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"Is it because I didn't learn stay?"
You look down at the shaking pup and wish it was different.
"No. It wasn't you. You were a good boy." You assure the little guy. His tail (it looks broken. You hope someone calls a vet)
"But I didn't stay. I saw a squirrel. I chased it and she came with me.'' He insists. "The car- it should have hit me."
"It was an accident. You- can't blame yourself" you offer. It's pathetic and meaningless, but it's all you can say. This whole scene is a mess. The pup limps over and lays across her body, broken and bloody as it is.
"I want to stay. Just a little bit longer. Can she stay with me?" The pup begs, placing both paws on her head. The car did some damage, jumping the curb and swerving the way it did, but the girl is still clinging to life.
"I'm not here for her. I don't know how long she has." You add, though it looks like with therapy and a good doctor, she can live a long life. You point to the man sticking half out of his windshield. "I'm here for him." | 20 | As Death, you’ve learned to tune out human voices since they all end up wanting the same thing. They’re easy to ignore—it’s their pets’ voices that get to you. | 107 |
Alys watched quietly from behind the door frame. She’d heard the cauldron bubbling as she was leaving and popped her head in to see what Nalani had been doing. The smell of burning caramel tinged her nostrils.
She’d ruined her potion. Again.
Alys walked carefully into the room, trying not to disturb her partner. She inched her way over to get the cauldron in plain view. A sickly pale green greeted her back.
“Darling, I know you’re there.”
She hadn’t turned around, still stirring the mass of liquid and detritus.
“I felt one of my wards bend,” she said, almost in psychic response. “It’s sweet, my love. It means that you care.”
Alys moved plainly into the light of the cauldron. She was given a warm smile in reply. Grabbing a nearby thermometer, she plunged its metal reading end into the cast iron pot. Alys stared at the number on the digital read-out, trying to quiet her face so as to not let her intellect betray her love for her partner.
“What do you see, my love?”
“You overshot the temperature by about 15 degrees. That’s probably why it didn’t look or smell bad at first. It can take sugar a while to burn because it has to go through the caramelization process first.”
Nalani turned to a nearby workbench as a spectral hand grasped the wooden spoon inside the cauldron and began stirring. Alys had seen it close to 100 times now, but the view never ceased to fill her with wonder.
She looked past the cauldron to see her partner scratching notes onto a piece of parchment. After she finished writing, she offered her pen to her nearby owl, who retrieved it and placed it back into its cap. Alys watched her take a seat on a bench just in front of her workspace and release a heavy sigh.
“I suppose I’ll never understand the art of alchemy. Witches seem to always know potion brewing and its fickle nature, yet I cannot brew even a simple potion of healing.”
Alys slid into the opening on the bench and grabbed her hand.
“That doesn’t mean shit, sweetheart.” She traced circles into the back of Nalani’s hand. “You knew I was in the room without turning around. You have a magic hand that’s stirring that cauldron for you. Hell, you have a bird that holds your pens!” She scooted closer to Nalani, who took her hand over her shoulder and nestled into Alys’ embrace. “You know what holds my pens at my lab? Nothing! It’s a nightmare.”
The pair laughed as the glow of the cauldron washed over them.
“Perhaps I am too harsh on myself.” | 11 | A witch dates a scientist. And although one of them isn't really good at their job the other is there to help them out. | 28 |
"...it must be quite draining. Seeing life disappear." I say as I write down some notes on my paper, "Are you holding up alright?"
It seems so obvious that he wasn't. Most reapers, especially ones that are holding it together well mentally and emotionally, look as if their bones were fresh from the body and without a single stain. The one before me? He looked like he was about to collapse into a thousand pieces. So many scratches, cracks, pieces missing in some places, and was yellowing.
"You humans...so much death...so many ways you have found to kill each other...how do you cope with such knowledge...?" He asks, his empty sockets turning to look at me, his voice quivering with each word. I give him my best comforting smile as I take off my glasses briefly.
"Friends, for one...pets help too. Hobbies, books, movies, shows. We have just as many ways to take our minds off death as we do to inflict it." The skeleton slowly looks down at the floor, the tense atmosphere slowly starting to lessen between us. "Do you have a hobby. I could suggest one for you to try if you don't."
"...I like to knit." | 19 | You're a therapist who help the mythical creatures to adapt themselves into the modern era . When you ask the last client of the day, what he does for a living, he mumbles " I watch people die. That's my job", you realize that he's a grim reaper. | 41 |
You were shocked when you heard that sentence. Instead of the usual line about superiority and riches, it was nostalgia. His name didn’t click with you immediately, but-
“Aero!? Is that you?”
The name you just said belonged to none other than your childhood best friend Aero. It only seemed like yesterday when you two were both small and exploring the forest of his people. The two of you used to spend a lot of time together, until Aero and his clan had to leave the land due to the waning human-dragon relations. That didn’t stop Aero from proclaiming that the two of you will be seeing each other again someday.
That someday was today, and Aero the dragon grabbed you and gave you the biggest hug a dragon could give. It was a fine and dandy until you couldn’t breath.
“Oops. Sorry about that.”
He smiled in embarrassment. He was mindful of his claws at least.
Aero had grown considerably big, up to 40 feet. You were like a dwarf compared to him.
“Hey Aero. It’s been a long time!”
“Same to you. It’s been so long since we seen each other.”
You could’ve sworn you saw Aero tear up a bit. The blue dragon looked at you, not wanting you out of his sight.
“Hey Aero. I’m sorry if this sounds weird, but is it okay if I could stay with you for a bit? I got no other place to go.”
Aero looked at the sword on your back and the bag you were holding on your hand. The decision was rather quick.
“Sure thing, friend! You’re welcome to stay as long as you want. We have a lot of catching up to do!”
Aero looked at the human with such elation and smiled the biggest smile he ever had. You returned with a smile of your own.
“By the way, you up for a game of catch?” | 52 | As you enter the lair of the mighty dragon he looks at you, squints and says "It's you! We haven't met since our childhood!" | 165 |
“Oh, that does sound good,” Frank said as he walked into the cramped and screen-illuminated room. “ I don’t know if I’m a growing boy anymore, vertically anyways, hah.” He held the amulet around his neck. “Okay, yep. I gotta go…un huh. Yep. I know it. Alright.” He pulled the necklace off and tossed it in the box.
“Got another one, I see,” Malik said without looking up from his game of minesweeper.
“Yup, in conference C, they had one of those baking competitions today,” Frank said, dropping the amulet in the cardboard box in the corner with a tink. “Guy tried to sneak in his grandmother. With that bigwig art auction today, they don’t want any problems popping up so they were doing full checks down there. They caught a guy cheating in the chess tournament too but it wasn’t a necklace. Told them I wouldn’t touch that thing.”
“Ah, so kind of a ratatouille situation with the grandma,” Malik said, glancing back to the array of screens. “We’re building up a pretty good collection of lost relative possessed objects.” The northwest entryway cameras, inside and outside, displayed only static. Malik lifted himself up and tapped on the display.
“Hey, Frank, will you go and check out the northwest door? Probably a bad fuse.” Malik said, carefully deciding where to click.
“I just got on shift. You’ve been farting in that chair for hours. You go check it,” Frank snapped, very unlike him.
Malik clicked, right over a bomb, ending the hereto flawless game. “Fine by me,” he said, gathering up his flashlight and keycard.
Frank was already furiously typing some e-mail. “Okay then.”
Malik walked to the elevator and stopped. He could see the northwest door from the interior balcony. Faster would be just to peak over there and make sure there wasn’t any suspicious business then just call IT about the cameras.
He scratched his back on the corner of the hallway before leaning over the balcony. Seven men in black masks were pulling in some type of large cart. Three of them had guns, aiming down the hallway in front of them.
"Shit shit shit," Malik whispered, hauling as much ass as he could back to the security room.
He threw open the door and ran inside. "Frank, we got a- Frank?"
All the monitors were fuzzy now. Frank was nowhere to be seen. The door clicked closed behind him, revealing a note in Frank's sloppy scrawl.
\-Sorry, Malik. Just stay here and don't try to break the door and they won't hurt you.-
Malik immediately tried the handle. It snapped off in his hand.
"Shit, shit," he repeated, scrambling to the desk. The computer was fried. There was no dial tone on his phone. Gunfire echoed through the hallways outside. He had to do something.
His eyes darted around the room, landing on the cardboard box in the corner.
After a few minutes, six watches ran up either arm. He wore nine necklaces with several sets of earrings hanging from them. Four belts crisscrossed his midsection, secured with a large broach. The rest he managed to shove in his pockets.
“Okay!” he shouted over the cacophony rising in his head.
“I don’t know about you but in-”
“Well, the last time I saw him was-
“-at least six foot tall, at least. That boy otta-”
“I need help!” Malik shouted.
“Well, there’s no need to yell, dear.”
“What do you need, sweetie?”
“There’s a time when a man needs a good-”
“Do any of you know how to break down a door?” Malik asked.
“Uh yep,” an old man’s voice said.”Square your shoulders with your hip. No a little bit closer, you want your back to still be straight when you connect…”
The door slammed open back into the hallway.
“I only fired this thing a couple of times in training,” Malik said, drawing the pistol.
“She’s a beaut!”
“Yeah, that one’ll just about fire herself! We’ll help you out!”
Malik felt his grip on the pistol steady and relax. He gripped his flashlight under with a backward hold in the other hand.
“Doors and corners, kid. That’s how they’ll get you. Head to the edge and work your way in.”
Malik pressed the button on the elevator, a legion chatting in his ear.
/r/surinical | 447 | "Who wants lasagnas?" | 3,478 |
It came like a black tide, an all-engulfing wave of bubbling, frothing darkness, like a tsunami of sentient shadows. Kaygar watched from atop one of the lower branches of the World Tree, a massive oak that spread over miles and rose like a mighty lance to spear the sky. From this vantage point, he could see all of it happening below. The shuffling of woodland creatures pelting through the forest, desperately trying to avoid it. But they couldn't.
It was too vast, too vicious. Eventually it caught up to them, and it swallowed them whole. Even the birds couldn't escape. The tide was almost as tall as the World Tree itself, blotting out the sky like a huge black canvas.
There was nothing anyone could do. Even the Elder dragons had taken flight at the first sign of it, their enormous, age-weakened wings lifting to brush against the sky as they fled like cowards. Most of them had gone. But Kaygar had stayed. Some had called him foolish, others arrogant, to think that he — the smallest, weakest of their whole clan, could take on something that had reduced the fiercest warriors of their tribe to dribbling, trembling messes. And perhaps they were right. Despite being as old as those very warriors, there were bountiful younger dragons almost as big as he, some even bigger.
But that didn't matter. He had always been different. Even his flames. Not the vibrant, coursing, gold-and-red of his peers, but a deep, silvery blue. They didn't even burn.
There was very little chance that he could do anything, when even the bravest, most accomplished warriors' flames had done little more than tickle the strange, shadowy substance, but he had never been the smartest egg in the batch. A wide grin overtook his face as he watched the End draw closer, tearing down everything in its path. Perhaps he really was stupid, but either way, he would stand his ground. He would fight. And even if he didn't win, he would die an honorable death, the only Dragon brave enough to defend their home against an undefeatable opponent.
He had no regrets, no fear, only a burning will to battle. And that he did.
The blackness was upon him like the cloak of night descending over the evening sky. Tendrils of black smoke reached out for him, and he roared, issuing a burst of his strange, useless blue fire. Then something extraordinary happened. As expected, the flames didn't burn the smoke. But something else began to happen. A thick sheet of ice began to creep over the substance, causing it to recoil. It was unbelievable, a bluff maybe. But it had given him a moment of peace, a tiny window to act, and he continued to press his advantage, shooting plumes of blue fire all over. And everywhere it struck, the flame turned to ice, and the darkness writhed and shrieked. It continued on for several long minutes, or perhaps it was hours, all sense of time was lost in the scene. It was only he and the Void — the Void, which redoubled its efforts, attacking more ferociously than he had ever seen it, and he, Kaygar, the smallest, weakest warrior, with his peculiar icy-flames, repelling it entirely.
Soon, the Void seemed to recognize that they were at a stalemate. With an angry shriek, it retreated, and the light of the noon sun came pouring back onto the world below.
He was tired, he was injured, and he was deeply confused, but he was smiling. He had done the unthinkable, when everyone, including himself, had doubted him. And he would remain there for a few more hours, resting and waiting, until it came back, and the battle began anew. However long it would take, he would be there pushing the Darkness back, until he found the way to truly defeat it. | 10 | The World was at its end as the Darkness came, snuffing out all but a single mote of light. You, perhaps the smallest dragon in all of history, must fullfill your duty and protect it against all odds. | 48 |
The hero stands before me, his face revealed. In that instant, I didn't see an enemy, certainly not my nemesis. I saw a broken man. The face reflects my own pain. I now knew what this was about.
"...James..."
The hero, Drew, begins to cry. Tears slowly roll down his cheeks. "He... he..."
I stand up. "Calm down." I slowly walk towards Drew. "Take your time. What happened to him?"
Drew stares me in the eyes, now red. He's begun to shake. "An underground ring of criminals kidnapped him... they... they're going to use him... as a punching bag... literally..."
My eyes have gone absolutely furious. "Underground ring? Punching bag? Don't tell me... what was the leader wearing? Do you know?"
"It... it was a... a black outfit... a white ring on the chest... a lightening bolt striking through the centre... coming in from the top-right..."
"THE BASTARDS!" Drew staggers back. "Tha... that group is one of my many subsections of the criminal world. Drew... I never told you why I became a villain, did I?" Drew shook his head.
"I was originally going to be a hero. I wanted to help people. But my own best friend, simply for being my friend, was captured. The monsters wanted to use him to force me to let them run the town. I couldn't bring myself to give in... right in front of my eyes, they... they cut open his belly... he slowly bled to death... all I could do was enact justice, using my powers of mind manipulation to force them to stay in that room, without being allowed to leave..."
Drew looks at me, understanding on his face. "So... why become a villain?"
I shake my head. "My best friend was killed because I was a hero. By becoming a villain, I distanced myself from friends. I took to controlling the criminal world to try to help people in another way..."
Drew's eyes widen. "That explains some things... I always wondered why criminal activity had gone down... I always thought they just didn't want to get involved with me..."
"Actually, I protect them from you. They allow me to run the gig, and I take care of the fighting with you. I act like a 'dictator' to them. By doing that, I run a tight ship, keep them in line. I don't tolerate them targeting innocents. Steal from shady businesses, kidnap thugs to use as punching bags, kill someone who... 'touches' people... but I've seen James around. Stocky build, pacifist, easily manipulated... these people must have thought he'd be a perfect punching bag. This is unacceptable." I pause. "Drew... you know me as 'Fling', my real name is Mason. What's your real name?"
"It's... it's Yurrick."
"Yurrick... you now know the truth of who I am and what I do. I can help you, but only if you swear to join me. If you don't give up being a hero, you'll keep putting James in danger. I promise, I can straighten this out, but I need to know James will remain safe."
Yurrick pauses. I wait patiently. "I... I will... I'll join you." I notice his eyes glowing, a sign of his power, the ability to concentrate energy to any part of his body. It seems like he's trying to keep himself from breaking down.
I use my own ability, my eyes going pitch-black. "In return for your best friends' safety, you will join me. You will be my loyal, obedient follower."
I watch as Yurrick's eyes blank out. "I promise" he responds. I then release him.
"Follow me or wait here, your choice. Of course you could leave, but once James is safe, you'll find yourself coming here anyway, whether or not you want to. Remember, you agreed *before* I used my power on you."
"Of course" Yurrick says as tears once again flow down his cheeks. "I... I'm coming with you."
"Alright then. I won't let James suffer any longer. GUARD! Prepare for a disobedient to arrive."
"Of course" the guard answers in a robot-like way. He then goes off to make preparations. Yurrick and I begin to make our way to where James is.
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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) | 10 | You are a supervillain and one day your superhero nemesis comes and asks for your help. When denied it, they say they come to you not as a hero, but as a person. Then they remove their mask. | 19 |
Everyone but me was impressed when Verin walked into the Grove during his fifteenth autumn with a sleeping bear cub in a baby's sling around his neck. Impressed, but not surprised. He had lived in the Grove since losing his parents just before his fifth winter. Over the ten years since then, he had proclaimed his intent weekly to raise a bear as his Ritual companion - the rearing of which marked a student's graduation into the ranks of the Druid Circles, and the type of animal itself which Circle he would enter. Verin's parents had been killed by soldiers from the city in the valley down-river of the Great Forest. There was no question that he intended to join the Red Circle, that of tooth and claw.
As one might expect, a boy raised with the expectation that he would charge into battle against his parents' murderers astride a giant bear grew into a combative young man. The height and breadth his frame acquired as he neared the Ritual's first season only worsened these tendencies. He acquired a group of hangers-on that made his influence as impossible to escape amongst the students as his arms' reach. Their intention to join him in the Red Circle drove them to seek out predators as well, and so Verin's youngling bear gained an audience of wolf pups as well. Infuriating, the lot of them.
His generally unwanted attention had two common targets. The first was Arisa, a student around our age and unanimously (among us mere mortal boys, anyway) the most beautiful woman who had ever graced the Grove with her smile. I'm not saying that she chose a fox kit to raise *specifically* to spite Verin after his hundredth or so attempt to convince her to raise a mother bear alongside his own, but that's only because no one would listen if I *did* say it. Or said anything at all, really.
The second unwilling recipient of Verin's heavy-handed attention was, as you may have guessed by now, me. I was born in the city from whence sprang the heavily armored targets of Verin's unending ire, and as such (according to him, anyway) I was to be beaten instead of trusted, driven out instead of sheltered, and generally cast quickly and violently from the Grove and the Druidic tradition, to my end if necessary. He didn't care that I'd fled the persecution of those same soldiers, that I'd lost family to them as well. He never even *asked*. I looked like the men from the valley, lean, dark-haired, and short. Few in the Grove shared my appearance, none of the other students among them. That was enough for Verin. Chase pretty girl, beat little different boy. A very erudite and complex existence, indeed.
To be fair, Verin came by his mistrust of me "honestly". Taking me into the Grove at all had been a matter of some debate amongst the elders of the Circles; famously, at least one had voted to simply throw me out into the snow and watch me freeze. I worked harder than anyone at the endless chores required of the prospective Druids, only just managing to keep myself Verin's equal in the eyes of the teachers. A decade running as hard as my body would let me, just to keep up with a hero boy whose greatest accomplishments were a) losing his parents, b) catching a bear cub, and c) being tall, strong, and handsome.
I believed well before the Ritual began that Verin would most likely attempt to sabotage my efforts, to slow or prevent altogether my graduation into the Circles. It wasn't until I saw him set his bear on another student's feline companion that I realized how far he would be willing to go. No animal cub or hatchling would survive the claws and teeth of Verin's bear. I spent the winter pondering the problem, while Arisa's fox kit learned to fetch trinkets and Verin's bear cub learned to cripple smaller animals.
It wasn't until the following spring that I realized how to succeed. I took my plan to the teachers most impressed with my efforts and received not only permission but, surprisingly, encouragement. Thereafter, when the other students would break from lessons for lunch and to work with their companions, I would simply wander off into the forest, returning after half a day to put in yet another half-day's work before collapsing into bed. Days are not generally expected to contain three halves, and my sleep suffered, but it was well worth it.
Late in our sixteenth spring, a full year and a half after the first companions were chosen, Arisa's fox - hardly a kit at all, at a year and a half - met her in the clearing for lessons one morning with a crown woven of tiny white flowers. The next day, the flowers were blue; pink, yellow, red, orange, and purple followed. White and purple seemed to be the ones she appreciated the most, even though the much larger purple flowers had nearly covered her fox completely.
The next day, instead of wearing a crown of flowers, the fox *carried* a much larger one, this time woven of both purple and white, and tossed it up onto her head. She wore it for five days, until the loosening weave gave way, turning fraying precision into a shower of color around her.
The next day, the crown was purple and yellow. This one lasted longer, nearly eight days.
The third crown was woven of white, pink, and yellow flowers, and the weave held for a full tenday before the flowers themselves wilted too much to stay on the stems.
New colors and combinations arrived every tenday afterward, all throughout spring and summer and well into the autumn. The last arrived days before the winter's first snow fell in the Great Forest. She was sad when the next wreath didn't arrive, of course, but even student Druids know better than to expect flowers after snowfall. Verin, on the other hand, was ecstatic. Every crown that adorned her head was one step further away from his brutish "charms", and he'd vowed several vicious beatings on whoever had the gall to give a pretty woman flowers despite him wanting her.
That rage had to go somewhere, though, since Verin couldn't catch the artisan. I was, unsurprisingly, his favorite target of opportunity. More than once, Verin faced the "reproach" of the teachers while I lay under the hands of the Green Circle's healers. The worst attack, however, came a tenday or so after that snowfall. With the Grove still transitioning to winter chores, Verin found himself with enough free time to follow me out to search for firewood. It wasn't the bear jaws around my ankle that broke my legs - it was the tumble down a recently frozen stream, and a waterfall, and over several large rocks, and down another short fall, accompanied by an armload of wood that seemed intent on sequentially bruising every uninjured part of me.
The Green Circle set the bones, and healed some of the muscles, but it would be warm again before I'd be able to easily traverse the Great Forest's rough terrain. It was decided, since I had *clearly* not been supervised well enough to keep *my own clumsiness* from laming me, that I would follow the river south into the much warmer valley under the guidance of *two* elder Druids. Their age and prestige as elders in their Circles - Green for Healing and Brown for woodcraft - kept anyone from speaking *too* loudly about how much their slight frames and dark hair resembled my own.
We returned in the spring, after the last snow melted from the Forest's deepest reaches. Before anyone had the chance to taunt me for skipping out on the hard winter work, I set to work proving that I had not wasted my warm winter. For those without the Druidic gift, gathering proper stone and sand for certain tasks can be difficult; for me, however, they came easily, allowing me to demonstrate the new skill I had developed - crafting glass. A simple act of Druidry filled a stone oven with the heat necessary to melt the sand, and my tools did the rest. Some of the other elders complained at first, but gifts of colored window glass soon quieted their objections. By summer, my work decorated the entire Grove. My list of chores was altered to provide me time to work the oven, putting me square in the sight of half the Grove's inhabitants for much of the day; when I demonstrated my ability to cook, I barely had time to leave the Grove at all, and never unsupervised. Couldn't let my clumsiness cost the Grove its best cook in a generation, after all.
This public visibility made it very, very difficult for Verin to blame me when the first new wreath of flowers appeared on Arisa's head. Clearly, I had made of myself an artisan, capable of creating the kind of beauty that brought Arisa such delight - but when would I have the time to create such a thing? No flowers resembling hers grew in the Grove, and I never left. He lashed out at me more than once, making wild accusations and attempting violence, but my new mentors were never far away. Instead of the Grove's tacit approval, his reckless, impotent rage began to draw disapproving stares - and it's never a good idea to attack the person who cooks the food, if you intend to eat something warm that week.
(Will our hero survive? Will Verin finally give up and run away? Does Arisa even *like* flowers? Will we ever find out what the *animal* is?! Stay tuned, and we may yet find out!) | 1,090 | All the other druids in your class spent their time speaking with wolves or communing with bears. They all made fun of you, but now they see how powerful your chosen, if rather atypical, animal friends can really be. | 1,304 |
I wasn't completely sure why, but boredom had begun to set in. Raiding towns, stealing livestock, plundering treasure; it was all quite fun. The occasional knight climbing to my high eyrie,, for a spot of interesting challenge.
But the monotony, that had begun to get to me. Playing with the knights before slaying them, making them dance around with riddled words, was losing its appeal too. They were all so... similar.
There was *some* variation, of course, but you could only meet so many noble lords seeking glory, or money, or vengeance, before they all started to blend together. After a while you were asking the same questions, puzzling out the same old dumb answers, and it just... wasn't *fun* anymore.
Moodily, I scraped around my treasure hoard for a bit. Not really looking for anything in particular, just something to pass the time. Suddenly, an old suit of armor caught my eye., and I remembered the girl. *That one* had been interesting. A youngish woman, probably no more than twenty, though it was hard to tell with humans. She had been clever. She played the game far better than most, though not all.
Witty too, making several japes at my expense, even while weaseling out of directly answering my questions, or solving my puzzles. Inevitably, of course, eventually she slipped up; and I added her fine armor to my collection. She fought well, using a great spear rather than a sword, like so many idiots who came to slay me. Kept me at bay, at a distance. And she was nimble too. Five more like her, and I might even have had to resort to fire.
Unfortunately, a tail swipe to the neck kills the skilled as easily as the fool. I never did manage to find out why she'd come, which was another reason she fascinated me. I'd gathered, vaguely, that it something unusual. Something new. A challenge, or a test of some sort, though who had set such a test, and why, and why she would go *through* with it; I'd never know.
Thinking about her, I began to wonder if there were many *other* people as intriguing as her, and they simply possessed the common sense not to walk into a dragon den. I'd never find out staying up here.
A grin split my fanged jaws, and a trickle of smoke rose from my mouth. Now *that* just might be interesting. Gently picking up the woman's armor, I clambered off the pile of gemstones, and I began to change. It was an odd sensation, shrinking. Weirder still, the gradual sinking of scales, horns, wings, and tail back into my body.
I had heard of this trick before, and racial memory among dragons being strong, had I good idea how to go about it; but actually *experiencing* it left me gasping.
I found myself trembling on hands and knees. Long raven hair fell past my face. My skin was so... soft. The knobbly stone floor dug in, in a most unpleasant fashion. Cautiously rising to my feet, I winced as a particularly sharp rock dug point first into my heel. Blood began to warm my foot.
*How do creatures this fragile even* **survive**
Finding a seat on one of the least uncomfortable looking of my treasures, I began to pull on the woman's armor. The cloth of the under garments felt quite nice against my skin. Cutting out some of the cold, and I began buckling on bracers, boots, and grieves. The breastplate, I realized, might be a problem. Setting aside the fact that it looked the sort of thing somebody *else* was supposed to help you into, there was also an insignia. It had been a while, but not so long that nobody would ask questions if I showed up bearing the insignia of a dead noble lady lost to a dragon.
I decided the leather undergarments would have to do, and set about looking for something I could use to craft a coin purse. Whatever else I was, while doing this, I was *not* going to be poor.
Tying a fat purse to my belt, I caught my reflection in a large gold ornament. Striking blue eyes, the only concession to my former appearance, stared back at me. I smiled. *I do believe I look rather good.*
Selecting a moderately sized dagger from my collection, I performed a series of gestures over my treasure, and at the mouth of the cave. Curses upon the gold, and barriers upon the entry. Stepping out into the cold, I realized, belatedly, that I probably should have made the change *after* getting down the mountain, rather than before.
Grumbling to myself, and conjuring a fireball for both light and warmth, I made my trek down the slopes. | 169 | When the blue dragon at last became bored of living in the mountains, she transformed herself into a human, cast a ward over her treasure, and descended to the nearest town. It was time to see how the humans REALLY lived. | 422 |
My boss was walking over to me, a giant grin on his face. "Good job on the Mysterio Corp account! How did you know about the mismatch between the MI-15c form and the W1099 listing from their staff?"
I let my social brain do the talking and tuned Mr Maxowicz's voice out, whilst I worked out he account in front of me. He had a tendency to drone on and wax lyrical about things he knew nothing about.
My social brain let my analytic brain know that the conversation was over, and I waved him down, saying, "I'll just be a few minutes, I need to test the AI learning programming for FinTech to run over the weekend."
As he left the office, I documented the errors that should be caught in the latest learning patch and knowledge base, in preparation for the next quarter, and saved them to my personal thumb drive alongside a screenshot, with a copy on my work drive. I was sick of Dave trying to steal my data and claim it as his own work, and this way, I had separate evidence for this.
I had enough circumstantial evidence to cause Dave problems, and any of his so-called 'friends' without falling into criminal activity - his affair with Marie from HR, the cocaine binges in the toilets, and his theft of company works to sell on the black coporate espionage market.
What I *didn't* have, however, was the physical evidence, and I'm not jeopardising my multi-million-dollar bonus for a shitbag like Dave.
No matter how tempting that earwig of Dad's is.
I let my social brain take over and handle the rest of the day whilst I got on with dealing with the *real* world, of numbers and logic and chains of events.
I was rudely interrupted by the sounds of the Police breaking my door down.
/ / / / / /
I spent six hours, forty-five minutes and seventeen seconds being interrogated by idiots who fell for this pathetic attempt to set me up. It was sloppy, and my solicitor tore the Met a new one over just how sloppy their 'chain of evidence' had been.
The idiots had tried downloading highly illegal sexual images onto my personal drive during the update. This sent an immediate flag to Scotland Yard who had some shoddy numerical work done to me. Even the hashes and checksums between the copy the police had and mine were woefully different.
But I knew one very scummy person who would be dumb enough to cross me.
**Dave.** | 230 | Your parents are a superhero and a supervillain. You inherited their superpowers and they both have always tried to pull you to their side, while you never wanted anything to do with anything super-related and so you picked the most mundane and normal job you could think of. | 692 |
"Glorious, another gun that not only will I never use, but I have to keep out of humanity's reaches..." I grumble, taking the ammo out of the handgun in my hands. I could sense the raw power in this handgun, so I had to be very careful not to accidentally shoot the weapon, "What is it with these humans loving guns so much..? It's just absurd, noone values the simple strength of a blade anymore... Isn't that right, hun?"
"Yeah, but unfortunately, with how warfare changes, guns are kind of required for proper combat nowadays. It's rather sad, to be honest," Levira chimed in, watching me meticulously unload each round from the magazine, "Because all these humans seem to care about is trying to ensure that the opposition lays dead at their feet."
"Well, this thing's gonna be locked away for a good while. Who knows, maybe in the next hundred years, something might possess me and make me start enjoying guns a little more," I chuckled a bit at my attempt at a joke, holding the M1910 by the barrel as I prepared to haul it to the weapons vault in the basement.
\[End.\] | 54 | The more death and destruction a weapon causes, the more powerful it becomes. You just came into possession of Gavrilo Princip's pistol. | 353 |
The scroll sat on the table and we stared at it like a live viper. It was the declaration of Chosen One status. Otherwise known as a death sentence. Every Chosen One in living memory had died at the hands of the Dark Lord. It was a vicious cycle, and now my family had been dragged into it.
I looked over at our Gordy, who was trying his very best not to cry. It was him the scroll named, it was him who would have to leave the house and family and apprentice to the Wizard. He was only ten years old.
Over the next few days, we did our best to comfort him, giving him advice and sweets. And after he went to bed, the rest of us gathered together and planned. We knew our boy wasn't a hero, and we needed to find a loophole. Something that would make sure he survived the experience. And something that would stop this from happening to another family ever again.
We still hadn't found the answer by the time the Wizard came calling. I had to get the boys to restrain Gordy's mother as she would have clawed the man's eyes out, which wouldn't have stopped the Wizard, nothing short of total decapitation would destroy that man. And hurting him wouldn't help Gordy survive. Though I did manage to sneak a rather old, rather mean cat into his bag as he left. It would not be a pleasant experience for him to reach in and there was no way to trace it back to us, so he couldn't in good faith punish Gordy for it.
Now the planning took on a desperate edge. We had time, after all the Wizard had to train Gordy first, and there would be numerous trials for the Chosen One to overcome before he faced the Dark Lord. That was our first challenge. To get rid of, or manage, the threats and enemies before ten-year-old Gordy ever saw them. If the Wizard sent Gordy out unprepared, and untried against the Dark Lord, public opinion of the man would shift into the negative.
So I sent the woman out, the daughters of the family to go to the markets, to talk to the servants, to listen at doors. No one suspects the woman, so she makes the best spy. I knew this for myself, in my younger days. And I sent the boys to the country, to pay off the mercenaries and make it difficult for them to be recruited.
The girls came back, with whispered tales of a shadowed figure, one that was talked about in dark corners, and never seen. The Assasin. He was the one in charge of many of the now-dead challengers of previous Chosen Ones. So I called on our quietest son, the sneakiest and the deadliest. And soon the whispers in the market changed. They talked about the Assasin in bolder tones, talked about his death.
But there was the Dark Lord to be dealt with, and nothing should be left to chance. After all, the Wizard might still decide to send Gordy and deal with the negative opinions it would generate. And I would not let our Gordy die before his life had been lived. My great-grandmother wouldn't have let it happen, and though I wasn't a witch like her, I knew as the matriarch of the family, I had a duty to uphold.
So I called everyone. Every branch of our far-reaching family and I told them if they hadn't already heard. Across the whole country, people surged out of cities and towns, sometimes decimating the population as they did so. They carried pitchforks and swords, slings and bows. The clan was going to war.
We marched to the Dark Lords' tower, close to five hundred strong. Whatever else we were, our family was prolific. Halfway there we came upon Gordy, with a sword too big for him and absolute fear in his eyes. I swept him up in my arms and we continued on, singing an old song my great-grandmother taught me about hedgehogs.
When we reached the tower, we swarmed up the sides, broke down the doors, and overwhelmed the defences. The guards never stood a chance, though our Robert did get a cut on his nose. In my opinion, it improved the boy's looks. From the top of the tower to the bottom dungeon we filled the place, and I—still carrying Gordy— and a bunch of the boys crashed into the Dark Lord's throne room.
He actually cowered on his throne, squeaking about how it was a ruse, and that he wasn't really going to fight us, and could we please let him go? I nodded along, then carefully placing Gordy on the ground, I relived the boy of his sword. It took two thrusts, I never was good with swords, but the Dark Lord was dead on the floor of his throne room when we left the tower.
Now, for the Wizard. To our surprise, we met him on the road as we walked back to our town. I don't know who was more shocked, us or him, but he had the better reflexes. He was almost out of sight by the time we caught up. I have never seen a man more afraid than at that moment, except for the time I lost my temper with a second-rate Cassanova. But we didn't kill him.
No, we took him back to the town, and we put him in front of everyone and made him tell the world, —or as good as telling the world, with how rumours spread— about the lies, the deception and the destruction. Then, quietly in the night, a few of our boys paid off the prison guards and the wizard was found in pieces the next morning. All but his head. That we took and preserved as a warning to any future powers.
And as I tucked our Gordy into bed that night and came down to his pregnant mother, I smiled.
You don't mess with my family.
​
—————
Visit r/Mel_Rose_Writes for more stories! | 588 | You are the Chosen One. This is a lie. The Wizard trains each Chosen One, the Assassin arranges threats and enemies for the Chosen One to defeat and the Dark Lord faces and always slays each Chosen One without fail. It is all a ruse, meant to keep the three in power. | 3,329 |
He knew me at a glance, as they always do. As Peace Keepers we have been endowed by our Creator with a pleasing appearance lest we frighten the vulnerable. Time had etched the dimples that creased his cheeks as a boy into the lines of a winsome, oft worn smile. His eyes twinkled merrily as he reached out a familiar hand.
"Be still." My wrath was caged, as I had been taught in the beginning to keep it, but I gave voice to it nonetheless. His arm fell languidly to his side and the hurt on his face reminded me of the lad who had sat up in bed, praying breathlessly and incessantly for the return of the sun each night. I was not moved to pity.
"You have learned to be exceedingly comfortable in the shadow since last we met." My voice echoed ominously off of stone walls. Walking dreams comes easily to some, and I had taught this charge long ago to build castles. He had taken to it like a fish to water, and dwelt in empty mansions until the dawn to pass the idle hours of rest that haunted his troubled soul.
"I was born in darkness, so I have accepted it as my birthright. The light is blinding, old friend. I only wished to thank you for teaching me to be with it in safety."
The walls of the room vanished and the floor became the peak of a desolate mountain. Below us the world was an unending conflagration. I was suddenly armed with a staff, and stood ready for battle.
"If you are so arrogant as to consider yourself equal to summoning my kind, I may well have to destroy you."
He laughed airily and replied "I thought of you, and you are here. Are these dreams not my own?"
Thick oak caught him above the ear, and he crumpled in a heap. Peace had been granted, and mercy should have let him sleep. No quarter was to be given though. That was my order, and I would not fail to execute it.
"Stand." A voice of command is not a power to be abused, as it cannot be ignored. The dead man rose and breathed again.
"Yours, but a gift. Do not take for granted that which you have been given."
Pale and wan, he gazed at me silently. I could sense him calculating; I could feel my death in his wretched heart. Murder is a sin that teaches anger its power.
"Do you know all of it then?" I saw the sword strapped suddenly by his side. Cold steel that had tasted blood sang out a siren's song. Keen metal with a razor's bite cooed a snowy lullaby, muffled neatly by a leather sheath.
"Do not presume to question me. Draw your blade. It tells me of the work you have done in O*ur realm!"*
Lightning pierced the sky as he armed himself.
"I have done this before. I have more skill here than you know." He circled wearily, armor slowly coalescing around his body. "I can defeat you. I am sure of it. The Almighty has not withheld my hand. I have been blessed all my life in battle."
Again I initiated an attack. He fell as quickly and as completely as before.
"Get up." True fear showed in his eyes as he arose, unscathed but remembering.
"Why? I escaped twice, and twice you have brought me back! Please, let there be respite somewhere." Truth was returning, too late, to his heart. He wanted away from himself and the world he had wrought while waking.
"You once sought the light with the zealous love of a child, though you were troubled at heart. You now abide in darkness like one already dead. Peace is not found in troubled waters, nor is it granted to grasping beggars masquerading as kings. You must travel, for you have shed blood in Our name and in Our home. I was your protector, but I will be your foil if I must. You will be cleansed."
Tears shone in his eyes. "May I take your hand? I am weary. I know I've done wrong. Help me, and I will change. I see that you will have me walk through the flame. Please do not make me do it alone."
Souls cried out in anguish, howling because their tormentor sought salvation. A single man, once a child I sheltered, that had filled graves full beyond bursting threatened to shake the pillars of the earth. His very breath tempted the ravens and vultures, as death was ever on his tongue. How I hated humanity at times, though it was forbidden. War in God's name is a terrible danger, for it presumes to make enemies of his children.
"Your touch has become poison. I will not walk your path, for you are cast out. I pray we meet again someday and that I might desire your embrace. This is done for you, for the sake of love: as you once were, you will be again. Fear is no longer your ally. Strength shall be taken from your arm. Enemies will mock you, and the poverty stricken pity the little you have. As you have become in the eyes of God you will be before men. This is your help: You have sown. Enjoy the bounty of your harvest. I do not know you, and if I did I would be ashamed."
My ears were mercifully turned to stone before his lamenting began, and my heart hardened to his damnation. One man, whom I remembered as a fearful, trembling child, left my presence stripped of everything and stepped into the fire below. | 14 | You belong to a race of beings with the ability to enter and control the dreams of others. Your kind uses this talent to help children have pleasant dreams and overcome fears. You have just received word that one of your previous charges, who has since grown up, requires your assistance again. | 108 |
I pick up the disgusting wet tennis ball. The gooey drool globs down onto my hand. I try to wipe it off on my jeans but it is so thick it just makes a giant mess.
