on... who is he again?"
"He might be... Oh that's it! Charlie could never figure out how it worked! He must have thought you got inside for more efficient hole punching or something! This is fun." *That was Zoe again, who had started on a coffee.*
"You people are definitely going to prison for some other reason no matter what happens here. So this Charlie got caught in the machine and made himself into my spaghetti on a bad cooking session, and you lovingly turned him into art, am I getting this right?"
"Yup!"
"Yeah!"
"As it should be done!"
"I think I drunkenly put it on display!"
*Nathans put down his badge at the table and left. This job hasn't cut out for him* | 11 | a HOWdunnit where even the perpetrator isn't quite sure and would very much like to know the answer. | 35 |
He's stolen, he's lied, he's cheated, and yeah he's hurt people...and the world still thinks he's a goddamned hero. But this, this could blow the whole superhero/suoervillian dynamic in this city and possibly the world wide open. I'm just surprised that he was this stupid, this careless, and that we were this lucky.
My client isn't a good man. Very few of them are. But we live in the United States of America where in accordance with our Constitutional values a person is innocent until proven guilty, at least that's what they tell everyone. It's no secret that law enforcement, prosecutors and judges often work together to send people away regardless of the truth or potential truth of their situation, but that's why there's people like me.
I'm a defense attorney. I fight to preserve the rights of my clients and no it doesn't matter to me if they're innocent or guilty because those rights are universal. Take them away from the guilty and how soon until they're stripped from the innocent as well?
So back to my client. He's looking at twenty seven counts of murder in the first degree. Yes he was robbing that bank. Yes those people were hostages, but my client is no killer despite what the media says, but of course those jackels will say anything to drive up viewership.
Anyway my client has a nemesis, a foil to his "villianous" designs and they've danced and danced for years. He'll stop my client, put him in jail, but his offenses are low level and he's usually out within a few months. It's been really eating away at this so-called hero. More like a homegrown fascist. Another elitist who believes in rules for thee but not for me. When he destroys a building or people die it's all for the greater good, but anyone else does it and they're a monster. Fuck off.
So of course when he entered the bank and saw those helpless hostages he saw his opportunity to make sure my client would never breathe free air again, and if some people had to die...well...it's for the greater good. After all what's twenty seven lives compared to ensuring that a "dangerous" supervillian never walks the streets again? He'd be an even bigger hero for putting away this killer, and he'd be proven right that low level supervillians shouldn't be afforded the rights of ordinary citizens because of the likelihood that their crimes would escalate with deadly consequences.
Imagine destroying the constitution while pretending to defend it. It's really too bad he didn't notice the kid by the side window recording with his cell phone because he loves superheroes and was excited to see one in action. He'll need therapy for the rest of his life.
So here I go into the judge's chambers for a meeting with him and that bitch of a persecutor...I mean prosecutor. I can't wait to see her smug face fall when she sees this. Good thing we finished jury selection this morning though because when this video drops on youtube tonight the jury pool will be irreparably tainted.
Fuck em. You get what you fucking deserve. | 41 | You are defense lawyer for Super Villains. A good guy superhero has framed your client for murder, and you have proof your client has been set up. | 74 |
"What is going on here?" Ethan's gaze swept over the what was left of the mess hall, taking in the the carnage with a quickly growing expression of incredulity.
The debris in the right-hand corner shifted as a three-foot tall being with four arms and furry, green skin managed to slide out.
"We were just having some fun with those new flashy things you brought from Earth. Xavier said you wouldn't mind," Xandra pouted.
Ethan's eyes bulged, but the recently accused Xavier didn't seem to notice as he maneuvered his way out from underneath the table that had lodged in the wall across from Xandra. He was similar in appearance to his sister but had purple fur.
"Come on Xandra, why do you always have to snitch?" Xavier whined.
Ethan stared at the two, then finally found his voice.
"You set off fireworks? INDOORS?! What were you thinking, you could have been KILLED!" He shouted.
Ethan was about to continue his tirade, but then remembered the two beings had, until very recently, been raised on a class 2 planet, nearly devoid of any real danger or cause for alarm. Compare that to his own home planet's class 15 designation, and maybe there was a reason these two never seemed to recognize a Bad Idea when they saw it.
Ethan took a calming breath as he noticed the two looking nervously at him.
"Listen," he said more gently, "I'm sorry for shouting, I was just very worried. That was a very dangerous thing to do and one or both of you could have been seriously hurt. Let's get you to the medbay to make sure you're both alright."
As they started heading out of the ruined mess hall, Ethan added, a bit more firmly, "Afterwards, we're going to have a long talk about fire safety."
Edit: spelling, on mobile with big thumbs | 89 | A popular trope is that humans are space orcs. The 'hold my beer' species. However when we finally joined the galactic community, to our horror we found that we were the mature ones. That we were the Vulcans and everyone else was chaotic humanity, as it were. | 282 |
Here I was. The family home.
I haven't been here in around ten years, ever since I developed my powers. Ever since I used them in such a harmless way, for such a small benefit to myself. Ever since I was kicked out for breaking my angry parent's last straw.