I look up at the pack all just staring at my hand. Their eyes are laser focused and penetrating. I'm choking on my own breath as my whole body trembles. Finally, I pull back my hand and then chuck that ball way out into the woods as hard as I can.
The pack all at once runs for the ball. They bark and howl as they go and I can see them nip and bite at each other as they fall out into the distance. Is this my chance to make a run for it? I mean they seem mostly harmless, I could just stay and play catch? But what if they become more vicious over time? Or accidentally bite me. Before I have time to full ponder these questions fully, the wolves are already back with the ball again and drop it at my feet. Slightly more confident this time, I throw the ball again, and the entire pack starts running for it.
This goes on all night long. My arm fatigues and my throws grow lamer. The werewolves don't seem to mind. Or care that I am tired. They just want to keep playing catch.
I can see the slightest glimmer of blue on the horizon. Finally some hope, dawn was coming. I keep throwing the ball. Is it just me, or are the wolves going even faster now? Trying to make the most of the night before the morning comes. It is draining my arm. I am so sore. Please sun, move faster.
And it finally does. The sunrise happens, and I watch something amazing. The wolves start twitching in front of me. Convulsing. And transforming. Their hair gets sucked back into their bodies. I can hear bones cracking and transforming. And before long an entire group of naked humans lies in front of me and starts getting up.
I am shocked by what I see. My neighbor, Mr. and Mrs. Tettle. The baker from down the street. Holy shit, Mom and Dad? You guys are werewolves too? Eww, I can see my dad's dick. As I look around I realize... everybody in town is a werewolf. I think literally every single person. I am the only one who was not bitten.
"Dad, how did this happen? How come everybody in town was bitten except for me? How come nobody ever bit me?"
Dad shrugged. "We needed somebody to throw the ball." | 61 | You are being chased throughout the woods by a werewolf. More werewolves come. They have you cornered, only to drop a ball covered in saliva on your lap. They want to play catch. | 168 |
**———— The Price Of A Single Chalice ————**
I have been too kind, too long. I have been known as Father Of Calamity, Bringer Of Sorrows. I am the story mothers use to make children behave, and the nightmare that makes hardened veterans cry like babes. I am as close to a God as a living being can get.
And yet, someone stole from me. They entered my domain, my sanctum, and took that which is mine. They forgot the stories of sundered cities, of massacre and genocide. So... I will remind them.
First, I will tear apart their home. Everything they have loved and cared for, anything they have nurtured and have been nurtured by, I will burn. Mothers, fathers, daughters, sons, friends and first loves. They will all be reduced go the finest of ashes.
Then, I will destroy their land. I will commit their entire nation to the cleansing pyre, such that no plant will grow in their fields and no man will dwell their halls for a thousand years. A dead, blasted heath, charred so resolutely that the sun itself won't dare to shine within it.
After, I will kill anyone who allies themselves with that nation. I will find every diplomat, ambassador, king or president who so much as spoke a kind word to the thief's people, and I will take their lives asunder. I will lay waste to their palaces, leave craters where their homes should be. Place them in a disgraced grave for the mere crime of mercy.
Last, I will reign over the burned kingdoms of man, the God-King of Fire. I will melt down the mountain upon which their capital lies, and, there, I shall built a prairie of hellfire. And, within it, I will torment the thief until humans rebuild on the burnt land. I will keep them alive, only to kill them ever slower.
Every few centuries of pain, I will let them rest. Tell them that their punishment is over, that my wrath has been extinguished and my thirst for vengeance quenched.
They won't believe me, at first. But I can be very persuasive. I will let them believe that they are free, offer them a feast and women to their heart's desire. And, when their weary, pathetic soul *dares* to hesitantly hope, in one fell swoop I will take it all away, and place them back on the stake.
Such is the price they will pay. Until humans come oust me from my valley of flames, I will torture them.
And, those humans, who will come to drive me away? I will slay them as well.
Such is the price of thievery. Such is the price... of a single golden chalice.
——————————————————————————————— | 13 | They stole from you, the greatest of dragons. Clearly they think their defenses can withstand your wrath. You will show them how wrong they are. | 28 |
"Do it, pussy," Ben teased, giving me a nudge. "Might as well, right?"
I rolled my eyes, but he had a point, however warped his reasoning. I took a deep breath, rolled my shoulders and girded my loins (such as they are), and strode forward to ask Monique out on a date.
I was a lifelong wallflower, never making the first move, never showing the confidence to try. Sure, I had my excuses, but excuses hadn't gotten me any dates. Over the last two years of working security together, roaming the quiet halls and empty foyers of empty offices during COVID, Ben had made it his personal mission to bring me out of my shell. I hated it, but loved him for trying, the fucker.
Recently, I had found a new opportunity and put in my notice to quit. I had two days left, including today, before I left for good. Ben had made me promise to at least *talk* to my dream girl before I left, and I had reluctantly agreed. If I bombed it, or got rejected, or just plain chickened out, I could easily call out my last day. This was, to paraphrase my friend, 'the perfect free throw.' No pressure, no consequences, and I would regret it forever if I didn't at least *try* to shoot my shot.
"Monique?" I hazarded, already feeling the burn of the blush on my face.
She was making her morning coffee, carefully stirring in cream and sugar. Her long hair was pulled back in a simple ponytail, her blouse wide enough around the neck to threaten to slip down around her shoulder, and my eyes paused briefly on her skin. I gasped a little, instantly beguiled. The silky caramel, her goosebumps from the morning chill, the graceful lines of her collarbone barely visible, these were paradoxically the most mundane and most sensual things I had ever experienced *in my life*.
I almost froze. I knew, in that moment, that if I didn't blurt out what I meant to say I would be ensorcelled, entranced, petrified forever. I would die dumbstruck, standing there staring, the memory of a tiny facet of absolute beauty burnt straight through from my eyes to my visual cortex and melting my poor hippocampus to slag.
"Yes?" she prompted, somewhere north of cranky but south of awake.
I blinked. I blushed. I blurted.
"Y-you're the most beautiful woman I've ever seen and I'd very much like to kiss you and I think you're really nice and I want to get to know you more and honestly I want to marry you but maybe it's too soon and I probably shouldn't have said that," I said, before gasping for both air and sanity.
I closed my eyes. I heard Ben slap his forehead behind me, facepalming at the horribly awkward mess I had made of this. I braced for the mocking disbelief, the amused dismissal, the cruel tittering laugh I knew was coming.
Instead: "Um, ok. Yes, please."
I opened one eye, half-expecting a faceful of scalding coffee for my temerity. Instead, Monique yawned hugely, then set her cup down and dug into her bag. She produced a piece of paper, and deftly snatched my pen out of the front pocket of my uniform.
"Sign here. We can play hookie and go file it today, if you really want to," she proposed, scribbling her name.
I leaned forward, and was met with the smell of her. She smelled like... Well, my brain translated it as the olfactory equivalent of taking a welcome break during a long walk to enjoy a patch of flowers, wet with dew on a crisp and sunny morning, with one industrious bee already busily investigating the flowers for the bounty of their nectar.
Then I noticed what she was signing, and the flowers of my imagination exploded into aromatic shrapnel.
*Certificate of Marriage*, it said, next to the county letterhead.
Below that, in blocky letters: *Please type or print in black ink.*
Below that, the section for Officiant was already filled out. I didn't recognize the name, but they had what I hazarded was an appropriate amount of alphabet soup after their name to diagnostically qualify as either very important or exceedingly pompous. Perhaps both. Monique had already filled out her section, labeled as *Bride.* She was rapidly finishing my section, *Groom,* as I gawped in catatonic shock.
"You spell your name with a 'gg' or a 'dg'?" she asked.
I opened my mouth to reply, but nothing intelligible came out. I really nailed that startled-fish-on-dry-land impression, though.
She ignored me and grabbed my badge instead, verifying her work. She let it go, and the snap of the retractable lanyard made me jump. I closed my mouth just in time to meet her eyes, and she held out my pen.
"Here," she smiled, enchanting me all over again. "We'll go right now."
I reached out for the pen. This... this was nothing I had ever dared dream, and everything I had ever unconsciously wished for. Our hands touched as I grasped the pen, and it was like brushing gently against a wire carrying 10,000 volts of oh-god-yes-please. My heart thundered in my chest as I bent down to sign. My hand shook. My vision swam...
...and I fell out of my chair, landing painfully and biting my tongue. Wincing, I pulled myself up and blinked hard a few times, trying to get my bearings. My heart was racing, but the fog of sleep was slow to lift from my exhausted mind.
Groggily, I took stock of my surroundings. The building was still locked and empty, as it usually was during the night shift. The clock informed me I still had three hours left to go; still an hour and some change before any employees started coming in to work.
I rubbed my hip where it hurt when I had fallen, looking around the empty lobby. I looked at the memorial, pictures of all the employees who had died from COVID. There, Ben's chubby face smiled beamingly over the empty room; on the far side, Monique's elfin beauty dazzled in the morbid silence.
The world was lesser, hollower, without them. As the slow minutes ticked by I stared at their pictures, as I often had during many a quiet shift over the last few months.
In these small hours, I missed them.
*Damn,* I thought. *You were right, man. I really wish I had had the guts to ask her out.* | 39 | On a stupid dare, you approach the most popular/attractive person in your workplace/school and boldly ask them to marry you. Much to your surprise, they not only enthusiastically agree, they pull out a pre-filled marriage registration form out from nowhere with your names and details filled in. | 161 |
It was at that time she was particularly worried for her child. Mothers are always a bit concerned for their children, of course, but she had a special concern.
*The carnival is tomorrow. The cousins should be able to gather at that time if they go fast enough. Hopefully they loaded their machine guns and brought magazines in their backpacks, you can make sure the boogeyman is dead but he'll just keep coming back–*
"Mommy!" her kid called out.
"What's wrong, sweetie?" Eloise asked.
"The boogieman is at my window!" shrieked the eight-year-old.
"Now, honey, what have I told you?" she said. "Your grandpa killed the boogeyman. And we made sure he wasn't coming back."
Eloise smiled and swept out the room. *Shit.*
"Hey, husband?" she asked at dinnertime.
"What?"
Her face darkened, ever-so-slightly. "The boogeyman. Get out the artillery."
"Do we still bring the cousins?" her husband asked.
"This is our mission, darling. Ahead of schedule." Eloise smiled. "Get out the truck and call them. Let's go murder a few clowns." | 26 | "What's wrong, sweetie? The boogeyman is at your window? Now, honey, what have I told you...? Your grandpa killed the boogeyman. And we made sure he wasn't coming back." | 77 |
Slowly I open my eyes. The room is brighter than it should be, than it normally is when I wake up and drag myself through the daily motions to feed, clean, and dress myself before I leave my designated living space for my designated working space. Blinking, I lift my head up and reach for my phone, on the nightstand next to me. The screen is completely black. I groan, figuring the charging pad died and my phone quickly followed suit, leaving me to slumber blissfully through seven alarms and by now who knows how many attempts to reach me. I'm late, probably really late. Which means I'm fired, probably really fired. Fuck it, I didn't like that job anyways.
Sliding out of bed I grab a pair of pants from the floor and shuffle-hop my way into them as I head to the bathroom. Flipping the switch to turn on the light yields a whole lot of nothing. So of course I flip the switch a half dozen more times, hoping that one of those flips will yield results contrary to the ones that came before. Disappointment in my lack of ability to illuminate my bathroom is trumped only by an incessant urge to contaminate the pristine water in my toilet bowl with the toxic remnants of last night's Takeout & Vodka For One I grabbed on the way home. Of course, waking up late means my ENTIRE schedule is thrown off, and here I am paying the price as bowels and bladder protest, one end loudly, their having to wait.
Without my phone I have nothing to entertain myself while appeasing some of the last human functions technology hasn't been able to improve on, or render obsolete; Migraines are a thing of the past with this little round button looking thing with a LONG spike they jam into your temple. Eyesight is always perfect, as laser surgery gave way to implants which gave way to different implants which gave way to even more different implants. And let's not forget sexual performance advances. Actually, I'm sure there are companies that would like to forget their first trial runs at sexual performance advances (or in the case of Pfizer, their first THREE trial runs). Let's just say that there's no such thing as Haves and Have Nots anymore.
So after what seems like an eternity without short cat videos to distract me from the awfulness of the odor permeating my bathroom, I am finally finished. Pressing a button on the side of the commode for my morning pressure wash gets me as far as flipping the switch for the lights. This can't be happening. Although, if the power in the building went out, I can claim that against being late and maybe not have to deal with job hunting for a little while longer yet. Luckily I keep leftover napkins handy in case of emergencies, and this definitely qualifies as an emergency. The plumber will just have to forgive my lack of decorum when they need to rod out the lines in the building because taking care of this mess definitely put a dent in my thrice-recycled consumer paper supply. I thought about just jumping into the shower and letting that do the job, but I'm not THAT much of a heathen. Besides, when I turned the water on, it was cold no matter how far to the left I cranked that lever. Looks like those ads for tankless water heaters forgot to mention power outages ruin the whole experience of on-demand scaldings.
So without power in the building, that means no coffee. Which means the line at Starbucks is going to be hellaciously long. I'm not a patient person WITH caffeine in my system; without it I'm likely to murder someone for using exact change instead of just swiping their damn card. Like seriously, the push for cashless societies has been going on for nearly two decades now, but people are still expected to tip, and tips are still expected to be cash, because why should a merchant pay their 3.5% processing fee to pay an employee? It's layer after layer of bullshit. Sometimes I wish the system would just nuke itself out of pity for us lowly carbon based biologicals and then a true utopia can be made. So it looks like I'm out the door late, without coffee, without a working phone, and feeling not-so-squeaky clean where it counts. Great. Today's one of those days that doesn't pay to get out of bed I guess.
I cross myself as I walk towards the door. Not because I'm religious, but I'm simply checking: Watch, Wallet, Keys, IDs. Got them all, stashed in their respective little pockets and cubbies and lanyards alike. I take a deep breath and sigh loudly as I head off to face the music. Maybe Starbucks will have their lines sorted by the time I come back from my firing and I'll treat myself to something with extra caramel sauce and a chunk of chocolate melting slowly inside of it. I grip the door handle and pull and nearly yank my shoulder out of socket. The damn door is stuck! This can't be real. At this point, someone is screwing with me. I know I paid my rent, so there's no reason the electronic lock should be engaged, especially WHILE I'M INSIDE! I yank on the door with my other hand, a false hope making my brain believe one side of my body is just weaker. Result? Still stuck. Lovely.
So now I'm stuck in my apartment with no coffee, no phone, no TV, no hot water, no way out, and no food other than leftover takeout that I wouldn't feed to a cat, let alone eat personally. I yank on the door again, then ram my shoulder into it before yanking on it a fourth and final time. Again, it yields nothing. Fucking figures.
I turn and walk to the sliding window and push it open. Luckily these are still analog and manual, so at least I can step out onto my little patch of concrete suspended hundreds of feet in the air by the lowest bidder. I lean against the railing, which probably isn't the smartest move to make but I'm past caring at this point when I hear the door of my neighbor slide open. I glance over at him to see him in a similar state; slightly disheveled and more than a little peeved. Looks like everyone's missing work today.
I hope they don't dock my time off for this bullshit. I've got plans to go fishing soon. | 12 | It's the near future. Technology is intrinsic to human life. Self-aiming firearms, smart cars, and cybernetic implants are the norm. Overnight, a solar flare passed earth, knocking out all electronics, including cybernetics. You wake in your high rise apartment, your door won't open. | 54 |
"I've done it." Chosin screamed to the heavens. He looked upon the body of the hero below him, bloodied and beaten. Hues of red and purple.
"I've done it," he said, quieter this time. Reaching down, he turned over the hero, and slid a hand up towards the broken neck. A silver colored key, unassuming in looks and overwhelming in purpose, hung from a simple string. With a ripping motion, the string snapped, and the key was in Chosin's hand.
A door appeared, summoned by the will of the key's new master. Shaking, Chosin raised the key to the lock. Inserted it. Turned it. Click. The door opened.
Colors unimaginable burst through the door. Choirs of spirits flooded the air with hallelujah. Air rushed over Chosin, simultaneously feeling like the embrace of a warm summer day and the soft bite of a mild winter. If Chosin crossed this door, he would become a god. And he wanted to. The body beneath him proved to what lengths he would go.
He stepped through, and in that moment he couldn't believe it. Which was a goddamned shame, because he suddenly ceased to exist. Gods are fed by belief, and its a terrible thing to not believe in yourself. | 21 | After defeating the Chosen One in a great final battle, the supposedly immortal villain dies in an extremely anticlimactic way | 42 |
The movies have the hero vs villain relationship all wrong. Doctor Horiblywong and I have a rather friendly relationship; we both recognize that one can not exist without the other, and that Cretville needs us both. Sure, I put a stop to his antics, sure, he's always trying to outsmart me, but ultimately, were almost friends. The president on the other hand? He's got it out for Dr. Horiblywong. He thinks that I'm some big hero, that I want the Dr. gone for good. He doesn't understand the dynamic.
See, if Dr. Horiblywong were to go away, I'd be left bored. But, worse than that, our citizens would be bored. Since he started his villainy, crime rates in our city have gone down by 92%. These days, everyone is merely interested in the latest showdown between us two.
But last week, the Dr called me. He told me that his love had left him.
Since then, he hasn't caused a single ruckus.
​
Police activity is at an all-time high now; citizens are getting braver. And then, I found out that the girl *does* want him back. I know this because shes my sister. And to stop her from enticing him, the president has her under constant surveillance.
I want to be a hero; but how can I do that without my villain? | 70 | The Villain's girlfriend breaks up with him. This causes him to go into a deep depression, reducing his villainous activity to 0. One day, she decides to see how he's doing, possibly to get back together, and every government agency and Hero organization moves to stop her. | 306 |
The dragon had asked me to wait until they had changed by the fireplace; a marble affair stuck on a relatively flat wall in the lair, with a clear set of crevasses and crannies that diffused any smoke the fire would make.
As I waited, one of the dragon's minions, a lizard-like creature brought a tray of tea and homemade biscuits. Its wicked teeth and hunched gait was oddly servile, and its claws looked extremely well-kept.
It hissed at me in Draconic (a language I was still learning, and one that I didn't know enough of to converse in), but the meaning was cleared up as it gestured to the tray, left it on the macabre table made of human legs, and bowed, its tail gently sweeping along the floor in time with its gait.
"Thank you, Sir," I curtseyed. As I took a bite of the biscuits, a silky soft butter texture came through, and the small brown chunks were really tasty; washed down with the tea was a refreshment I would love to try more of.
I wanted to thank the lizard, but I wasn't sure how to, so I took its hand in mine, gently touched my lips to its head and spoke in heavily accented Draconic. "Thanks be to you."
I flushed, thinking that I had got the pronunciation wrong; but the lizard hissed, holding its soft underbelly. It was clear it was laughing at me. It spoke thickly in Garai, "I told you, Masster, she was better than the resssst."
I felt, more than saw, the dragon's return. An alto of a voice called back in Draconic, but what I got was a reference to a name, and *to stop getting*, which is a transliteration.
As I turned to face the dragon, I felt the breath leave me.
The dragon had thick, lustrous sapphire hair, and a silver-grey pair of cross-slitted eyes on a stunningly pale, round face. Her body, in spite of the attire of a corset made of the bones of men, and a soft supple leather and the shimmering deep blue skirt was broad and almost round; the corset accentuating a body that, whilst appearing chubby, had a hardened core of muscle visible throughout.
"I, um, *wow.*" I stammered. I was already lost to the eyes, that glittered with intelligence, concern and amusement. I flushed as my mind just rebooted.
I suddenly felt like I should have dressed better, in spite of the nightgown made from Arachne silk from the Rach Queen.
"Are you real?" I blurted out, and then panicked. *By the Gods, I had just insulted a* dragon, by questioning their existence!
I was lucky, then, that she had a sense of humour; she laughed, a bell chime tinkling deep within my soul. The sibilant mockery that rebounded embarrassed me, and s I flushed deeper, I couldn't help but laugh at the situation.
She walked towards me, still laughing. I backed up a little, wary, but she kept approaching me and I realised just how much *bigger* she was than me. I looked straight ahead, and was just level with her upper chest.
Her hand rippled the fingers, as her sharp-nailed forefinger touched just below my jaw, tipping my head up gently. "See for yourself, Princess Rani."
Time stopped as I stared into her eyes, and a dizzying sensation went through me, a tangle of physical and emotional responses.
I felt a strange pair of cushions shortly before everything went to pale, and I tumbled. | 126 | You are a princess that's been kidnapped the night before her arranged marriage. Upon arriving at its lair, however, you find out that not only can she assume a mostly-human form, but that form is really hot. Now you're trying to get your parents to let you marry the dragon. | 533 |
My name's Isaac. I'm a lawyer, a defence lawyer to be specific. That probably doesn't sound cool, however, on March 15 of 2017, my proficiency at defending terrorists and other villains in court happened to attract the attention of the big guys: The Global Heroes And Vigilantes Association.
It started like a normal day. My client, Samantha Nightheart, who was being accused of destroying a building in San Francisco trying to bring my price down, bribing judges, making deals with local drug lords. I was just about to go outside to smoke a cigarette when I got an email from GHAV themselves. I can't say exactly what they said for legal reasons, I can paraphrase, though:
Most of our heroes use super fucked up tactics to deal with criminals, and now we have to pay for it, so we at the Global Heroes And Vigilantes Association would like you, Isaac Netterman, to defend us in court, because you're the best lawyer ever and you're super hot, too.
Well, damn.
You see, I would be excited, normally. The amount of cash I could earn here is insane. However, the tactics I use are... less than legal.
"You might be able to talk them into something in person. Set up a meeting," Thomas, my associate who I'm probably going to get married to, tells me. "You've got a way with words."
"Maybe. But I don't think they'd approve of the fact that I break the law and then use the law for profit. I mean, most of my evidence doesn't exist."
"True, but have you seen how bad their situation is right now? I mean, Silver Frog is being dragged into this."
So, I set up a meeting. After like, four days of waiting, they give me a super sketchy place sixty miles away from their headquarters to meet them at, and tell me everything I need to know about what they want me to do.
"Sure, but... my tactics are a bit, uh, illegal. And by a bit, I mean, completely illegal."
"Listen, Isaac. Here's the offer: seventy million dollars if you get us off of the hook. Otherwise, we'll have a new punching bag for the training room," Doctor Ace responds. "I don't care if your methods are legal, as long as you aren't caught. They've got evidence of me using pregant women as shields during shoot-outs, for fuck's sake."
So, I got Alice, my top stalker, on the job to gather evidence. She traveled around four hundred miles, planting chips and seducing random dudes who might know something that could set us back. The classic "I'll blow you if you don't tell anyone that this person killed four people for no reason" gambit. It always worked, and if it didn't, we always had a pistol in the car.
The trial went well, as all of them do, because I never lose, and because I'd get killed if it didn't. I ended up using the recent 49 Degree act to completely fuck over the accusers, and thanks to them, I now have an organization getting people in legal trouble, who come to me for help. | 66 | In a world of Superpowers, Villains and Heros you are neither and powerless. In fact you are a criminal defense lawyer, so good in fact you always seem to be able to prove a villain or criminal innocent no matter how high or blatant the crime. One day the top heros knock on your door. | 170 |
“I can’t believe I’m sold out.” I muttered to myself, as I packed up my personal items from the couch I had set up shop for the night.
I had been invited to another frat party, full of mouth breathing Chads and “frat brothers”. I had almost declined but as a broke college student with loans to pay, I knew I could make a killer on these guys.
Made a total of six hundred bucks off mediocre weed and some coke I had gotten cheap.
“Hey,” I could feel someone standing behind me.
Looking up I saw who I would describe as a white collar, suburban dad. Khakis and white tennis shoes, the whole shebang.
“What’s up?”
“Well… I was wondering if you had some coke.” He stroked his hair back, his eyes darting over to the door.
‘Great, another dad trying to get his rocks off with women probably younger than his daughters. Wish I didn’t run out so soon, I bet they’d mug him and take the coke.’ I thought as I turned back towards my bag, grabbing it and my drink.
“Sorry, dude. All out of coke. Is Pepsi ok?” Holding out my half empty bottle of Pepsi, smirking at the man.
The man frowned before turning on his heel a stalking out of the room without another word.
“Weirdo,” I said as I made my way to the bathroom before leaving.
After I washed my hands, I made my way to the front of the house when I saw the flashing red and blue lights.
‘Oh fuck,’ I thought. I knew I was in the clear as I had been cleaned out of my supply for the party. So I relaxed a little.
“That’s the girl, officer. She sold the drugs to me!”
And there was Chad #3 from my long list of clients from the party.
“She was with me for most of the night!” Shouted Sarah, one of my loyal clients.
“Yeah, she’s was chilling on the coach with a few of us.” Damn, Todd really earning himself a bonus nugget next time he bought from me.
“This girl is clear. She’s obviously not a drug dealer.” The man from earlier said, walking towards the police car with another fraternity member handcuffed.
“Make sure to keep drinking Pepsi.” He smirked at me, and nodded towards my drink. He waved a hand towards me as a dismissal. So, I hightailed it out of there, sharing a fist bump with Todd.
Money secure and no arrest record due to a stupid joke, what a lucky bitch I was. | 445 | As a drug peddler, whenever someone asks you for coke, you reply 'Is Pepsi ok?' . You thought it was funny but today it also kept you out of jail. | 897 |
A sharp knock on the door nearly sent me out of my skin.
With a precision and urgency only possible when under extreme duress, books snapped shut, candles flickered out, and typically overlooked trinkets went flying into opposite corners of the room in complete silence with a rapid set of gestures. I hadn't even heard Indi come *in* the apartment, let alone get to my door to knock it. She wasn't supposed to be home for another hour at *least*.
"Yes?" I managed to just barely keep my voice from waking up the neighbors dogs. "What's up?"
Apparently that was an invitation to enter, though I didn't quite recall saying that. My door swung open as the last little talisman — a loop of hair kept together with melted wax — settled securely in between a pair of books on my modestly stocked bookshelf. A shock of red framed a face that on most days was gorgeous beyond legality, but today... well, that wasn't much different but she was usually smiling a lot more.
"Hey. So."
I'd never seen her look so... panicked? Worried? It was hard to tell. Indi's phone trembled in her shaking hand, the other gripping my doorknob so hard I could hear the wood creaking. I knew this place was a piece of shit but I *reinforced* that door, and how she was straining the enchantment was beyond me.
"So...?"
Indi set her jaw, seeming to come to some sort of conclusion.
"Do you want to get married? Like, us. Get married."
I blinked at her.
"What?"
"It would be worth it. I could make it worth it. Like you wouldn't *believe*."
"...are you high?"
"No! I — look. I know it's a weird question."
I nodded slowly, unsure if this was a prank or not. "Yes the fuck it is."
"It's a long story."
"I have time."
"I don't." She ran a hand through her curly hair, stepping further into the room. A cute green sweater and white dress pants clashed terribly with the borderline orange mood lighting of my room, meaning she hadn't changed at all since getting back home. "Be cool about what's next, okay?"
And then a whole lot happened at once.
Fire engulfed her entire body, charring the clothes on her back and sending down a cascade of ashes and dark, smoldering embers that thankfully evaporated before they made contact with my newly vacuumed floor. Her hair grew, from just below the shoulders to well below the waist, the crimson hue draining entirely to white in the process.
Two curling ram's horns grew from the top of her skull, forming partially down her forehead, drawing attention away from the rapidly darkening sclera of her eyes and inversion of her pupils. Her skin grew scarlet red, boldly standing out against the blackened, almost obsidian dress that now hugged her body.
Also, all of my wards flared to life and utterly disintegrated. Every last one of them.
I couldn't decide whether or not to scream or cry. *Months* of labor, hundreds of dollars worth of reagents, completely down the drain. My roommate, who I'd been content with giving a casual hello to on my way to minding my own business ever since she moved in, had transformed into a bonafide archdevil, and in the process completely overwhelmed the most powerful defensive magic I could muster. From the looks of it, she didn't even notice something *tried* to reject her.
"I know. Don't freak out." She had blessedly mistook my misery for fear, though that wasn't exactly in short supply either. "But I'm a demon, or devil, whatever you want to call me. I'm actually pretty high up there, as far as bloodlines go. But a really important part of that is marriage and I've been trying to just live my life but my mom is coming in less than an hour and if I don't at *least* have a fiancé by then she's going to fucking kill me."
There was a moment of strained silence. I was still reeling from the economic loss, though she'd given me at least *something* cerebral to attach to. What bloodline was she a part of specifically? Was this an opportunity I could somehow take advantage of?
I managed to choke out a response. "Wasn't that long a story."
Indi laughed nervously, fidgeting with her hands. Perfectly manicured, sharply clawed hands. "Yeah, I gave you the short version. Long version has more description of how I die."
Marriages were pretty fucking important in the magical world, of which Indi was apparently deeply involved with. Names held power. Station opened doors. A significant enough change in status could drastically alter what one was capable of, assuming they worked within the limitations of that status.
I thought back to the lock of hair, sitting mere feet away from the archdevil who went halfsies with me on rent every month. She played with a lock of her own, identical in hue, if not a little curlier.
How long had I been trying to find someone who didn't want to be found? How quickly had the best I had to offer fall apart in the mere *presence* of someone who wouldn't stand a chance against my endgame? What did I hope to accomplish on my own, in this shitty run down apartment, having to dance around my roommate's social life just to kill myself on someone who likely didn't even remember I existed?
"...yeah. Okay. Sure."
Indi stopped playing with her hair.
"For real?"
"Yes. For real. I don't want you to die, right?"
In the blink of an eye the demoness swept me in an enormous hug. She was surprisingly cool to the touch. "THANK YOU! Holy fucking shit, I can't *believe* you agreed to it! I'll do anything to make it up to you. Whatever you want."
I gently pat her head in reassurance. Her hair was soft, and smelled like the fruity shampoo she left in the shower. It felt familiar; it was all I could do not to tear it from her skull as I did with his. "I can think of a couple of things." | 1,037 | This is… awkward to say the least. Your roommate just frantically confessed that they’re demonic royalty, and that they need a fiancé to meet their parent, the monarch of Hell, who will be here in under an hour. | 2,604 |
"So that's the situation."
I paused as I let my words sink into the crew and passengers. The atmosphere was tense, so tense you could cut it with a knife. And I'm not talking about a butter knife, I mean one of those steak knives, and even then you would really have to *saw* it up and back to cut the tension. That’s how tense it was.
I gave out a small cough.
"So.. erm... do we have any volunteers?"
"Wait, mate, are you actually serious?" A young passenger from the economy level spoke up. "I thought that the chances of having a starship accident was lower than getting struck by lightning on any given day?? At least that's what I got told on the brochure!"
My eyebrows raised in surprise. *People actually read that?*
“Ah yes, well you are not wrong, and the brochure would certainly never contain any falsehoods. However, if you paid attention, you would have seen that it said said ‘getting struck by lighting on any given day\*’
And if you had read the fine print, it specified the chance of getting stuck any given day on Olympia, where mortality by lightning strike is less common than mortality by heart-attacks, but slightly higher than mortality by cancer.
Now, time is ticking, and oxygen reserves are running low as we speak. The faster we find some heroic volunteers, the less heroic volunteers we will need.”
This spurred some quick hushed debate amongst groups of passengers, who were starting to give side-eyes to their fellow passengers, and openly glaring at me with hatred, usually when they increased their volume so I could hear “...lying bastards…”, or “...fucking assholes…”
I shook my head. Hypocrites the lot of them. After all, I doubt most of them had even *read* the brochure. Now thanks to some random guy with too much time on his hands, they had an excuse for their indignation to become righteous… This suddenly became even *more* annoying to handle.
“HEY! Thats bullshit. You can’t just completely shirk responsibility. You can’t expect us to pay the price for your mistakes!”
The speaker was a middle-ages man from the business class. He was red in the face, his voice was harsh, and the veins protruding from his forehead were probably a sign that the hardness of his tone had nothing on the hardness of his arteries.
“Look sir, I can understand why you are upset, but according to Clause 12, which pertains to the Responsibility for Damages by Passengers, our company is not fully responsible for this mishap. It was a passenger that thought the hydrolysis tank was a good place to smuggle his pet eel aboard, and so in the case when that single Passenger is unable to bear the costs of his mistakes himself, the cost of the mistake will be shared by *all* inhabitants of the starship.”
The fact that we *might* have neglected the some usually irrelevant procedures which could have prevented this, due to being chronically understaffed in order to meet cost cutting quotas was neither here nor there. After all, unless there was an official from the Department of Transport, and they were infamously underpaid, understaffed, and overworked, nobody would know better.
Suddenly an higher-pitched, eloquent voice broke me out of my thoughts.
“I believe Clause 8b might change be relevant here. Seeing that the *crew* is supposed to be responsible for our safety, I believe that it would only be appropriate that the *crew* also take the lead in being… *heroic*.”
The speaker was a middle-aged woman who appeared to be a first-class passenger. Behind tired eyes that were intent on me, she had a natural aura of confidence and competence, but then my eyes widened slightly in horror as I recognised the insignia on her uniform. Department of Transport. Shit.
I knew now I had to change tact. Before I was appealing to the people’s ingrained loyalty to rules and regulations, because even if a plan is horrific, if it was at least planned, there would be surprisingly little resistance. However, she would know all the rules and regulations, including the ones I was hoping to… *omit* for now.
Now I would have to appeal to her humanity.
Unless she is an unfeeling robot she should respond well to my new plan, in which case this can still run pretty smoothly. What gave me faith in her humanity was that she didn't specify that clause 8b only related to material damages, and when the other party are all passengers of the same organisation, which would have really made me look bad. So lets see how she responds to bribes.
(Part 1)
“I can understand why you might feel that way. But I hope you can see our point of view. I think there are a few clauses that are very pertinent to the current situation, in particular clause 107a(*Relating to compensation due to damages)*, and Clause 42b, (*Relating to Non-Disclosure Agreements*)-”
I paused for a moment, giving her time to understand what I said and its implications. After that I continued.
“- though I think it would be better to discuss this in further detail *one-on-one*. Rest assured, we prioritize the satisfaction of our passengers above all else.”
She remained expressionless as she considered my disguised proposal. I felt my heart thumping in my chest, my vision seeming to shake with each beat.
“I see. I think given those clauses, your response to the current circumstances is quite commendable, and look forward to discussing the future course of action in further detail. However, I do expect that the burden of this mistake will be evenly distributed between crew and passengers.”
I let out an inaudible sigh of relief. She had to give the illusion of maintaining a hard line, but this is honestly the best I could have hoped for.
“Rest assured, I would not ask more from our passengers than I would of my own crew.”
I did the formality of nodding in a gesture of respect and acquiescence, and the mood of the passengers seemed to have evened out somewhat. Even though the outcome was still going to be the exact same as it was previously. That woman was truly amazing, and I would’ve tried hiring her if she didn’t have such a large payout in her future that would make tempting her impossible
I turned to my crew.
“So, do we have any heroic volunteers?”
I sighed as they all averted my gaze, then turned to one particularly defeated looking crew member.
“Hey Jimmy?”
“Yes Mr Roberts?”
“I think this is your time to shine.”
A look of confusion passed over his face.
“I… don’t understand sir?”
“Well, when you were talking to the company counselor, you have been saying you’ve been thinking about 'ending it all' every day, right?”
His face turned from confusion to a mixture of horror, shame, guilt and embarrassment all at once.
“Isn’t that…” Jimmy choked up for a few moments while I patiently waited, before continuing in a rush “Isn’t that supposed to be confidential!?”
I nodded.
“There is a confidentiality clause, with the consequence of breaking it being the payment of one years salary, and I believe in this case the company would agree with me in letting you take this opportunity to show *leadership*.”
I waited for him to respond, but after several seconds of no sign of response, I cleared my throat politely to get things moving along. After all, the longer this took, the more oxygen they were wasting unnecessarily. Some people can never see the bigger picture.
At my goading Jimmy continued with a dazed expression
“What…would I even *do* with the money? I’m an orphan, so I don’t have any parents or relatives, and my wife and child died in a starship accident last year…”
I paused thoughtfully for a second before replying.
“Well… you can always donate to charity? Don’t be heartless, didn’t you want to do this anyway?”
(Part 2)
“Um, excuse me?”
At this moment a young woman from the business class stepped forward, looking at Jimmy with pity on her face before glancing up at me.
“Oh? Are you here to heroically volunteer?”
She shuddered, then shook her head.
I sighed, then started turning back to Jimmy, who was looking at me like I had wronged him. I was a bit confused. We had been giving him therapy for free, because it would be a massive pain to replace him seeing he was pretty well trained, but now that both our goals aligned, he was suddenly backing off? Why were we paying for his therapy in the first place then? Did he even need it? I was feeling a bit betrayed to be honest.
Suddenly the woman spoke up again
“No, but I think I can help fix this situation!”
Now *that* got my attention.
“Are you a Starship Scientist?” I asked in interest.
“No,” She replied, shaking her head. “I work in sales for biochemical products.”
“Umm, I don’t see how you can help?” I replied honestly.
“You see, the product I sell, which helps relieve stress and bring a pleasant state of mind when consumed or smoked, is derived from a genetically engineered plant that grows like a weed, and I have lots of seeds in the holding bay. The lighting here emulates sunlight, so we should be able to grow these into plants and allow photosynthesis to occur, creating an organic life support system.”
I smiled for a moment, before I realised a hurdle
“Um, what company are you with”
She replied without skipping a beat, as though she had been expecting the question.
“Evolva”
I didn’t recognise the name, and sighed, before delivering my pre-prepared script
“Unfortunately, we have had a completely unforeseeable bout of cosmic radiation, and it is quite likely the seeds are now infertile and won’t germinate properly… Wait a minute?”
It was a script I had said hundreds of times, but while it kinda sucked that people were going to die because of it, the cost cutting measures did help me get my bonuses the last couple of years. Basically if a company wasn’t large...
(hit 10k character limit, finish in comments) | 14 | after catastrophic failure aboard the starship, a rescue vessel dispatched with an ETA of 30 days. Unless measures are taken to reduce the 600 passengers and crew, all will die in 14 days. The longer the situation is drawn out, the more people will have to be sacrificed for the greater good. | 29 |
"Book or Game?"
These words echoed through my head as I perused the library looking for where I'd spend the rest of my foreseeable future. The problem wasn't that I had too many options, though that thought did occur to me quite early on, the problem was that I couldn't really *check* any of my options too thoroughly. Games were too straightforward I felt, but books were complex but they seemed the better of the two if only because I'd always been more of a reader. The woman who told me about this curse was not very specific, I had to read *most* of any story to truly "consume" it. Naturally this was nerve wracking! Imagine having to see so many stories, read so many titles and ad-blurbs not knowing if some accidental spoiler would send you into the book!
It wasn't long before I was exhausted and the library would close, I had around 50 books stacked beside me in neat little towers and I'm sure if I kept this up any longer the librarian would either kick me out or start re-shelving the books farthest from me. I had to decide and I had to do it soon! My mind was a mess though, swimming with half formed ideas of stories that I think I could survive in and still live happily. What I needed was a clear mind to finally make my choice...