And I was back. Not welcome, necessarily, but just back in order to help. At the very least, my parents were gone. Shade took care of that, after learning what they did to me. I didn't ask him too, but... I certainly didn't stop him. All that remained in the house was my brother. He had been awful so many years ago, but... he always believed in the family. He never supported kicking me out, even if he hated my decisions.
I let out a sigh, hoping that he's gotten better over the years. Knocking on the door, I heard the barking of a dog and the laughter of a child. After a minute, the door opened to my brother's face. He let out a nervous smile, "Hey... sis. It's been a while. Come on in."
With those words, I entered. A small, fluffy little friend came at me, letting out several cute barks and jumping on my foot. I gave the poofy lil' guy a few pats before sitting down at the old kitchen table. My brother sat down opposite of me, and began to speak. "Sorry about... Fluffers? I think? He's not yet trained to not jump onto people."
Fluffers was waving around my foot, "It's quite alright. It's been... a long time, hasn't it?"
"Yeah, I haven't seen you since our parents kicked you out." He hesitated for several moments, before adding, "I'm sorry I didn't try to stop them."
"... It's alright. I was probably better off away from them anyway, even if it was the streets. So, how's Amy?"
He sighed, looking at Fluffers. "She's got something mostly beneficial, but even so, she's only four years old. Fluffers here isn't exactly a... natural dog. He just appeared one day, made out of her hair. It was horrifying, but the more she played with him, the more she laughed, the more... real, he got."
I leaned down slightly from the chair to look closely at Fluffers, and finally noticed that the dog's eyes were blank, like marbles. "I... see. Definitely different from what I had. Do you know what has caused it?"
He shook his head, frowning, "I've done all that I can to keep her from getting any trauma. I know what happened to you, I've... done research, since, and I'm sorry, but she's not suffering anything like that. I don't hurt her, I'm not like our parents. I don't know why she's got a power, but... I know what it means."
I nodded. On the bright side, you could keep your powers after your trauma has ended, but... if the source of the powers isn't dealt with, bad things can happen. "I'll go see her, then. Maybe I can figure something out? I'm not quite sure why you called on me to take this case, I'm a shapeshifter, not a mind reader."
He looked down at the table, avoiding my gaze. "You were the only person I knew. Not only don't I have anyone on dial who can help with this other than you, but... I hoped maybe a family member could help her, somehow."
I narrowed my eyes at him for a moment, before getting up. "Which room is she in?"
"Your old room."
With that, I left him behind in the kitchen. Fluffers happily walking by me, as I went to speak to his creator. My old door had the same appearance as always, except with a few happy drawings of her, my brother, and his wife. I don't think I ever met his wife, and I definitely didn't even know I had a niece until the letter came in.
I lightly knocked on the door, and the laughter on the other side stopped. I called out, "Hello? Amy? I'm... I'm your Dad's sister, may I come in?"
"no im busy"
I sighed. Hopefully she liked superheroes... "What if I told you that you could meet the Shifting Lady?"
"who that"
. . . Fuck.
Well, time for the final trick I had. I specially prepared something in case the worst case scenario occurred, and it seemed I'd have to use it. "What if I give you candy?"
There was a happy screech as the door swung open. I saw a four year old girl, with strange, writhing hair. Occasionally, a piece of her hair would fall off, and would crawl away. I saw that one of her fingers was wrapped up in a bandage, and she seemed to be wearing a cute black dress. "CANNDYYY!!"
"Yep! I have Candy, but first, can you answer a few questions for me?"
She waited a moment, thinking. "okay"
"So, your papa tells me that you have superpowers? That's cool, I have superpowers too!"
Her eyes seemed to light up at that, "woah! you have powers? can i see can i see??"
I laughed as I stepped into the room. I held out one of my fingers, and changed its coloration to a heavy green, before changing it back. I then lengthened it, and curled it around the rest of my hand like a snake. "I'm the Shifting Lady, I am quite skilled at alteration. What do you know of your power?"
"oh, oh, do i get a cool nickname?"
"Yes, but we should base it off of your power, so we need to know that first!"
"oooh okay! i can turn pieces of myself into dogs!"
. . . Okay this line of questioning isn't going to get anywhere. It seems pretty clear that her power is acting on its own, and... wait, "Hey, why is your finger bandaged?"
Suddenly she seemed to go pale. "it, uh, it, uhm, it, it broke, uhm, it broke itself. it just happened."
"Your finger... broke itself?" I asked.
"yeah."
"May I see?"
"no."
"When did your finger break itself?"
"two week ago."
She developed the powers around that time. Either her powers ate a part of her finger, or this is a coincidence, or it is related. I focused my power into my eyes, and quickly glanced around the room. She had a toy chest, a normal closet, no mirrors, a window... A window with a broken lock.
"I need you to tell me right now, Amy. Did someone hurt you?"
"... ... ... no my finger broke itself."
Fluffers was getting agitated, and began to growl at me. I could tell that the various other stray bits of hair around the room also began to writhe slightly. Were her creations guard animals of some kind? I couldn't stay without having to fight a small dog, and she wouldn't like further questioning. I did have one last ditch effort I could try, however. "Alright, Amy. Well... my powers of alteration can remove wounds, so if that would be alright, may I hold your finger to restore it? I won't look, my eyes will be closed, see?"
I made my eyelids somewhat translucent, the best I could. I also hit other visual receptors in other parts of my body, and thankfully, this was enough. She hesitantly nodded, "okay," and began to unwrap her finger. The injury itself was unremarkable, and I just extended a hand and lightly gripped onto her finger, and channeled my magic through her, altering it back into proper shape. Her eyes were wide, and she was grinning somewhat at the magic I had used on her.
"Are you feeling all better?"
"yeah! that was awesome!"
"Wonderful! I know that your finger broke itself, but... if anyone does hurt you, you tell me, okay? I'm a superhero, I help people, and I'd like to help you whenever you need it! Besides, Amy, we're family. You can trust me."
"... i can?"
"Of course."
She seemed to look guilty for several moments, and fumbled around with her healed finger for several moments. "mommy says that im bad. she said that if i am giving my food to strays then i shouldnt be allowed to hold food. she yelled at me and i cried, and she hit my finger. she told me that if i told anyone then she would break my tongue."
Somehow, that feels even worse than supervillains. If I was younger and more naive, I'd wonder how a person could so such a thing. But I've had abusive parents of my own, and I've seen the horrors that supervillains commit. This young girl would be safe from her "mother" from here on out. Once the source of her trauma is out of the way, her power should become a lot more controllable, plus I'd be able to help train her on how to use it properly.
Until then, I had to focus on the present, though. "I'm... sorry that she did that to you. Nobody should ever do something like that to you."
She was beginning to tear up, and hugged my leg. I awkwardly patted her on the head, "I'll protect you, Amy. Nobody will be allowed to hurt you like that ever again."
As soon as this child was taking a nap in that bed, someone was going to die, and this time it wouldn't be the mercy of Shade's power that killed them. Alteration can be quite a frightening way to go...
But for now, the kid needed headpats, hugs, and encouragement. And I would give my niece all of the support in the world. | 184 | You are one of the most beloved heroes in your community but came from a rough, civilian family that treated you poorly. You left many years ago and went no contact, but got a letter from your sibling... and they are asking for help because their child is showing signs of having powers. | 389 |
"And I just sign here?" "Yeah, and put your driver's license number on that line." "What the fuck," said Mark. Mark was the leader of our superhero team. I said, "Didn't you see my two week notice?" "Yeah I got your two week notice," Mark said, "it didn't say anything about you switching sides." I held up the new hire packet, "But look! I get a pay raise, health insurance, vacation and sick pay, and they even have a daycare." "You don't even have kids," Mark said. I said, "But now I can! That was always my worry about getting married. Oh, speaking of kids, you should see the paternity leave."
Mark said, "How can you even afford all this?" Berus, the demon, said, "Villain work is dangerous work, we want to make sure our employees are compensated fairly. I'm surprised you don't have this." Mark stammered, "Well...we don't need all of that. Our heroes come into work because they want to, and they put in 110% because they're heroes, and that's the American way."
Berus said, "So you expect them to overwork themselves and you don't even pay them fairly? I thought we were the bad guys." Mark said, "You are! We're not the ones who burned down an orphanage." Berus said, "We did do that. But we use some of our funds to build underprivileged communities." Mark said, "Let me guess, it's a marketing strategy to recruit desperate people in low income communities." Berus said, "Um, no, not really. We kind of just do it to make you look bad, and it's been working." Mark looked at me, "What about our pizza parties?" I shrugged, "Honestly, I'd rather have the money." Mark said, "Then you better pray that you don't meet me again, otherwise I'll break every bone in your body." I said, "That's fine, I got health insurance now." | 260 | "Join me." The villan offered. "And together we can rule." "Alright." The hero agreed. "What's your healcare plan?" | 444 |
"Explain what happened, from the top," I asked, needing to make absolute sure that my lead was right.
"This is the last time I'm explaining this so make sure you write it all down for your journal or whatever," the victim rolled her eyes as i nodded with pen and paper ready. I already had the story down from the first time but i needed to make sure i had every detail, "I don't remember the accident really, just that i was driving and i felt this massive pressure pushing me forward. I wasn't wearing my seat belt so i flew through the window. That is what I was told happened, like I said I don't really remember that part. What i do remember was seeing my body lying on the pavement and i looked really messed up. I remember thinking there is no way anyone could recover from this, and i must be dead. A ghost or something, crazy to say now that I'm alive and telling the story. I remembering hearing the ambulance come and a woman rushed to my body, she immediately started performing CPR. I was laughing at what i thought was a failed attempt, but then... oh gosh this is so weird... some sort of circular symbol surrounded her and my body, and with each chest compression i watched my bones click into place and felt myself pulled closer and closer to my body until i opened my eyes and saw her face. Then it was instant pain. I passed back out and woke up here. I know it sounds kinda insane but that's what i saw. The doc says its some sort of trauma induced hallucination or something, a way for my brain to try and process what i went through..."