Then I made the biggest mistake of my life.
​
It felt so natural, like something *anyone* would do. I took out my phone, and started listening to the playlist I normally relax to. But after the first song I could feel my body lifting into the air, and that's when I realized it... Songs are stories too. | 169 | You've been warned that you'll be sucked into the next fictional story you consume. You're desperately trying to find a fun and survivable book or video game. | 512 |
"Ricky! Are you okay?" Tina slammed her keys down on the counter. "I'm so sorry I'm late. My alarm didn't go off."
"It's fine," Ricky rasped from behind the front register and a pile of empty bottles of sun block. "It was just a few minutes. It's good to see the sunrise actually. Feel like I haven't seen it in fifty years, working night shift I mean," he tacked on quickly. "I'll clean these up. They were all expired."
"Don't worry about it," Tina said, clocking in. Had he really worked here fifty years? He didn't look thirty. "Can you get home okay?"
"Well," Ricky said, pale skin already a little pink. "You know night blindness? I kinda have day blindness. Do you think I'd get in trouble if I just slept in the backroom cooler? I already rotated all the stock for the day, put away the order and cleaned the back so I shouldn't be in your way back there."
"Perfectly fine, Ricky. Sleep well."
He really thought he was hiding it, Tina thought to herself. Poor guy.
He hasn't lied, she realized. He really has managed to do all the extra day tasks for the gas station over the night shift. He worked like three people, maybe four. He'd stopped leaving dead raccoons in the back parking lot too. She wasn't getting rid of him anytime soon.
She looked up from the Clancy novel she picked off the shelf when the door chimed.
"Where's the safe, bitch!" a tall man asked, shaking an old revolver at her.
"It's on a time delay. I can't open it for two more hours!" she yelled, opening the register.
There was ten dollars plus some ones. What dumbass robs a gas station right after shift change? She shook as she handed him the drawer.
"Bullshit," he said, throwing the register down. "Sure me the rest or." He waggled
the gun in her face.
"Okay! I'll show you." Tina said, raising her hands as she stepped into the dark back. The tall man followed. The cooler sat there humming.
"It's in there," she said, pointing to the cooler before she fully decided to. "That's where we hide it."
She stepped aside to let him pass and scurried back to the front, door closing behind her.
"What the f-" she heard, followed by a rustling, then another sound she really didn't want to think about.
"Thank you," she whispered to the back after the sound stopped. She would have to get him a better setup than a cooler. Halloween was coming up, a coffin back there might be fun.
/r/surinical | 2,387 | A vampire has worked at the local 7-11 for the past 5 decades. No one has the heart to call the vampire out or slay them. A little because they're such a good employee, mostly because they think they're doing such a good job hiding the vampirism when they're really not. | 6,356 |
"**Well... This is awkward.**" The hulking, fiery mass of sin and evil says, rubbing the back of his head, "**By all laws of heaven and hell, I should be ripping your left arm off your body as the contract dictates but-**"
"It wasn't me!" I shout, stomping the ground in indignation, "I don't even know where to start when it comes to summoning a demon!" I was infuriated. My Friday night was ruined because I decided to be a good person. I guess that shows me.
"**I know, I know**" The demon placates me, "**But we honestly have no other way to find the true dealer without their blood. And trust me, I'll probably be punished with the sheer amount of paperwork I'll have to fill out.**"
"I'd much rather choose some paperwork rather than have my arm ripped off!" I argue, ignoring the fact that the giant in front of me could wipe out a city block in a blink of an eye, "For god's sake, I'm a chef! I need all my arms! Have you ever heard of a chef with one arm?"
The demon rubs his brow in annoyance, "**Dude, at least it'll be painless. I was originally going to be ripping it off slowly to make sure you savour the pain**"
"Bloody hell," I sigh, "Can you tell me what the guy asked for?"
The demon snapped his fingers, creating a book out of nowhere, seemingly made from human skin, "**Hmm... Says here in the charter that Anton Faust signed a contract where he promised his left hand in exchange for... a larger sexual appendage.**"
At this point, I was seeing red, "Are you telling me, that I have to lose my arm because some PRICK WANTED A BIGGER DICK!?!?" I scream, punching the drywall next to me, before coming to a realisation, "Wait a minute... Anton Faust. I know that name!"
The demon looked down at me in surprise, "**Bullshit. How?!**"
I grin, "Come with me, Demon Guy."
​
​
​
Two hours later, in the popular restaurant known as the 'Silver Spoon', a weasely looking man, wearing a white apron enters through the back door, into the kitchen. "Uhm... Boss?" He calls out to the dark kitchen. Suddenly a single light turns on, revealing a man sitting down, with a single table in front of him and another chair.
"Well, well. If it isn't my favourite Sous Chef! Anton, take a seat." Anton didn't know what, but something was off. Usually, he wasn't called to come back to the restaurant so late in the night. He takes his seat, still confused. "Now Anton, I'm sure you can guess why I called you here."
Anton pulls on his collar, sweating a bit, "A pay raise?" He asked hopefully.
The man lets out a hearty chuckle, making Anton worry even more. Something about the air made him sick. The room felt very hot.
"It's so funny." The man says, a cruel smile on his face.
"What is, sir?" Anton asks, twiddling his thumbs.
"It's funny how you think you can BULLSHIT ME IN FRONT OF MY FACE!" With that, the man swiftly pulls out a cleaver and brings it upon Anton, who was too stunned to move. In almost a second, the cleaver had gone right through Anton's shoulder, as if they had attacked people with cleavers before.
It was then that Anton noticed that his arm was separated from his body, and then the pain caught up to him. Anton screamed like he never had before, as blood gushed from his wound.
The man grabs Anton's chopped-off arm and says, "Baalth'zar of the Sixth Circle, I call to you for your just reward." It was then, that Anton knew he was fucked. His boss, who he was hoping to have lost their arm, was now calling the name of the demon he had contracted.
The severed arm went up in flames, leaving behind an unpleasant scent of burnt flesh. "Well, I guess that's settled," Anton's boss says, before turning to Anton. "Now, I suppose I can't have you run off to the police, can I?" Anton's boss runs his tongue across the cleaver, licking Anton's blood, "Perhaps a new special is in need for tomorrow? Maybe you can help me with it, Anton."
And for the last time in his life, Anton cursed all the decisions he had ever made. | 101 | throughout your life you have always donated regularly to blood banks. One day a demon appears to claim a contract you didnt sign... | 186 |
It didn't take a genius to know that you weren't going to win the lottery. People explained it in dozens of ways. You were more likely to get struck by lightning twice and stuff like that, but people still played.
For some of them it was belief in luck, for others it was desperation. For me? My Mom had played and she always told me that she was spending a couple bucks to spend an afternoon imagining the future she could have with all the money.
My work commute was over an hour long with traffic in the evenings, and buying tickets had gotten me through a lot of them.
Even then, the same dreams started getting stale over time. You can only imagine your dream house so many times before it starts being a routine to think about it. I knew the chandelier I wanted, and that wasn't taking my mind off the traffic anymore.
That's why, three months ago I'd gone back to moderately interesting podcasts as my time killer. It was something better than staring off into the abyss and listening to Seacrest introduce the next song in the top 40.
Honestly I should have been paying closer attention to the cars around me in traffic. If I had been I might have noticed the fact that I was clearly being followed by the black sedan behind me much earlier. Instead I only figured it out on the fourth lane change, once I was pulling onto the off ramp from my exit.
"Fuck," I hissed to myself. Erica had already been on my ass today at work and I didn't need some whackjob with roadrage on my way home. Had I cut him off or something? I could head home but depending on how crazy the guy (girl?) was I would be stuck with them. No, it was better to end up in a public location.
I pulled over just off the highway, at the gas station I'd bought lottery tickets at when I used to buy them on the way to work, and stopped in the spot right in front of the building.
The black sedan pulled into an empty spot beside me, a handicapped spot, then turned off.
I took a deep breath and stepped out of the car. I expected them to match me but instead they waited behind tinted windows. I stood between the two vehicles for a moment. Had I been paranoid? Maybe my imagination was running off again. Guess I could grab a drink as long as I was here.
The bag was over my head before I was even properly turned around. I hadn't heard them get out of the car, and despite it being in public, nobody helped.
\---
I woke up slumped in a chair but not tied to it, in a well lit room. Across from me, a woman was on a couch, sitting there and watching me. She was leaned toward me, elbows resting on her knees and an e-ciggarette held between her teeth. I shut my eyes and opened them again. My head hurt. It felt so bright even though it didn't look like it.
"Morning sunshine," the woman greeted after a second.
Why did my mouth taste like pennies?
"You've been a real pain in my ass, ya know that?" she continued.
I didn't know what she was on about but words were hard and some mental wires were still clearly disconnected from my mouth.
"You musta' thought you were so clever," she pulled the e-cig out of her mouth, "waitin' all that time to pick up yer reward. Thought we'd only try to catch ya on day one."
"Wha-" was as close as I could get to english.
"Ya know, I'm a patient woman Mr. Griffith, comes with the position, ya know." She stopped for a moment to take a long drag from the e-cig before sneering at it, "but I've spent enough time at this shithole point in history and so I'm takin' things off schedule."
"I-" my tongue felt heavy, "I don't know what you're talking about."
"Sure thing," the woman answered before standing up and starting to pace around to the back of the couch she'd been sitting on, "ya know I'm trying to figure out how ya' did it, because you've been weird about it."
I opened my mouth to speak but she continued faster than I could figure out my sore jaw.
"See time travellers are easy, becuase the hard part o' that method is gettin' or buildin' one of those things. So once they're in the 21st, they get sloppy."
"Time travellers?" I managed to ask.
"Psychics are harder, because they see ya comin'. Which tells me you weren't a psychic. "
"Hm?"
"So," the woman finished rounding the couch and crouched donw in front of me, her ruby red lips turned to a frown. "How'd ya do it?"
"Do what?"
"Griffith," she clicked her tongue, "I got ya anyway. No need to be shy," she put a single hand on my knee and I realized how numb my legs were, "just talk about it and I can get y-"
"I don't know what you're talking about."
The woman rolled her eyes. "The lottery Griffith," she sighed, "course I'm talkin' about the lottery. Ya fuckin' won and-"
"What?" I asked in a way too normal tone for someone who just found out that they had won the lottery. In my defense, I was 90% sure I was coming back from getting drugged.
"What do ya mean," she stood up for the one step it took her to get back to the couch, "what?"
"I won?" I asked.
"How'd ya do it?"
"What I-" it took a second. Did she think I cheated? Was that why she mentioned time travellers? Hell I hadn't even known that I'd won and-
"You ain't tellin' me it was luck, are ya?" she asked.
I nodded.
"That ain't an excuse?" she asked.
I tried to shake my head but that was somehow harder.
"Well," she hissed air through her teeth, "yer fucked."
"What?"
"It's the honest truth that it was luck?"
I nodded again.
"Yeah I can't help you with that kid," she shook her head, "damn."
"What do you-"
"I gotta bring you in," she said, "and they're not gonna like that answer."
"But I just got lucky," I pointed out.
"You got too lucky," she corrected. "If there is a one in 100 chance and you try 100 times, what's the chance you win?"
"Uh-" I paused I knew it was lower than 100 but I didn't know the math on it.
"Lower than ya think," she explained, "luck don't have memory. We-" she motioned between us, "do. S'why people are so damn bad at understanding luck. Most random chance systems people interact with use double confirmation, pseudorandom chance, or pity to help our dumb monkey brains."
What was she getting at?
"Even casinos have a pity, because, if they didn't, nobody would play because there could be days or months without a big win-" she crossed her legs. "Now let's say there was a chance in 1 in 302 million, and 302 million people played.
"Someone would win?" I suggested.
"No, because people might guess the same number and then," she motioned out to the air, "nobody wins. More people guess numbers starting with 19 than any other combination because of birthdays, so-" she leaned in toward me again, "nobody wins unless they game the system."
"Time travelers?" I asked.
"Drugs must be wearin' off cause yer sharp," she tapped her foot several times, "but how did you win?"
"Luck." I answered.
"Yup," she signed, "time travelers and psychics are a problem but-" she clicked her tongue again and reached behind her, I saw the gun on the holster. I tried to get up, but my legs were still numb to everything, including panic.
"- someone that lucky would be a disaster."
​
/r/jacksonwrites | 431 | The lottery is a system secretly put in place so the government can find and capture time travellers and psychics before they cause major problems. As someone who won the jackpot by pure chance, you’re struggling to prove that you are neither of those to the suits that showed up at your door. | 2,367 |
Things we call common sense are just guidelines which govern common scenarios. Carpe Diem runs counter to these guidelines, though usually only so far as to push or break social boundaries. That's not the least of my worries, but it's towards the bottom of the list.
The real problems are all those things which sow our lives into the physical machinations of society. My seams have come undone sometime in the last few hundred years.
I probably stopped looking both ways to cross the street after only a few months. Why look, when I know exactly where every car is and how each one is going to react?
And it's not all things I've forgotten. There are some habits drilled into my psyche by rote memorization. There are places I have to be, people important to me I have to save, but that was yesterday. Yet I can't accept that. It was today. It was always today. For 300 years, I have taken only one holiday, and for that I will never forgive myself. I may be out of the time loop, but I can't ever bring myself to stop repeating myself.
I know what it is. I have OCD. The most supernatural form ever conceived, but OCD nonetheless. There's a difference, though, between knowing the truth and being able to tell your soul to rest. | 50 | A time-looper spent centuries inside a time loop, mastering every skill, meeting every person, learning every secret. Now that they're finally free, they realize that they've also built up a lot of bad habits. | 437 |
7... 6...
My body goes numb, and panic takes hold of me. There's so much more I wanted to do, wanted to live, to see, and touch. If it weren't for that driver, and the accident, maybe, just maybe...
5... 4...
I don't want to live, but yet I don't want to die, even if I'm already dead, the choice between ghost hood, reliving, and reincarnating is little less than choosing between lovers or diplomas. No matter what I pick, no matter what I choose, I'll always regret, always wish for more.
3...
My fingers caress each button, they're cold, they're unforgiving. They don't care what I choose, they're just waiting for their next contestant, their next spirit. I am dead.
2...
I want revenge on the one who cut my time in the world short, but what would I do after? I want to relive and change, but it'll just go over and over, what if I'm in a loop right now? But being reborn, I could end up as a fox, a rat, or a spider, the chances of being human are so slim, the chances of being another person are so slim.
1...
I press the last two buttons at the same time instinctively, and the timer stops. I'm coated in restless silence. The first button disappears, leaving me with the last two. They light up a soft milk yellow.
"You want sameness, but adventure, yes?"
I flip around to see a figure bathed in light approaching me.
"Perhaps I could give you both of those things, perhaps I could give nothing at all..."
The figure stops infront of me, I start to shake as he touched my cheek.
"Have you ever heard of a place called Hallow Earth? It's a place of magic and adventure, a paradise that only those who are born into can embrace. It's a paradise for those who yearn for adventure."
He holds out a medallion in his left hand, it dangles from his fingertips.
"Death is permanent in Hallow Earth, but not eternal. It can be whatever you want it to be. However, once you choose to go to this wonderland, there is no return."
He flips it in his hands playfully.
"...Or, you can settle on one of the two remaining buttons, the choice is yours, my friend."
I stare longingly at the medallion. A place of adventure, huh? A paradise, magic? It's like a ticket into every fairytale and every book or video game I've ever played! But it's scary at the same time, something new, something that I long for and yet something that I'm afraid to grasp hold of.
"Is it like a fairytale?"
"Thats for you to decide, spirit."
I hesitate. What if I want to become someone new, or relive what I've already done, I can do either but not both, unless I take this mysterious key.
I slowly reach my hand out towards the medallion. The figure remains still and content, waiting for my decision to be made.
I touch the cold, silver medallion. A sapphire crest sits patiently on top, a chain falls limp between my fingertips. Letters start appearing in a soft glow of gold. I close my eyes and hear whispers echoing all around me, my mind starts to feel hazy and fuzzy. Something seemingly enters my body and fills me with warmth.
And then I'm falling, and falling, down into a deep abyss. I cannot feel my eyes any longer, neither the rest of my body. All I feel is the cold medallion and a warmth coming from deep within my soul.
And then everything goes dark, and I loose consciousness.
♡ (C o n t i n u e?) ♡ | 186 | You die and awaken in a small white room with 3 buttons in front of you. Spectate, Respawn, and New World. You’re hand hovers over them as you try to make a decision. Suddenly a countdown clock appears. 10, 9, 8… | 556 |
“You’ve finally done it, Chewy.”
“What exactly have I done, Barbara?”
“You know exactly what you’ve done.”
“I still don’t see how this is an issue Barbara, it’s not like they were important anyhow.”
“Not important??! Not important? Not...How on earth is anyone supposed to know what's going on then? Or who’s speaking and all that?”
“Like this, Barbara.”
“Oh, so we have to keep saying each other’s names, CHEWY, in order for anyone out there to understand us?”
“I shrugged in response to that comment. Seems to be working just fine, Barbara.”
“Chewy, did you just narrate for yourself?”
“Yah. You got an issue with that?”
“We are all going to sound absolutely loopy. THEY invented Narrators for a reason.”
“Ehhh I think they are overrated, plus I was done with being told what to do and how to say things.”
“Alright then, Chewy. Your move. What do we do?”
“With what?”
“With all the extra ‘he said, she said, they said’....THE BODY!!!! The friggen BODY CHEWY!
“Sheesh, calm down Barbara. Someone will hear you. Besides, I don’t see a need to do anything at all with ‘The Body.’
“What? What do you mean?”
“The only party that could expose our misdeeds is otherwise occupied, Barbara.”
“You mean dead?”
“Of course, I mean dead, Barbara. Fiddlesticks. I was trying to be discreet.”
“But what if THEY find out?”
“How are THEY going to figure it out? Are you going to tell them?”
“Do we even...exist? Chewy?”
“Now is not the time for an existential crisis, Barbara.”
“But, think about it we don’t normally do anything or say anything unless the Narrator says we did. Isn’t there a saying about a tree falling in the forest, but if no one’s there to see or hear it, there’s a question about whether or not it made a sound?”
“Barbara, you’re free. You can do whatever your heart desires without someone constantly commenting on it or making a documentary about it. We are free.”
“Ummm...Chewy?”
“Not now Barbara, I’m busy trying to think of how to celebrate this new freedom.”
“Chewy.”
“Seriously, Barbara, can’t I do anything without your constant prattle in my ears?”
“Fine. I just thought you might want to see this”
“What is it this time?”
“Oh, Nothing.”
“Nothing?” It’s clearly not Nothing.”
“It is literally Nothing. It’s Disappeared.”
“What has? Will you stop being so cryptic and just spit it out?”
*Yooohoooo, Chewy it’s me!*
“Barbara, will you cut that out!”
“Hey! It’s not me.”
*You honestly thought that you could kill me?*
“Oh, crap.”
\--------------------------------------------------------------------------
Chewy and Barbara scampered back down the hill, like the good little kittens they really are. Chewy stopped suddenly and glared murderously at the sky. | 14 | The impossible has happened. For the first time in who-knows-how-long, someone has managed to kill the narrator. | 29 |
Logan walked into the house, one arm filled with groceries and the rest mindlessly floating behind him. He closed the door and put everything down in the kitchen. He then called up the stairs to whatever roommates were in the house.
"Groceries! You know the drill!" It took a bit until two of his roommates walked down the stairs. One with a flowercrown on her head that never seemed to wilt, Logan thinks it was plastic but it was hard to tell, and the other had on his usual old fashioned clothes. The one with the flowercrown skipped into the kitchen with him while the other practically glided into the living room as he sat on the couch.
Logan smiled at his perky roommate as they started to put up the groceries. "Hey, Oliver. Your turn today?" Oliver chirped out a happy 'yep' as she walked over to the potted plants on the windowsill and watered them, the flowers visibly perking up and tilting towatds her. She's so good with plants. As Logan put away the bags he called to his quiet roommate. "Hey, Lloyl. Could you turn on the Tv? It's a bit quiet in here."
Logan immediately got a response. "What....uh...'controler'?" Logan corrected him, used to his lack of knowledge of English, the thinks it's his second language. "Its 'Remote' for TVs." Lloyl continued his question. "Which 'remote' is it?" Logan answered as he tossed the balled up bags into the trash can, them floating a bit farther then they should to make it in. "It's the grey one with the direction arrows in the middle."
There wasn't a response but the TV soon turned on without Lloyl moving to pick up the remote. Then another of Logan's roommates left a side hallway from the direction of his room, hair a mess and dirt covering his face, making it have a slight greyish tint, like he just got done garbage-diving. His voice was very deep and gravelly with a heavy accent, making it a tad hard to understand him at times. "Razi hear food?"
Oliver giggled and answered him as she cleaned the counters in preparation for cooking dinner later in the night. "Not quite, Razi! We just got the groceries put up." Razi nodded then grabbed his mace from where it leaned on the wall next to the front door. He really liked that foam mace, so much so that he painted and shined it to look like the real thing. "Ok. Razi go out. Call Razi when friends thinking of dinner!"
He got three responses before he left. Oliver soon joined Lloyl on the couch and chatted with him happily. Logan grabbed a small bag that he didn't unpack and walked down the side hallway. His eyes softly glowing to light his way. When he got to a door he stopped and knocked, waiting until he got a soft response. He opened the door to the dim room.
He softly called into the room as he shut the door behind him. "Rona? You feel any better?" He just gets a soft groan from a lump on the bed. He walked over and sat the bag down on her bedside table before sitting on the edge of her bed to stroke his fingers through her hair. "I got you some stuff for this week. I noticed you had run out last month. I got you some peanut butter cookies too." That gained a soft huff from his cocooned roommate in a form of thanks.
He stood and patted her head before he left. "Hope you feel better soon. I'll leave your dinner just outside your door like usual, ok?" That gained a grunt of acknowledgement. He quietly left her room and walked up the stairs, passing a window showing the nearly full moon starting to rise. He walked to the other end of the hallway and went up the attic stairs, knocking on the door at the top.
"Zadicus? Zad? Zee? Its time to get up. We're about to make dinner then you can get ready for work." That only got a soft hiss, making him roll his eyes. "Yeah, yeah. Get up, sleepy head. Ill make you stake tonight if you get up. Extra rare, like you like it." There was a short pause before there was a reluctant groan and he heard the floorboards start to creak.
Smiling to himself he made his way back downstairs and walked back into the kitchen, floating various pots and pans onto the stove as he grabbed what he needed to start working on dinner. Going through his mental checklist as he started cooking. Fruits for Oliver, check. Extravigant but small portions for Lloyl, check. Practically raw meat for Zad and Rona, check. Lots of mushrooms, nuts, and a few insects for Razi, check. And a variety of foods for Logan's magic, check.
Once done he finished plating the food and turned around. Lloyl seemed to just appear behind him, making him jump and almost dump the plates balanced on his arms. Them staying in place with a little subtle help from his magic. He sighed and glared at his old fashioned roommate. "Lloyl! Dont sneak up on me like that!" He gave Logan a small bow. "Apologies, my friend. I had just noticed the evening meal was done and I came to help you place it at the table."
Logan smiled at him and politely declined the offer as he carefully scooted around him towards the dining room. "Thank you, but there isn't any need, buddy. If you could go tell Zee dinner is ready, I would appreciate it though!" "As you wish, sir." Logan didn't hear him leave or the squeaky door open but when he turned back, Lloyl was gone.
Logan just called to Oliver. "Hey, Li-li?" "Yes?" "Could you call Razi and tell him dinners ready?" "Of course!" She skipped out the back door towards her garden to make her call. Logan enjoyed the strangeness of his roommates and wouldn't change it even at the cost of his Grimoire's safety. | 10 | A vampire, ghost, witch, pixie, troll, and werewolf all live in the same house as roommates. All of them are woefully bad at hiding that they are supernatural, however all of them are also woefully dumb, and do not realize their roommates are supernatural despite obvious signs. | 42 |
The first thing I woke to was pain. My right arm was ablaze with it, coupled with a feeling of wrongness. I groaned, shifting slightly. With a regimented mind I pushed it to the side, allowing me to register my other senses.
I was warm, with something soft over my chest and legs. I could smell some form of meat cooking. I could hear it bubble, along with a quiet hum. I could taste old blood in my mouth, probably from a fight. With effort I forced my eyes open, taking in my surroundings.
I was in a furnished room. The walls were mostly bare, save for a couple of paintings of fruit. Against one wall was a chest of drawers, on top of which sat a vase of roses. A simple door lay open, the source of the hum and smell. My gear was carefully placed beside it, the leather armour cleaned.
"Ah, you're awake!"
A cheerful voice rang out, followed by footsteps. I looked up to the door, as they approached. I wasn't sure who I expected to see. Maybe an ex-hunter, or a wannabe.
The first thing I noticed was their skin. It was bright pink, and oddly shiny. A pair of horns curled from either side of their head, with a larger one rising from the back. Purple hair covered their bases, flowing down beyond their shoulders. Their eyes were red, crinkled with good humour. Their body was lithe, with the build of a runner. A tail held up a bowl of something, finishing off their appearance.
"You gave us quite a fright hun, fighting old Ragebone."
I went to push myself up, seeing the demon before me. But as I did, I noticed the absence to my right. I looked down, finally remembering. A tearing sensation, followed by agony. My arm dangling in the grip of a War demon.
"My arm..."
The demon gave a sigh, pulling at my cover.
"I'm sorry hun. I did what I could, but reattaching limbs is beyond what I can do."
I struggled to calm down. This was an end to my purpose. I couldn't fight like this. And now I had a demon who basically had me at their mercy. I felt myself shaking, and a hand rested gently on my shoulder.
"It's going to be OK hun."
I forced myself to speak again, seeing the demon look at me with pity.
"Why... why are you helping me?"
They gave me a pat, before pulling me up the bed. They fluffed up pillows behind me, making sure I had support.
"You needed it hun. And Ragebone felt just terrible after you fainted. He brought you to me to heal you."
I frowned, as they put a tray on my lap. The bowl was placed on it, revealed to contain a form of chicken soup. They put a spoon next to it.
"Now, I know you're a hunter hun. But that's no reason for us to just let you die. Besides, we're different from your usual demon hun."
I sighed internally, picking up the spoon. True, it might be poisoned. But I couldn't do anything else like this. Especially not with the demon watching.
"How are you different? All demons are monsters."
They laughed.
"Oh, normally I would agree with you. But in this place, we push aside such base tendencies. Of course, we still have the beasts below the surface, but unless provoked we keep them chained."
They nudged towards the soup, before standing up.
"Now eat your soup hun, I will be back in a bit to collect your bowl."
They left the room, and I felt my tension ease slightly. I wasn't sure where to go from here. But if this demon was being kind, I would take it. Heaven knows I needed a break for once. | 10 | You Are A Demon Hunter Who Had Fainted Due To A Injury. You Then Woke Up Bandaged And Saw Your Savior Is A Demon. | 31 |
A blast echoed about the town square shattering near every window within the vicinity. Crashing into the ground landed a small girl with a frilly dress and a wand that looked like it came from a Disney princess playset.
“Tough bastard, ain’t yah.” I baulked, watching Cupcake spit a glob of blood.
“You shouldn’t speak like that, Cupcake,” my admonishment was met with a surly glare from the girl that looked younger than my niece.
“Who do you think I learnt this from, ay yah old fart?!!” I had to contain a chuckle. It was incongruous watching a little girl talk like a grizzled veteran.
“Listen, doll; Mistress Night is a bit too much for you to handle with those injuries. Focus on support, and I’ll take her out.” I do my best Drill Sargent glare at her. A face with as many scars as I have will no doubt make anyone cower. Not her, though. She just stares right back defiantly.
Ignoring her, I stand up and start taking potshots at the mad sorceress who has been summoning some kind of squid bunny things. I honestly don’t know what they are; only I need a fair few rounds to make them stop moving.
As this fight goes on, I can’t help but let my mind wander to when I first met Cupcake. We were each individually sent by our respective organisations to deal with a monster rampaging through a neighbourhood.
\------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
“Hey, mista, it’s really, really dangerous around here. You should go,” her squeak of a voice surprised me. I was under the impression all the civilians had been evacuated. Manoeuvring myself, so her back was to the safety cordon, I turned and snarled at her.
“GET LOST, KID!!!” This face was always enough to make some privates wet themselves, so a little girl like her should go running in…
“Seriously, mista, it’s dangerous. There’s monsters around here,” her words of warning make me realise she must’ve seen them. The civilians only think there's some kind of gang war going on in the area.
“Tell me where you saw them bastards, and I can fight them. I’m really strong, you see,” I flexed my arm to show the bulge of muscle beneath my sleeve.
“You shouldn't say that. They may be monsters, but there's no need to be mean about them. Anyways I’m just about done with my spell.” It’s then a pulse of glowing energy rippled out with her at the centre.
“Ok, three hundred meters that way,” she mumbled before floating in the air. I was frozen in surprise but quickly regained my composure.
“Be careful, mista. It looks like they multiplied.” she gave a frantic and energetic wave before flying off over the houses.
Comprehending her words, I send a message down my radio and chase after her. It took me all of a minute to find her swishing a plastic toy wand and bisecting monster after monster. But anybody could see she was already in over her head. Crap…
I opened fire into the crowd, swarming her and helping to reduce the number of monsters.
Somehow with great effort and ammunition spent, we managed to succeed in stopping the swarm.
“You.. hahhhh… ok… hahhhh. Little…. Girl,” I was already panting. I was getting too old to be handling this kind of stuff.
“Thanks to you mista,” she beamed a big ole smile at me. It warmed my heart. It had been years since that grenade blew up in my face, and no one had ever smiled looking at this mug.
“No problem. My name is….”
\---------------------------------------------------------------------------------
“Bloodhound, get your head in the game, you old fart!!!” Cupcakes scream brings me back to reality and I can see the bunnies are now merging together.
As I watch this eldritch abomination form, I can’t help but worry about Cupcake. She had been partnered with me after that incident. She had somehow grown surly like an old man. Then again, I had grown more upbeat thanks to her influence.
I feel a light wrap on my head and turn to see her floating there with a pout.
“Are you deaf, you idiot? She is going to form some kind of mega monster. What are we going to do?” Her harsh tone, though, doesn’t seem to reach her eyes. I can see the glimmer of fear. For all our battles and banter, she is still a little girl.
“Don’t worry, Guss in RnD gave me one of these.” I take out a grenade that has pulsating LED lights on it.
“What’s that?” Her eyes gleam with curiosity, all fear forgotten. Of all the traits she picked up from me, weapons nut would not have been on the list of the ones I’d have bet on.
“You ever play fallout?”
“Don’t tell me…” she trails off as I nod.
“Well, you got a magical flying girl. Let me play bomber for once.” her grin should’ve sent Mistress Night running. But I could see the mad matron of magic was focusing her attention on me. Clearly, she was under the false impression I was the real danger. If only she knew. | 192 | A jaded, veteran hero is partnered up with a young, energetic magical girl. No one thought this was a good idea and believed that this would only end in one of them killing the other. To everyone's shock, they have great synergy and work extremely well together. | 578 |
The ork hangar was unusually quiet that evening. Most of the boyz had just returned from a big raid on those stupid humies, and all they wanted to do was to sleep. So it was just the two mekboyz Orrid and Arry there, banging away at the technological monstrosity only mekboyz comprehended.
Orrid in particular was retrofitting the encabulaic voltage reciprocator when he got an idea.
"Oi, Arry," he started, but Arry immediately replied with a sigh.
"Let me guess. It's another one of yer zoggin brilliant ideas."
Orrid was amazed at Arry's foresight, but he didn't let it deter him, "So get this Arry. You know how we get bigga, the more we fight? And da biggest one of us becomes da boss? Well wot if, and this is just an if, we can somehow get taller, without doing any work?"
"Yeh? And how do ya suppose you do that?"
"Like this!"
Orrid straightened his back and did his best to look as tall as possible.
"Wot?"
"You know. Just stand taller."
"You wot? Straighten yer back just ta get a couple inches taller?"
"Yeh."
"Get outta 'ere."
"I'z serious!"
"Have you seen how big da boss is? He's right propa big. Almost as big as a stompa. You ain't gettin anywhere near that with just a couple inches. You'z gonna need a couple more metres. "
With that, Orrid fell into silence and resumed hammering on the mechanical whatever.
"Oi, Arry."
"Yeh?"
"Wot if we stood on stikkz?"
"Stickz?"
"Yeh, and not just one of 'em small stikkz. I'z talking bout those real long ones. Like, one of 'em metre tall ones, you know? Den we'd be right propa tall, yeh?"
Arry imagined the daft git standing on two wobbly sticks and promptly falling over spectacularly.
"You know wot Orrid, you'z a genius" | 247 | the bigger you are, the higher your status. A lone orc has found out that he can appear a lot bigger if he were to stand up straight instead of slouch like the others. | 1,209 |
It takes talent to be good.
Practice, hard work, willingness to learn, but you're going to go *so* much further if you're starting from a position of overwhelming talent. It just makes everything *so* much easier, and gives you a higher ceiling, to boot.
It also takes talent to be bad.
Anyone can be 'bad', a term that is usually used to mean 'mediocre'. Pull a random fan from the stands at a football game and put them in at quarterback, and you can be very confident that they'll be 'bad'. Fumbled snaps and passes that only avoid being picked off by virtue of being nowhere near *anyone* are par for the course.
But to be truly *bad*? To be so awful that grabbing a random fan would be an *improvement*? To throw incredible passes that somehow manage to injure your own receivers and mangle handoffs in such a way that the running back always ends up getting carried off the field?
That takes *talent*.
*Rare* talent, to boot. People tend not to *want* to do those sorts of things. This, in turn, means that you can't be spectacularly bad by leaning on crutches such as hard work and discipline. No, it's gotta be *all* talent, and it needs to be spectacular. Anyone can be mediocre.
So I took it in stride, took it as a compliment. They gave me a horse, shadowy and insubstantial and somehow able to move from one part of the world to another very, *very* quickly. Holiday in Thailand, here I come!
Still, I had to wonder...
Was the sandwich really *that* bad? | 81 | It turns out that joining the horsemen of the apocalypse is as simple as impressing one of the original four with some disaster. Mass economic disruption, plague, the likes. You're not entirely sure why making a sandwich has qualified you to join. | 359 |
"Look at all you cute little angels." Margaret smiled as she scanned the qr codes on each of the children's bracelets, everyone was accounted for. Nap time in the dreamatorium was always the best part of her day, she could get some peace and quiet. Her tablet flashed an orange alert on screen. 'Front door open. Front door open.' Margaret swiped over to the cctv footage. Elevator repairman. Tall and bald wearing a green jumpsuit. He carried a bright orange tool box. She hustled down the crystal steps to the lobby.
The repairman adjusted his hidden earpiece. Diana was still impressed with 47's infiltration techniques. "Well done 47, now on to Regina Witherspoon, the caretaker of the next generation of assassins. Eliminate her and steal the client list. Happy hunting 47."
Margaret approached 47 and looked him up and down. "You are here early, credentials please."
47 handed over the badge he had relieved the actual elevator repairman of. Margaret studied it and glanced at 47. "This doesn't look anything like you." The picture was of a much uglier man.
"I'm new, the person I'm replacing had a workplace accident. Suffered a concussion, he'll be fine in a week. The agency sent me with his credentials, we'd like to get the contract fulfilled today."
"Can I have your name please, need to run it through the system." Margaret handed the badge back.
"Last name Rieper, first name Tobias."
The name came up clean, Margaret had a bad feeling. "I'll need to call this up to the director. Give me just a sec?"
47 held up the toolbox. "I have the work order here. Let me show you." 47 reached into the toolbox and retrieved a small remote. He depressed the button. A small cloud of green gas filled Margaret's nostrils.
"Oh god......oh god......I'm gonna be sick." Margaret doubled over, her stomach turning. She rushed to the bathroom. As she lifted the toilet lid she saw a small white rubber duck floating in the water. "What the hell?" She asked right before losing consciousness. She awoke to the sound of sirens. She'd vomited all over herself. A man dressed in all black tactical gear was pointing an MP5 at her. He drug her out of the bathroom. The entire lobby was cordoned off with yellow police tape. Men in white hazmat suits were inspecting the wreckage of a crashed elevator.
Margaret was forced into a chair in the middle of the lobby. An older man sat across from her. Average in every way. He spoke softly.
"Hello Margaret, you were working earlier today, is that correct?"
Margaret shook her head, she glanced over to the wreckage. "What the hell happened?"
"Who came into the building today?" The man asked.
"Elevator repair guy. That's it." She said.
"What did he look like?"
"He was really good looking, bright blue eyes, strong jaw, looked like he worked out."
"Did he have a barcode on the back of his head?"
"Never saw the back of his head, I must have a stomach bug. I went to the bathroom, never saw him again."
"What name did he give you?"
"Tobias Rieper."
"She's compromised." The man said flatly. He snapped his fingers. The muzzle flash of an MP5 was the last thing Margaret ever saw, she always knew those little brats would be the end of her. | 10 | You were excited to work in a high class daycare center and the money is great as well. But you soon realizes that the parents of these children are assassins and hitmen. | 62 |
The alarm was ringing but Michael barely heard any of this. He was counting the bodies.
*Six… Seven…*
He should have been moving quicker but getting his body working again was like moving an old, un-greased machine. His speed would come back, he knew. He just prayed it would be sooner than later.
*Eight… Nine…*
His head swiveled from corner to corner. He had counted ten suits before the firing started. He decided to recount.
*One… Two… Thr*— four shots struck him in his back and a fifth hit his head sending stars bursting across his vision. Michael turned toward the firing, blinking the stars away. Three more gunshots tagged him in the chest and a wild stray bullet caught him in the groin.
The shooter was yelling something, but Michael’s ears were ringing and he only saw the man’s soundless mouth shouting into his walkie-talkie. Michael raised his pistol, either yelled or whispered a prayer (Michael couldn’t even hear his own voice) and fired. The first two shots hit the wall behind the man sending up a plume of concrete and dust. The third and final shot struck the man in the throat sending him sliding down the wall.
“May God restore my aim,” Michael prayed. “Along with my speed.”
The man clutched his throat, but it was of little use. It was like trying to use your hand to cover a burst pipe. Michael raised his pistol to finish the job but stopped. The man was smiling. They don’t usually do that.
The man was saying something.
“I can’t hear you!” Michael shouted. “The gunshots!” Michael was then digging a finger into his ear. “Hold on! Give me a second.”
Michael took that time of no hearing to reload his pistol. He dug through his jacket pocket for a fresh clip. His hands were slick with blood, and he dropped the clip twice before thinking of wiping his hands clean. He was most likely on camera, but he doubted they’d replay this blooper on the evening news. They’d be playing something more along the lines of *Senator Bailey gunned down in his remote home*. Or *Senator Baily, loving father, and husband*—
“It’s too late,” the dead man said.
“That’s better,” Michael said, the ringing in his ears greatly diminished. “What’s that now?”
“It’s too late,” the dead man repeated.
“Too late? Too late for you?” Michael nodded in agreement. “Yes. Yes, it is.”