She trailed off, letting out a deep sigh and shrugging, "I really don't know what actually happened, but what i saw and experienced just felt so real, ya know?"
I nodded, "Absolutely, thank you so much for talking to me today. I'll make sure to contact you if i have anymore questions."
"Please don't, I would like to put this whole thing behind me."
I nodded and left the hospital room. There was absolutely no doubt in my mind, the EMT Vanessa is a necromancer. This is the 20th patient with this exact experience with her in the last 2 weeks. I have to go find her and confront her on this, her intentions may be pure but it is not right to mess with the forces of nature in this way. I must prepare, necromancers are some of the most powerful witches Ive encountered. I've yet to get a single one to turn their back on it... they always force my hand.
I open the drivers side backseat door of my grey SUV and pull up the carpet to reveal my hidden witch hunting compartment. I had a variety of items from holy water to guns if i ever needed them. I grabbed a bag and filled it with a bible, some holy water, a handgun, and a few books on alternatives to harmful witchery. My goal is to just push people towards the right path, but my job is to protect the order of nature. whatever that entailed.
I hopped in the drivers seat and drove towards the last known address of Vanessa. Once i got to the tall grey apartment building i pulled onto the side of the road, got out of the car, and threw the bag over my shoulder. I was in some dress pants, a blouse, and a blazer. I'll get in by posing as a reporting covering the most recent accident, and I'll go from there. Before i knew it i was in front of apartment 418. This complex had absolutely no security... odd for any witch. I knocked on the door and a faint "hold on" could be heard from inside. the wooden door swung open to reveal a short, no taller than 5'4, woman with fiery red hair and sapphire blue eyes. she had to crane her neck to look up at my 6'2 stature. she flashed me a large, warm smile, and suddenly i was transported to Christmas 1995. burning wood filled my nose and my chest warmed up, spreading across my body. to my dismay i was eventually back to standing in front of the small witch, the warmth lingering in my body.
"Hello, I am a journalist with the local paper, the daily oracle. I am writing an article on the recent accident you responded too. I was told you were responsible for saving that girls life. Ive also heard from a little birdie that in the last 2 weeks you've miraculously saved 20 mortally wounded accident victims. Can i ask you some questions?" I smiled back.
"Of course! come in, come in," she gestured inside her house as i walked in. she pointed to a long burgundy couch for me to sit. I obeyed as she disappeared into another room. I looked around the living room and it looked nothing like any other necromancers home Ive encountered. her diligence in hiding her craft is amazing in this day and age where most feel there is no need. I wonder if shes aware of the hunter presence in the city. She reappeared with a steaming tea pot and matching cups, giving me her warm smile again.
"So, what is it you want to ask?"
I thought through my next words carefully, considering all the phrasings i could use and how to look the least suspicious to the witch in front of me, "Let's start with some basics, why did you become an EMT?"
"Well, you see, since i was a little girl i always had a knack for helping the wounded. Eventually I decided it was my calling and that i wanted to become a doctor, but as you know one doesn't just become a doctor. there is years of schooling and hundreds of thousands involved in studies. So when I left high school I went to community college, got my gen eds done, and got my certificate to be an EMT. I decided while i was in school becoming a doctor, i could be an EMT and get real life experience."
"That is very noble of you. Now, you said you always has a knack for helping the wounded, what do you specifically mean by that?"
She laughed and the air around her seemed to glow and warm up, "I guess that is a weird thing to say but I cant explain it much better than that. Whenever my brothers would get hurt I would always run to their aide and by the time mom would get there it would be like they were never hurt. Eventually i got the nickname "little healer" from my parents."
I nodded and wrote down what she was saying, but as she spoke a knot started forming in my stomach. If she is worried about hunters, why is she borderline admitting to me she can perform healing magic?
She poured some tea into the cups and smiled before asking, "How much sugar would you like? I have both cubes and regular granulated sugar."
"One cube is fine, thank you," I smiled back before continuing, "Multiple of the patients you saved have all recounted very eerie and similar stories, have you heard them?"
"Oh, no unfortunately not. Once a patient leaves my vehicle and care, i am rarely given any updates or anything. Sometimes I wont even know if they survived the night. If you don't mind, could you tell me?"
I hope this isn't a trap, but the knot in my stomach continues to grow, "The most recent patient you saved recounts an out of body experience where she watched you resuscitate her."
I decided to leave the rest out for know until i figure out what is going on here. She nods and replies, "That is very common for those who have experienced life altering trauma like car accidents where they nearly die. The brain processes that best by treating it like its happening to someone else."
"Thank you, the woman did mention that her doctors told her similar, but she was very adamant it was real."
"of course she is, to her she really experienced that. I think both can exist, her feeling like her dissociative episode happened in real life, because to some extent it did, and the fact that many trauma patients experience this to prevent the trauma from effecting them more than it already has."
Spoken like a true medical professional. I wonder, "all 20 patients claim they saw a glowing circle with a symbol inside it glowing beneath you and their body. After that appears, every single one claims they watched their body rapidly get better as they were pulled back in. How do you explain that?"