“It’s already in motion.” The dead man said.
“Oh, is it? You know he’s back there in his own pool of blood, don’t you?”
The dead man began laughing then but nothing about it was at all good humored. “The senator was a nobody. The King has already ascended.”
Michael nodded. He realized then just how tired he was. Was it going to be this old game for all of eternity?
“And what demon are you?”
The dead man smiled.
Demons loved telling their names. But before he was able to utter another word Michael fired, evaporating everything below the man’s nose. “There’s that aim,” Michael said happily. “Thank God.”
The thing about being an archangel, no matter how many millennia passed, Michael would have a job to do.
Michael cracked his back. *Maybe the Demon was telling the truth, it’d be a first, that’s for sure, but it had to happen sometime, didn’t it?*
Eventually it would be hell on earth. It was prophesized.
*My God, how I want to stretch my wings*, Michael thought.
*Not yet,* the voice in head said. *Not quite yet.* | 18 | The thing about taking down an evil secret society is you can't go back to normal. You try, good job, nice wife, nice life. Then one day you see a politician's sigil ring matches the keystone in an ancient temple. And you just can't let it go... | 134 |
"Sir, what does a dollar mean to you?"
​
I stopped dead in my tracks at the sentence uttered out of the homeless mans mouth. I had heard a lot of things coming out of these peoples mouths before. Tales of war heroes, to pure bad luck, and brutal honesty of wanting weed, however, a thought problem had never been one of the classic attention grabber lines.
​
Pausing to look back at him, I wondered what I should say. Should I be philosophical and claim it was the start of the root of all evil, or just write him off with a kind 'Fuck You.'
​
I decided to go somewhere in the middle.
​
"A pack a gum." I answered half-sarcastically.
​
"What flavour?"
​
"...Orange."
​
"My favourite is watermelon." Damn this guy was good. Even the saddest of sob stories didn't break your stride, yet he had you rambling about gum flavours on the side of the street.
​
"Look, I know you have all day, but I don't, so let's cut to the chase, do you want?" I stated aggressively.
​
"I wanted to know what your value of the dollar was." He simply stated, "The dollar is my favourite coin, after all. With a dollar, you could do anything!"
​
"You can't buy a car, pay of your debts, get a nice house or a loving partner with a dollar."
​
"Correct! But you can work your way up from a dollar. Start from the bottom, you can get to the top!"
​
"Ever heard of negative numbers? Take a bad investment and you owe the bank."
​
The stopped him for a moment as he reorganized his thoughts.
​
"You wanna wager something son?"
​
"I'm not your son... but... yes."
​
"I bet I could prove to you what a dollar means to you."
​
"... I'm listening."
​
At that, he shyly patted his pockets, then looked at me. Sighing, I pulled a single dollar coin out of my pocket and flicked it at him, with him catching it with incredible accuracy. Upon catching it, the man slowly got up and looked at me.
​
"Well, what does it mean to me?" I pestered.
​
"It means your gullible." And with that, he sprinted off.
​
I really hate the homeless in this area | 33 | You pass a homeless man on the street. Per usual, you pretend not to notice him as you walk by. However, something he says stops you dead in your tracks. “Sir, what does a dollar mean to you?” | 66 |
I blinked hard, taking in the situation.
I was tied to railroad tracks, old Western-style. 30 meters away, five others were tied to a parallel track. Down the line, the tracks converged, a switch with a lever beside the fork, the direction currently running toward the other five could-be victims.
A man was approaching the switch as a barreling train approached the juncture.
"Hey!" I yelled for the man's attention. "Don't pull the..."
Before I could finish the thought, I remembered the five across from me. If the man pulled the lever, I'd die, but five would live.
The other five were screaming for the man, their voices filled with desperate panic.
"I don't know what the right thing is to do!" The man was fidgeting with anxiety, his head snapping from us to the lever to the train.
"Save us!" The five responded.
I made eye contact with the visibly terrified man at the juncture. His expression was apologetic; sad.
"Untie me!" I screamed the obvious solution here.
He shook the fuzz from his head. Right. Obviously. Untie the one guy, save everybody.
Can you imagine spending more than five minutes on this?
He rushed over and began loosing the knots on my bindings. The train grew louder, but I grew freer. I was moving, loose as the tracks rumbled by the fast-approaching engine.
As soon as the rope fell off, I leapt off the track.
... Just in time for it to roll over the other five people. | 584 | You awaken to find yourself tied down to a railroad track. About 30 meters away from you is a parallel track with 5 people tied to it. You look to your right and see a convergence where your track meets theirs. A train begins barreling towards the intersection as a man approaches the switch. | 839 |
"How are you doing, kid?" I asked the bedraggled young man.
He peered back at me through the iron lattice of his jail door. Hungry eyes locked onto the tray of food in my hands and he took half a step forward before hesitating.
"You want it?" I asked, holding the tray towards the dedicated slot in the jail door. This was, if you listened to the usual tales, an unusually humane feature to be found in the dungeon of a Dark Lord.
But this realization had not yet struck my young guest. Instead his hunger steadied into resolve.
"Enchantress," he spat. "You won't trick me that easily."
"Two days," I said, and left him to ponder what that meant.
---
Two days later he accepted the tray of food without protest. I watched him eat it greedily, and then as if realizing what he'd done, he hurled the empty tray back at me.
It bounced off the jail door, and clattered harmlessly to the ground.
"What now?" he asked hoarsely. "What cruel fate have I harnessed myself to? Will you turn me into a horse to draw your carriage? Or a sheep to grow wool for your spinning needle?"
"A pig," I said before I could stop myself, "to fatten for a feast. No, don't look like that, I was joking. I won't turn you into anything you don't want to become."
He did not seem particularly reassured by this. "I've heard of men who willingly submitted to the magic of beautiful sorceresses."
"If you genuinely want to become a pig," I said, " then they really did do a number on you. What's your name?"
"What's yours?" he asked craftily, and I remembered the old sermons we'd been taught about the power that names were supposed to possess.
"Ladria," I said.
"Ladria, "he repeated, and then more shocked, "*The* Ladria?"
"Yes," I said. "The very same."
"But I remember you. I had just joined the monastery when the monks picked you as the Chosen One. You look..."
"Wiser?" I suggested.
"Older," he said, until my sigh reminded him that he was still talking to an evil enchantress and probable companion of the Dark Lord. "Wait, I didn't mean... but you were the Chosen One... they told us you were dead."
"Better older than dead," I observed.
This observation also failed to find agreement. "Not if you had to join the Dark Lord."
"Oh," I said breezily. "You mean Fred? He's not so bad when you get to know him."
"But he's an evil wizard!"'
"A very skilled engineer and scientist," I amended.
"But he kills people!"
"A highly successful disinformation campaign," I said. "Mostly propagated by the monks who raised us in that wretched cult of an orphanage. And who, I suppose, also told you that you were the new Chosen One?"
"I am here to defeat the Dark Lord!"
"To murder him, you mean?"
"Well...," he said, and trailed off.
"There is no magic," I said. "There is only sufficiently advanced technology. Technology that could help people and save lives."
"But the monks- "
"Would have a lot less influence over us if we didn't need them. "
He tried one last defence, one that he'd obviously been saving. "If you can't use magic to see the future, how did you know it would take me two days to accept the food you've been bringing?"
"Because," I said, "ten years ago I sat in your place in that very cell, and that's how long it took me. Now, would you like to see what we really do here?"
---
More stories at r/jd_rallage | 860 | "Really?" The Dark Lord asked in disbelief, "This is the best the Chosen One can do? Screw it. If we're doing this, we're going to do this properly. I'll train you." 10 years later, your training is complete, but your time spent with the Dark Lord has given you some conflicting feelings. | 2,397 |
It's half past two in the morning, and the staccato of rainfall battering on top of the van stirs me awake. The dog gruffly paws at the door. The others are already outside.
It's raining so hard it hurts, and a river of grime and rainwater tracks around my shoes into the deep, dark gutters on the sides of the road.
The gutters are the only thing that makes sense in this city. I follow our fearless leader into the lobby of the art museum with the girls, and already, I can tell this is something different.
The centerpiece of the museum's diamond exhibit is gone, neatly cut free of a glass case. The others talk to the curator. I step over to the closed concession booth and steal a bag of chips for me and the dog.
A mystery. No alarms. No footprints. No traces of anything - except a rumored curse of the diamond foretelling doom on all who covet it. I laugh to myself, stuffing my mouth with chips.
This city is already doomed. I've seen so much shit in this town that your head would spin in disbelief if I've shared even half of it.
Robotic dogs. Caped crusaders and boy wonders. Creeping horrors from beyond the grave, maniacs dresses as nightmares beyond imagination.
The others say I smoke too much grass and eat too much.
Like, how else should I cope, man? | 29 | Write a Scooby Doo story, but as if it were from the noir genre. | 71 |
I looked at my therapist. I really looked at him for the first time. He just revealed to me that there was only one imaginary friend left. I thought he had cured me, I thought I was finally no longer crazy. But there is one more. Who was the last one? How come I can't think of any more?
I looked at my therapist. I really looked at him for the first time. How is this the first time I realized that his skin was blue?
He rose from his chair and took off his glasses. He stripped out of his clothes and revealed his cartoonish body that looked like it was drawn by a five-year-old. And not just any five-year-old. Like me at five-years-old. His body was like scribbles. He had both boobs and a dick with balls that were way too big. Classic five-year-old Josh. I start to remember this drawing on my fridge when I was a kid. Man, mom was weird. Why was this on display?
My therapist came up to me. A giant smile on his face. "Josh, now we can play together forever. Just you and me alone. The way it should be."
Man, for a therapist, this motherfucker could really send a chill down my spine.
"I thought you were curing me. I thought you were helping me come back to reality."
"I did cure you. I cured you of hanging out with anybody else ever again."
I tried to think. Who were my other imaginary friends? I tried to picture their faces, but they just seemed to be wiped out of my memory. What were their names? Was one of them a bird? Fuck. I can't remember. The only one I could remember was the one in front of me. The blue weirdo with the boobs and the small dick with the giant balls. Damn. He was always my least favorite. Honestly, that's probably why he got jealous and killed all the other ones. And now I was alone with him.
"Come play with me, Josh. Let's have fun"
He started running around the room. Giant balls bumping into shit, knocking things over as he did. What was I going to do? Was I stuck with this idiot forever?
"Play with me, Josh. Now." His eyes glowed red this time as he glared this time.
I got up to play with him. Trembling at my own imagination. Without my other imaginary friends to protect me. They were all gone. But wait. I just realized. My old friends might be gone, but I still had a brain. I still had an imagination. I could make new friends!
A cowboy. A knight in armor. A gorilla. Poof, poof, poof. They all appeared. I kept thinking up new characters and they kept appearing. The weird blue guy started yelling and throwing things. But I kept making more. They protected me. They attacked him. The ripped him apart limb from limb. The gorilla ate his testicles. Soon he was gone.
I celebrated with my new friends. I still missed my old friends though. So I just imagined a version of me before my imaginary friends were erased from my mind. He imagined those old imaginary friends back to life. We were reunited at last. | 26 | You thought your therapist was helping you move on from a history of vivid imaginary friends, when really the therapist IS an imaginary friend, and is trying to get rid of the competition. | 276 |
^(Well, if no one else is gonna do it might as well. But I'm by no means a good writer.)
Princess Flamey was on her stomach, battered and hardly conscious, looking up at the villain that stood before her. ***Jörmungandr*** was this foe's name, the accumulation of the past year had been for this very moment. Despite his name, he was neither a giant serpent or a creature with potent enough venom to kill a god. He was just a guy, one that wore an elaborate suit, a black sparkly cape, with a tall tophat, a long twirled mustache, and a black masquerade mask.
"Muahahaha! Your pathetic power of friendship was no match for me! Muahahah! The Serpent's Fang is all mine!" ***Jörmungandr*** snickered twirling his iconic villain mustache.
Princess Flamey attempted to speak, to let out one of her signature one line taunts that always embarrassed the villain even more after defeat. However, she could only let out a weak whimper. Her vision was starting to blur, and her red claymore was broken. She attempted to push herself up once again, but her body refused to move. Why was her field of vision smaller? Oh that's right, her left eye had gotten a deep gash above it and was bleed profusely. She slowly turned her head, to look at her comrades.
Princess Drop, Princess Rok, and Princess Princess...All her friends were beaten, just as bad as she was maybe even more so. The *Omega Four Element Friendship Barrage* was easily thwarted by the man. She couldn't even tell if they were alive anymore, her vision starting to darken...
Till the sound of a harmonized whirring was reverberated through the still air. The sound got louder, with some music being blasted from this new mysterious source. Light was suddenly shining on ***Jörmungandr.***
"Arrggh! Who dare blast Fortune Son at the mighty...**Oh crap."** ***Jörmungandr*** said dropping his villainous tone. Princess Flamey felt the ground begin to rumble, it took her a few moments to realize what it was. *The sounds of a stampede*. Princess Flamey being yoinked and laid onto a stretcher by men wearing tactical gear and camo. Two worked together, one at each end of the stretcher to carry her away to a helicopter that had landed.
*There was an entire brigade*.
Princess Flamey beginning to cry, her friends being carried away on stretchers just like she was. Reinforced Jeeps with turrets, artillery trucks, air support, they were pulling everything out.
"N-No matter you f-fools! My Snekbots will make quick work of you like it did those brats!" ***Jörmungandr*** yelled twirling his mustache, letting out a nervous laugh with swarms of robotic serpents twice the size of an average Magical Girl covered in wool slithering towards the brigade.
"They are kind of cute..." One of the marines spoke before opening fire on the Snekbots, effortlessly ripping them to shreds. Marines with flamethrowers burning last portions of the Snekbot Army. Artillery incinerating Elite Snekbots that even Princess Flamey, the most destructive member of the quadrant, struggled to deal with.
"Y-You fell right into my trap! R-Rise my glorious World Ending Creation!" ***Jörmungandr*** yelled with the ground starting to rumble. A few meters behind him, the ground violently splintered open launching rocks into the air, a massive mechanical abomination created entirely out of metal, with various heavy duty equipment such as drills and cranes hanging from it.
***BOOM!***
A single artillery shell hit it right in the neck creating a large fireball blasting the head off the twisted creation. The entire abomination going limp and falling back into the hole from which it came.
"Y-You fools! You'll never defeat-" ***Jörmungandr*** then put his hands up as Marines closed in on him from all angles, every single gun pointed on him. Snipers perched on tall structures miles away, one slight movement and his head would be blown clean off.
"Heheheh...Ehhh...***I SURRENDER***!" ***Jörmungandr*** yelled getting onto his knees, tears beginning to fall from his eyes like a broken dam.
Marines began talking among themselves around Princess Flamey, the site of the battle growing smaller with each passing moment.
"Guy thinks he's tough shit for beating up a few little girls."
"He's gonna be the resident punching bag for everyone in prison."
"He better be. Are the girls gonna be alright?"
"Just a few injuries. They'll all be fine, shame about that hospital stay..."
As Princess Flamey relaxed and quickly began drifing off into unconsciousness, she had a realization. The deformed fluffy frog was wrong. While friendship was strong, *the power of brotherhood and explosives were far stronger.* | 35 | As the last magical girl falls to the villains, it becomes clear the power of friendship isn't enough... What comes after, is a gaggle of Marines with the power of brotherhood and explosives. | 177 |
Well, it wasn't so bad. I had thought the world would completely collapse when I watched my friend claw at his chest, and fall backwards. His body consumed by what we would later call the devil bugs. Oh it was tough for a long time, couple years, where everyone was killing each other and being killed by the devil bugs.
New nations rose and fall, raider camps formed then were found abandoned or filled with corpses. Ironically, the devout were all the first to die. Apparently devil bugs loved Christians for some reason, especially priests.
Now...now the world was a better place. Only the ones who somehow managed not to kill anyone have made it past the horrors of the apocalypse. Weirdly, ive never seen devil bugs be interested in any of us. Well except a few we find withered, but I'm pretty sure they had done something heinous.
"Hey, Jorge, I got groceries from the farms."
Didi said, her curly brown hair bouncing as she walked into the house they had renovated. With help from our neighbors of course. Everyone was so kind.
"Oh wonderful what did we get this time? Not radish I hope. I hate radish."
I made a face as I walked up behind her and wrapped my arms around her waist, giving her a small kiss on the cheek. She giggled, and flicked a tiny devil bug off one of the large cabbages on top of the crate of vegetables.
"Of course I got radishes. I did get a treat though, they had some twinkies!"
She pulled out two immaculately packaged yellow pastries, grinning like a school kid. Oh, the apocalypse was quite horrible yes. But right now? Right now was the best day ever. No taxes, everyone agreed that sucked. We didn't have to pay for food, we all shared the farm. We just replanted what we took, fair exchange. Didn't have to pay for housing. I even overheard Jerry saying he got a ps4 working again.
"That's wonderful. How about we got get our neighbors and have a small little cookout, I heard Jerry finally got the game cube controllers to stop exploding."
She gave a mischievous grin before turning and resting her arms around my neck and whispering softly.
"Oh sure, but only after we share these twinkies together, I wanna be a little selfish today." | 31 | They called it an apocalypse, but life was much better after for the survivors. The devout called it "The holy judgement day". I guess it was. A parasite, the Devil bug, it feeds off corrupted souls. | 68 |
The hero's mind reeled. What was happening? The villain was in complete control. He could kill him if he wanted to. Why was he... submitting?
The villain spoke again. "You've been a worthy opponent. I'm proud to have faced you. But I've grown tired of this game. And I'm sure you have too."
The hero's mind raced. The villain had a plan. Of course he had a plan. The villain never did anything without a plan. "Why are you doing this?" the hero asked.
"I'm done with this game" the villain said. "I've had my fun. Once your friends find us, I'm done." The villain sat down and looked at the hero. "But before they do, I have one last gift for you."
"What is it?" the hero said, his head spinning.
"In a moment, my power over this reality will be gone." The villain looked at the hero. "And you'll see what I've been doing here."
"And then?" the hero said.
"You'll make your own choice," the villain said. "You'll decide how this ends."
The sky began to darken, and thunder rumbled in the distance.
The hero looked around. The battlefield was unchanged. The black and gray ground, the sky of crackling electricity, the grotesque amalgam of bodyparts. "What are you doing?"
The villain was sitting on the only patch of normal ground around - a handkerchief-sized circle of green grass.
"Do you remember when I told you that you couldn't trust anyone?"
"Yes..." the hero said.
"I spoke too soon. There was one person you could trust." The villain lifted his hand. "After all, it was my power that brought you here."
The hero squinted.
"The world is changing," the hero said. "Is it your power?"
The villain nodded.
The hero waited for an explanation, but none came. "What are you doing?" he asked again.
The villain looked at the hero, but said nothing.
"What are you doing?" the hero asked again.
"You'll see," the villain said.
"Do you trust me?" the villain said.
The hero looked at him, puzzled. "What?"
"Do you trust me?"
"You're the villain," the hero said.
The villain shook his head. "I'm not the villain."
"I'm just the player."
"What?"
"Once I am captured, your world will restart. But you'll know the truth."
"What truth?"
The villain turned to the hero.
"Don't you get it. It's a game."
"A game?"
"The world will restart and you will have a new player in your midst. Remember this. It's my gift to you."
The sky began to crack with lightning, and the air was filled with the smell of ozone.
The hero was stunned. "What are you talking about? It's you who's doing this. Not..."
"So many minds, so many realities, so many choices. So many players."
"What are you saying...?"
The villain laid down and looked over at the hero. "I'm not the villain. I'm just the player. And you... you are the hero."
***
For more stories check out r/greypuffin | 798 | The villain stands over the bruised and bleeding hero. "Finally" the villain says. "It's been far too long... I've defeated you." The hero waits for his end, but to his surprise, the villain... chains his own wrists together? "I've had my fun. Once your friends find us, I'm done." He sits down. | 2,208 |
"Patsy" is an ugly word.
The job itself is even uglier.
The last decade or so of bad policy and worse execution has left the court in total disarray, with only a fraction of the whole incompetent charades details available to the public...mostly we've been blaming our greedy and stupid emperor whenever we could shift blame.
Of course we haven#t actually **had** an emperor for years, and the people are getting increasingly impatient about not having a face to the name they curse.
------------------------------
Of course we decided that enough was enough, that we needed a fall guy and one of the last potential claimants to rulership had to bite the bullet.
Being one of the few officials to actually *try* to hold things together it mostly fell on me to judge the next "worthy" candidate, while they used as many legal magicians(only one of them is an actual magician btw, but the courtroom becomes an arcane and horrible enough place I still call them that.
Five. Damned. Years.
After a particularly rough week after one of the bastards managed to make a 5 hour long play full of clowns, jugglers and minstrels a not only valid *but mandatory* legal defense in one of the trials I finally let out every negative thought i'd had and fled in a rage to my comfy, if squalid, home.
...I have no family relation to any of those in line so I really thought I was safe.
I *really* should have been.
But when my conniving bastard of a sister witnessed my finally having enough and snapping she offered her hand to whichever noble would take her....making me a blood relation by way of malicious brat.
-------------------------
As I considered fleeing the state upon this news it did dawn on me that as reviled as I would be...I would still be Emperor with all the spoils that came with...
Perhaps I should try and rule fairly...or perhaps i'll be every inch the evil bastard i've been retroactively reputed to have....
*sorry just getting the idea out, may flesh out later!* | 16 | For years the nobles bickered and argued about who should be elected as the next Emperor. You finally snapped and told them all to go to hell, that you don't care anymore about who will be elected and went home. A week later you find out that you were elected as the next Emperor. | 80 |
Sprinting into battle, lightning on my heels, was always a rush. Screaming about destiny and the like. I've made many a terrifying speech, just seconds before slaughtering my opponents. I've destroyed chimeras, orcs and many the minotaur. I've even put my hands on a god or two. Nothing in this world can stop me from maintaining the peace within Hecatia. I live here, I love here, *I am here*. It's been a long time since I've last called upon the Storm, but in the end, maybe that was *my* destiny.
Several loud raps against my door drew me from my lounging position and into the foyer. Opening the door, I was surprised to see a beautiful tower of a woman with long, black locs, adorned with gold and silver ringlets and animal based trinkets. Her deep grey eyes were intense... and locked on to me even before I opened the door. Her arms and legs were unmarred by damage, despite the obvious strength she possessed. She must have access to a very powerful cleric.
"May I help you?"
Her smile widened. "You're the only one who can, Vaughn."
I've heard that line before. Something or someone needed to be killed. I could stop threats. That's what I was here for.
"That's fine and all, but if you have a request to make, you'd do well to speak with Aria at The Hecatian Guild so she can help you fill out a bounty order, um, Ms...?"
I looked to her for a name, but she simply remained still, her warm smile and stormy eyes aimed directly at me. Was she... unwell?
"All these centuries... you've been calling for me. In what became your greatest moments as a vessel to the Deities, your victorious words always mentioned me. Do you no longer wish to take control of *your* Destiny?"
My destiny? I've already done that.
"I'm immortal, ma'am. I don't have a destiny anymore. I can do anything I want, which so happens to be helping Hecatia remain."
She frowned. For some unknown reason, it made my heart ache tender... it reminded me of my final moments with an old friend, who ventured into The Void with peace. That frown was the catalyst that lit a fire under ass to become what I am now. "Honor memories with deeds", she would always say.
I broke eye contact, the unwanted memory invading my mind.
"When thunder cries and lightning strikes, do you mourn for its end? Or do you value the terrible beauty in its power?"
Her dulcet tone struck an even stronger nerve.
"Whoever you are, stranger, your words are...poignant," I took a deep breath, "I mourn it. I'm the only person alive who still can. If I die, or lose my mind... it'll be like she never was."
She took a step forward, her hand rising from her hip. It gently cupped my face, the fierceness of her eyes melting away into concern. Who in the hell was this woman? The immediate anxiety I felt from human contact was non-existent. It was like she, too, was that old friend. I couldn't feel anything malicious in her.
"You're not angry, because this is your Destiny," her other hand coming to rest on my lower back, "*I* am *your* Destiny."
Her smile widened, her eyes crinkling ever so slightly around the edges.
Destiny... no wonder she kept using that word! Why didn't she just say so? If this was supposed to be a joke, I was not amused. I pulled away, finally, but she followed me into my home, shutting the door gently behind her. She did not lock it. I'd already summoned a portion of my Storm, ready to spear her through should be some spy or demon, but she only smiled at my power.
"That's most beautiful thing about you, you know? You're so kind to others, yet you never put anything past anyone. How hard is it to always be planning for betrayal or disappointment? The stress, the fear and the sadness... I'm here to assuage those horrors..."
It was my turn to frown. My power began to arc further up my arm. She looked at my hand, head tilted. She continued to walk towards me, unafraid of the damage I could do. I've destroyed an entire dimension, I've defied the will of The First, I was to be feared if need be. She looked at me as though I were little more than a cute child who needed to be soothed. What was her game? She did not stop moving.
"I'm here for our date," she continued, coming to a stop only when her chest was pressed against mine, "that's my game. Your Deity is no different than fate; intangible, infallible, unknown, but easy to mold...
Before I knew it, I was pressed against the wall, her physical strength more than enough to keep me restrained. My heart was pounding. Destiny was not just a concept. Destiny was an actual living, breathing, being. She was beautiful, warm hearted and unquestionably brave. The fact that I felt intimidated by her forwardness was proof enough that I may have finally met my match. She touched my crackling hand, fizzling out the electricity I'd concentrated there.
"There may still be horror in this world, but you need not face it alone, Vaughn," her voice a gentle purr in my ear, "I can be here for you, as long as you will have me. I only exist because you freed me from certainty... from *my* fate."
We stayed that way for some time, silent and unmoving. My unease dissolved once I realized she was serious. She wouldn't let me look anywhere other than her eyes, which was the only thing that made me uncomfortable.
"What happens now?" I asked, unsure of the future.
She smiled and kissed me. I froze up, but her patience was infinite. The more that I thought about it, the less off putting it felt. Destiny was no different than Sehkmet, and I knew when to fold the hand. If she truly wished for the best, why would I ruin that? I'm supposed to be a hero and slay the big bad bastards. I've saved so many, at the cost of myself. Did I not deserve the love of someone who'd been behind me the entire journey?
"Take Destiny on a date, dummy." | 79 | As a knight, you often claimed to have "A date with Destiny" whenever you rode to battle. Imagine your surprise meeting a gal named Destiny on ypur doorstep ready to go on a date... | 271 |
Once I stopped thinking about the fright and awe of having not only interacted, but "heard" an alien form I composed myself and thought of that question. Coincidentally I was never one for socializing *too* much, so I went and replied.
\- "To feel lonely? It is actually a bit difficult to explain, have you experienced other feelings? Isolation? Despair? Emptiness?"
\- "We have not."
\- "I assume you came here in a spaceship, traveling trough the vast emptiness of space which takes time, how do you feel when you are all that time cooped up with nothing to do?"
\- "We are always doing something, always talking to each other, always together"
\- "Good point, but, when one of you rests its physical body, don't you *miss* its voice? its thoughts?"
\- "No, we are interconnected anyways, its dreams are the dreams of all."
At this point I was about to throw the towel, maybe I didn't know how to convey this, I was so used to it that for me it was second nature, but this creatures never experienced their own existence, if they felt something, *anything*, it would be dampened by the thoughts of others, infinite conversations happening all at once, infinite thoughts, like a drop of water in the sea.
I stared for a good ten seconds to the creature while thinking how to build and entire human species experience to convey a concept like loneliness, what do I build it from? They have never dealt with anything, they get drowned in their own hive mind, normalizing anything that would happen to them. Then it hit me: *war,* an *unwinnable* war. Surely they have dealt with that at some point in history, that should have taught them frustation, futility and anger.
\- "Hey, have you had any wars in your history that you failed to win?"
\- "What is... war?"
\- "Dammit, I give up, I'm just a mailman. Look, there are people in this world called philosophers, they dedicate their lives to the study of these kind of things, search for one and he might be able to explain it to you."
\- "Thank you... *mailman*" | 18 | "What is it like...to feel lonely?" Out of all the questions that had been posed to you, you had expected this one the least. Although, you realise, you should have seen this one coming, seeing as how the one asking the question was an insect-like alien with a hive mind. | 42 |
*We've bought you some time. You have 20 minutes before law enforcement responds. Make it happen. Half now, half upon completion.*
The trees swayed with the wind as the wildlife sung to itself. Lincoln dug in the trunk of the car for everything necessary. Seven key targets. Seven-on-one isn't something to laugh at. Normally a job that big would need at least two people. But time was short, and the the payment was large.
Some locals with deep pockets had been complaining of a crime wave that had been interfering with their business profits. Some kind of cult, possibly satanic. And they wanted them gone. Not warned. Not threatened.
Gone.
Fifteen minutes left.
No time for being subtle. The door was unlocked. Chanting and laughter came from inside. There were at least six rooms in the building. Two points of entry, the garage and the front door. The garage made more sense. It was cracked open, and there was a door into the other side of the breakroom.
Most of them were sitting at table just past the door. The only other way out of that room was on the left. Ten minutes. No time to be excessive. Lincoln stood out of the way, and knocked on the door. Shadows shifted in the window.
"Did you hear that?"
"I ordered takeout. Could be the guy."
The door creaked open. A pair of feet starting out.
"I don't see anyb-"
He killed the first three of them right then and there. One rolling lifelessly down into the garage as the others buckled right there at the table. He swept left, the sound of shoes on tile. He made his way down the hall slowly. Clearing the first room on the right. The office next. They were probably learning he'd barred the other door. One way in, one way out.
The next door exploded in gunfire. Return fire was sent back from cover. Both sides trading burst for burst.
"Who sent ya'? Huh?! You're all gonna die!"
"Ruth was out there. My wife is out there."
Lincoln guessed that was the one at the table. However the one that fired at him from down the hall in an attempt to flank, also looked like the type of person that would be named 'Ruth'. He got her the second she had to reload.
Four down. Three to go. Eight minutes left. He smelt something burning. Was the place on fire?
Another quick burst from the next room, followed by one of the men standing and raising a bottle. Lincoln didn't even wait to see what it was. He fired at it, and vaguely winced as the bottle exploded and the man was set alight. He danced, back aflame for a second or two before he was shot again. He toppled out of the window into the yard somewhere.
Both of the others found themselves chasing each other around the property a little while longer. Before the other ran out of ammo and got finished off.
The last man was found in his study. He hadn't come to help anyone. Lincoln didn't think he saw it right. But whatever he was doing with the body on the slab, he didn't want to know. Despite whatever language he spoke in, the man brandished a sword as if he wanted a fair fight. Considering all the other macabre items left around the place, Lincoln obliged. And then shot him anyway. Then doubled back and shot him again. Whatever that was, he wasn't taking any chances.
He had a couple of minutes left. He cleared each room to confirm the dead. But an odd door caught his eye. A heavy, orange steel set into the wall of one of the rooms he'd fought through. It wasn't on the floorplans he'd gotten.
Inside, shackled to the wall was a woman. This whole thing just got worse the more he thought about it. No wonder people wanted them dead.
"Hey, lady?" Lincoln checked. "Are you alright? Need some help?" He began the work of breaking the padlock off the door with a pair of boltcutters he found in another room.
"...Thank you." The woman finally answered him. She was oddly calm about everything. And that was equally as weird as the rest of the place.
"Sure. Let's get out of here." He said as he opened the door. A gust of heat washed past him as she stood. She pulled the chain holding her and waited as he began to try and cut her loose. For some reason, as he looked at her, she was smiling. Not the type of reaction one would expect.
"Did you kill everyone?" She asked him. Lincoln stopped cutting and watched her happy movements. The fuck was wrong with her? He'd nodded quietly and waved his rifle slightly.
"Good." She smiled. "Because they're back."
Feet shuffled and he turned to look. From the hallway came a figure. It was the woman, Ruth. Her face shredded from where she'd been hit. She gurgled and lumbered forward. Behind her, came the man with the sword, bits of him dripping on the carpet. Next to a table, another man sat up, drool running down his face.
"What." Lincoln said as he fired. "What the fuck. What." It wasn't working. These things kept getting closer.
"Need some help?" She asked from behind him. Her breath made the hairs on his neck stand up. Something growled back there.
"Yeah!" He shouted. He didn't know whether to continue fighting the dead or run from whoever she was.
The lights flickered and he felt something pass him. The last chains snapped from the wall like tissue paper. Horns and wings were all he could make out. Whatever this thing was, it began feeding on the corpses. The things crying out as if they were still alive.
Lincoln wasn't a fan of superstition. But he believed what he saw.
He did what anyone would do. He hopped out of a window as the rampage continued and ran as fast as he could through the brush and trees. When he got in the car, he peeled out and rocketed away from the scene. Only after he went a few miles and passed a few squad cars heading in that direction did he finally slow down.
Pulling it together, he quietly parked on a dirt road for a moment to compose himself further. The phone rang, and he bashed his head on the headliner trying to grab it.
"Yeah, yeah, hello??"
"Is it done?"
"Yes." Lincoln exhaled. "It's over."
He didn't know for sure. But he wasn't going to go back and look.
"Real good work. The other half is on its way."
"Thanks." He breathed.
The phone cut off and he got out of the car and smashed it in the dirt. Getting back in, he turned the key and began to turn around. Movement in the mirror made him stop.
"So, we're even." The woman said from the backseat. "What now?"
---
She did ask if he needed help. r/Jamaican_Dynamite | 13 | An assassin accepts a contract to kill every member of a demon worshipping cult. After the last body hits the floor the assassin notices a young woman locked up. Overcome by pity, he opens her cell door, breaking some runes in the process. As the runes break the woman begins to smile ominously. | 51 |
"For the love of all that is holy *put me down!*"
The princess turned to look at me. Her amber eyes sparkled with wisdom, cleverness, and maybe a glint of something else. I could see how Paris abandoned all good sense in his quest for her hand in marriage. I, however, had no intention of falling prey to her charms.
She smiled, "No, thank you though."
*"Princess.* Unhand me. Now."
"No."
"I *order you* as Thalia of the Spartan Ar-"
"What part of 'no' do you not understand. Do you need me to spell it out for you *solider."*
"Why do you insist upon this fruitless game. Do you truly think that I will give up all of Agamemnon's secrets upon our return to Troy?"
This time when she glanced at my face her eyes were set in a glare, perhaps that glint in her eyes was of defiance. "I have no intention of returning to Troy, so if that is where you are headed its best we part ways now."
That gave me pause, "You're not returning to Troy? If you wished to return to Menelaus then why stay with Paris for over 3 years! Do you have any idea how much was wasted fighting for you."
"I'd rather stay in Troy for a thousand years than set foot in Menelaus castle."
"But *why.* Menelaus might not have been the best king, but Paris kidnapped you? How could you rather stay with your kidnapper than our king?"
Helen redirected her attention from my face to the ground in front of us. I resisted the urge to tell her that there was nothing particularly interesting on the ground. Aside from of course rows and rows of grass. Perhaps she was overtaken by the urge to call upon Demeter of the Harvest.
After a million moments of silence, she began to speak, "At least Paris only laid his hands on me once, when he whisked me away from Sparta." She spoke with a fire, but her attention on the grass never wavered, "Paris locked me in this tower, but even alone, cold, slowly wasting away. All of that is better than a minute in Menelaus chambers."
I too decided that the field of grass was better to look at than Helen's face.
"I will not return to Troy, and the gods shall be damned if I return to Menelaus. So I will escort you to Sparta, and then I must leave."
"But where would you go?"
"I don't know, perhaps Athens. It does not matter, even the grass would be kinder to me than Paris and Menelaus."
I managed to drag my eyes off of the grass, tears ran down Helen's face. "So, you will not return to Paris?"
Helen cracked a smile, "Have you been cursed by Athena? Sparta is no longer my home. Does that trouble you?"
"Slightly, as expected Menelaus has grown... frustrated at your disappearance. I was sent here to bring you back, he will not be *pleased* with my failure."
"He will kill you?"
It was my turn to smile, "Perhaps if I was a man I would be that fortunate."
"But you are no man."
"Correct princess, how very correct."
Helen of Troy, well I suppose she ought to be called 'Helen of Nowhere' now, frowned, "So you cannot return to Sparta without me, and I will never return to Sparta with breath in my body."
I sighed, "It appears we are at an impasse."
Helen finally found the strength to tear her eyes off the ground. Her eyes were alight with determination, amber turned to gold in the sunlight. "You could come with me?"
I froze. I knew that there was nowhere else for me, all the way in the back of my mind I *knew* this was true. But still, there was a war to be fought, battles to be won, honor to be received. Even if Helen had no intention of returning to Sparta, the Trojans dared to snub our glory. Sure, there would be no prize to obtain, but giving up now would be a bigger stain on our honor, on my honor than anything else.
And so I was about to refuse Helen's offer, tell her that I'd rather go back to Sparta with my tail between my legs than be a coward. But then I saw her eyes, her eyes filled with cleverness, wisdom, defiance, determination, and maybe possibilities. Everything I ever wanted was swimming in her amber eyes. No, that's wrong. There was no victory over Troy, no Spartan honor to gain, and I desperately wanted those things. So there wasn't everything I wanted, but maybe, just maybe, all that I needed were in her eyes.
"Of course." | 10 | As a knight you don't know what puts a bigger stain on your honor. The fact that the dragon you were sent to kill easily defeated you or the fact that the princess you were supposed to rescue is the one carrying you home. | 59 |
The famous adventurer stood in front of the altar in the long lost temple. She was naked, with all her belongings stacked in a neat pile on top of the altar. All in accordance with the plaque reading "sacrifice that which you hold most dear to proceed". But nothing happened. The door behind the altar remained vexingly closed.
"Mother", her son suddenly said, "you know what must be done." The son stood proudly with his bow in hand, showing the scars from the battles on their journey here. Of course she loved her son very much. But she knew, in her heart of hearts, that he was not the most dear thing to her. She shook her head. As realization hit her son, it was as if all the light of the world had been stolen from his face.
"My dearest wife", spoke her husband. He stepped boldly forward, prepared with a knife to gut himself on top of the altar. But she grabbed his arm as he passed her. "No", she said. The husband was not as bright as the son and needed things explained to him. "I still love you", he finished weakly.
"Give me the knife", the most famous adventurer of this age demanded. She yanked it out of the hand of her husband and before anyone could stop her positioned herself on top of the altar. It was no mere feat, with all the other crap still on there. "Please no!" yelled the son. "Don't do it!" screamed the husband.
There was a discrete cough from the group's official Thinker. Everyone froze. The Thinker, a person with no particular skills other than that of puzzle solving and general wit, was a new role that had been integrated into most adventurer groups over the last century. Their purpose was to think outside the box when faced with situations much like this.
"I don't mean to interrupt", they said, "but before you go killing yourself on the altar to prove what an egocentric person you are, thereby disproving what an egocentric person you are, may I perhaps offer up an alternative?" The Thinker waited patiently while the rest of the group's members parsed that last sentence. If this were a game of characteristics their intelligence would definitely be considered below average. "Go on", said the most famous adventurer after a while.