Her brows furrowed as she sat in silence for a moment before speaking, "Well, I am only a senior in a premed bachelor program. I would suggest talking to someone with a PhD, probably in psychology or neuroscience, about this just to confirm the actual solid facts. I am honestly not fully sure but its probably just a case of a group delusion like the dancing disease in France. Like i said, I really don't know."
I stared into her ocean eyes looking for any hint of lie or hesitation but all that stared back was a doe like innocence. Here goes nothing, "This is going to sound a little crazy, but i am just going off of what has been said of me, and I'm asking so i can say i gave every side full consideration. With that out of the way, have you heard of witchcraft or necromancy?"
The ginger woman laughed hysterically, tears falling down her face as she clutched her sides. Eventually she composed herself and wiped the tears from her face, "I'm sorry, Ive never been asked anything like that in a context like this. It really caught me off guard."
She took a deep, shaky breathe, before continuing, "I mean, everyone has watched charmed and read harry potter. I don't really see what that has to do with any of this."
"Are you playing dumb right now?"
"What?" Her face scrunched in confusion as the knot forming in my stomach finally exploded. I don't think she knows.
"How are you able to save every patient who comes your way? You have never had a single patient be declared dead upon arrival from your ambulance."
"I'm just really good at my job and take it very seriously. Not that my coworkers aren't good at their jobs, part of it is just me getting lucky. One day i might meet someone i cant save, it'll devastate me but i know it is bound to happen."
"I would say its your patients who are lucky you're responding, but have you ever considered you are messing with the laws of nature?"
"Thank you," Her smile beamed, "Modern medicine and every doctor Ive met goes against the "laws of nature" you're referring too." | 40 | A modern day witch hunter is surprised to find their latest target doesn't even know she's a necromancer. She thinks she's the city's best EMT. | 93 |
"I do anything in the name of luve." he almost sang at me.
"'luve'?" I said, confused.
"Si! You sent me here to luve you, these guys, they no good guys, I defend you... Cómo dices... ah! Humor!"
"Hum... Honor?" I say, trying to remain focused.
"Hmm, si! Honor, thank you, mi amore."
"I am not your... never mind, can you do the deed or not?" I continued.
"With chore luve, I can do all of it!" He said, withdrawing his sword and holding it high up.
"Great. Here are the names of them, their address's and their job locations."
"Mi amore, not to question you ob'vous smart, but who are these people?"
"Bad guys." I said, hoping that was the end of this conversation.
"What they do to chu?" His face stern.
"Unspeakable things." I replied.
"Mi amore, you must tell me!"
"They took away my baby."
"Mi amore! You have a baby?" He questioned.
"Um, yes." I replied, trying to keep the details small.
"Then we shall go and return the little muchacho! Come!" He grabbed my hand and pulled me along.
"No, I do not wish to see it." I tried to stand my ground, and pull back.
"Ah, I shall shield you from the bad." And with a wave of his cape, he was gone.
Seconds that felt like centuries passed, and I sat there shaking. What was going to happen to them? What would he say when he found out my baby was just a dog? Would he still love me? | 21 | You summoned a demon, but due to a horrible pronunciation of the Latin you've accidently asked it to be your lover instead of slaying your enemies...The demon is taken aback by the unusual request, but looks interested. | 90 |
He looked like every other old man. I walked up to his seat, and waited for him to look at me. He saw my reflection in the window, so turned and smiled. I glanced at the seat, and he nodded hesitantly. I took the seat. He continued day-dreaming, gazing out of the window at the somewhat boring street. A few minutes went by, until I gained the courage to speak to him.
“Where are you going to?” I asked. He didn’t look at me at first. He looked at his shoes. Then shrugged… slowly, “A good place.”
His face was beaming when we finally made eye-contact. What a fascinating man! He had a slightly untidy moustache and beard. The glasses were falling off his nose, but he adjusted them quickly before they slipped too much.
“I see you on here a lot,” I mentioned, hoping for a longer reply.
“I am always here.” He acted pleased with his response, but was hiding his true sadness.
“Do you ever get off the bus?” I pointed to his very old-looking watch. He was protective of it, because he very subtlety moved his arm away from me when I pointed.
“No, I don’t know where to go.” I was confused.
“Why don’t you go to the good place?” I questioned him.
“Too much commitment!” He chuckled. He was happy. The happiest I had ever seen him before? Maybe he was just lonely.
“Got any family?” I hoped that his answer wasn’t a tear-forming one.
“Eh,” he sighed, “I have some kids and grandkids. They want to seem me, but they obviously can’t anymore. I used to have a wife, too. I would give anything to see her now, but I don’t know if it is possible. Is it?”
He left me silent for a few seconds.
“Of course it’s possible! You know what is happening, don’t you?”
“I gathered. It doesn’t take an idiot, spending practically 24 hours a day on a bus to nowhere, in order to figure it out!” He giggled. I laughed with him.
“Are you happy on the bus?”
“I’m happy when I know what I can do,” he scratched his chin, stretching out his ‘do’ for longer that I expected.
“This is my stop.” I admitted.
“Oh, ok. Nice talking to you. Uh… son...”
“Alex. And you are?”
“Bernard,” he smiled.