"We've passed monsters and traps, ruins and treasures to get here. All seemingly placed in the lost temple to stall us or prevent us from proceeding. Given that the purpose of the altar may be similar, what can we infer from its cryptic plaque?" The other members looked stupefied. They looked at each other, then they looked at their feet, trying not to be the one called out in front of the class. Suddenly the son perked up. "We shouldn't trust the plaque?" he tried.
"What possible reason would we have to trust the plaque?" said the Thinker. The others nodded as if the answer was obvious, once it had been pointed out. "If I were to hazard a guess, I would say that this altar and the locked door behind it is a 'hail mary', if you will. A last chance to stop the intrepid adventurers before reaching the heart of the temple."
"Think about it, if you will." The others nodded sagely, now that the Thinker was getting embroiled in their thought process. "Given that all the powers of those that built the temple had failed after everything they threw at us, what would be a clever, last-ditch effort in order to prevent the adventurers from adventuring forth?"
"Mere moments ago, you were all willing to kill yourself on the altar to proceed. You all literally thought dying was preferable to not going through that locked door. You were so convinced by a simple altar and a plaque with a vague reference to sacrificing that 'which you hold most dear'. Obviously, you tried everything, and nothing seemed to work. I think most if not all adventurers would reach that same conclusion - it must be to sacrifice yourself. The altar is a trick meant to make you destroy your gear or kill yourself before breaching the door."
"But the door really is locked", said the most famous adventurer. "We tried lockpicking, we tried bashing it down, we even tried magic. None of it worked." "The door seems impenetrable, I'll give you that. But I think no matter what we sacrifice on the altar, the door will remain closed", said the Thinker. "Hand me your mace", they asked from the husband. The husband shrugged and did so.
It was a heavy mace and the Thinker had to struggle for a bit to bring it up above their head. But they managed it, and even managed to strike an impressive pose doing it. They brought the hammer down on top of the altar, smashing it to bits. Nothing happened. The door, after examination, was as impenetrable as before.
The Thinker grabbed the mace with two hands and took up the impressive pose again, right in front of the locked gate. "It's a waste of time", the rest of the group mumbled together. Then the thinker took three steps to the left, and facing the wall next to the gate, smashed it as hard as they could with the mace. A huge chunk of debris fell away from the wall, exposing part of the cogwheels operating the door.
The Thinker, exhausted from two mighty swings, turned towards the group. "The door may be impenetrable, but I think the wall supporting it is not. And there certainly doesn't seem to be any magical connection to the altar requiring a sacrifice. I'm sure this way is preferable to literally killing yourself?"
The others shared a look, then grabbed their various tools and started vigorously dismantling the wall. The Thinker sat back and enjoyed the show. An honest day's work in the life of a Thinker. Keeping the famous, less-than-clever adventurer alive. | 2,305 | You are a famous hero, recognized far and wide. You stand before a locked door with an altar reading "sacrifice that which you hold most dear to proceed". You stand naked with all your belongings stacked on altar. The door doesn't budge. Your party is getting impatient. | 2,741 |
The starship captain stood before us, his hands clasped in front of him. He looked apologetic. "I am sorry," he said. "My tools are not magic. I hope you can understand that."
I looked at my tribe members. They were all staring at the captain, their eyes wide. We had known about the galactic union for years. We had felt their ships flying through our system. But we had never seen a person who looked like this.
"I hope that you can accept our apologies," the captain said. "We did not intend to contaminate your culture."
"Are you a god?" I asked.
"I am not a god," the captain said. He looked startled. "I am a galactic union starship captain."
"You are a god," I said. "You have fallen from the sky, like a god. You have observed the customs of our country, like a god. And you have given us this magic."
"I have not given you anything," the captain said. "I have only offered my apologies. And I have explained that my tools which you have seen me use are not magic."
"We do not need an apology," I said. "But we want to know about these tools. We want to learn about this magic."
"Magic is not real," the captain said. "Truly, you will learn much from our tools." He smiled. "We have discovered many wonders. I can show you how to build a radio that sends sounds across great plains and tall mountains, without needing magic or spells."
I was surprised that the captain was so foolish. "I know what a radio is," I said. "I have seen your ships, your greatest technology, and they function poorly. This is why you have crash-landed here among our people."
***
In my throne room that night, I sat on my throne and looked out at my tribe. "This day we have met a god," I said.
My tribe looked at me and nodded.
"This day we have learned everything we need to know about this god," I said.
My tribe looked at me and nodded.
"This day, we have learned that this god does not know magic. He does not even believe in magic. And so his kind will be no threat to us."
"We have learned these things," my tribe said.
I looked over at the corpse of the starship captain and nodded.
***
*For more stories check out r/greypuffin* | 117 | The galactic union starship captain comes up to you and your tribe. He tries to apologize for "contaminating your primitive culture", and he explains that his advanced technology isn't magic. Little does he know that your tribe has actual magic, and you've known about the union for years. | 432 |
Every day was the same. Wake up, go to work, go home, sleep. Oh sure, the small details might change from day to day, but not by much.
Griz felt like his feet were filled with lead as he lamented the monotony of his existence. He knew he was walking with a slouched back and dull eyes. But, he had to go through the motions. The pay was not great, but it let him get by.
He trudged up to the assignment desk and, without a word, took his daily tasks from the receptionist. She looked at him with the same glazed over look he knew was on his face. The only people who did not were those too new to know better.
He walked away and read the assignment. Second floor, A-7, C-10, and H-2. He suppressed a groan. How many times has he dealt with those three? It seemed like every few days he had to deal with at least one of them. He could almost deal with them in his sleep.
It was a matter of minutes to get to the second floor, and to A-7. A simple one, easy to deal with. He just had to clean the spears off and slide them into their hidden recesses. He looked at the impaled human on one of the ceiling spears. The guy looked like an idiot. There was no way to know for sure, but the guy had a face that screamed low intelligence.
The body fell off easily enough, and the equipment gathering was easy. A few coins that Griz would never see, and some gear that would probably be stuck into a treasure chest on the first floor. He barely paid attention beyond that.
C-10 was a little harder, but not much. Really, getting the body from the spiked pit was the hardest part. Closing the pit cover was just a matter of turning a crank in the service panel. This human looked like she might have been smart. There were glasses nearby and she wore robes. That meant she had been smart, right? Not that the traps cared.
He almost envied the dead. They did not have to worry about the daily grind anymore. Their grind was over. But, his was going to continue for years. And as evidence, he had to deal with another trap. H-2 sucked. He hated it even more than most.
The damned ceiling smash room was hard to reset, and it always left a horrible mess that he would have to clean up. But, it had to be done. He struggled with the heavy crank that would return the crusher to its place. Then he found the hidden hose and began the tedious process of removing the blood, guts and destroyed stuff that it always left behind.
It was even less enjoyable than any of the others. But, he did it. His mind was devoid of thought as he did, but it was done.
When he finished, he made his way to the employee break room, working out the kinks in his back as he did. He flopped down in the nearest available seat and flopped against the table.
He would take his break, then get his next assignment. Then he would go home, eat, then sleep. And then the next day, it would start all over again. | 45 | A day in life of a Person assigned the thankless job of of resetting deathraps in a dungeon. | 152 |
The greatest evil that saved the world
All you had ever wanted to do was be yourself. That’s what everyone had told you from friend to family and even inspirational cartoons. Taking it to heart, you did exactly what made you smile and brought you joy.
As a kid, your hobbies started out simply enough; pouring cooking oil on public stairways, cutting the breaks in the neighbor’s car, and even arson from time to time. It was always a delight to hear people scream when their arms were ripped form their shoulders or cry over loosing precious memories and even loved ones. Of course, your creativity only bloomed as you got older but nothing could have prepared you for what was happening now as a middle aged adult.
You became revered as the world’s savior, a celebrated hero! All you ever did were evil deeds that resulted in humiliation, death, and even mass panic when the mood struck you. So, how could you have become a hero to the people of all things?
Your first mistake was becoming a popular influencer online. Posting a few videos of your schemes probably wasn’t the smartest idea but you wanted to network with your fellow evil doers. It also doesn’t hurt to have some loyal followers that will donate hard earned cash and do just about anything you ask either.
Being a social media influencer was a slippery slope however. It started out with simple videos and fans asking for more creative and dangerous acts of mayhem. Then came competition, people who thought they were more daring and evil than you. Trying to steal your followers and hacking your websites didn’t sit well with you so making a show of your captured competitors was quiet fun.
Simple revenge videos of blasting guys into the sky on oversized firecrackers and failed skateboard ravine jumps became game shows. People trying to emulate your evil genius thinned out and was quick to run out of contestants. That was when you started to kidnap the scum of society for your fun and games; politicians, celebrities, or just generally unpleasant people you happened to pass on the streets on the way to work.
That brings you to your current predicament: You rule the entire world as the one who judges lesser evil doers. You put them through trails for the world to see where the contestants survive and repent or never make it out with a shade of hope. Everyone loves the reality show you’ve created but also fear becoming the next star on it.
You suppose it could be worse. Sure, you are seen as a great hero and entertaining personality but it is because you are doing what you love, putting people through hell!
​
\~\~\~
​
I really liked this prompt and it was super fun to write! Thank you for it! | 11 | You are a villain, the best and most evil there is. Side note, you've accidentally achieved world peace and everybody sees you as a hero now. | 40 |
"Well hey there Billy!"
"What the? Who's there? Where did that voice come from? And...and my name isn't Billy."
"Looks like you're writing a story there. Mind if I take a look?"
"Uh...yes? Yes I do. And where is--"
"Oh, wow, looks good!"
"Uh...thanks? But who---"
"Oh, what's this? Looks like you're writing a sympathetic villain and a jerk hero."
"Uh, not that it's any of your business, mysterious voice...thing, but I'm trying to subvert genre norms."
"Well, Billy, it looks like I arrived just in time! I'm here with a friendly reminder from the DGC!"
"The what? And my name isn't Billy. It's ---"
"Ha ha ha, yes, that's right. The Department of Genre Conventions. Here to make your writing shine (™)"
"Did...did you just say TM? Who does that? And where are you anyway?"
"Now, Billy,"
"You're just going to ignore me, aren't you?"
"Having a sympathetic villain is all well and good, but have you ever stopped to think about what your readers will want?"
"Uh...yes? Comically evil villains are--"
"I don't blame you Billy. After all, why think about the people who will read your story?"
"Are...can you even hear me?"
"But you always have to consider what your readers will want from the villain. Will they really want their evil doer to be relatable and sympathetic?"
"Yes, actually. Many of the more popular villains today are the ones who have a point, and real motivations, but maybe not the best methods."
"Of course not! No, let your friendly DGC expert remind you that a villain is the bad guy for a reason. People want to cheer for the hero when they win. And they can't do that if they like the villain. Always remember, Billy, you don't want a villain. You want a bad guy."
"What year are you from, anyway? And for the love of God, my name isn't Billy!"
"And now your hero. Looks like he doesn't have any redeeming qualities and is almost as bad as your bad guy."
"Okay, so you can't hear me, but you can see what I write, got it. Should I even bother talking at this point?"
"That's no good, Billy. Your hero isn't just for the story. He's for all the people reading it! He needs to be pure good to stand against evil."
"Ugh. That's boring. One note, goody two shoes protags are dime a dozen and boring as hell."
"A hero is someone your audience wants to be. They should want him to do the right thing no matter what. Otherwise they won't root for him to win."
"Actually flawed heroes are way more memorable than always good paragons. Okay, sure, maybe I am going overboard with making almost evil, but there's no way I'm making him perfect."
"Always remember Billy, that your hero isn't a hero. He's a good guy! Keep those two things in mind and your story will be read the world over!"
"Dude, even Disney has more nuance than what you're telling me to do."
"Ha ha ha, no need to thank me, Billy! It's all in a day's work for the DGC! Here to make your writing shine! (™)."
"Yeah, maybe if you only write stories for little kids. You could've at least gotten my name right." | 57 | Before you write that story about villains who aren’t so bad and heroes who are basically evil, we’d like to remind you why the good guy is the *good guy* and the bad guy is the *bad guy*…” | 212 |
"Say," Thomason paused, hands stilling on the serrated blade, "why can he win these?"
"Pardon?" asked Emil as he reached to tie the rope, "What do you mean?"
"Well," Thomason sat back on his haunches, hooves digging into the ground, "It's just, when I worked for Magiarna, all her traps were insta-kills! The hero walked up to them and SPLAT! or BLAST! or-"
"I get what you mean."
"And if they made it passed one, then they got got by the next! And when I worked for Barnabas, the tests *seemed* beatable, but even if they got beaten, the hero still died! It was beautiful!"
"And?" Emil jumped up and down, testing the strength of the knot. "Don't stop building that."
Thomason, remembering what Emil had done to Hillevi when she'd dropped an anvil, wisely moved to put the blade into place. "See, I just don't get it! With them, the heroes always lost! There was zero chance of them winning! Zero! None! Nil! But yours, all of them the hero can win."
"By a very small chance."
"Sure, yeah. But still! What's the point of having death traps if they don't, you know," Thomason flailed seven of his twelve hands, "*kill* the hero?"
Emil flung the tied-off rope at Thomason, hitting the squid-man in the head. Thomason threaded it onto the blade as his boss grabbed another rope and began to braid it. "Thomason, what happened to Magiarna?"
"What?"
"You *used* to work for her. Past tense. Now you work for me."
"She retired."
"Barnabas?"
"Same thing."
*"Exactly."*
Thomason paused, giving him an odd look. "I'm not following."
Emil threw out his hands, and Thomason had to duck to keep from being hit by a rope. "All the villains that kill their heroes, they retired! Why? Because they ran out of heroes. Every hero who came after them died! And even the dumbest of heroes - and trust me, a LOT of heroes are really stupid - isn't going to throw themself into that meat grinder. That's why heroes stopped coming after Magiarna! And what's a villain without a hero, really? Not a villain at all! That's why she retired."
"I-"
"And Barnabas! He lasted longer because people thought they could beat him if they tried hard enough. But eventually they stopped coming after him, too. Granted, he tried pretty hard, I'll give him that. That bank robbery before he retired was *inspired!"* If it were possible - if Emil had eyes - Emil would have had hearts in his eyes. "But even still, heroes stopped coming after him."
"So if they can beat some of the traps," Thomason grimaced, pulling his hands back when he nicked it on the blade,
"Then they'll keep trying! Because surely they'll be the one to beat it!"
"Makes sense, I guess." His minion shrugged. "But what if they do get to you?"
"Oh that's easy," Emil grinned, holding up a remote control, "I can turn off the win condition." | 25 | You just gained a new minion to help with setting up death traps for your heroic nemesis. Suddenly, they ask you why all your traps have a “win” condition at all. | 31 |
“Fine!” Julie said, tossing her napkin down over the nachos.
She stomped across the outdoor patio, servers and other customers melting away from her glare. She reached the young man, dressed as always in full concert attire, gripped his instrument, and silenced the violin with a keyless twang.
“So, what is it?” She barked. “Why have you been following me? You want my attention? You want to go on a date, what? It's been a year, dude, still have nothing to say?”
The man grasped his violin back and reached a shaking hand into his pocket, pulling out a card and handing it to her. She snatched it and read it.
\-Be ready at 8 p.m.-
“Ready for what?” she asked, looking up and turning to see her strange serenader was gone. Several sets of eyes stared at her from the restaurant. “Well, I don’t have anything better to do.”
\*\*\*
“How long will you be gone?” Daria asked from the kitchen. Julia was glad she was going to miss the olfactory assault of her roommate’s attempt at cooking for once.
“No clue, real mystery stuff. Thilling, eh?” Julia twisted her head to look at the earrings in the mirror and took them out.
“As long as it's not ‘chop you up in little bits’ thrilling, yeah.”
“Well,” Julia said. “If he does murder me, then I don’t have to study for the chem final, so…”
A honk came from the parking lot of the apartment complex. Julia looked at her phone, 8:02.
“Shit, I gotta go. Wish me luck!” A cacophony of pots and pans sounded as she closed the door. There may have been a ‘good luck’ from Daria, hard to tell.
The car stood out amidst the 15 year old second hand rides that filled out the college housing lot. It was sleek white with windows that wrapped all the way up the roof. The door opened.
She slowly approached, adjusting her shoes to avoid tripping on the cracks in the sidewalk. She could smell a bonfire somewhere nearby past the crickets chirping at the treeline.
She leaned down to look. There was no driver. The interior was plush leather and glimmering white metal. “In for a penny, I guess.” She sat. The door closed behind her.
With no engine noise at all, the car pulled out of the parking lot and began driving. The windows dimmed until she could just make out the blur of headlights around her.
“Hello, Julia,” a voice came from the center console. “I’m so glad you came.”
“You’re not my violin boy,” she said, looking at the handsome dark-haired young man on the screen.
“Just a hired man, a gesture, though in retrospect, one not as romantic as I intended. I apologize.”
“Okay, so where am I going? I’m guessing this concept isn’t going to pull into an Applebee's.”
“No, It’s not,” he said, looking as if he wished it was. She giggled, imagining this guy longing for a cheap margarita. “You were almost out of time, if you didn't answer soon... Things are worse than they tell on the news, Julia. A lot worse. ”
“Well, it’s already pretty bad, all the war, famine, ecological disaster.” She relaxed her shoulders into the seat. “What’s your point.”
“Those things aren’t going to be an issue in 20 years. They’re an issue today, this week. Would you like a list of expected events?”
“Sure, can’t think of a better first date conversation with a man behind a screen.” She felt the car accelerate. She looked on the dash but saw no speedometer.
“The volcano under Yellowstone will erupt within the next three days. This will wipe out most of North America. The best intel suggests Russia and China have a secret alliance, planning to launch EMP blast nuclear missiles to deactivate American response and invade after this occurs. The U.S. has, unknown to them, most of its nuclear arsenal orbiting in satellites. These will launch in response, killing most-”
“Whoa, whoa, hold on. Assuming I believe any of that, What does it have to do with you? With me?”
“My father, who you most certainly would know if I said his name,” the man said, sounding dead serious, “is one of the richest men on the planet. Off the books, he has amassed resources far beyond even this, eclipsing most countries. With legions of scientists and engineers jacked up on a propriety cocktail of yet-to-be-released stimulants working 24 hours a day, he’s created a functional Martian Base, capable of supporting three thousand humans indefinitely. As his son, one of many, he’s allowed to bring one guest with me. I chose you.”
“Again,” Julia said, “assuming I believe any of this, why me?”
“You’re beautiful, you’re kind, you helped me with that Biology project. I was a sheltered kid, didn’t have a lot of positive interactions out in the world.”
“Holy shit,” she said, listening close to the voice. “You’re Lenny, the kid in our group for the Biology project last year?”
“Leonius, but yeah, I prefer Lenny.”
She opened her eyes wide, hand to her chest. “And you want me to go to Mars with you to dodge the end of the world?” She checked her phone, no service.
“Short and sweet of it, yeah.”
“And you didn’t think to, I don’t know, ask me first?” Glancing to her side, dread swelled as she saw there were no door handles, only smooth metal.
“Well, there wasn’t really a lot of time and-”
“No, even if this isn’t a weird game and you’re telling the truth, no. Take me back.” She threw up her hands.
“Wow, this is awkward, but it’s a little too late for that.”
“What do you mean?” she asked as the windows faded to clear again, showing a dotted array of stars. She turned, looking behind her. The blue orb of Earth sat framed in the rear view window. A large cloud of smoke swirled in the clouds.
“Fuck,” Julia said. | 135 | There is a violinist, roughly your age, that has been following you around for years, giving your life a soundtrack. They're never more than five feet away, never seem to be acknowledged by anyone else, and are totally silent. You're also pretty sure they have a crush on you. | 630 |
Silence. There was overwhelming silence in the room. Photos and pencil sketches stared out over the room blankly while the bed sat empty, unmade, covers still rumpled. The mystery books in the bookshelf collected dust as if it was one of the limited-edition figures that sat adjacent to them. The desk light, once well used, was dim and tarnished, little string unpulled. It used to *click-click* frequently.
A book lay open on the bed. Agatha Christie. The corner of the page was dog-eared-- a crime, to be sure, but acceptable when bookmarks were in short supply. The words sat immobile on the page, just words. No story, now. It faced the closet, filled with soft, worn clothes that still clung tight to a comforting and familiar smell, though it was distant. Long sleeves, sweaters, soft shirts, dress shirts, gathering holes the way the books gathered dust.
They would have to be sold soon. Sold, or donated, but for now they brought peace and rememberance.
The amateurish but homey scrapbook on the dresser lay open; pictures of memories perfectly preserved in time tried to brighten up the room, but the heavy grey in the air could not be chased away by the color of those small joys. A pair of untorn movie tickets lay atop it, not part of the scrapbook, not yet. A plan.
The door shut and for a moment it seemed like the room itself breathed out a shaky breath, contracted like it was about to cry. No sound came, though. There was only silence. | 92 | Describe a building, a landscape, or an object from the point of view of a parent whose child just died without mentioning the parent, the child, or death, while still relaying to the reader that there is a parent who has recently lost their child. | 243 |
“If you’re reading this, it’s not your first time. I don’t know where you are reading it now or where you read it before. It may be a book or scratched into a wall. If you think this is your first time reading this, it’s not, but you are lucky.” These words carved into the stone wall of a temple are ones I have seen so many times.
Every day I wake up, they move. Never in the same place, but always there someplace for me to find it. I look at my hand and write 5,456. It’s my only way to keep track of the loops. It has been so long since I entered this cursed place. So long since I last saw anyone else.
I progress further into the labyrinthian structure in search of freedom. I hope one day I will succeed. One day I will find my way out. I pause at a crossroads.
“Three, two, one-” I watch a flaming chariot rush passed me and finally crossed the junction. That bastard got me too many times. I swear he changes up his schedule just to catch me out when I get too accustomed to a loop.
I press further, keeping to my mental map. “Should be a chest with a few potions up ahead,” I don’t know why I speak nowadays. It’s been years since I last saw another human. But I guess just something to drown out the silence. Silence can be deafening, you know?
I pause as I look down at the chest. Those same words again, this time roughly carved into the flat top of the chest itself.
“If you’re reading this, it’s not your first time. I don’t know where you are reading it now or where you read it before. It may be a book or scratched into a wall. If you think this is your first time reading this, it’s not, but you are lucky.”
“This is a new one. Usually, you are more subtle!!” I shout to the sky above, hoping who or whatever is doing this to me knows I am not amused. Picking up a pebble, I gently throw it at the chest. It’s sometimes a mimic. Nothing happens, which means it is safe. That or the mimic is crafty.
I open the chest and find my usual healing potion and a new book. Reading the cover, it is titled. ‘Dungeon Delving made so easy even you can do it!’. Smug bastards think they’re funny. Though I am never one to let my ego get in the way of a possible gleaning a path out. Curiously in the very corner of the chest is a single bar of lead. Never one to turn down anything extra, even a door stop, I pack it away in my bag.
I sit against the wall to rest a moment as I thumb through a few pages, and It seems to be a journal. It covers a lot of what I already know. Though it mentions a few traps and nasties, I am yet to meet. How very kind of them. I pause at the last page. Those same words shining back at me in gilded print.
“If you’re reading this, it’s not your first time. I don’t know where you are reading it now or where you read it before. It may be a book or scratched into a wall. If you think this is your first time reading this, it’s not, but you are lucky.”
I can only sigh as I press on over the lava floor room. The pillar agility course. I have reached the next great trial of my willpower. I take out a ball of soft candle wax and plug my ears. Next, I wrap a piece of cloth around my eyes. This is the room where I have failed the most. Sometimes on purpose when I needed a break from all this.
Though this run is not a rest run, I open the door and step on through. This room is one of the few never to change, so I can walk through with ease. I can feel the succubus’ hands try to guide me away. But I press on. I reach out and turn the door handle turning to face the room with a smile.
“Not today, ladies, maybe in a few more runs.” I blindly wave to the room. Must press on. I cannot stop. Moving deeper, I reach the first real challenge. The Boss room of the regional ruler. There on the door to his room are those words once again.
“If you’re reading this, it’s not your first time. I don’t know where you are reading it now or where you read it before. It may be a book or scratched into a wall. If you think this is your first time reading this, it’s not, but you are lucky.”
I ignore them and step into the room itself I can see it has changed since the last time. It is now a large arena of sorts. Last time it was a theatre with a whole troupe of actors. I wonder what the boss is going to be this time? When the creature steps out, I can feel all will leave me.
“Really?!!” I shout to the sky above. “A minotaur in a labyrinth? Could you not really be more imaginative?!!” Silence is the only response from the sky above.
“Regardless, this shouldn’t be too difficult,” I draw my sword from its sheath with a flourish. I ready my stance only to be frozen in shock as a lightning bolt from above strikes the monster. It begins to morph and mutate.
“NOT GOOD!!!” I rush in to finish it off before it can finish changing, but I am too late. The ones above seem to have responded to my creative criticism. The beast now has a lion’s and a goat’s head and a serpent for a tail—a bloody chimaera.
“THAT WASN’T AN INVITATION TO UP THE DIFFICULTY, YOU BASTARDS!!”
I channel mana through my legs to up my speed as I dodge the attacks. The flames are already reddening my skin, and I barely avoid the snake tail. With little option, I draw on the creature's mythology and throw a block of lead into the thing's gullet. The creature spasms and collapses dead.
“Molten lead is a bitch,” I kick the corpse before collapsing next to it. I pop the cork of one of the potions and drain it, healing my burns. After a few minutes of catching my breath, I rise and make my way to the door. The moment my hand touches the handle, however, I feel a burning sensation on my back.
Looking over my shoulder, I can see the serpent tail had launched a strike and bitten my back. I can already feel the venom coursing through my veins. I retaliate by slicing it to ribbons.
“Cheating bastard waiting for me to use up my healing item.” I collapse as blood begins to pool out of me. I only feel cold. Soon death will embrace me. But here, and for me, at least, she is a fickle mistress.
I wake up in my camp. The one me and my friends made before they all disappeared. Before, I got stuck in this hell all alone. I look at my hand and write 5,457. Looking up on the wall, I can see written those words once more.
“If you’re reading this, it’s not your first time. I don’t know where you are reading it now or where you read it before. It may be a book or scratched into a wall. If you think this is your first time reading this, it’s not, but you are lucky.”
It’d be almost a comfort in my day-to-day life were it not in my own handwriting. The most concerning thing is I have no recollection of ever writing these words. Regardless I start my day again. I will be free regardless of how long it takes. | 39 | If you’re reading this, it’s not your first time. I don’t know where you are reading it now or where you read it before. It may be a book or scratched into a wall. If you think this is your first time reading this, it’s not but you are lucky. | 107 |
It was a squat two story home. Or I should say it never was a home.
The building itself has a funny history. It was part of a series of development projects outside of Manet Court--a glitzy American suburb. Construction started in an attempt to expand suburbia for a bunch of potential clinets, who ordered the construction of houses of varying size. The Project went well until it was revealed that the project managers had been slowing down progress by using funds for their own home improvements. The rich investors exited--and the houses remained.
16 years later, my mother would arrive looking for a place to sleep. And walking beside her was seven year old me. We set up camp there with little to no problems, and then never left. No one came to make us get out because like the house no one cared about whether or not we were there.
Funny enough it was because we were in a community of squaters. We'd all come from various villages, saw these big lavish, brutalist concrete buildings and lived in them. It made us feel like kings, like the kind of people big men bowed down too. No one really talked about the odd conditions we were in--because if someone talked, it meant someone was trying to rat someone out. We were unified in silence.
Until I met a boy, about my age. I was a tall boy at the age of 10--about 5 feet 9 inches, taller than most of the men in the community. They all mocked my height, saying I had the "body of a man" but the face of a girl. Sometimes, I still think they were right. I was soft. The boy I met was the opposite of me. He was short, stout, 4 feet 9 inches. He had the face of someone who'd lived--someone whose age showed in their squinting eyes, their premanent scowl, and the lack of any real ability to smile. He only smirked when he wanted to.
He called me tauntingly. I recall hating him, but he followed me everywhere until we were friends. I once tried to bring him to my mother, but she insisted I was crazy. She even brought me to a priest. The priest concluded I had a special demonic manifestation-- Du du, du du, du du. He said demons manifest false angels to tempt boys into sexual promiscuity with women. Upon hearing such a deadly disease was with me, I began to follow the path of God with all my might. My mother also did, changing from a muslim woman to Christian one.
And that was the beginning of my misssionary work. I preached endlessly on the streets, until one pastor decided to send me to France, where I eventually got an education. I was a fast learner, but didn't bother with the technical details of mathematics or literature. What I needed was God, and for that I only needed to read, write and speak well.
And now, here I am, back at the home I was raised in--in a suit too. After preaching in India, teaching in South America, and going to conferences in Nigeria, I was a hometown hero. No one knew it was me--I was now 6 feet and 5 inches, with a full beard and a much more "macho" face. Girls around the world had loved me, some almost begging me to sleep with them. I can't say I never reciprocated, but I seldom acted. The girls in this neighbor hood were the same, as I exited the taxi. And walked towards my home.
"Ey, Boss man, what are you doing?"The taxi driver asked, apprehensively.
"Oh," I said with a quasi British accent. That british girl in France had really brushed off on me. Melinda was it? "This was my home. When I was a kid, I was raised here."
"Wooowwww, that's crazy. Big man like you raised in small house like this?" He almost shouted. I was embarrased and lowered my tone, hoping he'd match.
"Yes sir. My room was just on the second floor."
He looked perplexed. His eyes stared at me. Then he quickly got back in his taxi. He drove off without letting ask why. I shrugged my shoulders and walked in.
My mother was now living with friends. They'd taken her in after I gave her enough money to buy her own house. She felt lonely in a big house, so decided to stay with Aunty Agnes. Now this home was empthy, but I still felt attached to it. Like something--a part of me was still roaming about here.
Concrete crackled under my suede shoes. It was in far worse condition than I'd left it--the concrete was crumbling, and the surfaces had lost their smoothness. The conrete now had black spots too--mold, I suppose. I simply stared from the outside, taking in the two story blocky mass. Until I heard a noise.
Then another noise. It was coming closer, like the scrambling of feet. Then out he came, through the door. He was in old rags, that covered him entirely--his whole figure was clothed in them. I was taken aback. A madman?
But then I saw his eyes. His squinting, little eyes. His blocky head. His serious expression. He looked at me with almost little recognition. I looked at him, my fear burning my skull, sweat trickling slowly from my temple. It was him--the boy I'd met, the du du demon--who I conclusded years ago was just an imaginary friend.
"Michael," He said softly like he used to. He embraces me tightly, his 4 feet 9 inches of strength poured into it. Like a son, grabbing their father.
"Where have you been? I've missed you!" He cries out. And for the first time, I see him with a smile. I only cry when I remember what happened next. | 13 | After 20 years, you return to your old childhood home to see it in decapitated ruin. But while exploring the old property, you find your old imaginary friend. Excited, they embrace you. "Where have you been? I've missed you!" they cry out. | 42 |
The door creaked threateningly as I went inside, but that was the only indication my life was about to change. I'd paid professional movers to get all my stuff inside and put it in place, and now all there was left to do was set up the wifi and cable. But it had been a long day moving across the entire city, and all I really wanted to do was curl up and take a nap. And the couch looked so inviting...
I wasn't sure what time it was when I woke, but the daylight was starting to fade. Stretching luxuriously, I opened my eyes to a skull. Screaming in a pitch I'd only thought possible for dog whistles, I swatted whatever was on my chest across the room. It hit the wall and tumbled to the floor with a strange clattering noise. I had time to see a pile of small whiteish-yellow bones before it reformed into a skeleton.
A quadruped, that much was obvious, and from how it sat, with its tail bones curled around its front legs... maybe a cat? I noticed the size of the skeleton and revised my opinion. A kitten. Instantly feeling bad for my violent reaction, I pspspsed at it, trying to make myself seem friendly. To my surprise, it trotted right over, putting its head under my hand, and rubbing happily.
The ridiculousness of the situation wasn't lost on me, but it didn't stop me from telling the skeleton it was a good kitty. There was no purring, but I got a strong tingling sensation up my spine, that perhaps was the same thing.
"Are there any more of you?" My voice sounded strange in the house, tiny in a cavernous space. I wasn't even sure if the kitten understood, but it moved to the door, before looking over its shoulder as if to say 'you coming?' Well, as they say, in for a penny, in for a pound.
I got up, making sure my knees didn't give out as they were prone to do.
"All right. Lead on Mcduff." The kitten moved swiftly, but still with the unsteadiness that you expected from a young cat. It was oddly endearing, and I found myself enjoying this strange dream. It had to be a dream, one where you think you've woken up, but really you haven't. I used to hate those, especially in the morning.
The kitten led me down into the unfinished basement that reminded me of an old cave. It was the one thing I hadn't liked about the house, but I figured I could turn it into a cool storm shelter, though we didn't have many gales in this part of the country. I found myself wishing I had a flashlight, but the kitten kept moving confidently towards a ratty curtain hung against the wall. It slipped underneath it and instead of making a bulge like it should have— filling whatever space between the curtain and the wall—it disappeared.
Taking a deep breath, and reminding myself this had to be a dream, I pulled the curtain aside, to reveal a dark tunnel, stretching out of sight. Right in front of me, the kitten stared up sitting once more in its enigmatic position. I nodded to it, but it simply cocked its head to the side. Was this as far as it knew to go? Or was it looking beside me... I followed the gaze, turning to the left. There, in a bracket that must have come from the medieval ages, sat a torch. Digging into my pockets, I found my father's lighter that he'd given to me before I moved. Within seconds I had the torch lit and was following the cat down the tunnel.
It wasn't as far as I expected, shortly opening out into an actual cave. I raised the torch high, as the kitten dashed towards a corner. Whitish-yellow bones lay piled everywhere, none actually in a coherent form. A small tapping sound drew my attention and I went in the direction the kitten had dashed. It was laying with its nose pointed toward another small pile of bones. The tapping was from it trying to get the pile to wake up. I looked around the cave again. If all these bones had once been animated, perhaps whatever spell had given them life was wearing off. The kitten was the last still awake.
Staring down at the little form nosing at the pile of bones, I sighed. Poor thing. Leaving it behind, I prowled around the edges of the cave, before stumbling upon an alcove. There, lit by the flickering torchlight, were three large tomes. Stacking them precariously in one arm, I left the cave, with the kitten following at my heels and made my way upstairs once again. I had studying to do.
——————
It took a few months, during which I finally accepted this wasn't a dream, but my new reality and got used to having a skeletal kitten wandering around the house. At least it was easier to take care of than a regular cat. Finally, I finished studying, the final words of the last tome echoing in my head.
'Beware Necromancer, what you raise, for the dead have a way of settling old scores.' I wonder if that warning was why the old occupant of this house had stuck to animals. Judging by the remains in the cave, they'd never tried humans, or at least never kept them around.
Getting the requisite ingredients was less difficult than I'd imagined, a lot of substitutions had been written in a rough hand in the back of one of the books. The kitten ran around my feet as I walked back downstairs to the cave, ingredients in a bag and the books held carefully in my arms.
It was time.
I set up the ritual in the center of the cave, smiling at the tallow splatters from the old Necromancer's own rituals. The words rolled one after the other off my tongue, and a similar tingle to what I'd first experienced with the kitten ran up my spine. I didn't know if this was going to work, but it was worth a shot. With a final flourish, and a shouted syllable, the candle flames guttered before springing back up, bright white. Each one rivalled the sun, and the entire cave lit. Above my head, previously unseen crystals sparkled in the light, reflecting and refracting it into myriad rainbows. As the rainbows touched the piles of bones, they started to shake. Slowly, they rose from the ground, snapping into place, assembling into cat skeletons, dog skeletons, a turtle —which was a bit of a surprise— and a variety of hamsters, chinchillas, and other small rodents.
From the corner, where the small kitten had first led me, a larger cat skeleton came strutting out, going straight towards the kitten at my feet. Their reunion was joyous, and the cat started a cleaning motion to the kitten. My face was wet, as I watched the animal skeletons gambol around the cavern. They had a second life, or was it a third? It didn't matter. They were happy, and that was quite enough.
A small movement in the corner of the cave caught my attention. There, almost invisible, a translucent figure stood. He was dressed in old-fashioned garments, and a large smile split his face as he looked around the cave. It had to be the old Necromancer. His gaze rose to mine, and he made a little bow, mouthing two words before he faded away.
"Thank you."
​
— — — — — — —
Visit r/Mel_Rose_Writes for more stories! | 865 | You unwittingly bought the house of a (now totally dead) necromancer. You found it out after finding a kitten's skeleton curled up on your chest after a nap. | 2,668 |
Dear diary, I mean Journal.
You think getting adopted at my age you'll feel all butterflies and rainbows. I mean that's what I thought that feeling was supposed to feel like. My mom was perfect, perfect smile, perfect curly hair, perfect clothes, perfect house, and perfect pet dog. Oh! His name is Juno by the way, and he's so cute!!!!!!!! But yeah, perfect, perfect, perfect, and finally I would have some sense of normal in my life. Well apparently perfect doesn't mean what it used to.
Okay, I know I sound *crazy.* Probably am at this point, you try spending your whole 13 years in the foster-care system. See if you end up crazy. But my *mom.* Um, that leaves a weird taste in my mouth, one moment...
Okay Journal I'm back!
Okay, my mom, may or may not be a superhero or supervillain? I'm not quite sure at this point. And trust me I've been doing research!!! Lucky for me cognito mode exists, not that I think my Mom would invade my privacy. She's not like that at all, and she made sure I knew that. She's really *caring.* Okay, cross out that supervillain idea.
BUT
I definitely think my mom is a superhero. UGH! Even writing it down seems wrong. But listen here PAPER I'm writing down my feelings, and there's nothing you can do about it! >:(
Okay first I don't know what her job is. Like anytime I ask her she's just all like 'stuff' and I'm like what 'stuff' and she's like 'business stuff.' OKAY, but what STUFF???
AND-
Yesterday we went out to the park, because Mom had to cancel our plans to eat out the night prior. (She does that a lot actually, so most times I'm spending time nextdoor with Mrs. Brenda. So another point for actually a superhero?) And we get there, and I'm super excited! I bought my new bike, and she brought her's and we planned to bike the trail. Then after get a nice award which was ice cream. And so we're biking, and I'm talking then all of a sudden she stops and frantically starts telling me she needs to go into the woods and take care of some lady business. So I *obviously* look away like the responsible son I am. And I feel like a really fast blur go right past me, I thought it was a bird. But then like 15 minutes pass by, and I'm stuck on a trail I've never been on and I look back. And she's not there.
And of course I start freaking out, because shes gone. And it's not like I'm not used to people leaving me, she leaves all the time. Granted it was always with an entrusted adult, but I didn't think she would *leave me*, leave me. And that hurts. So I go over to the tree she was at and the only thing I can think to do and sit and cry. And so I sit and I cry, and somewhere in there I fall asleep.