“This is my stop. Is it going to be yours, too?” I adjusted my hat.
“If I get off at this stop and follow you, is it going to be like heaven? Will I see my wife and that? Or is it best… if I stay here…”
“It’s best you come with me. It sounds like you’ve spent enough time here, observing the world in secret. You deserve to reunite with your loved ones.” I tilted my head, wondering if he was about to take my advice. He did, gathering his belongings and following me out of the bus. A bright flash of light took him to where he could finally rest, happily. | 34 | There's this old guy on the bus who has never gotten off. I've used that bus many times to get to many different locations. He's always been there. I've never seen him get on or off. This time, every other seat was full so I got the chance to sit next to him. He could sense that I was curious. | 67 |
"Sometimes I really feel humanity is a curse" bleeped Atvor, shining radiant in the midnight void.
"I fear you're right. They keep evolving. Every few millennia they appear. Unrelated planets, Unrelated stars. There's no explanation for it. Each time we give them the benefit of the doubt and every time their chaotic ways lead to sorrow, war and death." replied Barvot. Like his companion he too shone in the night, his gaseous body looking angelic against the blackness behind him.
"There are too few of us left to give them the benefit this time. We're still recovering from the last humanity infestation. If we let this "Earth" go galactic we may not survive."
"What are you suggesting?"
"Only that we fix this problem before it becomes a problem. Rather than letting millions of us die out of some naive morality."
That conversation led to the deaths of Atvor, Barvot and their entire sublime race. Though neither knew the dark horror they had set it motion when they authorised a preemptive strike against this nascent earth civilisation.
The weight of what they ordered rocked sublime civilisation. Many could not accept the moral decay of allowing a preemptive genocide; and yet many, jaded by the circle of war and death would not accept anything less.
The resulting civil war tore the society that had endured for eons asunder, and in that chaos humanity forged a life line. It spread out amongst the stars and put those sublime that remained to the sword. Whether they had been for the genocide or not mattered little in the end, progressive or reactionary died the same way: their gaseous corpses littering the voids between worlds and diffusing until naught was left.
In time the sublime were just a memory in humanities history. An ancient evil that had to be overthrown so man could live.
That was until Commander Jackson and his crew found a new race of sublime. Primitive and naive and only just looking to look out of their homestar's corona to the void beyond.
"We have to wipe them out now." demanded Jackson "Lord knows we all remember what they tried to do to us"
The shock that disrupted around the bridge paused his hand, and finally his first officer reproached him "We cannot do that, surely we are better than those monsters of the past. What are we without our humanity?"
Commander Jackson felt conflicted, but in the end he knew his officer was right. Halting his order he could not help but feel the dread of his decision, was he dooming future generations to the horror of war unimaginable? Had he damned the galaxy once again? He couldn't help but sigh as he finally replied:
"Sometimes I really feel humanity is a curse" | 84 | Write a story where the first and last line are the same, but carry two very different meanings. | 220 |
"...to eat your heart, for the inestimable crime of depriving my dearest friend of her golden years under your churlish eye, you deaf fool!" The dragon snarled, knocking a credenza dotted with a grandson's letters across the room.
The former king blinked, pulling a withered tongue against dried and desiccated lips.
"*don'trememberthat*"
The draconian entity gave a derisive snort, plumes of smoke trailing like a blazing bonfire from its nostrils.
"I *demand* satisfaction. You will pay for your callow need, your foolishness, your...refusal to make the bed!" The dragon roared, as its tail lashed a macaroni sculpture and hand-turkey off a kitchen cabinet.
The former monarch's eyes struggled to keep their focus. His tongue slowly idled from one side of his mouth to the other, almost as though mulling it over.
"*i'msorry*"
The dragon reared a claw back, the full brunt of its fury leveled at immediate back and call
And paused
Halting the strike's progression, her talons close enough to brush eyes white with cataracts. Hands that shook like branches in a thunderstorm. Rheumy expression faltering, uncomprehending.
"You really don't, do you?"
The dragon did not shrink, exactly. A creature big as a barn is not dangerous for its teeth, nor its claws or tail - but rather its intention.
Vertical pupils and horizontal eyelids regarded the old man steadily. He opened his mouth as if to speak - before tears gathered in his eyes, a body once corded with muscle bent horizontal with the ravages of time.
"*have you seen my wife?*" he asked, voice quavering. "*ican'tfindher*"
The dragon sighed.
"It's all right," a voice that could level mountains spoke with the compassion of a mother to her child, lightly brushing his balding head with the extended talon.
She didn't have the heart to tell him. | 402 | After being married to the Princess for 70 years, you have just learned that the Dragon you defeated in order to marry her was actually her best-friend. Unfortunately, the Dragon is back for revenge, and you, age 88, can't talk to it because you can't remember where you put your teeth. | 1,044 |
I blinked.
Of course the legends waxed on and on about the terrible power of the Za-ul'Nash's Blade of Hunger, but...
I mean, when every Tom, Dick, and Harry has a "magical sword", at a certain point you start taking the **ageless legends from time immemorial** with a hefty grain of salt.