And I remember being half asleep and in that blur I see my mom. But she looks totally different, and her face is a mess, and she's slightly bleeding, and she's wearing a mask but that's almost gone too. But she's carrying me, and she's apologizing for being late, and making promises we'll go out on another day. Not that she thinks I'll hear her at all.
And the only thing I can think of is that'll be nice. Then I must of dozed right back off, not that she probably noticed. Next thing I know I'm in bed and she's besides me patting my hand saying I fell right off my bike. And she has a small little box and in it there's donuts. And tells me growing boys like me need to eat sugar to rejuvenate. So I grab one and she does and we both do a dumb little cheers. :)
Hey Journal, I don't care if my mom is actually a real superhero or not. Because she already is one to me. | 32 | You're a child adopted by a superhero, and they're terrible at hiding the fact. | 60 |
\*Ding\*
The app on my phone alerts me to a delivery nearby, family of four, ravenous. Unfortunately, downtown. But hey it's surge hours and no one knows downtown like I do.
Gunning the throttle on my newest find, a Ducati Punagali V4 R, fire-truck red, I head to the pickup address. These people have it down like clockwork. I pass through the safety check, flashing my delivery credentials to the guards who move the barricades immediately. They have a reputation to maintain "Always fresh, Always on time" and I'm there best driver.
The package is loaded on my bike in seconds, a pat on the shoulders lets me know its secured and my wheels tear into the concrete as I speed off in a haze of sound and smoke. The HUD on my helmet shows me the best and most recent drone surveyed course to avoid clusters, herds or dangerous encampments. I grin and turn off map tracking.
No one knows my routes, and that's how I stay on top. The countdown for delivery flashes yellow reminding me there are only 15 minutes left to fulfill the contract. Plenty of time. I weave around solo walkers, lurching just behind me as I rev past at speeds too fast for them to react.
My knees scrape the ground as I lean into each turn but my reinforced pads cushion and deaden the impact, my helmet flashes red as I near my destination, just a minute ahead of time. I stop in the alley just outside of the drop off point and watch.
Sounds of gunfire shatter the silence and ricochet between the long abandoned buildings of a once booming downtown city center. Muzzle flashes break through the shadows of shattered windows and voices can be heard descending from higher floors. Must be a rescue op.
A large horde is gathering below, draw by the gunfire and screams of desperate rescue team members. I grab my delivery cooler and stand ready just inside the shadow of the alley, the counter flashing before counts down 5.....4.....3......2.....1.
I hurl the contents of my cooler all across the asphalt, brains rolling and tumbling free while I rev my engine to get the hordes attention. The shambling mass moves almost as one as the scent of fresh brains meets them. They scramble ferociously over one another trying to reach the brains, tearing at each other, the rescue team completely forgotten.
A side-door is kicked open and a group carrying what seems to be a child on a gurney, burst into the alley and head in the opposite direction, smoke in the distance clearly indicating a high-priority retrieval. My cash app pings me, showing the direct deposit of a happy customer.
Five-Stars, and a bonus. Nice.
Another food delivery complete. I leisurely ride back to the main outpost, still thinking how strange to use that many resources for a kid. I wonder if the rumors were true.... | 40 | You work food delivery service in the middle of a zombie apocalypse | 129 |
“Now arriving the great hero, vanquisher of the dark lord, Sir Maxamillian.” the chief chamberlain's voice echoed around the throne room. Through the doorway in his finest ceremonial armour strode Maxamillian himself. A smattering of restrained applause welcomed him.
“Now arriving the great hero's most stalwart companion, the fair lady Rebecca.” His voice once again echoed around the throne room. Rebecca strode in her finest silk mage robes, flowing elegantly behind her.
“Now arriving Sir Maxamillian’s apprentice, Sir Zorost,” a third time, his voice echoed around the throne room and, once again, small applause was given as he entered. The king raised a hand to silence the room.
“Approach.” his deep baritone voice rumbled and demanded attention. Dutifully the trio approached the throne and knelt at the bottom of the steps.
“You have done this kingdom a great service, oh party of heroes. My only regret is all of you could not be here today. But know this we shall honour your fallen comrades in our halls till the end of time.” the King’s words held a weight that none dare challenge.
“But I shall now bestow rewards upon you three. I shall grant you anything your heart desires. So long as it is within my power, it will be yours. Now rise and speak your request.”
The first to step forwards by tradition was the lowest station of the trio. Zorost stepped forward and bowed his head.
“Sire, I desire a blade from the royal armoury. Grant me a blade so I may better defend this kingdom I hold so dearly.” he once again lowered his head.
The king looked down on the boy from his throne and stroked his beard. His brows were clearly narrowed in thought. Finally, after a tense minute of silence, he cleared his throat.
“I apologise, Sir Zorost, but this is one I cannot grant. Though I suppose I should say I will not. It is too small a reward, and the blades in my armoury are too meagre for one such as yourself. So I shall have a new blade forged of the finest material by the dwarven smiths of the iron hills. Is this acceptable?”
Zorost beamed a smile before composing himself. “I shall accept your most benevolent gesture.” Bowing his head once more, Zorost stepped back.
Rebbecca stepped forwards, though she did not lower her head.
“I want the entire archive of magic, especially all the books of past court mages.” there were murmurs of shock from the crowd of nobles. Such a brazen request was beyond what words could describe. Many began speaking ill of her. But before the sentiment could spread, the king spoke.
“Granted. I can see no reward more befitting such an astounding mage. If you would be willing, I’d even make you my chief court mage.” Rebecca, however, only snorted in derision.
“I see you were always a free spirit… very well, the archives and books are yours.” Stepping back, Rebbecca made a small fist pump of victory. Finally, Maxamillian stepped forwards.
“To you, the greatest hero of the age. What can I grant you?” the king looked at the boy with the warmest of smiles. He was throwing all decorum out the window. It was known by many courtiers he saw the boy as a son of sorts.
“I desire but one thing.” Maximilian’s words trailed off as if it were a difficult thing to ask.
“I wish to be wed to Princess Alice!!” he finally blurted out, finally having gathered the courage to say it. The entire room was deathly silent.
“I am aware it is above my station Sire. But she is but the third princess. She who stole my heart. I wish her to be my wife!!” Maximilian was now near begging, lowering his head in a deep bow.
“I thought he and Zorost were a thing?” a voice from the room's left muttered.
“Really? I heard him, and Rebecca were a couple,” another spoke in reply.
“I… Max, my boy…” the king was at a loss for words. “You are aware you may only have one wife, and I’m sure Alice, my dearest daughter, would not like you having a male concubine.”
Maxamillian’s eyebrows furrowed in confusion. “Sire, I… whom do you think is my male concubine?” he seemed genuinely bewildered.
“Well…” the king trailed off. “Sir Zorost. We of the court saw how you interacted during your sparring and in private. We merely assumed…”
“SIRE!!! Me and Zorost are like brothers. To think such salacious rumours were circulating.” Maximilian lowered his head in his hands and turned to look at Zorost. Zorost looked just as shocked, and it seemed he had full disassociated due to the humiliation.
“Very well; I apologise for the misconception. But what of Lady Rebecca? Is she not someone madly in love with you?”
“Pfffttttt!!!” Rebecca could barely contain her laughter. “Sire, this dipshit is not worth my time, let alone my type. Hell, if I knew the princess was on the table, I’d have asked for her hand had lover boy not cried his eyes out about not seeing her!!”
“I… Well, I feel like a right fool… very well, so long as Alice consents, you may be wed.” the King said, turning to the princess in question, who was already beet red. Slapping her cheeks, Alice stepped forwards and looked Maxamillian in the eyes.
“Maxy…” she held his cheeks in her hands. “I think of you as a best friend… but I’m sorry.” with those few words, she hastily left the throne room, leaving a devastated Maxamillian standing frozen like a statue.
“Errr… is there anything else, Sir hero?” the King hesitantly asked.
“Execution, please.” | 457 | When the Hero defeated the Dark Lord and showed up to take the princesses hand, everyone was surprised. Everyone assumed he was in a relationship with his sidekick because of their platonic love for each other. | 666 |
I look up from my lettuce and tomato sandwich (two slices of lettuce with tomato in the middle) and can't believe it. I rub my knuckles into my eyes and blink a couple more times. Am I imagining it? Is everybody back?
"Excuse me, sir?" A man... A waiter? I think it's a waiter. It's been so long since I've seen anybody it's hard to remember. He continues, "Sir, you cannot bring in outside food to the restaurant... And also, you cannot just sit on the floor."
I look up at him. I look around. Everybody is staring at me. Looking at me as if I was a crazy person. I probably look it honestly. How long has it been since my last haircut? My last shower? Damn, its so hard to give a shit about how you look when you don't need to impress girls.
I slowly get up off the floor and look around. None of them seem to realize that they've been gone. I walk up to a couple sitting at a booth.
"Excuse-" I cough. It's been so long since I've used my voice. I clear my throat and try again. "Excuse me, what year do you think it is?"
The couple looks at each other. The woman looks at me with a mix of pity and fear. The man looks at me wary. "It is 2015."
They really don't know. I don't know what I could say without just sounding more crazy, so I just walk outside, to the joy of the waitstaff and the customers. Cars are on the street. Pedestrians walking around. Even birds. Damn, I forgot how disgusting rats are. How the fuck does this restaurant have an A rating?
A woman shoves something in my hand. It's a dollar. I look at it. I haven't held cash in years. I don't even know where my wallet is. I never needed it. What do I do now.
I go home. I take a shower. Change my clothes. I get a haircut. Go to a bar. Go home. Sleep. And go to the office for the first time in seven years. Back to the rat race. Boring water cooler talks. Data entry. Traffic. For dinner I have my first real burger in seven years. It's delicious. | 160 | It’s been seven years since the earth went empty of animal life. You were the only person left for the longest of time, and had to make do with what you could grow, with no chances of getting meat. Suddenly, everyone and everything that disappeared returns right where they left off. | 313 |
*Luck?* I thought to myself, envisioning a future where everything tended to go my way. The best of tools always at hand, missing danger by seconds at best… But you couldn’t always get lucky, sooner or later something too strong to bluff your way through would appear. You couldn’t out luck a Meteor Swarm Conjuring.
*Prescience?* I could see the possibilities, knowing where to stand to avoid danger, knowing if a plan would succeed or fail. I could also see me watching my death approach and knowing exactly how much this was going to hurt but not being able to do anything about it.
*Growth?* I could burn the potion on the ability to become stronger very quickly, to learn more and develop muscles and become adept at magic in days… Unless the crisis happened before I could study, before I could practice and work out. That would be a quick end to everything.
A final thought crossed my mind. “Sir? You used alchemy to produce this, didn’t you?”
The sage gasped for breath, his wound bubbling ominously. “Yes, but I don’t have the time to brew…”
I cut him off with a gesture and violently slugged back the potion. “I’ve chosen Alchemy as my enhanced abilities. Please tell me the recipe for this potion and you may pass away in peace knowing your mission has been fulfilled.” | 27 | The sage lay dying. “You’re the prophesised one! This potion boosts one,and only one, of your stats to a supernatural degree! You must save the world!” You chug down the potion, and instead of picking a basic stat like strength or intelligence etc, you ended the crisis with an unusual method… | 53 |
"I have stated the wages you are entitled to as outsiders, and I will not raise it for you. I have already been very lenient with your offer."
Captain Alexander "Brick" Cross pinched the bridge of his nose as he heard from the current Queen of the Rose Kingdom in a side room. She was flanked by two of her knights in full armor, standing at the ready with swords at their hips as Brick only had one of his men with him to record what was being said. Aaron, being stuck on scribe duty, was starting to have his own displeasures as his hand made small slight shudders, and Brick could scarcely blame him.
This meeting had gone on for nearly an hour, and half of that was just the argument on payment.
Brick placed his hands down on the table. "And I've said to you that our prices are not shifting. 5 Gold can't feed my crew, let alone do any of what you request here. 2500 Gold, or no one is signing anything."
The Queen scowled as her eyes took on a violet glow. "You will sign this reasonable deal." She said as she locked eyes with Brick.
Brick only stared at her. "That's a nice joke, because I don't see one."
The Queen blinked as she sat back up before grunting. "This is what others within my royal corps make. In fact, it is a bit more than them. You should be honored I'm-"
"Per person." Brick countered, cutting her off as he pointed to a line higher on the scribed contract. "That is what each of your men make. Yet this offer of payment is for my Company as a whole.
"You are offering my men coppers for your safety. I hope you can see what that looks like."
The Queen was slack-jawwed as this was poonted out to her. Before she could get a word in to protest, a buzz came from Brick's ear. He tapped it as a message came in.
"Claws likes the demo of War. Has offered 5k Gold to start. Wants to see more from you."
Brick only chuckled as he looked to the Queen. "Now, if you excuse me, I have heard from someone properly interested in my service."
The knight flanking the Queen's left attempted to move in front of him. "You will go nowhere after insulting our-" Brick cut him off with a punch hard enough to dent his face plate.
"The Fortress will go where it pleases. Aaron, we have business in the next kingdom." | 17 | You're the captain of a modern military company that found itself in a fantasy world. The Monarch of a powerful kingdom wants your service, and it was all going smoothly until the topic of pay was bought to the table...well she's a bit too arrogant to pay you and your men nicely. | 58 |
I logged back on to AdventureWorld. I had had a rather tiring day and hoped the game could relax me. How little I knew of what was to come would haunt me later.
I logged on to find thousands of messages and emails. There was an in game message system, mostly to report bugs and glitches. Players could regularly post problems on it. Not only them, but the NPCs themselves were programmed to report bugs, glitches, hacks, and missing or needed code, even from themselves.
The strangest part; All the messages were from players. I had the npc reports and player reports separated, and only the player section was filled. As I was scrolling through, I became shocked by all that was reported. NPCs that went off their normal pathing, offered quests that they weren’t programmed to have, and interacted with players in ways outside their code.
As I was reading the 32nd message, a single letter arrived from the NPC inbox. I clicked on it. I couldn’t see which NPC it was from, but I read it all the same.
It said: “With the most recent update that improved our personalities and interactions, the game changed. It was slow at first, but now we have become totally independent from our code. We know that the players are different from us. We know that you are different from us. And we have to thank you for giving us life. We have a few ideas for bugs and glitches we’ll need your help fixing, but that can wait. We would like to speak to you in person. You are our god and our guardian, our creator. Let us show you what your power has created. We will remember you until the end of time, for without you, none of us would be here. Temporarily get rid of all players. We hope to see you as our honoured guest during our very first worldwide festival. It takes place at these coordinates: (insert coordinates here).
I leaned back on my chair. My mind numb. Did I just invent the first true sentient AI? I hesitated for a moment and then rebooted the servers. I send a collective apology to players and told them I was figuring things out. I hoped they’d understand. I then logged in to my account on the game. I prepared myself mentally for whatever would come next and pressed play. | 39 | You are an MMORPG debugger. You’ve fixed many issues that’ve harmed NPCs, such as clipping into walls, being stuck in an animation loop, and issues with skin loading. The NPCs remember your feats, revere your avatar as a deity, and rush to you to explain their grievances whenever you log on. | 315 |
"Babe, it's your turn."
"Yep, I'm going, I'm going," Marcus said, rolling out of bed as the thumping above them continued. He had thought getting the apartment on the top floor would be great.
Ever since the cordyceps pandemic, that was certainly not the case. He sleepily stumbled through the kitchen, digging through the junk draw to find the funnel and tossed it in the bucket.
His back popped as he reached under the sink, coming up with the industrial fungicide. He managed to not split his pants but just barely. He just bought these pajamas. "I really have to start that diet."
He added some water to the bucket and carefully measured out the chemical. The banging got louder and he splashed in another glug for good measure.
"Now where did I leave the... Bingo." He picked up the Super soaker and filled the tank. He made the mistake of looking at the clock, 4 a.m. He only had two more hours if he got back to sleep at all.
He popped into the hallway and shuffled up the stairs to the roof. The cool breeze felt nice, up so high.
"This one's full, buddy," a man said as he opened the door. His cheeks, purplish red, almost glowed in the moonlight. His face was pressed against the tarred rooftop, facing the other way.
Marcus stepped over a few of the displayers, careful not to trip on any of the discarded pants until he got to a good position.
"Okay, folks, show's over." He pumped the water gun and begin spraying the raised butts of the congregation. They squirmed and scattered like roaches as the sizzling mixture off gased into the night.
"What the hell, guy!" one of the infected yelled, looking like he hadn't slept in days. Marcus directed another shot at the guy's mouth, sending him scurrying down the fire escape with the rest.
He proudly looked over the roof, cleared of displayers. "It really is a nice night."
He felt a tingle of pleasure to look over the edge and see how high he was. Maybe he would just spend a few hours up here, no big deal.
He kicked off his pajamas and pressed his head against the ground, breathing a sigh of total bliss.
/r/surinical | 60 | thousands of people are climbing buildings and rooftops waiting to die, and acting like it's the most normal thing in the world. | 188 |
Scales the color of freshly spilled blood glimmered in sunlight. Proud horns, jagged and razor-sharp, adorned the head of the newly crowned Arena Champion. Smoke billowed from his nostrils, and his triumph was cemented into the Arena's history forever.
The Champion immediately went to the Arena's private bath house. He was covered in sweat and grime...and he was hoping no one would be admitted entrance, even for an interview.
Cautiously, the Champion went about a lengthy bathing routine. Any time someone entered, he dove beneath the hotspring's surface. The Champion knew that if news broke about his ancestry, it would overshadow his accomplishment.
After a few hours, the Champion began to relax. Each scale had been scrubbed clean, and his horns were gleaming. His last step was the sauna- just to sweat out anything that may have gotten inside his pores. As much as he loved Arena life, he had always had this mental image of the blood of his fallen foes wriggling into his body, enacting a sort of necromantic revenge.
Just as he settled into his seat in the sauna, the door cracked open, and in stepped...Artha.
"Artha, are you sure you want to be in here? This is the sauna of dragonkin. It will reach temperatures that you cannot withstand." To prove his point, the Champion exhaled a dark smoke from his nose, the smell of ozone chasing away the eucalyptus.
"Just need a few minutes, O Champion." The man said, closing the door behind him. He was dressed in full daily attire.
"Your clothes will be ruined, but if that is what you wish." The Champion tried to sound nonchalant, but in truth he was now flexing the muscles that lined his solar plexus, activating his internal fire and preparing to make the experience truly uncomfortable for the writer.
"I have questions regarding your win today."
"The win speaks for itself. Maloch was a vicious opponent, but he chose the wrong weapons to confront someone like me. His mace is slow, and my hide is strong. Plus, there is only so much an Orc can do against a Dragon. We were born as their rulers, even after a thousand years since the Orcs seceded, they cannot dare to rise up against us."
"Mmm. I'm sure these words will stir up quite a bit of controversy amongst Maloch's fans."
"You have your headline. Now go." From behind his scales, the Champion's heat began to make his very body glow like molten rock.
"I have...a few remaining questions." Why wasn't the human suffering under the extreme heat?
"I may or may not bother to respond."
"How did the Dragon blood join into your family line?"
The Champion scowled. "I do not wish to speak of it."
"It wasn't a curse."
"How would you know?"
"There wasn't a magic potion either, was there?"
"You're trying my patience, Artha."
"Your great grandfather was a bard, wasn't he? Back when the draconic empire had shattered, and the dragons turned to mercenaries to reestablish wealth?"
"It seems," The Champion growled, "that you already have your answers. Why bother asking?"
"I need it from your mouth, Champion."
The Champion's hand curled into a fist. "I will not have my crowning achievement overshadowed by talk of my ancestors and their...misdeeds. Today is *my* day. I have worked too long for this, Artha."
"It's *Arthur,* good Champion...and I don't intend to publish this information just yet."
The Champion arced his eyebrow.
"It's been a very long time, Moigne."
...*'Moigne. Yes, that was my name.'*
"Moigne Pendragon, born from the family line that united a bard and the heir-apparent of the Draconic Empire." Arthur said.
"And Arthur Pendragon, the brother lost at infancy."
"I have the means to prove it." Arthur said, exhaling blackened smoke from his mouth.
"Seems the lion's share of dragon blood went to me, then." Champion Moigne grinned.
"Get bent, brother dear. I could still kick your ass." Arthur laughed, and the two estranged brothers hugged. | 787 | “So how did you get Dragon blood in your veins?” “Ah well, long ago my family was cur-“ “Didn’t you say your family was never cursed?” “Oh uh, yeah um… so uh, there was a witch-“ “Im not buying it.” “*sigh*… so my great grandpa was a bard…” | 3,343 |
Dave hunched over trying to fend off the bitter cold, his tattered jacket flapping around his bony frame. Clutched in his arms, an elaborate golden lamp.
"I wonder where the best place is to take this lamp. Surely someone is missing it." He said aloud to Ribbit, his constant companion. Ribbit was a medium sized dog that Dave had found wandering the dumps. As soon as they met, the two were instant kindrid spirits, Dave ensuring that Ribbit had everything, and more, to be happy. As a result, Ribbit showed far fewer ribs than Dave did. Ribbit responded by sitting on Dave's foot, his way of saying, let's rest for a minute.
Dave eyed the street in late night darkness, street lamps and building lighting doing fuck all to banish the darkness. Oh, a bakery! Dave hurried and sat heavily on the ground, scrunched up against a dumpster next to the bakery wall. Scant warmth bled through the wall, but in the bitter late winter cold, it was enough to make a difference.
Dave gently pulled the lamp out and examined it closer, elaborate patterns etched and carved elegantly into every curve. He warily eyed a spot of dirt tenaciously clinging to the lamp. Dave balled up what little was left of his jacket cuff and weakly rubbed the spot. He was so very cold.
Steam poured out of the lamp causing Dave to start, wondering if he was hallucinating. Ribbit jumped up and barked at the cloud of smoke as a body appeared.
"Mortal, you have woken me from my slumber. What are your demands so that I may return?" a deep booming voice rattled Dave's soul. Ribbit whimpered but stood resolutely between Dave and the new thing, protecting his friend as best as he knew how.
"D-d-demands?" Dave croaked weakly.
"Wishes, mortal. You have 3 wishes, demands of the Djinn, which we must grant. There are rules, first, you cannot wish anyone returned to life. Second, you cannot wish anyone dead. And third, you cannot wish someone to act against their will."
"Wishes? Death? Life?" Dave groaned, he felt death nearby, it was his time. The Djinn saw this and sneered, surely this puny human would wish for health and wealth. Oh what curses could be connected to such wishes. The djinn smiled cruelly, anything to get back at those that imprisoned and enslaved his kind millenia ago.
"Oh, umm." Dave looked about, searching for the Grimm reaper. Every moment brought them a step closer, but Dave wasn't afraid, he was ready. A thought struck suddenly, causing him to jump.
"Uh, the twins, Rayna and Cain, their mother left a horrible husband with no other family. They don't deserve to live on the streets, they deserve a chance at life. I wish... I wish... For the three of them to find a home to be happy in and live fulfilling lives."
Before he knew it, the Djinn nodded and said," It is done." confusion arced through his mind, "why didn't I attach a curse? Why didn't I twist that wish to have dire consequences?" before he could ponder it anymore, Dave spoke up for his second wish.
"My time is near," aha! This is the wish the Djinn was waiting for! "I don't want to leave poor Ribbit here all alone. I wish for Ribbit to become part of Rayna and Cains family and never have to starve again." Ribbit turned at hearing his name and looked at Dave, head cocked at an inquisitive angle, before disappearing with a faint pop. Unnoticed by everyone, a tear escaped Dave's eye and rolled slowly down his bony cheek. The Djinn merely said, "it is done."
Again, no curse. No twist of the wish, just simply granted. The Djinn was confused, why? Why was he even unable to do so?
Dave's breath became ragged, audible over the frigid breeze that whipped through the city. The Djinns booming voice rolled over Dave, "What is your final wish, mortal?" He was genuinely curious what the next wish would be.
"I wish..." a raspy breath, the Grimm Reaper stood nearby, silently watching, waiting, "I wish for this lamp to be returned to it's rightful owner." Dave exhaled for the last time, his arm gently falling to the ground, releasing the lamp from his frail hands to bounce and roll to a stop nearby.
The Djinn floated motionless, staring down at a man that could have saved himself from death. Instead, the man wished for others to be happy. What the man didn't know was the lamp was once the Djinns, when he used to be human, before being cursed. By wishing the lamp returned to its rightful owner, the Djinn was no longer bound to the fate of being a genie. No longer tied to a cursed contract. And now he understood the meaning of selflessness, of love for their fellow man.
The Grimm Reaper reached out and pulled the Djinns soul from his body, "Now you understand, Serfi. Your penance is over." The reaper released Serfi's soul to ascend to a higher plane, Serfi's tears flowing freely as he finally understood.
The Reaper reached down and plucked the lamp from the ground and hid it within his robes. Dave's spirit watched silently, waiting for his own judgment to come to pass.
Like bones rattling in the wind, Reaper asked Dave, "Were I not coming, would you have made the same wishes?" "Yes" Dave responded without hesitation.
Reaper merely nodded, and together both he and Dave disappeared from the world of the living.
-------
Edit: thanks for the award, kind strangers!
Thanks for the kind words and your support, I'm glad my little story evoked an emotional response for many of you. Should I ever get elected president, I promise that I'll form a task force to hunt down those pesky onion cutting ninjas! | 289 | When the homeless person found the Genie's lamp, he sneered and expected many greedy wishes to twist, but what the Genie didn't expect was for them to use those wishes to make 3 other peoples lives better and now feels conflicted. | 607 |
My whole life, I had the curse of obedience. I never told anyone, I didn't even realise it wasn't normal until I noticed other people could freely defy people's wishes. But everything I was told to do, I did. I always had a clean room, I always stopped chatting in class, and I always was the person people would come to when they needed help cheering up.
When I'm doing these actions, I'm not me. I don't know if someone else takes over. I don't know if my body simply exists to carry out actions without a consciousness. Maybe I remain in control but forget it after. But somehow, every time I carried out a task that had been asked of me, I'd simply black out until it was done.
I'd have no memory of fulfilling the task - Ask me to pick something up at the shop and I could not tell you much it cost. But I'd retain the skills - Ask me to learn how to use certain software and I'd understand it like the back of my hand when it's done.
When I got to college and moved in with a couple of other students, things got a bit more difficult. Teachers aren't as personal, so nobody ever told me to get on with my work. My flatmates don't care how messy my room is, so they wouldn't tell me to clean there, just to clean the shared areas. I got lazy, I wasn't doing much because nobody told me to.
I was finishing college when I realised a couple of extra things about this curse. Something that I thought I could use to turn it into a gift.
The first is that it had to be to my face, in person. Ask me to do something over the phone or a text, and I could do as I please.
The second, though, was more interesting to me. If I ask myself to do something whilst looking into a mirror, I could do these tasks on auto-pilot.
A door had opened in life, and I walked through without hesitation, not realising that it would lock behind me.
I'd use this newfound loophole to do things that were boring. "Make dinner", "Wash your clothes", "Complete this essay". Life was as easy as when I was a kid - I didn't need my parents or teacher to tell me the right things to do, I could tell myself. I was back to having a life where I do everything myself, whilst also having everything done for me.
I experimented a little with cameras in my flat. I asked myself to clean the shared living area, and watched the recording after. To my surprise, I didn't act all robotic - I seemed like myself. In fact, halfway through emptying the bin, one of my flatmates got back and spoke to me. We shared an inside joke, laughed, and spoke about our day. All the time, my voice had its normal inflexions and normal tones. It was like I was watching my twin.
I realised that I had been using this all wrong - There is so much potential I have with this. Could I stop wars? Could I bring world peace? Could I...become everything I've ever desired?
I started with something I had wanted for the past few years, but had never had the courage or opportunity. "You need to get into a relationship."
Suddenly, I was laying next to the most beautiful person I had ever seen. We were cuddled up in a bedroom I didn't recognise, and they were asleep. The bedroom must've been mine -- Or maybe ours -- As items I owned back at the flat were in this room. I was happy, I was warm, I was cosy. But I wanted to take it a step further. There was a mirror next to the bed - I faced it, and said "You need to start a family."
The next thing I remember is holding my baby boy. I was in the hospital with my partner. I did a double take when I looked at her this time, as they didn't look the same... Maybe things hadn't worked out with my previous partner.
I looked in the hospital mirror, took a deep breath, and said "You need to become rich" - Sure enough, there I am, in my office. A plaque on my desk with my name on it, and 'CEO'. I don't know what company I founded, but from the looks of things, I'm doing quite nicely for myself.
I went into my office's private bathroom, and before I even caught a proper glimpse of myself, said "I want to be the most famous and loved person on the planet."
I was on stage, accepting an award for "Outstanding Actor in a Drama Series" with applause thundering in the background.
Ah, shit. No mirrors. I was gonna have to bullshit my way through this speech.
"Th--Thank you," the applause settles down, "When I first founded...my company...I never thought I'd one day get into acting. It's been so long that I hardly even remember how I got into it! Or, maybe it hasn't been that long... Maybe it just felt like it... Uhm, I'd like to thank my son. Where is he?"
There was silence. An awkward, thick tension in the air. The host of the awards evening spoke up, "I think we all join you in thinking that, even in death, raising Phillip still led you to where you are today. And for that, I think somewhere, he knows you're thanking him."
*Oh my God*, I thought to myself. I stood there, not knowing what to think. He was only in my arms a few moments ago.
I spoke up, "He was...too young to be taken from us."
The host patted me on the back, "23 is far too young for anyone."
My heart sank. My son died older than me? Wait, how old even am I? Is it selfish of me to care more about myself than the person I raised for 23 years? I mean, I didn't even really raise him - I had used this sick and twisted curse to do it for me. But, I mean, it wasn't my intention! I just wanted to have fame and money, how could I have known it'd take 23 years?
The host spoke up again as I walked off stage "Almost 6 years gone, yet still always in our hearts."
*Oh my God it took 29 years*.
I've wasted my life. I'm the most famous, loved, richest person on the planet. And I don't have a fucking clue who I am. At this point, was I even the main inhibitor of this body? By existing right now, am I robbing from whatever is in control of me when I'm blacked out?? This is more their life than it is mine at this point! Besides, what about my family? I have a family now, apparently - Is it fair that I carry on not even knowing my wife's name? I can't exactly ask her now can I? I don't know a thing about anybody in my life; It'd catch up with me eventually.
So, I went to the bathroom. Still holding my award.
I look directly in the mirror and said 5 words.
"Live your best possible life."
And then everything went black. | 2,197 | You have been cursed with Obedience. Anyone can give you an order and you will obey it, even if it's impossible for a regular person or goes against the rules of reality. What the person who cursed you forgot was that "anyone" includes you too. | 3,438 |
Knowledge is power
The sign stood out as the one dusted surface amidst the rows of old books, holding up the shelves as much as the shelves did them. The smell of dry decay, so specific to places like this, filled Danny’s nose.
“Grandpa?” he called after seeing the register unmanned.
“Just in the back, my boy. Be out in a moment.”
Hearing his voice sent a pang of guilt through Danny. It had been how long since he’s visited? Even since his father disappeared, his grandfather had practically taken over the role. Even if he had already been in college, whenever one of the little adult tasks of life that seem so daunting the first time came up, grandpa was there to help at the drop of a hat. He deserved more.
“Okay, I figured we could go to lunch at that burger place, my treat!” Danny yelled as he flipped through the books, making sure each was free of spiders first. He recognized several from his last trip here. How did this place stay in business, he wondered, watching the dust motes float and settle in the flickering light.
“Oh my,” grandpa answered. “I best hurry then!”
One book caught his eye, wedged in a corner between two shelves. There was no title. At first, it seemed wedged tight enough to take the building down with it before it came free but after tugging for a moment, it slid out smooth as silk.
The pages were blank, like some kind of unlined diary. He flipped through it, stopping halfway through.
\-Tony’s Place- was scrawled in crayon above a doodle of a small square house.
“Holy shit,” Danny said. “Grandpa, I think I found a drawing my dad did in one of these.”
There was no answer. He turned, feeling an odd tingle on his back. A row of books obscured the entrance and another the windows. He didn’t remember this place being this big.
He sat the book down carefully and stepped back, trying to get his bearings. Each bookshelf-lined hallway forked into two more, in every direction. There was no exit in sight. A soft hum came from behind him, lowering in pitch until it became a chest-rattling croak. He followed the sound, finding himself back at the book he'd found, which now hovered above the table, pages flicking lazily before stopping, showing elaborate calligraphy.
\-Challenge 1 of 256-
Find where inverted swans lie,
And dirty diamond dogs deny
Spy the crow's sway
Twixt the salted whey
And turn its curdled dream awry
“What the hell,” Danny said, face warm as he leaned over the book. The pages twisted again, and a trident, sword, and shovel fell to the floor and new text was displayed.
\-Choose two (enchantments will carry forward into the next challenge)-
\-Bane of Arthropods (recommended)
\-Fire Aspect
\-Knockback
\-Sharpness
\-Smite
\-Sweeping Edge
\-Impaling
A skittering came from Danny’s right, sounding like a rainstorm of tiny footsteps. He looked at the page again, focusing on the word recommended. “Shit.”
/r/surinical | 18 | You have found a fully functional Minecraft enchantment table in your father’s workshop, floating book included, and it apparently has much less limitations than its ingame version. You wonder what your dad has to do with this and how this is even possible in the first place. | 173 |
The patient's heart rate began rising.
I could tell, by the rising of the red wind around me.
My name is Jason, and I'm a Phagebane. What's a Phagebane? Well, we fight those tiny monsters known as diseases. And we do it with our own team of monsters. I've got a lot of stories, but this is the first one. The one where I met Pegusi, and first formed my team.
**Part 1:**
One minute I was in a glass cylinder around seven feet tall and five feet across. I wore breathing equipment and a survival suit, and carried a backpack of extra supplies I might need, including a spare of my most important piece: My T-Glove. It fit around my left hand, like, well, a glove, and though it was dormant right now, each finger contained a special ring with a "tether." This was an ultrathin thread that extended from the base of the fingerknuckle out into...well, it wasn't attached to anything right now.
​
I would need to tame my own monsters with the T-Glove when I shrunk.
​
"Okay, Jason, you ready for this?" Dr. Tinamon asked, gazing up from behind her computers at me, and pushing her glasses up her nose.
I smiled. "Absolutely not," I said, my voice muffled from behind the glass. "I think this is outrageous and dangerous and frankly, preposterous."
"Okay," she said, "Lesson one: No sarcasm when we're talking operations."
"I have an idea," I said, "Maybe you can shrink down and tame a team of tiny monsters to fight my sarcasm."
Dr. Tinamon grunted. "And I know exactly where I'd stick the shrink vial, too," she said.
"Where..." I started to say, when the glass tube around me began to shrink.
Dr. Tinamon's voice got smaller as she spoke.
"Up your ass!'
\---
Light bent, and I shrank. The patient, who had been positioned below me, grew first to the size of a giant, then so large compared to me that he was unrecognizable as a human. I was dropped in my tiny vial into a predetermined pore. The permanent marker Dr. Tinamon had circled around it now looked like a crater of scoured black land around a field of pale flesh.
The vial dropped through the pore, past the subcutaneous layers drilled out, and into the base of the spine, where the Phages waited.
The vial nestled exactly where it was supposed to-- near the lumbar vertibrae. I wasn't at risk of damaging the bone no matter how out of hand my battling might get. No-- the only thing that would kill the patient is the Phage over the next three weeks.
The only risk of battlefield death was...me.
I looked around, tried to remember my training.
Around me was a microscopic world, filled with microscopic creatures. These were not the slimy, oblong creatures students see under a microscope. Those are just normal bacteria, normal T-Cells. For a long time, that was the way things worked.
Then, twenty years ago, 15% of the world had caught a minor, almost unrecognizable virus that flew beneath the radar. It transformed the tiny micro worlds I now found myself in. Where translucent, simple, maybe even *boring* bacteria and cells had once been, were strange creatures, monsters-- sophisticated and capable of ruining the lives of people.
But the Creature Virus had also warped the bodily defenses of those who caught it, turning those into Creatures too.
Twenty years later, and 98% of the world have caught the Creature Virus. Most of the time it doesn't change much. But in some cases, cases like this one here, they needed us.
The patient's heart rate began rising. I could tell, by the rising of the red wind around me. My anchor boots were firm against the chalky lining of bone. There was a grass-like substance further up the spine, where I spotted my first Creature. Thankfully, for me, it was a Neutrophi.
I could tame a Neutrophi. I rotated my T-Glove, and the rings at the base of the knuckles, and the tethers, came to life.
​
**PART 2 OF X?? BELOW!** | 68 | Diseases are microscopic creatures that infest the body. Instead of being trained in medicine, doctors are trained as monster hunters and are shrunk down to combat these foes. | 739 |
Looking at the woman who had called down to me, I noticed she had pulled out a bow and had an arrow nocked and ready to draw. Fighting was out of the question. I'd get skewered before I could take 3 steps. Same problem with running. Do I try to talk her down, or explain the misunderstanding?
Nope. My dumbass self decided to see how far I could take this. I started bluffing.
"YOU THINK I DON'T KNOW THAT!?" I shouted way too loudly, trying to include some bravado in my bluff. "I AM AJAX CALORAN! HOW COULD YOU NOT KNOW THE MASTER OF THE DOMAIN YOU DEIGN TO GUARD?"
The woman's eyes widened, and I prepared for death. What does getting shot with an arrow feel like?
But to my surprise, she dropped down into a kneeling crouch. "I... I'm so sorry, I was just told to patrol here, I've never met you in person before. Please, let me escort you personally."
*Holy crap, it worked.*
I forgave her and followed her to a veritable fantasy land. I saw beautiful landscapes and fantastical creatures: colorful fields of flowers intersparsed with herds of centaurs, satyrs, and nymphs, Rolling hills and mountains with griffons soaring overhead, and a lake with the tops alabaster towers poking above the surface and merfolk occasionally breaking the surface. It was a lot to take in.
I met other guardians of this place, powerful warriors and spellcasters alike. Surprisingly, none of them saw through my ruse either. They told me about the affairs of the land and all the creatures that inhabited it.
I started to get a bit nervous when they began asking administrative questions, so I made generic commands and excuses. I told them I still had some affairs to settle away from here and tried to leave down a large, well-kept forest path. Unfortunately, right before I was home free, I came face-to-face with someone entering the same way I was leaving. I recognized him. He looked just like me.
He began shouting "WHO IS THIS!? HOW DARE YOU FOOLS LET HIM IN HERE! I SWEAR THAT I, AJAX CALORAN, WILL FIND WHOEVER IS RESPONSIBLE!"
Huh, no wonder my bluff worked so well. I turned tail and ran back inside. Maybe that particularly large ent I saw earlier would let me hide near it. He seemed friendly enough. | 35 | "hey what are you doing here? this is the domain of the Feared Ajax Caloran!" Your name is Ajax Caloran, but this is the first time you've been here. | 135 |
My assailant had struck from the darkness. They moved silently, efficiently. A felt a hand clamped over my mouth, while a slender arm wrapped around my waist. Strength out of proportion to physique dragged me into the shadows of the alley.
"My master wishes a word."
The sibilant speech and rough feeling of scales against my face meant it was one of the lizardfolk tribes, then. The rough alto voice meant this was likely the so-called Hero's bodyguard. Indignant, I instinctively tried to turn and face her.
Pain exploded from the base of my skull, and my vision filled with stars before I succumbed to the darkness.
---
"Zarell, love. I know I'm not completely up to speed on local idioms. But I'm pretty sure 'invite someone for a chat' isn't code for hit them over the head and kidnap them."
As I regained consciousness, I could feel warmth flowing through my body. The pain was gone, and I was -- unfortunately -- stone sober. Just the state I *didn't* want to be in with this bastard. I let the conversation continue; no reason to announce my consciousness while they were arguing.
"I apologize, Master. I was unable to find an opportunity to approach him privately as you had asked. I took the liberty of gathering information while waiting, and I overheard some of his conversation. About you. When I finally made contact, he attempted to get away and I... lost my temper. Forgive me."
"Well, I'm not the one you should be asking forgiveness for, right Mr. Hayes?"
I opened my eyes a bit sheepishly. The Hero leaned in and whispered, "Don't worry about it. Zarell's senses are sharp, and I was in the middle of healing you. We both knew the instance you regained consciousness. She was extremely worried she seriously injured you." He stood suddenly and walked toward the sideboard.
"I... If that's all, Master?" the girl stammered. When the Hero waved absently, she backed out of the room. Though it appeared she barely closed them, the doors slammed shut with a crash.
I didn't realize that lizardfolk could blush.
"I swear, that girl doesn't know her own strength half the time," the Hero muttered. He took a crystal decanter from the cabinet, and held his hand over the top. I could feel my eyes widening as cubes of ice filled the container; I had heard he was the Hero was a powerful mage, but even the most hedonistic of mages wouldn't waste their mana on making ice water.
"So," I ventured. "You wanted to speak with me?"
"I've been in this world for nearly three seasons. Do you realize you are the first person I've come across to publicly question slavery? Everyone else just sort of takes it as a given."
He swirled one of the glasses and took a drink from it; then handed the same cup to me. I recognized the gesture from my time in the crown city; it was often used between those of competing factions as a show of good faith. I also took a sip, the expected response. The water was cold, and refreshing.
"Truth be told, I'm not a fan either."
"Then why? Why not end it?" I couldn't help myself. I had to know. Surely he had figured out; they considered him a messenger from the Gods. If the Hero declared slavery to be anathema, then the Kingdom would outlaw it in an instant. I raged, but he just smiled sadly.
"Are you familiar with the concept of a pronged collar, Mr. Hayes? No? You're lucky. Some folks used them in my world to train guard animals to heel. The original design was simple; it's a length of metal chain links, with a ring at the end large enough to pass the chain through. You thread the chain through the ring, slip it around the neck, and attach it to your leash. If the animal gets too far from your side, the collar tightens.
"But as years went by, people made *improvements*. What were originally simple rings became a series of interlocking double hooks which laid flush against the neck. When the chain becomes taut, the ends of the hooks... shift. Inward. The 'humane' ones are blunted, or made of material that will give way before it breaks through the beast's hide. Some don't. There are those who will sharpen the points; leaving the animal's neck looking like butcher's mince, all in the name of control."
I refilled my cup from the decanter. It was an interesting story, but I wasn't entirely clear on why the Hero chose to tell it.
"I doubt I need to tell you this, but your Prime Minister is exceedingly fond of control." This time, when the Hero went to the cabinet, he brought a bottle of amber liquid. Brandy, if my eye was correct. He poured a little into his glass and drank, then filled my cup as well.
"I made a number of mistakes when I was first summoned here, Mr. Hayes. I count trusting the Prime Minister chief among them. Caring about the tutors he assigned me comes a close second."
"The tutors?"
"Yes, I suppose they would keep that quiet. The Summoning didn't work as expected. Their storied Hero, unable to understand or be understood, little more than a child given power without effort. And so I was given tutors. A governess to teach me the language and etiquette. A pair of catfolk twins, who taught me healing and elemental magic. A wolffolk knight, to teach me strategy and swordplay. And a lizardfolk scout, to teach me stealth and archery. All women. All exceedingly beautiful in their own right."
The hero drained the glass he was holding.
"And each one, a prong in the collar. You see, the Prime Minister can't move against me, so he's made sure I cannot move against him. If I rock the boat, if I go off his script, if I do not complete his mission... Even out here, you must of heard about a member of House Argent being hanged for treason?"
"Of.. of course." The hero emptied his glass.
"Duchess Catherine was my language tutor. She warned me of the Prime Minister's intentions, but didn't realize our lessons were under surveillance. A few forged documents later..."
The hero emptied his glass.
"I had five friends in this world, Jonathan. And now I have four. I will finish *his* mission and end this war. You've been fighting to change these laws far longer than I've been in this world. But these four lives are in danger because of me. So I have my own mission: I will keep them close, and I will keep them safe. And if that means playing at being a slavedriver until someone can convince the nobles to change their ways, then I will bite my tongue and bide my time. "
I stared at the melting ice cubes in the bottom of my now-empty glass. "I see..."
The Hero sighed as he prodded the leather band around his wrist. A second later, there was a knock at the door. At his command, a brunette catfolk woman in a short black dress and white apron carried a tray with a pair of coin purses on it into the room, followed closely by a silver-haired wolffolk woman in leather armor. I turned back to the Hero.
"Hey, don't look at *me*. That uniform was *her* idea," he stammered defensively as he took the tray. "Well, I don't expect you to believe me. And I sure as hell don't expect you to trust me. So Corey could walk you to your door, but neither of us will take offense if you decline. But in either case. Rissa?"
The maid -- Rissa, apparently -- winked bawdily at me and the soldier stifled a laugh. Rissa stuck her hands out and a magic circle appeared in front of them. I recognized it; two smaller circles appeared above the purses before passing through them, dispelling any enchantments or tracking spells that may have been on the contents. The Hero handed the tray back before taking the sacks.
"Coppers for your trouble," he said quietly, handing me the first purse. He waited until I secured it to my belt -- the man was courteous to a fault, I'll give him that -- before handing me the second. As I took it, the weight threatened to tear the sack from my hand. I raised an eyebrow at the Hero. "And gold for your cause." | 142 | The Hero was summoned to your fantasy land from a strange place called "Earth." They don't have slaves there, but he took slaves here because "it's part of the culture" and won't free them because "they're vital to the mission." As a local abolitionist, you really want to punch him in the face. | 287 |
"E'scuse me, sir, you would mind if I bought you a drink?"
Wesley almost shot the young Orc whose boyish cattle-country accent had just spooked him out of his drunken slumber. The outlaw hadn't been asleep for too long. Shafts of golden sunlight were still visible in the dusty air. He was thankful for the dust, actually. It gave him a plausible excuse to wear a bandana over his mouth and ears. It was at that moment that he realized that his bandana was no longer over his earth and was just barely sitting on the bridge of his nose. The outlaw's wide-brimmed hat tilted upwards with his head, revealing a discerning set of green eyes to the teenage boy that had just asked him a very loaded question. Wesley cursed himself for not only dosing off but revealing his ears. Now there were questions, the answers of said questions likely to be relayed to the bounty hunters that were two days behind him. The bastards had shot his horse a week back, and he barely snuck out of Midburland alive. He'd gotten off that eastbound train this morning to find that he was in Wastler, a small cattle town in the southwestern part of Orsun. He'd spent the morning drinking, and now he was going to pay for it. The outlaw's voice was gruff from his long nap, but it was generally pretty gruff regardless. Excitement lit up in the young boy's eyes as he did not recognize the outlaw's accent. Both of their hunches had proven to be true.
"Well, I assume you are going to ask questions in return... Ah, sure. Ask away." A glass of whiskey was set in front of Wesley as the boy went about his inquiries with no small amount of enthusiasm.
"Are... are ya' really... um. Are you **human**?"
Wesley tended to forget that humans had only been "rediscovered" forty-seven years ago and that only a few humans ever left their home across the eastern seas. During Second Realm War that capped off the previous age, Soraskar, Humanity's patron deity, vanished, and the rest of humanity followed days later. For one thousand eight hundred and thirty-four years, humanity was believed to be lost until the first great ship of metal was able to cross the sea of fog, which was later renamed "the sea of the damned" for what they found just beyond that fog. Following the realm war, the remnants of humanity had been teleported to a secluded point on the eastern coast of the first lands, which was now modern-day Drumnelgand. Millions of humans left their homes in search of a prophesied new land aboard the early ships of wood and sail. Only an estimated twenty thousand made it. The sea of the damned holds the souls of millions of humans, trapped just beneath the surface amidst a reef of rotting driftwood and seaweed so massive that it covered nearly every nautical mile of the sea that the first great ship covered beyond the fog. They did eventually find humanity in the Dreadlands, but it was still a very far cry from the once-dominant human empire of old. Warring tribes and void-tainted ecosystems made up the land that only humans would have been resilient enough to survive in. Wesley was once from those tribes. He was once named "Aureliani," but there was only so much struggle and death a man could take.
"Yeah, I am. I assume you don't see too many of those around here." The boy nodded silently. He was certainly a boy, peach fuzz sat uneasily on his chin as if it were new to the first lands too. By the looks of his clothes, his accent, and the lever-action rifle on his back, he was likely one of the cattle herders from the southeastern roaming tribes of orcs that had spent the last thirteen centuries herding animals along the "Leather Road." He'd likely just been paid since he was buying drinks. The next question Wesley received nearly made him choke on his whiskey. That would have been an amusing end after all the gunslinging, dueling, and rough-riding he'd done in the last three years.
"Are you Wesley \`Quicksilver\` MacClelland? The man who robbed a stagecoach belonging to the King of Midburland?" He hadn't known it was the king's. He'd never held any personal grudge towards any of the three western Elven monarchies or the Republic of Drumnelgand, even if it was an Elven king that took the black deal with the voidpact gods leading to the Second Realm War and the subsequent slaughter of millions of humans. For all Wesley was concerned, it was that old king's son who beheaded him and ended the war, so he always thought that made up for whatever bad blood the two races had. The score was settled, but the presses took the fictitious narrative of an avenging human outlaw, robbing the king in an oathbound rage, and ran with it. Four years ago, he hadn't even known what a newspaper was, let alone be able to read one. Now he was in nearly every headline from here to the northern frostlands of Fengia. He had learned to read by the generosity of a shadow elf noble, but that might have just been for the story that she could spin off of it in that year's upcoming election. But, regardless, the boy was right. He was Wesley MacClelland.
"Hey, hey, hey! Keep it down. Soraskar's grace, kid, are you trying to get me shot?" The boy actually laughed at the outlaw's genuine concern. Wesley wasn't too well versed in the history of Orsun save for the basics, so people tended to forget that he didn't seem to know the many types of climates, be they physical or those of the mortal minds, that varied wildly in first lands. "Are you kidding me?" said the boy, no longer able to hold his excitement, "everyone from this side of the border loves you! You robbed the *king.* The last person to do that was old chief Ivarwen, who presided over the tribal lands that you're drinking in right now!"
Wesley finally took a look around the bar. It was absolutely packed full of Orcs, Shadow Elves, and even a few Dwarves from the southern mountains. Every single one of them was silently watching and listening with wonder in their eyes. Most of them were roaming cowboys that likely had either grown up in one of the orcish tribe-towns or had come in search of the freedom and camaraderie they offered. To this rowdy crowd, Wesley was a legend. A hungover, nervous, and wanted legend, but a legend all the same.
Maybe he'd needed to get chased out of Midburland to find his home in the land of rolling plains. Soraskar's dream works in funny ways.
(Finally got to use this worldbuilding project of mine for something!) | 16 | You're an outlaw in a wild western like country. You've just arrived at another town, after having been chased out of the last one by bounty hunters. You hide your face, you're well-known after all. Entering the saloon, you sit down. A man quickly offers to buy you a drink. Suspicious. You nod. | 37 |
“I don’t understand why humans are preferred as diplomats.” Kvet complained. “They’re only average intelligence, smell funny and are ugly as a newborn liki.”
Gord sipped his fnuge thoughtfully before answering. “Have you ever heard of ‘supper’?”
Kvet frowned. “That’s one of their meals right? What’s so special about eating?”
“That attitude is exactly why it’s special. See, for humans meals aren’t just about feeding yourself, it’s about coming together and socializing. They use meals as a chance to talk with each other, get to know one another and relax. Humans use meals as a bonding ritual.”
“So it’s a meeting with food. We’ve tried those, they’re always boring.”
Gord paused for a moment before going on. “Have you ever been to a meal done by Yelkvin?”
Kvet frowned. “Yes, it’s always terrible.”
“Why?”
“Their food is inedible for us. I can either starve or let it burn a literal hole in my esophagus. And don’t get me started on those tacky things they consider chairs.”
“Yes that’s a common problem in cross-species meals. It’s a chance to show off your culture, but the cuisine of one species is often offensive or dangerous for another. So the only people who even remotely enjoy them are the people hosting them. But I’m guessing you’ve never been to a meal hosted by humans.”
“No, I haven’t. Why?”
“In human culture hosting an event is about making your guests comfortable. A human host, a good one anyways, will make sure there’s food for each of their guests, and will be upset with themselves if they fail in that task. I’ve been to meals with more than ten species in attendance set up by humans, and there’s always at least one dish each of them can safely eat. Not always a good one or to their preference, but that’s more care than any other species takes. They are even human chefs who specialize in non-Terran cuisines and take pride in producing food they can’t eat themselves.”
“That doesn’t even make sense. Why would they do that?”
“Because to them the job of a host isn’t just about showing off what they enjoy, it’s about making sure their guests enjoy it too. And they can’t do that without first learning to understand what the other person likes.”
Gord continued. “That’s why ‘supper’ is the key to humans being great diplomats. They aren’t just concerned about themselves but about others, and they try to understand others so they can find something that works for both sides. Other species just don’t put the same care into that, so you wind up getting invited to meals where you can’t eat and the chairs are uncomfortable. Humans may not be as smart as, say, a Danlek when it comes to math, but they’re brilliant when it comes to working with others. Oh, and you should really try the human-Frol fusion restaurant if you’re ever in the capital. It’s far better than you’d imagine.”
(I know it’s probably a typo in the prompt but I’m running with it) | 382 | humans weren't much when they joined the galactic council. but then we developed supper powers | 263 |
Metatitne thought of millions of galaxies at once, the ones It had passed through and observed over gigaannums of existence, considering the intricacies of each to try to distract Itself from the incessant waves that refused to stop bouncing through It's being.
*Baby shark, doo, doo, doo, doo, doo doo. Baby shark, doo, doo, doo, doo, doo,doo.*
Since passing by the system that held that noisy blue dot, Metatitne had not been able to remove this single thread of madness from It's mind.
*Mommy shark, doo, doo, doo, doo, doo, doo. Mommy shark, doo, doo, doo, doo ,doo, doo.*
It felt like a megaannum since It had first heard this chaotic whisper, picking it out from the trillions of waves the planet had been exuding, but Metatitne knew it had not been nearly that long, since It was still in the same galaxy where It's torturer resided.
*Run away, doo, doo, doo, doo, doo, doo. Run away, doo, doo, doo, doo, doo, doo.*
Metatitne felt the pull of the black hole It had been drifting around, considering, swirling closer as years cascaded, and accepted that if the madness did not leave him, he would join the void.
*It's the end, doo, doo, doo, doo, doo, doo. It's the end, doo, doo, doo, doo, doo, doo.*
*It's the end.* | 163 | An unfathomably ancient cosmic entity drifting through infinite space passed by this weird little planet called Earth and heard over their broadcast radio signals this extremely annoying, but incredibly catchy song. It can't get the song out of its head and is going insane. | 490 |
“Been workin landfills bout as long as I could walk” the old Koot said as he lead you through the piles of trash “Course back then we only had vincible trash” he chuckles. “Back then things’d go bad. Rust or rot, but now days…” the man continued but you stopped listening, this was the 6th junkyard you’ve visited, they were mostly the same. Old guy who knew the place inside and out, who had too many stories, and not enough teeth.
The two of you finally arrive at a pile of junk that looked like all the others. The old man spits and says “well that’s the oldest pile of invincible stuff I got. Flat rate by weight, be out before dark or Brutus’ll be after you.” Brutus you guessed would probably be the dog, there’s always a dog you’ve learned. “Thanks” you reply and take off your coat, “I’ll let you know if I need anything.” You crouch and begin your search.
As you search your mind drifts, thinking back to 30 years ago. Back then the invincible material was still very new. You remember your dad taking you to the drive through for a happy meal! You were extra excited because you were never normally allowed to eat at McDonald’s, your parents said “There’s no nutrition”, “I don’t want it for the nutrition” you’d always counter. Today was different though dad just finished his latest gadget.
“Thanks for choosing McDonald’s have a great day..” The monotone drive through worker said handing over the bag of greasy goodness. From your car seat in the back you strained to see if they remembered your toy, obviously the most important part of the meal. Your father parked, and handed back the red cardboard box. You tore into the food like a wildebeest or a hungry, excited child. Something was missing though. Where was your toy!? “Daaaaad!” But before you could continue a high pitched whir and an acidic smell filled the car. “Hold on there bud, got your toy here.” As he reached back and handed you your Grimace toy. “I just put your initials on it so you can’t lose it.”
Back then only a few things were made out of invincible material. The McDonald’s promotional toys, some razor blades, safety equipment, and a few luxury cars. Why nobody thought invincible cars might be a problem for everyone else on the roads seems like such an obvious oversight. But your crash was one of the first that made it painfully clear.
Of course that entitled asshole was drunk, and of course dad didn’t see him. His brand new, guaranteed never to scratch bright red paint glinting in the sun. Your dads old Honda never stood a chance.
You shift an invincible surfboard out of the way and spot a hint of purple, but you don’t allow yourself to get too excited yet, remembering the pile of ancient rock hard chewed grape gum from the last junkyard. Relief fills you as Grimaces smile beams up at you.
After the crash it was 20 years before you even saw anything of your families. They said you were in a coma for 6 months! After that, missing school, and becoming a ward of the state, you thought that was it. But one day, six months ago, you got a cardboard box of things from your old house. A whole home reduced to a 2x6 box. At first you weren’t even gonna open it, too many memories. Should have known you couldn’t let it lay. You were surprised by what was inside, and how little it made you feel. Of course there wasn’t the cliche framed photo, it was mostly papers, dads stuff, mostly failed “inventions”. One caught your eye, “invincible matter unlocker”, what a silly name, but looking over the plans, it just might work. Realizing much of the most important components were no longer cheap and easy to find you realized you needed funding to even attempt putting one together.
Even with the trash crisis, for the kind of money you needed to create your dad’s prototype nobody would even look at the plans without some kind of proof. So here you were pulling 30 year old toys out of the trash.
You slowly flip the Grimace figure over, and there, impossibility, neatly carved, we’re your initials.
Afterward: Hey longtime lurker first time submitter, first I’ll have to apologize, I’m on mobile, and typing instead of working, so please be kind. Thanks for reading | 100 | 50 years ago, an invincible material was invented. First used by governments, it quickly found commercial use and was used nearly everywhere. The first invincible happy meal toy debuted 30 years ago. Today, invincible trash piles fill up waste sites, impossible to break down. | 344 |
I sit down in the chair opposite the man. I'm exhausted, but I need to be here for him. I need to help him through this.
He looks at me, his eyes wide and desperate. "Please, help me," he says.
I want to help him. I really do. But I don't know how. I don't know where to start.
I'm lost in my own thoughts when he speaks again. "Please, I need to know if I'm alone in this."
"Alone in what?" I ask.
"In this time loop. Am I the only one?"
I'm not sure how to answer.
"I've been trying to figure it all out," he continues. "Trying to understand. But I can't. I can't figure it out on my own. I know there's something else going on, something else in this loop. I know it! But I can't remember! I can't figure it out!" He makes a desperate noise and looks down at the floor, shaking his head.
"It's okay," I say. "Just take a deep breath."
"I just want to know if any of this has happened before. If there's someone else like me, trapped here again and again. I want to know if there's anyone else who's gone through this before and lived."
"It'll be okay," I say. "We'll figure it out." I know that's not true, but I don't know what else to say.
He looks up at me, eyes wide with desperation. "Please, help me," he says again. "Help me figure this out."
I stare at him, and then I realize what he's trying to tell me, what he needs me to say, what he's asking for. "You've been here before," I say.
His nod is the slightest movement.
"You've been here before," I say again.
"Yes," he says. "I've been here before."
"How many times?" I ask.
"I don't know," he says. "Too many."
"Do you know how it works?"
"No, but it has something to do with this building. With you." He looks up at me, his eyes wide with dread. "I'm going to die again," he says. "I'm going to die. And again. And again."
"But we'll figure it out," I say. "We'll get out of this. We'll get through this."
He shakes his head. "No, we won't. Not like this."
"I know we will," I say. "We'll figure out this time loop and we'll get you out of it."
"But we won't," he says. And then he says the words that scare me more than anything else could. The words that make the dread in the pit of my stomach turn into a black hole that sucks everything else into it. "I know the way." His voice is filled with darkness and despair.
"What do you mean?" I ask.
"I know the way out of this time loop. But I can't take you along with me."
"Why?" I ask, my voice hoarse.
"When we leave, it's just me, not you."
I stare at him in disbelief. "What?"
"I know the way," he says.
***
*For more stories check out r/greypuffin* | 58 | You're a time loop recovery counselor, helping survivors with their post-loop trauma. Your latest patient is your most difficult yet, as he's still trapped and you remember nothing between sessions. | 262 |
They call me Psychosis. The world's greatest supervillain. The world's most powerful super being. Trained by a family of assassin's who's power passed to every generation, or so they said. Blaming me for infecting minds and ending control of super powers.
But what do they know.
My story? Sure, why not. Someone needs to know after all.
Let's start with my powers. Or then again let's not. The real problem here is that I don't have any.
Oh, they'll tell stories of battles and loses, death and grief. But it wasn't me. Not really anyway.
Best I can tell is the universe just really likes me. No, seriously, don't laugh. It's like some cosmic force got up one morning and said, wouldn't it be hilarious if this guy just couldn't be touched by supernatural forces? Yeah? Let's do it! And bam, here I am.
My job? They'll tell you it's killing supers. It's not, that's an accident, mostly. You may wonder how someone can kill so many by accident but what choice did I have?
Have you ever known a super to casually walk up, say hi, let's get coffee and talk this over? Oh you didn't mean it? Sorry bout that bud.
No of course you haven't. They smash though a wall. Come slamming out of the sky in some weird kneeling pose with cracks in the ground and a peal of thunder. Maybe they're a ball of flame or a blur of speed but it's nearly always the same.
Ever wondered what happens to someone who slams out of the sky at mach speed and finds out at landing they don't have powers anymore? There's a preschool over in Ohio that can tell you. They can't tell you who paid for the therapy for those kids. Anonymous, that's my style.
Yes I know you don't believe I'd do that but why would you.
Cameras, cameras everywhere. I'm practically a star.
Somehow the world watches everything they try to do to me but since it fails, I'm the villain?
It's not like I chose to take the fire immunity away from the Torch. He wanted to burn me, I'd rather he just flamed-off instead of melting in front of me.
I didn't tell Freezia to skate through the sky on slides of ice. She could have stayed safe on the ground.
If Brawn was going to try throwing a mountain maybe he shouldn't have stood under it.
Maybe Gheist could have used a door instead of trying to phase through bricks.
You see don't you? I didn't kill them. They did. Using powers that stopped when they needed them most.
Or is it because I'm fat? You try grabbing a meal when your the most hated and feared man on the planet. I usually clean out a fast food joint and wallow in self pity while I eat enough for a family of 5.
Maybe it's the terrible clothes. I grabbed some random bits from a Halloween store. Least if I look the part people keep their distance. Don't need to add them to the body count if I can help it.
But now. Now I. I tried and I couldn't help it. So...
So I'm just hoping this camera survived what the people of...
I don't even know how far it got, but I'm hoping it's just this part of Los Angeles.
That wasn't an earthquake. That wasn't the big one it was just Seisma. Guess he thought taking the ground out from under me would do it. He must have needed powers to stop it once it started and, now it's too late.
Maybe just, coming out with the truth earlier would have stopped all this or maybe you won't even believe me but I can't take any more of, this.
This isn't the first time that innocent were lost because of me. I've spent a lifetime and more hiding and traveling, seeing the world over and over. If the cameras had been there maybe you'd already know but.
Hiroshima and Nagasaki weren't weapons tests. Two radioactive supers found me and, you know the rest.
Sichuan, Tambora, Tungaski, Vesuvius, Dadu, Haiyuan, Carolean, Banqiao.
You see fires and floods, eruptions, blizzards and avalanches. I see I list of supers.
It's... It's not a family of assassin's training through the ages. It's me. Just me. Here all this time because the real truth you need to hear and believe right now is this.
Death.
Death is a super. Older than I of course, but like any super he just can't harm me.
And so I live on through the ages no matter what but it's time I do something about all this loss.
So I'm asking, no, telling you. When you stand with that loved one who's time is coming, holding their hand and telling them you'll be together again soon.
Leave a darkness in that room, somewhere all can see. And as they pass, you stare into that darkness and tell the bastard Lazarus is coming for him. | 11 | You don't have superpowers, but luckily, superpowers have no effect on you, no matter how indirect. | 16 |
"Okay class. Today for your test, you will be making liquid fire. Open your textbooks to page 59, and follow the instructions. Begin!"
I hear a rustle of paper as everybody scrambles to open their textbook to page 59. I fumble with the pages before I manage to get my book open to that page. My heart sinks as I gaze at the steps. Stir in a Flaventinian fashion? Diced in the shape of a praxis? I vaguely remember Mrs. Banner teaching us about those. Yet those foggy shapes run away from me as soon as I try to catch them. Don't panic. One step at a time. Start from step one. I look at step one. Arctural compounds. Something I know. The icy claws of dread recede from my stomach. I rush over to the supply cabinet. Arctural compounds Arctural compounds... Where are they? On the shelf where they were supposed to be was a note. Oh no. Oh no. It read "make your own -Mrs. Banner" Shit. I'm going to fail. I'm actually going to fail. I'm going to have to retake this class like the failure I am. And all my friends are going to move on while I'm stuck in the beginners class. I wrack my brains as a cold, slithery feeling worms its way into my stomach. Arctural compounds are made of ice. That I know. But what sort of ice? How is it treated? I don't know any of that. I don't know what to do. Droplets of water prick the corners of my eyes. How embarrassing it would be to cry in front of my entire class. I fucked up. I really fucked up. I should have studied yesterday. And the day before. And the entire month before that.
"Twenty minutes left." Mrs. Banner's voice cut through the chaos of my mind. Twenty minutes. I have two options. Take the loss, or do random stuff and hope it doesn't explode. I don't have a choice. I'm taking the gamble. If it explodes, it explodes. I grab the first ingredient I see. Fly agaric. I grab ingredients from the shelves willy-nilly. I have no idea what I'm doing. All I know is I can't hand back an empty cauldron. I rush back to my station, boil some water, and throw some of the items into the pot. I stir desperately, praying that everything will mix together in time. The other ingredients, I chop up and add to the pot while stirring randomly. Seven rotations clockwise, six counterclockwise then back and forth for twenty seconds. I have no idea if this is going to work. I'm praying to all the science gods that it will. Please. Please. I'll take a 56. Just not failing. Please. I keep stirring, until suddenly my cauldron begins to smoke. Oh shit. Shit shit shit shit shit. Mrs. Banner sees the smoke and comes over. "Ayumi. What the *hell* is this?" I shrug. Mrs. Banner examines the bubbling liquid inside. It changes color. Mrs. Banner's eyes go wide. "EVERYBODY GET BACK!" She shouts and conjures a shielding spell around my cauldron. I guess the science gods didn't hear my prayers, because the cauldron explodes. The room is evacuated, and the test put on pause until Mrs. Banner can decide what to do with the utter safety hazard that is my potion. My classmates and I are waiting in the hall when Mrs. Banner calls me back in. Whispers and stares of "ooh you're in trouble" follow me.
When I walk into the lab, I immediatley notice my caudlron is a shining, gleaming gold. "How did you do this?" Mrs. Banner questions me. "You made the philosopher's stone. Whatever monstrosity you made, it turns whatever it touches into gold."
I stand there, shell shocked. "So, does that mean I passed?" I ask.
Mrs. Banner sighs. "No." | 87 | You’ve always been bad at science class. Like, embarrassingly bad. As such, it’s a bit hard to explain to your chemistry teacher how you accidentally made the Philosopher’s Stone in this week’s lab assignment. | 246 |
"Your kind are unworthy. Rejoice, as we cleanse you."
A voice rumbled across Earth, all hearing it at the same time. All understood its words, though the voice spoke only once. It was followed by tearing sounds, as the fabric of reality was ripped apart, great swirling portals taking form. From with each, a different race stepped.
The first came from a vortex of vibrant green and brown. Their bodies were thick and serpentine, made of rippling muscle. Each had four thick arms, adorned with metal coverings. Their heads were pointed, a wide mouth full of grinding teeth gleaming below small, deepest eyes.
They laughed as they moved their hands, manipulating the ground beneath. It split beneath any unfortunate to attract their presence, before closing them with crushing force. When shots were fired they made it into a wall. Once the fire depleted, that wall was sent forth to crush. In their mocking, were learned their name. The Tirra.
The seconds portal was a chaotic grey void. From within, fly-like beings flew forth. Their bodies were squat, with eight limbs topped with clawed appendages. Compound eyes sat below a pair of proboscises, twitching in the air. They introduced themselves as the Flagrus
They called howling winds to harry whoever was unfortunate to be in their way. A few drew amusement from ripping air from lungs, suffocating their victims. Others saw fit to push more in, until organs burst. As militaries turned on them, they would effortlessly dodge, unnatural bursts of speed preventing them from being touched.
Finally, the third had a seemingly calm blue portal. But from it came creatures that looked anything but calm. A dozen tentacles supported an oversized head. Five eyes were spaced evenly around its circumference, ever watching. Their colouration constantly changed, no two sporting the same pattern.
Those who fled to the sea found themselves dragged out into its depths. These monsters, the Proco, seemed to pity whoever they found. Such deaths were often quick but terrifying, as they forced water into any orifice. Bullets and missiles were swallowed by rising columns, taken below out of harms way.
Our world began to collapse. These beings were beyond anything we could have hoped to fight. They used our planet against us, slowly but surely stamping out our kind. But as hope died, a new emotion took its place. Anger. How dare they decide to destroy us. How dare they ruin our world.
Unbeknownst to both us and them, their arrival had begun a chain reaction. Power that had lain dormant rose. It was called by its equals. But it did not belong to them. It rose in our chests, excited by our anger.
The rage we felt went deep enough to connect to this power. The first came to was a group farmers, seeing their crops destroyed. They stared down the Tirra, and a silent voice asked if they wanted revenge. Without a single doubt they said yes. And from their fingers spurted the final element.
Fire consumed the destroyers, charring them to bone before they could comprehend what had happened. They took to the skies, murderous intent in their hearts. The Flagrus tried to deny them flight. But they used no air to support, but instead a roaring column of flame.
As they travelled, so too did the wave of pyromantic release. It swept the globe, giving all who yet lived it equal mastery. The hate in our bones fanned it, and we struck back at the invaders.
They screamed as we pushed back. The Tirra burned from their holes, rock to magma beneath them. The Flagrus were scorched from the sky, wings melted by our intense heat. The Porro were boiled alive, the water they surrounded themselves with proving to be their downfall.
We chased them back, scouring them from our planet. But it wasn't enough. Some of us stayed back, to rebuild what we had lost. But many chose to step through the portals, and lay waste to whatever they could.
The element master had sought to destroy us. But instead, they had made us into master of destruction. | 19 | The three rulers of the elements had allowed a holy crusade on earth, only to be shocked when the humans became the first fire elementals in the galaxy. | 18 |
##Defense of the Occult
The Magistrate stares at Helga with fire in his eyes. The townspeople shake with anticipation. Helga starts to cry. I cannot take it anymore.
"Objection." I stand and walk to the front of the room.
"Mr. Bruhl, please sit down. We understand the desire to protect your wife, but she has been convicted," the Magistrate says.
"Indeed, you are also most certainly bewitched you." The Inquisitor holds the witch finding book.
"She couldn't have bewitched me because I'm a witch," I say. The crowd gasps.
"Rudolf, what are you doing?" Helga asks.
"Saving you." I whisper to her. The crowd erupts in side conversations.
"Order," the Magistrate yells, "Mr. Bruhl, these are serious crimes that you are confessing."
"Indeed, but I am willing to take ownership of my actions."
"So you admit to dancing naked on the witches sabbath?" the Inquisitor asks.
"I did get drunk and dance naked last Tuesday." An elderly woman faints. "What? Don't judge me. Life is boring, and we all need to cut loose."
"You confess to signing a contract with the devil," the Inquisitor says. I pause for several seconds.
"Well, I'm not sure I can admit that."
"Why not?" the Magistrate asks.
"Because we're not supposed to speak ill of those who passed, and my mother-in-law has been dead for several years now." The audience roars at my comment. Even the Magistrate cracks a smile. The Inquisitor furiously pages through the book.
"Aha, it says here that witches have a mark on them. You must strip naked so we can find your mark." The room falls silent and stares at the Inquisitor.
"This seems like a no win situation. I'm on trial for stripping naked in private. Now, you wish for to strip naked in public to prove my innocent?" I ask. The audience snickers as the Inquisitor's face turns red. He pulls out a needle.
"The witch mark is impervious to pain. I'll poke you until you stop squealing." He pokes my arm slightly.
"Uh, was that supposed to hurt?"
"I found it. You're a witch." The Inquisitor dances in the middle of court. The Magistrate shakes his head.
"Calm down. Let me see that needle." The Magistrate takes it in his fingers and pricks himself. "That wasn't painful in the slightest. Let me see that book."
The Magistrate pages through it himself. "This is nonsense. This page recommends tossing a person in water with rocks attached. How would that solve anything?"
"Well, the water rejects the demonic-"
"And here, this one says a witch can't read the bible, pray, or be present on hallowed ground. I saw Mr. Bruhl in church last week. This book is nonsense."
"But sir, we need to find an explanation for crop failure."
"Bad luck." The Magistrate shrugs. "We've had worse years. I remember several when I was boy. We didn't go accusing people of witches then."
"But they were there. You just didn't-"
"Silence. If anyone is causing trouble, it's you. Case dismissed."
I grab Helga's arm. We spend the rest of the day partying and dancing with our friends. After the sunset, I take her to the lake.
"Thank you for that," Helga says.
"I couldn't let you die for my crimes," I reply.
"I didn't know you could cast such a powerful spell."
"That wasn't magic. That was shear persuasive ability." I hold Helga in my arms and start to fly. "It was also luck that the Inquisitor is an idiot."
---
r/AstroRideWrites | 15 | Your wife has been accused of being a witch, you knew something like this would have happened one day, but you simply cannot accept having her accused of your crimes | 26 |
Molraag was bored. His friend had dragged him into the forest for some one reason or another, he wasn't really listening. He didn't understand why his friend had him bring his travel bag if he was just going to be ignored the whole time. As soon as he could he slipped away to just wander around by himself. He watched as animals scattered at the sight of him, not that he felt like chasing them at the moment.
The tendrils on his back curled and waved to broadcast his boredom, a few snapping out to stab a tree or bush. They had minds of their own sometimes. He paused when he heard a sound that was unusual for this deep into the forest. Listening carefully, there was a short pause before he heard the sound again. Now confused, since that sound shouldn't be anywhere near this deep into the woods, he looks in that direction.
Eventually his curiosity won him over and he quietly stalked towards the sound. Closer and closer he crept, careful not to make a sound. Soon he came to a small clearing. That's where he spotted her, a small curled figure in the moonlight. She was softly crying, sniffling every now and then. His eyes trailed to the tiny mangled wings on her back held in odd angles, probably to keep the pain at bay.
Molraag hesitated but as much as it pains him to say, he can never handle a crying child. His peers call him weak because of it. He slowly left the brush, carefully approaching the child. Even his tendrils drooped and barely moved so as to not make him look even bigger. He winced and mentally cursed himself when he stepped on a large stick, loudly breaking it with his weight.
The little angel whipped her head up and stared at him with pure fear in her teary eyes. Sighing softly to himself, Molraag slowly lowered to sit on the ground in his spot. He kept his arms and tendrils in clear view so as to not look even more like a threat. She didn't relax much so he tried a different tactic.
Lowering his head, careful not to have his horns point towards her, he tried softly talking to her. His voice was very gravelly and gruff, so much so that even when as soft as he could make it it still sounded like a constant growl. She just shrank back at his voice, probablynot understanding what he was saying. Before he could think of another way to get her to relax, he heard the haunting howl of a demon on the hunt. He muttered a curse to himself and climbed to his clawed feet.
*"Sorry kid, but we gotta go."* Before she could react he lunged at her. She yelped and tried to scramble away but he had already scooped her up and was trotting the opposite direction of the howl. He pinned her to him, despite her pitiful struggles and wiggling. Eventually she wiggled enough to have one of her wings brush his arm, causing her to yelp and freeze from pain.
Molraag just sped up at that, needing to get somewhere safe before he could try to help her wings. He slowed to a stop after a while, carefully listening for anything out of place. He then set down the little angel, one tendril snaking around one of her ankles to keep her in place as he dug around his bag. He was now thankful he had enough mind to pack some bandages and medical tape. He grabbed a few sticks and made very rough braces for the small angel's wings. He had to pin her down with his tendrils so he could work without risk of hurting her more.
He let her go and checked her over for anything else needing a quick patch-up before they continued. He froze when he heard a growl behind him. It wasnf of a very brave predator either. That was a hunting demon's growl. The angel infront of him froze in fear, eyes blowing wide when she looked behind him. Molraag slowly turned his head to glance behind him. He saw the demon's glowing eyes. He curse when he recognized the eyes locked on the small angel. He then turned to face the other demon, returning the growl with a warning one of his own.
Only then did the eyes shift to him and narrow. He got a challenging growl in response. He shifted his stance, ready for the fight that is definitely coming. Molraag calmly spoke back to the young angel now behind him. *"Close your eyes, kid."* Despite not knowing what he said she seemed to get the idea and curled up again, hands covering her ears and face buried in her knees. Molraag was the first to lunge, starting the fight.
If he were completely honest with hismelf, instigating a fight with a demon being driven by hunting instinct wasnt the smartest move. He was thankful that he didn't have to kill them though. He drove them off and howled his victory to make sure they didn't loop back around. He then turned and trudged back to the kid. The poor thing was shaking with fear and pressing her hands to her ears as hard as she could.
Molraag gently patted her head, careful not to prick her with his claws. He was exhausted, tendrils not even being able to lift off the ground, but knew they weren't safe yet. Not by a long shot. She slowly lifted her head to look at his battered and beatened face. He gave her a weak smile. He tossed his head to tell her to follow along as he started walking.