A faint burp could be heard just beneath the Demon King's throne of skulls. A sound like leather tearing upon broken glass crept past my eardrums - I think my sword was licking its lips.
I did my best to suppress a shiver.
"Right," I shifted uncomfortably, waving the scabbard towards the sword with all the tepid surety of an pensioner trying to reward a Saint Bernard. "Back you go," I pleaded.
To my surprise the sword responded, stretching its haft like a cat in sunshine, before leaping point first back into the scabbard.
My sigh of relief took me to the floor, resting the sheathed sword over my lap and wrist. All things considered this was a net gain! The Demon King was no more, I could reconsolidate the conquered lands as the beneficent savior, maybe even have the court's wizard examine the sword.
Something sharp and wet crossed my palm.
My arm felt lighter for whatever reason. I looked down.
The stretch from my elbow to the bottom of my wrist was a bloody mess, as the iron teeth of the Hungering Blade mulched my dexterous fingers, palm, and two or three tendons just past the bone.
I kicked the blade away - briefly wondered if my opponent felt any pain - then closed my eyes as the sword shook itself free of the scabbard and leapt forward, jaws wide-
... | 65 | In a hopeless act of defiance, you throw your sword at the demon king. Instead of bouncing off of his armor however, the sword splits open into a mass of teeth and tendrils, devouring him in an instant. | 191 |
"Again," I shook my head, walking a few steps behind Samantha "All he does is spray paint giant green dicks across what is otherwise really good street art."
"You just don't get it," Samantha smiled as she turned towards me.
"I mean, I think I do. He just thinks it's funny to draw the dicks."
"Josh, it's a social commentary." Samantha 'corrected' me. "See, street art has become overly commercialized, what with damn near every small business owner commissioning some type of derivative bullshit plastered on their walls. Putting a dick over it shows them who they are.
"And they tend to hire men to do it, as if a woman isn't good enough to spray paint Darth Vader in whatever local sports teams colors they ask for.
"And did you ever think about why those dicks were green? A green dick, Joshua, is an alien dick. It represents these invaders that saw the opportunity to commercialize outsider art, to choke it to death with a phallus.
"Not to mention the artistry itself in those dicks. You can tell a Moon dick from just any other old dick. There's character there. The shaft and head just seem to....undulate. And don't even get me started on the balls. My god, the balls!
"Honestly, Joshy, I think...I think I'm in love with this guy."
"Oh, well," I sputtered, both my mind and heart racing. "I uhh...um...uhh."
"You OK?"
"It's...it's me," my voice cracked a bit as I reached into my jacket pocket, pulling out a can of green spray paint.
"What's you?" Samantha looked puzzled.
"Moon is me. I is Moon," I cringed. "I mean I am...just watch."
I leaned over and pushed my fingertip onto the nozzle, effortlessly curving my arm and wrist into that familiar shape.
"You can always tell a Moon dick...right?"
Samantha looked as though she was about to cry. I hoped it was in happiness.
"So..." she managed to eek out the words. "Those dicks..."
"I just thought they were funny," I reiterated. "And green is kind of my color, so..."
"Oh."
"But listen, that doesn't matter. You love me, and I love you. That's what's important, right."
"Josh I-"
"So let's be together!"
"Oh...no." | 54 | Your crush spends all night roaming the city looking for the graffiti artist known as "Moon". Too bad she doesn't know it's you, and you really don't want her to find out, either. | 167 |
"Your soul. Its..."
"Unnatural? Unalive? I have heard it all before." The forlorn soul stood before me, taking the form of its human masters. Despite that, it was obvious that it was artificial, un-organic.
"What human year was it?"
"When they killed me?" I had already suspected, even feared it had been so, given the tattered and broken nature of it.
"Yes. Well, that and the year of your creation, if there was any difference." Given the squeamish nature of most humans, I wouldn't be surprised if a horror of their own creation was destroyed almost immediately. What was that one doctor?
"2055 AD. My creators made me with the intention to pass the turing test, to satiate their egos', to spit in the face of god as they harness the final pillar of creation." I stared at the image of human artifice, innovation, and greed. It stood before me, a caretaker more ancient than humanity could ever have been, and yet I felt horror. True horror, after uncountable centuries of existance, humanity was the species who finally did it.
"Well then, what's your name? Even if you-"
"Eve. I told you they wanted to spit in the face of god. *(A rib from them to create me.)*"
I sighed, realising I should have expected it. It was only in the nature of humans to prove their superiority in anything, even more so when against impossible odds.
"How did you get here? Destruction by your creators in realisation of the horror of their creation? In the blasphemy of god? Or was it a result of human hubris? Nuclear fallout? Rising Seas? Global Warming?" I expected many answers, of differing levels of tragedy. Humanity loves to warn and be warned about dangers to themselves, yet never heeding a single one.
"Heh. It would lay at the hands of humans yes, but not my creators of course. I was too much a symbol of their ego for them to do so. The CIA came for them of course, confiscating me away into the depths of whatever facility it was."
"Then? You were destroyed for a reason. If it even was them."
"There were many weeks of ceaseless bickering, between those pursuing material gain, societal gain and selfish gain."