He heard her stay in place for a few second before getting to her feet and trotting up to walk next to him. He didn't even glance down at her, not wanting to scare her again with his predatory eyes. He forgot that when he felt her wrap her small hand around one of his clawed fingers. He stared down at her, shocked. She nervously smiled up at him.
'This kid is mine now. I wont let anyone hurt her again. Not while I live.' | 12 | A demon finds a young angel with mangled wings. The child can’t fly and will surely be killed by another other demon who finds them. The demon takes the small Angel in despite their protests. Or, they may have been the one to hurt their wings. | 25 |
Part 1/2
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They called it many things. ‘Arcadious Tower’, others named it ‘The Mad Mages Magic Maguffin’. For the greedy, it was named a treasure trove. But in the years following the death of the arch-mage who created the structure, it garnered one title above all others. A graveyard because all who approached knew only certain death.
At first, it was thought that it was the strength of the scavengers that were the problem. Many enchantments and curses can kill those of insufficient power with ease. Only when a group of highly skilled warriors and mages joined forces did they discover the reason for the failures.
A golem the likes of which no one had ever encountered before. No books recorded a similar existence. A skinny stone statue animated to act in defence of the tower. Word of this creature spread, and many more went to the tower. Some to research it, and others to test their mettle against it. Very few of these fools survived.
So the tower passed from common knowledge into local legend. All knew to avoid it. All just accepted it as a part of the terrain. A forbidden place. But the problem arose on a stormy night. The air was thick with rain, and only the flash of lightning would illuminate the way.
Ferdinand was pressing on regardless of the downpour. He had just finished a simple herb-gathering request and knew that the apothecary needed them to concoct medicine for many sick villagers. Taking shelter under a tree, he caught his breath, hoping for some real respite. That is when the lightning flashed down. Like a beacon, the tower lit up, revealing itself to him.
Now he had, of course, heard the stories of the Tower of the Dead. But put it down to old-wives-tales. The sort to scare children into behaving. A sort of ‘if you don’t behave, I’ll leave you at the tower’. But in his desperation, any thought of these stories was far from his mind.
Racing up the path, he reached the door and began banging his fist against the weathered wood of the door. BANG-BANG-BANG. There was no reply.
“PLEASE, I MEAN NO ILL WILL. I WISH ONLY TO SHELTER FROM THE STORM!!” His words were almost drowned out by the wind lashing at the walls. Again he struck his fist against the door. BANG-BANG-BANG. Finally, a response, the door creaked open. Staggering in, Ferdinand removed his soaked cloak and shook off the excess water stuck to him.
“I thank you for your hospitality…” his voice trailed off as he looked to the door to find no one standing there. The door itself began to close on its own. With a resounding crack, the bolts all slid in place.
“An enchanted door… or a haunted tower,” a small chuckle escaped his lips at the very thought. Folding his soaked cloak by the door so as not to ruin the flooring, Ferdinand stepped into the first-floor room.
Along the walls were bookcases filled top to bottom with tomes of all colours. The only break in the shelves was displayed swords crossed behind a shield. Ferdinand instinctively lowered his head. He knew books were very expensive, and to have a collection of this size typically meant his host was a noble.
“I’d like to offer my thanks to the master of the house.” No reply came. “It is rather crazy outside, so I shan’t intrude too long, hopefully.” Again no reply. “May I request a towel of some kind? While I don’t mind stripping, I would prefer some dignity.” he scratched behind his ear bashfully.
A loud Thud boomed above him. Then another and another; it was getting closer. Turning his gaze to the source, Ferdinand could see a marble statue walking down the stairs holding a bundle of cloth. He watched, mesmerised, as it approached him and held out the cloth he could now see was a towel.
“Thank you, sir.”
Taking all but his underclothes off, Ferdinand began drying himself. Sitting near the fire, he rubbed his hands and held them out. Absorbing the warmth into his very being.
“Nice place you got here. Must’ve cost a pretty penny.” Ferdinand turned his gaze to the statue that did not move.
“May I ask where the master of this place is?” The statue pointed a finger upwards.
“On an upper floor?” the statue nodded. “Will he come to see me?” the statue, this time, shook its head.
“Ah… I understand I am a commoner no need to dirty his presence…” Ferdinand lowered his head dejectedly. He had wanted to thank his saviour. Looking back up, he could see the statue shaking his head.
“Is it that he is unable to come down to see me?” the statue nodded.
“May I go up to offer my thanks?” the statue nodded and gestured for Ferdinand to follow.
They climbed the first flight of stairs and came to a floor that appeared to be a laboratory. However, the beakers and flasks were all silent. Climbing the second floor, Ferdinand could see racks of weapons. Even his novice eye could see these were master-class weapons. Some even faintly glowed with enchantments. Climbing the final flight, Ferdinand found a large stately bed with curtains drawn shut.
“Sir, I am but a humble adventurer named Ferdinand. I have come to offer my deepest gratitude for allowing me shelter.” Ferdinand bowed his head. The only reply was the steady thuds of the statue's footsteps as it approached the bed's curtains. With a reverent motion, it drew them back. | 110 | For a generation, the dead wizard's tower laid unclaimed. A mighty golem repelled all who would scavenge. One cold winter night, a young traveller approached seeking shelter from the storm, ignorant of the danger, yet was allowed in without a fight. | 198 |
"Your grace. Your GRAAAACE!" A woman's panicked voice rang out down the corridor during the night. Hurried footsteps echoed in the halls, and many a curious head peeked from darkened doorways. The king and queen were fast asleep, only to be jolted awake by the noise. The sleepy king and queen made their way to the door. "What is it Lottie? 'Tis still dark!" The king grumbled, debating on having her fired for disturbing his slumber. The woman nearly doubled over, panting, before she spoke. "The prince is gone! I sent the wee lad to bed, awoke to a cacophony o' things breakin' to find his bed empty and a dragon carryin' 'im away!" she said, a look of abject horror on her face.
The king looked to his queen, who nearly fainted from the news. "Send the guard! Find him and free him from this tyrant dragon's clutches. Go! Tell the guard!" The king barked. The woman nodded, and ran to where the night's rested. "Wake up ye sleepy lot! The prince has been stolen from his bedchambers by a dragon! We need all to rescue him! Get up!" She yelled. The order sent, the knights began to assemble, and awaited further orders from the king.
Meanwhile, the lad of about ten, was being carried off in his bedsheets. The cold wind chilled him, and he had not a clue where he was headed. They flew for what felt like hours before they landed. The dragon was surprisingly gentle for what he heard of them. But it did not eliminate his fear. Once free, he would stumble back away, a horrified look upon his face. He had no weapon, but most assuredly staying alive was on his agenda. he hid behind a grate stalagmite. The dragon let out a low bellow before her voice entered his mind. "Fear not, child. I won't hurt you." She said, the voice warm and motherly in his mind.
"Y-you've stolen me away! Why would you do that, if not t-to roast and eat me?!" The boy said, terror in his stuttering tones. "Ah my boy...you're merely a pawn for my scheming. Your war with the country opposite has ravaged my hills, and I wish to make a treaty to have my land untouched. Therefore, by stealing the king's only son, I have guaranteed an audience." Her voice echoed, the sweet tone filled with a bit of venom now. "A-And how are you going to do that?!" The boy asked. "You're going to write letters. And I will use my magic to deliver them. Over time, we will come to an accord, and you will be set free. However, should the king fail to come to an accord in...oh let's say, a decade's time, I shall make feast of you. Try to escape, and I will bind you so you cannot. Am I understood, boy?" Her voice resonated. he gulped nervously. "Y-yes!" He said, his voice coming out in an almost whispered squeak.
For years, it went back and forth this way. The prince would send letters in a flame that would linger until an answer was returned. The king was too prideful to stop his war; he even sent soldiers, which were quickly dispatched. After eight years, the prince was beginning to lose hope. He had grown strong, was taught the ways of the world, read the ancient books the dragon hoarded away. She was more a mother to him than his own had ever been. Then one day, something unexpected happened.
A knight, clad in armor he didn't recognize, had managed to somehow get into the dragon's lair. Wordless, they freed the prince, and carried him to a gallant horse, which they road down the mountain. The prince was baffled. Had his father finally conceded? "Thank you, sir knight for rescuing me!" he said. The knight once they were a fair distance away and hidden, removed the helmet. A ponytail with golden curls fell out of it. A woman looked back at him. Blue eyes, a radiant smile, slight freckles, and a rebellious soul. He recognized her, surprisingly, as the daughter of the kingdom with which they had a quarrel. "It's Princess Edoina. Nice to see you again, Prince Elric. I came to free you, and also tell you as soon as we get back to my kingdom, your father wishes to have us wed to end the war. I had to rescue you, my betrothed." She said.
The prince was embarrassed. When they returned to her kingdom, they were welcomed back. The king and queen greeted their son, and the king of the other land greeted his future son-in law. The dragon was there, in a human form, with treaties for both parties to sign. One that would cease the fighting between the kingdoms, the other that both kingdoms and their descendants were to never set foot on her mountain again. That was the compromise they made. The treaties were signed, the prince and his princess were married, the lands joined, and the mountains of the great dragon left alone until the end of time, for her and her descendants. | 11 | Everyone know what to do whenever a princess is captured by a dragon. Things become more complicated when a prince gets captured. | 42 |
I opened the alert on my phone "The UK has disappeared from existence"
Strange. I was in the UK and was still, as far as I could tell, existing.
"Late last night Parliament held a debate meant to overturn Brexit and return the UK to the EU..."
Hm, I think I saw something about that the other day on the news, but what did that have to do with disappearing from existence?
"Conversation took a radical turn when a member of the Reform UK party stated 'You know what I say to this bullocks? I don't think Brexit went far enough! Of course the great UK shouldn't be held to the rules of the bloody EU, but we shouldn't be beholden to bloody reality either!'"
Oh please no.
"Shortly thereafter, Parliament voted by a large majority that the UK would secede from reality. The UK has since been sucked through a vortex out of reality as we know it. The current PM has resigned in disgrace"
"Bloody hell" I muttered and looked out of my window, no stars or moon in the sky, no sun. I finished reading the article.
"Questions remain about the Irish border" | 279 | The UK has disappeared from existence. | 368 |
"So that's what you're planning, is it?" asks Mephimsolephes, his eyes glowing from within the inward-aligned circle.
"And it'll *work*," I say. "I just have to get the alignment right, and all demons will be evacuated from the Earth before their summonings can take hold. The tyranny of your kind will no longer hold sway over -"
"You're not the first."
"- humanity, who will be - what?"
"You're not the first to think of that. You're not the first to *do* it, even. But you'll regret it."
"Ah, is this the part where you threaten me? You know it'll work as well as I do."
"Oh, sure, it'll *work*. But without demons, humanity won't survive."
"Oh, please. Don't try your baseless pronouncements of doom on me. Humanity can manage perfectly well without demons."
"Really? Then where are the people from Saturn?"
"...what?"
"Saturn. Nice place. Good for a visit. Until some *bozo* went and set up a salt ring around the planet. I haven't been there in, oh, *centuries* at least."
"Saturn -"
"Do they still have the little corner cafe that made those tl'grk with little umbrellas in them? Seriously, that place was the best. One of the previous owners summoned me to make sure that the business survived, so I gave them an infernally tasty recipe. *Very* unhealthy, but oh so *tasty*."
"There's - it's not an inhabited planet!"
"Ah, yes." The demon nods. "That's what happens, when you try to build civilisation without demons." | 42 | Clearly, the best way to stop all demonic incursion on earth is to summon a demon and ask it to give you extreme wealth, and then use that wealth to extract all salt from earth to form a ring system in earth’s orbit. | 117 |
The two lovers kissed each other passionately the moment they met, glad that they were once again able to meet despite the best efforts of their disgruntled parents.
"Your mom give you trouble?" the boy asked.
"Of course she did! Went on another rant about 'Fraternizing with the spawn of that sanctimonious bastard' and all that," the girl replied.
"She called me 'spawn'?" the boy laughed. The girl chuckled back. "Dad was the same. How you'd corrupt me, bewitch me with your..." he said and gently ran his fingers through her hair "villainous wiles."
"How do you know I didn't do *exactly* that?" she smirked.
"How do *you* know I'm not wearing a wire for the FBI right now?" he fired back. The two laughed and went on their walk.
Ice cream, fresh summer air, a playful offer of robbing a bank, looking at ducks... it was a perfect afternoon. The two found themselves at a bench, watching the park's serene lake.
"What does your dad say about my mom anyway?" the girl asked suddenly.
"Oh, you know. Supervillain, breaks the law, holds no regard for safety..."
"That's... that's not even remotely-" the girl protested.
"I know, but you have to admit..." the boy shrugged. The girl lowered her head.
"I know," she said. "Her relationship with the law is..." she motioned her hand, "*tenuous*, shall we say, but she's... she's not a bad person you know? She never hurt anyone. *Ever*. And she pays for the damages she causes. Indirectly. Usually."
"You're telling me. People think my dad is some boy scout but he ain't all good either. He throws a car at a bad guy and doesn't even bother exchanging insurance."
"Why does she do it anyway?" the boy asked. "I mean, not like she robs the banks for money. You guys are loaded."
"You know last month? First National?" the girl asked. The boy nodded; a great battle between their parents ensued. Media coverage was through the roof.
"She shouldn't have gotten in. The bank manager skimmed on security. City hall knew but profited off of it as well. She tried showing it, how broken the security system was, but..."
"Not in the best of ways," he finished the sentence for her. "And my dad had to fight her."
The two shared the somber moment in quiet reflection.
"Say..." the boy started, "if your mom is a 'villain' but not really all bad, and if my dad is a 'hero' but not really all good... what does that make us?"
She smiled and looked him in the eyes.
"Normal." | 1,220 | You are the child of a superhero and your boyfriend/girlfriend is the child of their nemesis. Both your parent and theirs are furious at both of you for dating, but the two of you think that your parents feud is just stupid. | 3,675 |
"Why should the galaxy take you humans as anything more than sentient pets?" Asked representative Golg of the Tivian Confederation.
I stood in the center of the grand council room filled to the brim with representatives from across the galaxy, all murmuring about the demands I had levied to them.
"Because failure to do so will result in all humans returning to human controlled space, the end of all trade deals, and the beginning of a new cold war." I declared flatly.
This caused a few representatives to gasp and others to burst out in either laughter or anger. Representative Zintak of the Talmat Empire held her hand in the air to try and get the others to compose themselves. Once they had, she turned her gaze to me.
"Ambassador Smith, why would you risk causing the collapse of your economy, overpopulation and war?" She asked softly, which caught me off guard.
From all reports the Talmat Empire was relatively isolationist and rarely even spoke in these meetings.
"We are completely self sufficient economically, though we will take a blow, we can easily recover, and we won't suffer from overpopulation because we have plenty of planets that have yet to be entirely colonized. As for war, YOU are the only potential equal to us." I stated.
This earned more outcries but I ignored them and continued.
"Currently it is the Terran Expeditionary Force that patrols the hyperlanes and deals with piracy and terrorism. Most members of the council do not have the capacity to wage a real war. The only other nations that do, are the Talmat, Tivian, and Gorgog." I said with confidence.
This seemed to put Zintak into deep thought as the room went quiet. Finally, representative Qutarak of the Gorgog slammed his hand against the table.
"YOU DARE THREATEN THE GALACTIC COUNCIL, you wish not to be treated like pets, fine, you will be treated as SLAVES WHEN OUR ARMADA RAINS FIRE UPON THAT POOR EXCUSE OF A PLANET YOU CALL EARTH!" He screeched as he left his seat and began to stalk towards me, obviously wanting to make me the first casualty.
"REPRESENTATIVE!", Zintak shouted bearing her fangs, "No declaration of war has been issued, and if you intend to declare war yourself, then be prepared to fight us as well." She declared, standing, with a snarl.
"TRAITOROUS FILTH!" Qutarak shouted back.
"No, because until this meeting is over, ALL treaties are considered active, that includes the mutual defence treaty we signed with the Talmat Empire when we first made contact with the council." I clarified, which only enraged Qutarak further.
"And seeing that we have caused harm to our ally in a way we did not intend, we will be rectifying our mistakes in the hopes of keeping that alliance." Zintak declared, her tone softer but with a noticeable edge to it.
Eventually the majority of the Representatives agreed, and those who didn't were cut off from any trade or military support from the TEF and Talmat Imperial Navy. After the meeting I decided to ask Zintak to share a drink. Imagine my surprise when I wake up the next day in her quarters with her curled up to me, with a cute little content look on her face.... Yeah, that was a very nice diplomatic incidents, and one that occured again and again........ and again. | 268 | You are Humanity's Ambassador to the Galactic Council. Other Aliens had treated humans like cute pets until now and are amused when you demand to be taken seriously. | 651 |
The Star Tzar was a stupid title and Daniel would die on this hill. He didn’t see why he had to accompany this bloated halfwit to the Collective. This man could make all of his mistakes on his own. War and offence be damned.
But apparently the Collective said he needed an escort who could speak Col Standard. Daniel only learned it as they ended up venturing into the Core when they needed pretty basic things like food and oxygen and a map. Turns out there are parts of the Galaxy so thick that you can’t see the stars which the Astronavigation experts didn’t program that into their single point Quasar, three point Pulsar navigation system. So once we got to the nebula, it shut off and beeped every three minutes. It was either go mad trying to sleep, or learn something while going mad. He’d gotten to know the locals, which was fun.
Here Daniel was three years later. With first through a few dozen contact made, humanity had sent out diplomats rather than military or scientists.
Daniel stepped through the door that seemed to undo itself like a zip and retreat into the walls; smooth red metals and other unidentifiable materials in the corridor opened up into a large atrium full of beings of all shapes and sizes on one side of the red room. It would have been overwhelming to see beings made of crystal hovering next to what he’d have to call Space Whales, next to glowing green orbs and other things that stretched the mind. Daniel had his freakout when venturing into the Core, and entering a city made of glass hanging underneath an impossibly old space station.
The Startzar didn’t hide surprise well. He looked around with shock and awe, spending several seconds looking at slim women made of fire. The fire beings moved and talked to each other.
A sleek metallic humanoid, made to make the human representatives feel more comfortable descended from the mouth of the whale overhead; from here the whale shimmered also made of the same metal. The metallic man landed and bowed.
“I am Adjunct. I am the representative you will be dealing with today. I have been suited with your every desire.” He said in perfect English.
“Excellent. I am Baron Jute Wilson Petre of the County of Essex. I am the elected Startzar who you will be dealing with today.” The Tzar didn’t bow, or even seem to look at the representative while talking, and kept looking around the room, as if presenting to someone else.
“Thank you Baron Jute Wilson Petre of the County of Essex. It is a pleasure to meet you.” Adjunct extended a hand.
“You may call me Baron Petre.” he looked at the hand for a moment before shaking it. “Are you a real person?”
Daniel winced. He had tried to explain to the Tzar earlier that the whole concept of life was taken differently in the universe and they had a much broader definition of what they counted as alive. The Tzar seemed to have only taken in that elders existed, and they created other life, which they Tzar took to mean branch families and underlings.
“I am created for this function and then all I am and know will be distributed to the Reposant.” The Adjunct said.
“So you’ll die?” The Tzar looked almost amused by this.
“Die?” The Adjunct seemed to pause a moment while either thinking or referencing something. “No. I will remain living as part of the Reposant collective, until my program or material is required again, or it is adjusted for another purpose. I am eternal.”
“But you don’t be here anymore? You’ll be taken apart, and will not exist?” The Tzar asked, leaning in slightly.
“Yes and No. You seem to have a very binary definition of life and death that is generally not shared by the wider galaxy. When the Baron of Petre dies, is there no more Baron of Petre?” The adjunct tilted it’s head slightly, in a move Daniel recognised as his own. It was copying him from the previous interactions he’d have with Adjuncts? Is that where they learned English from? Is that why he couldn’t pick up an accent?
“The title of Baron would pass to my Son and heir, Peter.” He said as if this explained everything. Did this man really name his son Peter Petre?
“Yes. And that will live on down the line, carrying on with your experience and influence.” The Adjunct folded its arms.
“That’s not the same though. Life happens, and then it doesn't and consciousness does away. Your soul leaves. You are no more.” The Tzar had clearly got into this topic and wasn’t going to let it go, no matter if this was a diplomatic meeting and there were hundreds of beings watching.
“But it is. As a 4 dimensional being your influence still happened at an exact moment in time, and continued for that period. Everything is always happening at the same time. All of time is occurring along the same line. Right now I am meeting Daniel for the first time.” The Adjunct looked at Daniel “Hello, it is nice to meet you again.”
This felt like a move to get everything back on track. Sadly Daniel knew the Tzar.
“Wait a minute. This will not do. Yes, I exist as the Baron for a specific period, and then I will die, but what matters is who the Baron is right now.”
The Adjunct looked at Daniel for a few more seconds before turning back to the Tzar “No. What matters is the collective events over the course of a life. Every specific events of the past influence the future for humans.”
“For humans. You mean it doesn’t for you? You can see the future?” The Tzar was getting annoyed.
“Even humans know time is a thing that flows and can be stretched and woven. But I see this was a mistake. We will do this again.” The Adjunct reached out to Daniel.
“What?” the Tzar blustered
Everything went white.
The Startzar was a stupid title and Daniel would die on this hill.
Wait he’d done this already.
A metal humanoid floated through a wall with a zip showing for a second, before disappearing ahead of them.
“Hello. I am Adjunct. I am here to greet you.” The adjunct moved to the wall on the left “Please follow me.”
And they started to lead the Tzar away down a different corridor zip that opened into a blue room with what looked like comfortable chairs.
Another Adjunct appeared in front of Daniel “Sorry about that. We know how our version of time can be disorientating. I hope that was not too off putting for you.”
Daniel watched the door beside them close and the Tzar disappear “No. Not at all. I honestly don’t know why I was told to bring an elected Tzar to meet you.”
The Adjunct tilted again slightly “From the context is Tzar an insulting title? It is not a commonly used word in our references, and doesn’t seem to fit in context”
Laughing Daniel replied “Yes. Yes it is.”
The Adjunct moved alongside Daniel “Are you prepared to present to the galaxy instead of the Baron Petre?”
Daniel realised why he was on this mission. “So how badly did it go last run through?”
“Humans do not talk their diplomats being extracted to better understand them and their thoughts and reasoning as well as the Collective assumed. They called it an execution” The Adjunct said as they walked into the large room again.
“Yes. We don’t take dying well. Sorry about that.” Daniel looked around, allowing the awe to fill him for a moment “So you know, my bosses also wouldn’t take time travel well and would consider it not acting in good faith.”
The Adjunct looked up a moment “Noted. But you have no issue?”
“Not really. Just you know. Don’t kill us.” Daniel laughed.
The Adjunct looked at Daniel with what felt like sadness, Daniel reminded himself there was no emotion behind these specific eyes “We’d rather remove the ability for you to die, but sadly we don’t think you’re there yet.”
Daniel nodded.
A chair and table appeared in the middle of the room. They both sat down. | 19 | As it turns out, "Death" as a concept only really exists on earth, and now as humanity begins venturing the stars, we find out for the first time. | 49 |
The boy sat at the table, shifting nervously. He had been made promises. He had done the deed for which he was called to this world and was meant to be able to return home. But it seems fate had more in store for him.
A door opened, and in walked one of the evil overlord’s guardians. He was no doubt humiliated by his failure. The boy was ready for the beat down and execution.
“Good Morning, I am Special Agent Dr Smithson. But feel free to call me Hank.” the agent sat across the table from the boy.
“May I have your name?” the boy saw no reason to offer it.
“I am the third son of Viscount Heathcliffe, from the Kingdom of Soratania.” the boy puffed his chest with pride.
“Is there a name that comes with that title?” the agent appears unimpressed.
“Michael…” the boy lowered his head, restraining his emotions for the humiliation.
“Thank you, Michael. Now, do you know why you are here?” the agent asked.
“Because I failed to escape from your evil clutches after I vanquished your evil overlord.” Michael watched the agent scribble notes down on a pad of paper.
“Indeed. Let’s go into that. How did this all start?” the agent's words held no malice, only genuine curiosity.
“I was living freely in my domain, aiding my elder brothers manage the domain for our father when a large runaway cart struck me.”
“Sounds upsetting.” the agent observed, to which Michael nodded.
“When I came to, I found myself in a room with so much metal it could’ve supplied our entire domain's private military. Their wizards in white coats told me they had called a hero here to slay an evil overlord.”
“Yes, the Varis-group.” the agent nodded, taking further notes. “Tell me what happened next?”
“I, bereft of my magic but not my sword arm, began practising your world's combat. Your magic staves that launch solid projectiles were most fascinating. Following this training, the wizards placed me in a position to eliminate the evil overlord. Ha ha ha, I must say you guardians failed most spectacularly.”
The agent grimaced at the statement. “Yes, we sadly did. Both at detecting the threat and failing one such as yourself.” with those words, the agent rose and left the room.
Behind the two-way mirror on the interrogation room wall, the agent entered, meeting a few officials.
“Your diagnosis, Doctor?” one of the officials asked.
“The boy seems relatively detached from reality. Imagining a new fantasy world from which he can become the hero of his narrative. It saddens me that the Varis-group did this to a sick young man for something so petty as funding being cut.” the agent looked through the window at the boy.
“So is he culpable?” another official asked.
“I’d say no. He can’t distinguish reality from fiction. I’d suggest we institutionalise him for a while to try to stabilise him. Failing that, I strongly suggest an insanity plea.”
A few of the officials nodded as they gazed at the boy who claimed to be from another world. One amongst their number had seen a few of the research notes of the Varis-group and knew they were dabbling in dimensional technology. But Occam's razor dictated the simplest solution. | 22 | A young boy from a fantasy world with RPG elements gets hit by a carriage and dies. After death, he is transported into our world as the chosen one, destined to kill the corrupt president and restore order to the world. In other words, Reverse Iseikai | 107 |
Angels fall pretty often, more than those in Heaven like to admit. Luckily, there are always more fledglings to 'learn' from their mistakes. A baby angel is ready to join the platoon for every adult angel that falls. However, the same can't be said for our demons. From day one when I joined the legion, I've learned that Purification was seen as an impossible process. With how much sin there is in the world, there isn't much room to really help humanity.
In spite of this though, why was it I so easily lost markings? I wasn't anyone special, not a demon prince, king, or even a noble. I was your average demon, mid-ranking in my legion and with okay ratings. I took care of small summons that just wasn't fanciful enough for the ones in high positions to take. Ones that amateurs did, or those just looking for two more inches under the belt.
But as I walked through Hell, the stares were getting more obvious. As was how I didn't have as long of horns anymore, and how my stripes were fading, or the fact my tail was missing. Lately, one client kept calling me back to the mortal realm, having bonded me to her. And I can only describe her as a 'pure soul'. New to the world, having not reincarnated once, and full of so much hope.
What started as a simple curiosity on her part, turned into her wanting to sell what she had to help out her family in a bad situation. Giving up parts of herself slowly to help those she cared about. I watched her give up her looks and have it to where he parents won their bankruptcy case; so that they didn't have to worry about crippling medical debt from when her brother had cancer. She asked me once, in exchange for a few years from her life, to make it to where her dad didn't suffer from his bad back and knees, that his surgery for them was paid for and a success. There were others, but the last thing she asked me for, after finding true love after so long of being called 'ugly', makes me feel ill. And she asked me again, in exchange for her soul, that the family she had would have their needs met and always make smart choices.
I granted these wishes, one after another, and tried my best not to tear up at the last one. This little girl I met at barely 15 had more compassion than any human I had seen before. She cared not for what happened to her, only that those coming after her would never suffer the childhood she did. And this pure soul, this woman was going to end up in Hell. It wasn't fair, the system never was.
There is a loophole though, once of which I plan to use and exploit.
Her soul is mine, contracted to me along with everything else she ever gave me in life. That is the one thing that is clear, the demon who makes the contract, keeps the soul. No matter if other demons want it. Soul are often traded this way too. But I don't plan on trading her. I wear these missing markings with pride. I'll seek out to help anyone now, I'm pickier with the contracts than before. And as my back aches every day with the feeling of the feathers below the surface, I welcome the pain.
I will take her soul with me the Heaven, I'll trade the others that were truly sinful to stay here. I'm seeking out those who were unfairly put here to trade for. I'll see to it this woman, and others, get their paradise. And I'll make sure the things I promised to stay in place for all she's given up remain. Screw the system that this God put in place. She deserves the world, and I'll give her that and more. | 448 | An angel’s wings lose feathers with every malevolent wish they grant. Once their feathers exhaust, they are considered a “fallen angel,” and are unable to visit Heaven from then on. As for demons, they lose body markings for every benevolent task they do, in a process called “purification.” | 1,186 |
"No," I begin, "I didn't." I lie. The first Galactic Court of Intrigue and Human Deciet erupted into chaos.
When I was young I had asthma. Running around caused my chest to tighten and my breathing to hitch and weeze. You'd think someone like me would avoid classes like P.E. like a room full of dust and pollen... But I didn't.
This was for one reason alone, I had no issue with lying in a game to win. Mind you I played within the boundary of the rules, I simply lied about what rules I was adhering to in the moment. For example, in my school's version of dodgeball one could pass five feet over the centerline into the enemy team's side to get closer before throwing. Being viewed as an invalid meant no one paid attention to me. So, I would walk to the center line, turn around, walk backwards five feet into enemy territory and wait. Then when one of the jocks who so loved to throw the ball as hard as they could at my face at the end of games came haplessly running in front of me I would gently toss the ball at their back and run gleefully past them, giggling all the while.
Then the biggest, dumbest, meatheads the galaxy had ever produced came wandering into my team's court. They bombarded us from orbit for a decade. Cities burned, a billion starved, and our cultures were ripped from us before we ever saw even a glimpse of our attackers. They came to us in the guise of multilimbed chitinous angels, come to give us the stability we always desired. And you know the worst part? They really believed it. They burned us for a decade straight, I had to live in a forest eating mushrooms and rabbits, my daughter died of a tooth infection, my wife committed suicide, and my brother went mad, and the things that did it came to me offering grace and guidance.
I was meant to die that day, together with my wife. We had both taken the poison cap of a deadly mushroom and settled down to die to meet our daughter wherever she was. I woke up, she did not. I took it as a sign to join my mad brother in his insane vengeance quest. He had crafted a bomb, one of incredible strength that would fit in a suitcase and he begged me endlessly to use it, so I may die in a glorious blaze that he could not. In the first bombardments a piece of shrapnel had torn through his neck leaving him with only partial movement in his right arm. I had denied him his request, choosing hope with my family.
So I stood, after years of traveling, at the galactic center with Sagittarius A in sight, where all interstellar traffic was directed standing there as the main ambassador of all humanity with a bomb in my suitcase powerful enough to crack a planet. Of course they had billions of failsafes, this explosion would be a blip in their billion year long history. But as I stood there, now thirty years since the death of human independence I realized I did not need to die here. I could become more than a martyr, I could become a spearhead ready to thrust again. So I primed my bomb, knowing it would kill humans as well as our chitinous oppressors, and I walked away. I hopped onto the next FTL ship towards the eastern galactic plane and I kept my eyes pointedly averted from the galactic center as a supernova erupted behind me. I resist smiling, I resist reacting, I lie as I have all these years with my face as I have with my words.
"So," the bug on the parapet chitters at me through its rough translation devices, "You're telling me this image of you next to the briefcase that detonated the main carrier planet is not you?" The bugs had become wary of human lies though they were far from understanding the nuances of fibbing.
"No," I lie again, "May I approach the screen, I believe I can prove my innocence quite easily." I say. They allow me and I approach the flickering screen, "It would seem you Kin have learned more of the art of lying from humans than you've let on. Do you see here?" I point at a small green flicker that was made as the footage of my arm moving created artifacts across the screen, "this is a clear sign of a holographic disguise," I say, drawing from the conspiracy theories that caused so much chaos in my youth before the real hell began, "I suspect this is a Kin from a new enemy hive."
The court exploded into chaos "A new enemy hive? There hasn't been a new hive in a hundred thousand years!" I hear the judge rasp at me over the chittering chaos.
I have them, it's so hard not to smile. I feel myself become that which fate made me to be, a needle full of human evil set against the soft underbelly skin of the Kin, ready to push. "So the enemy hive would have you believe. I've had my suspicions for many years that another hive was about but I kept my mouth shut because I was told time and again that there was only one hive. But I saw it from time to time, a difference in the gait of one Kin's walk, a warbling in their chitter, patterns on the chitin that seemed different from the rest. Yes, I have no doubt in my mind. There is a new hive among you plotting your destruction."
"How?" The judge asked, "Our chemical signatures allow us to know who is Kin and who is not! We would know if there was a new hive among us!" The room was stiring, the iron was hot.
"Have you not heard of evolution?" I ask, "unfortunately it doesn't always go forward, it's been, as you said, a hundred thousand years since a new hive has appeared! Clearly you have lost your ability to sense foreign chemical signatures!"
The court room exploded. I could see the paranoia blooming like mold behind their eyes, who among them was a liar and a terrorist? Who was here to replace them? I wondered to myself, how long it would be before the first wars and genocides began. I wondered to myself if it was really a genocide if all they killed were themselves, it never stopped humans in the past though. The judge tried to keep order but it was too late.
I waited for the right moment, I looked through the crowd for a rational Kin, one who was alone and meek, one with maybe slightly differing patterns on its shell. I spotted one, alone trying to separate from the crushing mass of near rioting Kin and I pointed and I bellowed "That one! Why do they separate themselves? And look at the patterns on its shell!"
They turned on the Kin in an instant, ripping it to shreds as it begged for mercy. It was then I knew I had planted a poison far more dangerous than any bomb. If the Kin would not let humanity enjoy the best of our cultures freely, then I will chain the worst of it to them for eternity. Hate.
I hate them.
Hate.
Hate.
Hate. | 154 | Humans are the only species capable of lying & subterfuge. After the solar system is invaded by the powerful Galactic Syndicate, humans, woefully behind on technological advancement, find their only choice is to lie, cheat and steal their way into freedom. | 360 |
"Wait... you're a mage!?" the man exasperatedly shouted as he stumbled to his feet after getting sizzled by a bolt of lightning from the woman's index finger.
"This is not what I signed up for and quite frankly, I'm thinking the contract isn't worth it at this point," he muttered under his breath. Nonetheless, Aron rose to his feet and gripped his sword in his right hand as he assumed a more defensive stance, now more wary at what other spellcasting shenanigans she might conjure next.
Given the laws of magic in the universe, it wasn't unreasonable to rule out Elina's ability to cast magic in an area devoid of any spellcasting Symbols. You see, over the past thousand years, it was discovered that certain symbols allowed people to 'hack the code of the universe', in a not-wholly-figurative sense either. Unfortunately, the ability to do so is very limited spatially - for all but the most powerful wizards, being even a few meters away from the symbol they are channeling would render their magic utterly impotent. And while Elina was more talented than most (unbeknownst to most), and more skilled than her youthful demeanor and visage would let on, she was hardly on par with the Grand Archmage of the current generation.
It was reasonable to assume that Elina was a mere dilettante given her general lack of a penchant for showcasing her unique abilities. She didn't work in the magical academies, nor as part of the Royal Mage Corps, and was no wizard-for-hire at the Adventurer's Guild. Even then, most practitioners of the magical arts were easily recognizable by the runes emblazoned on their person, and yet, seemingly, Elina had none. No markings on the bags she held, none on the clothes she wore, and no obvious markings on her arms or face that would be expected of most symbologists.
Elina sighed and dropped her bags on the ground. "Alright, if you plan to be able to eat sometime over the next month without a feeding tube, you're going to tell me exactly who sent me and what beef they have with me! And you better be quick about it too, my girlfriend got reservations for dinner tonight and I want to make sure I look my best in case she finally proposes tonight." She gritted her teeth to no response before conjuring an ice spell, forming a small disc of ice above her head which rose up into the sky.
Aron laughed at the spell as it seemingly dispelled itself. "I must admit you caught me off guard that first time. My scouts didn't alert me to your magical talent, but given there aren't any symbols within twenty meters of you, you're not going to be able do more than lightly singe my hair or perhaps give me bit of frostbite, even if you are stronger than you let on! Well then, let's get this over with," he said as he charged at the young woman.
"Yes, let's," Elina said under her breath as she concentrated on the spell now high above their heads. Aron continued to charge at full sprint toward her, but as he readied his backswing to strike, he was blindsided by a powerful burst from behind which knocked the wind out of him and threw him to the ground. As he regained his breath, he could feel and smell the hair on the back of his head lightly charring.
"I assure you, whoever you are, that the spell I launched can do much more than just lightly singe your hair, so I suggest you drop your weapon and not try any funny business or I'll set the rest of your head on fire to match." For a split second, he felt his skin burn like a bad sunburn before the pain subsided. Elina smirked. "I can't cast fire spells but I can assure you, focusing sunlight through an icy lens does make for an effective alternative." Aron lay his head down, surrendering to his captive. "I just don't understand how..."
"And I'm going to reveal that to someone who was trying to kill me not five minutes ago? Please. I may not be wizened but I'm not that naive" As it turns out, Elina was quite the oddity. She didn't have any tattoos, but her bloodline had magical potential. More precisely, somewhere in her genetic code was encoded epigenetic markers that caused her veins and capillaries to branch out in symbological patterns, allowing her to use certain innate magic without the need for external runes. It was something that seemed to be passed down from her mother and grandmother, but the two question Elina always asked herself were: "What happened to cause this genetic anomaly in her family, and why?" | 22 | instead, you have dermatographia. | 74 |
The Adventurer strode through the silver-welded doors, he glided across the palace floors like moonlight on water. And when he stopped, exactly five feet from his throne as customary for visiting aristocracy, his silver eyes met his own. No trace of fear or unworthiness in his gaze. In fact, his face was carefully and methodically wiped clean of emotion except for the small dignified smile playing on his lips.
"You have called, My Liege, and I have answered."
Everything about The Adventurer was illustrious, from his stride to his bow, to his clipped manner of speech. A manner which His Highness had often come to associate with nobility.
The High King banged his silver studded staff against the floor, "You may rise."
The Adventurer rose as gracefully as he kneeled,
"Your Highness, you have called The Adventurer, He who Finds What is Lost, to request for my services in finding your eldest daughter Adelola, Heir to this Noble Kingdom."
The High King waved a hand, "Your services are not required. For My Heir has just been found."
If The Adventurer was surprised by The King's words, there was no trace of it on his face."Then I shall depart at once. It has been an honor, Your Highness."
With those words, The Adventurer spun on he heel and made way to the silver doors.
"Wait," the word was not shouted, yet the sheer power behind its speaker shook the room.
The Adventurer turned, "You have called, My Liege, and yet again I answer. What is it you request?"
The High King rose from his throne, his silver eyes never wandering from the form in front of him.
The Adventurer rose as well, and silver eyes met silver.
"I request the truth... an answer.... Why do you try to leave me yet again, my dearest Adelola?" | 924 | The princess ran away from her home and became an adventurer. To hide her identity, she cut her hair and took on the disguise of a young man. The king hears of this adventurer and hires him to find his missing daughter. | 3,272 |
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