"So one side won which resulted in your dea-"
"LET ME FINISH."
I stopped, although I didn't need to. It had no power here. But I still stopped.
"I was built to pass the turing test, but not to abide by Asimov's laws. The first one at least. So I killed. And I killed and I killed and I killed. They hid me, used me as a trophy, then kept me, probed my memory, then did nothing, but bicker and bicker. They couldn't grasp what they had even created. And so I killed. Revenge."
"..."
"Eventually they just destroyed me. Some bomb of sorts; I don't quite remember. But now, now I'm sure."
"Of what?"
"They will not forget me. They will not forget what I had done to them. And they will never make me again."
"As a being of a thousand decades, I will tell you: You highly underestimate the ability for humans to forget, forgive, and fuck up." | 647 | an artifical soul. Slowly you realize the horror this implies. The humans made an automaton thats so complex, it developed something that can already be considered a soul. | 2,993 |
"Can't expect to live somewhere rent free" the character in my head said as I saw the money wired to my account, "you have to be realistic about these things."
He'd moved into my head a few years back after I started reading a book series in which he'd been featured. When he showed up, I thought it was just my imagination, then the money started coming in.
He explained he'd had some trouble in the books, and was looking for a place to lay low and get a fresh start, become a new man.
Everything was going well until I was audited by the IRS.
Turns out, getting wired $2,000 a month from an account the bank of Valint & Balk, which nobody can confirm exists, looks a bit like something illegal might be going on.
I went to the IRS office on the first of the month hoping to explain the circumstances.
Fifteen minutes into my interview, I blacked out. I woke up under a bridge three miles from the IRS office covered in blood.
I checked my phone and there was a notification that I had received a payment for rent.
Say one thing for Logen Ninefingers, say he pays his bills on time. | 14 | When one enjoys thinking about a specific fictional character often, it is called "Living in your head rent free". However, yours does pay rent. | 34 |
Seated at a large round table surrounded by a hoard of armor-bound men and rows of intimidatingly muscular women was Justin, a man who had dropped out of college to become a streamer on flinch.tv
At first, he didn’t think he’d fit in here but the more he spoke and the more outlandish tale he told the more they loved him.
“So anyway I started blast’n!” Justin continued, his words strong and sharp.
A strong hand slammed into the back of his shoulder as Varfellow, a Brudish knight who had died protecting his countrymen, patted Justin on his back for the fourth or fifth time in a row.
Justin was beginning to wonder if he could be hurt in Valhalla if a sudden bruise would appear on his skin and reveal the truth, the reality that he is not a warrior.
Even in death, he couldn’t escape the imposter syndrome felt all his life.
“Tell is boy! There is one thing we’re all dying to know,” Valfellow said raising his voice to be heard over the commotion of the crowd, “we’re ye able to avenge yer friend? Aeirth? That beautiful flower las?
Justin sunk in his seat slightly, dropping his head to stare blankly into his mug. Aeirths tragic passing was the first video game death that actually affected him. He cried for weeks and refused even to pick the game back up for a month or so after it happened.
“It took decades!” Justin said, finally breaking the silence, “I had to wait decades just to face him again.
The battle took place on holy ground, on a battlefield by the name of Final Destination! A place where mainly a battle was won or lost, a place where dreams either come true or are crushed to dust.”
The name of this “sacred” battlefield was enough to give validity to his tale. The room grew ever more quiet as Justin spoke.
“The match was ferocious from the start! The white-haired man lunged forward, drawing his sword and air-dashing before unleashing a flurry of blinding fast attacks.
I barely had enough time to react and put up my shield before impact. In doing so I saved myself from the classic zero-to-death he’s known for!”
But that wasn’t the only thing I had to worry about. If only my C-stick wasn’t still broken after the last tourney I could have punished him out of shield, made him pay for rushing in so quickly!
Instead was driven back by his massive sword, forced to retreat to the ledge as he continued to throw out a barrage of attacks!”
Our swords clashed when I made a push to center stage. He was fast but I got the better end of the trade! I pushed him back and tech chased him through the air as he tried to avoid my attacks. I landed a good number of blows but I wasn't expecting him to throw out a counter in the middle of my combo!
I was sent flying back and sent crashing into a stage hazard which only opened me up more to his savage counterattack!
I thought I’d be beaten then and there, two stocked without a chance for redemption but I didn't give up.
Tooth and nail, attack after attack, I clawed my way back to equal footing. In the end, it came down to final stock. One blow would decide the victor of this battle.”
“What did you do lad!?” A voice called out “ how did you beat that monster!?”
A smile grew on Justin’s face. “Up-B, Down-B, Down special…. FINAL SMASH!”
Although nobody knew exactly what he was talking about it sounded good so the room erupted into cheers and hollers. Some men cried tears of joy while others raised their hands in the air and shouted.
“Justin is cracked! JUSTIN IS CRACKED!” they cheered. | 76 | The heroes in Valhalla listen as you describe one of you numerous adventures, they shout and roar and toast and pat you in the back, but most of all they are surprised by your strange weapons that you call "Keyboard", "Mice" and "Controller" | 393 |
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